by Knut Hamsun
“Yes—. Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it!”
“But look: I really don’t deserve that you should still suspect me of putting on an act—”
“No,” Martha says, suddenly remorseful, “I don’t suspect you of anything; still, it’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible? Are you bound to someone else?”
“No, no.”
“Not at all? Because if you’re bound to someone else—let’s say, just to mention a name, to Miniman, for example—”
“No!” she cries out, giving his hand a palpable squeeze.
“No? All right, so nothing stands in our way as far as that goes. Let me continue. You mustn’t think I’m so far above you that it would be impossible for that reason. I won’t keep anything from you, in many respects I’m not as I ought to be; well, you heard yourself what Miss Kielland said this evening. You have probably also heard from other people in town what a mean creature I am in more ways than one. Occasionally they may do me an injustice, but in the main they’re right; as a man, I have grave faults. So, in fact, you with your pure heart and sensitive, childlike mind are infinitely above me, instead of the other way around. But I would promise always to be kind to you, it wouldn’t be difficult, believe me; my greatest joy would be to make you happy.... Something else is that perhaps you’re afraid of what the town might say? Well, first of all, the town would simply have to accept your becoming my wife, in its own church, if you like. But secondly, the town has already got enough to talk about; it has scarcely gone entirely unnoticed that we’ve met a few times before, and that I enjoyed your company at the bazaar this evening. So as far as that goes it won’t get much worse than it is already. And good heavens, what does it matter? You should feel blithely indifferent to what the world thinks.... You’re crying? Oh dear, you feel hurt that I’ve exposed you to gossip this evening, don’t you?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
She doesn’t answer.
Something occurs to him and he asks, “Do you feel I’m treating you badly? Tell me, you didn’t drink that much champagne, did you? I don’t believe you even had two glasses. Can you possibly have gotten the impression that I mean to take advantage of you, get you to give in more quickly, now that you’ve had a mouthful of wine? Is that why you’re crying?”
“No, not at all.”
“So why are you crying?”
“I don’t know.”
“At least, you don’t believe I mean to betray you in any way. By God in heaven, I’m honest through and through, believe me!”
“I do believe you, but I don’t understand, it upsets me so. You just cannot want—cannot want it.”
Oh yes, he did want it! And he explains more fully, holding her delicate little hand in his and hearing the rain beat against the windowpanes. Speaking very softly, he humors her, at times indulging in the most inane, childish prattle. Oh, they would be sure to make a go of it!5 They would go away, far away, God knows where; but they would steal off so that nobody knew what had become of them. That’s what they would do, right? Then they would buy a little cottage and a plot of ground in the forest, a lovely forest someplace or other; it would be their very own and they would call it Eden, and he would cultivate it—oh, would he cultivate it! But he might get to feel a little sad from time to time; dear, yes, it was quite possible. Something might cross his mind, a recollection, some bitter experience or other that came back to him perhaps; how easily that could happen! But then she would be patient with him, wouldn’t she? Anyway, he wasn’t going to let her notice it very much, never, that he promised. He would only want to be left alone to grapple with it, or he would withdraw, go farther into the woods, and return in a little while. Oh, but no harsh word would ever be uttered in their cottage! And they would trim it with the most beautiful wildflowers and moss and stones they could find; the floor would be sprinkled with juniper he’d brought home himself. And at Christmas they would always remember to put out a sheaf for the birds. Just think how they would while the time away and how happy they would be! They must always be together; they would run in and out and never be parted. In the summer they would go on long hikes and observe the trembling grass and trees, and how they grew year after year. And how helpful they would be to strangers and wayfarers who might be passing by, yes indeed! They had to have some cattle, a couple of large, sleek animals which they would train to eat out of their hands, and while he dug and chopped and tilled the ground, she would tend the animals....
“Yes,” Martha replied. She said it spontaneously, and he heard it.
Further, they had to take a day or two off every week, he went on. They would go hunting and fishing together, the two of them, hand in hand, she in a short belted dress, he in a tunic and buckled shoes. They would sing and talk and shout to make the whole forest re-echo with their voices! “Don’t you agree, hand in hand?”
“Yes,” she said again.
Little by little she was carried away, he described it all so clearly to her; he had worked everything out in his head, down to the minutest detail. He even mentioned how important it was to find a spot with easy access to water. But he would see to that, oh sure, he would see to everything; she simply had to trust him. Oh, with his strength he could certainly set up this home in the middle of the dense forest, he had a pair of fists ike—well, she could see for herself! ... And smiling, he measured her delicate child’s hand against his own.
She let him do whatever he wanted with her; she sat still and looked at him even when he patted her on the cheek. Then he asked her straight out, with his lips close to her ear, if she dared, and if she wanted to. And, indeed, she answered yes, a pensive, dreamy answer in a mere whisper. But a little later she began to waver: No, when she thought it over, it just wasn’t possible. How could he really want it! What was she, anyway!
And again he convinced her that he wanted it, wanted it, in fact, as much as he could ever want anything. She wasn’t going to suffer privation even if things didn’t pan out for a while; he would toil for them both, she need have no fear. He talked for a whole hour, shaking her resistance bit by bit. Twice during this hour she refused to go along, covering her face with her hands and crying, “No, no!” And yet she gave in to him; studying his face, she understood that he didn’t merely want to win a momentary victory. In God’s name, then, since he wanted it that way! She was conquered, it was no use to fight him anymore. In the end she gave him a clear yes.
The candle was burning itself out in the empty bottle; they were still sitting on their separate chairs, holding each other’s hands and talking together. She was quite overcome by emotion, frequently getting tears in her eyes, but still smiling.
“To get back to Miniman,” he said, “I’m quite certain he was jealous at the bazaar.”
“Yes, maybe he was,” she replied. “But it can’t be helped.”
“No, it can’t be helped, can it? ... Look, I would love to do something nice for you this evening, what might it be? Something to make you clap your hands to your breast with delight! Name it, ask me for something or other! Alas, you’re too kind, my little friend, you never ask for anything! Well, Martha, remember what I’m telling you: I’m going to protect you, I’ll try to anticipate your wishes and to take care of you till my dying breath. Please, remember that, won’t you! You will never have to say that I’ve forgotten my promise.”
It was four o’clock.
They stood up. She took a step toward him and he clasped her to his breast. She put her arms around his neck, and they remained standing like that for a few moments, her pure, timorous nun’s heart going pitapat against his hand; feeling it, he stroked her hair to calm her down. They were agreed.
Then she started talking: “I’ll lie awake all night thinking. Maybe we’ll meet tomorrow? If you’d like to?”
“Sure, tomorrow. Yes, I’d like to! What time? May I come at eight?”
“Yes—. Would you like me to wear the same dress
again?”
This touching question, her quivering lips, those two wide-open eyes looking up at him—it all moved him, going straight to his heart. “My dear sweet child,” he replied, “you decide! How good you are! ... But you mustn’t lie awake tonight, you mustn’t! Think about me, say good night and go to sleep. You aren’t scared to be here alone, are you?”
“No! ... You’ll get wet walking home.”
She even thought of that, his getting wet!
“Stay happy and sleep well!” he said.
But no sooner had he stepped into the hallway than he remembered something, and turning to her, he said, “I forgot to tell you something: I’m not a rich man. Perhaps you thought I was rich?”
“I know nothing about that,” she replied, shaking her head.
“No, I’m not rich. But we can buy ourselves a home and what more we’ll need, I’m rich enough for that. And later, as time goes by, I’ll take care of everything, bear every burden, that’s what I’ve got my two hands for.... You aren’t disappointed that I’m not rich, are you?”
“No,” she said, taking his hands, which she pressed once more. At the last minute he told her to close the door securely behind him and stepped into the street.
It was pouring, and very dark.
He didn’t go back to the hotel, but headed for the Parsonage Woods. He walked for a quarter of an hour; the darkness was so dense that he could barely see anything. Finally he slackened his pace, walked off the road and found his way to a large tree. It was an aspen. There he stopped.
The wind soughs through the forest and it’s still pouring, but otherwise there’s dead silence all around. He whispers a few words to himself, a name, says “Dagny, Dagny,” falls silent and says it again. He stands bolt upright by the tree as he says this. A moment later he speaks louder, saying “Dagny” in a clear voice. She insulted him last evening, venting all her contempt on his head; he still feels every word she spat out in his heart, and yet here he stands talking about her. He kneels down by the tree, takes out his pocketknife and carves her name in the trunk in the darkness. He works at this for several minutes, feeling his way, carving and again feeling his way, until it’s done....
He had been without his cap the whole time he was busy with this.
When he got back to the road he stopped, hesitated for a moment, and then turned around. He gropes his way back to the tree, runs his fingers over the trunk and finds the letters. Then he kneels down a second time, leans forward and kisses this name, these letters, as though he would never see them again, stands up at last and quickly walks off.
It was five o’clock when he reached the hotel.
XVII
THE FOLLOWING DAY the same rain, the same dark, heavy weather. With all that water steadily gushing through the downspouts and beating against the windowpanes, it looked as though it would never cease. Hour after hour went by, the entire forenoon went by, and the sky grew no clearer. In the small garden behind the hotel everything was bent and broken; the leaves were pressed into the ground, buried in mud and water.
Nagel stayed indoors all day; he read, pacing the floor in his usual way, while continually looking at his watch. It was an endless day! He waited with the utmost impatience for evening.
On the stroke of eight he set out for Martha’s place. He was quite unsuspecting, but she received him with a suffering air, red-eyed with weeping. When he spoke to her, she answered curtly and evasively, without even looking at him. She repeatedly asked him to forgive her and not to feel let down.
When he took her hand she began to tremble and tried to pull back, though in the end she sat down on a chair next to him. There she remained until he left an hour or so later. What had happened? He plied her with questions, asking for an explanation, but she couldn’t give much of an account of herself.
No, she was not ill. It was just that she had thought it over—.
So that was what she meant to say, that she regretted her promise, that perhaps she couldn’t love him?
Yes, that was it.... “But forgive me, and don’t feel let down!” She had thought it over last night, all night long, and found it more and more impossible. Well, she had also consulted her heart, and she was afraid she couldn’t love him as she ought to.
Ah, that was it! Pause. But didn’t she think she might get to love him in time?1 He had looked forward to the chance of starting a new life. Oh, he would be so kind to her!
Moved by this, she pressed her hand to her bosom; but her eyes were still lowered and she didn’t say anything.
So she didn’t believe, did she, that he could make her love him later on, when they would always be together?
She whispered, “No.” A few tears trickled down from her long eyelashes.
Pause. His body was shaking, the blue veins in his temples stood out sharply.
Oh dear. Well, there was nothing to be done about that! She mustn’t cry anymore on that account. The whole thing couldn’t be helped. She had to forgive him for pressing her with his entreaties. He had meant it for the best—.
She quickly grasped his hand and held it firmly. Rather surprised by this sudden emotion, he asked, Was there something in particular about him that was offensive to her? He would correct it, remedy it, if it was in his power. Perhaps she didn’t like that he—
Suddenly cutting him off, she said, “No, there’s nothing, nothing! But it’s all so unthinkable; for example, I don’t even know who you are. Well, I do know you wish me well, don’t misunderstand me—”
“Who I am, for example?” he said, looking at her. He’s instantly struck by a suspicion—he understands that something has undermined her confidence in him, something hostile that has forced its way between them. “Has anyone been to see you today?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter, I have no right to ask you any more questions.”
“Oh, I was so happy last night!” she said. “Good God, how I waited for the morning to come, and how I waited for you too! But today I’m full of doubts.”
“Just tell me one thing: so you don’t believe I’ve been honest with you, you still suspect me, in spite of everything, isn’t that so?”
“No, not always. Please, don’t be angry with me! You’re such a stranger here, I only know what you tell me; you may mean it sincerely now but regret it all later. How can I know what ideas may enter your head?”
Pause.
He puts his hand under her chin, raises her head slightly and says, “And what else did Miss Kielland say?”
Bewildered, she gave him a timid glance that betrayed her dismay. “I didn’t say that, did I?” she exclaimed. “No, I didn’t say that!”
“No, no, you didn’t.” He became lost in thought, his eyes staring unseeingly at one spot. “No, you didn’t say it was her, you didn’t mention her name, you may feel easy on that score.... And yet, Miss Kielland has certainly been here; she came in through that door and left the same way after accomplishing her errand. It was so important to her that she simply had to go out today, in this weather! How strange! ... Dear, kind Martha, you good soul, I kneel before you because you are good! Trust me in spite of everything, trust me just for tonight, and I’ll show you later how little I mean to deceive you. Don’t take back your promise. Think it over again, won’t you? Think it over till tomorrow and let me see you then2—”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she broke in.
“You don’t know? So you’d rather get rid of me once and for all now, this evening? Oh well.”
“I would rather come visit you sometime after you—well, after you’re married and it’s finished—the house, that is—I mean after ... I would rather be a maid in your house. Yes, I would.”
Pause. Her mistrust of him had already struck deep roots; no longer able to overcome it, he couldn’t set her mind at ease as before. And he felt, regretfully, that the more he talked, the more she slipped away from him. But why did she cry so bitterly? What was tormenting
her? And why wasn’t she letting go of his hand? Once more he reverted to Miniman; it was a test. He wanted to make her grant him a meeting tomorrow, after she had reconsidered everything.
“Forgive me for bringing up Miniman again, it’ll be the last time,” he said. “Now, take it easy, I have good reasons for saying this. I’m not going to badmouth the man; on the contrary, you will recall I spoke to you about him in the most favorable way. I thought he might possibly stand in my way with you, and so I spoke to you about him; I maintained, among other things, that he could support a family like anyone else, and I still believe he can, if he gets some help to start with. But you flatly refused to listen, you had nothing to do with Miniman! You even begged me never to mention him again. Fine! But I’m still a bit suspicious, you haven’t convinced me, and I ask you again if there’s something going on between you and Miniman. If so, I withdraw at once. Ah, you shake your head; but then I don’t understand why you refuse to think the matter over till tomorrow and let me know then. That’s only fair. And you who are so kind!”
