UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
4»
I NORTHWESTERN
4'
•4
4-
4"
4»
4"
4^
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
4
I EVANSTON
4
t ILLINOIS
^ - ,
<^^4444444444444444444444^1?^^ ^
Hunger
/ have the ^ honor to announce that I have been
appointed the sole authorized American publisher of
Knut Hamsun
Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, 1920
The following novels are now ready:
Hunger [Sult\ Translated by George Egerton.
With an Introduction by Edivin Bj'órkman.
"Thia very unusual and notable book . . . the product of a
most remarkable imagination, so real is it, so vivid, so moving,
so compelling in its claim upon the reader's emotions and
sympathies."—New Yerk Timet.
Growth of the Soil Warkens erode]
Translated, uüith an essay on Hamsun, l^ W. W. Worster.
"I do not know how to express the admiration I feel for this
wonderful book without seeming to be extravagant. One of the
very greatest novels I have ever read."—H. G. WM
Pan Translated by W, W. Worster,
nxiitb an Introduction by EdixAn Bj'órkman.
"One may well question whether Hamsun has ever surpassed
the purely lyrical mood of this book. A wonderful psean to
untamed nature and to the forces let loose by it within the
soul of man."—Edwin Bjirkman.
Shallow Soil Jord\ Translated, nviih an
introductory essay, by Carl Christian Hyllested
A brilliant study of Christiania at the close of the last century,
whose characters are the writers and professional people of
the city's Bohemia.
Dreamers [S'vœrmerê] Translated by W. W. Worster
This love story is one of Hamsun|s most entertaining novels-
real tenderness and fancy, satisfactorily mixed wicn pure
comedy. \To be ready in October, 1921 \
The following are scheduled for later appearances :
Victoria
Under the Autumn Star \iJnder mststjeemen]
A Wanderer Plays with Muted Strings
\En Vandrer Spiller snedSordin]
Children of the Time [B'óm bv Tiden]
The Village of Segelfoss [Segeißss By]
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPP, Iwo.
PublisJud, October, 19t0
Second Printing, Dectmber, 1990
Third Printing, Pecember, 1990
Fmirfh Printing, January, 1991
Fifth Printing, March, 1991
Sixth Printing, May, 1991
Seventh Printing, August, 1921
Eighth Printing, September, 1921
PMKTED IK THE UKITHD STATES OP AMEKCA
Knut Hamsun
Since the death of Ibsen and Strindherg^ Hamsun
is undoubtedly the foremost creative writer of the
Scandinavian countries. Those approaching most
nearly to his position are probably Selma Lagerlöf
in Sweden and Henrik Pontoppidan in Denmark.
Both these, however, seem to have less than he of
that width of outlook, validity of interpretation and
authority of tone that made the greater masters
what they were.
His reputation is not confined to his own country
or the two Scandinavian sister nations. It spread
long ago over the rest of Europe, taking deepest
roots in Russia, where several editions of his col¬
lected works have already appeared, and where he
is spoken of as the equal of Tolstoy and Dostoyev-
ski. The enthusiasm of this approval is a charac¬
teristic symptom that throws interesting light on
Russia as well as on Hamsun.
Hearing of it, one might expect him to prove a
man of the masses, full of keen social consciousness.
Instead, he must be classed as an individualistic ro¬
manticist and a highly subjective aristocrat, whose
foremost passion in life is violent, defiant deviation
• • •
111
Knut Hamsun
from everything average and ordinary. He fears
and flouts the dominance of the many, and his
heroes, who are nothing hut slightly varied images
of himself, are invariably marked by an originality
of speech and action that brings them close to, if not
across, the borderline of the eccentric.
In all the literature known to me, there is no
writer who appears more ruthlessly and fearlessly
himself, and the self thus presented to us is as para^
doxical and rebellious as it is poetic and picturesque.
Such a nature, one would think, must be the final
blossoming of powerful hereditary tendencies, con¬
verging silently through numerous generations to
its predestined climax. All we know is that Ham¬
sun's forebears were sturdy Norwegian peasant
folk, said only to be diferentiated from their neigh¬
bours by certain artistic preoccupations that turned
one or two of them into skilled craftsmen. More
certain it is that what may or may not have been
innate was favoured and fostered and exaggerated
by physical environment and early social experi¬
ences.
Hamsun was born on Aug. g, i860, in one of the
sunny valleys of central Norway. From there his
parents moved when he was only four to settle in the
far northern district of Lofoden — that land of ex¬
tremes, where the year, and not the day, is evenly
divided between darkness and light; where winter is
a long dreamless sleep, and summer a passionate
dream without sleep; where land and sea meet and
iv
Knut Hamsun
intermingle so gigantically that man is all hut crushed
between the two — or else raised to titanic meas¬
ures by the spectacle of their struggle.
The Northland, with its glaring lights and black
shadows, its unearthly joys and abysmal despairs, is
present and dominant in every line that Hamsun
ever wrote. In that country his best tales and
dramas are laid. By that country his heroes are
stamped wherever they roam. Out of that country
they draw their principal claims to probability.
Only in that country do they seem quite at home.
Today we know, however, that the pathological case
represents nothing but an extension of perfectly
normal tendencies. In the same way we know that
the miraculous atmosphere of the Northland serves
merely to develop ahd emphasize traits that lie
slumbering in men and women everywhere. And
on this basis the fantastic figures created by Hamsun
relate themselves to ordinary humanity as the micro¬
scopic enlargement of a cross section to the living
tissues. What we see is true in everything but pro¬
portion.
The artist and the vagabond seem equally to have
been in the blood of Hamsun from the very start.
Apprenticed to a shoemaker, he used his scant sav¬
ings to arrange for the private printing of a long
poem and a short novel produced at the age of
eighteen, when he was still signing himself Knud
Pedersen Hamsund. This done, he abruptly quit
his apprenticeship and entered on that period of
V
Knut Hamsun
restless roving through trades and continents which
lasted until his first real artistic achievement with
** Hunger,'^ in 1888—go. It has often been noted
that practically every one of Hamsun^s heroes is of
the same age as he was then^ and that their creator
takes particular pain to accentuate this fact. It is
almost as if, during those days of feverish literary
struggle, he had risen to heights where he saw things
so clearly that no subsequent experience could add
anything but occasional details.
Before he reached those heights, he had tried life
as coal-heaver and school teacher, as road-mender
and surveyor's attendant, as farm hand and street'
car conductor, as lecturer and free-lance journalist,
as tourist and emigrant. Twice he visited this
country during the middle eighties, working chiefly
on the plains of North Dakota and in the streets of
Chicago. Twice during that time he returned to his
own country and passed through the experiences pic¬
tured in Hunger,'* before, at last, he found his
own literary self and thus also a hearing from the
world at large. While here, he failed utterly to
establish any sympathetic contact between himself
and the new world, and his first book after his re¬
turn in 1888 was a volume of studies named " The
Spiritual Life of Modern America," which a promi¬
nent Norwegian critic once described as " a master¬
piece of distorted criticism." But I own a copy of
this book, the fly-leaf of which bears the following
inscription in the author's autograph:
vi
Knut Hamsun
A youthful work. It has ceased to represent
my opinion of America. May 28, igoß. Knut
Hamsun/^
In its original form, Hunger " was merely a
sketch, and as such it appeared in 1888 in a Danish
literary periôdical, New Earth.'^ It attracted im¬
mediate widespread attention to the author, both on
account of its unusual theme and striking form. It
was a new kind of realism that had nothing to do
with photographic reproduction of details. It was
a professedly psychological study that had about as
much in common with the old-fashioned conceptions
of man*s mental activities as the delirious utterances
of a fever patient. It was life, but presented in the
impressionistic temper of a Gauguin or Gezanne.
On the appearance of the completed novel in i8ço,
Hamsun was greeted as one of the chief heralds of
the neo-romantic movement then spreading rapidly
through the Scandinavian north and finding typical
expressions not only in the works of theretofore un¬
known writers, but in the changed moods of masters
like Ibsen and Björns on and Strindberg.
It was followed two years later by Mysteries,**
which pretends to be a novel, but which may be bet¬
ter described as a delightfully irresponsible and de¬
fiantly subjective roaming through any highway or
byway of life or letters that happened to take the
author's fancy at the moment of writing. Some one
has said of that book that in its abrupt swingings
from laughter to tears, from irreverence to awe,
• •
Vll
Knut Hamsun
from the ridiculous to the sublime^ one finds the
spirits of Dostoyevski and Mark Twain blended.
The novels Editor Lynge and " New Earthy*
both published in iSgjy were social studies of
Christiania*s Bohemia and chiefly characterized by
their violent attacks on the men and women exercise
ing the profession which Hamsun had just made his
own. Then came Pan** in i8gg, and the real
Hamsun, the Hamsun who ever since has moved
logically and with increasing authority to The
Growth of the Soil,** stood finally revealed. It is a
novel of the Northland, almost without a plot, and
having its chief interest in a primitively spontaneous
man's reactions to a nature so overwhelming that it
makes mere purposeless existence seem a sufficient
end in itself. One may well question whether
Hamsun has ever surpassed the purely lyrical mood
of that book, into which he poured the ecstatic
dreams of the little boy from the south as, for the
first time, he saw the forestclad northern mountains
bathing their feet in the ocean and their crowns in
the light of a never-setting sun. It is a wonderful
paean to untamed nature and to the forces let loose
by it within the soul of man.
Like most of the great writers over there, Hamsun
has not confined himself to one poetic mood of
form, but has tried all of them. From the line of
novels culminating in Pan,** he turned suddenly to
the drama, and in iSg^ appeared his first play, At
the Gates of the Kingdom.** It was the opening
• • •
yiii
Knut Hamsun
drama of a trilogy and was followed by " The Game
of Life " in i8ç6 and ** Sunset Glow in i8ç8.
The first play is laid in Christiania, the second in the
Northland, and the third in Christiania again. The
hero of all three is Ivar Kareno, a student and
thinker who is first presented to us at the age of 2Ç,
then at sç, and finally at 50. His wife and sev¬
eral other characters accompany the central figure
through the trilogy, of which the lesson seems to he
that every one is a rebel at ßO and a renegade at
go. But when Kareno, the irreconcilable rebel of
"At the Gates of the Kingdom,'' the heaven-storm¬
ing truth-seeker of " The Game of Life," and the
acclaimed radical leader in the first acts of " Sunset
Glow," surrenders at last to the powers that be in
order to gain a safe and sheltered harbor for his
declining years, then another man of 2ç stands ready
to denounce him and to take up the rebel cry of
youth to which he has become a traitor. Hamsun's
ironical humor and whimsical manner of expression
do more than the plot itself to knit the plays into
an organic unit, and several of the characters are
delightfully drawn, particularly the two women who
play the greatest part in Kareno's life: his wife
Eline, and Teresita, who is one more of his many
feminine embodiments of the passionate and change¬
able Northland nature. Any attempt to give a
political tendency to the trilogy must be held wasted.
Characteristically, Kareno is a sort of Nietzschean
rebel against the victorious majority, and Hamsun's
ix
Knut Hamsun
seemingly cynical conclusions stress man^s capacity
for action rather than the purposes toward which
that capacity may he directed.
Of three subsequent plays, Fendt the Monk,**
(iço^), ''Queen Tamara'* (igoß) and "At the
Mercy of Life" (igio), the first mentioned is by
far the most remarkable. It is a verse drama in
eight acts, centred about one of Hamsun*s most
typical vagabond heroes. The monk Vendt has
much in common with Peer Gynt without being in
any way an imitation or a duplicate. He is a
dreamer in revolt against the world's alleged in¬
justice, a rebel against the very powers that invisibly
move the universe, and a passionate lover of life
who in the end accepts it as a joyful battle and then
dreams of the long peace to come. The vigor and
charm of the verse proved a surprise to the critics
when the play was published, as Hamsun until then
had given no proof of any poetic gift in the narrower
sense.
From iSgy to igi2 Hamsun produced a series of
volumes that simply marked a further development
of the tendencies shown in his first novels:
" Siesta," short stories, iSgj; " Victoria," a novel
with a charming love story that embodies the tender-
est note in his production, i8g8; "In Wonderland,**
travelling sketches from the Caucasus, igoß;
"Brushwood," short stories, igo^; "The Wild
Choir," a collection of poems, igog.; " Dreamers,**
a novel, igog; " Struggling Life," short stories and
X
Knut Hamsun
travelling sketches, iço§; Beneath the Autumn
Star,'* a novel^ jgo6; Benoni,** and ''Rosa,*' two
novels forming to some extent sequels to " Pan,"
IÇ08;" A Wanderer Plays with Muted Strings," a
novel, igog; and " The Last Joy," a shapeless work,
half novel and half mere uncoordinated reflections,
igi2.
The later part of this output seemed to indicate
a lack of development, a failure to open up new
vistas, that caused many to fear that the principal
contributions of Hamsun already lay behind him.
Then appeared in igis a big novel, " Children of
the Time," which in many ways struck a new note,
although led up to by " Rosa " and "Benoni." The
horizon is now wider, the picture broader. There
is still a central figure, and still he possesses many
of the old Hamsun traits, but he has crossed the
meridian at last and become an observer rather than
a fighter and doer. Nor is he the central figure to
the same extent as Lieutenant Glahn in " Pan " or
Kareno in the trilogy. The life pictured is the life
of a certain spot of ground — Segelfoss manor, and
later the town of Segelfoss — rather than that of
one or two isolated individuals. One might almost
say that Hamsun's vision has become social at last,
were it not for his continued accentuation of the
irreconcilable conflict between the individual and the
group.
" Segelfoss Town " in igiS and " The Growth of
the Soil"'— the title ought to be " The Earth's In-
xi
Knut Hamsun
crease **— in içi8 continue along the path Hamsun
entered by " Children of the Time." The scene is
laid in his beloved Northland, but the old primitive
life is going — going even in the outlying districts,
where the pioneers are already breaking ground for
new permanent settlements. Business of a modern
type has arrived, and much of the quiet humor dis¬
played in these the latest and maturest of Hamsun*s
works springs from the spectacle of its influence on
the natives, whose hands used always to be in their
pockets, and whose credulity in face of the improb¬
able was only surpassed by their unwillingness to be¬
lieve anything reasonable. Still the life he pictures
is largely primitive, with nature as man*s chief an¬
tagonist, and to us of the crowded cities it brings a
charm of novelty rarely found in books today.
With it goes an understanding of human nature
which is no less deep-reaching because it is apt to
find expression in whimsical or flagrantly paradoxi¬
cal forms.
Hamsun has just celebrated his sixtieth birthday
anniversary. He is as strong and active as ever,
burying himself most of the time on his little estate
in the heart of the country that has become to such
a peculiar extent his own. There is every reason to
expect from him works that may not only equal but
surpass the best of his production so far. But even
if such expectations should prove false, the body of
his work already accomplished is such, both in
quantity and quality, that he must perforce be placed
m %
Xll
Knut Hamsun
in the very front rank of the world^s living writers.
To the English-speaking world he has so far been
made known only through the casual publication at
long intervals of a few of his books: Hunger^
Victoria " and Shallow Soil " (rendered in the
list above as New Earth**). There is now rea^
son to believe that this negligence will be remedied,
and that soon the best of Hamsun*s work will be
available in English. To the American and Eng¬
lish publics it ought to prove a welcome tonic be¬
cause of its very divergence from what they com¬
monly feed on. And they may safely look to
Hamsun as a thinker as well as a poet and laughing
dreamer, provided they realize from the start that
his thinking is suggestive rather than conclusive, and
that he never meant it to be anything else.
Edwin Björkman,
• • 9
xlll
IT was during the time I wandered about and
starved in Christiania: Christiania, this singu¬
lar city, from which no man departs without
carrying away the traces of his sojourn there.
• ••••••
I was lying awake in my attic and I heard a clock
below strike six. It was already broad daylight,
and people had begun to go up and down the stairs.
By the door where the wall of the room was papered
with old numbers of the Morgenhladety I could dis¬
tinguish clearly a notice from the Director of Light¬
houses, and a little to the left of that an inflated
advertisement of Fabian Olsens* new-baked bread.
The instant I opened my eyes I began, from sheer
force of habit, to think if I had anything to rejoice
over that day. I had been somewhat hard-up lately,
and one after the other of my belongings had been
taken to my " Uncle." I had grown nervous and
irritable. A few times I had kept my bed for the
day with vertigo. Now and then, when luck had
favoured me, I had managed to get five shillings for
a feuilleton from some newspaper or other.
It grew lighter and lighter, and I took to reading
the advertisements near the door. I could even
make out the grinning lean letters of " winding-
sheets to be had at Miss Andersen's " on the right
3
Hunger
of it. That occupied me for a long while. I heard
the clock below strike eight as I got up and put on
my clothes.
I opened the window and looked out. From
where I was standing I had a view of a clothes^
line and an open field. Farther away lay the ruins
of a burnt-out smithy, which some labourers were
busy clearing away. I leant with my elbows resting
on the window-frame and gazed into open space.
It promised to be a clear day — autumn, that tender,
cool time of the year, when all things change their
colour, and die, had come to us. The ever-increasing
noise in the streets lured me out. The bare room,
the floor of which rocked up and down with every
step I took across it, seemed like a gasping, sinister
coflin. There was no proper fastening to the door,
either, and no stove. I used to lie on my socks at
night to dry them a little by the morning. The only
thing I had to divert myself with was a little red
rocking-chair, in which I used to sit in the evenings
and doze and muse on all manner of things. When
it blew hard, and the door below stood open, all
kinds of eerie sounds moaned up through the floor
and from out the walls, and the Morgenhladet near
the door was rent in strips a span long.
I stood up and searched through a bundle in the
corner by the bed for a bite for breakfast, but
finding nothing, went back to the window.
God knows, thought I, if looking for employment
will ever again avail me aught. The frequent re-
4
Hunger
pulses, half-promises, and curt noes, the cherished,
deluded hopes, and fresh endeavours that always
resulted in nothing had done my courage to death.
As a last resource, I had applied for a place as debt
collector, but I was too late, and, besides, I could
not have found the fifty shillings demanded as secu¬
rity. There was always something or another in
my way. I had even offered to enlist in the Fire
Brigade. There we stood and waited in the vesti¬
bule, some half-hundred men, thrusting our chests
out to give an idea of strength and bravery, whilst
an inspector walked up and down and scanned the
applicants, felt their arms, and put one question or
another to them. Me, he passed by, merely shaking
his head, saying I was rejected on account of my
sight. I applied again without my glasses, stood
there with knitted brows, and made my eyes as
sharp as needles, but the man passed me by again
with a smile; he had recognized me. And, worse
than all, I could no longer apply for a situation in
the garb of a respectable man.
How regularly and steadily things had gone down¬
hill with me for a long time, till, in the end, I was
so curiously bared of every conceivable thing. I
had not even a comb left, not even a book to read,
when things grew all too sad with me. All through
the summer, up in the churchyards or parks, where
I used to sit and write my articles for the news¬
papers, I had thought out column after column on
the most miscellaneous subjects. Strange ideas,
5
Hunger
quaint fancies, conceits of my restless brain; in de¬
spair I had often chosen the most remote themes,
that cost me long hours of intense effort, and never
were accepted. When one piece was finished I set
to work at another. I was not often discouraged
by the editors' " no." I used to tell myself con¬
stantly that some day I was bound to succeed; and
really occasionally when I was in luck's way, and
made a hit with something, I could get five shillings
for an afternoon's work.
Once again I raised myself from the window,
went over to the washing-stand, and sprinkled some
water on the shiny knees of my trousers to dull
them a little and make them look a trifle newer.
Having done this, I pocketed paper and pencil as
usual and went out. I stole very quietly down the
stairs in order not to attract my landlady's attention
(a few days had elapsed since my rent had fallen
due, and I had no longer anything wherewith to
raise it).
It was nine o'clock. The roll of vehicles and
hum of voices filled the air, a mighty morning-choir
mingled with the footsteps of the pedestrians and
the crack of the hack-drivers' whips. The clam¬
orous traffic everywhere exhilarated me at once,
and I began to feel more and more contented.
Nothing was farther from my intention than to
merely take a morning walk in the open air. What
had the air to do with my lungs? I was strong as
a giant; could stop a dray with my shoulders. A
6
Hunger
sweet, unwonted mood, a feeling of lightsome happy-
go-luckiness took possession of me. I fell to ob¬
serving the people I met and who passed me, to
reading the placards on the wall, noted even the
impression of a glance thrown at me from a passing
tram-car, let each bagatelle, each trifling incident
that crossed or vanished from my path impress me.
If one only had just a little to eat on such a light¬
some day! The sense of the glad morning oven
whelmed me; my satisfaction became ill-regulated,
and for no definite reason I began to hum joyfully.
At a butcher's stall a woman stood speculating on
sausage for dinner. As I passed her she looked up
at me. She had but one tooth in the front of her
head. I had become so nervous and easily affected
in the last few days that the woman's face made a
loathsome impression upon me. The long yellow
snag looked like a little finger pointing out of her
gum, and her gaze was still full of sausage as she
turned it upon me. I immediately lost all appetite,
and a feeling of nausea came over me. When I
reached the market-place I went to the fountain and
drank a little. I looked up ; the dial marked ten on
Our Saviour's tower.
I went on through the streets, listlessly, without
troubling myself about anything at all, stopped aim¬
lessly at a corner, turned off into a side street with¬
out having any errand there. I simply let myself
go, wandered about in the pleasant morning, swing¬
ing myself care-free to and fro amongst other happy
7
Hunger
human beings. This air was clear and bright and
my mind too was without a shadow.
For quite ten minutes I had had an old lame man
ahead of me. He carried a bundle in one hand and
exerted his whole body, using all his strength in his
endeavours to get along speedily. I could hear how
he panted from the exertion, and it occurred to me
that I might offer to bear his bundle for him, but
yet I made no effort to overtake him. Up in
Graendsen I met Hans Pauli, who nodded and hur¬
ried past me. Why was he in such a hurry? I
had not the slightest intention of asking him for a
shilling, and, more than that, I intended at the very
first opportunity to return him a blanket which I had
borrowed from him some weeks before.
Just wait until I could get my foot on the ladder,
I would be beholden to no man, not even for a
blanket. Perhaps even this very day I might com¬
mence an article on the " Crimes of Futurity,"
" Freedom of Will," or what not, at any rate,
something worth reading, something for which I
would at least get ten shillings. . . . And at the
thought of this article I felt myself fired with a
desire to set to work immediately and to draw from
the contents of my overflowing brain. I would find
a suitable place to write in the park and not rest
until I had completed my article.
But the old cripple was still making the same
sprawling movements ahead of me up the street.
The sight of this infirm creature constantly in front
8
Hunger
of me, commenced to irritate me — his journey
seemed endless; perhaps he had made up his mind
to go to exactly the same place as I had, and I
must needs have him before my eyes the whole
way. In my irritation it seemed to me that he
slackened his pace a little at every cross street, as
if waiting to see which direction I intended to take,
upon which he would again swing his bundle in
the air and peg away with all his might to keep
ahead of me. I follow and watch ^this tiresome
creature and get more and more exasperated with
him, I am conscious that he has, little by little, de¬
stroyed my happy mood and dragged the pure, beau¬
tiful morning down to the level of his own ugliness.
He looks like a great sprawling reptile striving with
might and main to win a place in the world and
reserve the footpath for himself. When we
reached the top of the hill I determined to put up
with it no longer. I turned to a shop window and
stopped in order to give him an opportunity of
getting ahead, but when, after a lapse of some
minutes, I again walked on there was the man still
in front of me — he too had stood stock still,—
without stopping to reflect I made three or four fu¬
rious onward strides, caught him up, and slapped
him on the shoulder.
He stopped directly, and we both stared at one
another fixedly. " A halfpenny for milk I " he
whined, twisting his head askew.
So that was how the wind blew. I felt in my
9
Hunger
pockets and said: "For milk, eh? Hum-m —
money's scarce these times, and I don't really know
how much you are in need of it."
" I haven't eaten a morsel since yesterday in
Drammen; I haven't got a farthing, nor have I got
any work yet ! "
Are you an artisan?"
Yes; a binder."
"A what?"
"A shoe-binder; for that matter, I can make
shoes too."
" Ah, that alters the case," said I, " you wait here
for some minutes and I shall go and get a little
money for you; just a few pence."
I hurried as fast as I could down Pyle Street,
where I knew of a pawnbroker on a second-floor
(one, besides, to whom I had never been before).
When I got inside the hall I hastily took off my
waistcoat, rolled it up, and put it under my arm;
after which I went upstairs and knocked at the office
door. I bowed on entering, and threw the waist¬
coat on the counter.
One-and-six," said the man.
" Yes, yes, thanks," I replied. " If it weren't
that it was beginning to be a little tight for me,
of course I wouldn't part with it."
I got the money and the ticket, and went back.
Considering all things, pawning that waistcoat was
a capital notion. I would have money enough over
for a plentiful breakfast, and before evening my
10
Hunger
thesis on the " Crimes of Futurity " would be ready.
I began to find existence more alluring; and I hur¬
ried back to the man to get rid of him.
There it is," said I. " I am glad you applied
to me first."
The man took the money and scrutinized me
closely. At what was he standing there staring?
I had a feeling that he particularly examined the
knees of my trousers, and his shameless effrontery
bored me. Did the scoundrel imagine that I really
was as poor as I looked? Had I not as good as
begun to write an article for half-a-sovereign? Be¬
sides, I had no fear whatever for the future. I had
many irons in the fire. What on earth business was
it of an utter stranger if I chose to stand him a
drink on such a lovely day? The man's look an¬
noyed me, and I made up my mind to give him a
good dressing-down before I left him. I threw
back my shoulders, and said :
My good fellow, you have adopted a most un¬
pleasant habit of staring at a man's knees when he
gives you a shilling."
He leant his head back against the wall and
opened his mouth widely; something was working
in that empty pate of his, and he evidently came
to the conclusion that I meant to best him in some
way, for he handed me back tfie money. I stamped
on the pavement, and, swearing at him, told him to
keep it. Did he imagine I was going to all that
trouble for nothing? If all came to all, perhaps I
II
Hunger
owed him this shilling; I had just recollected an old
debt ; he was standing before an honest man, honour¬
able to his finger-tips — in short, the money was his.
Oh, no thanks were needed; it had been a pleasure
to me. Good-bye I
I went on. At last I was freed from this work-
ridden plague, and I could go my way in peace. I
turned down Pyle Street again, and stopped before
a grocer's shop. The whole window was filled with
eatables, and I decided to go in and get something
to take with me.
" A piece of cheese and a French roll," I said,
and threw my sixpence on to the counter.
" Bread and cheese for the whole of it?" asked
the woman ironically, without looking up at me.
"For the whole sixpence? Yes," I answered,
unruffled.
I took them up, bade the fat old woman good-
morning, with the utmost politeness, and sped, full
tilt, up Castle Hill to the park.
I found a bench to myself, and began to bite
greedily into my provender. It did me good; it was
a long time since I had had such a square meal, and,
by degrees, I felt the same sated quiet steal over
me that one feels after a good long cry. My cour¬
age rose mightily. I could no longer be satisfied
with writing an article about anything so simple and
straight-ahead as the " Crimes of Futurity," that
any ass might arrive at, ay, simply deduct from
history. I felt capable of a much greater eflFort
12
Hunger
than that; I was in a fitting mood to overcome dif¬
ficulties, and I decided on a treatise, in three sections,
on " Philosophical Cognition." This would, natu¬
rally, give me an opportunity of crushing pitiably
some of Kant's sophistries . . . but, on taking out
my writing materials to commence work, I dis¬
covered that I no longer owned a pencil: I had for¬
gotten it in the pawn-office. My pencil was lying
in my waistcoat pocket.
Good Lord I how everything seems to take a de¬
light in thwarting me today I I swore a few times,
rose from the seat, and took a couple of turns up
and down the path. It was very quiet all around
me; down near the Queen's arbour two nursemaids
were trundling their perambulators; otherwise, there
was not a creature anywhere in sight. I was in
a thoroughly embittered temper; I paced up and
down before my seat like a maniac. How strangely
awry things seemed to go I To think that an article
in three sections should be downright stranded by
the simple fact of my not having a pennyworth of
pencil in my pocket. Supposing I were to return to
Pyle Street and ask to get my pencil back? There
would be still time to get a good piece finished be¬
fore the promenading public commenced to fill the
parks. So much, too, depended on this treatise on
" Philosophical Cognition "— mayhap many human
beings' welfare, no-one could say; and I told myself
it might be of the greatest possible help to many
young people. On second thoughts, I would not lay
13
Hunger
violent hands on Kant; I might easily avoid doing
that; I would only need to make an almost impercep¬
tible gliding over when I came to query Time and
Space; but I would not answer for Renan, old Par¬
son Renan. . . .
At all events, an article of so-and-so many col¬
umns has to be completed. For the unpaid rent,
and the landlady's inquiring look in the morning
when I met her on the stairs, tormented me the
whole day; it rose up and confronted me again and
again, even in my pleasant hours, when I had other¬
wise not a gloomy thought.
I must put an end to it, so I left the park hurriedly
to fetch my pencil from the pawnbroker's.
As I arrived at the foot of the hill I overtook two
ladies, whom I passed. As I did so, I brushed one
of them accidentally on the arm. I looked up ; she
had a full, rather pale, face. But she blushes, and
becomes suddenly surprisingly lovely. I know not
why she blushes; maybe at some word she hears
from a passer-by, maybe only at some lurking
thought of her own. Or can it be because I touched
her arm? Her high, full bosom heaves violently
several times, and she closes her hand tightly above
the handle of her parasol. What has come to her?
I stopped, and let her pass ahead again. I could,
for the moment, go no further; the whole thing
struck me as being so singular. I was in a tantal¬
izing mood, annoyed with myself on account of the
pencil incident, and in a high degree disturbed by
14
Hunger
all the food I had taken on a totally empty stomach.
Suddenly my thoughts, as if whimsically inspired,
take a singular direction. I feel myself seized with
an odd desire to make this lady afraid; to follow
her, and annoy her in some way. I overtake her
again, pass her by, turn quickly round, and meet her
face-to-face in order to observe her well. I stand
and gaze into her eyes, and hit, on the spur of the
moment, on a name which I have never heard before
— a name with a gliding, nervous sound — Ylajali!
When she is quite close to me I draw myself up and
say impressively :
" You are losing your book, madam! " I could
hear my heart beat audibly as I said it.
" My book? " she asks her companion, and she
walks on.
My devilment waxed apace, and I followed them.
At the same time, I was fully conscious that I was
playing a mad prank without being able to stop
myself. My disordered condition ran away with
me; I was inspired with the craziest notions, which
I followed blindly as they came to me. I couldn't
help it, no matter how much I told myself that I
was playing the fool. I made the most idiotic
grimaces behind the lady's back, and coughed fran¬
tically as I passed her by. Walking on in this man¬
ner— very slowly, and always a few steps in ad¬
vance — I felt her eyes on my back, and involunta¬
rily put down my head with shame for having caused
her annoyance. By degrees, a wonderful feeling
15
Hunger
Stole over me of being far, far away in other places;
I had a half-undefined sense that it was not I who
was going along over the gravel hanging my head.
A few minutes later, they reached Pascha's book¬
shop. I had already stopped at the first window,
and as they go by I step forward and repeat:
" You are losing your book, madam! "
" No ; what book?. " she asks affrightedly. " Can
you make out what book it is he is talking about?
and she comes to a stop.
I hug myself with delight at her confusion; the
irresolute perplexity in her eyes positively fascinates
me. Her mind cannot grasp my short, passionate
address. She has no book with her; not a single
page of a book, and yet she fumbles in her pockets,
looks down repeatedly at her hands, turns her head
and scrutinizes the streets behind her, exerts her
sensitive little brain to the utmost in trying to dis¬
cover what book it is I am talking about. Her face
changes colour, has now one, now another expres¬
sion, and she is breathing quite audibly — even the
very buttons on her gown seem to stare at me, like
a row of frightened eyes.
" Don't bother about him I " says her companion,
taking her by the arm. " He is drunk; can't you
see that the man is drunk?"
Strange as I was at this instant to myself, so
absolutely a prey to peculiar invisible inner influ¬
ences, nothing occurred around me without my
observing it. A large, brown dog sprang right
i6
Hunger
across the street towards the shrubbery, and then
down towards the Tivoli ; he had on a very narrow
collar of German silver. Farther up the street a
window opened on the second floor, and a servant-
maid leant out of it, with her sleeves turned up, and
began to clean the panes on the outside. Nothing
escaped my notice; I was clear-headed and ready-
witted. Everything rushed in upon me with a
gleaming distinctness, as if I were suddenly sur¬
rounded by a strong light. The ladies before me
3r
had each a blue bird's wing in their hats, and a plaid
silk ribbon round their necks. It struck me that
they were sisters.
They turned, stopped at Cisler's music-shop, and
spoke together. I stopped also. Thereupon they
both came back, went the same road as they had
come, passed me again, and turned the corner of
University Street and up towards St. Olav's place.
I was all the time as close at their heels as I dared
to be. They turned round once, and sent me a
half-fearful, half-questioning look, and I saw no re¬
sentment nor any trace of a frown in it.
This forbearance with my annoyance shamed me
thoroughly and made me lower my eyes. I would
no longer be a trouble to them; out of sheer grati¬
tude I would follow them with my gaze, not lose
sight of them until they entered some place safely
and disappeared.
Outside No. 2, a large four-storeyed house, they
turned again before going in. I leant against a
17
Hunger
lamp-post near the fountain and listened for their
footsteps on the stairs. They died away on the
second floor. I advanced from the lamp-post and
looked up at the house. Then something odd hap¬
pened. The curtains above 'were stirred, and a sec¬
ond after a window opened, a head popped out,
and two singular-looking eyes dwelt on me.
"Ylajalil" I muttered, half-aloud, and I felt I
grew red.
Why does she not call for help, or push over one
of these flower-pots and strike me on the head, or
send some one down to drive me away? We stand
and look into one another's eyes without moving;
it lasts a minute. Thoughts dart between the win¬
dow and the street, and not a word is spoken. She
turns round, I feel a wrench in me, a delicate shock
through my senses; I see a shoulder that turns, a
back that disappears across the floor. That reluc¬
tant turning from the window, the accentuation in
that movement of the shoulders was like a nod to
me. My blood was sensible of all the delicate,
dainty greeting, and I felt all at once rarely glad.
Then I wheeled round and went down the street.
I dared not look back, and knew not if she had
returned to the window. The more I considered
this question the more nervous and restless I be¬
came. Probably at this very moment she was
standing watching closely all my movements. It is
by no means comfortable to know that you are
being watched from behind your back. I pulled*
i8
Hunger
myself together as well as I could and proceeded on
my way; my legs began to jerk under me, my gait
became unsteady just because I purposely tried to
make it look well. In order to appear at ease and
indifferent, I flung my arms about, spat out, and
threw my bead well back — all without avail, for I
continually felt the pursuing eyes on my neck, and
a cold shiver ran down my back. At length I es¬
caped down a side street, from which I took the
road to Pyle Street to get my pencil.
I had no difficulty in recovering it; the man
brought me the waistcoat himself, and as he did
so, begged me to search through all the pockets. I
found also a couple of pawn-tickets which I pocketed
as I thanked the obliging little man for his civility.
I was more and more taken with him, and grew
all of a sudden extremely anxious to make a favour¬
able impression on this person. I took a turn to¬
wards the door and then back again to the counter as
if I had forgotten som'ething. It struck me that I
owed him an explanation, that I ought to elucidate
matters a little. I began to hum in order to attract
his attention. Then, taking the pencil in my hand,
I held it up and said :
It would never have entered my head to come
such a long way for any and every bit of pencil, but
with this one it was quite a different matter; there
was another reason^ a special reason. Insignificant
as it looked, this stump of pencil had simply made
me what I was in the world, so to say, placed me in
Ï9
Hunger
life." 1 said no more. The man had come right
over to the counter.
" Indeed 1 " said he> and he looked inquiringly
at me.
" It was with this pencil," I continued, in cold
blood, " that I wrote my dissertation on * Philo¬
sophical Cognition,' in three volumes." Had he
never heard mention of it?
Well, he did seem to remember having heard
the name, rather the title.
" Yes," said I, " that was by me, so it was."
So he must really not be astonished that I should
be desirous of having the little bit of pencil back
again. I valued it far too highly to lose it; why,
it was almost as much to me as a little 'human
creature. For the rest I was honestly grateful to
him for his civility, and I would bear him in mind
for it. Yes, truly, I really would. A promise was
a promise; that was the sort of man I was, and he
really deserved it. " Good-bye I " I walked to
the door with the bearing of one who had it in his
power to place a man in a high position, say in the
fire-office. The honest pawnbroker bowed twice
profoundly to me as I withdrew. I turned again
and repeated my good-bye.
On the stairs I met a woman with a travelling-
bag in her hand, who squeezed diffidently against the
wall to make room for me, and I voluntarily thrust
my hand in my pocket for something to give her,
and looked foolish as I found nothing and passed on
20
Hunger
with my head down. I heard her knock at the of¬
fice door; there was an alarm over it, and I recog°
nized the jingling sound it gave when any one rapped
on the door with his knuckles.
The sun stood in the south ; it was about twelve.
The whole town began to get on its legs as it
approached the fashionable hour for promenading.
Bowing and laughing folk walked up and down
Carl Johann Street. I stuck my elbows closely to
my sides, tried to make myself look small, and
dipped unpcrceived past some acquaintances who
had taken up their stand at the corner of University
Street to gaze at the passers-by. I wandered up
Castle Hill and fell into a reverie.
How gaily and lightly these people I met car¬
ried their radiant heads, and swung themselves
through life as through a ball-room ! There was no
sorrow in a single look I met, no burden on any
shoulder, perhaps not even a clouded thought, not a
litde hidden pain in any of the happy souls. And
I, walking in the very midst of these people, young
and newly-fledged as I was, had already forgotten
the very look of happiness. I hugged these thoughts
to myself as I went on, and found that a great
injustice had been done me. Why had the last
months pressed so strangely hard on me ? I failed
to recognize my own happy temperament, and I
met with the most singular annoyances from all
quarters. I could not sit down on a bench by my¬
self or set my foot any place without being assailed
21
Hunger
by insignificant accidents, miserable details, that
forced their way into my imagination and scattered
my powers to all the four winds. A dog that
dashed by me, a yellow rose in a man's buttonhole,
had the power to set my thoughts vibrating and
occupy me for a length of time.
What was it that ailed me? Was the hand of
the Lord turned against me? But why just against
me ? Why, for that matter, not just as well against
a man in South America? When I considered the
matter over, it grew more and more incomprehen¬
sible to me that I of all others should be selected as
an experiment for a Creator's whims. It was, to
say the least of it, a peculiar mode of procedure to
pass over a whole world of other humans in order
to reach me. Why not select just as well Book¬
seller Pascha, or Hennechen the steam agent?
As I went my way I sifted this thing, and could
not get quit of it. I found the most weighty argu¬
ments against the Creator's arbitrariness in letting
me pay for all the others' sins. Even after I had
found a seat and sat down, the query persisted in
occupying me, and prevented me from thinking of
aught else. From the day in May when my ill-
luck began I could so clearly notice my gradually
increasing debility; I had become, as it were, too
languid to control or lead myself whither I would
go. A swarm of tiny noxious animals had bored a
way into my inner man and hollowed me out.
22
Hunger
Supposing God Almighty simply intended to an¬
nihilate me? I got up and paced backwards and
forwards before the seat.
My whole being was at this moment in the high¬
est degree of torture, I had pains in my arms, and
could hardly bear to hold them in the usual way.
I experienced also great discomfort from my last
full meal; I was oversated, and walked backwards
and forwards without looking up. The people who
came and went around me glided past me like faint
gleams. At last my seat was taken up by two men,
who lit cigars and began to talk loudly together. I
got angry and was on the point of addressing them,
but turned on my heel and went right to the other
end of the Park, and found another seat. I sat
down.
The thought of God began to occupy me. It
seemed to me in the highest degree indefensible
of Him to interfere every time I sought for a
place, and to upset the whole thing, while all the
time I was but imploring enough for a daily meal.
I had remarked so plainly that, whenever I had
been hungry for any length of time, it was just as
if my brains ran quite gently out of my head and
left me with a vacuum — my head grew light and
far off, I no longer felt its weight on my shoulders,
and I had a consciousness that my eyes stared far
too widely open when I looked at anything.
I sat there on the seat and pondered over all
23
Hunger
this, and grew more and more bitter against God
for His prolonged inflictions. If He meant to
draw me nearer to Him, and make me better by
exhausting me and placing obstacle after obstacle
in my way, I could assure Him He made a slight
mistake. And, almost crying with defiance, I
looked up towards Heaven and told Him so men¬
tally, once and for all.
Fragments of the teachings of my childhood ran
through my memory. The rhythmical sound of
Biblical language sang in my ears, and I talked quite
softly to myself, and held my head sneeringly askew.
Wherefore should I sorrow for what I eat, for what
I drink, or for what I may array this miserable food
for worms called my earthy body? Hath not my
Heavenly Father provided for me, even as for the
sparrow on the housetop, and hath He not in His
graciousness pointed towards His lowly servitor?
The Lord stuck His finger in the net of my nerves
gently — yea, verily, in desultory fashion — and
brought slight disorder among the threads. And
then the Lord withdrew His finger, and there were
fibres and delicate root-like filaments adhering to
the finger, and they were the nerve-threads of the
filaments. And there was a gaping hole after the
finger, which was God's finger, and a wound in my
brain in the track of His finger. But when God
had touched me with His finger, He let me be, and
touched me no more, and let no evil befall me; but
let me depart in peace, and let me depart with the
24
Hunger
gaping hole. And no evil hath befallen me from
the God who is the Lord God of all Eternity.
The sound of music was borne up on the wind to
me from the Students' Allée. It was therefore past
two o'clock. I took out my writing materials to try
to write something, and at the same time my book
of shaving-tickets^ fell out of my pocket. I opened
it, and counted the tickets ; there were six. " The
Lord be praised," I exclaimed involuntarily; " I can
still get shaved for a couple of weeks, and look a
little decent " ; and I immediately fell into a bet¬
ter frame of mind on account of this little property
which still remained to me. I smoothed the leaves
out carefully, and put the book safely into my
pocket.
But write I could not. After a few lines nothing
seemed to occur to me; my thought ran in other
directions, and I could not pull myseelf together
enough for any special exertion.
Everything influenced and distracted me; every¬
thing I saw made a fresh impression on me. Flies
and tiny mosquitoes stick fast to the paper and
disturb me. I blow at them to get rid of them —
blow harder and harder; to no purpose, the little
pests throw themselves on their backs, make them¬
selves heavy, and fight against me until their slender
legs bend. They are not to be moved from the
spot; they find something to hook on to, set their
¡Issued by the barbers at cheaper rates, as few men in
Norway shave themselves.
25.
Hunger
heels against a comma or an unevenness in the
paper, or stand immovably still until they them¬
selves think fit to go their way.
These insects continued to busy me for a long
time, and I crossed my legs to observe them at
leisure. All at once a couple of high clarionet notes
waved up to me from the bandstand, and gave my
thoughts a new impulse.
Despondent at not being able to put my article
together, I replaced the paper in my pocket, and
leant back in the seat. At this instant my head is
so clear that I can follow the most delicate train of
thought without tiring. As I lie in this position,
and let my eyes glide down my breast and along my
legs, I notice the jerking movement my foot makes
each time my pulse beats. I half rise and look down
at my feet, and I experience at this moment a fantas¬
tic and singular feeling that I have never felt before
— a delicate, wonderful shock through my nerves,
as if sparks of cold light quivered through them —
it was as if catching sight of my shoes I had met
with a kind old acquaintance, or got back a part
of myself that had been riven loose. A feeling of
recognition trembles through my senses; the tears
well up in my eyes, and I have a feeling as if my
shoes are a soft, murmuring strain rising towards
me. Weakness! " I cried harshly to myself, and
I clenched my fists and I repeated "Weakness!"
I laughed at myself, for this ridiculous feeling, made
fun of myself, with a perfect consciousness of doing
26
Hunger
SO, talked very severely and sensibly, and closed my
eyes very tightly to get rid of the tears.
As if I had never seen my shoes before, I set
myself to study their looks, their characteristics,
and, when I stir my foot, their shape and their
worn uppers. I discover that their creases and
white seams give them expression — impart a
physiognomy to them. Something of my own
nature had gone over into these shoes; they affected
me, like a ghost of my other I — a breathing por¬
tion of my very self.
I sat and toyed with these fancies a long time,
perhaps an entire hour. A little, old man came
and took the other end of the seat; as he seated
himself he panted after his walk, and muttered :
"Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay; very
true ! "
As soon as I heard his voice, I felt as if a wind
had swept through my head. I let shoes be shoes,
and it seemed to me that the distracted phase of
mind I had just experienced dated from a long-
vanished period, maybe a year or two back, and
was about to be quietly effaced from my memory.
I began to observe the old fellow.
Did this little man concern me in any way? Not
in the least, not in the very slightest degree ! Only
that he held a newspaper in his hand, an old num¬
ber (with the advertisement sheet on the outside),
in which something or other seemed to be rolled up ;
my curiosity was aroused, and I could not take my
27
Hunger
eyes away from this paper. The insane idea en¬
tered my head that it might be a quite peculiar
newspaper — unique of its kind. My curiosity in¬
creased, and I began to move backwards and for¬
wards on the seat. It might contain deeds, dan¬
gerous documents stolen from some archive or
other; something floated before me about a secret
treaty—a conspiracy.
The man sat quietly, and pondered. Why did
he not carry his newspaper as every other person
carries a paper, with its name out? What species
of cunning lurked under that? He did not seem
either to like letting his package out of his hands,
not for anything in the world; perhaps he did not
even dare trust it into his own pocket. I could
stake my life there was something at the bottom of
that package — I considered a bit. Just the fact
of finding it so impossible to penetrate this myste¬
rious affair distracted me with curiosity. I searched
my pockets for something to offer the man in order
to enter into conversation with him, took hold of
my shaving-book, but put it back again. Suddenly
it entered my head to be utterly audacious; I
slapped my empty breast-pocket, and said:
" May I offer you a cigarette? "
" Thank you ! " The man did not smoke ; he had
to give it up to spare his eyes ; he was nearly blind.
Thank you very much all the same. Was it long
since his eyes got bad? In that case, perhaps, he
could not read either, not even a paper?
28
Hunger
No, not even the newspaper, more's the pity.
The man looked at me; his weak eyes were each
covered with a film which gave them a glassy ap¬
pearance; his gaze grew bleary, and made a dis¬
gusting impression on me.
"You are a stranger here?" he said.
" Yes." Could he not even read the name of the
paper he held in his hand?
" Barely." For that matter, he could hear di¬
rectly that I was a stranger. There was something
in my accent which told him. It did not need much ;
he could hear so well. / At night, when every one
slept, he could hear people in the next room breath¬
ing. . . .
" What I was going to say was, ' where do you
live?^"
On the spur of the moment a lie stood, ready-
made, in my head. I lied involuntarily, without
any object, without any arrière pensée, and I an¬
swered —
" St. Olav's Place, No. 2."
"Really?" He knew every stone in St. Olav's
Place. There was a fountain, some lamp-posts, a
few trees ; he remembered all of it. " What num¬
ber do you live in? "
Desirous to put an end to this, I got up. But
my notion about the newspaper had driven me to
my wit's end; I resolved to clear the thing up, at
no matter what cost.
"When you cannot read the paper, why—"
29
Hunger
" In No. 2, I think you said," continued the man,
without noticing my disturbance. " There was a
time I knew every person in No. 2 ; what is your
landlord's name?"
I quickly found a name to get rid of him; in¬
vented one on the spur of the moment, and blurted
it out to stop my tormentor.
" Happolati ! " said I.
" Happolati, ay! " nodded the man; and he never
missed a syllable of this difficult name.
I looked at him with amazement; there he sat,
gravely, with a considering air. Before I had well
given utterance to the stupid name which jumped
into my head the man had accommodated himself
to it, and pretended to have heard it before.
In the meantime, he had laid his package on the
seat, and I felt my curiosity quiver through my
nerves. I noticed there were a few grease spots
on the paper.
"Isn't he a sea-faring man, your landlord?"
queried he, and there was not a trace of suppressed
irony in his voice; "I seem to remember he
was."
"Sea-faring man? Excuse me, it must be the
brother you know ; this man is namely J. A. Happo¬
lati, the agent."
I thought this would finish him; but he willingly
fell in with everything I said. If I had found a
name like Barrabas Rosebud it would not have
roused his suspicions.
30
Hunger
"He is an able man, I have heard?" he said,
feeling his way.
" Oh, a clever fellow! " answered I; " a thorough
business head; agent for every possible thing going.
Cranberries from China; feathers and down from
Russia ; hides, pulp, writing-ink —"
"He, he! the devil he is?" interrupted the old
chap, highly excited.
This began to get interesting. The situation ran
away with me, and one lie after another engendered
in my head. I sat down again, forgot the news¬
paper, and the remarkable documents, grew lively,
and cut short the old fellow's talk.
The little goblin's unsuspecting simplicity made
me foolhardy; I would stuff him recklessly full of
lies; rout him out o' field grandly, and stop his
mouth from sheer amazement.
Had he heard of the electric psalm-book that
Happolati had invented?
"What? Elec—"
" With electric letters that could give light in the
dark! a perfectly extraordinary enterprise. A mil¬
lion crowns to be put in circulation; foundries and
printing-presses at work, and shoals of regular
mechanics to be employed; I had heard as many as
seven hundred men."
" Ay, isn't it just what I say? " drawled out the
man calmly.
He said no more, he believed every word I re¬
lated, and for all that, he was not taken aback.
31
Hunger
This disappointed me a little ; I had expected to see
him utterly bewildered by my inventions.
I searched my brain for a couple of desperate lies,
went the whole hog, hinted that Happolati had
been Minister of State for nine years in Persia.
" You perhaps have no conception of what it means
to be Minister of State in Persia?" I asked. It
was more than king here, or about the same as
Sultan, if he knew what that meant, but Happolati
had managed the whole thing, and was never at a
loss. And I related about his daughter Ylajali, a
fairy, a princess, who had three hundred slaves, and
who reclined on a couch of yellow roses. She was
the loveliest creature I had ever seen; I had, may
the Lord strike me, never seen her match for looks
in my life !
''So — o; was she so lovely? " remarked the old
fellow, with an absent air, as he gazed at the ground.
"Lovely? She was beauteous, she was sinfully
fascinating. Eyes like raw silk, arms of amber!
Just one glance from her was as seductive as a
kiss; and when she called me, her voice darted like
a wine-ray right into my soul's phosphor. And why
shouldn't she be so beautiful?" Did he imagine
she was a messenger or something in the fire
brigade? She was simply a Heaven's wonder, I
could just inform him, a fairy tale.
"Yes, to be sure!" said he, not a little bewil¬
dered. His quiet bored me; I was excited by the
sound of my own voice and spoke in utter serious-
32
Hunger
ness; the stolen archives, treaties with some foreign
power or other, no longer occupied my thoughts ; the
little flat bundle of paper lay on the seat between us,
and I had no longer the smallest desire to examine
it or see what it contained. I was entirely absorbed
in stories of my own which floated in singular visions
across my mental eye. The blood flew to my head,
and I roared with laughter..
At this moment the little man seemed about to
go. He stretched himself, and in order not to
break off too abruptly, added: " He is said to own
much property, this Happolati? "
How dared this bleary-eyed, disgusting old man
toss about the rare name I had invented as if it
were a common name stuck up over every huckster-
shop in the town? He never stumbled over a letter
or forgot a syllable. The name had bitten fast in
his brain and struck root on the instant. I got an¬
noyed; an inward exasperation surged up in me
against this creature whom nothing had the power
to disturb and nothing render suspicious.
I therefore replied shortly, I know nothing
about that! I know absolutely nothing whatever
about that! Let me inform you once for all that
his name is Johann Arendt Happolati, if you go
by his own initials."
Johannn Arendt Happolati ! " repeated the
man, a little astonished at my vehemence ; and with
that he grew silent.
"You should see his wife!" I said, beside my-
33
Hunger
self. "A fatter creature . . . Eh? what? Per¬
haps you don't even believe she is really fat? "
Well, indeed he did not see his way to deny that
such a man might perhaps have a rather stout wife.
The old fellow answered quite gently and meekly
to each of my assertions, and sought for words as
if he feared to offend and perhaps make me furious.
" Hell and fire, man ! Do you imagine that I am
sitting here stuffing you chock-full of lies? " I roared
furiously. " Perhaps you don't even believe that
a man of the name of Happolati exists I I never
saw your match for obstinacy and malice in any old
man. What the devil ails you? Perhaps, too, into
the bargain, you have been all this while thinking
to yourself I am a poverty-stricken fellow, sitting
here in my Sunday-best without even a case full of
cigarettes in my pocket. Let me tell you such
treatment as yours is a thing I am not accustomed
to, and I won't endure it, the Lord strike me dead
if I will — neither from you nor any one else, do
you know that? "
The man had risen with his mouth agape; he
stood tongue-tied and listened to my outbreak until
the end. Then he snatched his parcel from off the
seat and went, ay, nearly ran, down the patch, with
the short, tottering steps of an old man.
I leant back and looked at the retreating figure
that seemed to shrink at each step as it passed away.
I do not know from where the impression came, but
it appeared to me that I had never in my life seen
34
Hunger
a more vile back than this one, and I did not regret
that I had abused the creature before he left me.
The day began to decline, the sun sank, it com¬
menced to rustle lightly in the trees around, and the
nursemaids who sat in groups near the parallel bars
made ready to wheel their perambulators home.
I was calmed and in good spirit. The excite¬
ment I had just laboured under quieted down
little by little, and I grew weaker, more lan¬
guid, and began to feel drowsy. Neither did the
quantity of bread I had eaten cause me any longer
any particular distress. I leant against the back
of the seat in the best of humours, closed my eyes,
and got more and more sleepy. I dozed, and was
just on the point of falling asleep, when a park-
keeper put his hand on my shoulder and said:
" You must not sit here and go to sleep ! "
"No?" I said, and sprang immediately up, my
unfortunate position rising all at once vividly before
my eyes. I must do something; find some way or
another out of it. To look for situations had been
of no avail to me. Even the recommendations I
showed had grown a little old, and were written by
people all too little known to be of much use ; besides
that, constant refusals all through the summer had
somewhat disheartened me. At all events, my rent
was due, and I must raise the wind for that; the
rest would have to wait a little.
Quite involuntarily I had got paper and pencil
into my hand again, and I sat and wrote mechani-
35
Hunger
cally the date, 1848, in each corner. If only now
one single effervescing thought would grip me pow¬
erfully, and put words into my mouth. Why, I had
known hours when I could write a long piece, with¬
out the least exertion, and turn it off capitally,
too.
I am sitting on the seat, and I write, scores of
times, 1848. I write this date criss-cross, in all
possible fashions, and wait until a workable idea
shall occur to me. A swarm of loose thoughts
flutter about in my head. The feeling of declining
day makes me downcast, sentimental; autumn is
here, and has already begun to hush everything into
sleep and torpor. The flies and insects have re¬
ceived their first warning. Up in the trees and
down in the fields the sounds of struggling life can
be heard rustling, murmuring, restless; labouring
not to perish. The down-trodden existence of the
whole insect world is astir for yet a little while.
They poke their yellow heads up from the turf, lift
their legs, feel their way with long feelers and then
collapse suddenly, roll over, and turn their bellies in
the air.
Every growing thing has received its peculiar im¬
press: the delicately blown breath of the first cold.
The stubbles straggle wanly sunwards, and the fall¬
ing leaves rustle to the earth, with a sound as of
errant silkworms.
It is the reign of Autumn, the height of the Car¬
nival of Decay, the roses have got inflammation in
36
Hunger
their blushes, an uncanny hectic tinge, through their
soft damask.
I felt myself like a creeping thing on the verge
of destruction, gripped by ruin in the midst of a
whole world ready for lethargic sleep. I rose, op¬
pressed by weird terrors, and took some furious
strides down the path. " No I " I cried out, clutch¬
ing both my hands; " there must be an end to this,"
and I reseated myself, grasped the pencil, and set
seriously to work at an article.
There was no possible use in giving way, with the
unpaid rent staring me straight in the face.
Slowly, quite slowly, my thoughts collected. I
paid attention to them, and wrote quietly and well;
wrote a couple of pages as an introduction. It
would serve as a beginning to anything. A descrip¬
tion of travel, a political leader, just as I thought
fit — it was a perfectly splendid commencement for
something or anything. So I took to seeking for
some particular subject to handle, a person or a
thing, that I might grapple with, and I could find
nothing. Along with this fruitless exertion, disor¬
der began to hold its sway again in my thoughts.
I felt how my brain positively snapped and my head
emptied, until it sat at last, light, buoyant, and void
on my shoulders. I was conscious of the gaping
vacuum in my skull with every fibre of my being.
I seemed to myself to be hollowed out from top
and toe.
In my pain I cried: ''Lord, my God and
37
Hunger
Father I " and repeated this cry many times at a
stretch, without adding one word more.
The wind soughed through the trees ; a storm was
brewing. I sat a while longer, and gazed at my
paper, lost in thought, then folded it up and put it
slowly into my pocket. It got chilly; and I no
longer owned a waistcoat. I buttoned my coat
right up to my throat and thrust my hands in my
pockets ; thereupon I rose and went on.
If I had only succeeded this time, just this once!
Twice my landlady had asked me with her eyes for
payment, and I was obliged to hang my head and
slink past her with a shamefaced air. I could not
do it again: the very next time I met those eyes I
would give warning and account for myself hon¬
estly. Well, any way, things could not last long
at this rate.
On coming to the exit of the park I saw the old
chap I had put to flight. The mysterious news¬
paper parcel lay openeH on the seat next him,
filled with different sorts of victuals, of which he
ate as he sat. I immediately wanted to go over and
ask pardon for my conduct, but the sight of food
repelled me. The decrepit fingers looked like ten
claws as they clutched loathsomely at the greasy
bread and butter; I felt qualmish, and passed by
without addressing him. He did not recognize me ;
his eyes stared at me, dry as horn, and his face did
not move a muscle.
And so I went on my way.
38
Hunger
As customary, I halted before every newspaper
placard I came to, to read the announcements of
situations vacant, and was lucky enough to find one
that I might try for.
A grocer in Groenlandsleret wanted a man every
week for a couple of hours' book-keeping; remun¬
eration according to agreement. I noted my man's
address, and prayed to God in silence for this place.
I would demand less than any one else for my
work; sixpence was ample, or perhaps fivepence.
That would not matter in the least.
On going home, a slip of paper from my land¬
lady lay on my table, in which she begged me to
pay my rent in advance, or else move as soon as I
could. I must not be offended, it was absolutely
a necessary request. Friendlily Mrs. Gundersen.
I wrote an application to Christy the grocer. No.
13 Groenlandsleret, put it in an envelope, and took
it to the pillar at the corner. Then I returned to
my room and sat down in the rocking-chair to think,
whilst the darkness grew closer and closer. Sitting
up late began to be difficult now.
I woke very early in the morning. It was still
quite dark as I opened my eyes, and it was not till
long after that I heard five strokes of the clock down¬
stairs. I turned round to doze again, but sleep had
flown. I grew more and more wakeful, and lay and
thought of a thousand things.
Suddenly a few good sentences fitted for a sketch
or story strike me, delicate linguistic hits of which
39
Hunger
I have never before found the equal. I lie and re¬
peat these words over to myself, and find that they
are capital. Little by little others come and fit
themselves to the preceding ones. I grow keenly
wakeful. I get up and snatch paper and pencil
from the table behind my bed. It was as if a vein
had burst in me; one word follows another, and they
fit themselves together harmoniously with telling
effect. Scene piles on scene, actions and speeches
bubble up in my brain, and a wonderful sense of
pleasure empowers me. I write as one possessed,
and fill page after page, without a moment's pause.
Thoughts come so swiftly to me and continue to
flow so richly that I miss a number of telling bits,
that I cannot set down quickly enough, although I
work with all my might. They continue to invade
me; I am full of my subject, and every word I write
is inspired.
This strange period lasts — lasts such a blessedly
long time before it comes to an end. I have fifteen
— twenty written pages lying on my knees before
me, when at last I cease and lay my pencil aside.
So sure as there is any worth in these pages, so sure
am I saved. I jump out of bed and dress myself.
It grows lighter. I can half distingurn the light¬
house director's announcement down near the door,
and near the window it is already so light that I
could, in case of necessity, see to write. I set to
work immediately to make a fair copy of what I
have written.
40
Hunger
An intense, peculiar exhalation of light and
colour emanates from these fantasies of mine. I
start with surprise as I note one good thing after
another, and tell myself that this is the best thing
I have ever read. My head swims with a sense of
satisfaction; delight inflates me; I grow grandiose.
I weigh my writing in my hand, and value it, at
a loose guess, for five shillings on the spot.
It could never enter any one's head to chaffer
about five shillings; on the contrary, getting it for
half-a-sovereign might be considered dirt-cheap, con¬
sidering the quality of the thing.
I had no intention of turning off such special work
gratis. As far as I was aware, one did not pick up
stories of that kind on the wayside, and I decided
on half-a-sovereign.
The room brightened and brightened. I threw
a glance towards the door, and could distinguish
without particular trouble the skeleton-like letters
of Miss Andersen's winding-sheet advertisement to
the right of it. It was also a good while since the
clock has struck seven.
I rose and came to a standstill in the middle of
the floor. Everything well considered, Mrs. Gun-
dersen's warning came rather opportunely. This
was, properly speaking, no fit room for me; there
were only common enough green curtains at the
windows, and neither were there any pegs too many
on the wall. The poor little rocking-chair over in
the corner was in reality a mere attempt at a rock-
41
Hunger
ing-chair; with the smallest sense of humour, one
might easily split one's sides with laughter at it.
It was far too low for a grown man, and besides
that, one needed, so to speak, the aid of a boot-jack
to get out of it. To cut it short, the room was
not adopted for the pursuit of things intellectual,
and I did not intend to keep it any longer. On no
account would I keep it. I had held my peace, and
endured and lived far too long in such a den.
Buoyed up by hope and satisfaction, constantly
occupied with my remarkable sketch, which I drew
forth every moment from my pocket and re-read,
I determined to set seriously to work with my flit¬
ting. I took out my bundle, a red handkerchief that
contained a few clean collars and some crumpled
newspapers, in which I had occasionally carried
home bread. I rolled my blanket up and pocketed
my reserve white writing-paper. Then I ransacked
every corner to assure myself that I had left noth¬
ing behind, and as I could not find anything, went
over to the window and looked out.
The morning was gloomy and wet; there was no
one about at the burnt-out smithy, and the clothes¬
line down in the yard stretched tightly from wall
to wall shrunken by the wet. It was all familiar to
me, so I stepped back from the window, took the
blanket under my arm, and made a low bow to the
lighthouse director's announcement, bowed again to
Miss Andersen's winding-sheet advertisement, and
opened the door. Suddenly the thought of my land-
42
Hunger
lady struck me; she really ought to be informed of
my leaving, so that she could see she had had an
honest soul to deal with.
I wanted also to thank her in writing for the few
days' overtime in which I occupied the room. The
certainty that I was now saved for some time to
come increased so strongly in me that I even prom¬
ised her five shillings. I would call in some day
when passing by.
Besides that, I wanted to prove to her what an
upright sort of person her roof had sheltered.
I left the note behind me on the table.
Once again I stopped at the door and turned
round; the buoyant feeling of having risen once
again to the surface charmed me, and made me feel
grateful towards God and all creation, and I knelt
down at the bedside and thanked God aloud for
His great goodness to me that morning.
I knew it; ah! I knew that the rapture of inspira¬
tion I had just felt and noted down was a miracu¬
lous heaven-brew in my spirit in answer to my yes¬
terday's cry for aid.
"It was God! It was God! " I cried to myself,
and I wept for enthusiasm over my own words;
now and then I had to stop and listen if any one
was on the stairs. At last I rose up and prepared
to go. I stole noiselessly down each flight and
reached the door unseen.
The streets were glistening from the rain which
had fallen in the early morning. The sky hung
43
Hunger
damp and heavy over the town, and there was no
glint of sunlight visible. I wondered what the day
would bring forth? I went as usual in the direction
of the Town Hall, and saw that it was half-past
eight. I had yet a few hours to walk about; there
was no use in going to the newspaper oiEce before
ten, perhaps eleven. I must lounge about so long,
and think, in the meantime, over some expedient to
raise breakfast. For that matter, I had no fear of
going to bed hungry that day; those times were over,
God be praised ! That was a thing of the past, an
evil dream. Henceforth, Excelsior!
But, in the meanwhile, the green blanket was a
trouble to me. Neither could I well make myself
conspicuous by carrying such a thing about right
under people's eyes. What would any one think
of me? And as I went on I tried to think of a
place where I could have it kept till later on. It
occurred to me that I might go into Semb's and get
it wrapped up in paper; not only would it look bet¬
ter, but I need no longer be ashamed of carrying it.
I entered the shop, and stated my errand to one
of the shop boys.
He looked first at the blanket, then at me. It
struck me that he shrugged his shoulders to himself
a little contemptuously as he took it; this annoyed
me.
"Young man," I cried, "do be a little careful!
There are two costly glass vases in that; the parcel
has to go to Smyrna."
44
Hunger
This had a famous effect. The fellow apologized
with every movement he made for not having
guessed that there was something out of the common
in this blanket. When he had finished packing it
up I thanked him with the air of a man who had
sent precious goods to Smyrna before now. He
held the door open for me, and bowed twice as I
left.
I began to wander about amongst the people in
the market place, kept from choice near the woman
who had potted plants for sale. The heavy crim¬
son roses — the leaves of which glowed blood-like
and moist in the damp morning — made me en¬
vious, and tempted me sinfully to snatch one, and I
inquired the price of them merely as an excuse to
approach as near to them as possible.
If I had any money over I would buy one, no
matter how things went; indeed, I might well save
a little now and then out of my way of living to
balance things again.
It was ten o'clock, and I went up to the news¬
paper office. " Scissors " is running through a lot
of old papers. The editor has not come yet. On
being asked my business, I delivered my weighty
manuscript, lead him to suppose that it is something
of more than uncommon importance, and impress
upon his memory gravely that he is to give it into
the editor's own hands as soon as he arrives.
I would myself call later on in the day for an
answer.
45
Hunger
All right," replied " Scissors," and busied him¬
self again with his papers.
It seemed to me that he treated the matter
somewhat too coolly; but I said nothing, only
nodded rather carelessly to him, and left.
I had now time on hand! If it would only clear
up I It was perfectly wretched weather, without
either wind or freshness. Ladies carried their um¬
brellas, to be on the safe side, and the woollen caps
of the men looked limp and depressing.
I took another turn across the market and looked
at the vegetables and roses. I feel a hand on my
shoulder and turn round —Missy " bids me good-
morning! "Good-morning!" I say in return, a
little questioningly. I never cared particularly for
" Missy."
He looks inquisitively at the large bran-new par¬
cel under my arm, and asks:
" What have you got there? "
" Oh, I have been down to Semb and got some
cloth for a suit," I reply, in a careless tone. " I
didn't think I could rub on any longer; there's such
a thing as treating oneself too shabbily."
He looks at me with an amazed start.
" By the way, how are you getting on ? " He asks
it slowly.
" Oh, beyond all expectation! "
"Then you have got something to do now?"
" Something to do ? " I answer and seem sur-
46
Hunger
prised. Rather ! Why, I am book-keeper at
Christensen's — a wholesale house."
Oh, indeed ! " he remarks and draws back a
little.
" Well, God knows I am the first to be pleased
at your success. If only you don't let people beg
the money from you that you earn. Good-day!"
A second after he wheels round and comes back
and, pointing with his cane, to my parcel, says :
" I would recommend my tailor to you for the
suit of clothes. You won't find a better tailor than
Isaksen — just say I sent you, that's all ! "
This was really rather more than I could swal¬
low. What did he want to poke his nose in my
affairs for? Was it any concern of his which tailor
I employed? The sight of this empty-headed dan¬
dified " masher " embittered me, and I reminded
him rather brutally of ten shilling he had borrowed
from me. But before he could reply I regretted
that I had asked for it. I got ashamed and avoided
meeting his eyes, and, as a lady came by just then,
I stepped iiastily aside to let her pass, and seized
the opportunity to proceed on my way.
What should I do with myself whilst I waited?
I could not visit a café with empty pockets, and I
knew of no acquaintance that I could call on at this
time of day. I wended my way instinctively up
town, killed a good deal of time between the market¬
place and the Graendsen, read the Jftenpostf which
47
Hunger
was newly posted up on the board outside the office,
took a turn down Carl Johann, wheeled round and
went straight on to Our Saviour's Cemetery,
where I found a quiet seat on the slope near the
Mortuary Chapel.
I sat there in complete quietness, dozed in the
damp air, mused, half-slept and shivered.
And time passed. Now, was it certain that the
story really was a little masterpiece of inspired art?
God knows if it might not have its faults here and
there. All things well weighed, it was not certain
that it would be accepted; no, simply not even ac¬
cepted. It was perhaps mediocre enough in its way,
perhaps downright worthless. What security had
I that it was not already at this moment lying in
the waste-paper basket? . . . My confidence was
shaken. I sprang up and stormed out of the grave¬
yard.
Down in Akersgaden I peeped into a shop win¬
dow, and saw that it was only a little past noon.
There was no use in looking up the editor before
four. The fate of my story filled me with gloomy
forebodings; the more I thought about it the more
absurd it seemed to me that I could have written
anything useable with such suddenness, half-asleep,
with my brain full of fever and dreams. Of course
I had deceived myself and been happy all through
the long morning for nothing! ... Of course!
. . . I rushed with hurried strides up Ullavold-
sveien, past St. Han's Hill, until I came to the open
48
Hunger
fields; on through the narrow quaint lanes in
Sagene, past waste plots and small tilled fields, and
found myself at last on a country road, the end of
which I could not see.
Here I halted and decided to turn.
I was warm from the walk, and returned slowly
and very downcast. I met two hay-carts. The
drivers were lying flat upon the top of their loads,
and sang. Both were bare-headed, and both had
round, care-free faces. I passed them and thought
to myself that they were sure to accost me, sure
to fling some taunt or other at me, play me some
trick; and as I got near enough, one of them called
out and asked what I had under my arm?
" A blanket ! "
" What o'clock is it? " he asked then.
" I ^on't know rightly; about three, I think! "
Whereupon they both laughed and drove on. I
felt at the same moment the lash of a whip curl
round one of my ears, and my hat was jerked off.
They couldn't let me pass without playing me a trick.
I raised my hand to my head more or less con¬
fusedly, picked my hat out of the ditch, and con¬
tinued on my way. Down at St. Han's Hill I met
a man who told me it was past four. Past four!
already past four! I mended my pace, nearly ran
down to the town, turned off towards the news
office. Perhaps the editor had been there hours
ago, and had left the office by now. I ran, jostled
against folk, stumbled, knocked against cars, left
49
Hunger
everybody behind me, competed with the very horses,
struggled like a madman to arrive there in time.
I wrenched through the door, took the stairs in four
bounds, and knocked.
No answer.
" He has left, he has left," I think. I try the
door which is open, knock once again, and enter.
The editor is sitting at his table, his face towards
the window, pen in hand, about to write. When he
hears my breathless greeting he turns half round,
steals a quick look at me, shakes his head, and says:
" Oh, I haven't found time to read your sketch
yet."
I am so delighted, because in that case he has
not rejected it, that I answer:
" Oh, pray, sir, don't mention it. I quite under¬
stand— there is no hurry; in a few days, per¬
haps —"
" Yes, I shall see; besides, I have your address."
I forgot to inform him that I no longer had an
address, and the interview is over. I bow myself
out, and leave. Hope flames up again in me; as
yet, nothing is lost — on the contrary, I might, for
that matter, yet win all. And my brain began to
spin a romance about a great council in Heaven, in
which it had just been resolved that I should win —
ay, triumphantly win ten shillings for a story.
If I only had some place in which to take refuge
for the night ! I consider where I can stow my¬
self away, and am so absorbed in this qu^ry that I
BO
Hunger
come to a standstill in the middle of the street. I
forget where I am, and pose like a solitary beacon
on a rock in mid-sea, whilst the tides rush and roar
about it.
A newspaper boy offers me The Viking.
" It's real good value, sir ! "
I look up and start; I am outside Semb's shop
again. I quickly turn to the right-about, holding
the parcel in front of me, and hurry down Kirke-
gaden, ashamed and afraid that any one might have
seen me from the window. I pass by Ingebret's and
the theatre, turn round by the box-office, and go to¬
wards the sea, near the fortress. I find a seat once
more, and begin to consider afresh.
Where in the world shall I find a shelter for the
night ?
Was there a hole to be found where I could creep
in and hide myself till morning? My pride forbade
my returning to my lodging — besides, it could
never really occur to me to go back on my word; I
rejected this thought with great scorn, and I smiled
superciliously as I thought of the little red rocking-
chair. By some association of ideas, I find myself
suddenly transported to a large, double room I once
occupied in Haegdehaugen. I could see a tray on
the table, filled with great slices of bread-and-butter.
The vision changed; it was transformed into beef
— a seductive piece of beef — a snow-white napkin,
bread in plenty, a silver fork. The door opened;
enter my landlady, offering me more tea. . . .
51
Hunger
Visions; senseless dreams! I tell myself that
were I to get food now my head would become dizzy
once more, fever would fill my brain, and I would
have to fight again against many mad fancies. I
could not stomach food, my inclination did not lie
that way; that was peculiar to me — an idiosyncrasy
of mine.
Maybe as night drew on a way could be found to
procure shelter. There was no hurry; at the worst,
I could seek a place out in the woods. I had the
entire environs of the city at my disposal; as yet,
there was no degree of cold worth speaking of in
the weather.
And outside there the sea rocked in drowsy rest;
ships and clumsy, broad-nosed prams ploughed
graves in its bluish surface, and scattered rays to the
right and left, and glided on, whilst the smoke rolled
up in downy masses from the chimney-stacks, and the
stroke of the engine pistons pierced the clammy air
with a dull sound. There was no sun and no wind;
the trees behind me were almost wet, and the seat
upon which I sat was cold and damp.
Time went. I settled down to doze, waxed tired,
and a little shiver ran down my back. A while after
I felt that my eyelids began to droop, and I let them
droop. . . .
When I awoke it was dark all around me. I
started up, bewildered and freezing. I seized my
parcel and commenced to walk. I went faster and
faster in order to get warm, slapped my arms,
52
Hunger
chafed my legs — which by now I could hardly feel
under me — and thus reached the watch-house of
the fire brigade. It was nine o'clock; I had been
asleep for several hours.
Whatever shall I do with myself? I must go to
some place. I stand there and stare up at the
watch-house, and query if it would not be possible
to succeed in getting into one of the passages if I
were to watch for a moment when the watchman's
back was turned. I ascend the steps, and prepare
to open a conversation with the man. He lifts his
ax in salute, and waits for what I may have to say.
The uplifted ax, with its edge turned against me,
darts like a cold slash through my nerves. I stand
dumb with terror before this armed man, and draw
involuntarily back. I say nothing, only glide
farther and farther away from him. To save ap¬
pearances I draw my hand over my forehead, as if
I had forgotten something or other, and slink away.
When I reached the pavement I felt as much saved
as if I had just escaped a great peril, and I hurried
away.
Cold and famished, more and more miserable in
spirit, I flew up Carl Johann. I began to swear out
aloud, troubling myself not a whit as to whether any
one heard me or not. Arrived at Parliament
House, just near the first trees, I suddenly, by some
association of ideas, bethought myself of a young
artist I knew, a stripling I had once saved from an
assault in the Tivoli, and upon whom I had called
53
Hunger
later on. I snap my fingers gleefully, and wend
my way to Tordenskjiolds Street, find the door, on
which is fastened a card with C. Zacharias Bartel on
it, and knock.
He came out himself, and smelt so fearfully of
ale and tobacco that it was horrible.
" Good-evening! " I say.
"Good-evening! is that you? Now, why the
deuce do you come so late? It doesn't look at all
its best by lamplight. I have added a hayrick to
it since, and have made a few other alterations.
You must see it by daylight; there is no use our
trying to see it now! "
" Let me have a look at it now, all the same,"
said I; though, for that matter, I did not in the
least remember what picture he was talking about.
"Absolutely impossible," he replied; "the whole
thing will look yellow; and, besides, there's another
thing"—and he came towards me, whispering:
" I have a little girl inside this evening, so it's clearly
impracticable."
" Oh, in that case, of course there's no question
about it."
I drew back, said good-night, and went away.
So there was no way out of it but to seek some
place out in the woods. If only the fields were not
so damp. I patted my blanket, and felt more and
more at home at the thought of sleeping out. I had
worried myself so long trying to find a shelter in
town that I was wearied and bored with the whole
54
Hunger
affair. It would be a positive pleasure to get to rest,
to resign myself; so I loaf down the street without
a thought in my head. At a place in Haegdehaugen
I halted outside a provision shop where some food
was displayed in the window. A cat lay there and
slept beside a round French roll. There was a
basin of lard and several basins of meal in the
background. I stood a while and gazed at these
eatables; but as I had no money wherewith to buy,
I turned quickly away and continued my tramp.
I went very slowly, passed by Majorstuen, went on,
always on — it seemed to me for hours,— and came
at length at Bogstad's wood.
I turned off the road here, and sat down to rest.
Then I began to look about for a place to suit me,
to gather together heather and juniper leaves, and
make up a bed on a little declivity where it was a
bit dry. I opened the parcel and took out the
blanket; I was tired and exhausted with the long
walk, and lay down at once. I turned and twisted
many times before I could get settled. My ear
pained me a little — it was slightly swollen from
the whip-lash — and I could not lie on it. I pulled
off my shoes and put them under my head, with the
paper from Semb on top.
And the great spirit of darkness spread a shroud
over me . . . everything was silent — everything.
But up in the heights soughed the everlasting song,
the voice of the air, the distant, toneless humming
which is never silent. I listened so long to this
55
Hunger
ceaseless faint murmur that it began to bewilder
me; it was surely a symphony from the rolling
spheres above. Stars that intone a song. . . .
" I am damned if it is, though," I exclaimed;
and I laughed aloud to collect my wits. " They're
night-owls hooting in Canaan I"
I rose again, pulled on my shoes, and wandered
about in the gloom, only to lay down once more.
I fought and wrestled with anger and fear until
nearly dawn, then fell asleep at last.
• • • • • • •
It was broad daylight when I opened my eyes,
and I had a feeling that it was going on towards
noon.
I pulled on my shoes, packed up the blanket again,
and set out for town. There was no sun to be seen
today either; I shivered like a dog, my feet were
benumbed, and water commenced to run from my
eyes, as if they could not bear the daylight.
It was three o'clock. Hunger began to assail me
downright in earnest. I was faint, and now and
again I had to retch furtively. I swung round by
the Dampkökken,^ read the bill of fare, and
shrugged my shoulders in a way to attract atten¬
tion, as if corned beef or salt port was not meet food
for me. After that I went towards the railway
station.
A singular sense of confusion suddenly darted
^ Steam cooking-kitchen and famous cheap eating-house.
S6
Hunger
through my head. I stumbled on, determined not
to heed it; but I grew worse and worse, and was
forced at last to sit down on a step. My whole
being underwent a change, as if something had slid
aside in my inner self, or as if a curtain or tissue of
my brain was rent in two.
I was not unconscious; I felt that my ear was
gathering a little, and, as an acquaintance passed by,
I recognized him at once and got up and bowed.
What sore of fresh, painful perception was this
that was being added to the rest? Was it a con¬
sequence of sleeping in the sodden fields, or did it
arise from my not having had any breakfast yet?
Looking the whole thing squarely in the face, there
was no meaning in living on in this manner, by
Christ's holy pains, there wasn't. I failed to see
either how I had made myself deserving of this
special persecution ; and it suddenly entered my head
that I might just as well turn rogue at once and go
to my " Uncle's " with the blanket. I could pawn
it for a shilling, and get three full meals, and so keep
myself going until I thought of something else.
'Tis true I would have to swindle Hans Pauli.
I was already on my way to the pawn-shop, but
stopped outside the door, shook my head irreso¬
lutely, then turned back. The farther away I got
the more gladsome, ay, delighted I became, that I
had conquered this strong temptation. The con¬
sciousness that I was yet pure and honourable rose
to my head, filled me with a splendid sense of hav-
57
Hunger
îng principle, character, of being a shining white
beacon in a muddy, human sea amidst floating
wreck.
Pawn another man^s property for the sake of a
meal, eat and drink one's self to perdition, brand
one's soul with the first little sear, set the first black
mark against one's honour, call one's self a black¬
guard to one's own face, and needs must cast one's
eyes down before one's self? Never! never! It
could never have been my serious intention — it had
really never seriously taken hold of me; in fact, I
could not be answerable for every loose, fleeting,
desultory thought, particularly with such a headache
as I had, and nearly killed carrying a blanket, too,
that belonged to another fellow.
There would surely be some way or another of
getting help when the right time came ! Now, there
was the grocer in Groenlandsleret. Had I im¬
portuned him every hour in the day since I sent in
my application? Had I rung the bell early and
late, and been turned away? Why, I had not even
applied personally to him or sought an answer! It
did not follow, surely, that it must needs be an ab¬
solutely vain attempt.
Maybe I had luck with me this time. Luck often
took such a devious course, and I started for Groen¬
landsleret.
The last spasm that had darted through my head
had exhausted me a little, and I walked very slowly
and thought over what I would say to him.
S8
Hunger
Perhaps he was a good soul; if the whim seized
him he might pay me for my work a shilling in
advance, even without my asking for it. People of
that sort had sometimes the most capital ideas.
I stole into a doorway and blackened the knees of
my trousers with spittle to try and make them look
a little respectable, left the parcel behind me in a
dark corner at the back of a chest, and entered the
little shop.
A man is standing pasting together bags made of
old newspaper.
" I would like to see Mr. Christie," I said.
" That's me ! " replied the man.
''Indeed!" Well, my name was so-and-so. I
had taken the liberty of sending him an application.
I did not know if it had been of any use.
He repeated my name a couple of times and
commenced to laugh.
" Well now, you shall see," he said, taking my
letter out of his breast-pocket, " if you will just be
good enough to see how you deal with dates, sir.
You dated your letter 1848," and the man roared
with laughter.
"Yes, that was rather a mistake," I said, abashed
— a distraction, a want of thought ; I admitted it.
"You see I must have a man who, as a matter
of fact, makes no mistakes in figures," said he. " I
regret it, your handwriting is clear, and I like your
letter, too, but—
I waited a while; this could not possibly be the
59
Hunger
man's final say. He busied himself again with the
bags.
"Yes, it was a pity," I said; "really an awful
pity, but of course it would not occur again; and,
after all, surely this little error could not have ren¬
dered me quite unfit to keep books? "
" No, I didn't say that," he answered, " but in
the meantime'it had so much weight with me that I
decided at once upon another man."
" So the place is filled? "
"Yes."
"A — h, well, then there's nothing more to be
said about it ! "
"No! I'm sorry, but—"
" Good-evening I " said I.
Fury welled up in me, blazing with brutal
strength. I fetched my parcel from the entry, set
my teeth together, jostled against the peaceful folk
on the footpath, and never once asked their pardon.
As one man stopped and set me to rights rather
sharply for my behaviour, I turned round and
screamed a single meaningless word in his ear,
clenched my fist right under his nose, and stumbled
on, hardened by a blind rage that I could not control.
He called a policeman, and I desired nothing bet¬
ter than to have one between my hands just for one
moment. I slackened my pace intentionally in order
to give him an opportunity of overtaking me; but
he did not come. Was there now any reason what¬
ever that absolutely every one of one's most earnest
60
Hunger
and most persevering efforts should fail? Why,
too, had I written 1848? In what way did that
infernal date concern me? Here I was going about
starving, so that my entrails wriggle together in
me like worms, and it was, as far as I knew, not
decreed in the book of fate that anything in the
shape of food would turn up later on in the day.
I was becoming mentally and physically more and
more prostrate; I was letting myself down each
day to less and less honest actions, so that I lied on
each day without blushing, cheated poor people out
of their rent, struggled with the meanest thoughts of
making away with other men's blankets — all with¬
out remorse or prick of conscience.
Foul places began to gather in my inner being,
black spores which spread more and more. And
up in Heaven God Almighty sat and kept a watch¬
ful eye on me, and took heed that my destruction
proceeded in accordance with all the rules of art,
uniformly and gradually, without a break in the
measure.
But in the abysses of hell the angriest devils
bristled with range because it lasted such a long
time until I committed a mortal sin, an unpardon¬
able offence for which God in His justice must cast
me — down. ...
I quickened my pace, hurried faster and faster,
turned suddenly to the left and found myself, ex¬
cited and angry, in a light ornate doorway. I did
not pause, not for one second, but the whole peculiar
61
Hunger
ornamentation of the entrance struck on my percep¬
tion in a flash; every detail of the decoration and
the tiling of the floor stood clear on my mental
vision as I sprang up the stairs. I rang violently
on the second floor. Why should I stop exactly
on the second floor? And why just seize hold of
this bell which was some little way from the stairs?
A young lady in a grey gown with black trim¬
ming came out and opened the door. She looked
for a moment in astonishment at me, then shook
her head and said :
" No, we have not got anything today," and she
made a feint to close the door.
What induced me to thrust myself in this crea-»
ture's way? She took me without further ado for a
beggar.
I got cool and collected at once. I raised my hat,
made a respectful bow, and, as if I had not caught
her words, said, with the utmost politeness:
" I hope you will excuse me, madam, for ringing
so hard, the bell was new to me. Is it not here
that an invalid gentleman lives who has advertised
for a man to wheel him about in a chair? "
She stood awhile and digested this mendacious
invention and seemed to be irresolute in her sum¬
ming up of my person.
No! " she said at length; " no, there is no in¬
valid gentleman living here."
"Not really? An elderly gentleman — two
hours a day — sixpence an hour? "
62
Hunger
" No I "
" Ah ! in that case, I again ask pardon," said I.
It is perhaps on the first floor. I only wanted, in
any case, to recommend a man I know, in whom I
am interested; my name is Wedel-Jarlsberg," ^ and
I bowed again and drew back. The young lady
blushed crimson, and in her embarrassment could
not stir from the spot, but stood and stared after
me as I descended the stairs.
My calm had returned to me, and my head was
clear. The lady's saying that she had nothing for
me today had acted upon me like an icy shower. So
it had gone so far with me that any one might point
at me, and say to himself, " There goes a beggar
— one of those people who get their food handed
out to them at folk's back-doors ! "
I halted outside an eating-house in Möller Street,
and sniffed the fresh smell of meat roasting inside;
my hand was already upon the door-handle, and I
was on the point of entering without any fixed pur¬
pose, when I bethought myself in time, and left the
spot. On reaching the market, and seeking for a
place to rest for a little, I found all the benches oc¬
cupied, and I sought in vain all round outside the
church for a quiet seat, where I could sit down.
Naturally. I told myself, gloomily — naturally,
naturally; and I commenced to walk again. I took
a turn round the fountain at the corner of the bazaar,
and swallowed a mouthful of water. On -again,
^The last family bearing title of nobility in Norway.
Ö3
Hunger
dragging one foot after the other; stopped for a
long time before each shop window; halted, and
watched every vehicle that drove by. I felt a
scorching heat in my head, and something pulsated
strangely in my temples. The water I had drunk
disagreed with me fearfully, and I retched, stopping
here and there to escape being noticed in the open
street. In this manner I came up to Our Saviour's
Cemetery.
I sat down here, with my elbows on my knees and
my head in my hands. In this cramped position I
was more at ease, and I no longer felt the little
gnawing in my chest.
A stone-cutter lay on his stomach on a large slab
of granite, at the side of me, and cut inscriptions.
He had blue spectacles on, and reminded me of an
acquaintance of mine, whom I had almost forgotten.
If I could only knock all shame on the head and
apply to him. Tell him the truth right out, that
things were getting awfully tight with me now; ay,
that I found it hard enough to keep alive. I could
give him my shaving-tickets.
Zounds! my shaving-tickets; tickets for nearly a
shilling. I search nervously for this precious treas¬
ure. As I do not find them quickly enough, I spring
to my feet and search, in a sweat of fear. I dis¬
cover them at last in the bottom of my breast-pocket,
together with other papers — some clean, som?
written on — of no value.
I count these six tickets over many times, back'
64
Hunger
wards and forwards ; I had not much use for them ;
it might pass for a whim — a notion of mine— that
I no longer cared to get shaved.
I was saved to the extent of sixpence — a white
sixpence of Kongsberg silver. The bank closed at
six; I could watch for my man outside the Opland
Café between seven and eight.
I sat, and was for a long time pleased with this
thought. Time went. The wind blew lustily
through the chestnut trees around me, and the day
declined.
After all, was it not rather petty to come slinking
up with six shaving-tickets to a young gentleman
holding a good position in a bank? Perhaps, he
had already a book, maybe two, quite full of spick
and span tickets, a contrast to the crumpled ones
I held.
Who could tell? I felt in all my pockets for
anything else I could let go with them, but found
nothing. If I could only offer him my tie? I could
well do without it if I buttoned my coat tightly up,
which, by the way, I was already obliged to do, as
I had no waistcoat. I untied it — it was a large
overlapping bow which hid half my chest,— brushed
it carefully, and folded it up in a piece of clean
white writing-paper, together with the tickets.
Then I left the churchyard and took the road lead¬
ing to the Opland.
It was seven by the Town Hall clock. I walked
up and down hard by the café, kept close to the iron
65
Hunger
railings, and kept a sharp watch on all who went in
and came out of the door. At last, about eight
o'clock, I saw the young fellow, fresh, elegantly
dressed, coming up the hill and across to the café
door. My heart fluttered like a little bird in my
breast as I caught sight of him, and I blurted out,
without even a greeting:
Sixpence, old friend! " I said, putting on cheek;
here is the worth of it," and I thrust the little
packet into his hand.
" Haven't got it," he exclaimed. " God knows
if I have I " and he turned his purse inside out right
before my eyes. " I was out last night and got
totally cleared out ! You must believe me, I literally
haven't got it."
" No, no, my dear fellow; I suppose it is so," I
answered, and I took his word for it. There was,
indeed, no reason why he should lie about such a
trifling matter. It struck me, too, that his blue
eyes were moist whilst he ransacked his pockets and
found nothing. I drew back. " Excuse me," I
said; it was only just that I was a bit hard up."
I was already a piece down the street, when he called
after me about the little packet. " Keep it! keep
it," I answered; "you are welcome to it. There
are only a few trifles in it — a bagatelle; about aU
I own in the world," and I became so touched at my
own words, they sounded so pathetic in the twiHght,
that I fell a-weeping. . . .
66
Hunger
The wind freshened, the clouds chased madly
across the heavens, and it grew cooler and cooler
as it got darker. I walked, and cried as I walked,
down the whole street; felt more and more com¬
miseration with myself, and repeated, time after
time, a few words, an ejaculation, which called forth
fresh tears whenever they were on the point of ceas¬
ing: " Lord God, I feel so wretched! Lord God,
I feel so wretched! "
An hour passed; passed with such strange slow¬
ness, such weariness. I spent a long time in Market
Street; sat on steps, stole into doorways, and when
any one approached, stood and stared absently into
the shops where people bustled about with wares or
money. At last I found myself a sheltered place,
behind a deal hoarding, between the church and the
bazaar.
No; I couldn't go out into the woods again this
evening. Things must take their course. I had
not strength enough to go, and it was such an end¬
less way there. I would kill the night as best I
could, and remain where I was ; if it got all too cold,
well, I could walk round the church. I would not in
any case worry myself any more about that, and I
leant back and dozed.
The noise around me diminished ; the shops
closed. The steps of the pedestrians sounded
more and more rarely, and in all the windows about
the lights went out. I opened my eyes, and became
67
Hunger
aware of a figure standing in front of me. The
flash of shining buttons told me it was a policeman,
though I could not see the man's face.
" Good-night," he said.
" Good-night.," I answered and got afraid.
" Where do you live? " he queried.
I name, from habit, and without thought, my old
address, the little attic.
He stood for a while.
" Have I done anything wrong? " I asked anx¬
iously.
" No, not at all! " he replied; " but you had per¬
haps better be getting home now; it's cold lying
here."
"Ay, that's true; I feel it is a little chilly." I
said good-night, and instinctively took the road to
my old abode. If I only set about it carefully, I
might be able to get upstairs without being heard;
there were eight steps in all, and only the two top
ones creaked under my tread. Down at the door I
took off my shoes, and ascended. It was quiet every¬
where. I could hear the slow tick-tack of a clock,
and a child crying a little. After that I heard noth¬
ing. I found my door, lifted the latch as I was
accustomed to do, entered the room, and shut the
door noiselessly after me.
Everything was as I had left it. The curtains
were pulled aside from the windows, and the bed
stood empty. I caught a glimpse of a note lying
68
Hunger
on the table; perhaps it was my note to the land¬
lady — she might never have been up here since I
went away.
I fumbled with my hands over the white spot, and
felt, to my astonishment, that it was a letter. I
take it over to the window, examine as well as it is
possible in the dark the badly-written letters of the
address, and make out at least my own name. Ah,
I thought, an answer from my landlady, forbidding
me to enter the room again if I were for sneaking
back.
Slowly, quite slowly I left the room, carrying my
shoes in one hand, the letter in the other, and the
blanket under my arm. I draw myself up, set my
teeth as I tread on the creaking steps, get happily
down the stairs, and stand once more at the door.
I put on my shoes, take my time with the laces,
sit a while quietly after I'm ready, and stare va¬
cantly before me, holding the letter in my hand.
Then I get up and go.
The flickering ray of a gas lamp gleams up the
street. I make straight for the light, lean my par¬
cel against the lamp-post and open the letter. All
this with the utmost deliberation. A stream of
light, as it were, darts through my breast, and I hear
that I give a little cry — a meaningless sound of
joy. The letter was from the editor. My story
was accepted — had been set in type immediately,
straight off! A few slight alterations. ... A
69
Hunger
couple of errors in writing amended. . . . Worked
out with talent ... be printed tomorrow . . .
half-a-sovereign.
I laughed and cried, took to jumping and running
down the street, stopped, slapped my thighs, swore
loudly and solemnly into space at nothing in partic¬
ular. And time went.
All through the night until the bright dawn I
"jodied" about the streets and repeated —
"Worked out with talent—therefore a little mas¬
terpiece — a stroke of genius —and half-a-sov-
ereign."
70
A FEW weeks later I was out one evening.
Once more I had sat out in a church¬
yard and worked at an article for one of
the newspapers. But whilst I was struggling with
it eight o'clock struck, and darkness closed in, and
time for shutting the gates.
I was hungry — very hungry. The ten shillings
had, worse luck, lasted all too short. It was now
two, ay, nearly three days since I had eaten any¬
thing, and I felt somewhat faint; holding the pencil
even had taxed me a little. I had half a penknife
and a bunch of keys in my pocket, but not a farthing.
When the churchyard gate shut I meant to have
gone straight home, but, from an instinctive dread of
my room — a vacant tinker's workshop, where all
was dark and barren, and which, in fact, I had got
permission to occupy for the present — I stumbled
on, passed, not caring where I went, the Town Hall,
right to the sea, and over to a scat near the railway
bridge.
At this moment not a sad thought troubled me.
I forgot my distress, and felt calmed by the view of
the sea, which lay peaceful and lovely in the murki-
ness. For old habit's sake I would please myself
by reading through the bit I had just written, and
73
Hunger
which seemed to my suffering head the best thing
I had ever done.
I took my manuscript out of my pocket to try and
deciper it, held it close up to my eyes, and ran
through it, one line after the other. At last I got
tired, and put the papers back in my pocket. Every¬
thing was still. The sea stretched away in pearly
blueness, and little birds flitted noiselessly by me
from place to place.
A policeman patrols in the distance; otherwise
there is not a soul visible, and the whole harbour is
hushed in quiet.
I count my belongings once more — half a pen¬
knife, a bunch of keys, but not a farthing. Suddenly
I dive into my pocket and take the papers out again.
It was a mechanical movement, an unconscious ner¬
vous twitch. I selected a white unwritten page, and
— God knows where I got the notion from — but
I made a cornet, closed it carefully, so that it looked
as if it were filled with something, and threw it far
out on to the pavement. The breeze blew it on¬
ward a little, and then it lay still.
By this time hunger had begun to assail me in
earnest. I sat and looked at the white paper cor¬
net, which seemed as if it might be bursting with
shining silver pieces, and incited myself to believe
that it really did contain something. I sat and
coaxed myself quite audibly to guess the sum; if
I guessed aright, it was to be mine.
I imagined the tiny, pretty penny bits at the bot-
74
Hunger
torn and the thick fluted shillings on top — a whole
paper cornet full of money! I sat and gazed at it
with wide opened eyes, and urged myself to go and
steal it.
Then I hear the constable cough. What puts it
into my head to do the same? I rise up from the
seat and repeat the cough three times so that he
may hear it. Won't he jump at the corner when
he comes. I sat and laughed at this trick, rubbed
my hands with glee, and swore with rollicking reck¬
lessness. What a disappointment he will get, the
dog! Wouldn't this piece of villainy make him in¬
clined to sink into hell's hottest pool of torment!
I was drunk with starvation; my hunger had made
me tipsy.
A few minutes later the policeman comes by,
clinking his iron heels on the pavement, peering on
all sides. He takes his time ; he has the whole night
before him; he does not notice the paper bag — not
till he comes quite close to it. Then he stops and
stares at it. It looks so white and so full as it lies
there; perhaps a little sum — what? A little sum
of silver money? . . . and he picks it up. Hum
... it is light — very light ; maybe an expensive
feather; some hat trimming. . . . He opened it
carefully with his big hands, and looked in. I
laughed, laughed, slapped my thighs, and laughed,
like a maniac. And not a sound issued from my
throat ; my laughter was hushed and feverish to the
intensity of tears.
75
Hunger
Clink, clink again over the paving-stones, and
the policeman took a turn towards the landing-stage.
I sat there, with tears in my eyes, and hiccoughed for
breath, quite beside myself with feverish merriment.
I commenced to talk aloud to myself all about the
cornet, imitated the poor policeman's movements,
peeped into my hollow hand, and repeated over and
over again to myself, He coughed as he threw it
away — he coughed as he threw it away." I added
new words to these, gave them additional point,
changed the whole sentence, and made it catching
and piquant. He coughed once — Kheu heu !
I exhausted myself in weaving variations on these
words, and the evening was far advanced before my
mirth ceased. Then a drowsy quiet overcame me;
a pleasant languor which I did not attempt to resist.
The darkness had intensified, and a slight breeze
furrowed the pearl-blue sea. The ships, the masts
of which I could see outlined against the sky, looked
with their black hulls like voiceless monsters that
bristled and lay in wait for me. I had no pain —
my hunger had taken the edge off it. In its stead
I felt pleasantly empty, untouched by everything
around me, and glad not to be noticed by any one.
I put my feet up on the seat and leant back. Thus
I could best appreciate the well-being of perfect iso¬
lation. There was not a cloud on my mind, not a
feeling of discomfort, and so far as my thought
reached, I had not a whim, not a desire unsatisfied.
I lay with open eyes, in a state of utter absence of
76
Hunger
mind. I felt myself charmed away. Moreover,
not a sound disturbed me. Soft darkness had hidden
the whole world from my sight, and buried me in
ideal rest. Only the lonely, crooning voice of silence
strikes in monotones on my ear, and the dark mon¬
sters out there will draw me to them when night
comes, and they will bear me far across the sea,
through strange lands where no man dwells, and
they will bear me to Princess Ylajali's palace, where
an undreamt-of grandeur awaits me, greater than
that of any other man. And she herself will be sit¬
ting in a dazzling hall where all is amethyst, on a
throne of yellow roses, and will stretch out her
hands to me when I alight; will smile and call as I
approach and kneel: Welcome, welcome, knight,
to me and my land ! I have waited twenty summers
for you, and called for you on all bright nights.
And when you sorrowed I have wept here, and when
you slept I have breathed sweet dreams in you I
. . . And the fair one clasps my hand and, holding
it, leads me through long corridors where great
crowds of people cry, " Hurrah ! " through bright
gardens where three hundred tender maidens laugh
and play; and through another hall where all is of
emerald; and here the sun shines.
In the corridors and galleries choirs of musicians
march by, and rills of perfume are wafted towards
me.
I clasp her hand in mine ; I feel the wild witchery
of enchantment shiver through my blood, and I
77
Hunger
fold my arms around her, and she whispers, " Not
here; come yet farther!" and we enter a crimson
room, where all is of ruby, a foaming glory, in which
I faint.
Then I feel her arms encircle me ; her breath fans
my face with a whispered ''Welcome, loved one!
Kiss me . . . more . . . more. . . ."
I see from my seat stars shooting before my eyes,
and my thoughts are swept away in a hurricane of
light. . . .
I had fallen asleep where I lay, and was awakened
by the policeman. There I sat, recalled mercilessly
to life and misery. My first feeling was of stupid
amazement at finding myself in the open air; but
this was quickly replaced by a bitter despondency.
I was near crying with sorrow at being still alive.
It had rained whilst I slept, and my clothes were
soaked through and through, and I felt a damp cold
in my limbs.
The darkness was denser; it was with difficulty
that I could distinguish the policeman's face in front
of me.
" So, that's right," he said; " get up now."
I got up at once; if he had commanded me to lie
down again I would have obeyed too. I was fear¬
fully dejected, and utterly without strength; added
to that, I was almost instantly aware of the pangs
of hunger again.
" Hold on there ! " the policeman shouted after
78
Hunger
me; "why, you're walking off without your hat,
you Juggins I So — h there ; now, go on."
" I indeed thought there was something — some¬
thing I had forgotten," I stammered, absently.
" Thanks, good-night ! " and I stumbled away.
If one only had a little bread to eat; one of those
delicious little brown loaves that one could bite
into as one walked along the street; and as I went
on I thought over the particular sort of brown bread
that would be so unspeakably good to munch. I
was bitterly hungry; wished myself dead and buried;
I got maudlin, and wept.
There never was any end to my misery. Sud¬
denly I stopped in the street, stamped on the pave¬
ment, and cursed loudly. What was it he called
me? A " Juggins " ? I would just show him what
calling me a " Juggins " means. I turned round
and ran back. I felt red-hot with anger. Down
the street I stumbled, and fell, but I paid no heed
to it, jumped up again, and ran on. But by the time
I reached the railway station I had become so tired
that I did not feel able to proceed all the way to the
landing-stage; besides, my anger had cooled down
with the run. At length I pulled up and drew
breath.. Was it not, after all, a matter of perfect
indifference to me what such a policeman said?
Yes; but one couldn't stand everything. Right
enough, I interrupted myself ; but he knew no better.
And I found this argument satisfactory. I repeated
79
Hunger
twice to myself, ''He knew no better"; and with
that I returned again.
"Good Lordl " thought I, wrathfully, "what
things you do take into your head: running about
like a madman through the soaking wet streets on
dark nights." My hunger was now tormenting me
excruciatingly, and gave me no rest. Again and
again I swallowed saliva to try and satisfy myself
a little ; I fancied it helped.
I had been pinched, too, for food for ever so
many weeks before this last period set in, and my
strength had diminished considerably of late.
When I had been lucky enough to raise five shillings
by some manœuvre or another they only lasted any
time with difficulty; not long enough for me to be
restored to health before a new hunger period set
in and reduced me again. My back and shoulders
caused me the worst trouble. I could stop the little
gnawing I had in my chest by coughing hard, or
bending well forward as I walked, but I had no
remedy for back and shoulders. Whatever was the
reason that things would not brighten up for me?
Was I not just as much entitled to live as any one
else? for example, as Bookseller Pascha or Steam
Agent Hennechen? Had I not two shoulders like
a giant, and two strong hands to work with? and had
I not, in sooth, even applied for a place as wood-
chopper in Möllergaden in order to earn my daily
bread? Was I lazy? Had I not applied for situ-
80
Hunger
ations, attended lectures, written articles, and
worked day and night like a man possessed? Had
I not lived like a miser, eaten bread and milk when
I had plenty, bread alone when I had little, and
starved when I had nothing? Did I live in an
hotel? Had I a suite of rooms on the first floor?
Why, I am living in a loft over a tinker's workshop,
a loft already forsaken by God and man last win¬
ter, because the snow blew in. So I could not un¬
derstand the whole thing; not a bit of it.
I slouched on, and dwelt upon all this, and there
was not as much as a spark of bitterness or malice or
envy in my mind.
I halted at a paint-shop and gazed into the win¬
dow. I tried to read the labels on a couple of the
tins, but it was too dark. Vexed with myself over
this new whim, and excited — almost angry at not
bei^g able to make out what these tins held,—
I rapped twice sharply on the window and went on.
Up the street I saw a policeman. I quickened
my pace, went close up to him, and said, without the
slightest provocation, "It is ten o'clock."
" No, it's two," he answered, amazed.
" No, it's ten," I persisted; " it is ten o'clock! "
and, groaning with anger, I stepped yet a pace or
two nearer, clenched my fist, and said, " Listen, do
you know what, it's ten o'clock 1 "
He stood and considered a while, summed up my
appearance, stared aghast at me, and at last said,
81
Hunger
quite gently, " In any case, it's about time ye were
getting home. Would ye like me to go with ye a
bit?"
I was completely disarmed by this man's unex¬
pected friendliness. I felt that tears sprang to my
eyes, and I hastened to reply:
" No, thank you I I have only been out a little
too late in a café. Thank you very much all the
same ! "
He saluted with his hand to his helmet as I turned
away. His friendliness had overwhelmed me, and
I cried weakly, because I had not even a little coin
to give him.
I halted, and looked after him as he went slowly
on his way. I struck my forehead, and, in meas¬
ure, as he disappeared from my sight, I cried more
violently.
I railed at myself for my poverty, called myself
abusive names, invented furious designations —
rich, rough nuggets — in a vein of abuse with which
I overwhelmed myself. I kept on at this until I
was nearly home. On coming to the door I dis¬
covered I had dropped my keys.
" Oh, of course," I muttered to myself, " why
shouldn't I lose my keys? Here I am, living in a
yard where there is a stable underneath and a
tinker's workshop up above. The door is locked
at night, and no one, no one can open it; therefore,
why should I not lose my keys ?
" I am as wet as a dog — a little hungry — ah,
82
Hunger
just ever such a little hungry, and slightly, ay, ab¬
surdly tired about my knees ; therefore, why should
I not lose them?
" Why, for that matter, had not the whole house
flitted out to Aker by the time I came home and
wished to enter it? " . . . and I laughed to myself,
hardened by hunger and exhaustion.
I could hear the horses stamp in the stables, and
I could see my window above, but I could not open
the door, and I could not get in.
It had begun to rain again, and I felt the water
soak through to my shoulders. At the Town Hall
I was seized by a bright idea. I would ask the po¬
liceman to open the door. I applied at once to a
constable, and earnestly begged him to accompany
me and let me in, if he could.
Yes, if he could, yes! But he couldn't; he had
no key. The police keys were not there ; they were
kept in the Detective Department.
What was I to do then?
Well, I could go to an hotel and get a bed!
But I really couldn't go to an hotel and get a
bed; I had not money, I had been out — in a café
... he knew . . .
We stood a while on the Town Hall steps. He
considered and examined my personal appearance.
The rain fell in torrents outside.
" Well then, you must go to the guard-house and
report yourself as homeless ! " said he.
Homeless? I hadn't thought of that. Yes, by
83
Hunger
Jove, that was a capital idea ; and I thanked the con¬
stable on the spot for the suggestion. Could I
simply go in and say I was homeless ?
" Just that." . . .
• ••••••
"Your name?" inquired the guard.
" Tangen — Andreas Tangen ! "
I don't know why I lied; my thoughts fluttered
about disconnectedly and inspired me with many
singular whims, more than I knew what to do with.
I hit upon this out-of-the-way name on the spur of
the moment, and blurted it out without any cal¬
culation. I lied without any occasion for doing so.
" Occupation? "
This was driving me into a corner with a ven¬
geance. Occupation! what was my occupation? I
thought first of turning myself into a tinker — but I
dared not; firstly, I had given myself a name that
was not common to every and any tinker — besides,
I wore pince-nez. It suddenly entered my head to
be foolhardy. I took a step forward and said
firmly, almost solemnly:
" A journalist."
The guard gave a start before he wrote it down,
whilst I stood as important as a homeless Cabinet
Minister before the barrier. It roused no sus¬
picions. The guard understood quite well why I
hesitated a little before answering. What did it
look like to see a journalist in the night guard-house
without a roof over his head?
84
Hunger
" On what paper, Herr Tangen?
Morgenbladet! " said 1. " I have been out a
little too late this evening, more's the shame ! "
" Oh, we won't mention that," he interrupted,
with a smile; " when young people are out ... we
understand! "
Turning to a policeman, he said, as he rose and
bowed politely to me, " Show this gentleman up to
the reserved section. Good-night! "
I felt ice run down my back at my own boldness,
and I clenched my hands to steady myself a bit. If
I only hadn't dragged in the Morgenbladet. I knew
Friele could show his teeth when he liked, and I
was reminded of that by the grinding of the key
turning in the lock.
"The gas will burn for ten minutes," remarked
the policeman at the door.
" And then does it go out? "
"Then it goes out! "
I sat on the bed and listened to the turning of
the key. The bright cell had a friendly air; I felt
comfortably and well sheltered; and listened with
pleasure to the rain outside — I couldn't wish my¬
self anything better than such a cosy cell. My
contentment increased. Sitting on the bed, hat in
hand, and with eyes fastened on the gas jet over
in the wall, I gave myself up to thinking over the
minutes of my first interview with the police. This
was the first time, and how hadn't I fooled them?
"Journalist! — Tangen! if you please! and then
85
Hunger
Morgenhladetl " Didn't I appeal straight to his
heart with Morgenhladetf " We won't mention
thatl Eh? Sat in state in the Stiftsgaarden till
two o'clock ; forgot door-key and a pocket-book with
a thousand kroner at home. Show this gentleman
up to the reserved section!" . . .
All at once out goes the gas with a strange sud¬
denness, without diminishing or flickering.
I sit in the deepest darkness ; I cannot see
my hand, nor the white walls — nothing. There
was nothing for it but to go to bed, and I un¬
dressed.
But I was not tired from want of sleep, and it
would not come to me. I lay a while gazing into
the darkness, this dense mass of gloom that had no
bottom — my thoughts could not fathom it.
It seemed beyond all measure dense to me, and
I felt its presence oppress me. I closed my eyes,
commenced to sing under my breath, and tossed to
and fro, in order to distract myself, but to no pur¬
pose. The darkness had taken possession of my
thoughts and left me not a moment in peace. Sup¬
posing I were myself to be absorbed in darkness;
made one with it?
I raise myself up in bed and fling out my arms.
My nervous condition has got the upper hand of
me, and nothing availed, no matter how much I tried
to work against it. There I sat, a prey to the most
singular fantasies, listening to myself crooning lullav
hies, sweating with the exertion of striving to hush
86
Hunger
myself to rest. I peered into the gloom, and I
never in all the days of my life felt such darkness.
There was no doubt that I found myself here, in
face of a peculiar kind of darkness ; a desperate ele'
ment to which no one had hitherto paid attention.
The most ludicrous thoughts busied me, and every¬
thing made me afraid.
A little hole in the wall at the head of my bed
occupies me greatly — a nail hole. I find the marks
in the wall — I feel it, blow into it, and try to guess
its depth. That was no innocent hole — not at all.
It was a downright intricate and mysterious hole,
which I must guard against! Possessed by the
thought of this hole, entirely beside myself with curi¬
osity and fear, I get out of bed and seize hold of my
penknife in order to gauge its depth, and convince
myself that it does not reach right into the next
wall.
I lay down once more to try and fall asleep, but
in reality to wrestle again with the darkness. The
rain had ceased outside, and I could not hear a
sound. I continued for a long time to listen for
footsteps in the street, and got no peace until I heard
a pedestrian go by — to judge from the sound, a
constable. Suddenly I snap my fingers many times
and laugh : " That was the very deuce ! Ha —
ha I " I imagined I had discovered a new word.
I rise up in bed and say, " It is not in the language;
I have discovered it. ' Kuboa.' It has letters as
a word has. By the benign God, man, you have dis-
87
Hunger
covered a word I . . . * Kuboa ' . . . a word of
profound import.'*
I sit with open eyes, amazed at my own find, and
laugh for joy. Then I begin to whisper; some one
might spy on me, and I intended to keep my discov¬
ery a secret. I entered into the joyous frenzy of
hunger. I was empty and free from pain, and I
gave free rein to my thoughts.
In all calmness I revolve things in my mind.
With the most singular jerks in my chain of ideas
I seek to explain the meaning of my new word.
There was no occasion for it to mean either God
or the Tivoli;^ and who said that it was to signify
cattle show ? I clench my hands fiercely, and repeat
once again, " Who said that it was to signify cattle
show? " No; on second thoughts, it was not abso¬
lutely necessary that it should mean padlock, or sun¬
rise. It was not difficult to find a meaning for such
a word as this. I would wait and see. In the mean¬
time I could sleep on it.
I lie there on the stretcher-bed and laugh slily, but
say nothing; give vent to no opinion one way or the
other. Some minutes pass over, and I wax nervous;
this new word torments me unceasingly, returns
again and again, takes up my thoughts, and makes
me serious. I had fully formed an opinion as to
what it should not signify, but had come to no con¬
clusion as to what it should signify. " That is quite
a matter of detail," I said aloud to myself, and I
1 Theatre of Varieties, etc., and Garden in Christiania.
88
Hunger
clutched my arm and reiterated: "That is quite a
matter of detail." The word was found, God be
praised! and that was the principal thing. But
ideas worry me without end and hinder me from
falling asleep. Nothing seemed good enough to
me for this unusually rare word. At length I sit up
in bed again, grasp my head in both hands, and say,
" No I it is just this, it is impossible to let it signify
emigration or tobacco factory. If it could have
meant anything like that I would have decided upon
it long since and taken the consequences." No; in
reality the word is fitted to signify something
psychical, a feeling, a state. Could I not apprehend
it? and I reflect profoundly in order to find some¬
thing psychical. Then it seems to me that some one
is interposing, interrupting my confab. I answer
angrily, "Beg pardon! Your match in idiocy is
not to be found; no, sir! Knitting cotton? Ah!
go to hell! " Well, really I had to laugh. Might
I ask why should I be forced to let it signify knitting
cotton, when I had a special dislike to its signifying
knitting cotton? I had discovered the word myself,
so, for that matter, I was perfectly within my right
in letting it signify whatsoever I pleased. As far as
I was aware, I had not yet expressed an opinion
as to . . .
But my brain got more and more confused. At
last I sprang out of bed to look for the water-tap.
I was not thirsty, but my head was in a fever, and
I felt an instinctive longing for water. When I
89
Hunger
had drunk some I got into bed again, and deter¬
mined with all my might to settle to sleep. I closed
my eyes and forced myself to keep quiet. I lay thus
for some minutes without making a movement. I
sweated and felt my blood jerk violently through
my veins. No, it was really too delicious the way he
thought to find money in the paper cornet! He
only coughed once, too ! I wonder if he is pacing
up and down there yet! Sitting on my bench? the
pearly blue sea. . . the ships . . .
I opened my eyes; how could I keep them shut
when I could not sleep ? The same darkness
brooded over me ; the same unfathomable black eter¬
nity which my thoughts strove against and could not
understand. I made the most despairing efforts to
find a word black enough to characterize this dark¬
ness ; a word so horribly black that it would darken
my lips if I named it. Lord ! how dark it was 1 and
I am carried back in thought to the sea and the
dark monsters that lay in wait for me. They would
draw me to them, and clutch me tightly and bear
me away by land and sea, through dark realms that
no soul has seen. I feel myself on board, drawn
through waters, hovering in clouds, sinking —
sinking.
I give a hoarse cry of terror, clutch the bed
tightly — I had made such a perilous journey,
whizzing down through space like a bolt. Oh, did
I not feel that I was saved as I struck my hands
against the wooden frame I " This is the way one
90
Hunger
dies! " said I to myself. " Now you will die ! " and
I lay for a while and thought over that I was to
die.
Then I start up in bed and ask severely, " If I
found the word, am I not absolutely within my right
to decide myself what it is to signify? "... I could
hear myself that I was raving. I could hear
it now whilst I was talking. My madness was
a delirium of weakness and prostration, but I was
not out of my senses. All at once the thought
darted through my brain that I was insane. Seized
with terror, I spring out of bed again, I stagger to
the door, which I try to open, fling myself against
it a couple of times to burst it, strike my head
against the wall, bewail loudly, bite my fingers, cry
and curse . . .
All was quiet ; only my own voice echoed from the
walls. I had fallen to the floor, incapable of
stumbling about the cell any longer.
Lying there I catch a glimpse, high up, straight
before my eyes, of a greyish square in the wall, a
suggestion of white, a presage — it must be of day¬
light. I felt it must be daylight, felt it through
every pore in my body. Oh, did I not draw a breath
of delighted relief ! I flung myself flat on the floor
and cried for very joy over this blessed glimpse of
light, sobbed for very gratitude, blew a kiss to the
window, and conducted myself like a maniac. And
at this moment I was perfectly conscious of what I
was doing. All my dejection had vanished; all de-
91
Hunger
spair and pain had ceased, and I had at this moment,
at least as far as my thought reached, not a wish
unfilled. I sat up on the floor, folded my hands,
and waited patiently for the dawn.
What a night this had been !
That they had not heard any noise! I thought
with astonishment. But then I was in the reserved
section, high above all the prisoners. A homeless
Cabinet Minister, if I might say so.
Still in the best of humours, with eyes turned to¬
wards the lighter, ever lighter square in the wall, I
amused myself acting Cabinet Minister; called my¬
self Von Tangen, and clothed my speech in a dress of
red-tape. My fancies had not ceased, but I was far
less nervous. If I only had not been thoughtless
enough to leave my pocket-book at home ! Might I
not have the honour of assisting his Right Honour¬
able the Prime Minister to bed? And in all serious¬
ness, and with much ceremony I went over to the
stretcher and lay down.
By this it was so light that I could distinguish in
some degree the outlines of the cell and, little by
little, the heavy handle of the door. This diverted
me ; the monotonous darkness so irritating in its im¬
penetrability that it prevented me from seeing my¬
self was broken; my blood flowed more quietly; I
soon felt my eyes close.
I was aroused by a couple of knocks on my door.
I jumped up in all haste, and clad myself hurriedly;
my clothes were still wet through from last night.
92
Hunger
" You'll report yourself downstairs to the officer
on duty," said the constable.
Were there more formalities to be gone through,
then? I thought with fear.
Below I entered a large room, where thirty or
forty people sat, all homeless. They were called
up one by one by the registering clerk, and one by
one they received a ticket for breakfast. The offi¬
cer on duty repeated constantly to the policeman at
his side, "Did he get a ticket? Don't forget to
give them tickets; they look as if they wanted a
meal ! "
And I stood and looked at these tickets, and
wished I had one.
" Andreas Tangen — journalist."
I advanced and bowed.
" But, my dear fellow, how did you come here? "
I explained the whole state of the case, repeated
the same story as last night, lied without winking,
lied with frankness — had been out rather late,
worse luck . . . café . . . lost door-key. . . .
"Yes," he said, and he smiled; " that's the way!
Did you sleep well then? "
I answered, "Like a Cabinet Minister — like a
Cabinet Minister!"
" I am glad to hear it," he said, and he stood up.
" Good-morning."
And I went !
A ticket ! a ticket for me too ! I have not eaten
for more than three long days and nights. A loaf !
93
Hunger
But no one offered me a ticket, and I dared not de¬
mand one. It would have roused suspicion at once.
They would begin to poke their noses into my pri¬
vate affairs, and discover who I really was; they
might arrest me for false pretences; and so, with
elevated head, the carriage of a millionaire, and
hands thrust under my coat-tails, I stride out of the
guard-house.
The sun shone warmly, early as it was. It was
ten o'clock, and the traffic in Young's Market was in
full swing. Which way should I take? I slapped
my pockets and felt for my manuscript. At eleven
I would try and see the editor. I stand a while on
the balustrade, and watch the bustle under me.
Meanwhile, my clothes commenced to steam.
Hunger put in its appearance afresh, gnawed at my
breast, clutched me, and gave small, sharp stabs that
caused me pain.
Had I not a friend—an acquaintance whom I
could apply to? I ransack my memory to find a
man good for a penny piece, and fail to find him.
Well, it was a lovely day, anyway! Sunlight
bright and warm surrounded me. The sky stretched
away like a beautiful sea over the Lier mountains.
Without knowing it, I was on my way home. I
hungered sorely. I found a chip of wood in the
street to chew — that helped a bit. To think that I
hadn't thought of that sooner! The door was
open; the stable-boy bade me good-morning as
usual.
94
Hunger
" Fine weather," said he.
"Yes," I replied. That was all I found to say.
Could I ask for the loan of a shilling? He would
be sure to lend it willingly if he could; besides that,
I had written a letter for him once.
He stood and turned something over in his mind
before he ventured on saying it.
" Fine weather ! Ahem ! I ought to pay my
landlady today; you wouldn't be so kind as to lend
me five shillings, would you? Only for a few days,
sir. You did me a service once before, so you
did."
" No; I really can't do it, Jens Olaj," I answered.
"Not now — perhaps later on, maybe in the after¬
noon," and I staggered up the stairs to my room.
I flung myself on my bed, and laughed. How
confoundedly lucky it was that he had forestalled
me ; my self-respect was saved. Five shillings !
God bless you, man, you might just as well have
asked me for five shares in the Dampkökken, or an
estate out in Aker.
And the thought of these five shillings made me
laugh louder and louder. Wasn't I a devil of a
fellow, eh? Five shillings I ^ly mirth increased,
and I gave way to it. Ugh ! what a shocking smell
of cooking there was here — a downright disgust¬
ingly strong smell of chops for dinner, phew! and
I flung open the window to let out this beastly smell.
"Waiter, a plate of beef! " Turning to the table
— this miserable table that I was forced to support
9S
Hunger
with my ki.ees when I wrote — I bowed profoundly,
and said:
" May I ask will you take a glass of wine? No?
I am Tangen — Tangen, the Cabinet Minister. I
— more's the pity — I was out a little late . . .
the door-key." Once more my thoughts ran with¬
out rein in intricate paths. I was continually con¬
scious that I talked at random, and yet I gave ut¬
terance to no word without hearing and understand¬
ing it. I said to myself, " Now you are talking at
random again," and yet I could not help myself. It
was as if one were lying awake, and yet talking in
one's sleep.
My head was light, without pain and without pres¬
sure, and my mood was unshadowed. It sailed
away with me, and I made no effort.
"Come in! Yes, only come right in! As you
see everything is of ruby — Ylajali, Ylajali! that
swelling crimson silken divan! Ah, how passion¬
ately she breathes. Kiss me — loved one — more
— more! Your arms are like pale amber, your
mouth blushes. . . . Waiter I asked for a plate
of beef! "
The sun gleamed in through the window, and I
•¿ould hear the horses below chewing oats. I sat
and mumbled over my chip gaily, glad at heart as a
child.
I kept all the time feeling for my manuscript.
It wasn't really in my thoughts, but instinct told me
96
Hunger
ît was there—-'twas in my blood to remember it,
and I took it out.
It had got wet, and I spread it out in the sun
to dry; then I took to wandering up and down the
room. How depressing everything looked I Small
scraps of tin shavings were trodden into the floor;
there was not a chair to sit upon, not even a nail in
the bare walls. Everything had been brought to my
" Uncle's," and consumed. A few sheets of paper
lying on the table, covered with thick dust, were
my sole possession ; the old green blanket on the bed
was lent to me by Hans Pauli some months ago.
. . . Hans Pauli ! I snap my fingers. Hans Pauli
Pettersen shall help me ! He would certainly be
very angry that I had not appealed to him at once.
I put on my hat in haste, gather up the manuscript,
thrust it into my pocket, and hurry downstairs.
" Listen, Jens Olaj ! " I called into the stable, I
am nearly certain I can help you in the afternoon."
Arrived at the Town Hall I saw that it was past
eleven, and I determined on going to the editor at
once. I stopped outside the office door to see if my
sheets were paged rightly, smoothed them carefully
out, put them back in my pocket, and knocked. My
heart beat audibly as I entered.
" Scissors " is there as usual. I inquire timor¬
ously for the editor. No answer. The man sits
and probes for minor items of news amongst the pro¬
vincial papers.
97
Hunger
I repeat my question, and advance a little far¬
ther.
" The editor has not come yet! " said " Scissors
at length, without looking up.
How soon would he come?
" Couldn't say — couldn't say at all! "
How long would the office be open?
To this I received no answer, so I was forced to
leave. " Scissors " had not once looked up at me
during all this scene; he had heard my voice, and
recognized me by it. You are in such bad odour
here, thought I, that he doesn't even take the trouble
to answer you. I wonder if that is an order of the
editor's. I had, 'tis true enough, right from the day
my celebrated story was accepted for ten shillings,
overwhelmed him with work, rushed to his door
nearly every day with unsuitable things that he was
obliged to peruse only to return them to me. Per¬
haps he wished to put an end to this — take strin¬
gent measures. ... I took the road to Homands-
byen.
Hans Pauli Pettersen was a peasant-farmer's son,
a student, living in the attic of a five-storeyed house;
therefore, H«ans Pauli Pettersen was a poor man.
But if he had a shilling he wouldn't stint it. I would
get it just as sure as if I already held it in my hand.
And I rejoiced the whole time, as I went, over the
shilling, and felt confident I would get it.
When I got to the street door it was closed and
I had to ring.
98
Hunger
" I want to see Student Pettersen," I said, and was
about to step inside. " I know his room."
" Student Fettersen," repeats the girl. " Was
it he who had the attic ? " He had moved.
Well, she didn't know the address; but he had
asked his letters to be sent to Hermansen in Tolbod-
gaden, and she mentioned the number.
I go, full of trust and hope, all the way to Tolbod-
gaden to ask Hans Pauli's address; being my last
chance, I must turn it to account. On the way I
came to a newly-built house, where a couple of join¬
ers stood planing outside. I picked up a few satiny
shavings from the heap, stuck one in my mouth, and
the other in my pocket for by-and-by, and continued
my journey.
I groaned with hunger. I had seen a marvel¬
lously large penny loaf at a baker's — the largest I
could possibly get for the price.
" I come to find out Student Pettersen's address I "
" Bernt Akers Street, No. lo, in the attic." Was
I going out there? Well, would I perhaps be kind
enough to take out a couple of letters that had come
for him?
I trudge up town again, along the same road, pass
by the joiners — who are sitting with their cans be¬
tween their knees, eating their good warm dinner
from the Dampkökken — pass the bakers, where the
loaf is still in its place, and at length reach Bernt
Akers Street, half dead with fatigue. The door is
open, and I mount all the weary stairs to the attic.
99
Hunger
I take the letters out of my pocket in order to put
Hans Pauli into a good humour on the moment of
my entrance.
He would be certain not to refuse to give me a
helping hand when I explained how things were
with me; no, certainly not; Hans Pauli had such a
big heart — I had always said that of him. . . .
I discovered his card fastened to the door —" H. P.
Pettersen, Theological Student, ' gone home.' "
I sat down without more ado — sat down on the
bare floor, dulled with fatigue, fairly beaten with
exhaustion. I mechanically mutter, a couple of
times, " Gone home — gone home ! " then I keep
perfectly quiet. There was not a tear in my eyes;
I had not a thought, not a feeling of any kind. I
sat and stared, with wide-open eyes, at the letters,
without coming to any conclusion. Ten minutes
went over — perhaps twenty or more. I sat stol¬
idly on the one spot, and did not move a finger.
This numb feeling of drowsiness was almost like a
brief slumber. I hear some one come up the stairs.
" It was Student Pettersen, I ... I have two let¬
ters for him."
"He has gone home," replies the woman; "but
he will return after the holidays. I could take the
letters if you like ! "
" Yes, thanks! that was all right," said I " He
could get them then when he came back; they might
contain matters of importance. Good-morning."
When I got outside, I came to a standstill and said
ICX?
Hunger
loudly in the open street, as I clenched my hands:
I will tell you one thing, my good Lord God, you
are a bungler! " and I nod furiously, with set teeth,
up to the clouds ; I will be hanged if you are not
a bungler."
Then I took a few strides, and stopped again.
Suddenly, changing my attitude, I fold my hands,
hold my head to one side, and ask, with an unc¬
tuous, sanctimonious tone of voice: "Hast thou
appealed also to him, my child? " It did not sound
right !
With a large H, I say, with an H as big as a
cathedral! once again, " Hast thou invoked Him, my
child? " and I incline my head, and I make my voice
whine, and answer. No !
That didn't sound right either.
You can't play the hyprocrite, you idiot! Yes,
you should say, I have invoked God my Father! and
you must set your words to the most piteous tune
you have ever heard in your life. So — o ! Once
again ! Come, that was better ! But you must sigh
like a horse down with the colic. So — o ! that's
right. Thus I go, drilling myself in hypocrisy;
stamp impatiently in the street when I fail to suc¬
ceed; rail at myself for being such a blockhead, whilst
the astonished passers-by turn round and stare at me.
I chewed uninterruptedly at my shaving, and pro¬
ceeded, as steadily as I could, along the street. Be¬
fore I realized it, I was at the railway square. The
clock on Our Saviour's pointed to half-past one. I
loi
Hunger
Stood for a bit and considered. A faint sweat
forced itself out on my face, and trickled down my
eyelids. Accompany me down to the bridge, said I
to myself — that is to say, if you have spare time!
— and I made a bow to myself, and turned towards
the railway bridge near the wharf.
The ships lay there, and the sea rocked in the
sunshine. There was bustle and movement every¬
where, shrieking steam-whistles, quay porters with
cases on their shoulders, lively " shanties " coming
from the prams. An old woman, a vendor of cakes,
sits near me, and bends her brown nose down over
her wares. The little table before her is sinfully
full of nice things, and I turn away with distaste.
She is filling the whole quay with her smell of cakes
— phew I up with the windows !
I accosted a gentleman sitting at my side, and rep¬
resented forcibly to him the nuisance of having
cake-sellers here, cake-sellers there. . . . Eh?
Yes; but he must really admit that. . . . But the
good man smelt a rat, and did not give me time to
finish speaking, for he got up and left. I rose, too,
and followed him, firmly determined to convince him
of his mistake.
If it was only out of consideration for sanitary
conditions," said I; and I slapped him on the
shoulders.
" Excuse me, I am a stranger here, and know
nothing of the sanitary conditions," he replied, and
stared at me with positive fear.
IQ2
Hunger
Oh, that alters the case ! if he was a stranger.
. . . Could I not render him a service in any
way? show him about? Really not? because it
would be a pleasure to me, and it would cost him
nothing. . . .
But the man wanted absolutely to get rid of me,
and he sheered off, in all haste, to the other side of
the street.
I returned to the bench and sat down. I was
fearfully disturbed, and the big street organ that
had begun to grind a tune a little farther away made
me still worse — a regular metallic music, a frag¬
ment of Weber, to which a little girl is singing a
mournful strain. The flute-like sorrowfulness of
the organ thrills through my blood; my nerves
vibrate in responsive echo. A moment later, and
I fall back on the seat, whimpering and crooning in
time to it.
Oh, what strange freaks one^s thoughts are guilty
of when one is starving. I feel myself lifted up by
these notes, dissolved in tones, and I float out, I
feel so clearly. How I float out, soaring high above
the mountains, dancing through zones of light ! . . .
" A halfpenny," whines the little organ-girl, reach¬
ing forth her little tin plate; ''only a halfpenny."
" Yes," I said, unthinkingly, and I sprang to my
feet and ransacked all my pockets. But the child
thinks I only want to make fun of her, and she
goes away at once without saying a word.
This dumb forbearance was too much for me,
103
Hunger
If she had abused me, it would have been more en¬
durable. I was stung with pain, and recalled her.
** I don't possess a farthing; but I will remember
you later on, maybe tomorrow. What is your
name ? Y es, that is a pretty name ; I won't forget it.
Till tomorrow, then . .
But I understood quite well that she did not be¬
lieve me, although she never said one word; and I
cried with despair because this little street wench
would not believe in me.
Once again I called her back, tore open my coat,
and was about to give her my waistcoat. " I will
make up to you for it," said I; "wait only a mo¬
ment "... and lo I I had no waistcoat.
W^hat in the world made me look for it? Weeks
had gone by since it was in my possession. What
was the matter with me, anyway? The astonished
child waited no longer, but withdrew fearsomely,
and I was compelled to let her go. People throng
round me, laugh aloud; a policeman thrusts his way
through to me, and wants to know what is the row.
"Nothing!" I reply, "nothing at all; I only
wanted to give the little girl over there my waist¬
coat . . . for her father . . . you needn't stand
there and laugh at that ... I have only to go home
and put on another."
" No disturbance in the street," says the consta¬
ble; " so, march," and he gives me a shove on.
" Is them your papers?" he calls after me.
" Yes, by Jove! my newspaper leader; many im-
104
Hunger
portant papers ! However could I be so care¬
less?" I snatch up my manuscript, convince my¬
self that it is lying in order and go, without stop¬
ping a second or looking about me, towards the
editor's office.
It was now four by the clock of Our Saviour's
Church. The office is shut. I stead noiselessly
down the stairs, frightened as a thief, and stand
irresolutely outside the door. What should I do
now? I lean up against the wall, stare down at
the stones, and consider. A pin is lying glistening
at my feet ; I stoop and pick it up. Supposing I were
to cut the buttons off my coat, how much could I
get for them ? Perhaps it would be no use, though
buttons are buttons; but yet, I look and examine
them, and find them as good as new — that was
a lucky idea all the same ; I could cut them off with
my penknife and take them to the pawn-office. The
hope of being able to sell these five buttons cheered
me immediately, and I cried, " See, see; it will all
come right ! " My delight got the upper hand of
me, and I at once set to to cut off the buttons one by
one. Whilst thus occupied, I held the following
hushed soliloquy : —
Yes, you see one has become a little impoverished;
a momentary embarrassment . . . worn out, do
you say? You must not make slips when you speak?
I would like to see the person who wears out less
buttons than I do, I can tell you! I always go
with my coat open; it is a habit of mine, an
105
Hunger
idiosyncrasy. . . . No, no; of course, if you wo«'/,
well ! But I must have a penny for them, at least.
. . . No indeed! who said you were obliged to
do it? You can hold your tongue, and leave me in
peace. ... Yes, well, you can fetch a policeman,
can't you ? I'll wait here whilst you are out looking
for him, and I won't steal anything from you.
Well, good-day! Good-day! My name, by the
way, is Tangen; have been out a little late. . .
Some one comes up the stairs. I am recalled at
once to reality. I recognize " Scissors," and put the
buttons carefully into my pocket. He attempts to
pass; doesn't even acknowledge my nod; is suddenly
intently busied with his nails. I stop him, and in¬
quire for the editor.
" Not in, do you hear."
" You lie," I said, and, with a cheek that fairly
amazed myself, I continued, " I must have a word
with him; it is a necessary errand — communica¬
tions from the Stiftsgaarden.^
"Well, can't you tell me what it is, then?"
"Tell you?" and I looked "Scissors" up and
down. This had the desired effect. He accom¬
panied me at once, and opened the door. My heart
was in my mouth now; I set my teeth, to try and
revive my courage, knocked, and entered the editor's
private office.
" Good-day! Is it you?" he asked kindly; " sit
down."
^ Dwelling of the civil governor of a Stift or diocese.
106
Hunger
If he had shown me the door it would have been
almost as acceptable. I felt as if I were on the
point of crying and said :
" I beg you will excuse . .
" Pray, sit down," he repeated. And I sat down,
and explained that I again had an article which I
was extremely anxious to get into his paper. I had
taken such pains with it ; it had cost me much effort.
" I will read it," said he, and he took it.
" Everything you write is certain to cost you effort,
but you are far too impetuous ; if you could only be
a little more sober. There's too much fever. In
the meantime, I will read it," and he turned to the
table again.
There I sat. Dared I ask for a shilling? explain
to him why there was always fever? He would be
sure to aid me; it was not the first time.
I stood up. Hum ! But the last time I was with
him he had complained about money, and had sent
a messenger out to scrape some together for me.
Maybe it might be the same case now. No; it
should not occur! Could I not see then that he
was sitting at work?
Was there otherwise anything? he inquired.
" No," I answered, and I compelled my voice to
sound steady. " About how soon shall I call in
again? "
" Oh, any time you are passing — in a couple of
days or so."
I could not get my request over my lips. This
107.
Hunger
man's friendliness seemed to me beyond bounds,
and I ought to know how to appreciate it. Rather
die of hunger! I went. Not even when I was
outside the door, and felt once more the pangs of
hunger, did I repent having left the office without
having asked for that shilling. I took the other
shaving out of my pocket and stuck it into my mouth.
It helped. Why hadn't I done so before? "You
ought to be ashamed of yourself," I said aloud.
" Could it really have entered your head to ask the
man for a shilling and put him to inconvenience
again?" and I got downright angry with myself
for the effrontery of which I had almost been
guilty. "That is, by God! the shabbiest thing I
ever heard," said I, " to rush at a man and nearly
tear the eyes out of his head just because you hap¬
pen to need a shilling, you miserable dog ! So — o,
march! quicker! quicker! you big thumping lout; ril
teach you." I commenced to run to punish myself,
left one street after the other behind me at a bound,
goaded myself on with suppressed cries, and shrieked
dumbly and furiously at myself whenever I was
about to halt. Thus I arrived a long way up Pyle
Street, when at last I stood still, almost ready to cry
with vexation at not being able to run any farther.
I was trembling over my whole body, and I flung
myself down on a step. " No; stop! " I said, and,
in order to torture myself rightly, I arose again,
and forced myself to keep standing. I jeered at
myself and hugged myself with pleasure at the spec-
io8
Hunger
tacle of my own exhaustion. At length, after the
lapse of a few moments, I gave myself, with a nod,
permissioii to be seated, though, even then, I chose
the most uncomfortable place on the steps.
Lord! how delicious it was to rest! I dried the
sweat off my face, and drew great refreshing breaths.
How had I not run! But I was not sorry; I had
richly deserved it. Why did I want to ask for that
shilling? Now I could see the consequences, and
I began to talk mildly to myself, dealing out admoni¬
tions as a mother might have done. I grew more
and more moved, and tired and weak as I was, I
fell a-crying. A quiet, heart-felt cry; an inner sob¬
bing without a tear.
I sat for the space of a quarter of an hour, or
more, in the same place. People came and went,
and no one molested me. Little children played
about around me, and a little bird sang on a tree on
the other side of the street.
A policeman came towards me. " Why do you
sit here? " said he.
Why do I sit here? " I replied; for pleasure."
I have been watching you for the last half-
hour. You've sat here now half-an-hour."
About that," I replied; " anything more? "
I got up in a temper and walked on. Arrived at
the market-place, I stopped and gazed down the
street. For pleasure. Now, was that an answer
to give? For weariness, you should have replied,
and made your voice whining. You are a booby;
109
Hunger
you will never learn to dissemble. From exhaus¬
tion, and you should have gasped like a horse.
When I got to the fire look-out, I halted afresh,
seized by a new idea. I snapped my fingers, burst
into a loud laugh that confounded the passers-by,
and said: "Now you shall just go to Levion the
parson. You shall, as sure as death — ay, just for
a try. What have you got to lose by it? and it is
such glorious weather ! "
I entered Pascha's book-shop, found Pastor
Levion's address in the directory, and started
for it.
Now for it! said I. Play no pranks. Con¬
science, did you say? No rubbish, if you please.
You are too poor to support a conscience. You
are hungry; you have come on important business
— the first thing needful. But you shall hold your
head askew, and set your words to a sing-song.
You won't! What? Well then, I won't go a step
farther. Do you hear that? Indeed, you are in a
sorely tempted condition, fighting with the powers
of darkness and great voiceless monsters at night,
so that it is a horror to think of; you hunger and
thirst for wine and milk, and don't get them. It
has gone so far with you. Here you stand and
haven't as much as a halfpenny to bless yourself
with. But you believe in grace, the Lord be praised;
you haven't yet lost your faith; and then you must
clasp your hands together, and look a very Satan of
no
Hunger
a fellow for believing in grace. As far as Mam¬
mon was concerned, why, you hated Mammon with
all its pomps in any form. Now it's quite another
thing with a psalm-book — a souvenir to the extent
of a few shillings. ... I stopped at the pastor's
door, and read, " Office hours, 12 to 4."
Mind, no fudge, I said; now we'll go ahead in
earnest! So hang your head a little more, and I
rang at the private entrance.
" I want to see the pastor," said I to the maid;
but it was not possible for me to get in God's name
yet awhile.
" He has gone out."
Gone out, gone out! That destroyed my whole
plan; scattered all I intended to say to the four
winds. What had I gained then by the long walk?
There I stood.
"Was it anything particular?" questioned the
maid.
" Not at all," I replied, " not at all." It was only
just that it was such glorious God's weather that I
thought I would come out and make a call.
There I stood, and there she stood. I purposely
thrust out my chest to attract her attention to the
pin that held my coat together. I implored her with
a look to see what I had come for, but the poor
creature didn't understand it at all.
Lovely God's weather. Was not the mistress at
home either ?
Ill
Hunger
Yes; but she had gout, and lay on a sofa without
being able to move herself. . . . Perhaps I would
leave a message or something?
No, not at all; I only just took walks like this
now and again, just for exercise; it was so whole¬
some after dinner. ... I set out on the road
back — what would gossiping longer lead to? Be¬
sides, I commenced to feel dizzy. There was no
mistake about it; I was about to break down in
earnest. Office hours from 12 to 4. I had
knocked at the door an hour too late. The time
of grace was over. I sat down on one of the
benches near the church in the market. Lord!
how black things began to look for me now ! I did
not cry; I was too utterly tired, worn to the last
degree. I sat there without trying to arrive at any
conclusion, sad, motionless, and starving. My
chest was much inflamed; it smarted most strangely
and sorely — nor would chewing shavings help me
much longer. My jaws were tired of that barren
work, and I let them rest. I simply gave up. A
brown orange-peel, too, I had found in the street,
and which I had at once commenced to chew, had
given me nausea. I was ill — the veins swelled up
bluely on my wrists. What was it I had really
sought after? Run about the whole live-long day
for a shilling, that would but keep life in me for a
few hours longer. Considering all, was it not a
matter of indifference if the inevitable took place
one day earlier or one day later? If I had con-
J12
Hunger
ducted myself like an ordinary being I should have
gone home long ago, and laid myself down to rest,
and given in. My mind was clear for a moment.
Now I was to die. It was in the time of the fall,
and all things were hushed to sleep. I had tried
every means, exhausted every resource of which I
knew. I fondled this thought sentimentally, and
each time I still hoped for a possible succour I whis¬
pered repudiatingly: "You fool, you have already
begun to die."
I ought to write a couple of letters, make all
ready — prepare myself. I would wash myself
carefully and tidy my bed nicely. I would lay my
head upon the sheets of white paper, the cleanest
things I had left, and the green blanket. I . . .
The green blanket ! Like a shot I was wide awake.
The blood mounted to my head, and I got violent
palpitation of the heart. I arise from the seat,
and start to walk. Life stirs again in all my fibres,
and time after time I repeat disconnectedly, " The
green blanket—the green blanket." I go faster
and faster, as if it is a case of fetching something,
and stand after a little time in my tinker's work¬
shop. Without pausing a moment, or wavering in
my resolution, I go over to the bed, and roll up
Hans Pauli's blanket. It was a strange thing if
this bright idea of mine couldn't save me. I rose
infinitely superior to the stupid scruples which sprang
up in me — half inward cries about a certain stain
on my honour. I bade good-bye to the whole of
113
Hunger
them. I was no hero — no virtuous idiot. I had
my senses left.
So I took the blanket under my arm and went to
No. 5 Stener's Street. I knocked, and entered the
big, strange room for the first time. The bell on
the door above my head gave a lot of violent jerks.
A man enters from a side room, chewing, his mouth
is full of food, and stands behind the counter.
Eh, lend me sixpence on my eye-glasses?" said
I. " I shall release them in a couple of days, with¬
out fail — eh? "
" No 1 they're steel, aren't they? "
" Yes."
" No; can't do it."
" Ah, no, I suppose you can't. Well, it was
really at best only a joke. Well, I have a blanket
with me for which, properly speaking, I have no
longer any use, and it struck me that you might take
it off my hands."
I have — more's the pity — a whole store full
of bed-clothes," he replied; and when I had opened
it he just cast one glance over it and said, " No,
excuse me, but I haven't any use for that either."
" I wanted to show you the worse side first," said
I ; " it's much better on the other side."
" Ay, ay; it's no good. I won't own it; and you
wouldn't raise a penny on it anywhere."
"No, it's clear it isn't worth anything," I said;
" but I thought it might go with another old blanket
at an auction."
114
Hunger
" Well, no; it's no use."
"Three pence? " said I.
" No^ I won't have it at all, man ! I wouldn't
have it in the house ! " I took it under my arm and
went home.
I acted as if nothing had passed, spread it over
the bed again, smoothed it well out, as was my cus¬
tom, and tried to wipe away every trace of my late
action. I could not possibly have been in my right
mind at the moment when I came to the conclusion
to commit this rascally trick. The more I thought
over it the more unreasonable it seemed to me. It
must have been an attack of weakness ; some relaxa¬
tion in my inner self that had surprised me when
off my guard. Neither had I fallen straight into
the trap. I had half felt that I was going the
wrong road, and I expressly offered my glasses
first, and I rejoiced greatly that I had not had
the opportunity of carrying into effect this fault
which would have sullied the last hours I had to
live.
I wandered out into the city again. I let myself
sink upon one of the seats by Our Saviour's Church;
dozed with my head on my breast, apathetic after
my last excitement, sick and famished with hunger.
And time went by.
I should have to sit out this hour, too. It was
a little lighter outside than in the house, and it
seemed to me that my chest did not pain quite so
badly out in the open air. I should get home» too,
115
Hunger
soon enough — and I dozed, and thought, and suf¬
fered fearfully.
I had found a little pebble ; I wiped it clean on my
coat sleeve and put it into my mouth so that I might
have something to mumble. Otherwise I did not
stir, and didn't even wink an eyelid. People came
and went; the noise of cars, the tramp of hoofs, and
chatter of tongues filled the air. I might try with
the buttons. Of course there would be no use in
trying; and besides, I was now in a rather bad
way; but when I came to consider the matter closely,
I would be obliged, as it were, to pass in the direc¬
tion of my " Uncle's " as I went home. At last I
got up, dragging myself slowly to my feet, and reeled
down the streets. It began to burn over my eye¬
brows — fever was setting in, and I hurried as fast
as I could. Once more I passed the baker's shop
where the little loaf lay. " Well, we must stop
here ! " I said, with affected decision. But suppos¬
ing I were to go in and beg for a bit of bread?
Surely that was a fleeting thought, a flash; it could
never really have occurred to me seriously. " Fie ! "
I whispered to myself, and shook my head, and
held on my way. In Rebslager a pair of lovers
stood in a doorway and talked together softly; a
little farther up a girl popped her head out of a
window- I walked so slowly and thoughtfully, that
I looked as if I might be deep in meditation on
nothing in particular, and the wench came out into
the street. " How is the world treating you, old
Il6
Hunger
fellow? Eh, what, are you ill? Nay, the Lord
preserve us, what a face I " and she drew away
frightened. I pulled up at once: What's amiss
with my face? Had I really begun to die? I felt
over my cheeks with my hand; thin — naturally, I
was thin — my cheeks were like two hollowed bowls ;
but Lord ... I reeled along again, but again came
to a standstill; I must be quite inconceivably thin.
Who knows but that my eyes were sinking right
into my head? How did I look in reality? It was
the very deuce that one must let oneself turn into
a living deformity for sheer hunger's sake. Once
more I was seized by fury, a last flaring up, a final
spasm. " Preserve me, what a face. Eh?" Here
I was, with a head that couldn't be matched in the
whole country, with a pair of fists that, by the Lord,
could grind a navvy into finest dust, and yet I went
and hungered myself into a deformity, right in the
town of Christiania. Was there any rhyme or rea¬
son in that? I had sat in saddle, toiled day and
night like a carrier's horse.
I had read my eyes out of their sockets, had
starved the brains out of my head, and what the
devil had I gained by it? Even a street hussy
prayed God to deliver her frojn the sight of me.
Well, now, there should be a stop to it. Do
you understand that? Stop it shall, or the devil
take a worse hold of me.
With steadily increasing furyj grinding my teeth
under the consciousness of my ii^potence, with tears
117
Hunger
and oaths I raged on, without looking at the people
who passed me by. I commenced once more to
martyr myself, ran my forehead against lamp-posts
on purpose, dug my nails deep into my palms, bit my
tongue with frenzy when it didn't articulate clearly,
and laughed insanely each time it hurt much.
Yes; but what shall I do? I asked myself at last,
and I stamped many times on the pavement and
repeated. What shall I do? A gentleman just go¬
ing by remarks, with a smile, " You ought to go and
ask to be locked up." I looked after him. One
of our well-known lady's doctors, nicknamed " The
Duke." Not even he understood my real condition
-— a man I knew ; whose hand I had shaken. I grew
quiet. Locked up? Yes, I was mad; he was right.
I felt madness in my blood; felt its darting pain
through my brain. So that was to be the end of
me ! Yes, yes; and I resume my wearisome, painful
walk. There was the haven in which I was to find
rest.
Suddenly I stop again. But not locked up!
I say, not that; and I grew almost hoarse with fear.
I implored grace for myself; begged to the wind and
weather not to be locked up. I should have to be
brought to the guard-house again, imprisoned in a
dark cell which had not a spark of light in it. Not
that I There must be other channels yet open that
I had not tried, and I would try them. I would be
so earnestly painstaking; would take good time for
it, and go indefatigably round from house to house.
ii8
Hunger
For example, there was Cisler the musîc-seller; I
hadn't been to him at ail. Some remedy would
turn up! . . . Thus I stumbled on, and talked
until I brought myself to weep with emotion. Cis¬
ler! Was that perchance a hint from on high?
His name had struck me for no reason, and he lived
so far away; but I would look him up all the same,
go slowly, and rest between times. I knew the
place well; I had been there often, when times were
good had bought much music from him. Should I
ask him for sixpence? Perhaps that might make
him feel uncomfortable. I would ask him for a
shilling. I went into the shop, and asked for the
chief. They showed me into his office ; there he sat
— handsome, well-dressed in the latest style — run¬
ning down some accounts. I stammered through
an excuse, and set forth my errand. Compelled by
need to apply to him ... it should not be very
long till I could pay it back . . . when I got paid
for my newspaper article . . . He would confer
such a great benefit on me. . . . Even as I was
speaking he turned about to his desk, and resumed
his work. When I had finished, he glanced side¬
ways at me, shook his handsome head, and said,
" No "; simply " no "— no explanation — not an¬
other word.
My knees trembled fearfully, and I supported
myself against the little polished barrier. I rriust
try once more. Why should just his name have oc¬
curred to me as I stood far away from there in
119
Hunger
Vaterland? Something in my left side jerked a
couple of times, and I broke out into a sweat. I
said I was really awfully run down, and rather ill,
worse luck. It would certainly be no longer than
a few days when I could repay it. If he would be
so kind?
" My dear fellow, why do you come to me?" he
queried; "you are a perfect stranger off the street
to me ; go to the paper where you are known."
" But only for this evening," said I; " the office
is already shut up,^nd I am very hungry."
He shook his head persistently; kept on shaking
it after I had seized the handle of the door.
" Good-evening," I said. It was not any hint from
on high, thought I, and H smiled bitterly. If it
came to that, I could give as good a hint as that
myself. I dragged on one block after the other;
now and then I rested on a step. If only I could
escape being locked up. The terror of that cell
pursued me all the time ; left me no peace. When¬
ever I caught sight of a policeman in my path I
staggered into a side street to avoid meeting him.
Now, then, we will count a hundred steps, and try
our luck again ! There must be a remedy some¬
time. . . .
It was a little yarn-shop — a place in which I
had never before set foot; a solitary man behind
the counter ( there ^ was an office beyond, with a
china plate on the ¿oor) was arranging things on
120
Hunger
the shelves and counter. I waited till the last cus¬
tomer had left the shop — a young lady with dim¬
ples. How happy she looked I I was not back¬
ward in trying to make an impression with the pin
holding my coat together. I turned, and my chest
heaved.
" Do you wish for anything? " queried the shop¬
man.
" Is the chief in? " I asked.
" He is gone for a mountain tour in Jotunhejmen,"
he replied. Was it anything very particular, eh?
" It concerns a couple of pence for food," I said,
and I tried to smile. " I am hungry, and haven't
a fraction."
" Then you're just about as rich as I am," he re¬
marked and began to tidy some packages of wool.
" Ah, don't turn me away —^ not now ! " I said
on the moment, with a cold feeling over my whole
body. " I am really nearly dead with hunger ; it is
now many days since I have eaten anything."
With perfect gravity, without saying a word, he
began to turn his pockets inside out, one by one.
Would I not believe him, upon his word? What?
" Only a halfpenny," said I, " and you shall have
a penny back in a couple of days."
" My dear man, do you want me to steal out
of the till?" he queried, impatiently.
"Yes," said 1. "Yes; take a halfpenny out of
the till."
121.
Hunger
It won't be I that will do that," he observed;
adding, " and let me tell you, at the same time,
I've had about enough of this."
I tore myself out, sick with hunger, and boiling
with shame. I had turned myself into a dog for the
sake of a miserable bone, and I had not got it.
Nay, now there must be an end of this! It had
really gone all too far with me. I had held myself
up for many years, stood erect through so many
hard hours, and now, all at once, I had sunk to
the lowest form of begging. This one day had
coarsened my whole mind, bespattered my soul with
shamelessness. I had not been too abashed to stand
and whine in the pettiest huckster's shop, and what
had it availed me?
But was I not then without the veriest atom of
bread to put inside my mouth? I had succeeded
in rendering myself a thing loathsome to myself.
Yes, yes; but it must come to an end. Presently
they would lock the outer door at home? I must
hurry unless I wished to lie in the guard-house
again.
This gave me strength. Lie in that cell again
I would not. With body bent forward, and my
hands pressed hard against my left ribs to deaden
the stings a little, I struggled on, keeping my eyes
fastened upon the paving-stones that I might not be
forced to bow to possible acquaintances, and has¬
tened to the fire look-out. God be praised I it was
only seven o'clock by the dial on O^ir Saviour's; I
122
Hunger
had three hours yet before the door would be
locked. What a fright I had been in!
Well, there was not a stone left unturned. I had
done all I could. To think that I really could not
succeed once in a whole day! If I told it no one
could believe it; if I were to write it down they
would say I had invented it. Not in a single place!
Well, well, there is no help for it. Before all,
don't go and get pathetic again. Bah! how dis¬
gusting! I can assure you, it makes me have a
loathing for you. If all hope is over, why there is
an end of it. Couldn't I, for that matter, steal a
handful of oats in the stable? A streak of light
— a ray — yet I knew the stable was shut.
I took my ease, and crept home at a slow snail's
pace. I felt thirsty, luckily for the first time
through the whole day, and I went and sought
about for a place where I could get a drink. I
was a long distance away from the bazaar, and I
would not ask at a private house. Perhaps, though,
I could wait till I got home ; it would take a quarter
of an hour. It was not at all so certain that I
could keep down a draught of water, either; my
stomach no longer suffered in any way — I even felt
nausea at the spittle I swallowed. But the but¬
tons ! I had not tried the buttons at all yet. There
I stood, stock-still, and commenced to smile. May¬
be there was a remedy, in spite of all! I wasn't
totally doomed. I should certainly get a penny for
them; tomorrow I might raise another some place
123
Hunger
or Other, and Thursday I might be paid for my news¬
paper article. I should just see it would come out
all right. To think that I could really go and for¬
get the buttons. I took them out of my pocket, and
inspected them as I walked on again. My eyes grew
dazed with joy. I did not see the street; I simply
went on. Didn't I know exactly the big pawn-shop
— my refuge in the dark evenings, with my Mood-
suddng friend ? One by one my possessions had
vanished there — my little things from home — my
last book. I liked to go there on auction days, to
look on, and rejoice each time my books seemed
likely to fall into good hands. Magelsen, the actor,
had my watch; I was almost proud of that. A
diary, in which I had written my first small poetical
attempt, had been bought by an acquaintance, and
my topcoat had found a haven with a photographer,
to be used in the studio. So there was no cause to
grumble about any of them. I held my buttons
ready in my hand; " Uncle " is sitting at his desk,
writing. " I am not in a hurry," I say, afraid of
disturbing him, and making him impatient at my
application. My voice sounded so curiously hollow
I hardly recognized it again, and my heart beat like
a sledge-hammer.
He came smilingly over to me, as was his wont,
laid both his hands flat on the counter, and looked
at my face without saying anything. Yes, I had
brought something of which I would ask him if he
could make any use ; something which is only in my
124
Hunger
way at home, assure you of it — are quite an annoy¬
ance— some buttons. Well, what then? what was
there about the buttons? and he thrusts his eyes
down close to my hand. Couldn't he give me a
couple of halfpence for them ? — whatever he
thought himself — quite according to his own judg¬
ment. " For the buttons? "— and " Uncle " stares
astonishedly at me—"for these buttons?" Only
for a cigar or whatever he liked himself ; I was just
passing, and thought I would look in.
Upon this, the old pawnbroker burst out laugh¬
ing, and returned to his desk without saying a word.
There I stood; I had not hoped for much, yet, all
the same, I had thought of a possibility of being
helped. This laughter was my death-warrant. It
couldn't, I suppose, be of any use trying with my
eyeglasses either? Of course, I would let my
glasses go in with them ; that was a matter of course,
said I, and I took them off. Only a penny, or if he
wished, a halfpenny.
" You know quite well I can't lend you anything
on your glasses," said "Uncle"; I told you that
once before."
" But I want a stamp," I said, dully. " I can't
even send off the letters I have written; a penny or
a halfpenny stamp, just as you will."
" Oh, God help you, go your way ! " he replied,
and motioned me off with his hands.
Yes, yes; well, it must be so, I said to myself.
Mechanically, I put on my glasses again, took the
125
Hunger
buttons in my hand, and, turning away, bade him
good-night, and closed the door after me as usual.
Well, now, there was nothing more to be done I
To think he would not take them at any price, I
muttered. They are almost new buttons; I can't
understand it.
Whilst I stood, lost in thought, a man passed by
and entered the office. He had given me a little
shove in his hurry. We both made excuses, and I
turned round and looked after him.
"What! is that you?" he said, suddenly, when
half-way up the steps. He came back, and I recog¬
nized him. " God bless me, man, what on earth
do you look like ? What were you doing in there ? "
" Oh, I had business. You are going in too, 1
see."
"Yes; what were you in with?"
My knees trembled; I supported myself against
the wall, and stretched out my hand with the buttons
in it.
"What the deuce!" he cried. "No; this is
really going too far."
"Good-night! " said I, and was about to go; I
felt the tears choking my breast.
" No; wait a minute," he said.
What was I to wait for? Was he not himself
on the road to my "TJncle," bringing, perhaps,
his engagement ring — had been hungry, perhaps,
for several days — owed his landlady?
" Yes," I replied; " if you will be out soon. . .
126
Hunger
" Of course," he broke in, seizing hold of my arm;
" but I may as well tell you I don't believe you.
You are such an idiot, that it's better you come
in along with me."
I understood what be meant, suddenly felt a little
spark of pride, and answered :
" I can't; I promised to be in Bernt Akers Street
at half-past seven, and . . ."
" Half-past seven, quite so ; but it's eight now.
Here I am, standing with the watch in my band that
I'm going to pawn. So, in with you, you hungry
sinner ! I'll get you five shillings anyhow," and be
pushed me in.
127
Part III
A WEEK passed in glory and gladness.
I had got over the worst this time, too.
I had had food every day, and my courage
rose, and I thrust one iron after the other into
the fire.
I was working at three or four articles, that plun¬
dered my poor brain of every spark, every thought
that rose in it; and yet I fancied that I wrote with
more facility than before.
The last article with which I had raced about so
much, and upon which I had built such hopes, had
already been returned to me by the editor; and,
angry and wounded as I was, I had destroyed it im¬
mediately, without even re-reading it again. In
future, I would try another paper in order to open
up more fields for my work.
Supposing that writing were to fail, and the worst
were to come to the worst, I still had the ships to
take to. The Nun lay alongside the wharf, ready
to sail, and I might, perhaps, work my way out to
Archangel, or wherever else she might be bound;
there was no lack of openings on many sides. The
last crisis had dealt rather roughly with me. My
hair fell out in masses, and I was much troubled with
headaches, particularly in the morning, and my
nervousness died a hard death. I sat and wrote
:i3i
Hunger
during the day with my hands bound up in rags,
simply because I could not endure the touch of my
own breath upon them. If Jens Olaj banged the
stable door underneath me, or if a dog came into
the yard and commenced to bark, it thrilled through
my very marrow like icy stabs piercing me from
every side. I was pretty well played out.
Day after day I strove at my work, begrudging
myself the short time it took to swallow my food be¬
fore I sat down again to write. At this time both
the bed and the little rickety table were strewn over
with notes and written pages, upon which I worked
turn about, added any new ideas which might have
occurred to me during the day, erased, or quickened
here and there the dull points by a word of colour —
fagged and toiled at sentence after sentence, with
the greatest of pains. One afternoon, one of my
articles being at length finished, I thrust it, contented
and happy, into my pocket, and betook myself to the
" commandor." It was high time I made some ar¬
rangement towards getting a little money again; I
had only a few pence left.
The " commandor " requested me to sit down for
a moment; he would be disengaged immediately,
and he continued writing.
I looked about the little office — busts, prints,
cuttings, and an enormous paper-basket, that looked
as if it might swallow a man, bones and all. I felt
sad at heart at the sight of this monstrous chasm,
this dragon's mouth, that always stood open, always
132
Hunger
ready to receive rejected work, newly crushed
hopes.
"What day of the month is it?" queried the
" commandor " from the table.
" The 28th," I reply, pleased that I can be of
service to him, " the 28th," and he continues writ¬
ing. At last he encloses a couple of letters in their
envelopes, tosses some papers into the basket, and
lays down his pen. Then he swings round on his
chair, and looks at me. Observing that I am still
standing near the door, he makes a half-serious, half-
playful motion with his hand, and points to a chair.
I turn aside, so that he may not see that I have
no waistcoat on, when I open my coat to take the
manuscript out of my pocket.
" It is only a little character sketch of Correg-
gio," I say; "but perhaps it is, worse luck, not
written in such a way that ..."
He takes the papers out of my hand, and com¬
mences to go through them. His face is turned
towards me.
And so it is thus he looks at close quarters, this
man, whose name I had already heard in my earliest
youth, and whose paper had exercised the greatest
influence upon me as the years advanced? His hair
is curly, and his beautiful brown eyes are a little
restless. He has a habit of tweaking his nose
now and then. No Scotch minister could look
milder than this truculent writer, whose pen always
left bleeding scars wherever it attacked. A pecul-
133
Hunger
iar feeling of awe and admiration comes over me in
the presence of this man. The tears are on the
point of coming to my eyes, and I advanced a step
to tell him how heartily I appreciated him, for all he
had taught me, and to beg him not to hurt me; I
was only a poor bungling wretch, who had had a
sorry enough time of it as it was. . . .
He looked up, and placed my manuscript slowly
together, whilst he sat and considered. To make it
easier for him to give me a refusal, I stretch out
my hand a little, and say:
" Ah, well, of course, it is not of any use to
you," and I smile to give him the impression that I
take it easily.
" Everything has to be of such a popular nature
to be of any use to us," he replies; "you know the
kind of public we have. But can't you try and write
something a little more commonplace, or hit upon
something that people understand better?"
His forbearance astonishes me. I understand
that my article is rejected, and yet I could not have
received a prettier refusal. Not to take up his
time any longer, I reply:
" Oh yqs, I daresay I can."
I go towards the door. Hem — he must pray
forgive me for having taken up his time with this
. . . I bow, and turn the door handle.
" If you need it," he says, " you are welcome to
draw a little in advance; you can write for it, you
know."
134
Hunger
Now, as he had just seen that I was not capable
of writing, this offer humiliated me sorrtewhat, and I
answered :
"No, thanks; I can pull through yet a while,
thanking you very much, all the same. Good-day ! "
" Good-day! " replies the " commandor," turning
at the same time to his desk again.
He had none the less treated me with undeserved
kindness, and I was grateful to him for it — and
I would know how to appreciate it too. I made a
resolution not to return to him until I could take
something with me, that satisfied me perfectly; some¬
thing that would astonish the " commandor " a bit,
and make him order me to be paid half-a-sqvereign
without a moment's hesitation. I went home, and
tackled my writing once more.
During the following evenings, as soon as it got
near eight o'clock and the gas was lit, the following
thing happened regularly to me.
As I come out of my room to take a walk in the
streets after the labour and troubles of the day, a
lady, dressed in black, stands under the lamp-post
exactly opposite my door.
She turns her face towards me and follows me
with her eyes when I pass her by — I remark that
she always has the same dress on, always the same
thick veil that conceals her face and falls over her
breast, and that she carries in her hand a small um¬
brella with an ivory ring in the handle. This was
already the third evening I had seen her there,
135
Hunger
always în the same place. As soon as I have
passed her by she turns slowly and goes down the
street away from me. My nervous brain vibrated
with curiosity, and I became at once possessed by
the unreasonable feeling that I was the object of
her visit. At last I was almost on the point of ad¬
dressing her, of asking her if she was looking for
any one, if she needed my assistance in any way, or
if I might accompany her home. Badly dressed,
as I unfortunately was, I might protect her through
the dark streets ; but I had an undefined fear that it
perhaps might cost me something; a glass of wine,
or a drive, and I had no money left at all. My dis¬
tressingly empty pockets acted in a far too depress¬
ing way upon me, and I had not even the courage
to scrutinize her sharply as I passed her by. Hun¬
ger had once more taken up its abode in my breast,
and I had not tasted food since yesterday evening.
This, 'tis true, was not a long period; I had often
been able to hold out for a couple of days at a time,
but latterly I had commenced to fall off seriously;
I could not go hungry one quarter as well as I used
to do. A single day made me feel dazed, and I
suffered from perpetual retching the moment I
tasted water. Added to this was the fact that I
lay and shivered all night, lay fully dressed as I
stood and walked in the daytime, lay blue with cold,
lay and froze every night with fits of icy shivering,
and grew stiff during my sleep. The old blanket
could not keep out the draughts, and I woke in the
136
Hunger
mornings with my nose stopped by the sharp out¬
side frosty air which forced its way into the dilapi¬
dated room.
I go down the street and think over what I am
to do to keep myself alive until I get my next article
finished. If I only had a candle I would try to fag
on through the night; it would only take a couple
of hours if I once warmed to my work, and then to¬
morrow I could call on the " commander."
I go without further ado into the Opland Café
and look for my young acquaintance in the bank,
in order to procure a penny for a candle. I passed
unhindered through all the rooms ; I passed a dozen
tables at which men sat chatting, eating, and drink¬
ing; I passed into the back of the café, ay, even into
the red alcove, without succeeding in finding my
man.
Crestfallen and annoyed I dragged myself out
again into the street and took the direction to the
Palace.
Wasn^t it now the very hottest eternal devil ex¬
isting to think that my hardships never would come
to an end I Taking long, furious strides, with the
collar of my coat hunched savagely up round my
ears, and my hands thrust in my breeches pockets, I
strode along, cursing my unlucky stars the whole
way. Not one real untroubled hour in seven or
eight months, not the common food necessary to
hold body and soul together for the space of one
short week, before want stared me in the face again.
137
Hunger
Here I had, into the bargain, gone and kept straight
and honourable all through my misery — Ha! ha!
straight and honourable to the heart's core. God
preserve me, what a fool I had been ! And I com¬
menced to tell myself how I had even gone about
conscience-stricken because I had once brought Hans
Pauli's blanket to the pawn-broker's. I laughed sar¬
castically at my delicate rectitude, spat contemptu¬
ously in the street, and could not find words half
strong enough to mock myself for my stupidity.
Let it only happen now! Were I to find at this
moment a schoolgirl's savings or a poor widow's
only penny, I would snatch it up and pocket it; steal
it deliberately, and sleep the whole night through
like a top. I had not suffered so unspeakably much
for nothing — my patience was gone — I was pre¬
pared to do anything.
I walked round the palace three, perhaps four,
times, then came to the conclusion that I would
go home, took yet one little turn in the park and
went back down Carl Johann. It was now about
eleven. The streets were fairly dark, and the peo¬
ple roamed about in all directions, quiet pairs and
noisy groups mixed with one another. The great
hour had commenced, the pairing time when the
mystic traffic is in full swing—and the hour of
merry adventures sets in. Rustling petticoats, one
or two still short, sensual laughter, heaving bosoms,
passionate, panting breaths, and far down near the
Grand Hotel, a voice calling "Emma!" The
138
Hunger
whole street was a swamp, from which hot vapours
exuded.
I feel involuntarily in my pockets for a few
shillings. The passion that thrills through the
movements of every one of the passers-by, the dim
light of the gas lamps, the quiet pregnant night, all
commence to affect me — this air, that is laden with
whispers, embraces, trembling admissions, conces¬
sions, half-uttered words and suppressed cries. A
number of cats are declaring their love with loud
yells in Blomquist's doorway. And I did not possess
even a florin ! It was a misery, a wretchedness with¬
out parallel to be so impoverished. What humilia¬
tion, too ; what disgrace ! I began again to think
about the poor widow's last mite, that I would have
stolen a schoolboy's cap or handkerchief, or a beg¬
gar's wallet, that I would have brought to a rag-
dealer without more ado, and caroused with the
proceeds.
In order to console myself — to indemnify my¬
self in some measure — I take to picking all possi¬
ble faults in the people who glide by. I shrug my
shoulders contemptuously, and look slightingly at
them according as they pass. These easily-pleased,
confectionery-eating students, who fancy they are
sowing their wild oats in truly Continental style if
they tickle a sempstress under the ribs! These
young bucks, bank clerks, merchants, flaneurs — who
would not disdain a sailor's wife; blowsy Molls,
ready to fall down in the first doorway for a glass
139
Hunger
of beer I What sirens! The place at their side
still warm from the last night's embrace of a watch¬
man or a stable-boy! The throne always vacant,
always open to newcomers ! Pray, mount !
I spat out over the pavement, without troubling
if it hit any one. I felt enraged; filled with con¬
tempt for these people who scraped acquaintance¬
ship with one another, and paired off right before
my eyes. I lifted my head, and felt in myself
the blessing of being able to keep my own sty clean.
At Stortingsplads (Parliament Place) I met a girl
who looked fixedly at me as I came close to her.
Good-night ! " said I.
"Good-night!" She stopped.
Hum ! was she out walking so late ? Did not a
young lady run rather a risk in being in Carl Johann
at this time of night? Really not? Yes; but was
she never spoken to, molested, I meant; to speak
plainly, asked to go along home with any one?
She stared at me with astonishment, scanned my
face closely, to see what I really meant by this, then
thrust her hand suddenly under my arm, and said:
" Yes, and we went too! "
I walked on with her. But when we had gone
a few paces past the car-stand I came to a standstill,
freed my arm, and said:
" Listen, my dear, I don't own a farthing ! " and
with that I went on.
At first she would not believe me; but after she
had searched all my pockets, and found nothing, she
140
Hunger
got vexed, tossed her head, and called me a dry
cod.
" Good-night! " said I.
"Wait a minute," she called; "are those eye¬
glasses that you've got gold? "
" No."
" Then go to blazes with you ! " and I went.
A few seconds after she came running behind me,
and called out to me:
" You can come with me all the same ! "
I felt humiliated by this offer from an unfortunate
street wench, and I said " No." Besides, it was
growing late at night, and I was due at a place.
Neither could she, afford to make sacrifices of that
kind.
"Yes; but now I will have you come with me."
" But I won't go with you in this way."
"Oh, naturally; you are going with some one
else."
" No," I answered.
But I was conscious that I stood in a sorry plight
in face of this unique street jade, and I made up my
mind to save appearances at least.
" What is your name ?" I inquired. " Mary, eh?
Well, listen to me now, Mary! " and I set about
explaining my behaviour. The girl grew more and
more astonished in measure as I proceeded. Had
she then believed that I, too, was one of those who
went about the street at night and ran after little
girls ? Did she really think so badly of me ? Had
141
Hunger
I perhaps said anything rude to her from the be¬
ginning? Did one behave as I had done when one
was actuated by any bad motive? Briefly, in so
many words, I had accosted her, and accompanied
her those few paces, to see how far she would go on
with it. For the rest, my name was So-and-so —
Pastor So-and-so. " Good-night; depart, and sin no
more ! " With these words I left her.
I rubbed my hands with delight over my happy
notion, and soliloquized aloud, " What a joy there
is in going about doing good actions." Perhaps I
had given this fallen creature an upward impulse
for her whole life; save her, once for all, from de¬
struction, and she would appreciate it when she came
to think over it; remember me yet in her hour of
death with thankful heart. Ah ! in truth, it paid to
be honourable, upright, and righteous!
My spirits were effervescing. I felt fresh and
courageous enough to face anything that might turn
up. If I only had a candle, I might perhaps com¬
plete my article. I walked on, jingüng my new
door-key in my hand; hummed, and whistled, and
speculated as to means of procuring a candle.
There was no other way out of it. I would have to
take my writing materials with me into the street,
under a lamp-post. I opened the door, and went up
to get my papers. When I descended once more I
locked the door from the outside, and planted my¬
self under the light. All around was quiet; I heard
the heavy clanking footstep of a constable down
142
Hunger
in Taergade, and far away in the direction of St.
Han's Hill a dog barked. There was nothing to
disturb me. I pulled my coat collar up round
my ears, and commenced to think with all my
might.
It would be such an extraordinary help to me if
I were lucky enough to find a suitable winding up
for this little essay. I had stuck just at a rather
difficult point in it, where there ought to be a quite
imperceptible transition to something fresh, then a
subdued gliding finale, a prolonged murmur, end¬
ing at last in a climax as bold and as startling as a
shot, or the sound of a mountain avalanche — full
stop. But the words would not come to me. I
read over the whole piece from the commencement ;
read every sentence aloud, and yet failed absolutely
to crystallize my thoughts, in order to produce this
scintillating climax. And into the bargain, whilst
I was standing labouring away at this, the constable
came and, planting himself a little distance away
from me, spoilt my whole mood. Now, what con¬
cern was it of his if I stood and strove for a strik¬
ing climax to an article for the Commandorf Lord,
how utterly impossible it was for me to keep my
head above water, no matter how much I tried!
I stayed there for the space of an hour. The con¬
stable went his way. The cold began to get too in¬
tense for me to keep still. Disheartened and de¬
spondent over this abortive effort, I opened the door
again, and went up to my room.
H3
Hunger
It was cold up there, and I could barely see my
window for the intense darkness. I felt my way
towards the bed, pulled off my shoes, and set about
warming my feet between my hands. Then I lay
down, as I had done for a long time now, with all
my clothes on.
The following morning I sat up in bed as soon as
it got light, and set to work at the essay once more.
I sat thus till noon; I had succeeded by then in get¬
ting ten, perhaps twenty lines down, and still I had
not found an ending.
I rose, put on my shoes, and began to walk up
and down the floor to try and warm myself. I
looked out; there was rime on the window; it was
snowing. Down in the yard a thick layer of snow
covered the paving-stones and the top of the pump.
I bustled about the room, took aimless turns to and
fro, scratched the wall with my nail, leant my head
carefully against the door for a while, tapped with
my forefinger on the floor, and then listened atten¬
tively, all without any object, but quietly and pen¬
sively as if it were some matter of importance in
which I was engaged; and all the while I murmured
aloud, time upon time, so that I could hear my own
voice.
But, great God, surely this is madness! and yet
I kept on just as before. After a long time, per-
hlf)s a couple of hours, I pulled myself sharply to¬
gether, bit my lips, and manned myself as well as
I could. There must be an end to this! I found
144
Hunger
a splinter to chew, and set myself resolutely to
write again.
A couple of short sentences formed themselves
with much trouble, a score of poor words which I
tortured forth with might and main to try and ad¬
vance a little. Then I stopped, my head was bar¬
ren; I was incapable of more. And, as I could pos¬
itively not go on, I set myself to gaze with wide
open eyes at these last words, this unfinished sheet
of paper; I stared at these strange, shaky letters that
bristled up from the paper like small hairy creeping
things, till at last I could neither make head nor
tail of any of it. I thought on nothing.
Time went; I heard the traffic in the street, the
rattle of cars and tramp of hoofs. Jens Olaj's
voice ascended towards me from the stables as he
chid the horses. I was perfectly stunned. I sat
and moistened my lips a little, but otherwise made
no effort to do anything; my chest was in a pitiful
state. The dusk closed in; I sank more and more
together, grew weary, and lay down on the bed
again. In order to warm my fingers a little I
stroked them through my hair backwards and for¬
wards and crosswise. Small loose tufts came away,
flakes that got between my fingers, and scattered over
the pillow. I did not think anything about it just
then; it was as if it did not concern me. I had
hair enough left, anyway. I tried afresh to shake
myself out of this strange daze that enveloped my
whole being like a mist. I sat up, struck my knees
145
Hunger
with my flat hands, laughed as hard as my sore chest
permitted me — only to collapse again. Naught
availed; I was dying helplessly, with my eyes wide
open — staring straight up at the roof. At length
I stuck my forefinger in my mouth, and took to
sucking it. Something stirred in my brain, a thought
that bored its way in there — a stark-mad notion.
Supposing I were to take a bite? And without
a moment's reflection, I shut my eyes, and clenched
my teeth on it.
I sprang up. At last I was thoroughly awake.
A little blood trickled from it, and I licked it as it
came. It didn't hurt very much, neither was the
wound large, but I was brought at one bound to
my senses. I shook my head, went to the window,
where I found a rag, and wound it round the sore
place. As I stood and busied myself with this, my
eyes filled with tears; I cried softly to myself. This
poor thin finger looked so utterly pitiable. God in
Heaven! what a pass it had come to now with me!
The gloom grew closer. It was, maybe, not impos¬
sible that I might work up my finale through the
course of the evening, if I only had a candle. My
head was clear once more. Thoughts came and
went as usual, and I did not suffer particularly; I
did not even feel hunger so badly as some hours
previously. I could hold out well till the next day.
Perhaps I might be able to get a candle on credit,
if I applied to the provision shop and explained my
146
Hunger
situation — I was so well known in there ; in the
good old days, when I had the means to do it, I
used to buy many a loaf there. There was no doubt
I could raise a candle on the strength of my honest
name ; and for the first time for ages I took to brush¬
ing my clothes a little, got rid as well as the dark¬
ness allowed me of the loose hairs on my collar,
and felt my way down the stairs.
When I got outside in the street it occurred to
me that I might perhaps rather ask for a loaf. I
grew irresolute, and stopped to consider. On no
account," I replied to myself at last; I was unfortu¬
nately not in a condition to bear food. It would
only be a repetition of the same old story — visions,
and presentiments, and mad notions. My article
would never get finished, and it was a question of
going to the " Commandor " before he had time to
forget me. On no account whatever ! and I decided
upon the candle. With that I entered the shop.
A woman is standing at the counter making pur¬
chases; several small parcels in different sorts of
paper are lying in front of her. The shopman,
who knows me, and knows what I usually buy,
leaves the woman, and packs without much ado a
loaf in a piece of paper and shoves it over to me.
" No, thank you, it was really a candle I wanted
this evening," I say. I say it very quietly and hum¬
bly, in Order not to vex him and spoil my chance of
getting what 1 want.
147
Hunger
My answer confuses him; he turns quite cross at
my unexpected words; it was the first time I had
ever demanded anything but a loaf from him.
" Well then, you must wait a while," he says at
last, and busies himself with the woman's parcels
again.
She receives her wares and pays for them —
gives him a florin, out of which she gets the change,
and goes out. Now the shop-boy and I are alone.
He says:
So it was a candle you wanted, eh? " He tears
open a package, and takes one out for me. He looks
at me, and I look at him; I can't get my request
over my lips.
" Oh yes, that's true ; you paid, though ! " he
says suddenly. He simply asserts that I had paid.
I heard every word, and he begins to count some
silver out of the till, coin after coin, shining stout
pieces. He gives me back change for a crown.
" Much obliged," he says.
Now I stand and look at these pieces of money
for a second. I am conscious something is wrong
somewhere. I do not reflect; do not think about
anything at all — I am simply struck of a heap by
all this wealth which is lying glittering before my
eyes — and I gather up the money mechanically.
I stand outside the counter, stupid with amaze¬
ment, dumb, paralyzed. I take a stride towards the
door, and stop again. I turn my eyes upon a certain
spot in the wall, where a little bell is suspended to a
148
Hunger
leather collar, and underneath this a bundle of
string, and I stand and stare at these things.
The shop-boy is struck by the idea that I want to
have a chat as I take my time so leisurely, and says,
as he tidies a lot of wrapping-papers strewn over
the counter:
" It looks as if we were going to have winter
snow I "
''Humph! Yes," I reply; "it looks as if we
were going to have winter in earnest now; it looks
like it," and a while after, I add: "Ah, well, it
is none too soon."
I could hear myself speak, but each word I uttered
struck my ear as if it were coming from another per¬
son. I spoke absolutely unwittingly, involuntarily,
without being conscious of myself.
"Oh, do you think so?" says the boy.
I thrust the hand with the money into my pocket,
turned the door-handle, and left. I could hear
that I said good-night, and that the shop-boy re¬
plied to me.
I had gone a few paces away from the shop
when the shop-door was torn open, and the boy
called after me. I turned round without any aston¬
ishment, without a trace of fear; I only collected
the money into my hand, and prepared to give it
back.
" Beg pardon, youVe forgotten your candle,"
says the boy.
" Ah, thanks," I answered quietly. " Thanks,
149
Hunger
thanks " ; and I strolled on, down the street, bear¬
ing it in my hand.
My first sensible thought referred to the money.
I went over to a lamp-post, counted it, weighed it in
my hand, and smiled. So, in spite of all, I was
helped — extraordinarily, grandly, incredibly helped
— helped for a long, long time; and I thrust my
hand with the money into my pocket, and walked on.
Outside an eating-house in Grand Street I
stopped, and turned over in my mind, calmly and
quietly, if I should venture so soon to take a little
refreshment. I could hear the rattle of knives and
plates inside, and the sound of meat being pounded.
The temptation was too strong for me — I entered.
" A helping of beef," I say.
" One beef! " calls the waitress down through the
door to the lift.
I sat down by myself at a little table next to the
door, and prepared to wait. It was somewhat
dark where I was sitting, and I felt tolerably well
concealed, and set myself to have a serious think.
Every now and then the waitress glanced over at me
inquiringly. My first downright dishonesty was ac¬
complished — my first theft. Compared to this, all
my earlier escapades were as nothing — my first
great fall. ... Well and good! There was no
help for it. For that matter, it was open to me to
settle it with the shopkeeper later on, on a more op¬
portune occasion. It need not go any farther with
me. Besides that, I had not taken upon myself to
150
Hunger
live more hoBOurably than all the other folk; there
was no contract that . . .
"Do you think that heef will soon he here?"
" Yes; immediately "; the waitress opens the trap¬
door, and looks down into the kitchen.
But suppose the affair did crop up some day?
If the shop-hoy were to get suspicious and begin to
think over the transaction about the bread, and the
florin of which the woman got the change? It was
not impossible that he would discover it some day,
perhaps the next time I went there. Well, then.
Lord! ... I shrugged my shoulders unobserved.
" If you please," says the waitress, kindly plac¬
ing the beef on the table, " wouldn't you rather go
to another compartment, it's so dark here?"
"No, thanks; just let me be here," I reply; her
kindliness touches me at once. I pay for the beef
on the spot, put whatever change remains into her
hand, close her fingers over it. She smiles, and I
say in fun, with the tears near my ears, " There,
you're to have the balance to buy yourself a farm.
. . . Ah, you're very welcome to it."
I commenced to eat, got more and more greedy
as I did so, swallowed whole pieces without chewing
them, enjoyed myself in an animal-like way at every
mouthful, and tore at the meat like a cannibal.
The waitress came over to me again.
" Will you have anything to drink? " she asks,
bending down a little towards me. I looked at her.
She spoke very low, almost shyly, and dropped her
151
Hunger
eyes. " I mean a glass of ale, or whatever you like
best . . . from me . . . without . . . that is, if
you will . .
"No; many thanks," I answer. "Not now; I
shall come back another time."
She drew back, and sat down at the desk. I could
only see her head. What a singular creature 1
When finished, I made at once for the door. I
felt nausea already. The waitress got up. I was
afraid to go near the light— afraid to show myself
too plainly to the young girl, who never for a mo¬
ment suspected the depth of my misery; so I wished
her a hasty good-night, bowed to her, and left.
The food commenced to take effect. I suffered
much from it, and could not keep it down for any
length of time. I had to empty my mouth a little
at every dark corner I came to. I struggled to
master this nausea which threatened to hollow me
out anew, clenched my hands, and tried to fight it
down; stamped on the pavement, and gulped down
furiously whatever sought to come up. All in vain.
I sprang at last into a doorway, doubled up, head
foremost, blinded with the water which gushed from
my eyes, and vomited once more. I was seized with
bitterness, and wept as I went along the street. . . .
I cursed the cruel powers, whoever they might be,
that persecuted me so, consigned them to hell's dam¬
nation and eternal torments for their petty perse¬
cution. There was but little chivalry in fate, really
little enough chivalry ; one was forced to admit that.
152
Hunger
I went over to a man staring into a shop-window,
and asked him in great haste what, according to
his opinion, should one give a man who had been
starving for a long time. It was a matter of life
and death, I said; he couldn't even keep beef down.
" I have heard say that milk is a good thing —
hot milk," answered the man, astonished. " Who
is it, by the way, you are asking for? "
"Thanks, thanks," I say; " that idea of hot milk
might not be half a bad notion " ; and I go.
I entered the first café I came to going along,
and asked for some boiled milk. I got the milk,
drank it down, hot as it was, swallowed it greedily,
every drop, paid for it, and went out again. I took
the road home.
Now something singular happened. Outside my
door, leaning against the lamp-post, and right under
the glare of it, stands a person of whom I get a
glimpse from a long distance — it is the lady dressed
in black again. The same black-clad lady of the
other evenings. There could be no mistake about
it; she had turned up at the same spot for the fourth
time. She is standing perfectly motionless. I find
this so peculiar that I involuntarily slacken my pace.
At this moment my thoughts are in good working
order, but I am much excited; my nerves are irri¬
tated by my last meal. I pass her by as usual; am
almost at the door and on the point of entering.
There I stop. All of a sudden an inspiration seizes
me. Without rendering myself any account of it,
153.
Hunger
I turn round and go straight up to the lady, look her
in the face, and bow.
Good-evening."
" Good-evening," she answers.
Excuse me, was she looking for anything? I
had noticed her before; could I be of assistance to
her in any way? begged pardon, by-the-way, so ear¬
nestly for inquiring.
Yes; she didn't quite know. . . .
No one lived inside that door besides three or
four horses and myself; it was, for that matter, only
a stable and a tinker's workshop. . . . She was
certainly on a wrong track if she was seeking any
one there.
At this she turns her head away, and says : " I
am not seeking for anybody. I am only standing
here; it was really only a whim. I" . . . she
stops.
Indeed, really, she only stood there, just stood
there, evening after evening, just for a whim's sake!
That was a little odd. I stood and pondered over
it, and it perplexed me more and more. I made up
my mind to be daring; I jingled my money in my
pocket, and asked her, without further ado, to come
and have a glass of wine some place or another . . .
in consideration that winter had come, ha, ha! . . .
it needn't take very long . . . but perhaps she
would scarcely. . . .
Ah, no, thanks; she couldn't well do that. No!
154
Hunger
she couldn't do that; but would I be so kind as to
accompany her a little way? She ... it was
rather dark to go home now, and she was rather
nervous about going up Carl Johann after it got so
late.
We moved on; she walked at my right side. A
strange, beautiful feeling empowered me; the cer¬
tainty of being near a young girl. I looked at her
the whole way along. The scent of her hair; the
warmth that irradiated from her body; the perfume
of woman that accompanied her; the sweet breath
every time she turned her face towards me — every¬
thing penetrated in an ungovernable way through all
my senses. So far, I just caught a glimpse of a full,
rather pale, face behind the veil, and a high bosom
that curved out against her cape. The thought of
all the hidden beauty which I surmised lay sheltered
under the cloak and veil bewildered me, making me
idiotically happy without any reasonable grounds.
I could not endure it any longer ; I touched her with
my hand, passed my fingers over her shoulder, and
smiled imbecilely.
" How queer you are," said I.
"Am I, really; in what way?**
Well, in the first place, simply, she had a habit
of standing outside a stable door, evening after
evening, without any object whatever, just for a
whim's sake. . . .
Oh, well, she might have her reason for doing so ;
155
Hunger
besides, she liked staying up late at night; it was a
thing she had always had a great fanqr for. Did
I care about going to bed before twelve?
I? If there was anything in the world I hated
it was to go to bed before twelve o'clock at night.
Ah, there, you seel She, too, was just the same;
she took this little tour in the evenings when she had
nothing to lose by doing so. She lived up in St.
Olav's Place.
Ylajali," I cried.
" I beg pardon?"
" I only said ' Ylajali ' . . . it's all right. Con¬
tinue . . ."
She lived up in St. Olav's Place, lonely enough,
together with her mother, to whom one couldn't talk
because she was so deaf. Was there anything odd
in her liking to get out for a little ?
No, not at all," I replied.
" No? well, what then? "
I could hear by her voice that she was smiling.
Hadn't she a sister?
Yes; an older sister. But, by-the-way, how did
I know that ? She had gone to Hamburg.
"Lately?"
" Yes; five weeks ago." From where did I learn
that she had a sister?
I didn't learn it at all; I only asked.
We kept silence. A man passes us, with a pair
of shoes under his arm; otherwise, the street is
empty as far as we can see. Over at the Tivoli a
Hunger
long row of coloured lamps are burning. It no
longer snows ; the sky is clear.
Gracious ! don't you freeze without an over^
coat? " inquires the lady, suddenly looking at me.
Should I tell her why I had no overcoat ; make my
sorry condition known at once, and frighten her
away? As well first as last. Still, it was delightful
to walk here at her side and keep her in ignorance
yet a while longer. So I lied. I answered:
" No, not at all " ; and, in order to change the
subject, I asked, " Have you seen the menagerie in
the Tivoli?"
"No," she answered; "is there really anything
to see?"
Suppose she were to take it into her head to wish
to go there? Into that blaze of light, with the
crowd of people. Why, she would be filled with
shame ; I would drive her out again, with my shabby
clothes, and lean face; perhaps she might even no¬
tice that I had no waistcoat on. . . .
" Ah, no ; there is sure to be nothing worth see¬
ing!"
And a lot of happy ideas occurred to me, of
which I at once made use; a few sparse words,
fragments left in my dessicated brain. What would
One expect from such a small menagerie? On the
whole, it did not interest me in the least to see ani¬
mals in cases. These animals know that one is
standing staring at them; they feel hundreds of in¬
quisitive looks upon them; are conscious of them.
157
Hunger
No; I would prefer to see animals that didn't know
one observed them ; shy creatures that nestle in their
lair, and lie with sluggish green eyes, and lick their
claws, and muse, eh?
Yes; I was certainly right in that.
It was only animals in all their peculiar fearful-
ness and peculiar savagery that possessed a charm.
The soundless, stealthy tread in the total darkness
of night; the hidden monsters of the woods; the
shrieks of a bird flying past; the wind, the smell of
blood, the rumbling in space; in short, the reigning
spirit of the kingdom of savage creatures hovering
over savagery . . . the unconscious poetry! . . .
But I was afraid this bored her. The consciousness
of my great poverty seized me anew, and crushed me.
If I had only been in any way well-enough dressed to
have given her the pleasure of this little tour in the
Tivoli ! I could not make out this creature, who
could find pleasure in letting herself be accompanied
up the whole of Carl Johann Street by a half-naked
beggar. What, in the name of God, was she think¬
ing of? And why was I walking there, giving my¬
self airs, and smiling idiotically at nothing? Had I
any reasonable cause, either, for letting myself be
worried into a long walk by this dainty, silken-clad
bird? Mayhap it did not cost me an effort? Did
I not feel the ice of death go right into my heart at
even the gentlest puff of wind that blew against us?
Was not madness running riot in my brain, just for
lack of food for many months at a stretch? Yet
158
Hunger
she hindered me from going home to get even a
little milk into my parched mouth; a spoonful of
sweet milk, that I might perhaps be able to keep
down. Why didn't she turn her back on me, and
let me go to the deuce ?...
I became distracted ; my despair reduced me to the
last extremity. I said :
Considering all things, you ought not to walk
with me. I disgrace you right under every one's
eyes, if only with my clothes. Yes, it is positively
true ; I mean it."
She starts, looks up quickly at me, and is silent;
then she exclaims suddenly :
" Indeed, though ! " More she doesn't say.
" What do you mean by that? " I queried.
" Ugh, no ; you make me feel ashamed. . . .
We have not got very far now " ; and she walked on
a little faster.
We turned up University Street, and could al¬
ready see the lights in St. Olav's Place. Then she
commenced to walk slowly again.
"I have no wish to be indiscreet," I say; ''but
won't you tell me your name before we part? and
won't you, just for one second, lift up your veil so
that I can see you? I would be really so grate¬
ful."
A pause. I walked on in expectation.
" You have seen me before," she replies.
" Ylajali," J say again.
" Beg pardon. You followed me once for half-
U9
Hunger
a-day, almost right home. Were you tipsy that
time? "
I could hear again that she smiled.
" Yes/' I said. " Yes, worse luck, I was tipsy
that time."
That was horrid of you! "
And I admitted contritely that it was horrid of
me.
We reached the fountains; we stop and look up at
the many lighted windows of No. 2.
" Now, you mustn't come any farther with me,"
she says. " Thank you for coming so far."
I bowed; I daren't say anything; I took off my
hat and stood bareheaded. I wonder if she will
give me her hand.
" Why don't you ask me to go back a little way
with you? " she asks, in a low voice, looking down
at the toe of her shoe.
" Great Heavens ! " I reply, beside myself,
" Great Heavens, if you only would! "
''Yes; but only a little way."
And we turned round.
I was fearfully confused. I absolutely did not
know if I were on my head or my heels. This
creature upset all my chain of reasoning; turned it
topsy-turvy. I was bewitched and extraordinarily
happy. It seemed to me as if I were being dragged
enchantingly to destruction. She had expressly
willed to go back; it wasn't my notion, it was her
own desire. I walk on and look at her, and get
160
Hunger
more and more bold. She encourages me, draws
me to her by each word she speaks. I forget for a
moment my poverty, my humble position, my whole
miserable condition. I feel my blood course madly
through my whole body, as in the days before I
caved in, and resolved to feel my way by a little
ruse.
By-the-way, it wasn't you I followed that time,"
said I. " It was your sister."
"Was it my sister? " she questions, in the high¬
est degree amazed. She stands still, looks up at
me, and positively waits for an answer. She puts
the question in all sober earnest.
"Yes," I replied. "Hum — m, that is to say,
it was the younger of the two ladies who went on
in front of me."
"The youngest, eh? eh? a-a-hal" she laughed
out all at once, loudly, heartily, like a child. " Oh,
how sly you are; you only said that just to get me
to raise my veil, didn't you? Ah, I thought so;
but you may just wait till you are blue first . . .
just for punishment."
We began to laugh and jest; we talked incessantly
all the time. I do not know what I said, I was so
happy. She told me that she had seen me once be¬
fore, a long time ago, in the theatre. I had then
comrades with me, and I behaved like a madman; I
must certainly have been tipsy that time too, more's
the shame.
Why did she think that?
i6i
Hunger
Oh, I had laughed so.
" Really, a-ah yes; I used to laugh a lot in those
days."
" But now not any more? "
" Oh yes; now too. It is a splendid thing to ex¬
ist sometimes."
We reached Carl Johann. She said: "Now we
won't go any farther," and we returned through
University Street. When we arrived at the foun¬
tain once more I slackened my pace a little; I knew
that I could not go any farther with her.
" Well, now you must turn back here," she said,
and stopped.
" Yes, I suppose I must."
But a second after she thought I might as well
go as far as the door with her. Gracious me, there
couldn't be anything wrong in that, could there?
" No," I replied.
But when we were standing at the door all my
misery confronted me clearly. How was one to
keep up one's courage when one was so broken
down? Here I stood before a young lady, dirty,
ragged, torn, disfigured by hunger, unwashed, and
only half-clad; it was enough to make one sink into
the earth. I shrank into myself, bent my head in¬
voluntarily, and said:
" May I not meet you any more then? "
I had no hope of being permitted to see her again.
I almost wished for a sharp No, that would pull
me together a bit and render me callous.
162
Hunger
"Yes," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly,
" When ? "
" I don't know."
A pause. . , .
" Won't you be so kind as to lift your veil, only
just for a minute," I asked. " So that I can see
whom I have been talking to. Just for one moment,
for indeed I must see whom I have been talking to."
Another pause. . . .
" You can meet me outside here on Tuesday eve¬
ning," she said. "Will you?"
" Yes, dear lady, if I have permission to."
" At eight o'clock."
" Very well."
I stroked down her cloak with my hand, merely
to have an excuse for touching her. It was a de¬
light to me to be so near her.
" And you mustn't think all too badly of me,"
she added; she was smiling again.
" No."
Suddenly she made a resolute movement and
drew her veil up over her forehead; we stood and
gazed at one another for a second.
"Ylajalil" I cried. She stretched herself up,
flung her arms round my neck and kissed me right
on the mouth — only once, swiftly, bewilderingly
swiftly, right on the mouth. I could feel how her
bosom heaved; she was breathing violently. She
wrenched herself suddenly out of my clasp, called
a good-night, breathlessly, whispering, and turned
163
Hunger
and ran up the stairs without a word more. . . .
The hall door shut.
It snowed still more the next day, a heavy snow
mingled with rain; great wet flakes that fell to earth
and were turned to mud. The air was raw and
icy. I woke somewhat late, with my head in a
strange state of confusion, my heart intoxicated
from the foregone evening by the agitation of that
delightful meeting. In my rapture (I had lain a
while awake and fancied Ylajali at my side) I
spread out my arms and embraced myself and
kissed the air. At length I dragged myself out of
bed and procured a fresh cup of milk, and straight
on top of that a plate of beef. I was no longer
hungry, but my nerves were in a highly-strung con¬
dition.
I went off to the clothes-shop in the bazaar. It
occurred to me that I might pick up a second-hand
waistcoat cheaply, something to put on under my
coat; it didn't matter what.
I went up the steps to the bazaar and took hold
of one and began to examine it.
While I was thus engaged an acquaintance came
by ; he nodded and called up to me. I let the waist¬
coat hang and went down to him. He was a de¬
signer, and was on the way to his office.
" Come with me and have a glass of beer," he
said. " But hurry up, I haven't much time. . . •
164
Hunger
What lady was that you were walking with yester¬
day evening? "
" Listen here now," said I, jealous of his bare
thought. " Supposing it was my fancéeJ'
" By Jove ! " he exclaimed.
" Yes; it was all settled yesterday evening."
This nonplussed him completely. He believed
me implicitly. I lied in the most accomplished man¬
ner to get rid of him. We ordered the beer, drank
it, and left.
"Well, good-bye! O listen," he said suddenly.
" I owe you a few shillings. It is a shame, too,
that I haven't paid you long ago, but now you shall
have them during the next few days."
"Yes, thanks," I replied; but I knew that he
would never pay me back the few shillings. The
beer, I am sorry to say, went almost immediately to
my head. The thought of the previous evening's
adventure overwhelmed me — made me delirious.
Supposing she were not to meet me on Tuesday!
Supposing she were to begin to think things over,
to get suspicious . . . get suspicious of what?
. . . My thoughts gave a jerk and dwelt upon
the money. I grew afraid; deadly afraid of my¬
self. The theft rushed in upon me in all it details.
I saw the little shop, the counter, my lean hands as I
seized the money, and I pictured to myself the line
of action the police would adopt when they would
come to arrest me. Irons on my hands and feet;
no, only on my hands; perhaps only on one hand.
165
Hunger
The dock, the clerk taking down the evidence, the
scratch of his pen — perhaps he might take a new
one for the occasion — his look, his threatening
look. There, Herr Tangen, to the cell, the eter¬
nally dark . . .
Humph ! I clenched my hands tightly to try and
summon courage, walked faster and faster, and
came to the market-place. There I sat down.
Now, no child's play. How in the wide world
could any one prove that I had stolen? Besides,
the huckster's boy dare not give an alarm, even if it
should occur to him some day how it had all hap¬
pened. He valued his situation far too dearly for
that. No noise, no scenes, may I beg!
But all the same, this money weighed in my pocket
sinfully, and gave me no peace. I began to ques¬
tion myself, and I became clearly convinced that I
had been happier before, during the period in which
I had suffered in all honour. And Ylajali? Had
I, too, not polluted her with the touch of my sinful
hands? Lord, O Lord my God, Ylajali! I felt as
drunk as a bat, jumped up suddenly, and went
straight over to the cake woman who was sitting near
the chemist's under the sign of the elephant. 1
might even yet lift myself above dishonour; it was
far from being too late; I would show the whole
world that I was capable of doing so.
On the way over I got the money in readiness,
held every farthing of it in my hand, bent down
over the old woman's table as if I wanted something,
166
Hunger
clapped the money without further ado into her
hands. I spoke not a word, turned on my heel, and
went my way.
What a wonderful savour there was in feeling
oneself an honest man once more I My empty
pockets troubled me no longer; it was simply a de¬
lightful feeling to me to be cleaned out. When I
weighed the whole matter thoroughly, this money
had in reality cost me much secret anguish; I had
really thought about it with dread and shuddering
time upon time. I was no hardened soul; my hon¬
ourable nature rebelled against such a low action.
God be praised, I had raised myself in my own esti¬
mation again! "Do as I have done!" I said to
myself, looking across the thronged market-place —
" only just do as I have done I " I had gladdened
a poor old cake vendor to such good purpose that
she was perfectly dumbfounded. Tonight her chil¬
dren wouldn't go hungry to bed. ... I buoyed
myself up with these reflections and considered
that I had behaved in a most exemplary manner.
God be praised ! The money was out of my hands
now I
Tipsy and nervous, I wandered down the street,
and swelled with satisfaction. The joy of being
able to meet Ylajali cleanly and honourably, and of
feeling I could look her in the face, ran away with
me. I was not conscious of any pain. My head
was clear and buoyant; it was as if it were a head of
mere light that rested and gleamed on my shoulders.
167
Hunger
I felt inclined to play the wildest pranks, to do some¬
thing astounding, to set the whole town in a ferment.
All up through Graendsen I conducted myself like a
madman. There was a buzzing in my ears, and
intoxication ran riot in my brains. The whim
seized me to go and tell my age to a commissionaire,
who, by-the-way, had not addressed a word to me;
to take hold of his hands, and gaze impressively in
his face, and leave him again without any ex¬
planation. I distinguished every nuance in the voice
and laughter of the passers-by, observed some little
birds that hopped before me in the street, took to
studying the expression of the paving-stones, and
discovered all sorts of tokens and signs in them.
Thus occupied, I arrive at length at Parliament
Place. I stand all at once stock-still, and look at
the droskes; the drivers are wandering about, chat¬
ting and laughing. The horses hang their heads
and cower in the bitter weather. "Go ahead!" I
say, giving myself a dig with my elbow. I went
hurriedly over to the first vehicle, and got in.
" Ullevoldsveien, No. 37," I called out, and we
rolled off.
On the way the driver looked round, stooped and
peeped several times into the trap, where I sat,
sheltered underneath the hood. Had he, too,
grown suspicious? There was no doubt of it; my
miserable attire had attracted his attention.
" I want to meet a man," I called to him, in order
to be beforehand with him, and I explained gravely
168
Hunger
that I must really meet this man. We stop outside
37, and I jump out, spring up the stairs right to the
third storey, seize a bell, and pull it. It gives six
or seven fearful peals inside.
A maid comes out and opens the door. I notice
that she has round, gold drops in her ears, and black
stuff buttons on her grey bodice. She looks at me
with a frightened air.
I inquire for Kierulf — Joachim Kierulfy if I
might add further — a wool-dealer ; in short, not a
man one could make a mistake about. . . .
The girl shook her head. " No Kierulf lives
here," said she.
She stared at me, and held the door ready to
close it. She made no effort to find the man for me.
She really looked as if she knew the person I in¬
quired for, if she would only take the trouble to
reflect a bit. The lazy jade! I got vexed, turned
my back on her, and ran downstairs again.
" He wasn't there," I called to the driver.
" Wasn't he there? "
"No. Drive to Tomtegaden, No. ii." I was
in a state of the most violent excitement, and im¬
parted something of the same feeling to the driver.
He evidently thought it was a matter of life and
death, and he drove on, without further ado. He
whipped up the horse sharply.
" What's the man's name? " he inquired, turning
round on the box.
" Kierulf, a dealer in wool — Kierulf."
169
Hunger
And the driver, too, thought this was a man
one would not be likely to make any mistake
about.
" Didn't he generally wear a light morning-
coat? "
" What! " I cried; " a light morning-coat? Are
you mad? Do you think it is a tea-cup I am in¬
quiring about?" This light moming-coat came
most inopportunely ; it spoilt the whole man for me,
such as I had fancied him.
"What was it you said he was called? —
Kierulf?"
" Of course," I replied. " Is there anything won¬
derful in that? The name doesn't disgrace any*
one."
"Hasn't he red hair?"
Well, it was quite possible that he had red hair,
and now that the driver mentioned the matter, I
was suddenly convinced that he was right. I felt
grateful to the poor driver, and hastened to inform
him that he had hit the man off to a T — he really
was just as he described him,— and I remarked, in
addition, that it would be a phenomenon to see such
a man without red hair.
" It must be him I drove a couple of times," said
the driver; " he had a knobbed stick."
This brought the man vividly before me, and I
said, " Ha, ha ! I suppose no one has ever yet seen
the man without a knobbed stick in his hand, of
that you can be certain, quite certain."
170
Hunger
Yes, it was clear that it was the same man he had
driven. He recognized him — and he drove so
that the horse's shoes struck sparks as they touched
the stones.
All through this phase of excitement I had not
for one second lost my presence of mind. We pass
a policeman, and I notice his number is 69. This
number struck me with such vivid clearness that it
penetrated like a splint into my brain — 69 — ac¬
curately 69. I wouldn't forget it.
I leant back in the vehicle, a prey to the wildest
fancies; crouched under the hood so that no one
could see me. I moved my lips and commenced to
talk idiotically to myself. Madness rages through
my brain, and I let it rage. I am fully conscious
that I am succumbing to influences over which I have
no control. I begin to laugh, silently, passionately,
without a trace of cause, still merry and intoxicated
from the couple of glasses of ale I have drunk.
Little by little my excitement abates, my calm re¬
turns more and more to me. I feel the cold in my
sore finger, and I stick it down inside my collar to
warm it a little. At length we reach Tomtegaden.
The driver pulls up.
I alight, without any haste, absently, listlessly,
with my head heavy. I go through a gateway and
come into a yard across which I pass. I come to a
door which I open and pass through; I find myself
in a lobby, a sort of anteroom, with two windows.
There are two boxes in it, one on top of the other,
171
Hunger
in one corner, and against the wall an old, painted
sofa-bed over which a rug is spread. To the right,
in the next room, I hear voices and the cry of a
child, and above me, on the second floor, the sound
of an iron plate being hammered. All this I notice
the moment as I enter.
I step quietly across the room to the opposite
door without any haste, without any thought of
flight; open it, too, and come out in Vognmansga-
den. I look up at the house through which I have
passed. " Refreshment and lodgings for travel¬
lers."
It is not my intention to escape, to steal away
from the driver who is waiting for me. I go very
coolly down Vognmansgaden, without fear of being
conscious of doing any wrong. Kierulf, this dealer
in wool, who has spooked in my brain so long —
this creature in whose existence I believe, and whom
it was of vital importance that I should meet — had
vanished from my memory; was wiped out with
many other mad whims which came and went in
turns. I recalled him no longer, except as a rem¬
iniscence -— a phantom.
In measure, as I walked on, I become more and.
more sober ; felt languid and weary, and dragged my
legs after me. The snow still fell in great moist
flakes. At last I reached Grönland; far out, near
the church, I sat down to rest on a seat. All the
passers-by looked at me with much astonishment.
I fell a-thinking.
172
Hunger
Thou good God, what a miserable plight I have
come to ! I was so heartily tired and weary of all
my miserable life that I did not find it worth the
trouble of fighting any longer to preserve it. Ad¬
versity had gained the upper hand; it had been too
strong for me. I had become so strangely poverty-
stricken and broken, a mere shadow of what I once
had been; my shoulders were sunken right down on
one side, and I had contracted a habit of stooping
forward fearfully as I walked, in order to spare my
chest what little I could. I had examined my body
a few days ago, one noon up in my room,- and I had
stood and cried over it the whole time. I had worn
the same shirt for many weeks, and it was quite stiff
with stale sweat, and had chafed my skin. A little
blood and water ran out of the sore place; it did
not hurt much, but it was very tiresome to have
this tender place in the middle of my stomach. I
had no remedy for it, and it wouldn't heal of its
own accord. I washed it, dried it carefully, and
put on the same shirt. There was no help for it,
it . . .
I sit there on the bench and ponder over all this,
and am sad enough. I loathe myself. My very
hands seem distasteful to me; the loose, almost
coarse, expression of the backs of them pains me,
disgusts me. I feel myself rudely affected by the
sight of my lean fingers. I hate the whole of my
gaunt, shrunken body, and shrink from bearing it,
from feeling it envelop me. Lord, if the whole
173
Hunger
thing would come to an end now, I would heartily,
gladly die!
Completely worsted, soiled, defiled, and debased
in my own estimation, I rose mechanically and com¬
menced to turn my steps homewards. On the way
I passed a door, upon which the following was to be
read on a plate —Winding-sheets to be had at
Miss Andersen's, door to the right." Old mem¬
ories I I muttered, as my thoughts flew back to my
former room in Hammersborg. The little rocking-
chair, the newspapers near the door, the lighthouse
director's announcement, and Fabian Olsen, the
baker's new-baked bread. Ah yes; times were bet¬
ter with me then than now ; one night I had written
a tale for ten shillings, now I couldn't write anything.
My head grew light as soon as ever I attempted it.
Yes, I would put an end to it now; and I went on
and on.
As I got nearer and nearer to the provision shop,
I had the half-conscious feeling of approaching a
danger, but I determined to stick to my purpose; I
would give myself up. I ran quickly up the steps.
At the door I met a little girl who was carrying a
cup in her hands, and I slipped past her and opened
the door. The shop boy and I stand face to face
alone for the second time.
"Well!" he exclaims; "fearfully bad weather
now, isn't it? " What did this going round the bush
signify? Why didn't he seize me at once? I got
furious, and cried:
174
Hunger
" Oh, I haven't come to prate about the weather."
This violent preliminary takes him aback; his
little huckster brain fails him. It has never even
occurred to him that I have cheated him of five
shillings.
" Don't you know, then, that I have swindled
you?" I query impatiently, and I breathe quickly
with the excitement; I tremble and am ready to use
force if he doesn't come to the point.
But the poor man has no misgivings.
Well, bless my soul, what stupid creatures one
has to mix with in this world ! I abuse him, explain
to him every detail as to how it had all happened,
show him where the fact was accomplished, where
the money had lain ; how I had gathered it up in my
hand and closed my fingers over it — and he takes
it all in and does nothing. He shifts uneasily from
one foot to the other, listens for footsteps in the
next room, make signs to hush me, to try and make
me speak lower, and says at last:
** It was a mean enbugh thing of you to do ! "
No; hold on," I explained in my desire to con¬
tradict him — to aggravate him. It wasn't quite
so mean as he imagined it to be, in his huckster head.
Naturally, I didn't keep the money; that could never
have entered my head. I, for my part, scorned to
derive any benefit from it — that was opposed to my
thoroughly honest nature.
" What did you do with it, then? "
" I gave it away to a poor old woman — every
17 S
Hunger
farthing of it." He must understand that that was
the sort of person I was; I didn't forget the poor
so. . . .
He stands and thinks over this a while, becomes
manifestly very dubious as to how far I am an hon¬
est man or not. At last he says :
" Oughtn't you rather to have brought it back
again? "
"Now, listen here," I reply; "I didn't want to
get you into trouble in any way ; but that is the thanks
one gets for being generous. Here I stand and ex¬
plain the whole thing to you, and you simply, in¬
stead of being ashamed as a dog, make no effort to
settle the dispute with me. Therefore I wash my
hands of you, and as for the rest, I say, ' The devil
take you! ' Good-day."
I left, slamming the door behind me. But when
I got home to my room, into the melancholy hole,
wet through from the soft snow, trembling in my
knees from the day's wanderings, I dismounted in¬
stantly from my high horse, and sank together once
more.
I regretted my attack upon the poor shop-J)oy,
wept, clutched myself by the throat to punish myself
for my miserable trick, and behaved like a lunatic.
He had naturally been in the most deadly terror for
the sake of his situation ; he had not dared to make
any fuss about the five shillings that were lost to the
business, and I had taken advantage of his fear,
had tortured him with my violent address, stabbed
176
Hunger
him with every loud word that I had roared out.
And the master himself had perhaps been sitting
inside the inner room, almost within an ace of feel¬
ing called upon to come out and inquire what was
the row. No, there was no longer any limit to the
low things I might be tempted to do.
Well, why hadn't I been locked up? then it would
have come to an end. I would almost have stretched
out my wrists for the handcuffs. I would not have
offered the slightest resistance; on the contrary, I
would have assisted them. Lord of Heaven and
Earth ! one day of my life for one happy second
again! My whole life for a mess of lentils! Hear
me only this once! . . .
I lay down in the wet clothes I had on, with a
vague idea that I might die during the night. And
I used my last strength to tidy up my bed a little, so
that it might appear a little orderly about me in
the morning. I folded my hands and chose my
position.
All at once I remember Ylajali. To think that
I could have forgotten her the entire evening
through! And light forces its way ever so faintly
into my spirit again — a little ray of sunshine that
makes me so blessedly warm; and gradually more
sun comes, a rare, silken, balmy light that caresses
me with soothing loveliness. And the sun grows
stronger and stronger, burns sharply in my temples,
seethes fiercely and glowingly in my emaciated brain.
And at last, a maddening pyre of rays flames be-
177
Hunger
fore my eyes; a heaven and earth in conflagration,
men and beasts of fire, mountains of fire, devils of
fire, an abyss, a wilderness, a hurricane, a universe
in brazen ignition, a smoking, smouldering day of
doom !
And I saw and heard no more. . . .
• ••••• e
I woke in a sweat the next morning, rrtoist all
over, my whole body bathed in dampness. The
fever had laid violent hands on me. At first I had
no clear idea of what had happened to me ; I looked
about me in amazement, felt a complete transforma¬
tion of my being, absolutely failed to recognize my¬
self again. I felt along my own arms and down my
legs, was struck with astonishment that the window
was where it was, and not in the opposite wall; and
I could hear the tramp of the horses* feet in the
yard below as if it came from above me. I felt
rather sick, too — qualmish.
My hair clung wet and cold about my forehead.
I raised myself on my elbow and looked at the pil¬
low; damp hair lay on it, too, in patches. My feet
had swelled up in my shoes during the night, but
they caused me no pain, only I could not move my
toes much, they were too stiff.
As the afternoon closed in, and it had already
begun to grow a little dusk, I got up out of bed and
commenced to move about the room a little. I felt
my way with short, careful steps, taking care to keep
my balance and spare my feet as much as possible.
178
Hunger
I did not suffer much, and I did not cry; neither was
I, taking all into consideration, sad. On the con¬
trary, I was blissfully content. It did not strike me
just then that anything could be otherwise than it
was.
Then I went out.
The only thing that troubled me a little, in spite
of the nausea that the thought of food inspired in
me, was hunger. I commenced to be sensible of a
shameless appetite again; a ravenous lust of food,
which grew steadily worse and worse. It gnawed
unmercifully in my breast ; carrying on a silent, mys¬
terious work in there. It was as if a score of dim¬
inutive gnome-like insects set their heads on one side
and gnawed for a little, then laid their heads on the
other side and gnawed a little more, then lay quite
still for a moment's space, and then began afresh,
boring noiselessly in, and without any haste, and
left empty spaces everywhere after them as they went
on. . . .
I was not ill, but faint; I broke into a sweat. I
thought of going to the market-place to rest a while,
but the way was long and wearisome ; at last I had
almost reached it. I stood at the corner of the
market and Market Street; the sweat ran down into
my eyes and blinded me, and I had just stopped in
order to wipe it away a little. I did not notice the
place I was standing in; in fact, I did not think
about it; the noise around me was something fright¬
ful
179
Hunger
Suddenly a call rings out, a cold, sharp warning.
I hear this cry — hear it quite well, and I start ner¬
vously to one side, stepping as quickly as my bad
foot allows me to. A monster of a bread-van
brushes past me, and the wheel grazes my coat; I
might perhaps have been a little quicker if I had
exerted myself. Well, there was no help for it;
one foot pained me, a couple of toes were crunched.
I felt that they, as it were, curled up in my shoes.
The driver reins in his horse with all his might.
He turns round on the van and inquires in a fright
how it fares with me. Oh! it might have been
worse, far worse. ... It was perhaps not so dan¬
gerous. ... I didn't think any bones were broken.
Oh, pray . . .
I rushed over as quickly as I could to a seat; all
these people who stopped and stared at me abashed
me. After all, it was no mortal blow; compara¬
tively speaking, I had got off luckily enough, as mis¬
fortune was bound to come in my way. The worst
thing was that my shoe was crushed to pieces; the
sole was torn loose at the toe. I help up my foot,
and saw blood inside the gap. Well, it wasn't inten¬
tional on either side ; it was not the man's purpose to
make things worse for me than they were ; he looked
much concerned about it. It was quite certain that
if I had begged him for a piece of bread out of his
cart he would have given it to me. He would cer¬
tainly have given it to me gladly. God bless him
in return, wherever he is! . . .
180
Hunger
I was terribly hungry, and I did not know what to
do with myself and my shameless appetite. I
writhed from side to side on the seat, and bowed
my chest right down to my knees; I was almost
distracted. When it got dark I jogged along to the
Town Hall — God knows how I got there — and
sat on the edge of the balustrade. I tore a pocket
out of my coat and took to chewing it ; not with any
defined object, but with dour mien and unseeing eyes,
staring straight into space. I could hear a group
of little children playing around near me, and per¬
ceive, in an instinctive sort of way, some pedestrians
pass me by; otherwise I observed nothing.
All at once, it enters my head to go to one of
the meat bazaars underneath me, and beg a piece of
raw meat. I go straight along the balustrade to
the other-side of the bazaar buildings., and descend
the steps. When I had nearly reached the stalls on
the lower floor, I called up the archway leading to
the stairs, and made a threatening backward gesture,
as if I were talking to a dog up there, and boldly
addressed the first butcher I met.
" Ah, will you be kind enough to give me a bone
for my dog? " I said; " only a bone. There needn't
be anything on it; it's just to give him something to
carry in his mouth."
I got the bone, a capital little bone, on which
there still remained a morsel of meat, and hid it
under my coat. I thanked the man so heartily that
he looked at me in amazement.
i8i:
Hunger
" Oh, no need of thanks," said he.
" Oh yes ; don't say that," I mumbled; " it is kindly
done of you," and I ascended the steps again.
My heart was throbbing violently in my breast.
I sneaked into one of the passages, where the forges
are, as far in as I could go, and stopped outside a
dilapidated door leading to a back-yard. There
was no light to-be seen anywhere, only blessed dark¬
ness all around me; and I began to gnaw at the
bone.
It had no taste; a rank smell of blood oozed
from it, and I was forced to vomit almost imme¬
diately. I tried anew. If I could only keep it
down, it would, in spite of all, have some effect. It
was simply a matter of forcing it to remain down
there. But I vomited again. I grew wild, bit
angrily into the meat, tore off a morsel, and gulped
it down by sheer strength of will; and yet it was of
no use. Just as soon as the little fragments of
meat became warm in my stomach up they came
again, worse luck. I clenched my hands in frenzy,
burst into tears from sheer helplessness, and gnawed
away as one possessed. I cried, so that the bone got
wet and dirty with my tears, vomited, cursed and
groaned again, cried as if my heart would break,
and vomited anew. I consigned all the powers that
be to the lowermost torture in the loudest voice.
Quiet — not a soul about — no light, no noise ; I
am in a state of the most fearful excitement; I
breathe hardly and audibly, and I cry with gnashing
182
Hunger
teeth, each time that the morsel of meat, which
might satisfy me a little, comes up. As I find that,
in spite of all my efforts, it avails me naught, I cast
the bone at the door. I am filled with the most
impotent hate; shriek, and menace with my fists
towards Heaven; yell God's name hoarsely, and
bend my fingers like claws, with ill-suppressed
fury. . . .
I tell you, you Heaven's Holy Baal, you don't
exist; but that, if you did, I would curse you so that
your Heaven would quiver with the fire of hell ! I
tell you, I have offered you my service, and you
repulsed me; and I turn my back on you for all
eternity, because you did not know your time of
visitation! I tell you that I am about to die, and
yet I mock you! You Heaven God and Apis! with
death staring me in the face — I tell you, I would
rather be a bondsman in hell than a freedman in
your mansions ! I tell you, I am filled with a bliss¬
ful contempt for your divine paltriness ; and I choose
the abyss of destruction for a perpetual resort, where
the devils Judas and Pharaoh are cast down!
I tell you your Heaven is full of the kingdom of
the earth's most crass-headed idiots and poverty-
stricken in spirit! I tell you, you have filled your
Heaven with the grossest and most cherished har¬
lots from here below, who have bent their knees
piteously before you at their hour of death! I tell
you, you have used force against me, and you know
not^ you omniscient nullity, that I never bend in op-
183
Hunger
position 1 I tell you, all my life, every cell in my
body, every power of my soul, gasps to mock you,
you Gracious Monster on High. I tell you, I would,
if I could, breathe it into every human soul, every
flower, every leaf, every dewdrop in the garden!
I tell you, I would scoff you on the day of doom, and
curse the teeth out of my mouth for the sake of
your Deity's boundless miserableness 1 I tell you,
from this hour I renounce all thy works and all thy
pomps ! I will execrate my thought if it dwell on
you again, and tear out my lips if they ever utter
your name ! I tell you, if you exist, my last word
in life or in death — I bid you farewell, for all time
and eternity — I bid you farewell with heart and
reins. I bid you the last irrevocable farewell, and
I am silent, and turn my back on you and go my
way. . . . Quiet.
I tremble with excitement and exhaustion, and
stand on the same spot, still whispering oaths and
abusive epithets, hiccoughing after the violent cry¬
ing fit, broken down and apathetic after my frenzied
outburst of rage. I stand there for maybe an hour,
hiccough and whisper, and hold on to the door.
Then I hear voices — a conversation between two
men who are coming down tthe passage. I slink
away from the door, drag myself along the walls of
the houses, and come out again into the light streets.
As I jog along Young's Hill my brain begins to
work in a most peculiar direction. It occurs to me
that the wretched hovels down at the corner of the
184;
Hunger
market-place, the stores for loose materials, the
old booths for second-hand clothes, are really a
disgrace to the place — they spoilt the whole appear¬
ance of the market, and were a blot on the town.
Fie I away with the rubbish 1 And I turned over in
my mind as I walked on what it would cost to remove
the Geographical Survey down there — that hand¬
some building which had always attracted me so
much each time I passed it. It would perhaps not
be possible to undertake a removal of that kind
under two or three hundred pounds. A pretty sum
-— three hundred pounds 1 One must admit, a tidy
enough little sum for pocket-money! Ha, ha! just
to make a start with, eh? and I nodded my head,
and conceded that it was a tidy enough bit of
pocket-money to make a start with. I was still
trembling over my whole body, and hiccoughed now
and then violently after my cry. I had a feeling
that there was not much life left in me — that I was
really singing my last verse. It was almost a mat¬
ter of indifference to me; it did not trouble me in
the least. On the contrary, I wended my way down
town, down to the wharf, farther and farther away
from my room. I would, for that matter, have
willingly laid myself down flat in the street to die.
My sufferings were rendering me more and more cal¬
lous. My sore foot throbbed violently; I had a
sensation as if the pain was creeping up through my
whole leg. But not even that caused me any partic¬
ular distress. I had endured worse sensations.
185
Hunger
In this manner, I reached the railway wharf.
There was no traffic, no noise — only here and there
a person to be seen, a labourer or sailor slinking
round with their hands in their pockets. I took
notice of a lame man, who looked sharply at me as
we passed one another. I stopped him instinctively,
touched my hat, and inquired if he knew if the Nun
had sailed. Someway, I couldn't help snapping my
fingers right under the man's nose, and saying, " Ay,
by Jove, the Nun; yes, the Nun! " which I had
totally forgotten. All the same, the thought of her
had been smouldering in me. I had carried it
about unconsciously.
Yes, bless me, the Nun had sailed.
He couldn't tell me where she had sailed to?
The man reflects, stands on his long leg, keeps
the other up in the air; it dangles a little.
No," he replies. Do you know what cargo
she was taking in here? "
" No," I answer. But by this time I had already
lost interest in the Nun^ and I asked the man how
far it might be to Holmestrand, reckoned in good
old geographical miles.
"To Holmestrand? I should think . .
" Or to Vœblungsnaess? "
"What was I going to say? I should think to
Holmestrand . .
" Oh, never mind; I have just remembered it," I
interrupted him again. " You wouldn't perhaps be
i86
Hunger
SO kind as to give me a small bit of tobacco •— only
just a tiny scrap?"
I received the tobacco, thanked the man heartily,
and went on. I made no use of the tobacco; I put
it into my pocket. He still kept his eye on me —
perhaps I had aroused his suspicions in some other
way or another. Whether I stood still or walked
on, I felt his suspicious look following me. I had
no mind to be persecuted by this creature. I turn
round, and, dragging myself back to him, say:
"Binder"—only this one word, "Binder!" no
more. I looked fixedly at him as I say it, indeed I
was conscious of staring fearfully at him. It was as
if I saw him with my entire body instead of only
with my eyes. I stare for a while after I give
utterance to this word, and then I jog along again to
the railway square. The man does not utter a syl¬
lable, he only keeps his gaze fixed upon me.
" Binder! " I stood suddenly still. Yes, wasn't
that just what I had a feeling of the moment I met
the old chap ; a feeling that I had met him before !
One bright morning up in Graendsen, when I pawned
my waistcoat. It seemed to me an eternity since
that day.
Whilst I stand and ponder over this, I lean and
support myself against a house wall at the corner
of the railway square and Harbour Street. Sud¬
denly, I start quickly and make an effort to crawl
away. As I do not succeed in it, I stare case-
187
Hunger
hardened ahead of me and fling all shame to the
winds. There is no help for it. I am standing face
to face with the " Commandor." I get devil-may-
care — brazen. I take yet a step farther from the
wall in order to make him notice me. I do not do
it to awake his compassion, but to mortify myself,
place myself, as it were, on the pillory. I could
have flung myself down in the street and begged him
to walk over me, tread on my face. I don't even
bid him good-evening.
Perhaps the " Commandor " guesses that some¬
thing is amiss with me. He slackens his pace a
little, and I say, in order to stop him, I would have
called upon you long ago with something, but noth¬
ing has come yet I "
"Indeed?" he replies in an interrogative tone.
"You haven't got it finished, then?"
" No, it didn't get finished."
My eyes by this time are filled with tears at his
friendliness, and I cough with a bitter effort to re¬
gain my composure. The " Commandor " tweaks
his nose and looks at me.
" Have you anything to live on in the meantime? "
he questions.
" No," I reply. " I haven't that either; I haven't
eaten anything today, but . . ."
" The Lord preserve you, man, it will never do
for you to go and starve yourself to death," he ex¬
claims, feeling in his pocket.
This causes a feeling of shame to awake in me,
i88
Hunger
and I stagger over to the wall and hold on to it.
I see him finger in his purse, and he hands me half-
a-sovereign.
He makes no fuss about it, simply gives me half-
a-sovereign, reiterating at the same time that it
would never do to let me starve to death. I stam¬
mered an objection and did not take it all at once.
It is shameful of me to ... it was really too
much. . . .
" Hurry up," he says, looking at his watch. " I
have been waiting for the train; I hear it coming
now."
I took the money; I was dumb with joy, and never
said a word; I didn't even thank him once.
" It isn't worth while feeling put out about it,"
said the " Commandor " at last. " I know you can
write for it."
And so off he went.
When he had gone a few steps, I remembered all
at once that I had not thanked him for this great
assistance. I tried to overtake him, but could not
get on quickly enough; my legs failed me, and I
came near tumbling on my face. He went farther
and farther away from me. I gave up the attempt;
thought of calling after him, but dared not; and when
after all I did muster up courage enough and called
once or twice, he was already at too great a distance,
and my voice had become too weak.
I was left standing on the pavement, gazing after
him. I wept quietly and silently. " I never saw
189
Hunger
the like I" I said to myself. "He gave me half-
a-sovereign." I walked back and placed myself
where he had stood, imitated all his movements,
held the half-sovereign up to my moistened eyes, in¬
spected it on both sides, and began to swear — to
swear at the top of my voice, that there was no
manner of doubt that what I held in my hand was
half-a-sovereign. An hour after, maybe — a very
long hour, for it had grown very silent all around
me — I stood, singularly enough, outside No. ii
Tomtegaden. After I had stood and collected my
wits for a moment and wondered thereat, I went
through the door for the second time, right into
the " Entertainment and lodgings for travellers."
Here I asked for shelter and was immediately sup¬
plied with a bed.
• ••••••
Tuesday.
Sunshine and quiet — a strangely bright day.
The snow had disappeared. There was life and
joy, and glad faces, smiles, and laughter everywhere.
The fountains threw up sprays of water in jets,
golden-tinted from the sun-light, azure from the
sky. . . .
At noon I left my lodgings in Tomtegaden, where
I still lived and found fairly comfortable, and set
out for town. I was in the merriest humour, and
lazied about the whole afternoon through the most
frequented streets and looked at the people. Even
before seven o'clock I took a turn up St. Olav's
190
Hunger
Place and took a furtive look up at the window of
No. 2. In an hour I would see her. I went about
the whole time in a state of tremulous, delicious
dread. What would happen? What should I say-
when she came down the stairs? Good-evening?
or only smile? I concluded to let it rest with
the smile. Of course I would bow profoundly to
her.
I stole away, a little ashamed to be there so early,
wandered up Carl Johann for a while, and kept my
eyes on University Street. When the clocks struck
eight I walked once more towards St Olav's Place.
On the way it struck me that perhaps I might arrive
a few minutes too late, and I quickened my pace as
much as I could. My foot was very sore, otherwise
nothing ailed me.
I took up my place at the fountain and drew
breath. I stood there a long while and gazed up
at the window of No. 2, but she did not come.
Well, I would wait; I was in no hurry. She might
he delayed, and I waited on. It couldn't well be
that I had dreamt the whole thing! Had my first
meeting with her only existed in imagination the
night I lay in delirium? I began in perplexity to
think over it, and wasn't at all sure.
Hem ! " came from behind me. I heard this,
and I also heard light steps near me, but I did not
turn round, I only stared up at the wide staircase
before me.
"Good-evening," came then. I forget to smile;
191
Hunger
I don't even take off my hat at first, I am so taken
aback to see her come this way.
"Have you been waiting long?" she asks. She
is breathing a little quickly after her walk.
" No, not at all; I only came a little while ago,"
I reply. " And besides, would it matter if I had
waited long? I expected, by-the-way, that you
would come from another direction."
" I accompanied mamma to some people. Mam¬
ma is spending the evening with them."
" Oh, indeed," I say.
We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A po¬
liceman is standing at the corner, looking at us.
" But, after all, where are we going to? " she asks,
and stops.
" Wherever you wish; only where you wish."
" Ugh, yes ! but it's such a bore to have to decide
oneself."
A pause.
Then I say, merely for the sake of saying some¬
thing:
" I see it's dark up in your windows."
"Yes, it is," she replies gaily; "the servant has
an evening off, too, so I am all alone at home."
We both stand and look up at the windows of
No. 2 as if neither of us had seen them before.
" Can't we go up to your place, then? " I say;
" I shall sit down at the door the whole time if you
like."
But .then I trembled with emotion, and regretted
192
Hunger
greatly that I had perhaps been too forward. Sup¬
posing she were to get angry, and leave me. Sup¬
pose I were never to see her again. Ah, that miser¬
able attire of mine ! I waited despairingly for her
reply.
" You shall certainly not sit down by the door,"
she says. She says it right down tenderly, and says
accurately these words: "You shall certainly not
sit down by the door."
We went up.
Out on the lobby, where it was dark, she took hold
of my hand, and led me on. There was no neces¬
sity for my being so quiet, she said, I could very well
talk. We entered. Whilst she lit the candle—•
it was not a lamp she lit, but a candle — whilst she
lit the candle, she said, with a little laugh :
" But now you mustn't look at me. Ugh! I am
so ashamed, but I will never do it again."
"What will you never do again?"
" I will never . . . ugh . . . no . . . good
gracious ... I will never kiss you again!"
"Won't you? " I said, and we both laughed. I
stretched out my arms to her, and she glided away;
slipped round to the other side of the table. We
stood a while and gazed at one another; the candle
stood right between us.
"Try and catch me," she said; and with much
laughter I tried to seize hold of her. Whilst she
sprang about, she loosened her veil, and took off her
hat; her sparkling eyes hung on mine, and watched
193
Hunger
my movements. I made a fresh sortie, and tripped
on the carpet and fell, my sore foot refusing to bear
me up any longer. I rose in extreme confusion.
" Lord, how red you did get I " she said. Well,
it was awfully awkward of you."
" Yes, it was," I agreed, and we began the chase
afresh.
" It seems to me you limp."
"Yes; perhaps I do — just a little — only just a
little, for that matter."
" Last time you had a sore finger, now you have
got a sore foot; it is awful the number of afflictions
you have."
" Ah, yes. I was run over slightly, a few days
ago."
"Run over! Tipsy again? Why, good heav¬
ens I what a life you lead, young man ! " and she
threatened me with her forefinger, and tried to ap¬
pear grave. " Well, let us sit down, then; no, not
down there by the door; you are far too reserved!
Come here — you there, and I here — so, that's it
. . . ugh, it's such a bore with reticent people!
One has to say and do everything oneself; one gets
no help to do anything. Now, for example, you
might just as well put your arm over the back of my
chair; you could easily have thought of that much
out of your own head, couldn't you? But if I say
anything like that, you open your eyes as wide as
if you couldn't believe what was being said. Yes,
it is really true; I have noticed it several times; you
194
Hunger
are doing it now, too; but you needn't try to per¬
suade me that you are always so modest; it is only
when you don't dare to be otherwise than quiet.
You were daring enough the day you were tipsy —
when you followed me straight home and worried
me with your witticisms, ^ You are losing your
book, madam; you are quite certainly losing your
book, madam ! ' Ha, ha, ha ! it was really shameless
of you."
I sat dejectedly and looked at her; my heart beat
violently, my blood raced quickly through my veins,
there was a singular sense of enjoyment in it!
Why don't you say something?"
What a darling you are," I cried. " I am sim¬
ply sitting here getting thoroughly fascinated by you
— here this very moment thoroughly fascinated.
. . . There is no help for it. . . . You are the
most extraordinary creature that . . . sometimes
your eyes gleam so, that I never saw their match;
they look like flowers ... eh? No, well, no, per¬
haps, not like flowers, either, but ... I am so des¬
perately in love with you, and it is so preposterous
. . . for, great Scott! there is naturally not an
atom of a diance for me. . . . What is your name ?
Now, you really must tell me what you are called."
"No; what is your name? Gracious, I was
nearly forgetting that again! I thought about it
all yesterday, that I meant to ask you — yes, that is
to say, not all yesterday, but —"
" Do you know what I named you ? I named
195
Hunger
you Ylajali. How do you like that? It has a
gliding sound. . .
"Ylajali?"
" Yes."
" Is that a foreign language? "
" Humph — no, it isn't that either ! "
"Well, it isn't ugly! "
After a long discussion we told one another our
names. She seated herself close to my side on the
sofa, and shoved the chair away with her foot, and
we began to chatter afresh.
" You are shaved this evening, too," she said;
look on the whole a little better than the last time —
that is to say, only just a scrap better. Don't im¬
agine ... no ; the last time you were really shabby,
and you had a dirty rag round your finger into the
bargain; and in that state you absolutely wanted
me to go to some place, and take wine with you —
thanks, not me ! "
" So it was, after all, because of my miserable ap¬
pearance that you would not go with me?" I said.
"No," she replied and looked down. "No;
God knows it wasn't. I didn't even think about it."
" Listen," said I; "you are evidently sitting here
labouring under the delusion that I can dress and
live exactly as I choose, aren't you? And that is
just what I can't do; I am very, very poor."
She looked at me. " Are you? " she queried.
"Yes, worse luck, I am."
After an interval.
196
Hunger
" Well, gracious, so am I, too," she said, with a
cheerful movement of her head.
Every one of her words intoxicated me, fell on
my heart like drops of wine. She enchanted me
with the trick she had of putting her head a little
on one side, and listening when I said anything, and
I could feel her breath brush my face.
" Do you know," I said, " that . . . but, now,
you mustn't get angry — when I went to bed last
night I settled this arm for you ... so ... as
if you lay on it . . . and then I went to sleep."
''Did you? That was lovely!" A pause.
" But of course it could only be from a distance that
you would venture to do such a thing, for other-
• M
Wise . . .
" Don't you believe I could do it otherwise? "
" No, I don't believe it."
" Ah, from me you may expect everything," I said,
and I put my arm around her waist.
" Can I? " was all she said.
It annoyed me, almost wounded me, that she
should look upon me as being so utterly inoffensive.
I braced myself up, steeled my heart, and seized her
hand; but she withdrew it softly, and moved a little
away from me. That just put an end to my courage
again; I felt ashamed, and looked out through the
window. I was, in spite of all, in far too wretched
a condition; I must, above all, not try to imagine
myself any one in particular. It would have been
another matter if I had met her during the time
197
Hunger
that I still looked like a respectable human being —^
in my old, well-off days when I had sufficient to make
an appearance; and I felt fearfully downcast!
" There now, one can see 1 " she said, " now one
can just see one can snub you with just the tiniest
frown — make you look sheepish by just moving
a little away from you "... she laughed, tantal-
izingly, roguishly, with tightly-closed eyes, as if
she could not stand being looked at, either.
" Well, upon my soul 1 " I blurted out, now you
shall just see," and I flung my arms violently around
her shoulders. I was mortified. Was the girl out
of her senses? Did she think I was totally inex¬
perienced I Ha ! Then I would, by the living . . .
No one should say of me that I was backward on
that score. The creature was possessed by the
devil himself! If it were only a matter of going at
it, well . . .
She sat quite quietly, and still kept her eyes closed;
neither of us spoke. I crushed her fiercely to me,
pressed her body greedily against my breast, and she
spoke never a word. I heard her heart's beat, both
hers and mine; they sounded like hurrying hoof-
beats.
I kissed her.
I no longer knew myself. I uttered some non¬
sense, that she laughed at, whispered pet names into
her mouth, caressed her cheek, kissed her many
times. . . .
She winds her arms about my neck, quite slowly,
198
Hunger
tenderly, the breath of her pink quivering nostrils
fans me right in the face; she strokes down my
shoulders with her left hand, and says, "What a
lot of loose hair there is."
" Yes," I reply.
" What can be the reason that your hair falls out
so?"
" Don't know."
" Ah, of course, because you drink too much, and
perhaps . . . fie, I won't say it. You ought to be
ashamed. No, I wouldn't have believed that of
you! To think that you, who are so young, already
should lose your hair! Now, do please just tell me
what sort of way you really spend your life—I am
certain it is dreadful! But only the truth, do you
hear; no evasions. Anyway, I shall see by you if
you hide anything—there, tell now ! "
" Yes; but let me kiss you first, then."
"Are you mad? . . . Humph, ... I want to
hear what kind of a man you are. . . . Ah, I am
sure it is dreadful."
It hurt me that she should believe the worst of
me; I was afraid of thrusting her away entirely, and
I could not endure the misgivings she had as to my
way of life. I would clear myself in her eyes, make
myself worthy of her, show her that she was sitting
at the side of a person almost angelically disposed.
Why, bless me, I could count my falls up to date on
my fingers. I related—related all—and I only re¬
lated truth. I made out nothing any worse than it
199
Hunger
was; it was not my intention to rouse her compas¬
sion. I told her also that I had stolen five shillings
one evening.
She sat and listened, with open mouth, pale,
frightened, her shining eyes completely bewildered.
I desired to make it good again, to disperse the sad
impression I had made, and I pulled myself up.
Well, it is all over now !" I said; " there can be
no talk of such a thing happening again; I am saved
now. ..."
But she was much dispirited. " The Lord pre¬
serve me 1 " was all she said, then kept silent. She
repeated this at short intervals, and kept silent after
each " the Lord preserve me."
I began to jest, caught hold of her, tried to tickle
her, lifted her up to my breast. I was irritated not
a little—indeed, downright hurt. Was I more un¬
worthy in her eyes now, than if I had myself been
instrumental in causing the falling out of my hair?
Would she have thought more of me if I had made
myself out to be a roué? . . . No nonsense now;
... it was just a matter of going at it; and if it
was only just a matter of going at it, so, by the
living . . .
" No; . . . what do you want? " she queried, and
she added these distressing words, " I can't be sure
that you are not ins4:ne I "
I checked myself involuntarily, and I said: " Yoi
don't mean that ! "
Indeed, God knows I do! you look so strangely
200
Hunger
And the forenoon you followed me—after all, you
weren't tipsy that time? "
"No; but I wasn't hungry then, either; I had
just eaten. ..."
" Yes; but that made it so much the worse."
" Would you rather I had been tipsy? "
" Yes . . . ugh . . . I am afraid of you I Lord,
can't you let me be now ! "
I considered a moment. No, I couldn't let her
be. ... I happened, as if inadvertently, to knock
over the light, so that it went out. She made a
despairing struggle—gave vent at last to a little
whimper.
" No, not that I If you like, you may rather kiss
me, oh, dear, kind ..."
I stopped instantly. Her words sounded so ter¬
rified, so helpless, I was struck to the heart. She
nieant to offer me a compensation by giving me leave
to kiss her! How charming, how charmingly naïve.
I could have fallen down and knelt before her.
" But, dear pretty one," I said, completely bewil¬
dered, " I don't understand ... I really can't con¬
ceive what sort of a game this is. . . . "
She rose, lit the candle again with trembling hands.
I leant back on the sofa and did nothing. What
would happen now? I was in reality very ill at ease.
She cast a look over at the cloxk on the wall, and
started.
" Ugh, the girl will soon come now! " she said;
this was the first thing she said. I took the hint, and
rose. She took up her jacket as if to put it on,
201
Hunger
bethought herself, and let it lie, and went over to
the fireplace. So that it should not appear as if
she had shown me the door, I said:
" Was your father in the army? " and at the
same time I prepared to leave.
" Yes; he was an officer. How did you know?"
I didn't know; it just came into my head."
That was odd."
" Ah, yes ; there were some places I came to where
I got a kind of presentiment. Ha, ha I—a part of
my insanity, eh? "
She looked quickly up, but didn't answer. I felt
I worried her with my presence, and determined to
make short work of it. I went towards the door.
Would she not kiss me any more now? not even
give me her hand? I stood and waited.
"Are you going now, then?" she said, and yet
she remained quietly standing over near the fireplace.
I did not reply. I stood humbly in confusion, and
looked at her without saying anything. Why hadn't
she left me in peace, when nothing was to come of it?
What was the matter with her now? It didn't seem
to put her out that I stood prepared to leave. She
was all at once completely lost to me, and I searched
for something to say to her in farewell—a weighty,
cutting word that would strike her, and perhaps im¬
press her a little. And in the face of my first resolve,
hurt as I was, instead of being proud and cold, dis¬
turbed and offended, I began right off to talk of
trifles. The telling word would not come; I con-
202
Hunger
ducted myself in an exceedingly aimless fashion. Why
couldn't she just as well tell me plainly and straightly
to go my way? I queried. Yes, indeed, why not?
There was no need of feeling embarrassed about it.
Instead of reminding me that the girl would soon
come home, she could have simply said as follows :
" Now you must run, for I must go and fetch my
mother, and I won't have your escort through the
street." So it was not that she had been thinking
about? Ah, yes; it was that all the same she had
thought about ; I understood that at once. It did not
require much to put me on the right track ; only, just
the way she had taken up her jacket, and left it down
again, had convinced me immediately. As I said be¬
fore, I had presentiments ; and it was not altogether
insanity that was at the root of it. . . .
" But, great heavens ! do forgive me for that word I
It slipped out of my mouth," she cried; but yet she
stood quite quietly, and did not come over to me.
I was inflexible, and went on. I stood there and
prattled, with the painful consciousness that I bored
her, that not one of my words went home, and all the
same I did not cease.
At bottom one might be a fairly sensitive nature,
even if one were not insane, I ventured to say. There
were natures that fed on trifles, and died just for one
hard word's sake ; and I implied that I had such a
nature. The fact was, that my poverty had in that
degree sharpened certain powers in me, so that they
caused me unpleasantness. Yes, I assure you hon-
203
Hunger
estly, unpleasantness ; worse luck I But this had also
its advantages. It helped me in certain situations in
life. The poor intelligent man is a far nicer observer
than the rich intelligent man. The poor man looks
about him at every step he takes, listens suspiciously
to every word he hears from the people he meets,
every step he takes affords in this way a task for his
thoughts and feelings—an occupation. He is quick
of hearing, and sensitive ; he is an experienced man,
his soul bears the sears of the fire. . . .
And I talked a long time over these sears my soul
had. But the longer I talked, the more troubled she
grew. At last she muttered, " My God Í " a couple of
times in despair, and wrung her hands. I could see
well that I tormented her, and I had no wish to tor¬
ment her—^but did it, all the same. At last, being of
the opinion that I had succeeded in telling her in rude
enough terms the essentials of what I had to say, I
was touched by her heart-stricken expression. I cried :
Now I am going, now I am going. Can't you
see that I already have my hand on the handle of
the door? Good-bye, good-bye," I say. "You
might answer me when I say good-bye twice, and
stand on the point of going. I don't even ask to
meet you again, for it would torment you. But
tell me, why didn't you leave me in peace? What
had I done to you? I didn't get in your way, now,
did I? Why did you turn away from me all at
once, as if you didn't know me any longer? You
have plucked me now so thoroughly bare, made me
204
Hunger
even more wretched than I ever was at any time be¬
fore; but, indeed, I am not insane. You know well,
if you think it over, that nothing is the matter with
me now. Come over, then, and give me your hand
— or give me leave to go to you, will you ?
I won't do you any harm; I will only kneel
before you, only for a minute — kneel down on the
floor before you, only for a minute, may I? No,
no; there, I am not to do it then, I see. You are get¬
ting afraid. I will not, I will not do it; do you
hear? Lord, why do you get so terrified. I am
standing quite still; I am not moving. I would
have knelt down on the carpet for a moment — just
there, upon that patth of red, at your feet; but you
got frightened — I could see it at once in your eyes
that you got frightened ; that was why I stood still.
I didn't move a step when I asked you might I, did
I ? I stood just as immovable as I stand now when
I point out the place to you where I would have
knelt before you, over there on the crimson rose in
the carpet. I don't even point with my finger. I
don't point at all ; I let it be, not to frighten you. I
only nod and look over at it, like this! and you
know perfectly well which rose I mean, but you won't
let me kneel there. You are afraid of me, and dare
not come near to me. I cannot conceive how you
could have the heart to call me insane. It isn't true;
you don't believe it, either, any longer? It was
once in the summer, a long time ago, I was mad; I
wofked too hard, and forgot to go to dine at the
205
Hunger
right hour, when I had too much to think about.
That happened day after day. I ought to have re¬
membered it; but I went on forgetting it — by God
in Heaven, it is truel God keep me from ever
coming alive from this spot if I lie. There, you
can see, you do me an injustice. It was not out of
need I did it; I can get credit, much credit, at
Ingebret's or Gravesen's. I often, too, had a good
deal of money in my pocket, and did not buy food,
ail the same, because I forgot it. Do you hear?
You don't say anything; you don't answer; you don't
stir a bit from the fire; you just stand and wait for
me to go. . .
She came hurriedly over to me, and stretched out
her hand. I looked at her, full of mistrust. Did
she do it with any true heartiness, or did she only
do it to get rid of me? She wound her arms round
my neck; she had tears in her eyes; I only stood and
looked at her. She offered her mouth; I couldn't
believe in her; it was quite certain she was mak¬
ing a sacrifice as a means of putting an end to all
this.
She said something; it sounded to me like, " I am
fond of you, in spite of all." She said it very lowly
and indistinctly; maybe I did not hear aright. She
may not have said just those words ; but she cast her¬
self impetuously against my breast, clasped both
her arms about my neck for a little while, stretched
even up a bit on her toes to get a good hold, and
stood so for perhaps a whole minute. I was afraid
206
Hunger
that she was forcing herself to show me this tender¬
ness, and I only said:
" What a darling you are now ! "
More I didn't say. I crushed her in my arms,
stepped back, rushed to the door, and went out back¬
wards. She remained in there behind me.
207
WINTER had set în — a raw, wet win¬
ter, almost without snow. A foggy,
dark, and everlasting night, without a
single hlast of fresh wind the whole week through.
The gas was lighted almost all the day in the streets,
and yet people jostled one another in the fog. Ev¬
ery sound, the clang of the church bells, the jingling
of the harness of the droske horses, the people's
voices, the beat of the hoofs, everything, sounded
choked and jangling through the close air, that pen¬
etrated and muffled everything.
Week followed week, and the weather was, and
remained, still the same.
And I stayed steadily down in Vaterland. I grew
more and more closely bound to this inn, this lodg¬
ing-house for travellers, where I had found shelter,
in spite of my starving condition. My money was
exhausted long since; and yet I continued to come
and go in this place as if I had a right to it, and was
at home there. The landlady had, as yet, said noth¬
ing; but it worried me all the same that I could not
pay her. In this way three weeks went by. I had
already, many days ago, taken to writing again; but
I could not succeed in putting anything together that
satisfied me. I had not longer any luck, although
211
Hunger
I was very painstaking, and strove early and late;
no matter what I attempted, it was useless. Good
fortune had flown; and I exerted myself in vain.
It was in a room on the second floor, the best
guest-room, that I sat and made these attempts. I
had been undisturbed up there since the first evening
when I had money and was able to settle for what I
got. All the time I was buoyed up by the hope of
at last succeeding in getting together an article on
some subject or another, so that I could pay for my
room, and for whatever else I owed. That was the
reason I worked on so persistently. I had, in partic¬
ular, commenced a piece from which I expected great
things — an allegory about a fire — a profound
thought upon which I intended to expend all my
energy, and bring it to the Commandor " in pay¬
ment. The Commandor " should see that he had
helped a talent this time. I had no doubt but that
he would eventually see that ; it only was a matter of
waiting till the spirit moved me ; and why shouldn't
the spirit move me ? Why should it not come over
me even now, at a very early date? There was no
longer anything the matter with me. My landlady
gave me a little food every day, some bread and
butter, mornings and evenings, and my nervousness
had almost flown. I no longed used cloths round
my hands when I wrote ; and I could stare down into
the street from my window on the second floor with¬
out getting giddy. I was much better in every way,
and it was becoming a matter of astonishment to me
212
Hunger
that I had not already finished my allegory. I
couldn't understand why it was. . . .
But a day came when I was at last to get a clear
idea of how weak I had really become; with what
incapacity my dull brain acted. Namely, on this day
my landlady came up to me with a reckoning which
she asked me to look over. There must be some¬
thing wrong in this reckoning, she said; it didn't
agree with her own book; but she had not been able
to find out the mistake.
I set to work to add up. My landlady sat right
opposite and looked at me. I added up these score
of figures first once down, and found the total right ;
then once up again, and arrived at the same result.
I looked at the woman sitting opposite me, waiting
on my words. I noticed at the same time that she
was pregnant; it did not escape my attention, and yet
I did not stare in any way scrutinizingly at her.
" The total is right," said I
"No; go over each figure now," she answered.
" I am sure it can't be so much ; I am positive of
it."
And I commenced to check each line — 2 loaves
at 23^d., I lamp chimney, 3d., soap, 4d., butter, 5d.
. . . It did not require any particularly shrewd
head to run up these rows of figures — this little
huckster account in which nothing very complex oc¬
curred. I tried honestly to find the error that the
woman spoke about, but couldn't succeed. After I
had muddled about with these figures for some min-
213
Hunger
Utes I felt that, unfortunately, everything com¬
menced to dance about in my head; I could no
longer distinguish debit or credit; I mixed the
whole thing up. Finally, I came to a dead stop at
the following entry—"3. %6ths of a pound of
cheese at 9d." My brain failed me completely; I
stared stupidly down at the cheese, and got no
farther.
" It is really too confoundedly crabbed writing,"
I exclaimed in despair. " Why, God bless me, here
is %6ths of a pound of cheese entered — ha, ha ! did
any one ever hear the like ? Yes, look here; you can
see for yourself."
Yes," she said; it is often put down like that;
it is a kind of Dutch cheese. Yes, that is all right
— five-sixteenths is in this case five ounces."
" Yes, yes; I understand that well enough," I in¬
terrupted, although in truth I understood nothing
more whatever.
I tried once more to get this little account right,
that I could have totted up in a second some months
ago. I sweated fearfully, and thought over these
enigmatical figures with all my might, and I blinked
my eyes reflectingly, as if I was studying this mat¬
ter sharply, but I had to give it up. These five
ounces of cheese finished me completely ; it was as if
something snapped within my forehead. But yet,
to give the impression that I still worked out my
calculation, I moved my lips and muttered a number
aloud, all the while sliding farther and farther
214
Hunger
down the reckoning as if I were steadily coming to a
result. She sat and waited. At last I said :
" Well, now, I have gone through it from first
tO) last, and there is no mistake, as far as I can see."
"Isn't there?" replied the woman, "isn't there
really? " But I saw well that she did not believe
me, and she seemed all at once to throw a dash of
contempt into her words, a slightly careless tone that
I had never heard from her before. She remarked
that perhaps I was not accustomed to reckon in six¬
teenths; she mentioned also that she must only ap¬
ply to some one who had a knowledge of sixteenths,
to get the account properly revised. She said all
this, not in any hurtful way to make me feel
ashamed, but thoughtfully and seriously. When
she got as far as the door, she said, without looking
at me:
" Excu&e^ me for taking up your time then."
Off she went.
A moment after, the door opened again, and she
re-entered. She could hardly have gone much
farther than the stairs before she had turned back.
" That's true," said she ; " you mustn't take it
amiss; but there is a little owing to me from you
now, isn't there? Wasn't it three weeks yesterday
since you came?" Yes, I thought it was. "It
isn't so easy to keep things going with such a big
family, so that I can't give lodging on credit, more's
the . .
I stopped her. " I am working at an article that
215
Hunger
I think I told you about before," said I, " and as
soon as ever that is finished, you shall have your
money; you can make yourself quite easy. . .
"Yes; but you'll never get that article finished,
though."
" Do you think that ? Maybe the spirit will move
me tomorrow, or perhaps already, tonight; it isn't at
all impossible but that it may move me some time to¬
night, and then my article will be completed in a quar¬
ter of an hour at the outside. You see, it isn't with
my work as with other people's ; I can't sit down and
get a certain amount finished in a day. I have just
to wait for the right moment, and no one can tell
the day or hour when the spirit may move one —
it must have its own time. . . ."
My landlady went, but her confidence in me was
evidently much shaken.
As soon as I was left alone I jumped up and tore
my hair in despair. No, in spite of all, there was
really no salvation for me — no salvation! My
brain was bankrupt ! Had I then really turned into
a complete dolt since I could not even add up the
price of a piece of Dutch cheese? But could it be
possible I had lost my senses when I could stand and
put such questions to myself? Had not I, into the
bargain, right in the midst of my efforts with the
reckoning, made the lucid observation that my land¬
lady was in the family way? I had no reason for
knowing it, no one had told me anything about it,
neither had it occurred to me gratuitously. I sat and
216
Hunger
saw it with' my own eyes, and I understood it at
once, right at a despairing moment where I sat and
added up sixteenths. How could I explain this to
myself?
I went to the window and gazed out; it looked
out into Vognmandsgade. Some children were play¬
ing down on the pavement; poorly dressed children
in the middle of a poor street. They tossed an
empty bottle between them and screamed shrilly.
A load of furniture rolled slowly by; it must belong
to some dislodged family, forced to change residence
between " flitting time."^ This struck me at once.
Bed-clothes and furniture were heaped on the float,
moth-eaten beds and chests of drawers, red-painted
chairs with three legs, mats, old iron, and tin-ware.
A little girl — a mere child, a downright ugly young¬
ster, with a running cold in her nose — sat up on
top of the load, and held fast with her poor little
blue hands in order not to tumble off. She sat on
a heap of frightfully stained mattresses, that chil¬
dren must have lain on, and looked down at the
urchins who were tossing the empty bottle to one
another. . . .
I stood gazing at all this; I had no difficulty in
apprehending everything that passed before me.
Whilst I stood there at the window and observed
this, I could hear my landlady's servant singing in
the kitchen right alongside of my room. I knew
the air she was singing, and I listened to hear if she
^ In Norway, 14th of March an4 October.
217
Hunger
would sing false, and I said to myself that an idiot
could not have done all this.
I was, God be praised, all right in my senses as any
man.
Suddenly, I saw two of the children down in the
street fire up and begin to abuse one another. Two
little boys; I recognized one of them; he was my
landlady's son. I open the window to hear what they
are saying to one another, and immediately a flock of
children crowded together under my window, and
looked wistfully up. What did they expect? That
something would be thrown down ? Withered
flowers, bones, cigar ends, or one thing or another,
that they could amuse themselves with? They
looked up with their frost-pinched faces and unspeak¬
ably wistful eyes. In the meantime, the two small
foes continued to revile one another.
Words like great buzzing noxious insects swarm
out of their childish mouths; frightful nicknames,
thieves' slang, sailors' oaths, that they perhaps had
learnt down on the wharf; and they are both so
engaged that they do not notice my landlady, who
rushes out to see what is going on.
" Yes," explains her son, " he catched me by the
throat; I couldn't breaths for ever so long," and
turning upon the little man who is the caus^ of the
quarrel, and who is standing grinning maliciously
at him, he gets perfectly furious, and yells, " Go to
hell, Chaldean ass that you are! To think such
218
Hunger
vermin as you should catch folk by the throat. I
will, may the Lord . .
And the mother, this pregnant woman, who dom¬
inates the whole street with her size, answers the ten-
year-old child, as she seizes him by the arm and tries
to drag him in :
" Sh — sh. Hold your jaw ! I just like to hear
the way you swear, too, as if you had been in a
brothel for years. Now, in with you."
" No, I won't."
"Yes, you will."
" No, I won't."
I stand up in the window and see that the mother's
temper is rising; this disagreeable scene* excites me
frightfully. I can't endure it any longer. I call
down to the boy to come up to me for a minute; I
call twice, just to distract them — to change the
scene. The last time I call very loudly, and the
mother turns round hurriedly and looks up at me.
She regains her self-possession at once, looks inso¬
lently at me, nay, downright maliciously, and enters
the house with a chiding remark to her offspring.
She talks loudly, so that I may hear it, and says to
him, " Fie, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to
let people see how naughty you are."
Of all this that I stood there and observed not
one thing, not even one little accessory detail, was
lost on me; my attention was acutely keen; I ab¬
sorbed carefully every little thing as I stood and
219
Hunger
thought out my own thought, about each thing ac¬
cording as it occurred. So it was impossible that
there could be anything the matter with my brain.
How could there, in this case, be anything the mat¬
ter with it?
Listen; do you know what, said I all at once to
myself, that you have been worrying yourself long
enough about your brain, giving yourself no end of
worry in this matter? Now, there must be an end
to this tomfoolery. Is it a sign of insanity to notice
and apprehend everything as accurately as you do?
You make me almost laugh at you, I reply. To my
mind it is not without its humorous side, if I am
any judge of such a case. Why, it happens to every
man that he once in a way sticks fast, and that, too,
just with the simplest question. It is of no signifi¬
cance, it is often a pure accident. As I have re¬
marked before, I am on the point of having a good
laugh at your expense. As far as that huckster ac¬
count is concerned, that paltry five-sixteenths of beg¬
gar-man's cheese, I can happily dub it so. Ha, ha!
— a cheese with cloves and pepper in it ; upon my
word, a cheese in which, to put the matter plainly,
one could breed maggots. As far as that ridiculous
cheese is concerned, it might happen to the cleverest
fellow in the world to be puzzled over it! Why,
the smell of the cheese was enough to finish a man;
. . . and I made the greatest fun of this and all
other Dutch cheeses. . . . N'o; set me to reckon
up something really eatable, said I — set me, if you
220
Hunger
like, at five-sixteenths of good dairy butter. That
is another matter.
I laughed feverishly at my own whim, and found
it peculiarly diverting. There was positively no
longer anything the matter with me. I was in good
form — was, so to say, still in the best of form; I
had a level head, nothing was wanting there, God
be praised.and thanked! My mirth rose in meas¬
ure as I paced the floor and communed with myself.
I laughed aloud, and felt amazingly glad. Besides,
it really seemed, too, as if I only needed this little
happy hour, this moment of airy rapture, without a
care on any side, to get my head into working order
once more.
I seated myself at the table, and set to work at
my allegory; it progressed swimmingly, better than
it had done for a long time ; not very fast, 'tis true,
but it seemed to me that what I did was altogether
first-rate. I worked, too, for the space of an hour
without getting tired.
I am sitting working at a most crucial point in this
Allegory of a Conflagration in a Bookshop. It ap¬
pears to me so momentous a point, that all the rest
I have written counted as nothing in comparison.
I was, namely, just about to weave in, in a downright
profound way, this thought. It was not books that
were burning, it was brains, human brains ; and I in¬
tended to make a perfect Bartholomew's night of
these burning brains.
Suddenly my door was flung open with a jerk and
221
Hunger
în much haste; my landlady came sailing in. She
came straight over to the middle of the room, she
did not even pause on the threshold.
I gave a little hoarse cry; it was just as if I had
received a blow.
" What? " said she, " I thought you said some¬
thing. We have got a traveller, and we must have
this room for him. You will have to sleep down¬
stairs with us tonight. Yes; you can have a bed to
yourself there too." And before she got my an¬
swer, she began, without further ceremony, to bundle
my papers together on the table, and put the whole
of them into a state of dire confusion.
My happy mood was blown to the winds; I stood
up at once, in anger and despair. I let her tidy the
table, and said nothing, never uttered a syllable.
She thrust all the papers into my hand.
There was nothing else for me to do. I was
forced to leave the room. And so this precious
moment was spoilt also. I met the new traveller
already on the stairs; a young man with great blue
anchors tattooed on the backs of his hands. A quay
porter followed him, bearing a sea-chest on his
shoulders. He was evidently a sailor, a casual
traveller for the night; he would therefore not oc¬
cupy my room for any lengthened period. Perhaps,
too, I might be lucky tomorrow when the man had
left, and have one of my moments again; I only
needed an inspiration for five minutes, and my essay
222
Hunger
on the conflagration would be completed. Well, I
should have to submit to fate.
I had not been inside the family rooms before,
this one common room in which they all lived, both
day and night — the husband, wife, wife's father,
and four children. The servant lived in the kitchen,
where she also slept at night. I approached the
door with much repugnance, and knocked. No one
answered, yet I heard voices inside.
The husband did not speak as I stepped in, did
not acknowledge my nod even, merely glanced at
me carelessly, as if I were no concern of his. Be¬
sides, he was sitting playing cards with a person I
had seen down on the quays, with the by-name of
Pane o' glass." An infant lay and prattled to it¬
self over in the bed, and an old man, the landlady's
father, sat doubled together on a settle-bed, and bent
his head down over his hands as if his chest or stom¬
ach pained him. His hair was almost white, and he
looked in his crouching position like a poke-necked
reptile that sat cocking its ears at something.
I come, worse luck, to beg for house-room down
here tonight," I said to the man.
" Did my wife say so? " he inquired.
"Yes; a new lodger came to my room."
To this the man made no reply, but proceeded to
finger the cards. There this man sat, day after day,
and played cards with anybody who happened to
come in — played for nothing, only just to kill time,
223
Hunger
and have something in hand. He never did any¬
thing else, only moved just as much as his lazy limbs
felt inclined, whilst his wife bustled up and down
stairs, was occupied on all sides, and took care to
draw customers to the house. She had put herself
in connection with quay-porters and dock-men, to
whom she paid a certain sum for every new lodger
they brought her, and she often gave them, in addi¬
tion, a shelter for the night. This time it was
" Pane o' glass " that had just brought along the
new lodger.
A couple of the children came in — two little
girls, with thin, freckled, gutter-snipe faces; their
clothes were positively wretched. A while after the
landlady herself entered. I asked her where she
intended to put me up for the night, and she re¬
plied that I could lie in here together with the others,
or out in the ante-room on the sofa, as I thought fit.
Whilst she answered me she fussed about the room
and busied herself with different things that she set
in order, and she never once looked at me.
My spirits were crushed by her reply.
I stood down near the door, and made myself
small, tried to make it appear as if I were quite con¬
tent all the same to change my room for another for
one night's sake. I put on a friendly face on pur¬
pose not to irritate her and perhaps be hustled right
out of the house.
" Ah, yes," I said, " there is sure to be some
y^ray! " and then held my tongue.
224
Hunger
She still bustled about the room.
For that matter, I may as well just tell you that
I can't afford to give people credit for their board
and lodging," said she, " and I told you that before,
too."
"Yes; but, my dear woman, it is only for these
few days, until I get my article finished," I answered,
" and I will willingly give you an extra five shillings
— willingly."
But she had evidently no faith in my article, I
could see that; and I could not afford to be proud,
and leave the house, just for a slight mortification;
I knew what awaited me if I went out.
• ••••••
A few days passed over.
I still associated with the family below, for it
was too cold in the ante-room where there was no
stove. I slept, too, at night on the floor of the room.
The strange sailor continued to lodge in my room,
and did not seem like moving very quickly. At
noon, too, my landlady came in and related how he
had paid her a month in advance, and besides, he
was going to take his first-mate's examination before
leaving, that was why he was staying in town. I
stood and listened to this, and understood that my
room was lost to me for ever.
I went out to the ante-room, and sat down. If I
were lucky enough to get anything written, it would
have perforce to be here where it was quiet. It was
no longer the allegory that occupied me; I had got
225
Hunger
a new idea, a perfectly splendid plot; I would com¬
pose a one-act drama —" The Sign of the Cross."
Subject taken from the Middle Ages. I had es¬
pecially thought out everything in connection with
the principal characters: a magnificently fanatical
harlot who had sinned in the temple, not from weak¬
ness or desire, but for hate against heaven; sinner
right at the foot of the altar, with the altar-cloth
under her head, just out of delicious contempt for
heaven.
I grew more and more obsessed by this creation as
the hours went on. She stood at last, palpably, viv¬
idly embodied before my eyes, and was exactly as
I wished her to appear. Her body was to be de¬
formed and repulsive, tall, very lean, and rather
dark; and when she walked, her long limbs should
gleam through her draperies at every stride she
took. She was also to have large outstanding ears.
Curtly, she was nothing for the eye to dwell upon,
barely endurable to look at. What interested me
in her was her wonderful shamelessness, the des¬
perately full measure of calculated sin which she
had committed. She really occupied me too much,
my brain was absolutely inflated by this singular mon¬
strosity of a creature, and I worked for two hours,
without a pause, at my drama. When I had finished
half-a score of pages, perhaps twelve, often with
much effort, at times with long intervals, in which I
wrote in vain and had to tear the page in two, I
had become tired, quite stiff with cold and fatigue,
226
Hunger
and I arose and went out into the street. For the
last half-hour, too, I had been disturbed by the cry¬
ing of the children inside the family room, so that I
could not, in any case, have written any more just
then. So I took a long time up over Drammen-
sveien, and stayed away till the evening, pondering
incessantly, as I walked along, as to how I would
continue my drama. Before I came home in the
evening of this day, the following happened :
I stood outside a shoemaker's shop far down in
Carl Johann Street, almost at the railway square.
God knows why I stood just outside this shoemaker's
shop. I looked into the window as I stood there,
but did not, by the way, remember that I needed
shoes then; my thoughts were far away in other
parts of the world. A swarm of people talking to¬
gether passed behind my back, and I heard nothing
of what was said. Then a voice greeted me loudly :
" Good-evening."
It was " Missy " who bade me good-evening! I
answered at random, I looked at him, too, for a
while, before I recognized him.
" Well, how are you getting along? " he inquired.
" Oh, always well ... as usual."
" By the way, tell me," said he, " are you, then,
still with Christie?"
"Christie?"
" I thought you once said you were book-keeper
at Christie's?"
"Ah, yes. No; that is done with. It was im-
227
Hunger
possible to get along with that fellow; that came to
an end very quickly of its own accord."
"Why so?"
" Well, I happened to make a mis-entry one day,
and so — "
" A false entry, eh? "
False entry! There stood "Missy," and asked
me straight in the face if I had done this thing.
He even asked eagerly, and evidently with much
interest. I looked at him, felt deeply insulted, and
made no reply.
" Yes, well. Lord! that might happen to the best
fellow," he said, as if to console me. He still be¬
lieved I had made a false entry designedly.
" What is it that, ' Yes, well. Lord! indeed might
happen to the best fellow'?" I inquired. "To do
that. Listen, my good man. Do you stand there
and really believe that I could for a moment be
guilty of such a mean trick as that? I ! "
" But, my dear fellow, I thought I heard you dis¬
tinctly say that."
"No; I said that I had made a mis-entry once,
a bagatelle ; if you want to know, a false date on a
letter, a single stroke of the pen wrong — that was
my whole crime. No, God be praised, I can tell
right from wrong yet a while. How would it fare
with me if I were, into the bargain, to sully my
honour ? It is simply my sense of honour that keeps
me afloat now. But it is strong enough too; at
least, it has kept me up to date."
228
Hunger
I .threw back my head, turned away from
" Missy," and looked down the street. My eyes
rested on a red dress that came towards us; on a
woman at a man's side. If I had not had this con¬
versation with " Missy," I would not have been hurt
by his coarse suspicion, and I would not have given
this toss of my head, as I turned away in offence;
and so perhaps this red dress would have passed me
without my having noticed it. And at bottom what
did it concern me? What was it to me if it were
the dress of the Hon. Miss Nagel, the lady-in-wait¬
ing? " Missy " stood and talked, and tried to make
good his mistake again. I did not listen to him at
all; I stood the whole time and stared at the red
dress that was coming nearer up the street, and a
stir thrilled through my breast, a gliding delicate
dart. I whispered in thought without moving my
lips:
"Ylajali!"
Now Missy " turned round also and noticed the
two — the lady and the man with her,— raised his
hat to them, and followed them with his eyes. I
did not raise my hat, or perhaps I did unconsciously.
The red dress glided up Carl Johann, and disap¬
peared.
Who was it was with her? " asked " Missy."
"The Duke, didn't you see? The so-called
' Duke.' Did you know the lady? "
" Yes, in a sort of way. Didn't yoM know her? "
" No," I replied.
229
Hunger
" It appears to me you saluted profoundly
enough."
" Did I?"
" Ha, ha I perhaps you didn't," said Missy."
" Well, that is odd. Why, it was only at you she
looked, too, the whole time."
When did you get to know her?" I asked.
He did not really know her. It dated from an
evening in autumn. It was late; they were three
jovial souls together, they came out late from the
Grand, and met this being going along alone past
Cammermeyer's, and they addressed her. At first
she answered rebuffingly ; but one of the jovial spirits,
a man who neither feared fire nor water, asked her
right to her face if he might not have the civilized
enjoyment of accompanying her home? He would,
by the Lord, not hurt a hair on her head, as the say¬
ing goes — only go with her to her door, reassure
himself that she reached home in safety, otherwise
he could not rest all night. He talked incessantly
as they went along, hit upon one thing or another,
dubbed himself Waldemar Atterdag, and repre¬
sented himself as a photographer. At last she was
obliged to laugh at this merry soul who refused to
be rebuffed by her coldness, and it finally ended by
his going with her.
"Indeed, did it? and what came of it?" I in¬
quired; and I held my breath for his reply.
" Came of it? Oh, stop there; there is the lady
in question."
230
Hunger
We both kept silent a moment, both " Missy "
and 1.
"Well, I'm hanged, was that 'the Duke'? So
that's what he looks like," he added, reflectively.
"Well, if she is in contact with that fellow; well,
then, I wouldn't like to answer for her."
I still kept silent. Yes, of course " the Duke"
would make the pace with her. Well, what odds?
How did it concern me? I bade her good-day with
all her wiles : a good-day I bade her ; and I tried to
console myself by thinking the worst thoughts about
her; took a downright pleasure in dragging her
through the mire. It only annoyed me to think
that I had doffed my hat to the pair, if I really had
done so. Why should I raise my hat to such peo¬
ple? I did not care for her any longer, certainly
not; she was no longer in the very slightest degree
lovely to me; she had fallen off. Ah, the devil
knows how soiled I found her! It might easily
have been the case that it was only me she looked
at; I was not in the least astounded at that; it might
be regret that began to stir in her. But that was
no reason for me to go and lower myself and salute,
like a fool, especially when she had become so se¬
riously besmirched of late. " The Duke " was wel¬
come to her; I wish him joy! The day might come
when I would just take into my head to pass her
haughtily by without glancing once towards her.
Ay, it might happen that I would venture to do this,
even if she were to gaze straight into my eyes, and
23/
Hunger
have a blood-red gown on into the bargain. It
might very easily happen ! Ha, ha ! that would be
a triumph. If I knew myself aright, I was quite
capable of completing my drama during the course
of the night, and, before eight days had flown, I
would have brought this young woman to her knees
— with all her charms, ha, ha I with all her
charms. . . .
"Good-bye," I muttered, shortly; but "Missy"
held me back. He queried:
" But what do you do all day now? "
" Do? I write, naturally. What else should I
do? Is it not that I live by? For the moment,
I am working at a great drama, ' The Sign of the
Cross.' Theme taken from the Middle Ages."
"By Jove!" exclaimed "Missy," seriously.
" Well, if you succeed with that, why . . ."
" I have no great anxiety on that score," I re¬
plied. " In eight days' time or so, I think you and
all the folks will have heard a little more of me."
With that I left him.
When I got home I applied at once to my land¬
lady, and requested a lamp. It was of the utmost
importance to me to get this lamp; I would not go
to bed tonight; my drama was raging in my brain,
and I hoped so surely to be able to write a good por¬
tion of it before morning. I put forward my re¬
quest very humbly to her, as I had noticed that she
made a dissatisfied face on my re-entering the sitting-
room. I said that I had almost completed a re-
232
Hunger
markable drama, only a couple of scenes were want¬
ing; and I hinted that it might be produced in some
theatre or another, in no time. If she would only
just render me this great service now. . . .
But madam had no lamp. She considered a bit,
but could not call to mind that she had a lamp in
any place. If I liked to wait until twelve o'clock, I
might perhaps get the kitchen lamp. Why didn't
I buy myself a candle ?
I held my tongue. I hadn't a farthing to buy a
candle, and knew that right well. Of course I was
foiled again! The servant-girl sat inside with us
— simply sat in the sitting-room, and was not in the
kitchen at all; so that the lamp up there was not
even lit. And I stood and thought over this, but
said no more. Suddenly the girl remarked to me :
I thought I saw you come out of the palace a
while ago; were you at a dinner party?" and she
laughed loudly at this jest.
I sat down, took out my papers, and attempted
to write something here, in the meantime. I held
the paper on my knees, and gazed persistently at
the floor to avoid being distracted by anything; but
it helped not a whit; nothing helped me; I got
no farther. The landlady's two little girls came in
and made a row with the cat — a queer, sick cat
that had scarcely a hair on it; they blew into its
eyes until water sprang out of them and trickled
down its nose. The landlord and a couple of others
sat at a table and played cent et un. The wife alone
233
Hunger
was busy as ever, and sat and sewed at some gar¬
ment. She saw well that I could not write anything
in the midst of all this disturbance ; but she troubled
herself no more about me; she even smiled when
the servant-girl asked me if I had been out to dine.
The whole household had become hostile towards
me. It was as if I had only needed disgrace of be¬
ing obliged to resign my room to a stranger to be
treated as a man of no account. Even the servant,
a little, brown-eyed, street-wench, with a big fringe
over her forehead, and a perfectly flat bosom, poked
fun at me in the evening when I got my ration of
bread and butter. She inquired perpetually where,
then, was I in the habit of dining, as she had never
seen me picking my teeth outside the Grand? It
was clear that she was aware of my wretched cir¬
cumstances, and took a pleasure in letting me know
of it.
I fall suddenly into thought over all this, and am
not able to find a solitary speech for my drama.
Time upon time I seek in vain; a strange buzzing
begins inside my head, and I give it up. I thrust the
papers into my pocket, and look up. The girl is
sitting straight opposite me. I look at her — look
at her narrow back and drooping shoulders, that are
not yet fully developed. What business was it of
hers to fly at me? Even supposing I did come out
of the palace, what then? Did it harm her in any
way? She had laughed insolently in the past few
days at me, when I was a bit awkward and stumbled
234
Hunger
on the stairs, or caught fast on a nail and tore my
coat. It was not later than yesterday that she gath¬
ered up my rough copy, that I had thrown aside in
the ante-room — stolen these rejected fragments of
my drama, and read them aloud in the room here;
made fun of them in every one's hearing, just to
amuse herself at my expense. I had never molested
her in any way, and could not recall that I had ever
asked her to do me a service. On the contrary, I
made up my bed on the floor in the ante-room my¬
self, in order not to give her any trouble with it.
She made fun of me, too, because my hair fell out.
Hair lay and floated about in the basin I washed in
in the mornings, and she made merry over it. Then
my shoes, too, had grown rather shabby of late, par¬
ticularly the one that had been run over by the bread-
van, and she found subject for jesting in them.
" God bless you and your shoes ! " said she, looking
at them; "they are as wide as a dog's house."
And she was right; they were trodden out. But
then I couldn't procure myself any others just at
present.
Whilst I sit and call all this to mind, and marvel
over the evident malice of the servant, the little girls
have begun to tease the old man over in the bed;
they are jumping around him, fully bent on this
diversion. They both found a straw, which they
poked into his ears. I looked on at this for a while,
and refrained from interfering. The old fellow did
not move a finger to defend himself; he only looked
235
Hunger
at his tormentors with furious eyes each time they
prodded him, and jerked his head to escape when the
straws were already in his ears. I got more and
more irritated at this sight, and could not keep my
eyes away from it. The father looked up from his
cards, and laughed at the youngsters; he also drew
the attention of his comrades at play to what was
going on. Why didn't the old fellow move? Why
didn't he fling the children aside with his arms? I
took a stride, and approached the bed.
" Let them alone ! let them alone ! he is para¬
lysed," called the landlord.
And out of fear to be shown the door for the
night, simply out of fear of rousing the man's dis¬
pleasure by interfering with this scene, I stepped
back silently to my old place and kept myself quiet.
Why should I risk my lodging and my portion of
bread and butter by poking my nose into the family
squabbles? No idiotic pranks for the sake of a
half-dying old man, and I stood and felt as delight¬
fully hard as a flint.
The little urchins did not cease their plaguing; it
amused them that the old chap could not hold his
head quiet, and they aimed at his eyes and nostrils.
He stared at them with a ludicrous expression; he
said nothing, and could not stir his arms. Suddenly
he raised the upper part of his body a little and
spat in the face of one of the little girls, drew him¬
self up again and spat at the other, but did not
reach her. I stood and looked on, saw that the
236
Hunger
landlord flung the cards on the table at which he sat,
and sprang over towards the bed. His face was
flushed, and he shouted :
"Will you sit and spit right into people's eyes,
you old boar? "
" But, good Lord, he got no peace from them ! "
I cried, beside myself.
But all the time I stood in fear of being turned
out, and I certainly did not utter my protest with
any particular force ; I only trembled over my whole
body with irritation. He turned towards me, and
said:
" Eh, listen to him, then. What the devil is it
to you? You just keep your tongue in your jaw,
you — just mark what I tell you, 'twill serve you
best."
But now the wife's voice made itself heard, and
the house was filled with scolding and railing.
" May God help me, but I think you are mad or
possessed, the whole pack of you ! " she shrieked.
" If you want to stay in here you'll have to be quiet,
both of you ! Humph ! it isn't enough that one is
to keep open house and food for vermin, but one is
to have sparring and rowing and the devil's own
to-do in the sitting-room as well. But I won't have
any more of it, not if I know it. Sh — h ! Hold
your tongues, you brats there, and wipe your noses,
too; if you don't, I'll come and do it. I never saw
the like of such people. Here they walk in out of
the street, without even a penny to buy flea-powder,
237
Hunger
and begin to kick up rows in the middle of the night
and quarrel with the people who own the house. I
don't mean to have any more of it, do you under¬
stand that ? and you can go your way, every one who
doesn't belong home here. I am going to have peace
in my own quarters, I am."
I said nothing, I never opened my mouth once.
I sat down again next the door and listened to the
noise. They all screamed together, even the chil¬
dren, and the girl who wanted to explain how the
whole disturbance commenced. If I only kept quiet,
it would all blow over sometime ; it would surely not
come to the worst if I only did not utter a word;
and what word after all could I have to say? Was
it not perhaps winter outside, and far advanced into
the night, besides? Was that a time to strike a
blow, and show one could hold one's own? No
folly now !... So I sat still and made no attempt
to leave the house; I never even blushed at keeping
silent, never felt ashamed, although I had almost
been shown the door. I stared coolly, case-
hardened, at the wall where Christ hung in an
oleograph, and held my tongue obstinately during all
the landlady's attack.
" Well, if it is me you want to get quit of, ma'am,
there will be nothing in the way as far as I am con¬
cerned," said one of the card-players as he stood
up. The other card-players rose as well.
"No, I didn't mean you — nor you either," re¬
plied the landlady to them. "If there's any need
238
Hunger
to, I will show well enough who I mean, if there's
the least need to, if I know myself rightly. Oh, it
will be shown quick enough who it is . .
She talked with pauses, gave me these thrusts at
short intervals, and spun it out to make it clearer
and clearer that it was me she meant. " Quiet,"
said I to myself; " only keep quiet! " She had not
asked me to go — not expressly, not in plain words.
Just no putting on side on my part— no untimely
pride I Brave it out !... That was really most
singular green hair on that Christ in the oleograph.
It was not too unlike green grass, or expressed with
exquisite exactitude thick meadow grass. Ha ! a
perfectly correct remark — unusually thick meadow
grass. ... A train of fleeting ideas darts at this
moment through my head. From green grass to
the text. Each life is like unto grass that is kindled;
from that to the Day of Judgment, when all will be
consumed; then a little detour down to the earth¬
quake in Lisbon, about which something floated be¬
fore me in reference to a brass Spanish spittoon and
an ebony pen handle that I had seen down at
Ylajali's. Ah, yes, all was transitory, just like grass
that was kindled. It all ended in four planks and
a winding-sheet. " Winding-sheets to be had from
Miss Andersen's, on the right of the door." . . .
And all this was tossed about in my head during
the despairing moment when my landlady was about
to thrust me from her door.
" He doesn't hear," she yelled. " I tell you,
239
Hunger
you'll quit this house. Now you know it. I believe,
God blast me, that the man is mad, I do Î Now, out
you go, on the blessed spot, and so no more chat
about it."
I looked towards the door, not in order to leave
— no, certainly not in order to leave. An auda¬
cious notion seized me — if there had been a key
in the door, I would have turned it and locked my¬
self in along with the rest to escape going. I had a
perfectly hysterical dread of going out into the
streets again.
But there was no key in the door.
Then, suddenly my landlord's voice mingled with
that of his wife, and I stood still with amazement.
The same man who had threatened me a while ago
took my part, strangely enough now. He said:
"No, it won't do to turn folk out at night; do
you know one can be punished for doing that? "
" I didn't know if there was a punishment for
that; I couldn't say, but perhaps it was so-," and the
wife bethought herself quickly, grew quiet, and spoke
no more.
She placed two pieces of bread and butter before
me for supper, but I did not touch them, just out of
gratitude to the man; so I pretended that I had had
a little food in town.
When at length I took myself off to the ante¬
room to go to bed, she came out after me, stopped
on the threshold, and said loudly, whilst her un¬
sightly figure seemed to strut out towards me:
240
Hunger
" But this is the last night you sleep here, so
now you know it."
*'Yes, yes," I replied.
There would perhaps be some way of finding a
shelter tomorrow, if I tried hard for it. I would
surely be able to find some hiding-place. For the
time being I would rejoice that I was not obliged
to go out tonight.
I slept till betw'een five and six in the morning
— it was not yet light when I awoke — but all the
same I got up at once. I had lain in all my clothes
on account of the cold, and had no dressing to do.
When I had drunk a little cold water and opened
the door quietly, I went out directly, for I was afraid
to face my landlady again.
A couple of policemen who had beern on watch all
night were the only living beings I saw in the street.
A while after, some men began to extinguish the
lamps. I wandered about without aim or end,
reached Kirkegaden and the road down towards the
fortress. Cold and still sleepy, weak in the knees
and back after my long walk, and very hungry, I
sat dow:n on a seat and dozed for a long time. For
three T^eeks I had lived exclusively on the bread and
butter that my landlady had given me morning and
evening. Now it was twenty-four hours since I had
had my last meal. Hunger began to gnaw badly at
me again; I must seek a help for it right quickly.
With this thought I fell asleep again upon the
seat. . . .
241
Hunger
I was aroused by the sound of people speaking
near me, and when I had collected myself a little,
I saw that it was broad day, and that every one
was up and about. I got up and walked away.
The sun burst over the heights, the sky was pale and
tender, and in my delight over the lovely morning,
after the many dark gloomy weeks, I forgot all
cares, and it seemed to me as if I had fared worse on
other occasions. I clapped myself on the chest and
sang a little snatch for myself. My voice sounded
so wretched, downright exhausted it sounded, and I
moved myself to tears with it. This magnificent
day, the white heavens swimming in light, had far
too mighty an effect upon me, and I burst into loud
weeping.
" What is the matter with you? " inquired a man.
I did not answer, but hurried away, hiding my face
from all men. I reached the bridge. A large
barque with the Russian flag lay and discharged coal.
I read her name, Copégoro, on her side. It dis¬
tracted me for a time to watch what took place on
board this foreign ship. She must be almost dis¬
charged; she lay with IX foot visible on her side,
in spite of all the ballast she had already taken in,
and there was a hollow boom through the whole ship
whenever the coal-heavers stamped on the deck with
their heavy boots.
The sun, the light, and the salt breath from the
sea, all this busy, merry life pulled me together a
bit, and caused my blood to run lustily. Suddenly
242
Hunger
it entered my head that I could work at a few scenes
of my drama whilst I sat here, and I took my pa¬
pers out of my pocket.
I tried to place a speech into a monk's mouth — a
speech that ought to swell with pride and intolerance,
but it was of no use; so I skipped over the monk
and tried to work out an oration — the Deemster's
oration to the violator of the Temple,— and I wrote
half-a-page of this oration, upon which I stopped.
The right local colour would not tinge my words,
the bustle about me, the shanties, the noise of the
gangways, and the ceaseless rattle of the iron chains,
fitted in so little with the atmosphere of the musty
air of the dim Middle Ages, that was to envelop my
drama as with a mist.
I bundled my papers together and got up.
All the same, I got into a happy vein — a grand
vein,— and I felt convinced that I could effect some¬
thing if all went well.
If I only had a place to go to. I thought over
it — stopped right there in the street and pondered,
but I could not bring to mind a single quiet spot in
the town where I could seat myself for an hour.
There was no other way open; I would have to go
back to the lodging-house in Vaterland. I shrank
at the thought of it, and I told myself all the while
that it would not do. I went ahead all the same,
and approached nearer and nearer to the forbidden
spot. Of course it was wretched. I admitted to
myself that it was degrading — downright degrad-
243
Hunger
ing, but there was no help for it. I was not in the
least proud ; I dared make the assertion roundly, that
I was one of the least arrogant beings up to date. I
went ahead.
I pulled up at the door and weighed it over once
more. Yes, no matter what the result was, I would
have to dare it. After all said and done, what a
bagatelle to make such a fuss about. For the first,
it was only a matter of a couple of hours; for the
second, the Lord forbid that I should ever seek
refuge in such a house again. I entered the yard.
Even whilst I was crossing the uneven stones I was
irresolute, and almost turned round at the very door.
I clenched my teeth. No ! no pride ! At the worst
I could excuse myself by saying I had come to say
good-bye, to make a proper adieu, and come to a clear
understanding about my debt to the house. . . .
I took forth my papers once more, and determined
to thrust all irrelevant impressions aside. I had left
off right in the middle of a sentence in the inquisitor's
address—" Thus dictate God and the law to me,
thus dictates also the counsel of my wise men, thus
dictate I and my own conscience. ..." I looked
out of the window to think over what his conscience
should dictate to him. A little row reached me from
the room inside. Well, it was no affair of mine any¬
way; it was entirely and totally indifferent to me
what noise arose. Why the devil should I sit think¬
ing about it? Keep quiet now I "Thus dictate I and
my own conscience . . . " But everything conspired
against me. Outside in the street, something was
244
Hunger
taking place that disturbed me. A little lad sat and
amused himself in the sun on the opposite side of the
pavement. He was happy and in fear of no danger
—^just sat and knotted together a lot of paper
streamers, and injuring no one. Suddenly he jumps
up and begins to curse; he goes backwards to the
middle of the street and catches sight of a man, a
grown-up man, with a red beard, who is leaning out
of an open window in the second storey, and who
spat down on his head. The little chap cried with
rage, and swore impatiently up at the window ; and
the man laughed in his face. Perhaps five minutes
passed in this way. I turned aside to avoid seeing
the little lad's tears.
"Thus dictate I and my own conscience . . ."
I found it impossible to get any farther. At last
everything began to get confused; it seemed to
me that even that which I had already written was
unfit to use, ay, that the whole idea was contempt¬
ible rubbish. How could one possibly talk of
conscience in the Middle Ages? Conscience was
first invented by Dancing-master Shakespeare, con¬
sequently my whole address was wrong. Was
there, then, nothing of value in these pages? I
ran through them anew, and solved my doubt at
once. I discovered grand pieces—downright lengthy
pieces of remarkable merit—and once again the
intoxicating desire to set to work again darted
through my breast—the desire to finish my
drama.
245
Hunger
I got up and went to the door, without paying
any attention to my landlord's furious signs to go
out quietly; I walked out of the room firmly, and
with my mind made up. I went upstairs to the
second floor, and entered my former room. The
man was not there, and what was to hinder me
from sitting here for a moment? I would not
touch one of his things. I wouldn't even once use
his table; I would just seat myself on a chair near
the door, and be happy. I spread the papers hur¬
riedly out on my knees. Things went splendidly
for a few minutes. Retort upon retort stood ready
in my head, and I wrote uninterruptedly. I filled
one page after the other, dashed ahead over stock
and stone, chuckled softly in ecstasy over my happy
vein, and was scarcely conscious of myself. The
only sound I heard in this moment was my own
merry chuckle.
A singularly happy idea had just struck me about
a church bell—a church bell that was to peal out
at a certain point in my drama. All was going
ahead with overwhelming rapidity. Then I heard
a step on the stairs. I tremble, and am almost
beside myself; sit ready to bolt, timorous,
watchful, full of fear at everything, and excited
by hunger. I listen nervously, just hold the pencil
still in my hand, and listen. I cannot write a
word more. The door opens and the pair from
below enter.
Even before I had time to make an excuse for
246
Hunger
what I had done, the landlady calls out, as if struck
of a heap with amazement ;
" Well, God bless and save us, if he isn't sitting
here again! "
" Excuse me," I said, and I would have added
more, but got no farther; the landlady flung open
the door, as far as it would go, and shrieked;
" If you don't go out, now, may God blast me,
but I'll fetch the police I "
I got up.
" I only wanted to say good-bye to you," I mur¬
mured; "and I had to wait for you. I didn't
touch anything; I only just sat here on the
chair. ..."
" Yes, yes; there was no harm in that," said the
man. "What the devil does it matter? Let the
man alone; he—"
By this time I had reached the end of the stairs.
All at once I got furious with this fat, swollen
woman, who followed close to my heels to get rid
of me quickly, and I stood quiet a moment with
the worst abusive epithets on my tongue ready to
sling at her. But I bethought myself in time, and
held my peace, if only out of gratitude to the
stranger man who followed her, and would have to
hear them. She trod close on my heels, railing in¬
cessantly, and my anger increased with every step
I took.
We reached the yard below. I walked very
247
Hunger
slowly, Still debating whether I would not have it
out with her. I was at this moment completely
blinded with rage, and I searched for the worst
word—an expression that would strike her dead on
the spot, like a kick in her stomach. A commis¬
sionaire passes me at the entrance. He touches his
hat; I take no notice; he applies to her; and I hear
that he inquires for me, but I do not turn round.
A couple of steps outside the door he overtakes and
stops me. He hands me an envelope. I tear it
open, roughly and unwillingly. It contains half-a-
sovereign—no note, not a word. I look at the man,
and ask:
''What tomfoolery is this? Who is the letter
from? "
" Oh, that I can^t say! " he replies; " but it was
a lady who gave it to me."
I stood still. The commissionaire left.
I put the coin into the envelope again, crumple
it up, coin and envelope, wheel round and go
straight towards the landlady, who is still keeping
an eye on me from the doorway, and throw it in
her face. I said nothing; I uttered no syllable—
only noticed that she was examining the crumpled
paper as I left her. . . . Ha 1 that is what one
might call comporting oneself with dignity. Not to
say a word, not to mention the contents, but crumple
together, with perfect calmness, a large piece of
money, and fling it straight in the face of one's per¬
secutor! One might call that making one's exit
248
Hunger
with dignity. That was the way to treat such
beasts I . . .
When I got to the corner of Tomtegaden and
the railway place, the street commenced suddenly
to swim around before my eyes ; it buzzed vacantly
in my head, and I staggered up against the wall
of a house. I could simply go no farther, couldn't
even straighten myself from the cramped position
I was in. As I fell up against it, so I re¬
mained standing, and I felt that I was beginning
to lose my senses. My insane anger had augmented
this attack of exhaustion. I lifted my foot, and
stamped on the pavement. I also tried several
other things to try and regain my strength : I
clenched my teeth, wrinkled my brows, and rolled
my eyes despairingly; it helped a little. My
thoughts grew more lucid. It was clear to me that
I was about to succumb. I stretched out my hands,
and pushed myself back from the wall. The street
still danced wildly round me. I began to hic¬
cough with rage, and I wrestled from my very
inmost soul with my misery; made a right gallant
effort not to sink down. It was not my intention
to collapse ; no, I would die standing. A dray rolls
slowly by, and I notice there are potatoes in it;
but out of sheer fury and stubbornness, I take it
into my head to assert that they are not potatoes,
but cabbages, and I swore frightful oaths that they
were cabbages. I heard quite well what I was
saying, and I swore this lie wittingly; repeating
249
Hunger
time after time, just to have the vicious satisfac¬
tion of perjuring myself. I got intoxicated with
the thought of this matchless sin of mine. I raised
three fingers in the air, and swore, with trembling
lips, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost, that they were cabbages.
Time went. I let myself sink down on the steps
near me, and dried the sweat from my brow
and throat, drew a couple of long breaths, and
forced myself into calmness. The sun slid down;
it declined towards the afternoon. I began once
more to brood over my condition. My hunger was
really something disgraceful, and, in a few hours
more, night would be here again. The question
was, to think of a remedy while there was yet
time. My thoughts flew again to the lodging-
house from which I had been hunted away. I could
on no account return there ; but yet one could
not help thinking about it. Properly speaking, the
woman was acting quite within her rights in
turning me out. How could I expect to get lodg¬
ing with any one when I could not pay for it? Be¬
sides, she had occasionally given me a little food;
even yesterday evening, after I had annoyed
her, she offered me some bread and butter. She
offered it to me out of sheer good nature, because
she knew I needed it, so I had no cause to
complain. I began, even whilst I sat there on the
step, to ask her pardon in my own mind for my
behaviour. Particularly, I regretted bitterly that
250
Hunger
I had shown myself ungrateful to her at the
last, and thrown half-a-sovereign in her
face. . . .
Half-a-sovereign! I gave a whistle. The let¬
ter the messenger brought me, where did it come
from? It was only this instant I thought clearly
over this, and I divined at once how the whole
thing hung together. I grew sick with pain and
shame. I whispered "Ylajali" a few times, with
hoarse voice, and flung back my head. Was it
not I who, no later than yesterday, had decided
to pass her proudly by if I met her, to treat her
with the greatest indifference? Instead of that, I
had only aroused her compassion, and coaxed an
alms from her. No, no, no; there would never
be an end to my degradation! Not even in her
presence could I maintain fa decent position. I
sank, simply sank, on all sides—every way I turned ;
sank to my knees, sank to my waist, dived under
in ignominy, never to rise again—never! This
was the climax! To accept half-a-sovereign in alms
without being able to fling it back to the secret
donor; scramble for half-pence whenever the chance
offered, and keep them, use them for lodging money,
in spite of one's intense inner aversion. . . .
Could I not regain the half-sovereign in some
way or another? To go back to the landlady and
try to get it from her would be of no use.
There must be some way, if I were to consider—
if I were only to exert myself right well, and
251
Hunger
consider it over. It was not, in this case, great
God, sufficient to considei in just an ordi¬
nary way! I must consider so that it penetrated
my whole sentient being; consider and find some
way to procure this half-sovereign. And I set to,
to consider the answer to this problem.
It might be about four o'clock; in a few hours'
time I could perhaps meet the manager of the
theatre; if only I had my drama completed.
I take out my MSS. there where I am sitting,
and resolve, with might and main, to finish the last
few scenes. I think until I sweat, and re-read
from the beginning, but make no progress.
No bosh! I say—no obstinacy, now! and I
write away at my drama—write down everything
that strikes me, just to get finished quickly and be
able to go away. I tried to persuade myself that
a new supreme moment had seized me; I lied
right royally to myself, deceived myself know¬
ingly, and wrote on, as if I had no need to seek
for words.
That is capital ! That is really a find ! whispered
I, interpolatingly; only just write it down! Halt!
they sound questionable; they contrast rather
strongly with the speeches in the first scenes;
not a trace of the Middle Ages shone through the
monk's words. I break my pencil between my
teeth, jump to my feet, tear my manuscript in
two, tear each page in two, fling my hat down
in the street and trample upon it. I am lost! I
252
Hunger
whisper to myself. Ladies and gentlemen, I am
lost! I utter no more than these few words
as long as I stand there, and tramp upon my
hat.
A policeman is standing a few steps away,
watching me. He is standing in the middle of
the street, and he only pays attention to me. As
I lift my head, our eyes meet. Maybe he has
been standing there for a long time watching me.
I pick up my hat, put it on, and go over to
him.
" Do you know what time it is? " I ask.
He pauses a bit as he hauls out his watch, and
never takes his eyes off me the whole time.
About four," he replies.
" Accurately," I say, " about four, perfectly ac¬
curate. You know your business, and I'll bear you
in mind." Thereupon I left him. He looked
utterly amazed at me, stood and looked at me, with
gaping mouth, still holding his watch in his
hand.
When I got in front of the Royal Hotel I turned
and looked back. He was still standing in the same
position, following me with his eyes.
Ha, ha I That is the way to treat brutes I Witji
the most refined effrontery! That impresses the
brutes—puts the fear of God into them. ... I
was peculiarly satisfied with myself, and began
to sing a little strain. Every nerve was tense
with excitement. Without feeling any more pain,
253
Hunger
without even being conscious of discomfort of
any kind, I walked, light as a feather, across the
whole market, turned round at the stalls, and came
to a halt—sat down on a bench near Our Saviour's
Church. Might it not just as well be a matter
of indifference whether I returned the half-sover¬
eign or not? When once I received it, it was mine;
and there was evidently no want where it came
from. Besides, I was obliged to take it when it
was sent expressly to me; there could be no object
in letting the messenger keep it. It wouldn't do,
either, to send it back—a whole half-sovereign that
had been sent to me. So there was positively no
help for it.
I tried to watch the bustle about me in the
market, and distract myself with indifferent things,
but I did not succeed; the half-sovereign still busied
my thoughts. At last I clenched my fists and
got angry. It would hurt her if I were to send
it back. Why, then, should I do so? Always
ready to consider myself too good for everything
—to toss my head and say. No, thanks! I saw
now what it led to. I was out in the street again.
Even when I had the opportunity I couldn't keep
my good warm lodging. No; I must needs be
proud, jump up at the first word, and show I
wasn't the man to stand trifling, chuck half-sov¬
ereigns right and left, and go my way. ... I
took myself sharply to task for having left my
254
Hunger
lodging and brought myself into the most distressful
circumstances.
As for the" rest, I consigned the whole affair to
the keeping of the yellowest of devils. I hadn't
begged for the half-sovereign, and I had barely
had it in my hand, but gave it away at once
—^paid it away to utterly strange people whom I
would never see again. That was the sort of man
I was; I always paid out to the last doit what¬
ever I owed. If I knew Ylajali aright, neither
did she regret that she had sent me the money,
therefore why did I sit there working myself into
a rage? To put it plainly, the least she could do
was to send me half-a-sovereign now and then. The
poor girl was indeed in love with me—ha! per¬
haps even fatally in love with me; . . . and I sat
and puffed myself up with this notion. There was
no doubt that she was in love with me, the poor
girl.
It struck five o'clock! Again I sank under the
weight of my prolonged nervous excitement. The
hollow whirring in my head made itself felt anew.
I stared straight ahead, kept my eyes fixed, and
gazed at the chemist's under the sign of the ele¬
phant. Hunger was waging a fierce battle in me at
this moment, and I was suffering greatly. Whilst
I sit thus and look out into space, a figure becomes
little by little clear to my fixed stare. At last
I can distinguish it perfectly plainly, and I recog¬
nize it. It is that of the cake-vendor who sits hab-
255.
Hunger
itually near the chemist's under the sign of the ele¬
phant. I give a start, sit half-upright on the seat,
and begin to consider. Yes, it was quite correct—
the same woman before the same table on the same
spot I I whistle a few times and snap my fingers,
rise from my seat, and make for the chemist's. No
nonsense at all 1 What the devil was it to me if it
was the wages of sin, or well-earned Norwegian
huckster pieces of silver from Kongsberg? I wasn't
going to be abused; one might die of too much
pride. . . .
I go on to the comer, take stock of the woman,
and come to a standstill before her. I smile, nod
as to an acquaintance, and shape my words as if it
were a foregone conclusion that I would return
sometime.
Good-day," say I; "perhaps you don't recog¬
nize me again."
" No," she replied slowly, and looks at me.
I smile still more, as if this were only an excellent
joke of hers, this pretending not to know me again,
and say:
" Don't you recollect that I gave you a lot of
silver once? I did not say anything on the occa¬
sion in question; as far as I can call to min3, I did
not; it is not my way to do so. When one has
honest folk to deal with, it is unnecessary to make
an agreement, so to say, draw up a contract for
every trifle. Ha, ha I Yes, it was I who gave you
the money! "
256
Hunger
" No, then, now; was it you? Yes, I remember
you, now that I come to think over it. . . . "
I wanted to prevent her from thanking me for
the money, so I say, therefore, hastily, whilst I cast
my eye over the table in search of something to
eat:
"Yes; I've come now to get the cakes."
She did not seem to take this in.
" The cakes," I reiterate; " I've come now to get
them — at any rate, the first instalment; I don't
need all of them today."
" You've come to get them? "
"Yes; of course I've come to get them," I reply,
and I laugh boisterously, as if it ought to have been
self-evident to her from the outset that I came for
that purpose. I take, too, a cake up from the
table, a sort of white roll that I commenced to eat.
When the woman sees this, she stirs uneasily in¬
side her bundle of clothes, makes an involuntary
movement as if to protect her wares, and gives me to
understand that she had not expected me to return to
rob her of them.
" Really not? " I say, " indeed, really not? " She
certainly was an extraordinary woman. Had she,
then, at any time, had the experience that some one
came and gave her a heap of shillings to take care
of, without that person returning and demanding
them again? No; just look at that now! Did she
perhaps run away with the idea that it was stolen
money, since I slung it at her in that manner? No;
she didn't think that either. Well, that at least was
2';?
Hunger
a good thing — really a good thing. It was, if I
might so say, kind of her, in spite of all, to consider
me an honest man. Ha, ha ! yes indeed, she really
was good !
But why did I give her the money, then? The
woman was exasperated, and called out loudly about
it. I explained why I had given her the money, ex¬
plained it temperately and with emphasis. It was
my custom to act in this manner, because I had such a
belief in every one's goodness. Always when any
one offered me an agreement, a receipt, I only shook
my head and said: No, thank you! God knows I
did.
But still the woman failed to comprehend it. I
had recourse to other expedients — spoke sharply,
and bade a truce to all nonsense. Had it never hap¬
pened to her before that any one had paid her in
advance in this manner? I inquired—I meant, of
course, people who could afford it — for example,
any of the consuls? Never? Well, I could not be
expected to suffer because it happened to be a
strange mode of procedure to her. It was a com¬
mon practice abroad. She had perhaps never been
outside the boundaries of her own country? No?
Just look at that now! In that case, she could of
course have no opinion on the subject; . . . and I
took several more cakes from the table.
She grumbled angrily, refused obstinately to give
up any more of her stores from off the table, even
snatched a piece of cake out of my hand and put it
258
Hunger
back into its place. I got enraged, banked the table,
and threatened to call the police. I wished to be
lenient with her, I said. Were I to take all that was
lawfully mine, I would clear her whole stand, be¬
cause it was a big sum of money that I had given to
her. But I had no intention of taking so much, I
wanted in reality only half the value of the money,
and I would, into the bargain, never come back to
trouble her again. Might God preserve me from
it, seeing that that was the sort of creature she was.
. . . At length she shoved some cakes towards
me, four or five, at an exorbitant price, the highest
possible price she could think of, and bade me take
them and begone. I wrangled still with her, per¬
sisted that she had at least cheated me to the extent
of a shilling, besides robbing me with her exorbitant
prices. " Do you know there is a penalty for such
rascally trickery," said I; " God help you, you might
get penal servitude for life, you old fool ! " She
flung another cake to me, and, with almost gnashing
teeth, begged me to go.
And I left her.
Ha! a match for this dishonest cake-vendor was
not to be found. The whole time, whilst I walked
to and fro in the market-place and ate my cakes, I
talked loudly about this creature and her shameless-
ness, repeated to myself what we both had said to
one another, and it seemed to me that I had come
out of this affair with flying colours, leaving her no-
259
Hunger
where. I ate my cakes in face of everybody and
talked this over to myself.
The cakes disappeared one by one; they seemed
to go no way; no matter how I ate I was still greedily
hungry. Lord, to think they were of no help I I
was so ravenous that I was even about to devour the
last little cake that I had decided to spare, right from
the beginning, to put it aside, in fact, for the little
chap down in Vognmandsgade — the little lad who
played with the paper streamers. I thought of him
continually — couldn't forget his face as he jumped
and swore. He had turned round towards the win¬
dow when the man spat down on him, and he had
just looked up to see if I was laughing at him. God
knows if I should meet him now, even if I went down
that way.
I exerted myself greatly to try and reach
Vognmandsgade, passed quickly by the spot where
I had torn my drama into tatters, and where some
scraps of papers still lay about; avoided the police¬
man whom I had amazed by my behaviour, and
reached the steps upon which the laddie had been
sitting.
He was not there. The street was almost de¬
serted — dusk was gathering in, and I could not
see him anywhere. Perhaps he had gone in. I
laid the cake down, stood it upright against the door,
knocked hard, and hurried away directly. He is
sure to find it, I said to myself; the first thing he will
260
Hunger
io when he comes out will be to find it. And my
eyes grew moist with pleasure at the thought of the
little chap finding the cake.
I reached the terminus again.
Now I no longer felt hungry, only the sweet stuff
I had eaten began to cause me discomfort. The
wildest thoughts, too surged up anew in my head.
Supposing I were in all secretness to cut the haw¬
ser mooring one of those ships? Supposing I were
to suddenly yell out " Fire " ? I walk farther down
the wharf, find a packing-case and sit upon it, fold
my hands, and am conscious that my head is grow¬
ing more and more confused. I do not stir ; I sim¬
ply make no effort whatever to keep up any longer.
I just sit there and stare at the Copégoro^ the barque
flying the Russian flag.
I catch a glimpse of a man at the rail; the red
lantern slung at the port shines down upon his head,
and I get up and talk over to him. I had no object
in talking, as I did not expect to get a reply, either.
I said:
"Do you sail tonight. Captain?"
"Yes; in a short time," answered the man. He
spoke Swedish.
" Hem, I suppose you wouldn't happen to need
a man? "
I was at this instant utterly indifferent as to
whether I was met by a refusal or not; it was all
the same to me what reply the man gave me, so I
stood and waited for it.
261
Hunger
" Well, no," he replied; " unless it chanced to be
a young fellow."
"A young fellow!" I pulled myself together,
took off my glasses furtively and thrust them into
my pocket, stepped up the gangway, and strode on
deck.
"I have no experience," said I; "but I can do
anything I am put to. Where are you bound for? "
" We are in ballast for Leith, to fetch coal for
Cadiz."
" All right," said I, forcing myself upon the man;
" it's all the same to me where I go ; I am prepared
to do my work."
"Have you never sailed before?" he asked.
" No; but as I tell you, put me to a task, and I'll
do it. I am used to a little of all sorts."
He bethought himself again.
I had already taken keenly into my head that I
was to sail this voyage, and I began to dread being
hounded on shore again.
" What do you think about it. Captain? " I asked
at last. " I can really do anything that turns up.
What am I saying? I would be a poor sort of chap
if I couldn't do a little more than just what I was
put to. I can take two watches at a stretch, if it
comes to that. It would only do me good, and I
could hold out all the same."
" All right, have a try at it. If it doesn't work,
well, we can part in England."
" Of course," I reply in my delight, and I repeated
262
Hunger
over again that we could part in England if it
didn't work.
And he set me to work. . . .
Out in the fjord I dragged myself up once, wet
with fever and exhaustion, and gazed landwards,
and bade farewell for the present to the town — to
Christiania, where the windows gleamed s© brightly
in all the homes.
THE END
263