by Knut Hamsun
It was evening, the sun had set, but the heat still quivered in the air. An infinite stillness hovered over the woods, the hills, and the bay. A woman was coming up toward the quarry. It was Victoria. She was carrying a basket.
Johannes stood up, bowed, and made as if to go.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to get some flowers.”
He didn’t answer. And it didn’t occur to him that she had all the flowers in the world in her garden.
“I’ve brought a basket to put the flowers in,” she went on. “But perhaps I won’t find any. It’s because of the party, we need them for the table. We’re going to have a party.”
“Here are white anemones and violets,” he said. “Higher up one can usually find avens. But it may be too early in the year for those.”
“You’re paler than the last time we met,” she remarked. “That was more than two years ago. You’ve been away, I hear. I’ve read your books.”
He still didn’t answer. It occurred to him that he might just say, “Well, my young lady, have a good evening!” and go. From where he stood it was one step down to the next stone, from there one more to her, whereupon he could withdraw as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was standing directly in his way. She had on a yellow dress and a red hat, she was mysterious and beautiful; her throat was bare.
“I’m blocking your path,” he murmured, stepping down. He tried hard not to betray any emotion.
There was now only one step separating them. She made no move to get out of his way, but simply stood there. They looked each other squarely in the face. Suddenly she blushed crimson, dropped her eyes and stepped aside; her face assumed an expression of helplessness, but she smiled.
Having walked past her, he stopped, struck by her mournful smile; his heart again flew to her and he said at random, “Well, you must’ve been in town many times since then? Since that time? . . . Now I remember where there used to be flowers in the old days: on the knoll by your flagpole.”
She turned toward him; he was surprised to see that her face had turned pale with emotion.
“Will you come to us that evening?” she said. “Will you come to the party? We’re going to have a party,” she went on, coloring up again. “Some city people are coming. It will be quite soon, I’ll let you know more later. What do you say?”
He didn’t answer. That was no party for him, he didn’t belong to the Castle crowd.
“You mustn’t say no. You won’t be bored. I’ve given it some thought—I have a surprise for you.”
Pause.
“You can’t give me any more surprises,” he replied.
She bit her lip; a disconsolate smile again passed across her face.
“What do you want me to do?” she said listlessly.
“I don’t want you to do anything, Miss Victoria. I was sitting here on a stone, I’m willing to move.”
“I came here, alas, after wandering about at home all day. I could have walked along the river, by another path, then I wouldn’t have ended up just here—”
“My dear young lady, this place is yours, not mine.”
“I hurt you once, Johannes, I would like to make up for it, put it right. I do, indeed, have a surprise which I think . . . that is, which I hope you’ll be pleased with. I can’t say more. But I must ask you to show up this time.”
“If it will give you any pleasure, I shall come.”
“Will you?”
“Yes, and thank you for your kindness.”
When he reached the woods he turned and looked back. She had sat down; the basket was beside her. He didn’t go home but continued to wander up and down the road. A legion of thoughts were battling inside him. A surprise? That’s what she said, just a moment ago, her voice was trembling. An intense, nervous joy wells up in him, setting his heart thumping, and he feels as though he’s walking on air. And was it mere coincidence that she was dressed in yellow today? He had looked at her hand, where she once wore a ring—there wasn’t any ring.
An hour goes by. He was enveloped by the exhalations of field and forest; they mingled with his breath and entered his heart. He sat down, lay back with his hands folded under his head and listened for a while to the song of the cuckoo across the bay. An ardent warbling quavered in the air about him.
So it had happened to him once again! When she came up to him in the quarry in her yellow dress and blood-red hat, she looked like a roving butterfly, moving from stone to stone and settling before him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said and smiled; her smile was red, her whole face lighted up, she scattered stars about her. Her throat had acquired some delicate blue veins, and the few freckles below her eyes gave her a warm complexion. She was in her twentieth year.
A surprise? What did she mean to do? Maybe she would show him his books, take out those two or three volumes to make him happy because she had bought them and cut the pages? Here you are, a crumb of comfort and attention! Do not refuse my humble offering!
He jumped to his feet and remained motionless. Victoria was coming back, her basket empty.
“You didn’t find any flowers?” he asked absently.
“No, I gave up. I wasn’t even looking, I just sat there.”
“While I remember,” he said, “you mustn’t go around thinking you’ve hurt me in some way. You have nothing to make up for with any kind of comfort.”
“I don’t?” she answered, taken aback. She thought it over, looking at him and wondering. “I don’t? I thought that time . . . I didn’t want you to bear a grudge against me forever because of what happened.”
“But I don’t bear a grudge against you.”
She thinks a while longer. Suddenly she draws herself up. “Then all’s well,” she says. “Oh, I should have known. It didn’t leave enough of an impression on you for that. Very well, we won’t say any more about it.”
“No, let’s not. My impressions matter as little to you now as before.”
“Good-bye,” she said. “Good-bye for now.”
“Good-bye,” he replied.
They went their separate ways. He stopped and turned around. There she was, moving along. He stretched out his hands and whispered, speaking tender words to himself: “I don’t bear a grudge against you, oh, no, I don’t; I love you still, love you. . . .”
“Victoria!” he called.
She heard him, gave a start and turned, but continued walking.
A few days went by. Johannes was extremely restless and couldn’t work or sleep; he spent almost all his time in the woods. He climbed the big pine-clad knoll where the Castle flagpole stood; the flag was flying. They had also hoisted the flag on the Castle’s round tower.
A strange excitement laid hold of him. Visitors were expected at the Castle, they were going to celebrate.
The afternoon was calm and warm; the river throbbed like a pulse as it flowed through the steamy landscape. A steamer came gliding into port, leaving a fan of white streaks in the bay. And now four carriages were leaving the Castle yard, heading for the pier.
The ship came alongside, gentlemen and ladies stepped ashore and took their seats in the carriages. Then salvos of gunfire came from the Castle; two men with sporting guns stood in the round tower loading and firing, loading and firing. When they had let fly twenty-one rounds, the carriages rolled in through the Castle gate and the firing ceased.
Yes, indeed, there would be festivities at the Castle; the visitors were received with flags and salutes. In the carriages there were some military gentlemen—Otto, the Lieutenant, among them perhaps.
Johannes came down from the knoll and went home. He was overtaken by a man from the Castle, who stopped him. The man had a letter in his cap, he had been sent by Miss Victoria and requested an answer.
Johannes read the letter, his heart going pit-a-pat. Victoria was inviting him all the same, she wrote in a cordial manner and asked him to come. This was the one time she wanted to invite him. Reply by the mes
senger.
A wonderful, unexpected happiness had befallen him; the blood rose to his head and he answered the man that he would come, yes, he would come presently, thanks.
“There you are!” He handed the messenger a ridiculously large coin and raced home to get dressed.
VIII
For the first time in his life he walked through the Castle gate and climbed the stairs to the second floor. A buzz of voices reached him from inside, his heart was thumping, he knocked and went in.
He was met by the still youthful hostess, who greeted him amiably and shook his hand. Very glad to see him, she remembered him from when he was only so high, and now he was a great man. . . . It looked as though she would have liked to say something more, she held his hand for a long time and gave him a searching look.
The host also appeared and gave him his hand. As his wife had said, a great man in more than one sense. A famous man. Very pleased . . .
He was introduced to gentlemen and ladies, to the chamberlain, who was wearing his decorations, to the chamberlain’s wife, to a neighboring landowner, to Otto, the Lieutenant. He didn’t see Victoria.
Some time went by. Victoria came in, pale, diffident; she was leading a young girl by the hand. They made a tour of the room, greeting one and all, exchanging a few words with each. They stopped before Johannes.
Victoria smiled and said, “Look, here is Camilla, isn’t that a surprise? You know each other.”
She observed them both briefly, then left the room.
For a moment Johannes stood rooted to the spot, rigid and confused. Here was the surprise! Victoria had kindly provided a surrogate. Hey, you folks, go and tie the knot! Spring is in bloom, the sun is shining; open the windows if you like, there is perfume in the garden, and the starlings are pairing off in the birch-tops. Why don’t you talk to each other? Laugh, won’t you!
“Yes, we know each other,” Camilla said candidly. “It was here you fished me out of the water that time.”
She was young and fair, lively, dressed in pink, in her seventeenth year. Johannes clenched his teeth and laughed and joked. Gradually her cheerful words really began to revive him; they talked for a long time, his palpitation calmed down. She had kept from her childhood the charming habit of tilting her head and listening expectantly when he said something. He recognized her, all right; she was no surprise to him.
Victoria came in again; taking the Lieutenant’s arm, she pulled him along and said to Johannes, “Do you know Otto—my fiancé? I suppose you remember him.”
The gentlemen remembered each other. They speak the necessary words, make the necessary bows, and part company. Johannes and Victoria are left by themselves. “Was that the surprise?” he says.
“Yes,” she replies, pained and impatient. “I did the best I could, I didn’t know what else to do. Now, don’t be unreasonable, rather say thank you; I could see you were pleased.”
“Thank you. Yes, I was pleased.”
A hopeless despair descended on him, his face turned deathly pale. If she had ever hurt him, he was now amply compensated and comforted. He was sincerely grateful to her.
“And I notice you’re wearing your ring today,” he said in a muffled voice. “Now, don’t take it off again.”
Pause.
“No, now I’m not likely to take it off again,” she replied.
Their eyes met. His lips quivering, he turned his head in the direction of the Lieutenant and said, in a hoarse, gruff voice, “You have good taste, Victoria. He’s a handsome man. His epaulets give him a pair of shoulders.”
She retorted with great composure, “No, he’s not handsome. But he is a well-bred man. That counts for something too.”
“That was for me. Thank you!” Laughing aloud, he added rudely, “And he’s got money in his pockets, that counts for even more.”
She abruptly walked away.
He drifted about from wall to wall like an outcast. Camilla spoke to him, asking him about something, but he neither heard nor answered. She said something again, touching his arm as she repeated her question, but to no avail. “Ah, he’s busy thinking,” she cried, laughing. “He’s thinking, he’s thinking!”
Victoria heard her and said, “He wants to be left alone. He sent me away too.” But suddenly she stepped right up to him and said aloud, “No doubt you’re trying to dream up an apology. Don’t trouble yourself. On the contrary, I owe you an apology for sending you the invitation so late. It showed great negligence on my part. I forgot about you till the very last moment, I nearly forgot about you altogether. But I hope you will forgive me, I had so many things on my mind.”
He stared at her, speechless. Even Camilla seemed amazed as she looked from one to the other. Victoria was standing directly in front of them, a satisfied look on her cold, pale face. She had had her revenge.
“That’s our young gallants for you,” she said to Camilla. “We mustn’t expect too much of them. Over there sits my fiancé talking about moose hunting, and here stands the poet absorbed in thought. . . . Say something, poet!”
He gave a start; the veins in his temples turned blue.
“Very well. You are asking me to say something? Very well.”
“Oh, don’t strain yourself.”
She made as if to leave.
“To come straight to the point,” he said slowly, with a smile, though his voice trembled, “to start with the crux of the matter: Have you been in love recently, Miss Victoria?”
For a few seconds there was total silence; all three of them could hear their hearts pounding. Camilla offered timorously, “Victoria is in love with her fiancé, of course. She’s just become engaged, don’t you know?”
The doors to the dining room were thrown open.
Johannes found his place and stopped in front of it. The whole table was rocking up and down before his eyes; he saw a great many people and heard a murmur of voices.
“Yes, that’s your place, so please,” the hostess said amiably. “If only everybody would sit down at last.”
“Pardon me!” Victoria said of a sudden from just behind him.
He stepped aside.
She took his card and moved it several places, seven places down, next to an old man who had once been a tutor at the Castle and had a reputation as a tippler. She brought another card back and sat down.
He stood there watching it all. The hostess, feeling uncomfortable, made herself busy on the other side of the table and avoided his glance.
Shaken and more bewildered than ever, he went to his new place; one of Ditlef’s city friends, a young man with diamond studs in his shirtfront, moved into the original one. On his left sat Victoria, on his right Camilla.
The dinner began.
The old tutor remembered Johannes as a child, and a conversation started up between them. He related that he too had pursued the art of poetry as a young man; the manuscripts were still lying around, he would let Johannes read them some day. And now he had been summoned to this house on its day of rejoicing so he could share in the family’s happiness at Victoria’s engagement. The master and mistress of the house had prepared this surprise for him for old times’ sake.
“I haven’t read any of your things,” he said. “If I want to read something, I read my own things; I have both poems and stories in my drawer. They are to be published after my death; I do want the public to know who I was, after all. We who’ve been in the profession somewhat longer aren’t in such a hurry to bring everything to the printer’s as they are nowadays, alas. Skoal!”
The dinner goes forward. The host taps his glass and rises. His lean, aristocratic face is quick with emotion, and he gives an impression of being extremely happy. Johannes bends his head very low. His glass is empty and no one offers him anything; he fills it to the brim himself and again lets his head droop. Now it would come!
The speech was nice and long and was received with a good deal of noisy cheer; the engagement was announced. Lots of good wishes for the host’s daughter and t
he chamberlain’s son poured in from every corner of the table.
Johannes emptied his glass.
A few minutes later his agitation is gone, his composure has returned; the champagne burns with a low flame in his veins. Then he hears the chamberlain speak, followed by renewed shouts of bravo and hurrah and the clinking of glasses. He casts a glance to where Victoria is sitting; she’s pale, seems anguished, and doesn’t look up. Camilla, however, nods to him and smiles, and he nods back.
The tutor goes on talking beside him. “It’s beautiful, beautiful, when two people find one another. That was not my lot. I was a young student, good prospects, great gifts; my father had an ancient name, a large house, wealth, many, many ships. So it would be no exaggeration to say I had very good prospects. She was young too, and high up in society. Well, I come to her and open my heart. ‘No,’ she says. Can you understand her? No, she didn’t want to, she said. I did what I could, got on with my work and took it like a man. Then came my father’s lean years, the shipwrecks, the surety claims, in short, he went bankrupt. And what did I do? Took it like a man again. But now the girl, the one I’m talking about, no longer shuns me. No, she comes back, looks me up in town. What was she after, you’re going to ask. I was poor, with only a small teaching job, all my prospects gone and my poems put away in a drawer. But now she came and wanted to. Yes, she wanted to!”
The tutor looked at Johannes and asked, “Can you figure her out?”
“And then it was you who didn’t want to?”
“Could I? I ask. Penniless, naked and exposed, with a teaching post, tobacco in my pipe on Sundays only—what do you imagine? I couldn’t do that to her. I’m simply asking, can you figure her out?”
“And what became of her afterward?”
“Good Lord, you’re not answering my question. She married a captain. That was the following year. A captain of artillery. Skoal!”
“Certain women, they say, are looking for a chance to exercise their compassion,” Johannes remarked. “If the man does well, they hate him and feel superfluous; if he does poorly and buckles under, they crow and say, ‘Here I am.’ ”
