The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun
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. If she had abused me, it would have been more endurable. 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? Yes, that is a pretty name; I won't forget it. Till tomorrow, then...."
But I understood quite well that she did not believe 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 moment" ... and lo! I had no waistcoat.
What 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 waistcoat ... 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 constable; "so, march," and he gives me a shove on.
"Is them your papers?" he calls after me.
"Yes, by Jove! my newspaper leader; many important papers! However could I be so careless?" I snatch up my manuscript, convince myself that it is lying in order and go, without stopping 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 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 idiosyncrasy.... No, no; of course, if you won't, 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 inquire 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--communications from the Stiftsgaarden.5
"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 accompanied 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."
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 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 happen to need a shilling, you miserable dog! So--o, march! quicker! quicker! you big thumping lout; I'll 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 spectacle of my own exhaustion. At length, after the lapse of a few moments, I gave myself, with a nod, permission 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 admonitions 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 sobbing 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; you will never learn