The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun
replied and laughed, listening curiously to his words; at times she would make some admiring little exclamation when he made a specially striking remark. She could not refrain from looking at his face—a handsome face, rich, curly moustache, a somewhat broad, voluptuous mouth. He was in an entirely new suit to-day; she noticed it was bluish like her own. He wore a silk shirt and grey gloves.
As they passed Our Saviour's Church he asked her if she liked to go to church. She said yes—didn't he?
"Oh, no, not very often."
That was not nice of him.
He bowed smilingly. If she said so, of course. The fact of the matter was that he had received a rude shock once; it sounded silly, it was only a bagatelle, but it proved of far-reaching effect. He was sitting in this very church on an occasion; a high mass was being celebrated. The minister was all right; he was doing splendidly. He was even eloquent; he spoke convincingly, with feeling and pathos. But in the middle of a most stirring peroration in which he, carried away in an outburst of spiritual fervour, had meant to shout: "Jews and Gentiles!" his tongue had tripped and he had said: "Gents and Jewtiles! Gents and Jewtiles!—Imagine these silly words hurled over the heads of the congregation in a loud, sonorous voice! And the poor fellow stood there in full daylight and could not get away from his miserable blunder. I assure you, it shocked me like a cold shower!"
It sounded genuine as he spoke, not at all like an episode invented for the occasion. Was it not possible that a particularly sensitive soul could be seriously shaken by such a grotesque and silly mishap? Aagot could very well understand it; and at the same time she had to laugh over that miserable "Gents and Jewtiles," which she repeated over and over.
When they passed the Parliament buildings, Irgens pointed to the greystone colossus and said:
"There we have Parliament; have you been there yet?"
"No, not yet."
Well, it wasn't a very cheerful place just now—wavering and treason all along the line! The doughty parliamentarians lolled in their chairs and chewed tobacco and grew fat and lazy; they used sonorous phrases and challenged Sweden to a fight with bare knuckles, but when time for action came—where were they then? She had no idea how he and others were boiling with indignation over this display of loathsome cowardice. And what was the mighty adversary like? Sweden! That invincible world power full of doddering senility! He must compare Sweden to an octogenarian who sat, dead drunk and feeble, and boasted of his warlike temper: "I'll never yield—never!" And when Parliament heard that quavering voice it grew palsied with fear. No, he, Irgens, should have been in Parliament!
How manly and proudly he spoke! She looked at him and said: "How zealous you are now!"
"You must pardon me; I always grow impatient when our sovereignty is discussed," he replied. "I trust I haven't unwittingly offended you by trespassing on your personal opinions? I am glad to hear that."
They reached the Castle, turned aside, and entered the park; they forgot that time was passing. He had started in to tell her a story from the day's news, a scene from one of the courts: A man was being tried for murder and had confessed. The question of mitigating circumstances arose, and it was decided that there were mitigating circumstances. All right; penitentiary for life. "Next case!" Suddenly a voice is heard from among the spectators; it is the murderer's sweetheart, who shouts: "His confession is untrue; he has not committed murder! How could he possibly have done it; no one who knows him will believe it! And there are mitigating circumstances; you cannot sentence him, for it wasn't premeditated murder! No, Henry is innocent! Won't any of you who know him say that he is innocent? Why are you all silent?" And the lady was led out of the courtroom. That was love!
Aagot, the little goose, was moved. How beautiful—sad and beautiful! And they carried her out? What a tragedy!
"Well, probably the story is a little exaggerated," he said. "Love as strong as that does not grow on the bushes nowadays."
"But it does exist!"
"Perhaps, somewhere—on the Isle of the Blest—" But this expression awoke the poet in him, and he rhapsodised. "And the place was called Evenrest, because it was green and silent when the two arrived. A boy and a girl; she fair, bright, shining like a white pinion against him who was dark— two souls who gazed smilingly into each other, who voicelessly implored each other, who closed rapturously around each other. And blue mountains looked at them—"
He paused abruptly.
"I am making myself ridiculous," he said. "Let us sit down awhile."
They sat down. The sun sank, sank deeper; a tower-clock in the city somewhere boomed forth the hour. Irgens continued to speak, impressively, dreamily, warmly. He might go into the solitudes this summer, he said; settle down in a cabin by the water and row around at night. Imagine, wonderful nights in a rowboat!… But he had a feeling now that Aagot was beginning to be uneasy because of the lateness of the hour, and in order to keep her mind occupied he said:
"You must not believe, Miss Lynum, that I go around and prate about blue mountains always; if I do it now it is only because of you. You impress me deeply; you enrapture me when you are near me. I know what I am saying. It is the loveliness and brightness of your face, and when you tilt your head sideways—Of course, this is meant aesthetically, impersonally!"
Aagot had given him a quick glance, and this made him add the last words. She did not understand him, perhaps; the reason for this last remark was not quite clear to her, and she was on the point of saying something when he resumed laughingly:
"I sincerely trust I haven't bored you too much with my nonsense? If I have I'll go right down to the harbour and drown myself. Yes, you laugh, but—I want to tell you, though, that your displeasure was charmingly becoming to you, really. I saw that you were provoked. If I may be allowed to express myself aesthetically once more, I would say that for a moment you looked as the slender, wild fawn must look when she lifts her head and snorts."
"But now I want to tell you something," she said and got up. "What time is it? But you must be crazy! Let us be off at once! If it is my fault that you have talked too much, it is certainly yours that I have listened to you and forgotten the time entirely. This is awful!"
And they hurried away down the park slope.
As they were going to turn toward the museum he wondered if there would be time for a visit to-day. Perhaps they had better wait until some other time? What did she think?
She stopped and reflected a moment; then she laughed merrily and exclaimed:
"But we will have to go, if only for a moment! We must be able to say that we have been there. No, this is simply terrible!"
And they hurried along.
The fact that she was conspiring with him to hide this peccadillo, that from now on they would have a sort of secret together, filled him with a warm pleasure. He wanted to keep on talking, to continue to keep her interested; but she did not listen; she hurried along in order to get to the museum before it should close. She skipped quickly up the many stairs, ran past people going out, glanced quickly right and left in order to identify the chief works of art, and asked breathlessly: "Where is the Laocoön Group? Quick! I must see that!" They ran off in a wild search for the Laocoön Group. It turned out that they had at least ten minutes before closing time, and they took things a little easier.
Suddenly she imagined seeing Coldevin's dark eyes peering out from a corner; but as she took a step forward to look closer the eyes disappeared and she forgot all about it.
"What a pity we are in such a hurry!" she said several times.
When they had rushed through the first floor their time was up and they had to leave. She talked with Irgens on the way back and seemed as pleased as before; she gave him her hand at the door and thanked him, thanked him twice. He begged her forgiveness because he had been responsible for her failure to view the sculptures thoroughly, and she smiled amiably and said that she had had a good time.
"I shall see you later at Tivoli," said Irgens.