"Who is it?"
"Oh, God, no; let's drop it. I can't bear any more now. Good night."
She stretched her hand out fumblingly, but since she was looking at the
floor, she could not find mine, and both our hands circled helplessly
round each other for a moment. Then she opened the door and was gone. I
called to her, begging her to wait, seized my hat, and hurried after her.
An empty staircase. I rushed down and opened the street door. An empty
street. She must have run.
"I'll try to see her tomorrow," I thought.
* * * * *
One day, two days, but I did not see her, though I went to all the usual
places. Another day--nothing. Then I thought I would go up to her home and
inquire about her. At first this did not seem to me too improper, but when
it came to the point, I hesitated. There is, after all, something to be
lost by making a fool of oneself. But was I not a kind of uncle? No--yes,
of course, but still--
A week passes, two weeks, three. The girl has quite disappeared; I hope
she hasn't had an accident. I mount the stairs to her home and ring the
bell....
She's already gone away; they left as soon as they were married, last
week. She's married to Nikolai, Carpenter Nikolai.
* * * * *
March--what a month! The winter is over, yet there's no telling how much
longer it may still last. That's what March is for.
I have lived through another winter and seen the nigger entertainment at
the Anglo-Saxon theater. You were there too, my friend. You saw how
cleverly we all turned somersaults. Why, you even took part yourself, and
you carry about a broken rib as a cherished little memento of the
occasion. I saw it all from a slight distance away, ten miles, to be
exact; no people were near me, but there were seven heavens above.
And pretty soon I shall be reading what the officials have to say about
the year's harvest in our country; that is to say, the harvest at the
theater--in dollars, and in sterling.
The waggish professor is enjoying himself, quite in his element. There he
goes, self-assured and complacent, Sir Mediocrity in all his glory. By
next year, he will have dragged other progressive people in his wake; he
will have dressed up Norway still more, and made it still more attractive
to the Anglo-Saxons. More dollars, and more sterling.
What, do I hear someone objecting?
Yes, Switzerland.
Well, then, we shall invite Switzerland to dinner and toast her thus:
"Colleague, our great aim is to resemble you. Who else can squeeze so much
profit out of their mountains? Who else can file at such clockwork?
Switzerland, make yourself at home; we don't want to rob you; there are no
pickpockets at this table. Here's to you!"
But if that doesn't help, we shall have to roll up our sleeves and fight.
There are still Norwegians left in good old Norway, and our rival--is
Switzerland.
* * * * *
Mrs. Henriksen brings catkins in a vase into my room.
"What, is it spring?"
"Oh, it's getting on."
"Then I shall be going away. You see, Mrs. Henriksen, I should very much
have liked to stay, because this is really where I belong; but what more
can I do here? I don't work; I merely idle. Do you understand me? I grieve
continually, and my heart sits wrinkled. My most brilliant achievement is
spinning coins: I toss a coin into the air and wait. When I came here last
autumn I wasn't so bad, not nearly so bad. I was only half a year younger
then, yet I was ten years younger. What has happened to me since? Nothing.
Only--I'm not a better man than I was last autumn."
"But you've been all right all winter, haven't you? And three weeks ago,
when you came back from the country, you were so happy!"
"Was I? I don't remember that. Ah, well, things don't move so fast, and
nothing has happened to me in these three weeks. Well, never mind; at all
events, I shall go away. I must travel when the spring comes. I have
always done so in the past, and I want to do the same thing now. Sit down,
Mrs. Henriksen."
"No, thank you, I'm too busy."
Too busy! Yes, you work--you're not ten years older than you were last
autumn. You think it's hard work to rest on Sundays, don't you? Dear
Madame Henriksen! You and your little daughter knit stockings for the
whole family, you let your rooms, you keep your family together like a
mother. But you mustn't let your little Louise sit for twelve years on a
school form. If you do, you'll hardly ever see her all through her youth,
those formative years of her life. And then she can't be like you or learn
from you. She'll learn to have children easily enough, but she won't learn
to be a mother, and when the time comes for her to keep her home and
family together, she will not be able to do it. She'll only know
"languages" and mathematics and the story of Bluebeard, but that is not
food for the heart of a woman. That is twelve years of continual famine
for her soul.
"Excuse my asking, but where are you going to?"
"I don't know, but I'm going. Why, where should I go? I shall go aboard a
steamship and sail, and when I have sailed long enough, I will go ashore.
If I find, on looking about me, that I have traveled too far or not far
enough, I shall board a ship again and sail on. Once I walked across into
Sweden as far as Kalmar and even Öland, but that was too far, so I turned
back. No one cares to know where I am, least of all myself."