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OF THE
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1899

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HUNGER

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HUNGER

TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN
BY

GEORGE EGERTON

LONDON

LEONARD SMITHERS AND CO

5 OLD BOND STREET W
1899

PREFATORY NOTE

Ten years ago a little book on " Intellectual
Life in the America of To-day " appeared in
Norway. The intense individuality of its (it
must be admitted often wrong-headed) point
of view aroused interest and curiosity as to
its author. It was followed shortly by his
first novel "Suit" ("Hunger"). It made a
great sensation ; was as the flash of some
strange meteor, holding perhaps a menace to
social life, across the firmament. It met with
much adverse criticism ; indeed, it demanded
some courage in those days to declare oneself
an admirer of " that dreadful Hamsun ! "

There was something mysterious, challenging
— something alike magnetic and repellent, in
the man's personality, as in his work ; some-
thing that invoked opposition. He was an
unknown quantity in the society and literature
of his country. " Hunger " was followed by
a course of lectures, in which he beheaded
the literary idols of the day (not a few were

vi Prefatory Note

amongst his audience), — executed them with an
audacious, genial impudence, an irritating self-
assurance, that made his addresses the sensa-
tion of the year. One book after the other
appeared — " Mysterier " (Mysteries), " Pan,"
"Redaktor Lynge," " Nyjord " (Fresh Soil),
" Siesta " (short stories), — and the critics
scourged him alternately as poseur and blageur,
poet and genius, creative artist and impudent
imitator. Hamsun went his own way, with
a genial laugh at his critics, as a schoolboy
caught at some trick. This son of the people,
this self-taught man, whose art was congenital
— a growth of his very innermost being, not a
graft from outside — had a superb contempt
for everything that was not of aesthetic value
in his own eyes. Of one thing he convinced
them — that, as stylist, he was second to none
in his own country. Consciously or uncon-
sciously, every young writer in Norway owes
Hamsun a debt. He introduced an absolutely
new note into his native language, established
a new scale of word values, pointed to fresh
uses for the older one. The effect was startling,
as one of his critics aptly said : " Hamsun
had brought something \ American ' into the
language — a lightning smartness, an audacious

Prefatory Note vii

trick of phrase, a troll-like humour hitherto
unknown." In a word, he leavened the heavi-
ness in some marvellous way ; it was as if
the spirit of Mark Twain had suddenly obsessed
the sober discourse of a meeting of serious
elders.

Words were gold in his hands, to be tossed
about rough as unwashed nuggets, or beaten
into a delicate, fantastic filigree ; language
became a plastic material, capable of express-
ing the most elusive half-thoughts, the most
unrecorded emotions. No translation can give
any idea of the magic of his word -treatment ;
it has to be sacrificed to a bald rendering of
the spirit of the original.

Each of his books was attention-compelling,
baffling the critics to define his exact place as
a writer. Perhaps Hamsun himself was only
seeking ; as yet a sort of literary freebooter,
fighting a place for his individual art through
the ranks of conservative prejudice. There
was trace of struggle in much of his work ;
his method was peculiar, and his personality
jumped up and down through all his books in
many disguises. It tantalised whilst it com-
pelled to laughter, whether as brilliant jester
who held all things up to ridicule, or fantastic

viii Prefatory Note

juggler tossing up the old-world values as ii
they were jingling balls of no particular worth ;
who could pause suddenly, casting aside his
motley, to scourge his listeners with a sermon
on the " superstitions " of the day, with a truly
sardonic humour. No one, no thing escaped
him ; he pilloried Gladstone as gaily as Car]
Marx ; " Novelist Maupassant " as " Missionary
Tolstoy." Sometimes one had to shut the
book, with flaming cheeks, as one was met by
an episode so coarse, a jest so unseemly, a
blasphemy so surprising as only a wanton
irresponsible peasant lad could tell it ; bul
one opened it again to discover an exquisite
lyrical word-painting of some mood in nature
or emotion in man, that made one's hearl
warm and one's eyes wet.

Hamsun has proved himself a master at
probing into the unexplored crannies in the
human soul, the mysterious territory of uncon-
trollable, half-conscious impulses. He has nc
consideration for the weak places in humanity :
he is merciless in his exposure of dark places
of all that borders on the abnormal, the insane
It takes strong will and sound intellect, and
an iron tenacity of purpose to psychologise
in Hamsun's manner. Then he is not afraid.

Prefatory Note ix

and gives rein to every mood. To quote Herr
Gerhard Gran — "Knut Hamsun gives the im-
pression of being a downright sportsman in
this territory. He hunts through the soul with
a kind of jocund eagerness ; and if he finds
the 'spraint' of a troll, he sets after it with
the halloo of a hunter. They are precious
finds to him, these seemingly irresponsible
divagations off the beaten track. And it
must be conceded to Hamsun that he is an
Indefatigable hunter. When he is in full cry
he does not quit the scent."

This year he has completed his fine Trilogy,
composed of three distinct plays, dealing with
the life and development of one man : " On the
Eve of Fortune " (" Ved Rigets Port "), " The
Game of Life" (" Livet's Spil") "Sunset,"
("Aftenrodet"); besides an exquisite love-story,
in which his art is at its finest, called
:' Victoria." One lays these books down, and
says : " Hamsun has served his apprenticeship ;
he has come into his own ; and his own is a
distinguished place in the estate of letters."

It must be remembered that " Hunger" was
his first book, and that the style of the original
is necessarily sacrificed. None the less it
remains a shriek of hunger in all its moods,

x Prefatory Note

a psycho-pathological study of the hunger of
soul and body, the "art of hungering with
beauty." Hamsun is above all genie -male,
and for that one cannot be sufficiently grateful.

George Egerton.

HUNGER

PART I

It was during the time I wandered about and
starved in Christiania : Christiania, this singular
city, from which no man departs without carry-
ing away the traces of his sojourn there.

I was lying awake in my attic and I heard
a clock below strike six. It was already broad
daylight, and people had begun to go up and
down the stairs. By the door where the wall
of the room was papered with old numbers of
the Morgenbladet, I could distinguish clearly a
notice from the Director of Lighthouses, and
a little to the left of that an inflated adver-
tisement of Fabian Olsens' new-baked bread.

The instant I opened my eyes I began, from
sheer force of habit, to think if I had anything
to rejoice over that day. I had been some-
what hard -up lately, and one after the other
of my belongings had been taken to my
" Uncle." I had grown nervous and irritable.
A few times I had kept my bed for the day
A

2 Hunger

with vertigo. Now and then, when luck had
favoured me, I had managed to get five
shillings for a feuilleton from some newspaper
or other.

It grew lighter and lighter, and I took to
reading the advertisements near the door. I
could even make out the grinning lean letters
of " winding-sheets to be had at Miss Ander-
sens" on the right of it. That occupied me for
a long while. I heard the clock below strike
eight as I got up and put on my clothes.

I opened the window and looked out. From
where I was standing I had a view of a clothes-
line and an open field. Farther away lay the
ruins of a burnt- out smithy, which some
labourers were busy clearing away. I leant
with my elbows resting on the window-frame
and gazed into open space. It promised to
be a clear day — autumn, that tender, cool time
of the year, when all things change their colour,
and die, had come to us. The ever-increasing
noise in the streets lured me out. The bare
room, the floor of which rocked up and down
with every step I took across it, seemed like a
gaping sinister coffin. There was no proper
fastening to the door, either, and no stove. I
used to lie on my socks at night to dry them a

Hunger 3

little by the morning. The only thing I had to
divert myself with was a little red rocking-chair,
in which I used to sit in the evenings and doze
and muse on all manner of things. When it
blew hard, and the door below stood open, all
kinds of eerie sounds moaned up through the
floor and from out the walls, and the
Morgenbladet near the door was rent in strips
a span long.

I stood up and searched through a bundle
in the corner by the bed for a bite for breakfast,
but finding nothing, went back to the window.

God knows, thought I, if looking for employ-
ment will ever again avail me aught. The
frequent repulses, half-promises, and curt noes,
the cherished, deluded hopes, and fresh endeav-
ours that always resulted in nothing had done
my courage to death. As a last resource, I had
applied for a place as debt collector, but I was
too late, and, besides, I could not have found
the fifty shillings demanded as security. There
was always something or another in my way.
I had even offered to enlist in the Fire Brigade.
There we stood and waited in the vestibule,
some half- hundred men, thrusting our chests
out to give an idea of strength and bravery,
whilst an inspector walked up and down and

4 Hunger

scanned the applicants, felt their arms, and
put one question or another to them. Me, he
passed by, merely shaking his head, saying I
was rejected on account of my sight. I applied
again without my glasses, stood there with
knitted brows, and made my eyes as sharp as
needles, but the man passed me by again with a
smile ; he had recognised me. And, worse than
all, I could no longer apply for a situation in
the garb of a respectable man.

How regularly and steadily things had gone
down-hill with me for a long time, till, in the
end, I was so curiously bared of every con-
ceivable thing. I had not even a comb left,
not even a book to read, when things grew all
too sad with me. All through the summer, up
in the churchyards or parks, where I used to
sit and write my articles for the newspapers,
I had thought out column after column on the
most miscellaneous subjects. Strange ideas,
quaint fancies, conceits of my restless brain ;
in despair I had often chosen the most remote
themes, that cost me long hours of intense
effort, and never were accepted. When one
piece was finished I set to work at another. I
was not often discouraged by the editors' " no."
I used to tell myself constantly that some day

Hunger 5

I was bound to succeed ; and r lly occasionally
when I was in luck's way, an< 1 lade a hit with
something, I could get five n lillings for an
afternoon's work. rt

Once again I raised myse. V na the window,
went over to the washing-stand, and sprinkled
some water on the shiny knees of my trousers
to dull them a little and make them look a trifle
newer. Having done this, I pocketed paper
and pencil as usual and went out. I stole very
quietly down the stairs in order not to attract
my landlady's attention (a few days had elapsed
since my rent had fallen due, and I had no
longer anything wherewith to raise it).

It was nine o'clock. The roll of vehicles and
hum of voices filled the air, a mighty morning-
choir mingled with the footsteps of the
pedestrians and the crack of the hack-drivers'
whips. The clamorous traffic everywhere
exhilarated me at once, and I began to
feel more and more contented. Nothing
was farther from my intention than to merely
take a morning walk in the open air. What
had the air to do with my lungs ? I was strong
as a giant ; could stop a dray with my shoulders.
A sweet, unwonted mood, a feeling of lightsome
happy-go-luckiness took possession of me. I

6 Hunger

fell to observing the people I met and who
passed me, ton reading the placards on the
wall, noted eveli the impression of a glance
thrown at me fa.om a passing tram-car, let each
bagatelle, each trifling incident that crossed or
vanished from my path impress me.

If one only had just a little to eat on such
a lightsome day ! The sense of the glad
morning overwhelmed me ; my satisfaction
became ill-regulated, and for no definite reason
I began to hum joyfully.

At a butcher's stall a woman stood speculat-
ing on sausage for dinner. As I passed her
she looked up at me. She had but one tooth
in the front of her head. I had become so
nervous and easily affected in the last few days
that the woman's face made a loathsome im-
pression upon me. The long yellow snag
looked like a little finger pointing out of her
gum, and her gaze was still full of sausage as
she turned it upon me. I immediately lost all
appetite, and a feeling of nausea came over
me. When I reached the market-place I went
to the fountain and drank a little. I looked
up ; the dial marked ten on Our Saviour's
tower.

I went on through the streets, listlessly, with-

Hunger 7

out troubling myself about anything at all,
stopped aimlessly at a corner, turned off into
a side street without having any errand there.
I simply let myself go, wandered about in the
pleasant morning, swinging myself care-free to
and fro amongst other happy human beings.
The air was clear and bright, and my mind
too was without a shadow.

For quite ten minutes I had had an old lame
man ahead of me. He carried a bundle in
one hand and exerted his whole body, using
all his strength in his endeavours to get along
speedily. I could hear how he panted from
the exertion, and it occurred to me that I
might offer to bear his bundle for him, but yet
I made no effort to overtake him. Up in
Graendsen I met Hans Pauli, who nodded and
hurried past me. Why was he in such a
hurry? I had not the slightest intention of
asking him for a shilling, and, more than that,
I intended at the very first opportunity to
return him a blanket which I had borrowed
from him some weeks before.

Just wait until I could get my foot on the
ladder, I would be beholden to no man, not
even for a blanket. Perhaps even this very
day I might commence an article on the

8 Hunger

" Crimes of Futurity," " Freedom of Will," or
what not, at any rate, something worth reading,
something for which I would at least get ten
shillings . . . And at the thought of this
article I felt myself fired with a desire to set
to work immediately and to draw from the
contents of my overflowing brain. I would
find a suitable place to write in the park and
not rest till I had completed my article.

But the old cripple was still making the
same sprawling movements ahead of me up
the street. The sight of this infirm creature
constantly in front of me, commenced to irri-
tate me — his journey seemed endless ; perhaps
he had made up his mind to go to exactly the
same place as I had, and I must needs have
him before my eyes the whole way. In my
irritation it seemed to me that he slackened
his pace a little at every cross street, as if wait-
ing to see which direction I intended to take,
upon which he would again swing his bundle
in the air and peg away with all his might to
keep ahead of me. I follow and watch this
tiresome creature and get more and more ex-
asperated with him, I am conscious that he
has, little by little, destroyed my happy mood
and dragged the pure beautiful morning down

Hunger 9

to the level of his own ugliness. He looks
like a great sprawling reptile striving with
might and main to win a place in the world
and reserve the footpath for himself. When
we reached the top of the hill I determined to
put up with it no longer. I turned to a shop
window and stopped in order to give him an
opportunity of getting ahead, but when, after
a lapse of some minutes, I again walked on
there was the man still in front of me — he too
had stood stock still, — without stopping to
reflect I made three or four furious onward
strides, caught him up, and slapped him on
the shoulder.

He stopped directly, and we both stared at
one another fixedly. " A halfpenny for milk ! "
he whined, twisting his head askew.

So that was how the wind blew. I felt in my
pockets and said: "For milk, eh? Hum-m —
money's scarce these times, and I don't really
know how much you are in need of it."

" I haven't eaten a morsel since yesterday
in Drammen ; I haven't got a farthing, nor
have I got any work yet!"

" Are you an artisan ? "

"Yes; a binder."

"A what?"

io Hunger

" A shoe-binder ; for that matter, I can make
shoes too."

" Ah, that alters the case," said I, " you wait
here for some minutes and I shall go and get
a little money for you ; just a few pence."

I hurried as fast as I could down Pyle Street,
where I knew of a pawnbroker on a second-
floor (one, besides, to whom I had never been
before). When I got inside the hall I hastily
took off my waistcoat, rolled it up, and put it
under my arm ; after which I went upstairs and
knocked at the office door. I bowed on entering,
and threw the waistcoat on the counter.

" One-and-six," said the man.

"Yes, yes, thanks," I replied. " If it weren't
that it was beginning to be a little tight for
me, of course I wouldn't part with it."

I got the money and the ticket, and went
back. Considering all things, pawning that
waistcoat was a capital notion. I would have
money enough over for a plentiful breakfast,
and before evening my thesis on the "Crimes
of Futurity " would be ready. I began to find
existence more alluring ; and I hurried back
to the man to get rid of him.

" There it is," said I. "I am glad you
applied to me first."

Hunger 1 1

The man took the money and scrutinised
me closely. At what was he standing there
staring? I had a feeling that he particularly
examined the knees of my trousers, and his
shameless effrontery bored me. Did the
scoundrel imagine that I really was as poor as
I looked? Had I not as good as begun to
write an article for half-a-sovereign ? Besides,
I had no fear whatever for the future. I had
many irons in the fire. What on earth busi-
ness was it of an utter stranger if I chose to
stand him a drink on such a lovely day ? The
man's look annoyed me, and I made up my
mind to give him a good dressing-down before
I left him. I threw back my shoulders, and
said :

" My good fellow, you have adopted a most
unpleasant habit of staring at a man's knees
when he gives you a shilling."

He leant his head back against the wall and
opened his mouth widely ; something was
working in that empty pate of his, and he
evidently came to the conclusion that I meant
to best him in some way, for he handed me
back the money. I stamped on the pavement,
and, swearing at him, told him to keep it.
Did he imagine I was going to all that trouble

12 Hunger

for nothing ? If all came to all, perhaps I
owed him this shilling ; I had just recollected
an old debt ; he was standing before an honest
man, honourable to his finger-tips — in short,
the money was his. Oh, no thanks were
needed ; it had been a pleasure to me. Good-
bye !

I went on. At last I was freed from this
work-ridden plague, and I could go my way
in peace. I turned down Pyle Street again,
and stopped before a grocer's shop. The
whole window was filled with eatables, and I
decided to go in and get something to take
with me.

"A piece of cheese and a French roll," I
said, and threw my sixpence on to the counter.

" Bread and cheese for the whole of it ? "
asked the woman, ironically, without looking
up at me.

, " For the whole sixpence ? Yes," I answer,
unruffled.

I took them up, bade the fat old woman
good-morning, with the utmost politeness, and
sped, full tilt, up Castle Hill to the park.

I found a bench to myself, and began to
bite greedily into my provender. It did me
good ; it was a long time since I had had

Hunger 1 3

such a square meal, and, by degrees, I felt the
same sated quiet steal over me that one feels
after a good long cry. My courage rose
mightily. I could no longer be satisfied with
writing an article about anything so simple and
straight-ahead as the " Crimes of Futurity,"
that any ass might arrive at, ay, simply
deduct from history. I felt capable of a much
greater effort than that ; I was in a fitting
mood to overcome difficulties, and I decided
on a treatise, in three sections, on "Philo-
sophical Cognition." This would, naturally,
give me an opportunity of crushing pitiably
some of Kant's sophistries . . . but, on taking
out my writing materials to commence work, I
discovered that I no longer owned a pencil :
I had forgotten it in the pawn-office. My
pencil was lying in my waistcoat pocket.

Good Lord ! how everything seems to take
a delight in thwarting me to-day ! I swore a
few times, rose from the seat, and took a
couple of turns up and down the path. It was
very quiet all around me ; down near the
Queen's arbour two nursemaids were trundling
their perambulators ; otherwise, there was not
a creature anywhere in sight. I was in a thor-
oughly embittered temper ; I paced up and

14 Hunger

down before my seat like a maniac. How
strangely awry things seemed to go ! To think
that an article in three sections should be
downright stranded by the simple fact of my
not having a pennyworth of pencil in my
pocket. Supposing I were to return to Pyle
Street and ask to get my pencil back ? There
would be still time to get a good piece finished
before the promenading public commenced to
fill the parks. So much, too, depended on this
treatise on "Philosophical Cognition" — may-
hap many human beings' welfare, no one could
say ; and I told myself it might be of the
greatest possible help to many young people.
On second thoughts, I would not lay violent
hands on Kant ; I might easily avoid doing
that ; I would only need to make an almost
imperceptible gliding over when I came to
query Time and Space ; but I would not
answer for Renan, old Parson Renan. . . .

At all events, an article of so-and-so many
columns has to be completed. For the unpaid
rent, and the landlady's inquiring look in the
morning when I met her on the stairs, tormented
me the whole day ; it rose up and confronted
me again and again, even in my pleasant hours,
when I had otherwise not a gloomy thought.

Hunger 1 5

I must put an end to it, so I left the park
hurriedly to fetch my pencil from the pawn-
broker's.

As I arrived at the foot of the hill I over-
took two ladies, whom I passed. As I did
so, I brushed one of them accidently on the
arm. I looked up ; she had a full, rather
pale, face. But she blushes, and becomes
suddenly surprisingly lovely. I know not
why she blushes ; maybe at some word she
hears from a passer-by, maybe only at some
lurking thought of her own. Or can it
be because I touched her arm? Her high,
full bosom heaves violently several times, and
she closes her hand tightly about the handle
of her parasol. What has come to her?

I stopped, and let her pass ahead again.
I could, for the moment, go no farther ; the
whole thing struck me as being so singular.
I was in a tantalising mood, annoyed with
myself on account of the pencil incident, and
in a high degree disturbed by all the food
I had taken on a totally empty stomach.
Suddenly my thoughts, as if whimsically in-
spired, take a singular direction. I feel myself
seized with an odd desire to make this lady
afraid ; to follow her, and annoy her in some

1 6 Hunger

way. I overtake her again, pass her by, turn
quickly round, and meet her face-to-face in
order to be able to observe her well. I stand
and gaze into her eyes, and hit, on the spur
of the moment, on a name which I have
never heard before — a name with a gliding,
nervous sound, Ylajali ! When she is quite
close to me I draw myself up and say
impressively :

" You are losing your book, madam ! " I
could hear my heart beat audibly as I said it.

" My book ? " she asks her companion, and
she walks on.

My devilment waxed apace, and I followed
them. At the same time, I was fully conscious
that I was playing a mad prank without being
able to stop myself. My disordered condi-
tion ran away with me ; I was inspired with
the craziest notions, which I followed blindly
as they came to me. I couldn't help it, no
matter how much I told myself that I was
playing the fool. I made the most idiotic
grimaces behind the lady's back, and coughed
frantically as I passed her by. Walking on
in this manner — very slowly, and always a
few steps in advance — I felt her eyes on my
back, and involuntarily put down my head

Hunger 17

with shame for having caused her annoyance.
By degrees, a wonderful feeling stole over
me of being far, far away in other places ; I
had a half-undefined sense that it was not I
who was going along over the gravel hanging
my head.

A few minutes later, they reached Pascha's
book-shop. I had already stopped at the
first window, and as they go by I step forward
and repeat :

" You are losing your book, madam ! "

" No ; what book ? " she asks, affrightedly.
"Can you make out what book it is he is
talking about?" and she comes to a stop.

I hug myself with delight at her confusion ;
the irresolute perplexity in her eyes positively
fascinates me. Her mind cannot grasp my
short, passionate address. She has no book
with her ; not a single page of a book, and
yet she fumbles in her pockets, looks down
repeatedly at her hands, turns her head and
scrutinises the streets behind her, exerts her
sensitive little brain to the utmost in trying
to discover what book it is I am talking about.
Her face changes colour, has now one, now
another expression, and she is breathing quite
audibly — even the very buttons on her gown
B

1 8 Hunger

seem to stare at me, like a row of frightened
eyes.

" Don't bother about him ! " says her com-
panion, taking her by the arm. " He is drunk ;
can't you see that the man is drunk?"

Strange as I was at this instant to myself,
so absolutely a prey to peculiar invisible inner
influences, nothing occurred around me with-
out my observing it. A large, brown dog
sprang right across the street towards the
shrubbery, and then down towards the Tivoli ;
he had on a very narrow collar of German
silver. Farther up the street a window opened
on the second floor, and a servant-maid leant
out of it, with her sleeves turned up, and
began to clean the panes on the outside.
Nothing escaped my notice ; I was clear-
headed and ready-witted. Everything rushed
in upon me with a gleaming distinctness, as
if I were suddenly surrounded by a strong
light. The ladies before me had each a blue
bird's wing in their hats, and a plaid silk
ribbon round their necks. It struck me that
they were sisters.

They turned, stopped at Cisler's music-shop,
and spoke together. I stopped also. There-
upon they both came back, went the same

Hunger 19

road as they had come, passed me again, and
turned the corner of University Street and
up towards St Olav's Place. I was all the
time as close at their heels as I dared to be.
They turned round once, and sent me a half-
fearful, half-questioning look, and I saw no
resentment nor any trace of a frown in it.

This forbearance with my annoyance shamed
me thoroughly and made me lower my eyes.
I would no longer be a trouble to them, out of
sheer gratitude I would follow them with my
gaze, not lose sight of them until they entered
some place safely, and disappeared.

Outside No. 2, a large four-storeyed house,
they turned again before going in. I leant
against a lamp-post near the fountain and
listened for their footsteps on the stairs. They
died away on the second floor. I advanced
from the lamp-post and looked up at the
house. Then something odd happened. The
curtains above were stirred, and a second
after a window opened, a head popped out,
and two singular-looking eyes dwelt on me.
"Ylajali!" I muttered, half-aloud, and I felt
I grew red.

Why does she not call for help, or push
over one of those flower-pots and strike me

20 Hunger

on the head, or send someone down to drive
me away? We stand and look into one an-
other's eyes without moving ; it lasts a minute.
Thoughts dart between the window and the
street, and not a word is spoken. She turns
round, I feel a wrench in me, a delicate
shock through my senses ; I see a shoulder
that turns, a back that disappears across the
floor. That reluctant turning from the window,
the accentuation in that movement of the
shoulders, was like a nod to me. My blood
was sensible of the delicate, dainty greeting,
and I felt all at once rarely glad. Then I
wheeled round and went down the street.

I dared not look back, and knew not if
she had returned to the window. The more
I considered this question the more nervous
and restless I became. Probably at this very
moment she was standing watching closely
all my movements. It is by no means com-
fortable to know that you are being watched
from behind your back. I pulled myself to-
gether as well as I could and proceeded on
my way ; my legs began to jerk under me,
my gait became unsteady just because I pur-
posely tried to make it look well. In order
to appear at ease and indifferent, I flung my

Hunger 21

arms about, spat out, and threw my head
well back — all without avail, for I continually
felt the pursuing eyes on my neck, and a cold
shiver ran down my back. At length I
escaped down a side street, from which I
took the road to Pyle Street to get my
pencil.

I had no difficulty in recovering it ; the man
brought me the waistcoat himself, and as he
did so, begged me to search through all the
pockets. I found also a couple of pawn-tickets
which I pocketed as I thanked the obliging
little man for his civility. I was more and
more taken with him, and grew all of a sudden
extremely anxious to make a favourable im-
pression on this person. I took a turn towards
the door and then back again to the counter
as if I had forgotten something. It struck
me that I owed him an explanation, that I
ought to elucidate matters a little. I began
to hum in order to attract his attention.
Then, taking the pencil in my hand, I held it
up and said :

"It would never have entered my head to
come such a long way for any and every bit
of pencil, but with this one it was quite a
different matter ; there was another reason, a

22 Hunger

special reason. Insignificant as it looked, this
stump of pencil had simply made me what
I was in the world, so to say, placed me in
life." I said no more. The man had come
right over to the counter.

" Indeed ! " said he, and he looked inquir-
ingly at me.

" It was with this pencil," I continued, in cold
blood, " that I wrote my dissertation on ' Philo-
sophical Cognition/ in three volumes." Had he
never heard mention of it?

Well, he did seem to remember having
heard the name, rather the title.

" Yes," said I, " that was by me, so it was."
So he must really not be astonished that I
should be desirous of having the little bit of
pencil back again. I valued it far too highly
to lose it ; why, it was almost as much to me
as a little human creature. For the rest I
was honestly grateful to him for his civility,
and I would bear him in mind for it. Yes,
truly, I really would. A promise was a pro-
mise ; that was the sort of man I was, and
he really deserved it. " Good-bye ! " I walked
to the door with the bearing of one who had
it in his power to place a man in a high
position, say, in the fire-office. The honest

Hunger 23

pawnbroker bowed twice profoundly to me
as I withdrew. I turned again and repeated
my good-bye.

On the stairs I met a woman with a travel-
ling-bag in her hand, who squeezed diffidently
against the wall to make room for me, and I
voluntarily thrust my hand in my pocket for
something to give her, and looked foolish as
I found nothing and passed on with my head
down. I heard her knock at the office door ;
there was an alarm over it, and I recognised
the jingling sound it gave when any one rapped
on the door with their knuckles.

The sun stood in the south ; it was about
twelve. The whole town began to get on its
legs as it approached the fashionable hour
for promenading. Bowing and laughing folk
walked up and down Carl Johann Street. I
stuck my elbows closely to my sides, tried to
make myself look small, and slipped unper-
ceived past some acquaintances who had taken
up their stand at the corner of University Street
to gaze at the passers-by. I wandered up
Castle Hill and fell into a reverie.

How gaily and lightly these people I met
carried their radiant heads, and swung them-
selves through life as through a ball-room.

24 Hunger

There was no sorrow in a single look I met,
no burden on any shoulder, perhaps not even
a clouded thought, not a little hidden pain
in any of these happy souls. And I, walking
in the very midst of these people, young and
newly-fledged as I was, had already forgotten
the very look of happiness. I hugged these
thoughts to myself as I went on, and found
that a great injustice had been done me. Why
had the last months pressed so strangely hard
on me? I failed to recognise my own happy
temperament, and I met with the most singular
annoyances from all quarters. I could not sit
down on a bench by myself or set my foot
any place without being assailed by insigni-
ficant accidents, miserable details, that forced
their way into my imagination and scattered
my powers to all the four winds. A dog that
dashed by me, a yellow rose in a man's button-
hole, had the power to set my thoughts vibrat-
ing and occupy me for a length of time.

What was it that ailed me ? Was the hand
of the Lord turned against me ? But why just
against me? Why, for that matter, not just
as well against a man in South America?
When I considered the matter over, it grew

Hunger 25

more and more incomprehensible to me that
I of all others should be selected as an experi-
ment for a Creator's whims. It was, to say
the least of it, a peculiar mode of procedure
to pass over a whole world of other humans
in order to reach me. Why not select just
as well Bookseller Pascha, or Hennechen the
steam agent ?

As I went my way I sifted this thing, and
could not get quit of it. I found the most
weighty arguments against the Creator's ar-
bitrariness in letting me pay for all the others'
sins. Even after I had found a seat and sat
down, the query persisted in occupying me,
and prevented me from thinking of aught
else. From the day in May when my ill-luck
began I could so clearly notice my gradually
increasing debility ; I had become, as it were,
too languid to control or lead myself whither
I would go. A swarm of tiny noxious animals
had bored a way into my inner man and
hollowed me out.

Supposing God Almighty simply intended
to annihilate me? I got up and paced back-
wards and forwards before the seat.

My whole being was at this moment in the
highest degree of torture, I had pains in my

26 Hunger

arms, and could hardly bear to hold them in
the usual way. I experienced also great dis-
comfort from my last full meal ; I was over-
sated, and walked backwards and forwards
without looking up. The people who came
and went around me glided past me like faint
gleams. At last my seat was taken up by two
men, who lit cigars and began to talk loudly
together. I got angry and was on the point
of addressing them, but turned on my heel
and went right to the other end of the Park,
and found another seat. I sat down.

The thought of God began to occupy me.
It seemed to me in the highest degree inde-
fensible of Him to interfere every time I sought
for a place, and to upset the whole thing,
while all the time I was but imploring enough
for a daily meal.

I had remarked so plainly that, whenever
I had been hungry for any length of time,
it was just as if my brains ran quite gently
out of my head and left me with a vacuum —
my head grew light and far off, I no longer
felt its weight on my shoulders, and I had a
consciousness that my eyes stared far too
widely open when I looked at anything.

Hunger 27

I sat there on the seat and pondered over
all this, and grew more and more bitter against
God for His prolonged inflictions. If He
meant to draw me nearer to Him, and make
me better by exhausting me and placing
obstacle after obstacle in my way, I could
assure Him He made a slight mistake. And,
almost crying with defiance, I looked up
towards Heaven and told Him so mentally,
once and for all.

Fragments of the teachings of my childhood
ran through my memory. The rhythmical
sound of Biblical language sang in my ears,
and I talked quite softly to myself, and held
my head sneeringly askew. Wherefore should
I sorrow for what I eat, for what I drink, or
for what I may array this miserable food for
worms called my earthly body? Hath not
my Heavenly Father provided for me, even
as for the sparrow on the house-top, and hath
He not in His graciousness pointed towards
His lowly servitor. The Lord stuck His
finger in the net of my nerves gently — yea,
verily, in desultory fashion — and brought
slight disorder among the threads. And then
the Lord withdrew His finger, and there were
fibres and delicate root-like filaments adhering

28 Hunger

to the finger, and they were the nerve-threads
of the filaments. And there was a gaping
hole after the finger, which was God's finger,
and a wound in my brain in the track of
His finger. But when God had touched me
with His finger, He let me be, and touched
me no more, and let no evil befall me ; but
let me depart in peace, and let me depart
with the gaping hole. And no evil hath
befallen me from the God who is the Lord
God of all Eternity.

The sound of music was borne up on the
wind to me from the Students' A116e. It was
therefore past two o'clock. I took out my
writing materials to try to write something,
and at the same time my book of shaving-
tickets* fell out of my pocket. I opened it,
and counted the tickets ; there were six. " The
Lord be praised," I exclaimed involuntarily ;
" I can still get shaved for a couple of weeks,
and look a little decent " ; and I immediately
fell into a better frame of mind on account
of this little property which still remained to
me. I smoothed the leaves out carefully, and
put the book safely into my pocket.

* Issued by the barbers at cheaper rates, as few men in
Norway shave themselves.

Hunger 29

But write I could not. After a few lines
nothing seemed to occur to me ; my thoughts
ran in other directions, and I could not pull
myself together enough for any special exertion.

Everything influenced and distracted me ;
everything I saw made a fresh impression on
me. Flies and tiny mosquitoes stick fast to
the paper and disturb me. I blow at them
to get rid of them — blow harder and harder ;
to no purpose, the little pests throw them-
selves on their backs, make themselves heavy,
and fight against me until their slender legs
bend. They are not to be moved from the
spot ; they find something to hook on to, set
their heels against a comma or an unevenness
in the paper, or stand immovably still until
they themselves think fit to go their way.

These insects continued to busy me for a
long time, and I crossed my legs to observe
them at leisure. All at once a couple of high
clarionet notes wavered up to me from the band-
stand, and gave my thoughts a new impulse.

Despondent at not being able to put my
article together, I replaced the paper in my
pocket, and leant back in the seat At this
instant my head is so clear that I can follow
the most delicate train of thought without

30 Hunger

tiring. As I lie in this position, and let my
eyes glide down my breast and along my
legs, I notice the jerking movement my foot
makes each time my pulse beats. I half rise
and look down at my feet, and I experience
at this moment a fantastic and singular feel-
ing that I have never felt before — a delicate,
wonderful shock through my nerves, as if
sparks of cold light quivered through them —
it was as if in catching sight of my shoes I
had met with a kind old acquaintance, or
got back a part of myself that had been riven
loose. A feeling of recognition trembles
through my senses ; the tears well up in my
eyes, and I have a feeling as if my shoes
are a soft, murmuring strain rising towards
me. " Weakness ! " I cried harshly to myself,
and I clenched my fists and I repeated
" Weakness ! " I laughed at myself, for this
ridiculous feeling, made fun of myself, with
a perfect consciousness of doing so, talked
very severely and sensibly, and closed my
eyes very tightly to get rid of the tears.

As if I had never seen my shoes before, I
set myself to study their looks, their char-
acteristics, and, when I stir my foot, their
shape and their worn uppers. I discover

Hunger 3 1

that their creases and white seams give them
expression — impart a physiognomy to them.
Something of my own nature had gone over
into these shoes ; they affected me, like a
ghost of my other I — a breathing portion of
my very self.

I sat and toyed with these fancies a long
time, perhaps an entire hour. A little, old
man came and took up the other end of the
seat; as he seated himself he panted after
his walk, and muttered :

"Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay;
very true ! "

As soon as I heard his voice, I felt as if
a wind had swept through my head. I let
shoes be shoes, and it seemed to me that
the distracted phase of mind I had just ex-
perienced dated from a long-vanished period,
maybe a year or two back, and was about
to be quietly effaced from my memory. I
began to observe the old fellow.

Did this little man concern me in any way ?
Not in the least, not in the very slightest
degree ! Only that he held a newspaper in
his hand, an old number (with the advertise-
ment sheet on the outside), in which something
or other seemed to be rolled up ; my curiosity

32 Hunger

was aroused, and I could not take my eyes
away from this paper. The insane idea entered
my head that it might be a quite peculiar
newspaper — unique of its kind. My curiosity
increased, and I began to move backwards and
forwards on the seat. It might contain deeds,
dangerous documents stolen from some archives
or other ; something floated before me about
a secret treaty — a conspiracy.

The man sat quietly, and pondered. Why
did he not carry his newspaper as every other
person carries a paper, with its name out ?
What species of cunning lurked under that?
He did not seem either to like letting his
package out of his hands, not for anything in
the world ; perhaps he did not even dare trust
it into his own pocket. I could stake my life
there was something at the bottom of that
package — I considered a bit. Just the fact of
finding it so impossible to penetrate this
mysterious affair distracted me with curiosity.
I searched my pockets for something to offer
the man in order to enter into conversation
with him, took hold of my shaving-book, but
put it back again. Suddenly it entered my
head to be utterly audacious ; I slapped my
empty breast-pocket, and said :

Hunger 33

" May I offer you a cigarette ? "

" Thank you ! " The man did not smoke ;
he had to give it up to spare his eyes ; he was
nearly blind. Thank you very much all the
same. Was it long since his eyes got bad ?
In that case, perhaps, he could not read either,
not even a paper?

No, not even the newspaper, more's the
pity. The man looked at me ; his weak eyes
were each covered with a film which gave them
a glassy appearance ; his gaze grew bleary, and
made a disgusting impression on me.

" You are a stranger here ? " he said.

" Yes." Could he not even read the name
of the paper he held in his hand ?

" Barely." For that matter, he could hear
directly that I was a stranger. There was
something in my accent which told him. It
did not need much ; he could hear so well.
At night, when everyone slept, he could hear
people in the next room breathing. . . .

" What I was going to say was, ' where do
you live?'"

On the spur of the moment a lie stood,
ready-made, in my head. I lied involuntarily,
without any object, without any arriere penste,
and I answered —
C

34 Hunger

"St Olav's Place, No. 2."

" Really ? " He knew every stone in St
Olav's Place. There was a fountain, some
lamp-posts, a few trees ; he remembered all
of it. " What number do you live in ? "

Desirous to put an end to this, I got up.
But my notion about the newspaper had driven
me to my wits' end ; I resolved to clear the
thing up, at no matter what cost.

" When you cannot read the paper,
why "

" In No. 2, I think you said," continued the
man, without noticing my disturbance. " There
was a time I knew every person in No. 2 ;
what is your landlord's name?"

I quickly found a name to get rid of him ;
invented one on the spur of the moment, and
blurted it out to stop my tormentor.

"Happolati!" said I.

" Happolati, ay ! " nodded the man ; and he
never missed a syllable in this difficult name.

I looked at him with amazement ; there he
sat, gravely, with a considering air. Before
I had well given utterance to the stupid name
which jumped into my head the man had
accommodated himself to it, and pretended to
have heard it before.

Hunger 35

In the meantime, he had laid his package on
the seat, and I felt my curiosity quiver through
my nerves. I noticed there were a few grease
spots on the paper.

" Isn't he a sea-faring man, your landlord ? "
queried he, and there was not a trace of sup-
pressed irony in his voice ; " I seem to re-
member he was."

" Sea-faring man ? Excuse me, it must be
the brother you know ; this man is namely
J. A. Happolati, the agent."

I thought this would finish him ; but he
willingly fell in with everything I said. If I
had found a name like Barrabas Rosebud it
would not have roused his suspicions.

" He is an able man, I have heard ? " he said,
feeling his way.

" Oh, a clever fellow ! " answered I ; " a thor-
ough business head ; agent for every possible
thing going. Cranberries from China ; feathers
and down from Russia ; hides, pulp, writing-
ink "

" He, he ! the devil he is ? " interrupted the
old chap, highly excited.

This began to get interesting. The situation
ran away with me, and one lie after another
engendered in my head. I sat down again,

36 Hunger

forgot the newspaper, and the remarkable
documents, grew lively, and cut short the old
fellow's talk.

The little goblin's unsuspecting simplicity
made me foolhardy ; I would stuff him reck-
lessly full of lies ; rout him out o' field grandly,
and stop his mouth from sheer amazement

Had he heard of the electric psalm-book
that Happolati had invented ?

"What? Elec "

"With electric letters that could give light
in the dark ! a perfectly extraordinary enter-
prise. A million crowns to be put in circula-
tion ; foundries and printing-presses at work,
and shoals of regular mechanics to be em-
ployed ; I had heard as many as seven
hundred men."

"Ay, isn't it just what I say?" drawled
out the man, calmly.

He said no more, he believed every word
I related, and for all that, he was not taken
aback. This disappointed me a little ; I had
expected to see him utterly bewildered by
my inventions.

I searched my brain for a couple of desperate
lies, went the whole hog, hinted that Happolati
had been Minister of State for nine years in

Hunger 37

Persia. " You perhaps have no conception
of what it means to be Minister of State in
Persia?" I asked. It was more than king
here, or about the same as Sultan, if he knew
what that meant, but Happolati had managed
the whole thing, and was never at a loss.
And I related about his daughter Ylajali, a
fairy, a princess, who had three hundred slaves,
and who reclined on a couch of yellow roses.
She was the loveliest creature I had ever seen ;
I had, may the Lord strike me, never seen
her match for looks in my life!

" So — o ; was she so lovely ? " remarked the
old fellow, with an absent air, as he gazed at
the ground.

"Lovely? She was beauteous, she was sin-
fully fascinating. Eyes like raw silk, arms of
amber! Just one glance from her was as
seductive as a kiss ; and when she called me,
her voice darted like a wine-ray right into my
soul's phosphor. And why shouldn't she be
so beautiful?" Did he imagine she was a
messenger or something in the fire brigade?
She was simply a Heaven's wonder, I could
just inform him, a fairy tale.

" Yes, to be sure ! " said he, not a little
bewildered. His quiet bored me ; I was excited

38 Hunger

by the sound of my own voice and spoke in
utter seriousness ; the stolen archives, treaties
with some foreign power or other, no longer
occupied my thoughts ; the little flat bundle
of paper lay on the seat between us, and I
had no longer the smallest desire to examine
it or see what it contained. I was entirely
absorbed in stories of my own which floated
in singular visions across my mental eye.
The blood flew to my head, and I roared with
laughter.

At this moment the little man seemed about
to go. He stretched himself, and in order
not to break off too abruptly, added : " He is
said to own much property, this Happolati?"

How dared this bleary-eyed, disgusting old
man toss about the rare name I had invented
as if it were a common name stuck up over
every huckster-shop in the town? He never
stumbled over a letter or forgot a syllable.
The name had bitten fast in his brain and
struck root on the instant. I got annoyed;-
an inward exasperation surged up in me
against this creature whom nothing had the
power to disturb and nothing render suspi-
cious.

I therefore replied shortly, " I know nothing

Hunger 39

about that ! I know absolutely nothing what-
ever about that ! Let me inform you once
for all that his name is Johann Arendt
Happolati, if you go by his own initials."

"Johann Arendt Happolati!" repeated the
man, a little astonished at my vehemence ; and
with that he grew silent.

? You should see his wife ! " I said, beside
myself. "A fatter creature . . . Eh? what?
Perhaps you don't even believe she is really
fat?"

Well, indeed he did not see his way to deny
that such a man might perhaps have a rather
stout wife. The old fellow answered quite
gently and meekly to each of my assertions,
and sought for words as if he feared to offend
and perhaps make me furious.

" Hell and fire, man ! Do you imagine
that I am sitting here stuffing you chock-full
of lies ? " I roared furiously. " Perhaps you
don't even believe that a man of the name
•of Happolati exists ! I never saw your match
for obstinacy and malice in any old man.
What the devil ails you? Perhaps, too, into
the bargain, you have been all this while
thinking to yourself I am a poverty-stricken
fellow, sitting here in my Sunday-best without

4-0 Hunger

even a case full of cigarettes in my pocket.
Let me tell you such treatment as yours is a
thing I am not accustomed to, and I won't
endure it, the Lord strike me dead if I will —
neither from you nor anyone else, do you
know that?"

The man had risen with his mouth agape ;
he stood tongue-tied and listened to my out-
break until the end. Then he snatched his
parcel from off the seat and went, ay, nearly
ran, down the path, with the short, tottering
steps of an old man.

I leant back and looked at the retreating
figure that seemed to shrink at each step as
it passed away. I do not know from where
the impression came, but it appeared to me
that I had never in my life seen a more vile
back than this one, and I did not regret that
I had abused the creature before he left me.

The day began to decline, the sun sank, it
commenced to rustle lightly in the trees around,
and the nursemaids who sat in groups near
the parallel bars made ready to wheel their
perambulators home. I was calmed and in
good spirits. The excitement I had just
laboured under quieted down little by little,
and I grew weaker, more languid, and began

Hunger 41

to feel drowsy. Neither did the quantity of
bread I had eaten cause me any longer any
particular distress. I leant against the back
of the seat in the best of humours, closed my
eyes, and got more and more sleepy. I dozed,
and was just on the point of falling asleep,
when a park-keeper put his hand on my
shoulder and said :

" You must not sit here and go to sleep ! "
" No ? " I said, and sprang immediately up, my
unfortunate position rising all at once vividly
before my eyes. I must do something ; find
some way or another out of it. To look for
situations had been of no avail to me. Even
the recommendations I showed had grown a
little old, and were written by people all too
little known to be of much use ; besides that,
constant refusals all through the summer had
somewhat disheartened me. At all events,
my rent was due, and I must raise the wind
for that ; the rest would have to wait a little.
Quite involuntarily I had got paper and
pencil into my hand again, and I sat and
wrote mechanically the date, 1848, in each
corner. If only now one single effervescing
thought would grip me powerfully, and put
words into my mouth. Why, I had known

42 Hunger

hours when I could write a long piece, without
the least exertion, and turn it off capitally,
too.

I am sitting on the seat, and I write, scores
of times, 1848. I write this date criss-cross,
in all possible fashions, and wait until a work-
able idea shall occur to me. A swarm of loose
thoughts flutter about in my head. The feeling
of declining day makes me downcast, senti-
mental ; autumn is here, and has already
begun to hush everything into sleep and torpor.
The flies and insects have received their first
warning. Up in the trees and down in the
fields the sounds of struggling life can be
heard rustling, murmuring, restless ; labouring
not to perish. The down-trodden existence of
the whole insect world is astir for yet a little
while. They poke their yellow heads up from
the turf, lift their legs, feel their way with
long feelers and then collapse suddenly, roll
over, and turn their bellies in the air.

Every growing thing has received its peculiar
impress : the delicately blown breath of the
first cold. The stubbles straggle wanly sun-
wards, and the falling leaves rustle to the earth,
with a sound as of errant silkworms.

It is the reign of Autumn, the height of the

Hunger 43

Carnival of Decay, the roses have got inflamma-
tion in their blushes, an uncanny hectic tinge,
through their soft damask.

I felt myself like a creeping thing on the
verge of destruction, gripped by ruin in the
midst of a whole world ready for lethargic
sleep. I rose, oppressed by weird terrors, and
took some furious strides down the path. " No ! "
I cried out, clutching both my hands ; " there
must be an end to this," and I reseated myself,
grasped the pencil, and set seriously to work
at an article.

There was no possible use in giving way,
with the unpaid rent staring me straight in
the face.

Slowly, quite slowly, my thoughts collected.
I paid attention to them, and wrote quietly and
well ; wrote a couple of pages as an introduction.
It would serve as a beginning to anything. A
description of travel, a political leader, just
as I thought fit — it was a perfectly splendid
commencement for something or anything. So
I took to seeking for some particular subject
to handle, a person or a thing, that I might
grapple with, and I could find nothing. Along
with this fruitless exertion, disorder began to
hold its sway again in my thoughts. I felt

44 Hunger

how my brain positively snapped and my head
emptied, until it sat at last, light, buoyant, and
void on my shoulders. I was conscious of
the gaping vacuum in my skull with every
fibre of my being. I seemed to myself to be
hollowed out from top and toe.

In my pain I cried : " Lord, my God and
Father ! " and repeated this cry many times
at a stretch, without adding one word more.

The wind soughed through the trees ; a storm
was brewing. I sat a while longer, and gazed
at my paper, lost in thought, then folded it up
and put it slowly into my pocket. It got
chilly ; and I no longer owned a waistcoat.
I buttoned my coat right up to my throat and
thrust my hands in my pockets ; thereupon
I rose and went on.

If I had only succeeded this time, just this
once ! Twice my landlady had asked me with
her eyes for payment, and I was obliged to
hang my head and slink past her with a
shamefaced air. I could not do it again : the
very next time I met those eyes I would give
warning and account for myself honestly. Well,
any way, things could not last long at this
rate.

On coming to the exit of the park I saw

Hunger 45

the old chap I had put to flight. The
mysterious newspaper parcel lay opened on
the seat next him, filled with different sorts of
victuals, of which he ate as he sat. I im-
mediately wanted to go over and ask pardon
for my conduct, but the sight of his food
repelled me. The decrepit fingers looked like
ten claws as they clutched loathsomely at the
greasy bread and butter ; I felt qualmish, and
passed by without addressing him. He did
not recognise me ; his eyes stared at me, dry
as horn, and his face did not move a muscle.

And so I went on my way.

As customary, I halted before every news-
paper placard I came to, to read the announce-
ments of situations vacant, and was lucky
enough to find one that I might try for.

A grocer in Groenlandsleret wanted a man
every week for a couple of hours' book-keeping ;
remuneration according to agreement. I noted
my man's address, and prayed to God in silence
for this place. I would demand less than any
one else for my work ; sixpence was ample,
or perhaps fivepence. That would not matter
in the least.

On going home, a slip of paper from my
landlady lay on my table, in which she begged

46 Hunger

me to pay my rent in advance, or else move
as soon as I could. I must not be offended,
it was absolutely a necessary request. Friendlily
Mrs Gundersen.

I wrote an application to Christy the grocer,
No. 13 Groenlandsleret, put it in an envelope,
and took it to the pillar at the corner. Then
I returned to my room and sat down in the
rocking-chair to think, whilst the darkness grew
closer and closer. Sitting up late began to be
difficult now.

I woke very early in the morning. It was
still quite dark as I opened my eyes, and it
was not till long after that I heard five strokes
of the clock down-stairs. I turned round to
doze again, but sleep had flown. I grew more
and more wakeful, and lay and thought of a
thousand things.

Suddenly a few good sentences fitted for a
sketch or story strike me, delicate linguistic
hits of which I have never before found the
equal. I lie and repeat these words over to
myself, and find that they are capital. Little
by little others come and fit themselves to the
preceding ones. I grow keenly wakeful. I
get up and snatch paper and pencil from the
table behind my bed. It was as if a vein had

Hunger 47

burst in me ; one word follows another, and
they fit themselves together harmoniously with
telling effect. Scene piles on scene, actions
and speeches bubble up in my brain, and a
wonderful sense of pleasure empowers me. I
write as one possessed, and fill page after page
without a moment's pause.

Thoughts come so swiftly to me and continue
to flow so richly that I miss a number of telling
bits, that I cannot set down quickly enough,
although I work with all my might. They
continue to invade me ; I am full of my sub-
ject, and every word I write is inspired.

This strange period lasts — lasts such a
blessedly long time before it comes to an end.
I have fifteen — twenty written pages lying on
my knees before me, when at last I cease and
lay my pencil aside. So sure as there is any
worth in these pages, so sure am I saved. I
jump out of bed and dress myself. It grows
lighter. I can half distinguish the lighthouse
director's announcement down near the door,
and near the window it is already so light that
I could, in case of necessity, see to write. I set
to work immediately to make a fair copy of
what I have written.

An intense, peculiar exhalation of light and

48 Hunger

colour emanates from these fantasies of mine.
I start with surprise as I note one good thing
after another, and tell myself that this is the
best thing I have ever read. My head swims
with a sense of satisfaction ; delight inflates
me ; I grow grandiose.

I weigh my writing in my hand, and value
it, at a loose guess, for five shillings on the
spot.

It could never enter any one's head to chaffer
about five shillings ; on the contrary, getting it
for half-a-sovereign might be considered dirt-
cheap, considering the quality of the thing.

I had no intention of turning off such special
work gratis. As far as I was aware, one did
not pick up stories of that kind on the way-
side, and I decided on half-a-sovereign.

The room brightened and brightened. I
threw a glance towards the door, and could
distinguish without particular trouble the skele-
ton-like letters of Miss Andersen's winding-
sheet advertisement to the right of it. It was
also a good while since the clock had struck
seven.

I rose and came to a standstill in the middle
of the floor. Everything well considered, Mrs
Gundersen's warning came rather opportunely.

Hunger 49

This was, properly speaking, no fit room for
me ; there were only common enough green
curtains at the windows, and neither were
there any pegs too many on the wall. The
poor little rocking-chair over in the corner
was in reality a mere attempt at a rocking-
chair ; with the smallest sense of humour, one
might easily split one's sides with laughter at
it It was far too low for a grown man, and
besides that, one needed, so to speak, the aid
of a boot-jack to get out of it. To cut it
short, the room was not adapted for the
pursuit of things intellectual, and I did not
intend to keep it any longer. On no account
would I keep it. I had held my peace, and
endured and lived far too long in such a den.

Buoyed up by hope and satisfaction, con-
stantly occupied with my remarkable sketch,
which I drew forth every moment from my
pocket and re-read, I determined to set
seriously to work with my flitting. I took out
my bundle, a red handkerchief that contained
a few clean collars and some crumpled news-
papers, in which I had occasionally carried
home bread. I rolled my blanket up and
pocketed my reserve of white writing-paper.
Then I ransacked every corner to assure myself
D ^

50 Hunger

that I had left nothing behind, and as I could
not find anything, went over to the window and
looked out.

The morning was gloomy and wet ; there
was no one about at the burnt-out smithy, and
the clothes-line down in the yard stretched
tightly from wall to wall shrunken by the wet.
It was all familiar to me, so I stepped back from
the window, took the blanket under my arm,
and made a low bow to the lighthouse director's
announcement, bowed again to Miss Andersen's
winding-sheet advertisement, and opened the
door. Suddenly the thought of my landlady
struck me ; she really ought to be informed
of my leaving, so that she could see she had
had an honest soul to deal with.

I wanted also to thank her in writing for the
few days' overtime in which I occupied the
room. The certainty that I was now saved for
some time to come increased so strongly in me
that I even promised her five shillings. I
would call in some day when passing by.

Besides that, I wanted to prove to her what
an upright sort of person her roof had sheltered.

I left the note behind me on the table.

Once again I stopped at the door and turned
round, the buoyant feeling of having risen once

Hunger 51

again to the surface charmed me, and made me
feel grateful towards God and all creation, and
I knelt down at the bedside and thanked God
aloud for His great goodness to me that
morning.

I knew it ; ah ! I knew that the rapture of
inspiration I had just felt and noted down was
a miraculous heaven -brew in my spirit in
answer to my yesterday's cry for aid.

" It was God ! It was God ! " I cried to my-
self, and I wept for enthusiasm over my own
words ; now and then I had to stop and listen
if any one was on the stairs. At last I rose
up and prepared to go. I stole noiselessly
down each flight and reached the door unseen.

The streets were glistening from the rain
which had fallen in the early morning. The
sky hung damp and heavy over the town,
and there was no glint of sunlight visible. I
wondered what the day would bring forth ?
I went as usual in the direction of the Town
Hall, and saw that it was half-past eight. I
had yet a few hours to walk about ; there was
no use in going to the newspaper office before
ten, perhaps eleven. I must lounge about so
long, and think, in the meantime, over some
expedient to raise breakfast. For that matter,

LIBRARY

52 Hunger

I had no fear of going to bed hungry that day ;
those times were over, God be praised ! That
was a thing of the past, an evil dream. Hence-
forth, Excelsior!

But, in the meanwhile, the green blanket was
a trouble to me. Neither could I well make
myself conspicuous by carrying such a thing
about right under people's eyes. What would
anyone think of me ? And as I went on I tried
to think of a place where I could have it kept
till later on. It occurred to me that I might
go into Semb's and get it wrapped up in paper ;
not only would it look better, but I need no
longer be ashamed of carrying it.

I entered the shop, and stated my errand to
one of the shop boys.

He looked first at the blanket, then at me.
It struck me that he shrugged his shoulders to
himself a little contemptuously as he took it ;
this annoyed me.

" Young man," I cried, " do be a little careful !
There are two costly glass vases in that; the
parcel has to go to Smyrna."

This had a famous effect. The fellow apolo-
gised with every movement he made for not
having guessed that there was something out
of the common in this blanket. When he had

Hunger 53

finished packing it up I thanked him with the
air of a man who had sent precious goods to
Smyrna before now. He held the door open
for me, and bowed twice as I left.

I began to wander about amongst the people
in the market place, kept from choice near the
woman who had potted plants for sale. The
heavy crimson roses — the leaves of which
glowed blood -like and moist in the damp
morning — made me envious, and tempted me
sinfully to snatch one, and I inquired the price
of them merely as an excuse to approach as
near to them as possible.

If I had any money over I would buy one, no
matter how things went ; indeed, I might well
save a little now and then out of my way
of living to balance things again.

It was ten o'clock, and I went up to the
newspaper office. " Scissors " is running
through a lot of old papers. The editor has
not come yet. On being asked my business,
I deliver my weighty manuscript, lead him
to suppose that it is something of more
than uncommon importance, and impress
upon his memory gravely that he is to give
it into the editor's own hands as soon as he
arrives.

54 Hunger

I would myself call later on in the day for
an answer.

" All right," replied " Scissors," and busied
himself again with his papers.

It seemed to me that he treated the matter
somewhat too coolly ; but I said nothing, only
nodded rather carelessly to him, and left.

I had now time on hand ! If it would only
clear up ! It was perfectly wretched weather,
without either wind or freshness. Ladies
carried their umbrellas, to be on the safe side,
and the woollen caps of the men looked limp
and depressing.

I took another turn across the market and
looked at the vegetables and roses. I feel a
hand on my shoulder and turn round — " Missy "
bids me good-morning ! " Good-morning ! " I
say in return, a little questioningly. I never
cared particularly for " Missy."

He looks inquisitively at the large bran-new
parcel under my arm, and asks :

"What have you got there?"

" Oh, I have been down to Semb and got
some cloth for a suit," I reply, in a careless
tone. " I didn't think I could rub on any
longer; there's such a thing as treating one-
self too shabbily."

Hunger 55

He looks at me with an amazed start.

"By the way, how are you getting on?" he
asks it slowly.

" Oh, beyond all expectation ! "

" Then you have got something to do now ? "

' Something to do ? " I answer and seem
surprised. " Rather ! Why, I am book-keeper
at Christensen's — a wholesale house."

" Oh, indeed ! " he remarks and draws back a
little.

" Well, God knows I am the first to be pleased
at your success. If only you don't let people
beg the money from you that you earn. Good-
day ! "

A second after he wheels round and comes
back and, pointing with his cane to my parcel,
says :

" I would recommend my tailor to you for
the suit of clothes. You won't find a better
tailor than Isaksen — just say I sent you, that's
all ! "

This was really rather more than I could
swallow. What did he want to poke his nose
in my affairs for? Was it any concern of his
which tailor I employed? The sight of this
empty-headed dandified "masher" embittered
me, and I reminded him rather brutally of ten

56 Hunger

shillings he had borrowed from me. But before
he could reply I regretted that I had asked for
it. I got ashamed and avoided meeting his
eyes, and, as a lady came by just then, I stepped
hastily aside to let her pass, and seized the op-
portunity to proceed on my way.

What should I do with myself whilst I
waited? I could not visit a cafe with empty
pockets, and I knew of no acquaintance that I
could call on at this time of day. I wended
my way instinctively up town, killed a good
deal of time between the market-place and
Graendsen, read the Aftenpost, which was
newly pasted up on the board outside the
office, took a turn down Karl Johann, wheeled
round and went straight on to Our Saviour's
Cemetery, where I found a quiet seat on the
slope near the Mortuary Chapel.

I sat there in complete quietness, dozed in
the damp air, mused, half-slept and shivered.

And time passed. Now, was it certain that
the story really was a little masterpiece of
inspired art? God knows if it might not
have its faults here and there. All things
well weighed, it was not certain that it would
be accepted ; no, simply not even accepted. It
was perhaps mediocre enough in its way,

Hunger 57

perhaps downright worthless. What security
had I that it was not already at this moment
lying in the waste-paper basket ? . . . My con-
fidence was shaken. I sprang up and stormed
out of the graveyard.

Down in Akersgaden I peeped into a shop
window, and saw that it was only a little past
noon. There was no use in looking up the
editor before four. The fate of my story filled me
with gloomy forebodings ; the more I thought
about it the more absurd it seemed to me that
I could have written anything useable with such
suddenness, half-asleep, with my brain full of
fever and dreams. Of course I had deceived
myself and been happy all through the long
morning for nothing ! ... Of course ! . . . I
rushed with hurried strides up Ullavoldsveien,
past St Han's Hill, until I came to the open
fields ; on through the narrow quaint lanes in
Sagene, past waste plots and small tilled fields,
and found myself at last on a country road,
the end of which I could not see.

Here I halted and decided to turn.

I was warm from the walk, and returned
slowly and very downcast. I met two hay-
carts. The drivers were lying flat upon the
top of their loads, and sang. Both were bare-

58 Hunger

headed, and both had round, care-free faces.
I passed them and thought to myself that
they were sure to accost me, sure to fling some
taunt or other at me, play me some trick ; and
as I got near enough, one of them called out
and asked what I had under my arm?

"A blanket!"

"What o'clock is it?" he asked then.

" I don't know rightly ; about three, I think ! "

Whereupon they both laughed and drove
on. I felt at the same moment the lash of a
whip curl round one of my ears, and my hat
was jerked off. They couldn't let me pass
without playing me a trick. I raised my hand
to my head more or less confusedly, picked my
hat out of the ditch, and continued my way.
Down at St Han's Hill I met a man who told
me it was past four. Past four! already past
four ! I mended my pace, nearly ran down to
the town, turned off towards the news office.
Perhaps the editor had been there hours ago,
and had left the office by now. I ran, jostled
against folk, stumbled, knocked against cars,
left everybody behind me, competed with the
very horses, struggled like a madman to arrive
there in time. I wrenched through the door,
took the stairs in four bounds, and knocked.

Hunger 59

No answer.

" He has left, he has left," I think. I try
the door which is open, knock once again,
and enter. The editor is sitting at his table,
his face towards the window, pen in hand,
about to write. When he hears my breath-
less greeting he turns half round, steals a
quick look at me, shakes his head, and says :

" Oh, I haven't found time to read your
sketch yet."

I am so delighted, because in that case
he has not rejected it, that I answer :

" Oh, pray, sir, don't mention it. I quite
understand — there is no hurry ; in a few days,
perhaps "

" Yes, I shall see ; besides, I have your
address."

I forget to inform him that I no longer
had an address, and the interview is over. I
bow myself out, and leave. Hope flames up
again in me ; as yet, nothing is lost — on the
contrary, I might, for that matter, yet win all.
And my brain began to spin a romance about
a great council in Heaven, in which it had
just been resolved that I should win — ay,
triumphantly win ten shillings for a story.

If I only had some place in which to take

60 Hunger

refuge for the night ! I consider where I
can stow myself away, and am so absorbed
in this query that I come to a standstill in
the middle of the street. I forget where I
am, and pose like a solitary beacon on a rock
in mid-sea, whilst the tides rush and roar
about it.

A newspaper boy offers me The Viking.

" It 's real good value, sir ! "

I look up, and start ; I am outside Semb's
shop again. I quickly turn to the right-about,
holding the parcel in front of me, and hurry
down Kirkegaden, ashamed and afraid that
anyone might have seen me from the window.
I pass by Ingebret's and the theatre, turn
round by the box-office, and go towards the
sea, near the fortress. I find a seat once more,
and begin to consider afresh.

Where in the world shall I find a shelter
for the night?

Was there a hole to be found where I
could creep in and hide myself till morning.
My pride forbade my returning to my lodging
— besides, it could never really occur to me to
go back on my word ; I rejected this thought
with great scorn, and I smiled superciliously
as I thought of the little red rocking-chair.

Hunger 61

By some association of ideas, I find myself
suddenly transported to a large, double room
I once occupied in Haegdehaugen. I could
see a tray on the table, filled with great
slices of bread-and-butter. The vision changed ;
it was transformed into beef — a seductive piece
of beef — a snow-white napkin, bread in plenty,
a silver fork. The door opened ; enter my
landlady, offering me more tea. . . .

Visions ; senseless dreams ! I tell myself
that were I to get food now my head would
become dizzy once more, fever would fill my
brain, and I would have to fight again against
many mad fancies. I could not stomach food,
my inclination did not lie that way ; that was
peculiar to me — an idiosyncrasy of mine.

Maybe as night drew on a way could be
found to procure shelter. There was no hurry ;
at the worst, I could seek a place out in the
woods. I had the entire environs of the city
at my disposal ; as yet, there was no degree
of cold worth speaking of in the weather.

And outside there the sea rocked in drowsy
rest ; ships and clumsy, broad-nosed prams
ploughed graves in its bluish surface, and
scattered rays to the right and left, and glided
on, whilst the smoke rolled up in downy masses

62 Hunger

from the chimney-stacks, and the stroke of the
engine pistons pierced the clammy air with a
dull sound. There was no sun and no wind ;
the trees behind me were almost wet, and
the seat upon which I sat was cold and damp.

Time went. I settled down to doze, waxed
tired, and a little shiver ran down my back.
A while after I felt that my eyelids began to
droop, and I let them droop. . . .

When I awoke it was dark all around me.
I started up, bewildered and freezing. I seized
my parcel, and commenced to walk. I went
faster and faster in order to get warm, slapped
my arms, chafed my legs — which by now I
could hardly feel under me — and thus reached
the watch-house of the fire brigade. It was
nine o'clock ; I had been asleep for several
hours.

Whatever shall I do with myself? I must
go to some place. I stand there and stare
up at the watch-house, and query if it would
not be possible to succeed in getting into one
of the passages if I were to watch for a moment
when the watchman's back was turned. I
ascend the steps, and prepare to open a
conversation with the man. He lifts his axe
in salute, and waits for what I may have to

Hunger 63

say. The uplifted axe, with its edge turned
against me, darts like a cold slash through
my nerves. I stand dumb with terror before
this armed man, and draw involuntarily back.
I say nothing, only glide farther and farther
away from him. To save appearances I draw
my hand over my forehead, as if I had forgotten
something or other, and slink away. When
I reached the pavement again I felt as much
saved as if I had just escaped a great peril,
and I hurried away.

Cold and famished, more and more miserable
in spirit, I flew up Carl Johann. I began
to swear out aloud, troubling myself not a
whit as to whether anyone heard me or not.
Arrived at Parliament House, just near the
first trees, I suddenly, by some association of
ideas, bethought myself of a young artist I
knew, a stripling I had once saved from an
assault in the Tivoli, and upon whom I had
called later on. I snap my fingers gleefully,
and wend my way to Tordenskjiolds Street,
find the door, on which is fastened a card with
C. Zacharias Bartel on it, and knock.

He came out himself, and smelt so fearfully
of ale and tobacco that it was horrible.

"Good-evening!" I say.

64 Hunger

" Good-evening ! is that you ? Now, why
the deuce do you come so late? It doesn't
look at all its best by lamplight. I have added
a hayrick to it since, and have made a few
other alterations. You must see it by daylight ;
there is no use our trying to see it now ! "

" Let me have a look at it now, all the same,"
said I ; though, for that matter, I did not in
the least remember what picture he was talking
about.

" Absolutely impossible," he replied ; " the
whole thing will look yellow ; and, besides,
there's another thing" — and he came towards
me, whispering : " I have a little girl inside
this evening, so it's clearly impracticable."

" Oh, in that case, of course there 's no ques-
tion about it."

I drew back, said good - night, and went
away.

So there was no way out of it but to seek
some place out in the woods. If only the
fields were not so damp. I patted my blanket,
and felt more and more at home at the thought
of sleeping out. I had worried myself so long
trying to find a shelter in town that I was
wearied and bored with the whole affair. It
would be a positive pleasure to get to rest,

Hunger 65

to resign myself; so I loaf down the street
without a thought in my head. At a place in
Haegdehaugen I halted outside a provision
shop where some food was displayed in the
window. A cat lay there and slept beside a
round French roll. There was a basin of lard
and several basins of meal in the background.
I stood a while and gazed at these eatables ;
but as I had no money wherewith to buy, I
turned quickly away and continued my tramp.
I went very slowly, passed by Majorstuen,
went on, always on — it seemed to me for hours,
— and came at length to Bogstad's wood.

I turned off the road here, and sat down
to rest. Then I began to look about for a
place to suit me, to gather together heather
and juniper leaves, and make up a bed on a
little declivity where it was a bit dry. I
opened the parcel and took out the blanket ;
I was tired and exhausted with the long walk,
and lay down at once. I turned and twisted
many times before I could get settled. My
ear pained me a little — it was slightly swollen
from the whip-lash — and I could not lie on it.
I pulled off my shoes and put them under my
head, with the paper from Semb on top.

And the great spirit of darkness spread a

66 Hunger

shroud over me . . . everything was silent —
everything. But up in the heights soughed
the everlasting song, the voice of the air, the
distant, toneless humming which is never silent.
I listened so long to this ceaseless faint
murmur that it began to bewilder me ; it was
surely a symphony from the rolling spheres
above. Stars that intone a song. . . .

" I am damned if it is, though," I exclaimed ;
and I laughed aloud to collect my wits.
" They 're night-owls hooting in Canaan ! "

I rose again, pulled on my shoes, and
wandered about in the gloom, only to lay
down once more. I fought and wrestled with
anger and fear until nearly dawn, then fell
asleep at last.

It was broad daylight when I opened my
eyes, and I had a feeling that it was going on
towards noon.

I pulled on my shoes, packed up the blanket
again, and set out for town. There was no
sun to be seen to-day either ; I shivered like
a dog, my feet were benumbed, and water
commenced to run from my eyes, as if they
could not bear the daylight.

It was three o'clock. Hunger began to assail

i

Hunger 67

me downright in earnest. I was faint, and now
and again I had to retch furtively. I swung
round by the Dampkokken,* read the bill of
fare, and shrugged my shoulders in a way to
attract attention, as if corned beef or salt pork
was not meet food for me. After that I went
towards the railway station.

A singular sense of confusion suddenly darted
through my head. I stumbled on, determined
not to heed it ; but I grew worse and worse, and
was forced at last to sit down on a step. My
whole being underwent a change, as if some-
thing had slid aside in my inner self, or as if a
curtain or tissue of my brain was rent in two.

I was not unconscious; I felt that my ear
was gathering a little, and, as an acquaintance
passed by, I recognised him at once and got
up and bowed.

What sort of fresh, painful perception was
this that was being added to the rest ? Was it
a consequence of sleeping in the sodden fields,
or did it arise from my not having had any
breakfast yet? Looking the whole thing
squarely in the face, there was no meaning
in living on in this manner, by Christ's holy
pains, there wasn't. I failed to see either how

* Steam cooking-kitchen and famous cheap eating-house.

68 Hunger

I had made myself deserving of this special per-
secution ; and it suddenly entered my head that
I might just as well turn rogue at once and go
to my " Uncle's " with the blanket. I could
pawn it for a shilling, and get three full meals,
and so keep myself going until I thought of
something else. Tis true I would have to
swindle Hans Pauli. I was already on my way
to the pawn-shop, but stopped outside the door,
shook my head irresolutely, then turned back.
The farther away I got the more gladsome,
ay, delighted I became, that I had conquered
this strong temptation. The consciousness that
I was yet pure and honourable rose to my head,
filled me with a splendid sense of having prin-
ciple, character, of being a shining white beacon
in a muddy, human sea amidst floating wreck.
Pawn another man's property for the sake
of a meal, eat and drink one's self to perdi-
tion, brand one's soul with the first little
sear, set the first black mark against one's
honour, call one's self a blackguard to one's
own face, and needs must cast one's eyes
down before one's self? Never ! never ! It
could never have been my serious intention —
it had really never seriously taken hold of me ;
in fact, I could not be answerable for every

Hunger 69

loose, fleeting, desultory thought, particularly
with such a headache as I had, and nearly
killed carrying a blanket, too, that belonged
to another fellow.

There would surely be some way or another
of getting help when the right time came!
Now, there was the grocer in Groenlandsleret.
Had I importuned him every hour in the
day since I sent in my application? Had I
rung the bell early and late, and been turned
away? Why, I had not even applied person-
ally to him or sought an answer! It did not
follow, surely, that it must needs be an ab-
solutely vain attempt.

Maybe I had luck with me this time.
Luck often took such a devious course, and I
started for Groenlandsleret.

The last spasm that had darted through
my head had exhausted me a little, and I
walked very slowly and thought over what I
would say to him.

Perhaps he was a good soul ; if the whim
seized him he might pay me for my work a
shilling in advance, even without my asking
for it. People of that sort had sometimes
the most capital ideas.

I stole into a doorway and blackened the

yo Hunger

knees of my trousers with spittle to try and
make them look a little respectable, left the
parcel behind me in a dark corner at the
back of a chest, and entered the little shop.

A man is standing pasting together bags
made of old newspaper.

" I would like to see Mr Christie," I said.

"That's me!" replied the man.

" Indeed ! " Well my name was so-and-so.
I had taken the liberty of sending him an
application. I did not know if it had been
of any use.

He repeated my name a couple of times
and commenced to laugh.

"Well now, you shall see," he said, taking
my letter out of his breast-pocket, "if you
will just be good enough to see how you
deal with dates, sir. You dated your letter
1848," and the man roared with laughter.

"Yes, that was rather a mistake," I said
abashed — a distraction, a want of thought; I
admitted it.

"You see I must have a man who, as a
matter of fact, makes no mistakes in figures,"
said he. " I regret it, your handwriting is
clear, and I like your letter, too, but "

I waited a while ; this could not possibly

Hunger 71

be the man's final say. He busied himself
again with the bags.

" Yes, it was a pity," I said ; " really an
awful pity, but of course it would not occur
again ; and, after all, surely this little error
could not have rendered me quite unfit to
keep books?"

"No, I didn't say that," he answered, "but
in the meantime it had so much weight with
me that I decided at once upon another man."

"So the place is filled?"

"Yes."

"A — h well, then there's nothing more to
be said about it ! "

"No! I'm sorry, but "

"Good-evening!" said I.

Fury welled up in me, blazing with brutal
strength. I fetched my parcel from the
entry, set my teeth together, jostled against
the peaceful folk on the footpath, and never
once asked their pardon.

As one man stopped and set me to rights
rather sharply for my behaviour, I turned
round and screamed a single meaningless
word in his ear, clenched my fist right under
his nose, and stumbled on, hardened by a
blind rage that I could not control.

72 Hunger

He called a policeman, and I desired
nothing better than to have one between my
hands just for one moment. I slackened my
pace intentionally in order to give him an
opportunity of overtaking me ; but he did
not come. Was there now any reason what-
ever that absolutely every one of one's most
earnest and most persevering efforts should
fail? Why, too, had I written 1848? In
what way did that infernal date concern me?
Here I was going about starving, so that my
entrails wriggle together in me like worms,
and it was, as far as I knew, not decreed in
the book of fate that anything in the shape
of food would turn up later on in the day.

I was becoming mentally and physically
more and more prostrate ; I was letting my-
self down each day to less and less honest
actions, so that I lied on each day without
blushing, cheated poor people out of their
rent, struggled with the meanest thoughts of
making away with other men's blankets — all
without remorse or prick of conscience.

Foul places began to gather in my inner
being, black spores which spread more and
more. And up in Heaven God Almighty sat
and kept a watchful eye on me, and took

Hunger 73

heed that my destruction proceeded in accord-
ance with all the rules of art, uniformly and
gradually, without a break in the measure.

But in the abysses of hell the angriest
devils bristled with rage because it lasted
such a long time until I committed a mortal
sin, an unpardonable offence for which God
in His justice must cast me — down. . . .

I quickened my pace, hurried faster and
faster, turned suddenly to the left and found
myself, excited and angry, in a light ornate
doorway. I did not pause, not for one
second, but the whole peculiar ornamentation
of the entrance struck on my perception in a
flash ; every detail of the decoration and the
tiling of the floor stood clear on my mental
vision as I sprang up the stairs. I rang
violently on the second floor. Why should I
stop exactly on the second floor? And why
just seize hold of this bell which was some
little way from the stairs?

A young lady in a grey gown with black
trimming came out and opened the door.
She looked for a moment in astonishment at
me, then shook her head and said :

"No, we have not got anything to-day,"
and she made a feint to close the door.

74 Hunger

What induced me to thrust myself in this
creature's way? She took me without further
ado for a beggar.

I got cool and collected at once. I raised
my hat, made a respectful bow, and, as if I
had not caught her words, said, with the ut-
most politeness :

" I hope you will excuse me, madam, for
ringing so hard, the bell was new to me. Is
it not here that an invalid gentleman lives
who has advertised for a man to wheel him
about in a chair?"

She stood awhile and digested this men-
dacious invention, and seemed to be irresolute
in her summing up of my person.

" No ! " she said at length ; " no, there is no
invalid gentleman living here."

" Not really ? An elderly gentleman — two
hours a day — sixpence an hour?"

" No ! "

" Ah ! in that case, I again ask pardon," said
I. " It is perhaps on the first floor. I only
wanted, in any case, to recommend a man I
know, in whom I am interested ; my name
is Wedel-Jarlsberg* and I bowed again and
drew back. The young lady blushed crimson,

* The last family bearing title of nobility in Norway.

Hunger 75

and in her embarrassment could not stir from
the spot, but stood and stared after me as I
descended the stairs.

My calm had returned to me, and my head
was clear. The lady's saying that she had
nothing for me to-day had acted upon me like
an icy shower. So it had gone so far with me
that any one might point at me, and say to
himself, " There goes a beggar — one of those
people who get their food handed out to them
at folk's back-doors ! "

I halted outside an eating-house in Moller
Street, and sniffed the fresh smell of meat
roasting inside ; my hand was already upon
the door-handle, and I was on the point of
entering, without any fixed purpose, when I
bethought myself in time, and left the spot.
On reaching the market, and seeking for a
place to rest for a little, I found all the benches
occupied, and I sought in vain all round outside
the church for a quiet seat, where I could sit
down.

Naturally. I told myself, gloomily — naturally,
naturally ; and I commenced to walk again. I
took a turn round the fountain at the corner of
the bazaar, and swallowed a mouthful of water.
On again, dragging one foot after the other ;

j6 Hunger

stopped for a long time before each shop
window ; halted, and watched every vehicle that
drove by. I felt a scorching heat in my head,
and something pulsated strangely in my
temples. The water I had drunk disagreed
with me fearfully, and I retched, stopping here
and there to escape being noticed in the open
street. In this manner I came up to Our
Saviour's Cemetery.

I sat down here, with my elbows on my
knees and my head in my hands. In this
cramped position I was more at ease, and I no
longer felt the little gnawing in my chest.

A stone-cutter lay on his stomach on a large
slab of granite, at the side of me, and cut in-
scriptions. He had blue spectacles on, and re-
minded me of an acquaintance of mine whom
I had almost forgotten.

If I could only knock all shame on the head
and apply to him. Tell him the truth right
out, that things were getting awfully tight with
me now ; ay, that I found it hard enough to
keep alive. I could give him my shaving-
tickets.

Zounds ! my shaving - tickets ; tickets for
nearly a shilling. I search nervously for this
precious treasure. As I do not find them

Hunger 77

quickly enough, I spring to my feet and search,
in a sweat of fear. I discover them at last in
the bottom of my breast-pocket, together with
other papers — some clean, some written on — of
no value.

I count these six tickets over many times,
backwards and forwards ; I had not much use
for them ; it might pass for a whim — a notion
of mine — that I no longer cared to get shaved.

I was saved to the extent of sixpence — a
white sixpence, of Kongsberg silver. The bank
closed at six ; I could watch for my man out-
side the Opland Caf£ between seven and eight.

I sat, and was for a long time pleased with
this thought. Time went. The wind blew
lustily through the chestnut trees around me,
and the day declined.

After all, was it not rather petty to come
slinking up with six shaving-tickets to a young
gentleman holding a good position in a bank ?
Perhaps he had already a book, maybe two,
quite full of spick and span tickets, a contrast
to the crumpled ones I held.

Who could tell ? I felt in all my pockets
for anything else I could let go with them, but
found nothing. If I could only offer him my
tie? I could well do without it if I buttoned

78 Hunger

my coat tightly up, which, by the way, I was
already obliged to do, as I had no waistcoat.
I untied it — it was a large overlapping bow
which hid half my chest, — brushed it carefully,
and folded it up in a piece of clean white
writing-paper, together with the tickets. Then
I left the churchyard and took the road leading
to the Opland.

It was seven by the Town Hall clock. I
walked up and down hard by the cafe, kept
close to the iron railings, and kept a sharp
watch on all who went in and came out of the
door. At last, about eight o'clock, I saw the
young fellow, fresh, elegantly dressed, coming
up the hill and across to the cafe door. My
heart fluttered like a little bird in my breast
as I caught sight of him, and I blurted out,
without even a greeting :

" Sixpence, old friend ! " I said, putting on
cheek ; " here is the worth of it," and I thrust
the little packet into his hand.

" Haven't got it," he exclaimed. " God
knows if I have ! " and he turned his purse
inside out right before my eyes. " I was out
last night and got totally cleared out ! You
must believe me, I literally haven't got it."

" No, no, my dear fellow ; I suppose it is so,"

Hunger 79

I answered, and I took his word for it. There
was, indeed, no reason why he should lie about
such a trifling matter. It struck me, too, that
his blue eyes were moist whilst he ransacked
his pockets and found nothing. I drew back.
" Excuse me," I said ; " it was only just that
I was a bit hard up." I was already a piece
down the street, when he called after me about
the little packet. "Keep it! keep it," I
answered ; " you are welcome to it. There
are only a few trifles in it — a bagatelle ; about
all I own in the world," and I became so
touched at my own words, they sounded so
pathetic in the twilight, and I fell a-
weeping. . . .

The wind freshened, the clouds chased madly
across the heavens, and it grew cooler and
cooler as it got darker. I walked, and cried
as I walked, down the whole street ; felt more
and more commiseration with myself, and re-
peated, time after time, a few words, an ejacu-
lation, which called forth fresh tears whenever
they were on the point of ceasing : " Lord
God, I feel so wretched ! Lord God, I feel so
wretched ! "

An hour passed ; passed with such strange
slowness, such weariness. I spent a long time

80 Hunger

in Market Street ; sat on steps, stole into door-
ways, and when any one approached, stood and
stared absently into the shops where people
bustled about with wares or money. At last
I found myself a sheltered place, behind a
deal hoarding, between the church and the
bazaar.

No ; I couldn't go out into the wood again
this evening. Things must take their course.
I had not strength enough to go, and it was
such an endless way there. I would kill
the night as best I could, and remain where
I was ; if it got all too cold, well, I could walk
round the church. I would not in any case
worry myself any more about that, and I leant
back and dozed.

The noise around me diminished ; the shops
closed. The steps of the pedestrians sounded
more and more rarely, and in all the windows
about the lights went out. I opened my eyes,
and became aware of a figure standing in front
of me. The flash of shining buttons told me
it was a policeman, though I could not see
the man's face.

" Good-night," he said.

" Good-night," I answered, and got afraid.

" Where do you live ? " he queried.

Hunger 81

I name, from habit and without thought, my
old address, the little attic.

He stood for a while.

" Have I done anything wrong ? " I asked,
anxiously.

" No, not at all ! " he replied ; " but you had
perhaps better be getting home now ; it 's cold
lying here."

"Ay, that's true; I feel it is a little chilly."
I said good-night, and instinctively took the
road to my old abode. If I only set about
it carefully, I might be able to get upstairs
without being heard ; there were eight steps in
all, and only the two top ones creaked under
my tread. Down at the door I took off my
shoes, and ascended. It was quiet everywhere.
I could hear the slow tick-tack of a clock,
and a child crying a little. After that I heard
nothing. I found my door, lifted the latch
as I was accustomed to do, entered the room,
and shut the door noiselessly after me.

Everything was as I had left it. The curtains
were pulled aside from the windows, and the
bed stood empty. I caught a glimpse of a
note lying on the table ; perhaps it was my
note to the landlady — she might never have
been up here since I went away.
F

82 Hunger

I fumbled with my hands over the white
spot, and felt, to my astonishment, that it was
a letter. I take it over to the window, examine
as well as it is possible in the dark the badly-
written letters of the address, and make out
at least my own name. Ah, I thought, an
answer from my landlady, forbidding me to
enter the room again if I were for sneaking
back.

Slowly, quite slowly I left the room, carrying
my shoes in one hand, the letter in the other,
and the blanket under my arm. I draw
myself up, set my teeth as I tread on the
creaking steps, get happily down the stairs,
and stand once more at the door. I put on
my shoes, take my time with the laces, sit
a while quietly after I 'm ready, and stare
vacantly before me, holding the letter in my
hand. Then I get up and go.

The flickering ray of a gas lamp gleams up
the street. I make straight for the light, lean
my parcel against the lamp-post and open the
letter. All this with the utmost deliberation.
A stream of light, as it were, darts through
my breast, and I hear that I give a little cry
— a meaningless sound of joy. The letter was
from the editor. My story was accepted —

Hunger 83

had been set in type immediately, straight off!
A few slight alterations. ... A couple of
errors in writing amended. . . . Worked out
with talent ... be printed to-morrow . . . half-
a-sovereign.

I laughed and cried, took to jumping and
running down the street, stopped, slapped my
thighs, swore loudly and solemnly into space
at nothing in particular. And time went.

All through the night until the bright dawn
I " jodled " about the streets and repeated —
"Worked out with talent — therefore a little
masterpiece — a stroke of genius — and half-a-
sovereign."

PART II

A FEW weeks later I was out one evening.

Once more I had sat out in a churchyard
and worked at an article for one of the news-
papers. But whilst I was struggling with it
eight o'clock struck, and darkness closed in,
and time for shutting the gates.

I was hungry — very hungry. The ten
shillings had, worse luck, lasted all too short.
It was now two, ay, nearly three days since
I had eaten anything, and I felt somewhat
faint ; holding the pencil even had taxed me
a little. I had half a penknife and a bunch
of keys in my pocket, but not a farthing.

When the churchyard gate shut I meant
to have gone straight home, but, from an in-
stinctive dread of my room — a vacant tinker's
workshop, where all was dark and barren, and
which, in fact, I had got permission to occupy
for the present — I stumbled on, passed, not
caring where I went, the Town Hall, right
to the sea, and over to a seat near the rail-
way bridge.

84

Hunger 85

At this moment not a sad thought troubled
me. I forgot my distress, and felt calmed
by the view of the sea, which lay peaceful and
lovely in the murkiness. For old habit's sake
I would please myself by reading through
the bit I had just written, and which seemed
to my suffering head the best thing I had
ever done.

I took my manuscript out of my pocket
to try and decipher it, held it close up to my
eyes, and ran through it, one line after the
other. At last I got tired, and put the papers
back in my pocket. Everything was still.
The sea stretched away in pearly blueness,
and little birds flitted noiselessly by me from
place to place.

A policeman patrols in the distance ; other-
wise there is not a soul visible, and the whole
harbour is hushed in quiet.

I count my belongings once more — half a
penknife, a bunch of keys, but not a farthing.
Suddenly I dive into my pocket and take
the papers out again. It was a mechanical
movement, an unconscious nervous twitch. I
selected a white unwritten page, and — God
knows where I got the notion from — but I
made a cornet, closed it carefully, so that it

86 Hunger

looked as if it were filled with something, and
threw it far out on to the pavement. The
breeze blew it onward a little, and then it
lay still.

By this time hunger had begun to assail
me in earnest. I sat and looked at the white
paper cornet, which seemed as if it might be
bursting with shining silver pieces, and incited
myself to believe that it really did contain
something. I sat and coaxed myself quite
audibly to guess the sum ; if I guessed aright,
it was to be mine.

I imagined the tiny, pretty penny bits at
the bottom and the thick fluted shillings on
top — a whole paper cornet full of money! I
sat and gazed at it with wide opened eyes,
and urged myself to go and steal it.

Then I hear the constable cough. What
puts it into my head to do the same ? I rise
up from the seat and repeat the cough three
times so that he may hear it. Won't he
jump at the cornet when he comes. I sat
and laughed at this trick, rubbed my hands
with glee, and swore with rollicking reckless-
ness. What a disappointment he will get,
the dog! Wouldn't this piece of villainy
make him inclined to sink into hell's hottest

Hunger 87

pool of torment ! I was drunk with starva-
tion ; my hunger had made me tipsy.

A few minutes later the policeman comes
by, clinking his iron heels on the pavement,
peering on all sides. He takes his time ; he
has the whole night before him ; he does not
notice the paper bag — not till he comes quite
close to it. Then he stops and stares at it.
It looks so white and so full as it lies there ;
perhaps a little sum — what? A little sum of
silver money? . . . and he picks it up. Hum
... it is light — very light ; maybe an expensive
feather ; some hat trimming. . . . He opened
it carefully with his big hands, and looked in.
I laughed, laughed, slapped my thighs, and
laughed like a maniac. And not a sound
issued from my throat ; my laughter was
hushed and feverish to the intensity of tears.

Clink, clink again over the paving-stones,
and the policeman took a turn towards the
landing-stage. I sat there, with tears in my
eyes, and hiccoughed for breath, quite beside
myself with feverish merriment. I commenced
to talk aloud, related to myself all about the
cornet, imitated the poor policeman's move-
ments, peeped into my hollow hand, and
repeated over and over again to myself, " He

88 Hunger

coughed as he threw it away — he coughed as
he threw it away." I added new words to
these, gave them additional point, changed the
whole sentence, and made it catching and
piquant. He coughed once — Kheu heu !

I exhausted myself in weaving variations on
these words, and the evening was far advanced
before my mirth ceased. Then a drowsy quiet
overcame me ; a pleasant languor which I did
not attempt to resist. The darkness had in-
tensified, and a slight breeze furrowed the
pearl-blue sea. The ships, the masts of which
I could see outlined against the sky, looked
with their black hulls like voiceless monsters
that bristled and lay in wait for me. I had
no pain — my hunger had taken the edge off it.
In its stead I felt pleasantly empty, untouched
by everything around me, and glad not to
be noticed by any one. I put my feet up on
the seat and leant back. Thus I could best
appreciate the well-being of perfect isolation.
There was not a cloud on my mind, not a
feeling of discomfort, and, so far as my thought
reached, I had not a whim, not a desire un-
satisfied. I lay with open eyes, in a state of
utter absence of mind. I felt myself charmed
away. Moreover, not a sound disturbed me.

Hunger 89

Soft darkness had hidden the whole world
from my sight, and buried me in ideal rest.
Only the lonely, crooning voice of silence
strikes in monotones on my ear, and the
dark monsters out there will draw me to
them when night comes, and they will bear
me far across the sea, through strange lands
where no man dwells, and they will bear me
to Princess Ylajali's palace, where an undreamt
of grandeur awaits me, greater than that of
any other man. And she herself will be sit-
ting in a dazzling hall where all is of amethyst,
on a throne of yellow roses, and will stretch
out her hands to me when I alight ; will smile
and call as I approach and kneel : " Welcome,
welcome, knight, to me and my land ! I have
waited twenty summers for you, and called
for you on all bright nights. And when you
sorrowed I have wept here, and when you
slept I have breathed sweet dreams in you ! "
. . . And the fair one clasps my hand and,
holding it, leads me through long corridors
where great crowds of people cry, " Hurrah ! "
through bright gardens where three hundred
tender maidens laugh and play ; and through
another hall where all is of emerald ; and here
the sun shines.

90 Hunger

In the corridors and galleries choirs of
musicians march by, and rills of perfume are
wafted towards me.

I clasp her hand in mine ; I feel the wild
witchery of enchantment shiver through my
blood, and I fold my arms around her, and she
whispers, " Not here ; come yet farther ! " and
we enter a crimson room, where all is of ruby,
a foaming glory, in which I faint.

Then I feel her arms encircle me ; her
breath fans my face with a whispered "Wel-
come, loved one ! Kiss me . . . more . . .
more. . . ."

I see from my seat stars shooting before my
eyes, and my thoughts are swept away in a
hurricane of light. . . .

I had fallen asleep where I lay, and was
awakened by the policeman. There I sat, re-
called mercilessly to life and misery. My first
feeling was of stupid amazement at finding
myself in the open air ; but this was quickly
replaced by a bitter despondency. I was near
crying with sorrow at being still alive. It had
rained whilst I slept, and my clothes were
soaked through and through, and I felt a
damp cold in my limbs.

The darkness was denser ; it was with

Hunger 91

difficulty that I could distinguish the police-
man's face in front of me.

" So, that 's right," he said ; " get up now."

I got up at once ; if he had commanded
me to lie down again I would have obeyed
too. I was fearfully dejected, and utterly
without strength ; added to that, I was almost
instantly aware of the pangs of hunger again.

" Hold on there! " the policeman shouted after
me ; " why, you 're walking off without your
hat, you Juggins ! So — h there ; now, go on."

" I indeed thought there was something —
something I had forgotten," I stammered,
absently. " Thanks, good - night ! " and I
stumbled away.

If one only had a little bread to eat ; one
of those delicious little brown loaves that one
could bite into as one walked along the street ;
and as I went on I thought over the particular
sort of brown bread that would be so unspeak-
ably good to munch. I was bitterly hungry ;
wished myself dead and buried ; I got maudlin,
and wept.

There never was any end to my misery.
Suddenly I stopped in the street, stamped on
the pavement, and cursed loudly. What was
it he called me ? A " Juggins " ? I would just

92 Hunger

show him what calling me a " Juggins " means.
I turned round and ran back. I felt red-hot
with anger. Down the street I stumbled, and
fell, but I paid no heed to it, jumped up again,
and ran on. But by the time I reached the
railway station I had become so tired that I
did not feel able to proceed all the way to the
landing-stage ; besides, my anger had cooled
down with the run. At length I pulled up and
drew breath. Was it not, after all, a matter of
perfect indifference to me what such a police-
man said ? Yes ; but one couldn't stand every-
thing. Right enough, I interrupted myself;
but he knew no better. And I found this
argument satisfactory. I repeated twice to
myself, " He knew no better " ; and with that I
returned again.

" Good Lord ! " thought I, wrathfully, " what
things you do take into your head : running
about like a madman through the soaking wet
streets on dark nights." My hunger was now
tormenting me excruciatingly, and gave me no
rest Again and again I swallowed saliva to
try and satisfy myself a little ; I fancied it
helped.

I had been pinched, too, for food for ever
so many weeks before this last period set in,

Hunger 93

and my strength had diminished considerably
of late. When I had been lucky enough to
raise five shillings by some manoeuvre or
another they only lasted any time with diffi-
culty; not long enough for me to be restored
to health before a new hunger period set in
and reduced me again. My back and shoulders
caused me the worst trouble. I could stop
the little gnawing I had in my chest by
coughing hard, or bending well forward as I
walked, but I had no remedy for back and
shoulders. Whatever was the reason that
things would not brighten up for me ? Was I
not just as much entitled to live as anyone
else ? for example, as Bookseller Pascha or
Steam Agent Hennechen ? Had I not two
shoulders like a giant, and two strong hands
to work with? and had I not, in sooth, even
applied for a place as wood -chopper in
Mollergaden in order to earn my daily
bread? Was I lazy? Had I not applied
for situations, attended lectures, written articles,
and worked day and night like a man pos-
sessed? Had I not lived like a miser, eaten
bread and milk when I had plenty, bread alone
when I had little, and starved when I had
nothing? Did I live in an hotel? Had I a

94 Hunger

suite of rooms on the first floor ? Why, I am
living in a loft over a tinker's workshop, a loft
already forsaken by God and man last winter,
because the snow blew in. So I could not under-
stand the whole thing ; not a bit of it.

I slouched on, and dwelt upon all this, and
there was not as much as a spark of bitterness
or malice or envy in my mind.

I halted at a paint-shop and gazed into the
window. I tried to read the labels on a
couple of the tins, but it was too dark. Vexed
with myself over this new whim, and excited —
almost angry at not being able to make out
what these tins held, — I rapped twice sharply
on the window and went on.

Up the street I saw a policeman. I
quickened my pace, went close up to him,
and said, without the slightest provocation,
"It is ten o'clock."

" No, it 's two," he answered, amazed.

" No, it 's ten," I persisted ; " it is ten
o'clock ! " and, groaning with anger, I stepped
yet a pace or two nearer, clenched my fist,
and said, " Listen, do you know what, it 's
ten o'clock!"

He stood and considered a while, summed
up my appearance, stared aghast at me, and

Hunger 95

at last said, quite gently, " In any case, it 's
about time ye were getting home. Would ye
like me to go with ye a bit ? "

I was completely disarmed by this man's
unexpected friendliness. I felt that tears
sprang up to my eyes, and I hastened to
reply :

" No, thank you ! I have only been out a
little too late in a cafe\ Thank you very much
all the same ! "

He saluted with his hand to his helmet as
I turned away. His friendliness had over-
whelmed me, and I cried weakly, because I
had not even a little coin to give him.

I halted, and looked after him as he went
slowly on his way. I struck my forehead, and,
in measure, as he disappeared from my sight,
I cried more violently.

I railed at myself for my poverty, called
myself abusive names, invented furious desig-
nations— rich, rough nuggets — in a vein of
abuse with which I overwhelmed myself. I
kept on at this until I was nearly home. On
coming to the door I discovered I had dropped
my keys.

" Oh, of course," I muttered to myself, " why
shouldn't I lose my keys ? Here I am, living

96 Hunger

in a yard where there is a stable underneath
and a tinker's workshop up above. The door
is locked at night, and no one, no one can
open it ; therefore, why should I not lose my
keys?

" I am as wet as a dog — a little hungry — oh,
just ever such a little hungry, and slightly,
ay, absurdly tired about my knees ; therefore,
why should I not lose them ?

"Why, for that matter, had not the whole
house flitted out to Aker by the time I came
home and wished to enter it? "... and I laughed
to myself, hardened by hunger and exhaustion.

I could hear the horses stamp in the stables,
and I could see my window above, but I could
not open the door, and I could not get in.

It had begun to rain again, and I felt the
water soak through to my shoulders. At the
Town Hall I was seized by a bright idea. I
would ask the policeman to open the door.
I applied at once to a constable, and earnestly
begged him to accompany me and let me in,
if he could.

Yes, if he could, yes ! But he couldn't ; he
had no key. The police keys were not there ;
they were kept in the Detective Department.

What was I to do then?

Hunger 97

Well, I could go to an hotel and get a bed !

But I really couldn't go to an hotel and
get a bed ; I had no money, I had been out —
in a cafif ... he knew . . .

We stood a while on the Town Hall steps.
He considered and examined my personal ap-
pearance. The rain fell in torrents outside.

" Well then, you must go to the guard-house
and report yourself as homeless ! " said he.

Homeless ? I hadn't thought of that. Yes,
by Jove, that was a capital idea ; and I thanked
the constable on the spot for the suggestion.
Could I simply go in and say I was homeless ?

"Just that." . . .

"Your name?" inquired the guard.

" Tangen — Andreas Tangen ! "

I don't know why I lied ; my thoughts
fluttered about disconnectedly and inspired
me with many singular whims, more than I
knew what to do with. I hit upon this out-
of-the-way name on the spur of the moment,
and blurted it out without any calculation. I
lied without any occasion for doing so.

" Occupation ? "

This was driving me into a corner with a
vengeance. Occupation ! what was my oc-
G

98 Hunger

cupation? I thought first of turning myself
into a tinker — but I dared not ; firstly, I had
given myself a name that was not common
to every and any tinker — besides, I wore
pince-nez. It suddenly entered my head to
be foolhardy. I took a step forward and said
firmly, almost solemnly :

"A journalist."

The guard gave a start before he wrote it
down, whilst I stood as important as a home-
less Cabinet Minister before the barrier. It
roused no suspicions. The guard understood
quite well why I hesitated a little before
answering. What did it look like to see a
journalist in the night guard-house without a
roof over his head?

" On what paper, Herr Tangen ? "

" Morgenbladet J '" said I. "I have been
out a little too late this evening, more's the
shame ! "

" Oh, we won't mention that," he interrupted,
with a smile ; " when young people are out
... we understand ! "

Turning to a policeman, he said, as he rose
and bowed politely to me, " Show this gentle-
man up to the reserved section. Good-night ! "

I felt ice run down my back at my own

Hunger 99

boldness, and I clenched my hands to steady
myself a bit. If I only hadn't dragged in
the Morgenbladet. I knew Friele could show
his teeth when he liked, and I was reminded
of that by the grinding of the key turning
in the lock.

"The gas will burn for ten minutes," re-
marked the policeman at the door.

"And then does it go out?"

" Then it goes out ! "

I sat on the bed and listened to the turn-
ing of the key. The bright cell had a friendly
air ; I felt comfortably and well sheltered ; and
listened with pleasure to the rain outside — I
couldn't wish myself anything better than
such a cosy cell. My contentment increased.
Sitting on the bed, hat in hand, and with eyes
fastened on the gas jet over in the wall, I gave
myself up to thinking over the minutes of
my first interview with the police. This was
the first time, and how hadn't I fooled them ?
" Journalist ! — Tangen ! if you please ! and then
Morgenbladet /" Didn't I appeal straight to
his heart with Morgenbladet? "We won't
mention that ! Eh ? Sat in state in the
Stiftsgaarden till two o'clock ; forgot door-key
and a pocket-book with a thousand kroner at

ioo Hunger

home. Show this gentleman up to the reserved
section ! " . . .

All at once out goes the gas with a strange
suddenness, without diminishing or flickering.

I sit in the deepest darkness ; I cannot see
my hand, nor the white walls — nothing. There
was nothing for it but to go to bed, and I
undressed.

But I was not tired from want of sleep, and
it would not come to me. I lay a while gazing
into the darkness, this dense mass of gloom
that had no bottom — my thoughts could not
fathom it.

It seemed beyond all measure dense to me,
and I felt its presence oppress me. I closed
my eyes, commenced to sing half under my
breath, and tossed to and fro, in order to dis-
tract myself, but to no purpose. The dark-
ness had taken possession of my thoughts and
left me not a moment in peace. Supposing
I were myself to be absorbed in darkness ;
made one with it?

I raise myself up in bed and fling out my
arms. My nervous condition has got the upper
hand of me, and nothing availed, no matter
how much I tried to work against it. There
I sat, a prey to the most singular fantasies,

Hunger 101

listening to myself crooning lullabies, sweat-
ing with the exertion of striving to hush
myself to rest I peered into the gloom, and
I never in all the days of my life felt such
darkness. There was no doubt that I found
myself here, in face of a peculiar kind of dark-
ness ; a desperate element to which no one
had hitherto paid attention. The most ludi-
crous thoughts busied me, and everything made
me afraid.

A little hole in the wall at the head of my
bed occupies me greatly — a nail hole. I find
the marks in the wall — I feel it, blow into
it, and try to guess its depth. That was no
innocent hole — not at all. It was a down-
right intricate and mysterious hole, which I
must guard against ! Possessed by the thought
of this hole, entirely beside myself with curi-
osity and fear, I get out of bed and seize
hold of my half penknife in order to gauge
its depth, and convince myself that it does
not reach right into the next wall.

I lay down once more to try and fall asleep,
but in reality to wrestle again with the dark-
ness. The rain had ceased outside, and I
could not hear a sound. I continued for a
long time to listen for footsteps in the street,

102 Hunger

and got no peace until I heard a pedestrian
go by — to judge from the sound, a constable.
Suddenly I snap my ringers many times and
laugh : " That was the very deuce ! Ha —
ha ! " I imagined I had discovered a new
word. I rise up in bed and say, " It is not in
the language ; I have discovered it. ' Kuboa.'
It has letters as a word has. By the benign
God, man, you have discovered a word ! . . .
■ Kuboa ' . . . a word of profound import."

I sit with open eyes, amazed at my own
find, and laugh for joy. Then I begin to
whisper ; some one might spy on me, and I
intended to keep my discovery secret. I
entered into the joyous frenzy of hunger. I
was empty and free from pain, and I gave
free rein to my thoughts.

In all calmness I revolve things in my
mind. With the most singular jerks in my
chain of ideas I seek to explain the meaning
of my new word. There was no occasion
for it to mean either God or the Tivoli ; *
and who said that it was to signify cattle
show? I clench my hands fiercely, and re-
peat once again, " Who said that it was to sig-
nify cattle show ? " No ; on second thoughts,

* Theatre of Varieties, etc., and Garden in Christiania.

Hunger 103

it was not absolutely necessary that it should
mean padlock, or sunrise. It was not difficult
to find a meaning for such a word as this.
I would wait and see. In the meantime I
could sleep on it.

I lie there on the stretcher-bed and laugh slily,
but say nothing ; give vent to no opinion one
way or the other. Some minutes pass over,
and I wax nervous ; this new word torments
me unceasingly, returns again and again, takes
up my thoughts, and makes me serious. I had
fully formed an opinion as to what it should
not signify, but had come to no conclusion as
to what it should signify. "That is quite a
matter of detail," I said aloud to myself, and
I clutched my arm and reiterated : " That is
quite a matter of detail." The word was
found, God be praised ! and that was the
principal thing. But ideas worry me without
end and hinder me from falling asleep.
Nothing seemed good enough to me for this
unusually rare word. At length I sit up in
bed again, grasp my head in both hands, and
say, " No ! it is just this, it is impossible to let
it signify emigration or tobacco factory. If
it could have meant anything like that I
would have decided upon it long since and

104 Hunger

taken the consequences." No ; in reality the
word is fitted to signify something psychical,
a feeling, a state. Could I not apprehend it?
and I reflect profoundly in order to find
something psychical. Then it seems to me
that someone is interposing, interrupting my
confab. I answer angrily, " Beg pardon !
Your match in idiotcy is not to be found ; no,
sir! Knitting cotton? Ah! go to hell!"
Well, really I had to laugh. Might I ask
why should I be forced to let it signify knit-
ting cotton, when I had a special dislike to
its signifying knitting cotton? I had dis-
covered the word myself, so, for that matter, I
was perfectly within my right in letting it
signify whatsoever I pleased. As far as I
was aware, I had not yet expressed an
opinion as to . . .

But my brain got more and more confused.
At last I sprang out of bed to look for the
water-tap. I was not thirsty, but my head
was in a fever, and I felt an instinctive long-
ing for water. When I had drunk some I
got into bed again, and determined with all
my might to settle to sleep. I closed my
eyes and forced myself to keep quiet. I lay
thus for some minutes without making a

Hunger 105

movement. I sweated and felt my blood jerk
violently through my veins. No, it was really
too delicious the way he thought to find
money in the paper cornet ! He only coughed
once, too ! I wonder if he is pacing up and
down there yet ! Sitting on my bench ? the
pearly blue sea . . . the ships . . .

I opened my eyes ; how could I keep them
shut when I could not sleep? The same
darkness brooded over me ; the same un-
fathomable black eternity which my thoughts
strove against and could not understand. I
made the most despairing efforts to find a
word black enough to characterise this dark-
ness ; a word so horribly black that it would
darken my lips if I named it. Lord ! how dark
it was ! and I am carried back in thought to
the sea and the dark monsters that lay in wait
for me. They would draw me to them, and
clutch me tightly and bear me away by land
and sea, through dark realms that no soul has
seen. I feel myself on board, drawn through
waters, hovering in clouds, sinking — sinking.

I give a hoarse cry of terror, clutch . the
bed tightly — I had made such a perilous
journey, whizzing down through space like a
bolt. Oh, did I not feel that I was saved as

106 Hunger

I struck my hands against the wooden frame !
" This is the way one dies ! " said I to myself.
" Now you will die ! " and I lay for a while
and thought over that I was to die.

Then I start up in bed and ask severely,
" If I found the word, am I not absolutely with-
in my right to decide myself what it is to
signify ? " . . I could hear myself that I was
raving ; I could hear it now whilst I was
talking. My madness was a delirium of
weakness and prostration, but I was not out
of my senses. All at once the thought
darted through my brain that I was insane.
Seized with terror, I spring out of bed again, I
stagger to the door, which I try to open, fling
myself against it a couple of times to burst
it, strike my head against the wall, bewail
loudly, bite my fingers, cry and curse . . .

All was quiet ; only my own voice echoed
from the walls. I had fallen to the floor,
incapable of stumbling about the cell any
longer.

Lying there I catch a glimpse, high up,
straight before my eyes, of a greyish square
in the wall, a suggestion of white, a pre-
sage— it must be of daylight. I felt it must
be daylight, felt it through every pore in my

Hunger 107

body. Oh, did I not draw a breath of de-
lighted relief! I flung myself flat on the
floor and cried for very joy over this blessed
glimpse of light, sobbed for very gratitude,
blew a kiss to the window, and conducted
myself like a maniac. And at this moment
I was perfectly conscious of what I was
doing. All my dejection had vanished ; all
despair and pain had ceased, and I had at
this moment, at least as far as my thought
reached, not a wish unfulfilled. I sat up on
the floor, folded my hands, and waited patiently
for the dawn.

What a night this had been !

That they had not heard any noise ! I
thought with astonishment. But then I was
in the reserved section, high above all the
prisoners. A homeless Cabinet Minister, if I
might say so.

Still in the best of humours, with eyes turned
towards the lighter, ever lighter square in the
wall, I amused myself acting Cabinet Minister ;
called myself Von Tangen, and clothed my
speech in a dress of red-tape. My fancies had
not ceased, but I was far less nervous. If I
only had not been thoughtless enough to leave
my pocket-book at home ! Might I not have

108 Hunger

the honour of assisting his Right Honourable
the Prime Minister to bed ? And in all serious-
ness, and with much ceremony I went over to
the stretcher and lay down.

By this it was so light that I could dis-
tinguish in some degree the outlines of the
cell and, little by little, the heavy handle of
the door. This diverted me ; the monotonous
darkness so irritating in its impenetrability
that it prevented me from seeing myself was
broken ; my blood flowed more quietly ; I soon
felt my eyes close.

I was aroused by a couple of knocks on
my door. I jumped up in all haste, and clad
myself hurriedly ; my clothes were still wet
through from last night.

"You'll report yourself downstairs to the
officer on duty," said the constable.

Were there more formalities to be gone
through, then? I thought with fear.

Below I entered a large room, where thirty
or forty people sat, all homeless. They were
called up one by one by the registering clerk,
and one by one they received a ticket for
breakfast. The officer on duty repeated
constantly to the policeman at his side,
" Did he get a ticket ? Don't forget to

Hunger 109

give them tickets ; they look as if they want
a meal ! "

And I stood and looked at these tickets,
and wished I had one.

" Andreas Tangen — journalist."

I advanced and bowed.

"But, my dear fellow, how did you come
here ? "

I explained the whole state of the case,
repeated the same story as last night, lied
without winking, lied with frankness — had been
out rather late, worse luck . . . cafe . . . lost
door-key . . .

" Yes," he said, and he smiled ; " that 's the
way ! Did you sleep well then ? "

I answered, "Like a Cabinet Minister — like
a Cabinet Minister ! "

" I am glad to hear it," he said, and he stood
up. " Good-morning."

And I went !

A ticket ! a ticket for me too ! I have not
eaten for more than three long days and
nights. A loaf! But no one offered me a
ticket, and I dared not demand one. It would
have roused suspicion at once. They would
begin to poke their noses into my private
affairs, and discover who I really was ; they

iio Hunger

might arrest me for false pretences ; and so,
with elevated head, the carriage of a million-
aire, and hands thrust under my coat-tails,
I stride out of the guard-house.

The sun shone warmly, early as it was. It
was ten o'clock, and the traffic in Young's
Market was in full swing. Which way should
I take ? I slapped my pockets and felt for my
manuscript. At eleven I would try and see
the editor. I stand a1 while on the balustrade,
and watch the bustle under me. Meanwhile,
my clothes commenced to steam. Hunger put
in its appearance afresh, gnawed at my breast,
clutched me, and gave small, sharp stabs that
caused me pain.

Had I not a friend — an acquaintance whom
I could apply to? I ransack my memory to
find a man good for a penny piece, and fail
to find him.

Well, it was a lovely day, anyway ! Sunlight
bright and warm surrounded me. The sky
stretched away like a beautiful sea over the
Lier mountains.

Without knowing it, I was on my way home.
I hungered sorely. I found a chip of wood
in the street to chew — that helped a bit. To
think that I hadn't thought of that sooner !

Hunger 1 1 1

The door was open ; the stable-boy bade me
good-morning as usual.

" Fine weather," said he.

"Yes," I replied. That was all I found to
say. Could I ask for the loan of a shilling?
He would be sure to lend it willingly if he
could ; besides that, I had written a letter for
him once.

He stood and turned something over in his
mind before he ventured on saying it.

" Fine weather ! Ahem ! I ought to pay
my landlady to-day ; you wouldn't be so kind
as to lend me five shillings, would you ? Only
for a few days, sir. You did me a service
once before, so you did."

"No; I really can't do it, Jens Olaj," I
answered. " Not now — perhaps later on, maybe
in the afternooon," and I staggered up the
stairs to my room.

I flung myself on my bed, and laughed.
How confoundedly lucky it was that he had
forestalled me ; my self-respect was saved.
Five shillings! God bless you, man, you might
just as well have asked me for five shares in
the Dampkokken, or an estate out in Aker.

And the thought of these five shillings made
me laugh louder and louder. Wasn't I a

112 Hunger

devil of a fellow, eh ? Five shillings ! My
mirth increased, and I gave way to it. Ugh !
what a shocking smell of cooking there was
here — a downright disgustingly strong smell
of chops for dinner, phew ! and I flung open
the window to let out this beastly smell.
"Waiter, a plate of beef!" Turning to the
table — this miserable table that I was forced
to support with my knees when I wrote — I
bowed profoundly, and said :

" May I ask will you take a glass of wine ?
No ? I am Tangen — Tangen, the Cabinet
Minister. I — more 's the pity — I was out a
little late . . . the door-key." Once more
my thoughts ran without rein in intricate
paths. I was continually conscious that I
talked at random, and yet I gave utterance
to no word without hearing and understand-
ing it. I said to myself, " Now you are
talking at random again," and yet I could
not help myself. It was as if one were
lying awake, and yet talking in one's sleep.

My head was light, without pain and with-
out pressure, and my mood was unshadowed.
It sailed away with me, and I made no
effort.

" Come in ! Yes, only come right in ! As

Hunger . 113

you see, everything is of ruby — Ylajali, Ylajali !
that swelling crimson silken divan ! Ah, how
passionately she breathes. Kiss me — loved
one — more — more ! Your arms are like pale
amber, your mouth blushes. . . . Waiter,
I asked for a plate of beef ! "

The sun gleamed in through the window,
and I could hear the horses below chewing
oats. I sat and mumbled over my chip gaily,
glad at heart as a child.

I kept all the time feeling for my manuscript.
It wasn't really in my thoughts, but instinct
told me it was there — 'twas in my blood to
remember it, and I took it out.

It had got wet, and I spread it out in the
sun to dry ; then I took to wandering up
and down the room. How depressing every-
thing looked ! Small scraps of tin shavings
were trodden into the floor ; there was not
a chair to sit upon, not even a nail in the
bare walls. Everything had been brought to
my " Uncle's," and consumed. A few sheets
of paper lying on the table, covered with
thick dust, were my sole possession ; the old
green blanket on the bed was lent to me by
Hans Pauli some months ago. . . . Hans
Pauli ! I snap my fingers. Hans Pauli
H

114 Hunger

Pettersen shall help me ! He would certainly
be very angry that I had not appealed to
him at once. I put on my hat in haste, gather
up the manuscript, thrust it into my pocket,
and hurry downstairs.

" Listen, Jens Olaj ! " I called into the stable,
" I am nearly certain I can help you in the
afternoon."

Arrived at the Town Hall I saw that it
was past eleven, and I determined on going
to the editor at once. I stopped outside the
office door to see if my sheets were paged
rightly, smoothed them carefully out, put them
back in my pocket, and knocked. My heart
beat audibly as I entered.

"Scissors" is there as usual. I inquire
timorously for the editor. No answer. The
man sits and probes for minor items of news
amongst the provincial papers.

I repeat my question, and advance a little
farther.

" The editor has not come yet ! " said
" Scissors " at length, without looking up.

How soon would he come?

" Couldn't say — couldn't say at all ! "

How long would the office be open?

To this I received no answer, so I was

Hunger 115

forced to leave. " Scissors " had not once looked
up at me during all this scene ; he had heard
my voice, and recognised me by it. You
are in such bad odour here, thought I, that
he doesn't even take the trouble to answer
you. I wonder if that is an order of the
editor's. I had, 'tis true enough, right from
the day my celebrated story was accepted for
ten shillings, overwhelmed him with work,
rushed to his door nearly every day with un-
suitable things that he was obliged to peruse
only to return them to me. Perhaps he wished
to put an end to this — take stringent meas-
ures. ... I took the road to Homandsbyen.

Hans Pauli Pettersen was a peasant-farmer's
son, a student, living in the attic of a five-
storeyed house ; therefore, Hans Pauli Pettersen
was a poor man. But if he had a shilling he
wouldn't stint it. I would get it just as sure as
if I already held it in my hand. And I rejoiced
the whole time, as I went, over the shilling,
and felt confident I would get it.

When I got to the street door it was closed
and I had to ring.

" I want to see Student Pettersen," I said,
and was about to step inside. " I know his
room."

n6 Hunger

" Student Pettersen," repeats the girl. " Was
it he who had the attic?" He had moved.

Well, she didn't know the address ; but he
had asked his letters to be sent to Hermansen
in Tolbodgaden, and she mentioned the
number.

I go, full of trust and hope, all the way to
Tolbodgaden to ask Hans Pauli's address ;
being my last chance, I must turn it to account.
On the way I came to a newly-built house,
where a couple of joiners stood planing outside.
I picked up a few satiny shavings from the
heap, stuck one in my mouth, and the other
in my pocket for by-and-by, and continued
my journey.

I groaned with hunger. I had seen a
marvellously large penny loaf at a baker's —
the largest I could possibly get for the price.

" I come to find out Student Pettersen's
address ! "

"Bernt Akers Street, No. 10, in the attic."
Was I going out there? Well, would J
perhaps be kind enough to take out a couple
of letters that had come for him ?

I trudge up town again, along the same
road, pass by the joiners — who are sitting
with their cans between their knees, eating

Hunger 117

their good warm dinner from the Dampkokken
— pass the bakers, where the loaf is still in
its place, and at length reach Bernt Akers
Street, half dead with fatigue. The door is
open, and I mount all the weary stairs to the
attic. I take the letters out of my pocket in
order to put Hans Pauli into a good humour
on the moment of my entrance.

He would be certain not to refuse to give
me a helping hand when I explained how
things were with me ; no, certainly not ; Hans
Pauli had such a big heart — I had always said
that of him. ... I discovered his card fastened
to the door — " H. P. Pettersen, Theological
Student, 'gone home.'"

I sat down without more ado — sat down on
the bare floor, dulled with fatigue, fairly beaten
with exhaustion. I mechanically mutter, a
couple of times, " Gone home — gone home ! "
then I keep perfectly quiet. There was not a
tear in my eyes ; I had not a thought, not a
fueling of any kind. I sat and stared, with
wide-open eyes, at the letters, without coming
to any conclusion. Ten minutes went over —
perhaps twenty or more. I sat stolidly on the
one spot, and did not move a finger. This
numb feeling of drowsiness was almost like a

1 1 8 Hunger

brief slumber. I hear someone come up the
stairs.

" It was Student Pettersen, I ... I have two
letters for him."

" He has gone home," replies the woman ;
" but he will return after the holidays. I could
take the letters if you like ! "

" Yes, thanks ! that was all right," said I.
" He could get them then when he came back ;
they might contain matters of importance.
Good-morning."

When I got outside, I came to a standstill
and said loudly in the open street, as I
clenched my hands : " I will tell you one thing,
my good Lord God, you are a bungler ! " and
I nod furiously, with set teeth, up to the
clouds ; " I will be hanged if you are not a
bungler."

Then I took a few strides, and stopped
again. Suddenly, changing my attitude, I fold
my hands, hold my head on one side, and ask,
with an unctuous, sanctimonious tone of voice :
" Hast thou appealed also to him, my child ? "
It did not sound right !

With a large H, I say, with an H as big
as a cathedral ! once again, " Hast thou in-
voked Him, my child ? " and I incline my head,

Hunger 119

and I make my voice whine, and answer,
No!

That didn't sound right either.

You can't play the hypocrite, you idiot!
Yes, you should say, I have invoked God my
Father ! and you must set your words to the
most piteous tune you have ever heard in your
life. So — o ! Once again ! Come, that was
better ! But you must sigh like a horse down
with the colic. So — o ! that 's right. Thus I
go, drilling myself in hypocrisy ; stamp im-
patiently in the street when I fail to succeed ;
rail at myself for being such a blockhead,
whilst the astonished passers-by turn round
and stare at me.

I chewed uninterruptedly at my shaving,
and proceeded, as steadily as I could, along
the street. Before I realised it, I was at the
railway square. The clock on Our Saviour's
pointed to half-past one. I stood for a bit and
considered. A faint sweat forced itself out
on my face, and trickled down my eyelids.
Accompany me down to the bridge, said I to
myself — that is to say, if you have spare time !
— and I made a bow to myself, and turned
towards the railway bridge near the wharf.

The ships lay there, and the sea rocked in

120 Hunger

the sunshine. There was bustle and move-
ment everywhere, shrieking steam - whistles,
quay porters with cases on their shoulders,
lively " shanties " coming from the prams. An
old woman, a vendor of cakes, sits near me,
and bends her brown nose down over her
wares. The little table before her is sinfully
full of nice things, and I turn away with dis-
taste. She is filling the whole quay with her
smell of cakes — phew ! up with the windows !

I accosted a gentleman sitting at my side,
and represented forcibly to him the nuisance of
having cake-sellers here, cake-sellers there. . . .
Eh ? Yes ; but he must really admit that. . . .
But the good man smelt a rat, and did not
give me time to finish speaking, for he got up
and left. I rose, too, and followed him, firmly
determined to convince him of his mistake.

"If it was only out of consideration for
sanitary conditions," said I ; and I slapped
him on the shoulders.

" Excuse me, I am a stranger here, and
know nothing of the sanitary conditions," he
replied, and stared at me with positive fear.

Oh, that alters the case ! if he was a stranger.
. . . Could I not render him a service in any
way ? show him about ? Really not ? because

Hunger 1 2 1

it would be a pleasure to me, and it would
cost him nothing. . . .

But the man wanted absolutely to get rid
of me, and he sheered off, in all haste, to the
other side of the street.

I returned to the bench and sat down. I was
fearfully disturbed, and the big street organ
that had begun to grind a tune a little farther
away made me still worse — a regular metallic
music, a fragment of Weber, to which a little
girl is singing a mournful strain. The flute-
like sorrowfulness of the organ thrills through
my blood ; my nerves vibrate in responsive
echo. A moment later, and I fall back on the
seat, whimpering and crooning in time to it.

Oh, what strange freaks one's thoughts are
guilty of when one is starving. I feel myself
lifted up by these notes, dissolved in tones, and
I float out, I feel so clearly. How I float out,
soaring high above the mountains, dancing
through zones of light ! . . .

" A halfpenny," whines the little organ-girl,
reaching forth her little tin plate ; " only a
halfpenny."

" Yes," I said, unthinkingly, and I sprang to
my feet and ransacked all my pockets. But
the child thinks I only want to make fun of

122 Hunger

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 re-
member you later on, maybe to-morrow. What
is your name ? Yes, that is a pretty name ; I
won't forget it. Till to-morrow, 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 waist-
coat.

What in the world made me look for it ?
Weeks had gone by since it was in my posses-
sion. 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 and laugh
aloud, and a policeman thrusts his way through
to me, and wants to know what is the row.

Hunger 123

" 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 ? How ever could I be so
careless?" I snatch up my manuscript, con-
vince 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 steal 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

124 Hunger

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 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 im-
poverished ; 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 the 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 police-
man, can't you ? I '11 wait here whilst you are
out looking for him, and I won't steal any-
thing 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

Hunger 125

recalled at once to reality. I recognise
" Scissors," and put the buttons carefully into
my pocket. He attempts to pass ; doesn't
even acknowledge my nod ; is suddenly in-
tently 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*

" 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
* Dwelling of the civil governor of a Stift or diocese.

126 Hunger

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 in-
quired.

" 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."

Hunger 127

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 thump-
ing lout ; I '11 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

128 Hunger

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 refresh-
ing 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 small bird
sang on a tree on the other side of the street.

Hunger 129

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 to dissemble. From exhaustion, and you
should have gasped like a horse.

When I got to the fire look-out, I halted
afresh, seized by a new idea. I snapped my
fingers, burst into a loud laugh that confounded
the passers-by, and said : " Now you shall just
go to Levion the parson. You shall, as sure as
death — ay, just for a try. What have you got to
lose by it ? and it is such glorious weather ! "

I entered Pascha's book-shop, found Pastor
Levion's address in the directory, and started
for it.

Now for it! said I. Play no pranks. Con-
science, did you say? No rubbish, if you
I

130 Hunger

please. You are too poor to support a con-
science. You are hungry ; you have come
on important business — the first thing needful.
But you shall hold your head askew, and set
your words to a sing-song. You won't ! What ?
Well then, I won't go a step farther. Do you
hear that ? Indeed, you are in a sorely tempted
condition, fighting with the powers of darkness
and great voiceless monsters at night, so that it
is a horror to think of; you hunger and thirst
for wine and milk, and don't get them. It has
gone so far with you. Here you stand and
haven't as much as a halfpenny to bless your-
self with. But you believe in grace, the Lord
be praised ; you haven't yet lost your faith ;
and then you must clasp your hands together,
and look a very Satan of a fellow for believing
in grace. As far as Mammon was concerned,
why, you hated Mammon with all its pomps
in any form. Now it's quite another thing
with a psalm-book — a souvenir to the extent
of a few shillings. ... I stopped at the pastor's
door, and read, "Office hours, 12 to 4."

Mind, no fudge, I said ; now we '11 go ahead
in earnest! So hang your head a little more,
and I rang at the private entrance.

" I want to see the pastor," said I to the

Hunger 1 3 1

maid ; but it was not possible for me to get
in God's name yet awhile.

" He has gone out."

Gone out, gone out! That destroyed my
whole plan ; scattered all I had intended to
say to the four winds. What had I gained
then by the long walk ? There I stood.

"Was it anything particular?" questioned
the maid.

" Not at all," I replied, " not at all." It was
only just that it was such glorious God's
weather that I thought I would come out
and make a call.

There I stood, and there she stood. I
purposely thrust out my chest to attract her
attention to the pin that held my coat to-
gether. I implored her with a look to see
what I had come for, but the poor creature
didn't understand it at all.

Lovely God's weather. Was not the mistress
at home either?

Yes ; but she had gout, and lay on a sofa
without being able to move herself. . . . Per-
haps I would leave a message or something?

No, not at all ; I only just took walks like
this now and again, just for exercise ; it was
so wholesome after dinner. ... I set out on

132 Hunger

the road back — what would gossiping longer
lead to? Besides, I commenced to feel dizzy.
There was no mistake about it ; I was about
to break down in earnest. Office hours from
12 to 4. I had knocked at the door an hour
too late. The time of grace was over. I sat
down on one of the benches near the church
in the market. Lord ! how black things began
to look for me now ! I did not cry ; I was
too utterly tired, worn to the last degree. I
sat there without trying to arrive at any
conclusion, sad, motionless, and starving. My
chest was much inflamed ; it smarted most
strangely and sorely — nor would chewing shav-
ings help me much longer. My jaws were
tired of that barren work, and I let them rest.
I simply gave up. A brown orange-peel, too,
I had found in the street, and which I had
at once commenced to chew, had given me
nausea. I was ill — the veins swelled up bluely
on my wrists. What was it I had really sought
after? Run about the whole live-long day
for a shilling, that would but keep life in me
for a few hours longer. Considering all, was
it not a matter of indifference if the inevitable
took place one day earlier or one day later?
If I had conducted myself like an ordinary

Hunger 133

being I should have gone home long ago,
and laid myself down to rest, and given in.
My mind was clear for a moment. Now I
was to die. It was in the time of the fall,
and all things were hushed to sleep. I had
tried every means, exhausted every resource
of which I knew. I fondled this thought senti-
mentally, and each time I still hoped for a
possible succour I whispered repudiatingly :
"You fool, you have already begun to die."

I ought to write a couple of letters, make
all ready — prepare myself. I would wash
myself carefully, and tidy my bed nicely. I
would lay my head upon the sheets of white
paper, the cleanest things I had left, and the
green blanket. I . . . The green blanket ! Like
a shot I was wide awake. The blood mounted
to my head, and I got violent palpitation of
the heart. I arise from the seat, and start
to walk. Life stirs again in all my fibres, and
time after time I repeat disconnectedly, "The
green blanket — the green blanket." I go
faster and faster, as if it is a case of fetching
something, and stand after a little time in
my tinker's workshop. Without pausing a
moment, or wavering in my resolution, I go
over to the bed, and roll up Hans Pauli's

134 Hunger

blanket. It was a strange thing if this bright
idea of mine couldn't save me. I rose in-
finitely superior to the stupid scruples which
sprang up in me — half inward cries about a
certain stain on my honour. I bade good-bye
to the whole of them. I was no hero — no
virtuous idiot. I had my senses left.

So I took the blanket under my arm and
went to No 5 Stener's Street. I knocked,
and entered the big, strange room for the
first time. The bell on the door above my
head gave a lot of violent jerks. A man
enters from a side room, chewing, his mouth is
full of food, and stands behind the counter.

"Eh, lend me sixpence on my eye-glasses?"
said I. " I shall release them in a couple of
days, without fail — eh?"

"No! they're steel, aren't they?"

"Yes."

" No ; can't do it."

"Ah, no, I suppose you can't. Well, it was
really at best only a joke. Well, I have a
blanket with me for which, properly speaking,
I have no longer any use, and it struck me
that you might take it off my hands."

"I have — more's the pity — a whole store
full of bed-clothes," he replied ; and when I

Hunger 135

had opened it he just cast one glance over
it and said, " No, excuse me, but I haven't
any use for that, either."

" I wanted to show you the worst side
first," said I ; "it 's much better on the other
side."

" Ay, ay ; it 's no good. I wouldn't own
it; and you wouldn't raise a penny on it any-
where."

" No, it 's clear it isn't worth anything," I
said ; " but I thought it might go with another
old blanket at an auction."

"Well, no; it's no use."

"Three pence?" said I.

" No ; I won't have it all, man ! I wouldn't
have it in the house ! " I took it under my
arm and went home.

I acted as if nothing had passed, spread
it over the bed again, smoothed it well out,
as was my custom, and tried to wipe away
every trace of my late action. I could not
possibly have been in my right mind at the
moment when I came to the conclusion to
commit this rascally trick. The more I
thought over it the more unreasonable it
seemed to me. It must have been an attack
of weakness ; some relaxation in my inner self

136 Hunger

that had surprised me when off my guard.
Neither had I fallen straight into the trap.
I had half felt that I was going the wrong
road, and I expressly offered my glasses first,
and I rejoiced greatly that I had not had
the opportunity of carrying into effect this
fault which would have sullied the last hours
I had to live.

I wandered out into the city again. I let
myself sink upon one of the seats by Our
Saviour's Church ; dozed with my head on
my breast, apathetic after my last excitement,
sick and famished with hunger. And time
went by.

I should have to sit out this hour, too. It
was a little lighter outside than in the house,
and it seemed to me that my chest did not
pain quite so badly out in the open air. I
should get home, too, soon enough — and I
dozed, and thought, and suffered fearfully.

I had found a little pebble ; I wiped it
clean on my coat sleeve and put it into my
mouth so that I might have something to
mumble. Otherwise I did not stir, and didn't
even wink an eyelid. People came and went ;
the noise of cars, the tramp of hoofs, and
chatter of tongues filled the air. I might try

Hunger 1 37

with the buttons. Of course there would be
no use in trying ; and besides, I was now in a
rather bad way ; but when I came to consider
the matter closely, I would be obliged, as it
were, to pass in the direction of my " Uncle's "
as I went home. At last I got up, dragging
myself slowly to my feet, and reeled down
the streets. It began to burn over my eye-
brows— fever was setting in, and I hurried as
fast as I could. Once more I passed the
baker's shop where the little loaf lay. " Well,
we must stop here ! " I said, with affected
decision. But supposing I were to go in and
beg for a bit of bread? Surely that was a
fleeting thought, a flash ; it could never really
have occurred to me seriously. " Fie ! " I
whispered to myself, and shook my head, and
held on my way. In Rebslager a pair of
lovers stood in a doorway and talked together
softly ; a little farther up a girl popped her
head out of a window. I walked so slowly and
thoughtfully, that I looked as if I might be
deep in meditation on nothing in particular, and
the wench came out into the street. " How
is the world treating you, old fellow ? Eh, what,
are you ill ? Nay, the Lord preserve us, what
a face ! " and she drew away frightened. I

138 Hunger

pulled up at once : What 's amiss with my
face? Had I really begun to die? I felt
over my cheeks with my hand ; thin —
naturally, I was thin — my cheeks were like
two hollowed bowls ; but Lord ... I reeled
along again, but again came to a standstill ;
I must be quite inconceivably thin. Who knows
but that my eyes were sinking right into my
head? How did I look in reality? It was
the very deuce that one must let oneself turn
into a living deformity for sheer hunger's sake.
Once more I was seized by fury, a last flaring
up, a final spasm. "Preserve me, what a
face. Eh?" Here I was, with a head that
couldn't be matched in the whole country,
with a pair of fists that, by the Lord, could
grind a navvy into finest dust, and yet I
went and hungered myself into a deformity,
right in the town of Christiania. Was there
any rhyme or reason in that? I had sat in
saddle, toiled day and night like a carrier's
horse.

I had read my eyes out of their sockets, had
starved the brains out of my head, and what the
devil had I gained by it ? Even a street hussy
prayed God to deliver her from the sight of me.
Well, now, there should be a stop to it. Do

Hunger 139

you understand that? Stop it shall, or the
devil take a worse hold of me.

With steadily increasing fury, grinding my
teeth under the consciousness of my impotence,
with tears and oaths I raged on, without looking
at the people who passed me by. I commenced
once more to martyr myself, ran my forehead
against lamp-posts on purpose, dug my nails
deep into my palms, bit my tongue with frenzy
when it didn't articulate clearly, and laughed
insanely each time it hurt much.

Yes ; but what shall I do ? I asked myself at
last, and I stamped many times on the pave-
ment and repeated, What shall I do ? A gentle-
man just going by remarks, with a smile, " You
ought to go and ask to be locked up." I
looked after him. One of our well-known
lady's doctors, nicknamed " The Duke." Not
even he understood my real condition — a man I
knew; whose hand I had shaken. I grew quiet.
Locked up ? Yes, I was mad ; he was right.
I felt madness in my blood ; felt its darting pain
through my brain. So that was to be the end
of me ! Yes, yes ; and I resume my wearisome
painful walk. There was the haven in which I
was to find rest.

Suddenly I stop again. But not locked up !

140 Hunger

I say, not that ; and I grew almost hoarse with
fear. I implored grace for myself; begged to
the wind and weather not to be locked up. I
should have to be brought to the guard-house
again, imprisoned in a dark cell which had not
a spark of light in it. Not that ! There must
be other channels yet open that I had not tried,
and I would try them. I would be so earnestly
painstaking ; would take good time for it, and
go indefatigably round from house to house.
For example, there was Cisler the music-seller ;
I hadn't been to him at all. Some remedy
would turn up ! . . . Thus I stumbled on,
and talked until I brought myself to weep with
emotion. Cisler ! Was that perchance a hint
from on high ? His name had struck me for no
reason, and he lived so far away ; but I would
look him up all the same, go slowly, and rest
between times. I knew the place well ; I had
been there often, when times were good had
bought much music from him. Should I ask
him for sixpence ? Perhaps that might make
him feel uncomfortable. I would ask for a
shilling. I went into the shop, and asked for
the chief. They showed me into his office ;
there he sat — handsome, well-dressed in the
latest style — running down some accounts. I

Hunger 141

stammered through an excuse, and set forth my
errand. Compelled by need to apply to him
... it should not be very long till I could pay
it back . . . when I got paid for my newspaper
article . . . He would confer such a great
benefit on me. . . . Even as I was speaking
he turned about to his desk, and resumed his
work. When I had finished, he glanced side-
ways at me, shook his handsome head, and said,
" No " ; simply " no " — no explanation — not
another word.

My knees trembled fearfully, and I supported
myself against the little polished barrier. I
must try once more. Why should just his
name have occurred to me as I stood far away
from there in Vaterland ? Something in my
left side jerked a couple of times, and I broke
out into a sweat. I said I was really awfully
run down, and rather ill, worse luck. It would
certainly be no longer than a few days when I
could repay it. If he would be so kind ?

" My dear fellow, why do you come to me ? "
he queried ; " you are a perfect stranger off the
street to me ; go to the paper where you are
known."

" But only for this evening," said I ; "the office
is already shut up, and I am very hungry."

142 Hunger

He shook his head persistently ; kept on
shaking it after I had seized the handle of the
door. " Good-evening," I said. It was not any
hint from on high, thought I, and I smiled
bitterly. If it came to that, I could give as
good a hint as that myself. I dragged on one
block after the other ; now and then 1 rested on
a step. If only I could escape being locked up.
The terror of that cell pursued me all the time ;
left me no peace. Whenever I caught sight of
a policeman in my path I staggered into a side
street to avoid meeting him. Now, then, we
will count a hundred steps, and try our luck
again ! There must be a remedy some-
time. . . .

It was a little yarn-shop — a place in which
I had never before set foot ; a solitary man
behind the counter (there was an office beyond,
with a china plate on the door) was arranging
things on the shelves and counter. I waited till
the last customer had left the shop — a young
lady with dimples. How happy she looked !
I was not backward in trying to make an im-
pression with the pin holding my coat together.
I turned, and my chest heaved.

" Do you wish for anything ? " queried the
shopman.

Hunger 143

" Is the chief in ? " I asked.

" He is gone for a mountain tour in
Jotunhejmen," he replied. Was it anything
very particular, eh?

" It concerns a couple of pence for food,"
I said, and I tried to smile. " I am hungry,
and haven't a fraction."

" Then you 're just about as rich as I am,"
he remarked, and began to tidy some packages
of wool.

" Ah, don't turn me away — not now ! " I
said on the moment, with a cold feeling over
my whole body. " I am really nearly dead
with hunger ; it is now many days since I
have eaten anything."

With perfect gravity, without saying a word,
he began to turn his pockets inside out, one
by one. Would I not believe him, upon his
word? What?

" Only a halfpenny," said I, " and you
shall have a penny back in a couple of
days."

" My dear man, do you want me to steal
out of the till ? " he queried, impatiently.

" Yes," said I. " Yes ; take a halfpenny
out of the till."

" It won't be I that will do that," he observed ;

144 Hunger

adding, "and let me tell you, at the same
time, I Ve had about enough of this."

I tore myself out, sick with hunger, and
boiling with shame. I had turned myself
into a dog for the sake of a miserable bone,
and I had not got it. Nay, now there must
be an end of this ! It had really gone all
too far with me. I had held myself up for
many years, stood erect through so many
hard hours, and now, all at once, I had sunk
to the lowest form of begging. This one day
had coarsened my whole mind, bespattered
my soul with shamelessness. I had not been
too abashed to stand and whine in the pettiest
huckster's shop, and what had it availed me ?

But was I not then without the veriest atom
of bread to put inside my mouth ? I had suc-
ceeded in rendering myself a thing loathsome
to myself. Yes, yes ; but it must come to an
end. Presently they would lock the outer
door at home ? I must hurry unless I wished
to lie in the guard-house again.

This gave me strength. Lie in that cell
again I would not. With body bent forward,
and my hands pressed hard against my left
ribs to deaden the stings a little, I struggled
on, keeping my eyes fastened upon the paving-

Hunger 145

stones that I might not be forced to bow to
possible acquaintances, and hastened to the
fire look-out. God be praised ! it was only
seven o'clock by the dial on Our Saviour's ; I
had three hours yet before the door would
be locked. What a fright I had been in !

Well, there was not a stone left unturned.
I had done all I could. To think that I
really could not succeed once in a whole day !
If I told it no one could believe it ; if I were
to write it down they would say I had invented
it. Not in a single place ! Well, well, there
is no help for it. Before all, don't go and
get pathetic again. Bah ! how disgusting !
I can assure you, it makes me have a loathing
for you. If all hope is over, why, there is
an end of it. Couldn't I, for that matter,
steal a handful of oats in the stable. A streak
of light — a ray — yet I knew the stable was
shut.

I took my ease, and crept home at a slow,
snail's pace. I felt thirsty, luckily for the
first time through the whole day, and I went
and sought about for a place where I could get
a drink. I was a long distance away from the
bazaar, and I would not ask at a private
house. Perhaps, though, I could wait till I
K

146 Hunger

got home ; it would take a quarter of an hour.
It was not at all so certain that I could keep
down a draught of water, either ; my stomach
no longer suffered in any way — I even felt
nausea at the spittle I swallowed. But the
buttons ! I had not tried the buttons at all
yet. There I stood, stock-still, and commenced
to smile. Maybe there was a remedy, in spite
of all! I wasn't totally doomed. I should
certainly get a penny for them; to-morrow
I might raise another some place or other,
and Thursday I might be paid for my news-
paper article. I should just see it would
come out all right. To think that I could
really go and forget the buttons. I took
them out of my pocket, and inspected them
as I walked on again. My eyes grew dazed
with joy. I did not see the street ; I simply
went on. Didn't I know exactly the big
pawn-shop — my refuge in the dark evenings,
with my blood-sucking friend? One by one
my possessions had vanished there — my little
things from home — my last book. I liked to
go there on auction days, to look on, and
rejoice each time my books seemed likely to
fall into good hands. Magelsen, the actor, had
my watch ; I was almost proud of that. A

Hunger 147

diary, in which I had written my first small
poetical attempt, had been bought by an
acquaintance, and my topcoat had found a
haven with a photographer, to be used in the
studio. So there was no cause to grumble
about any of them. I held my buttons ready
in my hand ; " Uncle " is sitting at his desk,
writing. " I am not in a hurry," I say, afraid
of disturbing him, and making him impatient
at my application. My voice sounded so
curiously hollow I hardly recognised it again,
and my heart beat like a sledge-hammer.

He came smilingly over to me, as was his
wont, laid both his hands flat on the counter,
and looked at my face without saying anything.
Yes, I had brought something of which I would
ask him if he could make any use ; something
which is only in my way at home, assure you
of it — are quite an annoyance — some buttons.
Well, what then? what was there about the
buttons? and he thrusts his eyes down close
to my hand. Couldn't he give me a couple of
halfpence for them? — whatever he thought
himself — quite according to his own judgment.
"For the buttons?"— and "Uncle" stares
astonishedly at me — " for these buttons ? "
Only for a cigar or whatever he liked him-

148 Hunger

self; I was just passing, and thought I would
look in.

Upon this, the old pawnbroker burst out
laughing, and returned to his desk without
saying a word. There I stood ; I had not
hoped for much, yet, all the same, I had
thought of a possibility of being helped. This
laughter was my death-warrant. It couldn't, I
suppose, be of any use trying with my eye-
glasses either? Of course, I would let my
glasses go in with them ; that was a matter of
course, said I, and I took them off. Only a
penny, or, if he wished, a halfpenny.

" You know quite well I can't lend you any-
thing on your glasses," said " Uncle " ; "I told
you that once before."

"But I want a stamp," I said, dully. "I
can't even send off the letters I have written ;
a penny or a halfpenny stamp, just as you
will."

"Oh, God help you, go your way!" he
replied, and motioned me off with his hands.

Yes, yes ; well, it must be so, I said to
myself. Mechanically I put on my glasses
again, took the buttons in my hand, and, turn-
ing away, bade him good-night, and closed the
door after me as usual. Well, now, there was

Hunger 149

nothing more to be done ! To think he would
not take them at any price, I muttered. They
are almost new buttons ; I can't understand it.

Whilst I stood, lost in thought, a man passed
by and entered the office. He had given me
a little shove in his hurry. We both made
excuses, and I turned round and looked after
him.

" What ! is that you ? " he said, suddenly,
when half-way up the steps. He came back,
and I recognised him. " God bless me, man,
what on earth do you look like? What were
you doing in there?"

" Oh, I had business. You are going in too,
I see."

" Yes ; what were you in with ? "

My knees trembled ; I supported myself
against the wall, and stretched out my hand
with the buttons in it.

"What the deuce!" he cried. "No; this
is really going too far."

" Good-night ! " said I, and was about to go ;
I felt the tears choking my breast.

" No ; wait a minute," he said.

What was I to wait for ? Was he not him-
self on the road to my " Uncle," bringing,
perhaps, his engagement ring — had been

150 Hunger

hungry, perhaps, for several days — owed his
landlady.

" Yes," I replied ; " if you will be out
soon. . . ."

" Of course," he broke in, seizing hold of my
arm ; " but I may as well tell you I don't
believe you. You are such an idiot, that it's
better you come in along with me."

I understood what he meant, suddenly felt
a little spark of pride, and answered :

" I can't ; I promised to be in Bernt Akers
Street at half-past seven, and . . ."

" Half-past seven, quite so ; but it 's eight
now. Here I am, standing with the watch in
my hand that I 'm going to pawn. So, in with
you, you hungry sinner ! I '11 get you five
shillings, anyhow," and he pushed me in.

PART III

A WEEK passed in glory and gladness.

I had got over the worst this time, too. I
had had food every day, and my courage rose,
and I thrust one iron after the other into the
fire.

I was working at three or four articles, that
plundered my poor brain of every spark, every
thought that rose in it ; and yet I fancied that
I wrote with more facility than before.

The last article with which I had raced about
so much, and upon which I had built such
hopes, had already been returned to me by
the editor ; and, angry and wounded as I was,
I had destroyed it immediately, without even
re-reading it again. In future, I would try
another paper in order to open up more fields
for my work.

Supposing that writing were to fail, and the
worst were to come to the worst, I still had
the ships to take to. The Nun lay alongside
the wharf, ready to sail, and I might, perhaps,
work my way out to Archangel, or wherever
151

152 Hunger

else she might be bound ; there was no lack
of openings on many sides. The last crisis
had dealt rather roughly with me. My hair
fell out in masses, and I was much troubled
with headaches, particularly in the morning,
and my nervousness died a hard death. I sat
and wrote during the day with my hands
bound up in rags, simply because I could not
endure the touch of my own breath upon them.
If Jens Olaj banged the stable door under-
neath me, or if a dog came into the yard and
commenced to bark, it thrilled through my
very marrow like icy stabs piercing me from
every side. I was pretty well played out.

Day after day I strove at my work, begrudg-
ing myself the short time it took to swallow my
food before I sat down again to write. At this
time both the bed and the little rickety table
were strewn over with notes and written pages,
upon which I worked turn about, added any
new ideas which might have occurred to me
during the day, erased, or quickened here and
there the dull points by a word full of colour —
fagged, and toiled at sentence after sentence,
with the greatest pains. One afternoon, one
of my articles being at length finished, I thrust
it, contented and happy, into my pocket, and

Hunger 153

betook myself to the " commandor." It was
high time I made some arrangement towards
getting a little money again ; I had only a few
pence left.

The " commandor " requested me to sit down
for a moment ; he would be disengaged imme-
diately, and he continued writing.

I looked about the little office — busts, prints,
cuttings, and an enormous paper-basket, that
looked as if it might swallow a man, bones and
all. I felt sad at heart at the sight of this
monstrous chasm, this dragon's mouth, that
always stood open, always ready to receive
rejected work, newly crushed hopes.

"What day of the month is it?" queried
the "commandor" from the ta^le.

"The 28th," I reply, pleased that I can be
of service to him, " the 28th," and he continues
writing. At last he encloses a couple of letters
in their envelopes, tosses some papers into the
basket, and lays down his pen. Then he
swings round on his chair, and looks at me.
Observing that I am still standing near the
door, he makes a half- serious, half- playful
motion with his hand, and points to a chair.

I turn aside, so that he may not see that
I have no waistcoat on, when I open my

154 Hunger

coat to take the manuscript out of my
pocket.

" It is only a little character sketch of
Correggio," I say ; " but perhaps it is, worse
luck, not written in such a way that . . ."

He takes the papers out of my hand, and
commences to go through them. His face
is turned towards me.

And so it is thus he looks at close quarters,
this man, whose name I had already heard
in my earliest youth, and whose paper had
exercised the greatest influence upon me as
the years advanced? His hair is curly, and
his beautiful brown eyes are a little restless.
He has a habit of tweaking his nose now
and then. No Scotch minister could look
milder than this truculent writer, whose pen
always left bleeding scars wherever it attacked.
A peculiar feeling of awe and admiration
comes over me in the presence of this man.
The tears are on the point of coming to my
eyes, and I advanced a step to tell him how
heartily I appreciated him, for all he had taught
me, and to beg him not to hurt me ; I was
only a poor bungling wretch, who had had a
sorry enough time of it as it was. . . .

He looked up, and placed my manuscript

Hunger 155

slowly together, whilst he sat and considered.
To make it easier for him to give me a re-
fusal, I stretch out my hand a little, and say :

"Ah, well, of course, it is not of any use
to you," and I smile to give him the impres-
sion that I take it easily.

"Everything has to be of such a popular
nature to be of any use to us," he replies ; " you
know the kind of public we have. But can't you
try and write something a little more common-
place, or hit upon something that people under-
stand better?"

His forbearance astonishes me. I understand
that my article is rejected, and yet I could
not have received a prettier refusal. Not to
take up his time any longer, I reply :

" Oh yes, I daresay I can."

I go towards the door. Hem — he must
pray forgive me for having taken up his time
with this ... I bow, and turn the door handle.

" If you need it," he says, " you are welcome
to draw a little in advance ; you can write for
it, you know."

Now, as he had just seen that I was not
capable of writing, this offer humiliated me
somewhat, and I answered :

" No, thanks ; I can pull through yet a while,

156 Hunger

thanking you very much, all the same. Good-
day ! ■

" Good-day ! " replies the " commandor,"
turning at the same time to his desk again.

He had none the less treated me with un-
deserved kindness, and I was grateful to him
for it — and I would know how to appreciate
it too. I made a resolution not to return
to him until I could take something with me,
that satisfied me perfectly ; something that
would astonish the "commandor" a bit, and
make him order me to be paid half-a-sovereign
without a moment's hesitation. I went home,
and tackled my writing once more.

During the following evenings, as soon as
it got near eight o'clock and the gas was lit,
the following thing happened regularly to me.

As I come out of my room to take a walk
in the streets after the labour and troubles
of the day, a lady, dressed in black, stands
under the lamp-post exactly opposite my
door.

She turns her face towards me and follows
me with her eyes when I pass her by — I
remark that she always has the same dress
on, always the same thick veil that conceals
her face and falls over her breast, and that

Hunger 157

she carries in her hand a small umbrella with
an ivory ring in the handle. This was already
the third evening I had seen her there, always
in the same place. As soon as I have passed
her by she turns slowly and goes down the
street away from me. My nervous brain
vibrated with curiosity, and I became at once
possessed by the unreasonable feeling that I
was the object of her visit. At last I was
almost on the point of addressing her, of
asking her if she was looking for anyone,
if she needed my assistance in any way, or if
I might accompany her home. Badly dressed,
as I unfortunately was, I might protect her
through the dark streets ; but I had an un-
defined fear that it perhaps might cost me
something ; a glass of wine, or a drive, and
I had no money left at all. My distressingly
empty pockets acted in a far too depressing
way upon me, and I had not even the courage
to scrutinise her sharply as I passed her by.
Hunger had once more taken up its abode
in my breast, and I had not tasted food since
yesterday evening. This, 'tis true, was not a
long period ; I had often been able to hold
out for a couple of days at a time, but latterly
I had commenced to fall off seriously ; I could

158 Hunger

not go hungry one quarter as well as I used
to do. A single day made me feel dazed,
and I suffered from perpetual retching the
moment I tasted water. Added to this was
the fact that I lay and shivered all night, lay
fully dressed as I stood and walked in the
daytime, lay blue with the cold, lay and froze
every night with fits of icy shivering, and
grew stiff during my sleep. The old blanket
could not keep out the draughts, and I woke
in the mornings with my nose stopped by the
sharp outside frosty air which forced its way
into the dilapidated room.

I go down the street and think over what
I am to do to keep myself alive until I get
my next article finished. If I only had a
candle I would try to fag on through the
night ; it would only take a couple of hours
if I once warmed to my work, and then to-
morrow I could call on the "commandor."

I go without further ado into the Opland
Cafe and look for my young acquaintance in
the bank, in order to procure a penny for a
candle. I passed unhindered through all the
rooms ; I passed a dozen tables at which men
sat chatting, eating, and drinking ; I passed
into the back of the cafe, ay, even into the

Hunger 159

red alcove, without succeeding in finding my
man.

Crestfallen and annoyed I dragged myself
out again into the street and took the direction
to the Palace.

Wasn't it now the very hottest eternal devil
existing to think that my hardships never
would come to an end ! Taking long, furious
strides, with the collar of my coat hunched
savagely up round my ears, and my hands
thrust in my breeches pockets, I strode along,
cursing my unlucky stars the whole way.
Not one real untroubled hour in seven or
eight months, not the common food necessary
to hold body and soul together for the space
of one short week, before want stared me in
the face again. Here I had, into the bargain
gone and kept straight and honourable all
through my misery — Ha, ha! straight and
honourable to the heart's core. God preserve
me, what a fool I had been ! And I com-
menced to tell myself how I had even gone
about conscience-stricken because I had once
brought Hans Pauli's blanket to the pawn-
broker's. I laughed sarcastically at my
delicate rectitude, spat contemptuously in the
street, and could not find words half strong

160 Hunger

enough to mock myself for my stupidity.
Let it only happen now! Were I to find at
this moment a schoolgirl's savings or a poor
widow's only penny, I would snatch it up and
pocket it ; steal it deliberately, and sleep the
whole night through like a top. I had not
suffered so unspeakably much for nothing —
my patience was gone — I was prepared to do
anything.

I walked round the palace three, perhaps
four, times, then came to the conclusion that
I would go home, took yet one little turn in
the park and went back down Carl Johann.
It was now about eleven. The streets were
fairly dark, and people roamed about in all
directions, quiet pairs and noisy groups mixed
with one another. The great hour had com-
menced, the pairing time when the mystic
traffic is in full swing — and the hour of merry
adventures sets in. Rustling petticoats, one
or two still short, sensual laughter, heaving
bosoms, passionate, panting breaths, and far
down near the Grand Hotel a voice calling
" Emma ! " The whole street was a swamp,
from which hot vapours exuded.

I feel involuntarily in my pockets for a few
shillings. The passion that thrills through the

Hunger 161

movements of every one of the passers-by, the
dim light of the gas lamps, the quiet pregnant
night, all commence to affect me — this air,
that is laden with whispers, embraces, trembling
admissions, concessions, half-uttered words and
suppressed cries. A number of cats are declar-
ing their love with loud yells in Blomquist's
doorway. And I did not possess even a florin !
It was a misery, a wretchedness without parallel
to be so impoverished. What humiliation, too ;
what disgrace ! I began again to think about
the poor widow's last mite, that I would have
stolen a schoolboy's cap or handkerchief, or a
beggar's wallet, that I would have brought to a
rag-dealer without more ado, and caroused with
the proceeds.

In order to console myself — to indemnify
myself in some measure — I take to picking
all possible faults in the people who glide by.
I shrug my shoulders contemptuously, and
look slightingly at them according as they pass.
These easily - pleased, confectionery - eating
students, who fancy they are sowing their wild
oats in truly Continental style if they tickle
a sempstress under the ribs ! These young
bucks, bank clerks, merchants, flaneurs — who
would not disdain a sailor's wife ; blowsy Molls,
L

1 62 Hunger

ready to fall down in the first doorway for
a glass of beer ! What sirens ! The place
at their side still warm from the last night's
embrace of a watchman or a stable-boy ! The
throne always vacant, always open to new-
comers ! Pray, mount !

I spat far out over the pavement, without
troubling if it hit anyone. I felt enraged ;
filled with contempt for these people who
scraped acquaintanceship with one another,
and paired off right before my eyes. I lifted
my head, and felt in myself the blessing of
being able to keep my own sty clean. At
Stortingsplads (Parliament Place) I met a girl
who looked fixedly at me as I came close to her.

" Good-night ! " said I.

" Good-night ! " She stopped.

Hum ! was she out walking so late ? Did
not a young lady run rather a risk in being in
Carl Johann at this time of night? Really
not ? Yes ; but was she never spoken to,
molested, I meant ; to speak plainly, asked to
go along home with anyone ?

She stared at me with astonishment, scanned
my face closely, to see what I really meant by
this, then thrust her hand suddenly under my
arm, and said :

Hunger 163

" Yes, and we went too ! "

I walked on with her. But when we had
gone a few paces past the car-stand I came
to a standstill, freed my arm, and said :

" Listen, my dear, I don't own a farthing ! "
and with that I went on.

At first she would not believe me ; but after
she had searched all my pockets, and found
nothing, she got vexed, tossed her head, and
called me a dry cod.

" Good-night ! " said I.

" Wait a minute," she called ; " are those eye-
glasses that you 've got gold ? "

" No."

" Then go to blazes with you ! " and I went.

A few seconds after she came running behind
me, and called out to me :

" You can come with me all the same ! "

I felt humiliated by this offer from an unfor-
tunate street wench, and I said " No." Besides,
it was growing late at night, and I was due at a
place. Neither could she afford to make sacri-
fices of that kind.

"Yes; but now I will have you come with me."

" But I won't go with you in this way."

" Oh, naturally ; you are going with some one
else."

164 Hunger

" No," I answered.

But I was conscious that I stood in a sorry
plight in face of this unique street jade, and I
made up my mind to save appearances at least.

" What is your name ? " I inquired. " Mary,
eh ? Well, listen to me now, Mary ! " and I
set about explaining my behaviour. The girl
grew more and more astonished in measure as I
proceeded. Had she then believed that I, too,
was one of those who went about the street at
night and ran after little girls ? Did she really
think so badly of me ? Had I perhaps said
anything rude to her from the beginning ? Did
one behave as I had done when one was
actuated by any bad motive ? Briefly, in so
many words, I had accosted her, and accom-
panied her those few paces, to see how far she
would go on with it. For the rest, my name
was So-and-so — Pastor So-and-so. "Good-
night ; depart, and sin no more ! " With these
words I left her.

I rubbed my hands with delight over my
happy notion, and soliloquised aloud, " What a
joy there is in going about doing good actions."
Perhaps I had given this fallen creature an
upward impulse for her whole life ; saved her,
once for all, from destruction, and she would

Hunger 165

appreciate it when she came to think over it ;
remember me yet in her hour of death with
thankful heart. Ah! in truth, it paid to be
honourable, upright, and righteous !

My spirits were effervescing. I felt fresh and
courageous enough to face anything that might
turn up. If I only had a candle, I might
perhaps complete my article. I walked on,
jingling my new door -key in my hand;
hummed, and whistled, and speculated as to
means of procuring a candle. There was no
other way out of it. I would have to take
my writing materials with me into the street,
under a lamp-post. I opened the door, and
went up to get my papers. When I descended
once more I locked the door from the outside,
and planted myself under the light. All around
was quiet ; I heard only the heavy clanking
footstep of a constable down in Taergade, and
far away in the direction of St Han's Hill a dog
barked. There was nothing to disturb me. I
pulled my coat collar up round my ears, and
commenced to think with all my might.

It would be such an extraordinary help to me
if I were lucky enough to find a suitable wind-
ing up for this little essay. I had stuck just at
a rather difficult point in it, where there ought

1 66 Hunger

to be a quite imperceptible transition to some-
thing fresh, then a subdued gliding finale, a
prolonged murmur, ending at last in a climax
as bold and as startling as a shot, or the sound
of a mountain avalanche — full stop. But the
words would not come to me. I read over
the whole piece from the commencement ; read
every sentence aloud, and yet failed absolutely
to crystallise my thoughts, in order to produce
this scintillating climax. And into the bargain,
whilst I was standing labouring away • at this,
the constable came and, planting himself a little
distance away from me, spoilt my whole mood.
Now, what concern was it of his if I stood and
strove for a striking climax to an article for the
Commandor? Lord, how utterly impossible it
was for me to keep my head above water,
no matter how much I tried ! I stayed there
for the space of an hour. The constable went
his way. The cold began to get too intense
for me to keep still. Disheartened and
despondent over this abortive effort, I opened
the door again, and went up to my room.

It was cold up there, and I could barely
see my window for the intense darkness. I
felt my way towards the bed, pulled off my
shoes, and set about warming my feet between

Hunger 167

my hands. Then I lay down, as I had done
for a long time now, with all my clothes on.

The following morning I sat up in bed as
soon as it got light, and set to work at the
essay once more. I sat thus till noon ; I had
succeeded by then in getting ten, perhaps
twenty, lines down, and still I had not found
an ending.

I rose, put on my shoes, and began to walk
up and down the floor to try and warm myself.
I looked out ; there was rime on the window ;
it was snowing. Down in the yard a thick
layer of snow covered the paving-stones and
the top of the pump. I bustled about the
room, took aimless turns to and fro, scratched
the wall with my nail, leant my head care-
fully against the door for a while, tapped with
my forefinger on the floor, and then listened
attentively, all without any object, but quietly
and pensively as if it were some matter of
importance in which I was engaged ; and all
the while I murmured aloud, time upon time,
so that I could hear my own voice.

But, great God, surely this is madness! and
yet I kept on just as before. After a long
time, perhaps a couple of hours, I pulled my-
self sharply together, bit my lips, and manned

1 68 Hunger

myself as well as I could. There must be
an end to this ! I found a splinter to chew,
and set myself resolutely to write again.

A couple of short sentences formed them-
selves with much trouble, a score of poor
words which I tortured forth with might and
main to try and advance a little. Then I
stopped, my head was barren ; I was incap-
able of more. And, as I could positively not
go on, I set myself to gaze with wide open
eyes at these last words, this unfinished sheet
of paper ; I stared at these strange, shaky
letters that bristled up from the paper like
small hairy creeping things, till at last I could
neither make head nor tail of any of it. I
thought on nothing.

Time went ; I heard the traffic in the street,
the rattle of cars and tramp of hoofs. Jens
Olaj's voice ascended towards me from the
stables as he chid the horses. I was per-
fectly stunned. I sat and moistened my lips
a little, but otherwise made no effort to do
anything : my chest was in a pitiful state.
The dusk closed in ; I sank more and more
together, grew weary, and lay down on the
bed again. In order to warm my fingers a
little I stroked them through my hair back-

Hunger 169

wards and forwards and crosswise. Small loose
tufts came away, flakes that got between my
fingers, and scattered over the pillow. I did
not think anything about it just then ; it was
as if it did not concern me. I had hair enough
left, anyway. I tried afresh to shake myself
out of this strange daze that enveloped my
whole being like a mist. I sat up, struck my
knees with my flat hands, laughed as hard
as my sore chest permitted me — only to
collapse again. Nought availed ; I was dying
helplessly, with my eyes wide open — staring
straight up at the roof. At length I stuck
my forefinger in my mouth, and took to suck-
ing it. Something stirred in my brain, a
thought that bored its way in there — a stark-
mad notion.

Supposing I were to take a bite? And
without a moment's reflection, I shut my eyes,
and clenched my teeth on it.

I sprang up. At last I was thoroughly
awake. A little blood trickled from it, and
I licked it as it came. It didn't hurt very
much, neither was the wound large, but I was
brought at one bound to my senses. I shook
my head, went to the window, where I found
a rag, and wound it round the sore place.

170 Hunger

As I stood and busied myself with this, my
eyes filled with tears ; I cried softly to my-
self. This poor thin finger looked so utterly
pitiable. God in Heaven ! what a pass it
had come to now with me ! The gloom grew
closer. It was, maybe, not impossible that
I might work up my finale through the course
of the evening, if I only had a candle. My
head was clear once more. Thoughts came
and went as usual, and I did not suffer
particularly ; I did not even feel hunger so
badly as some hours previously. I could hold
out well till the next day. Perhaps I might
be able to get a candle on credit, if I applied
to the provision shop and explained my situa-
tion— I was so well known in there ; in the
good old days, when I had the means to do
it, I used to buy many a loaf there. There
was no doubt I could raise a candle on
the strength of my honest name ; and for the
first time for ages I took to brushing my
clothes a little, got rid as well as the darkness
allowed me of the loose hairs on my collar,
and felt my way down the stairs.

When I got outside in the street it occurred
to me that I might perhaps rather ask for a
loaf. I grew irresolute, and stopped to con-

Hunger 171

sider. "On no account," I replied to myself
at last ; I was unfortunately not in a condition
to bear food. It would only be a repetition
of the same old story — visions, and presenti-
ments, and mad notions. My article would
never get finished, and it was a question of
going to the " Commandor " before he had
time to forget me. On no account whatever!
and I decided upon the candle. With that
I entered the shop.

A woman is standing at the counter making
purchases ; several small parcels in different
sorts of paper are lying in front of her. The
shopman, who knows me, and knows what I
usually buy, leaves the woman, and packs
without much ado a loaf in a piece of paper
and shoves it over to me.

"No, thank you, it was really a candle I
wanted this evening," I say. I say it very
quietly and humbly, in order not to vex him
and spoil my chance of getting what I+
want.

My answer confuses him ; he turns quite
cross at my unexpected words ; it was the
first time I had ever demanded anything but
a loaf from him.

" Well then, you must wait a while," he says

172 Hunger

at last, and busies himself with the woman's
parcels again.

She receives her wares and pays for them —
gives him a florin, out of which she gets the
change, and goes out. Now the shop-boy and
I are alone. He says :

" So it was a candle you wanted, eh ! " He
tears open a package, and takes one out for
me. He looks at me, and I look at him ; I
can't get my request over my lips.

" Oh yes, that 's true ; you paid, though ! "
he says suddenly. He simply asserts that I
had paid. I heard every word, and he begins
to count some silver out of the till, coin after
coin, shining stout pieces. He gives me back
change for a crown.

" Much obliged," he says.

Now I stand and look at these pieces of
money for a second. I am conscious something
is wrong somewhere. I do not reflect ; do not
think about anything at all — I am simply
struck of a heap by all this wealth which is
lying glittering before my eyes — and I gather
up the money mechanically.

I stand outside the counter, stupid with
amazement, dumb, paralysed. I take a stride
towards the door, and stop again. I turn

Hunger 173

my eyes upon a certain spot in the wall,
where a little bell is suspended to a leather
collar, and underneath this a bundle of string,
and I stand and stare at these things.

The shop-boy is struck by the idea that
I want to have a chat as I take my time so
leisurely, and says, as he tidies a lot of
wrapping-papers strewn over the counter :

" It looks as if we were going to have
winter now ! "

" Humph ! Yes," I reply ; " it looks as if
we were going to have winter in earnest now ;
it looks like it," and a while after, I add :
" Ah, well, it is none too soon."

I could hear myself speak, but each word
I uttered struck my ear as if it were coming
from another person. I spoke absolutely
unwittingly, involuntarily, without being con-
scious of myself.

" Oh, do you think so ? " says the boy.

I thrust the hand with the money into my
pocket, turned the door-handle, and left. I
could hear that I said good-night, and that
the shop-boy replied to me.

I had gone a few paces away from the
shop when the shop-door was torn open, and
the boy called after me. I turned round

174 Hunger

without any astonishment, without a trace of
fear ; I only collected the money into my
hand, and prepared to give it back.

" Beg pardon, you Ve forgotten your candle,"
says the boy.

" Ah, thanks," I answer quietly. " Thanks,
thanks " ; and I strolled on, down the street,
bearing it in my hand.

My first sensible thought referred to the
money. I went over to a lamp-post, counted
it, weighed it in my hand, and smiled. So, in
spite of all, I was helped — extraordinarily,
grandly, incredibly helped — helped for a long,
long time ; and I thrust my hand with the
money into my pocket, and walked on.

Outside an eating-house in Grand Street
I stopped, and turned over in my mind,
calmly and quietly, if I should venture so
soon to take a little refreshment. I could
hear the rattle of knives and plates inside,
and the sound of meat being pounded. The
temptation was too strong for me — I entered.

" A helping of beef," I say.

" One beef! " calls the waitress down through
the door of the lift.

I sat down by myself at a little table next
to the door, and prepared to wait. It was

Hunger 175

somewhat dark where I was sitting, and I felt
tolerably well concealed, and set myself to
have a serious think. Every now and then the
waitress glanced over at me inquiringly. My
first downright dishonesty was accomplished —
my first theft. Compared to this, all my earlier
escapades were as nothing — my first great fall.
. . . Well and good ! There was no help for it.
For that matter, it was open to me to settle it
with the shopkeeper later on, on a more oppor-
tune occasion. It need not go any farther with
me. Besides that, I had not taken upon myself
to live more honourably than all the other
folk ; there was no contract that . . .

" Do you think that beef will soon be here ? "

" Yes ; immediately " ; the waitress opens the
trap-door, and looks down into the kitchen.

But suppose the affair did crop up some
day? If the shop-boy were to get suspicious
and begin to think over the transaction about
the bread, and the florin of which the woman
got the change ? It was not impossible that
he would discover it some day, perhaps the
next time I went there. Well, then, Lord ! . . .
I shrugged my shoulders unobserved.

"If you please," says the waitress, kindly,
placing the beef on the table, "wouldn't you

176 Hunger

rather go to another compartment, it 's so
dark here?"

" No, thanks ; just let me be here," I reply ;
her kindliness touches me at once. I pay for
the beef on the spot, put whatever change
remains into her hand, close her fingers over
it. She smiles, and I say in fun, with the
tears near my ears, " There, you 're to have
the balance to buy yourself a farm. . . . Ah,
you 're very welcome to it."

I commenced to eat, got more and more
greedy as I did so, swallowed whole pieces
without chewing them, enjoyed myself in an
animal-like way at every mouthful, and tore
at the meat like a cannibal.

The waitress came over to me again.

" Will you have anything to drink ? " she
asks, bending down a little towards me. I
looked at her. She spoke very low, almost
shyly, and dropped her eyes. " I mean a glass
of ale, or whatever you like best . . . from
me . . . without . . . that is, if you will . . ."

" No ; many thanks," I answer. " Not now ;
I shall come back another time."

She drew back, and sat down at the desk.
I could only see her head. What a singular
creature !

Hunger 177

When finished, I made at once for the door.
I felt nausea already. The waitress got up.
I was afraid to go near the light — afraid to
show myself too plainly to the young girl,
who never for a moment suspected the depth
of my misery ; so I wished her a hasty good-
night, bowed to her, and left.

The food commenced to take effect. I
suffered much from it, and could not keep
it down for any length of time. I had to
empty my mouth a little at every dark corner
I came to. I struggled to master this nausea
which threatened to hollow me out anew,
clenched my hands, and tried to fight it
down ; stamped on the pavement, and gulped
down furiously whatever sought to come up.
All in vain. I sprang at last into a doorway,
doubled up, head foremost, blinded with the
water which gushed from my eyes, and vomited
once more. I was seized with bitterness, and
wept as I went along the street. ... I cursed
the cruel powers, whoever they might be, that
persecuted me so, consigned them to hell's
damnation and eternal torments for their petty
persecution. There was but little chivalry in
fate, really little enough chivalry ; one was
forced to admit that.

M

178 Hunger

I went over to a man staring into a shop-
window, and asked him in great haste what,
according to his opinion, should one give a
man who had been starving for a long time.
It was a matter of life and death, I said ; he
couldn't even keep beef down.

" I have heard say that milk is a good thing
— hot milk," answered the man, astonished.
" Who is it, by the way, you are asking for ? "

"Thanks, thanks," I say; "that idea of hot
milk might not be half a bad notion " ; and I go.

I entered the first cafe I came to going
along, and asked for some boiled milk. I
got the milk, drank it down, hot as it was,
swallowed it greedily, every drop, paid for it,
and went out again. I took the road home.

Now something singular happened. Out-
side my door, leaning against the lamp-post,
and right under the glare of it, stands a person
of whom I get a glimpse from a long dis-
tance— it is the lady dressed in black again.
The same black-clad lady of the other evenings.
There could be no mistake about it ; she had
turned up at the same spot for the fourth time.
She is standing perfectly motionless. I find
this so peculiar that I involuntarily slacken my
pace. At this moment my thoughts are in

Hunger 179

good working order, but I am much excited ;
my nerves are irritated by my last meal. I pass
her by as usual ; am almost at the door and
on the point of entering. There I stop. All
of a sudden an inspiration seizes me. Without
rendering myself any account of it, I turn
round and go straight up to the lady, look her
in the face, and bow.

" Good-evening."

" Good-evening," she answers.

Excuse me, was she looking for anything?
I had noticed her before ; could I be of
assistance to her in any way ? begged pardon,
by-the-way, so earnestly for inquiring.

Yes ; she didn't quite know. . . .

No one lived inside that door besides three
or four horses and myself; it was, for that
matter, only a stable and a tinker's workshop.
. . . She was certainly on a wrong track if
she was seeking anyone there.

At this she turns her head away, and says :
" I am not seeking for anybody. I am only
standing here ; it was really only a whim.
I " . . . she stops.

Indeed, really, she only stood there, just
stood there, evening after evening, just for a
whim's sake !

180 Hunger

That was a little odd. I stood and pondered
over it, and it perplexed me more and more.
I made »up my mind to be daring ; I jingled
my money in my pocket, and asked her,
without further ado, to come and have a glass
of wine some place or another ... in con-
sideration that winter had come, ha, ha! ... it
needn't take very long . . . but perhaps she
would scarcely. . . .

Ah, no, thanks ; she couldn't well do that.
No ! she couldn't do that ; but would I be so
kind as to accompany her a little way? She
... it was rather dark to go home now, and
she was rather nervous about going up Carl
Johann after it got so late.

We moved on ; she walked at my right side.
A strange, beautiful feeling empowered me ;
the certainty of being near a young girl. I
looked at her the whole way along. The scent
of her hair ; the warmth that irradiated from
her body ; the perfume of woman that accom-
panied her ; the sweet breath every time she
turned her face towards me — everything pene-
trated in an ungovernable way through all my
senses. So far, I just caught a glimpse of a
full, rather pale, face behind the veil, and a
high bosom that curved out against her cape.

Hunger 1 8 1

The thought of all the hidden beauty which
I surmised lay sheltered under the cloak and
veil bewildered me, making me idiotically
happy without any reasonable grounds. I
could not endure it any longer ; I touched her
with my hand, passed my ringers over her
shoulder, and smiled imbecilely.

" How queer you are," said I.

" Am I, really ; in what way ? "

Well, in the first place, simply, she had a
habit of standing outside a stable door, evening
after evening, without any object whatever, just
for a whim's sake. . . .

Oh, well, she might have her reason for
doing so ; besides, she liked staying up late
at night ; it was a thing she had always had
a great fancy for. Did I care about going to
bed before twelve?

I ? If there was anything in the world I
hated it was to go to bed before twelve o'clock
at night.

Ah, there, you see! She, too, was just the
same ; she took this little tour in the evenings
when she had nothing to lose by doing so.
She lived up in St Olav's Place.

"Ylajali," I cried.

"I beg pardon?"

1 82 Hunger

" I only said ' Ylajali ' . . . it 's all right.
Continue . . ."

She lived up in St Olav's Place, lonely
enough, together with her mother, to whom
one couldn't talk because she was so deaf.
Was there anything odd in her liking to get
out for a little?

" No, not at all," I replied.

" No ? well, what then ? "

I could hear by her voice that she was
smiling.

Hadn't she a sister?

Yes ; an older sister. But, by-the-way,
how did I know that? She had gone to
Hamburg.

" Lately ? "

" Yes ; five weeks ago." From where did I
learn that she had a sister?

I didn't learn it at all ; I only asked.

We kept silence. A man passes us, with a
pair of shoes under his arm ; otherwise, the
street is empty as far as we can see. Over at
the Tivoli a long row of coloured lamps are
burning. It no longer snows ; the sky is clear.

" Gracious ! don't you freeze without an
overcoat ? " inquires the lady, suddenly looking
at me.

Hunger 183

Should I tell her why I had no overcoat ;
make my sorry condition known at once, and
frighten her away ? As well first as last. Still,
it was delightful to walk here at her side and
keep her jn ignorance yet a while longer. So
I lied. I answered :

" No, not at all " ; and, in order to change
the subject, I asked, " Have you seen the
menagerie in the Tivoli ? "

" No," she answered ; " is there really any-
thing to see?"

Suppose she were to take it into her head to
wish to go there ? Into that blaze of light, with
the crowd of people. Why, she would be filled
with shame ; I would drive her out again, with
my shabby clothes, and lean face ; perhaps
she might even notice that I had no waistcoat
on. . . .

" Ah, no ; there is sure to be nothing worth
seeing ! "

And a lot of happy ideas occurred to me,
of which I at once made use ; a few sparse
words, fragments left in my dessicated brain.
What could one expect from such a small
menagerie ? On the whole, it did not interest
me in the least to see animals in cages. These
animals know that one is standing staring at

184 Hunger

them ; they feel hundreds of inquisitive looks
upon them ; are conscious of them. No ; I
would prefer to see animals that didn't know
one observed them ; shy creatures that nestle
in their lair, and lie with sluggish green eyes,
and lick their claws, and muse, eh ?

Yes ; I was certainly right in that.

It was only animals in all their peculiar
fearfulness and peculiar savagery that pos-
sessed a charm. The soundless, stealthy tread
in the total darkness of night ; the hidden
monsters of the woods ; the shrieks of a bird
flying past ; the wind, the smell of blood,
the rumbling in space ; in short, the reigning
spirit of the kingdom of savage creatures
hovering over savagery . . . the unconscious
poetry ! . . . But I was afraid this bored her.
The consciousness of my great poverty seized
me anew, and crushed me. If I had only been
in any way well-enough dressed to have given
her the pleasure of this little tour in the
Tivoli! I could not make out this creature,
who could find pleasure in letting herself be
accompanied up the whole of Carl Johann
Street by a half-naked beggar. What, in the
name of God, was she thinking of? And why
was I walking there, giving myself airs, and

Hunger 185

smiling idiotically at nothing? Had I any-
reasonable cause, either, for letting myself be
worried into a long walk by this dainty, silken-
clad bird ? Mayhap it did not cost me an effort ?
Did I not feel the ice of death go right into my
heart at even the gentlest puff of wind that blew
against us ? Was not madness running riot in
my brain, just for lack of food for many months
at a stretch ? Yet she hindered me from going
home to get even a little milk into my parched
mouth ; a spoonful of sweet milk, that I might
perhaps be able to keep down. Why didn't she
turn her back on me, and let me go to the
deuce ? . . .

I became distracted ; my despair reduced
me to the last extremity. I said :

"Considering all things, you ought not to
walk with me. I disgrace you right under
everyone's eyes, if only with my clothes.
Yes, it is positively true ; I mean it."

She starts, looks up quickly at me, and is
silent ; then she exclaims suddenly :

" Indeed, though ! " More she doesn't say.

"What do you mean by that?" I queried.

" Ugh, no ; you make me feel ashamed. . . .
We have not got very far now " ; and she
walked on a little faster.

1 86 Hunger

We turned up University Street, and could
already see the lights in St Olav's Place. Then
she commenced to walk slowly again.

" I have no wish to be indiscreet," I say ;
" but won't you tell me your name before we
part? and won't you, just for one second, lift
up your veil so that I can see you ? I would
be really so grateful."

A pause. I walked on in expectation.

"You have seen me before," she replies.

"Ylajali," I say again.

" Beg pardon. You followed me once for
half-a-day, almost right home. Were you
tipsy that time?"

I could hear again that she smiled.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, worse luck, I was
tipsy that time."

" That was horrid of you ! "

And I admitted contritely that it was horrid
of me.

We reached the fountains ; we stop and
look up at the many lighted windows of
No. 2.

" Now, you mustn't come any farther with
me," she says. "Thank you for coming so
far."

I bowed ; I daren't say anything ; I took off

Hunger 187

my hat and stood bareheaded. I wonder if
she will give me her hand.

" Why don't you ask me to go back a little
way with you ? " she asks, in a low voice,
looking down at the toe of her shoe.

" Great Heavens ! " I reply, beside myself,
" Great Heavens, if you only would ! "

" Yes ; but only a little way."

And we turned round.

I was fearfully confused. I absolutely did
not know if I were on my head or my heels.
This creature upset all my chain of reasoning ;
turned it topsy-turvy. I was bewitched and
extraordinarily happy. It seemed to me as
if I were being dragged enchantingly to de-
struction. She had expressly willed to go
back ; it wasn't my notion, it was her own
desire. I walk on and look at her, and get
more and more bold. She encourages me,
draws me to her by each word she speaks. I
forget for a moment my poverty, my humble
position, my whole miserable condition. I feel
my blood course madly through my whole
body, as in the old days before I caved in,
and resolved to feel my way by a little ruse.

"By-the-way, it wasn't you I followed that
time," said I. " It was your sister."

1 88 Hunger

" Was it my sister ? " she questions, in the
highest degree amazed. She stands still, looks
up at me, and positively waits for an answer.
She puts the question in all sober earnest.

" Yes," I replied. " Hum — m, that is to say,
it was the younger of the two ladies who
went on in front of me."

" The youngest, eh ? eh ? a-a-ha ! " she laughed
out all at once, loudly, heartily, like a child.
" Oh, how sly you are ; you only said that just
to get me to raise my veil, didn't you? Ah,
I thought so ; but you may just wait till you
are blue first . . . just for punishment."

We began to laugh and jest ; we talked
incessantly all the time. I do not know what
I said, I was so happy. She told me that
she had seen me once before, a long time ago,
in the theatre. I had then comrades with me,
and I behaved like a madman; I must certainly
have been tipsy that time too, more 's the shame.

Why did she think that?

Oh, I had laughed so.

" Really, a-ah yes ; I used to laugh a lot in
those days."

"But now not any more?"

" Oh yes ; now too. It is a splendid thing
to exist sometimes."

Hunger 189

We reached Carl Johann. She said : " Now
we won't go any farther," and we returned
through University Street. When we arrived
at the fountain once more I slackened my pace
a little ; I knew that I could not go any farther
with her.

"Well, now you must turn back here," she
said, and stopped.

" Yes, I suppose I must."

But a second after she thought I might as
well go as far as the door with her. Gracious
me, there couldn't be anything wrong in that,
could there?

"No," I replied.

But when we were standing at the door all
my misery confronted me clearly. How was
one to keep up one's courage when one was so
broken down? Here I stood before a young
lady, dirty, ragged, torn, disfigured by hunger,
unwashed, and only half-clad ; it was enough to
make one sink into the earth. I shrank into
myself, bent my head involuntarily, and said :

" May I not meet you any more then ? "

I had no hope of being permitted to see
her again. I almost wished for a sharp No,
that would pull me together a bit and render
me callous.

190 Hunger

" Yes," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

"When?"

" I don't know."

A pause. . . .

"Won't you be so kind as to lift your veil,
only just for a minute," I asked. " So that I
can see whom I have been talking to. Just
for one moment, for indeed I must see whom
I have been talking to."

Another pause. . . .

" You can meet me outside here on Tuesday
evening," she said. " Will you ? "

" Yes, dear lady, if I have permission to."

"At eight o'clock."

"Very well."

I stroked down her cloak with my hand,
merely to have an excuse for touching her.
It was a delight to me to be so near her.

"And you mustn't think all too badly of
me," she added ; she was smiling again.

" No."

Suddenly she made a resolute movement
and drew her veil up over her forehead ; we
stood and gazed at one another for a second.

" Ylajali ! " I cried. She stretched herself
up, flung her arms round my neck and kissed
me right on the mouth — only once, swiftly,

Hunger 191

bewilderingly swiftly, right on the mouth. I
could feel how her bosom heaved ; she was
breathing violently. She wrenched herself
suddenly out of my clasp, called a good-night,
breathlessly, whisperingly, and turned and ran
up the stairs without a word more. . . .
The hall door shut.

It snowed still more the next day, a heavy
snow mingled with rain ; great wet flakes that
fell to earth and were turned to mud.
The air was raw and icy. I woke somewhat
late, with my head in a strange state of con-
fusion, my heart intoxicated from the fore-
gone evening by the agitation of that delightful
meeting. In my rapture (I had lain a while
awake and fancied Ylajali at my side) I spread
out my arms and embraced myself and kissed
the air. At length I dragged myself out of
bed and procured a fresh cup of milk, and
straight on top of that a plate of beef. I was
no longer hungry, but my nerves were in a
highly-strung condition.

I went off to the clothes-shop in the bazaar.
It occurred to me that I might pick up a
second-hand waistcoat cheaply, something to
put on under my coat; it didn't matter what.

192 Hunger

I went up the steps to the bazaar and took
hold of one and began to examine it

While I was thus engaged an acquaintance
came by, he nodded and called up to me. I
let the waistcoat hang and went down to him.
He was a designer, and was on the way to
his office.

" Come with me and have a glass of beer,"
he said. " But hurry up, I haven't much
time. . . . What lady was that you were walking
with yesterday evening?"

"Listen here now," said I, jealous of his bare
thought. " Supposing it was my fiancee"

" By Jove ! " he exclaimed.

" Yes ; it was all settled yesterday evening."

This nonplussed him completely. He be-
lieved me implicitly. I lied in the most
accomplished manner to get rid of him. We
ordered the beer, drank it, and left.

"Well, good-bye! Oh, listen," he said
suddenly. " I owe you a few shillings. It is
a shame, too, that I haven't paid you long
ago, but now you shall have them during
the next few days."

" Yes, thanks," I replied ; but I knew that
he would never pay me back the few shillings.
The beer, I am sorry to say, went almost

Hunger 193

immediately to my head. The thought of the
previous evening's adventure overwhelmed me
— made me delirious. Supposing she were not
to meet me on Tuesday ! Supposing she were
to begin to think things over, to get suspicious
. . . get suspicious of what? . . . My thoughts
gave a jerk and dwelt upon the money.
I grew afraid ; deadly afraid of myself. The
theft rushed in upon me in all its details. I
saw the little shop, the counter, my lean hands
as I seized the money, and I pictured to myself
the line of action the police would adopt when
they would come to arrest me. Irons on my
hands and feet ; no, only on my hands ; perhaps
only on one hand. The dock, the clerk taking
down the evidence, the scratch of his pen —
perhaps he might take a new one for the occa-
sion— his look, his threatening look. There,
Herr Tangen, to the cell, the eternally dark . . .

Humph ! I clenched my hands tightly to try
and summon courage, walked faster and faster,
and came to the market-place. There I sat
down.

Now, no child's play. How in the wide

world could anyone prove that I had stolen?

Besides, the huckster's boy dare not give an

alarm, even if it should occur to him some day

N

194 Hunger

how it had all happened. He valued his situa-
tion far too dearly for that. No noise, no
scenes, may I beg !

But all the same, this money weighed in my
pocket sinfully, and gave me no peace. I
began to question myself, and I became clearly
convinced that I had been happier before,
during the period in which I had suffered in
all honour. And Ylajali ? Had I, too, not pol-
luted her with the touch of my sinful hands?
Lord, O Lord my God, Ylajali ! I felt as
drunk as a bat, jumped up suddenly, and
went straight over to the cake woman who
was sitting near the chemist's under the sign
of the elephant. I might even yet lift myself
above dishonour ; it was far from being too
late ; I would show the whole world that I
was capable of doing so.

On the way over I got the money in readi-
ness, held every farthing of it in my hand,
bent down over the old woman's table as if I
wanted something, and clapped the money
without further ado into her hands. I spoke
not a word, turned on my heel, and went
my way.

What a wonderful savour there was in
feeling oneself an honest man once more !

Hunger 195

My empty pockets troubled me no longer ;
it was simply a delightful feeling to me to be
cleaned out. When I weighed the whole
matter thoroughly, this money had in reality
cost me much secret anguish ; I had really
thought about it with dread and shuddering
time upon time. I was no hardened soul ; my
honourable nature rebelled against such a low
action. God be praised, I had raised myself
in my own estimation again ! " Do as I have
done ! " I said to myself, looking across the
thronged market-place — "only just do as I
have done ! " I had gladdened a poor old cake
vendor to such good purpose that she was
perfectly dumfounded. To-night her children
wouldn't go hungry to bed. ... I buoyed my-
self up with these reflections and considered
that I had behaved in a most exemplary
manner. God be praised ! The money was
out of my hands now!

Tipsy and nervous, I wandered down the
street, and swelled with satisfaction. The joy
of being able to meet Ylajali cleanly and
honourably, and of feeling I could look her
in the face, ran away with me. I was not
conscious of any pain. My head was clear
and buoyant ; it was as if it were a head of

196 Hunger

mere light that rested and gleamed on my
shoulders. I felt inclined to play the wildest
pranks, to do something astounding, to set
the whole town in a ferment. All up through
Graendsen I conducted myself like a madman.
There was a buzzing in my ears, and intoxi-
cation ran riot in my brains. The whim seized
me to go and tell my age to a commissionaire,
who, by-the-way, had not addressed a word to
me; to take hold of his hands, and gaze im-
pressively in his face, and leave him again,
without any explanation. I distinguished every
nuance in the voice and laughter of the passers-
by, observed some little birds that hopped
before me in the street, took to studying
the expression of the paving-stones, and dis-
covered all sorts of tokens and signs in them.
Thus occupied, I arrive at length at Parliament
Place. I stand all at once stock-still, and look
at the droskes ; the drivers are wandering
about, chatting and laughing. The horses hang
their heads and cower in the bitter weather.
" Go ahead ! " I say, giving myself a dig with
my elbow. I went hurriedly over to the first
vehicle, and got in. " Ullevoldsveien, No. 37,"
I called out, and we rolled off.

On the way the driver looked round, stooped

Hunger 197

and peeped several times into the trap, where
I sat, sheltered underneath the hood. Had
he, too, grown suspicious ? There was no doubt
of it ; my miserable attire had attracted his
attention.

" I want to meet a man," I called to him,
in order to be beforehand with him, and
I explained gravely that I must really meet
this man. We stop outside 37, and I jump
out, spring up the stairs right to the third
storey, seize a bell, and pull it. It gives six
or seven fearful peals inside.

A maid comes out and opens the door. I
notice that she has round, gold drops in her
ears, and black stuff buttons on her grey
bodice. She looks at me with a frightened
air.

I inquire for Kierulf — Joachim Kierulf, if I
might add further — a wool-dealer ; in short, not
a man one could make a mistake about. . . .

The girl shook her head. " No Kierulf lives
here," said she.

She stared at me, and held the door ready to
close it. She made no effort to find the man
for me. She really looked as if she knew
the person I inquired for, if she would only
take the trouble to reflect a bit. The lazy

198 Hunger

jade ! I got vexed, turned my back on her,
and ran downstairs again.

" He wasn't there," I called to the driver.

"Wasn't he there?"

"No. Drive to Tomtegaden, No. 11." I was
in a state of the most violent excitement, and
imparted something of the same feeling to
the driver. He evidently thought it was a
matter of life and death, and he drove on,
without further ado. He whipped up the
horse sharply.

"What's the man's name?" he inquired,
turning round on the box.

" Kierulf, a dealer in wool — Kierulf."

And the driver, too, thought this was a man
one would not be likely to make any mistake
about.

" Didn't he generally wear a light morning-
coat?"

" What ! " I cried ; " a light morning-coat ?
Are you mad? Do you think it is a tea-cup
I am inquiring about ? " This light morning-
coat came most inopportunely ; it spoilt the
whole man for me, such as I had fancied
him.

" What was it you said he was called ? —
Kierulf? "

Hunger 199

" Of course," I replied. " Is there anything
wonderful in that ? The name doesn't disgrace
anyone."

"Hasn't he red hair?"

Well, it was quite possible that he had red
hair, and now that the driver mentioned the
matter, I was suddenly convinced that he was
right. I felt grateful to the poor driver, and
hastened to inform him that he had hit the
man off to a T — he really was just as he
described him, — and I remarked, in addition,
that it would be a phenomenon to see such
a man without red hair.

" It must be him I drove a couple of times,"
said the driver ; " he had a knobbed stick."

This brought the man vividly before me,
and I said, " Ha, ha ! I suppose no one has
ever yet seen the man without a knobbed
stick in his hand, of that you can be certain,
quite certain."

Yes, it was clear that it was the same man
he had driven. He recognised him — and he
drove so that the horse's shoes struck sparks
as they touched the stones.

All through this phase of excitement I had
not for one second lost my presence of mind.
We pass a policeman, and I notice his number

200 Hunger

is 69. This number struck me with such
vivid clearness that it penetrated like a splint
into my brain — 69 — accurately 69. I wouldn't
forget it.

I leant back in the vehicle, a prey to the
wildest fancies ; crouched under the hood so
that no one could see me. I moved my lips
and commenced to talk idiotically to myself.
Madness rages through my brain, and I let
it rage. I am fully conscious that I am
succumbing to influences over which I have
no control. I begin to laugh, silently, passion-
ately, without a trace of cause, still merry and
intoxicated from the couple of glasses of ale
I have drunk. Little by little my excitement
abates, my calm returns more and more
to me. I feel the cold in my sore finger,
and I stick it down inside my collar
to warm it a little. At length we reach
Tomtegaden. The driver pulls up.

I alight, without any haste, absently, list-
lessly, with my head heavy. I go through a
gateway and come into a yard across which I
pass. I come to a door which I open and pass
through ; I find myself in a lobby, a sort of ante-
room, with two windows. There are two boxes
in it, one on top of the other, in one corner,

Hunger 201

and against the wall an old, painted sofa-bed
over which a rug is spread. To the right,
in the next room, I hear voices and the cry
of a child, and above me, on the second floor,
the sound of an iron plate being hammered.
All this I notice the moment as I enter.

I step quietly across the room to the
opposite door, without any haste, without
any thought of flight ; open it, too, and come
out in Vognmansgaden. I look up at the
house through which I have passed. " Re-
freshment and lodgings for travellers."

It is not my intention to escape, to steal
away from the driver who is waiting for me.
I go very coolly down Vognmansgaden,
without fear, and without being conscious of
doing any wrong. Kierulf, this dealer in
wool, who has spooked in my brain so long —
this creature in whose existence I believed,
and whom it was of vital importance that I
should meet — had vanished from my memory ;
was wiped out with many other mad whims
which came and went in turns. I recalled
him no longer, except as a reminiscence — a
phantom.

In measure, as I walked on, I became more
and more sober ; felt languid and weary, and

202 Hunger

dragged my legs after me. The snow still
fell in great moist flakes. At last I reached
Gronland ; far out, near the church, I sat down
to rest on a seat. All the passers-by looked
at me with much astonishment. I fell a-
thinking.

Thou good God, what a miserable plight
I have come to ! I was so heartily tired
and weary of all my miserable life that I
did not find it worth the trouble of fighting
any longer to preserve it. Adversity had
gained the upper hand ; it had been too strong
for me. I had become so strangely poverty-
stricken and broken, a mere shadow of what
I once had been ; my shoulders were sunken
right down on one side, and I had contracted
a habit of stooping forward fearfully as I
walked, in order to spare my chest what
little I could. I had examined my body a few
days ago, one noon up in my room, and I
had stood and cried over it the whole time.
I had worn the same shirt for many weeks,
and it was quite stiff with stale sweat, and
had chafed my skin. A little blood and
water ran out of the sore place ; it did not
hurt much, but it was very tiresome to have
this tender place in the middle of my stomach.

Hunger 203

I had no remedy for it, and it wouldn't heal
of its own accord. I washed it, dried it
carefully, and put on the same shirt There
was no help for it, it . . .

I sit there on the bench and ponder over
all this, and am sad enough. I loathe myself.
My very hands seem distasteful to me ; the
loose, almost coarse, expression of the backs
of them pains me, disgusts me. I feel myself
rudely affected by the sight of my lean
fingers. I hate the whole of my gaunt,
shrunken body, and shrink from bearing it,
from feeling it envelop me. Lord, if the
whole thing would come to an end now, I
would heartily, gladly die!

Completely worsted, soiled, defiled, and
debased in my own estimation, I rose mechan-
ically and commenced to turn my steps home-
wards. On the way I passed a door, upon
which the following was to be read on a
plate — "Winding-sheets to be had at Miss
Andersen's, door to the right." Old memories !
I muttered, as my thoughts flew back to my
former room in Hammersborg. The little
rocking-chair, the newspapers near the door,
the lighthouse director's announcement, and
Fabian Olsen, the baker's new-baked bread.

204 Hunger

Ah yes ; times were better with me then than
now ; one night I had written a tale for ten
shillings, now I couldn't write anything. My
head grew light as soon as ever I attempted
it. Yes, I would put an end to it now ; and
I went on and on.

As I got nearer and nearer to the provision
shop, I had the half - conscious feeling of
approaching a danger, but I determined to
stick to my purpose ; I would give myself
up. I ran quickly up the steps. At the door
I met a little girl who was carrying a cup
in her hands, and I slipped past her and
opened the door. The shop boy and I stand
face to face alone for the second time.

" Well ! " he exclaims ; " fearfully bad weather
now, isn't it?" What did this going round
the bush signify? Why didn't he seize me
at once ? I got furious, and cried :

"Oh, I haven't come to prate about the
weather."

This violent preliminary takes him aback ;
his little huckster brain fails him. It has never
even occurred to him that I have cheated
him of five shillings.

" Don't you know, then, that I have swindled
you?" I query impatiently, and I breathe

Hunger 205

quickly with the excitement ; I tremble and
am ready to use force if he doesn't come to
the point.

But the poor man has no misgivings.

Well, bless my soul, what stupid creatures
one has to mix with in this world ! I abuse
him, explain to him every detail as to how
it had all happened, show him where the fact
was accomplished, where the money had lain ;
how I had gathered it up in my hand and
closed my fingers over it — and he takes it
all in and does nothing. He shifts uneasily
from one foot to the other, listens for foot-
steps in the next room, make signs to hush
me, to try and make me speak lower, and
says at last :

"It was a mean enough thing of you to
do!"

" No ; hold on," I explained in my desire to
contradict him — to aggravate him. It wasn't
quite so mean as he imagined it to be, in his
huckster head. Naturally, I didn't keep the
money ; that could never have entered my
head. I, for my part, scorned to derive any
benefit from it — that was opposed to my
thoroughly honest nature.

"What did you do with it, then?"

206 Hunger

" I gave it away to a poor old woman — every
farthing of it." He must understand that that
was the sort of person I was ; I didn't forget
the poor so. . . .

He stands and thinks over this a while, be-
comes manifestly very dubious as to how far I
am an honest man or not. At last he says :

"Oughtn't you rather to have brought it
back again?"

"Now, listen here," I reply; "I didn't want
to get you into trouble in any way ; but that
is the thanks one gets for being generous.
Here I stand and explain the whole thing
to you, and you simply, instead of being
ashamed as a dog, make no effort to settle
the dispute with me. Therefore I wash my
hands of you, and as for the rest, I say, ' The
devil take you ! ' Good-day."

I left, slamming the door behind me. But
when I got home to my room, into the
melancholy hole, wet through from the soft
snow, trembling in my knees from the day's
wanderings, I dismounted instantly from
my high horse, and sank together once
more.

I regretted my attack upon the poor shop-
boy, wept, clutched myself by the throat to

Hunger 207

punish myself for my miserable trick, and
behaved like a lunatic. He had naturally
been in the most deadly terror for the sake
of his situation ; he had not dared to make
any fuss about the five shillings that were lost
to the business, and I had taken advantage
of his fear, had tortured him with my violent
address, stabbed him with every loud word
that I had roared out. And the master him-
self had perhaps been sitting inside the inner
room, almost within an ace of feeling called
upon to come out and inquire what was the
row. No, there was no longer any limit to
the low things I might be tempted to do.

Well, why hadn't I been locked up ? then it
would have come to an end. I would almost
have stretched out my wrists for the hand-
cuffs. I would not have offered the slightest
resistance ; on the contrary, I would have
assisted them. Lord of Heaven and Earth !
one day of my life for one happy second
again ! My whole life for a mess of lentils !
Hear me only this once ! . . .

I laid down in the wet clothes I had on,
with a vague idea that I might die during
the night. And I used my last strength to
tidy up my bed a little, so that it might

208 Hunger

appear a little orderly about me in the
morning. I folded my hands and chose my
position.

All at once I remember Ylajali. To think
that I could have forgotten her the entire
evening through ! And light forces its way
ever so faintly into my spirit again — a little ray
of sunshine that makes me so blessedly warm ;
and gradually more sun comes, a rare, silken,
balmy light that caresses me with soothing
loveliness. And the sun grows stronger and
stronger, burns sharply in my temples, seethes
fiercely and glowingly in my emaciated brain.
And at last, a maddening pyre of rays flames
up before my eyes ; a heaven and earth in
conflagration, men and beasts of fire, mountains
of fire, devils of fire, an abyss, a wilderness,
a hurricane, a universe in brazen ignition, a
smoking, smouldering day of doom !

And I saw and heard no more. . . .

I woke in a sweat the next morning, moist
all over, my whole body bathed in dampness.
The fever had laid violent hands on me. At
first I had no clear idea of what had happened
to me ; I looked about me in amazement, felt
a complete transformation of my being, ab-

Hunger 209

solutely failed to recognise myself again. I
felt along my own arms and down my legs,
was struck with astonishment that the window
was where it was, and not in the opposite
wall ; and I could hear the tramp of the
horses' feet in the yard below as if it came
from above me. I felt rather sick, too —
qualmish. »

My hair clung wet and cold about my
forehead. I raised myself on my elbow and
looked at the pillow ; damp hair lay on it,
too, in patches. My feet had swelled up in
my shoes during the night, but they caused
me no pain, only I could not move my toes
much, they were too stiff.

As the afternoon closed in, and it had
already begun to grow a little dusk, I got
up out of bed and commenced to move about
the room a little. I felt my way with short,
careful steps, taking care to keep my balance
and spare my feet as much as possible. I
did not suffer much, and I did not cry ;
neither was I, taking all into consideration,
sad. On the contrary, I was blissfully content.
It did not strike me just then that anything
could be otherwise than it was.

Then I went out.
o

2io Hunger

The only thing that troubled me a little,
in spite of the nausea that the thought of
food inspired in me, was hunger. I commenced
to be sensible of a shameless appetite again ;
a ravenous lust of food, which grew steadily
worse and worse. It gnawed unmercifully in
my breast ; carrying on a silent, mysterious
work in there. It was as if a score of diminu-
tive gnome-like insects set their heads on one
side and gnawed for a little, then laid their
heads on the other side and gnawed a little
more, then lay quite still for a moment's space,
and then began afresh, boring noiselessly in,
and without any haste, and left empty spaces
everywhere after them as they went on. . . .

I was not ill, but faint ; I broke into a
sweat. I thought of going to the market-
place to rest a while, but the way was
long and wearisome ; at last I had almost
reached it. I stood at the corner of the
market and Market Street ; the sweat ran
down into my eyes and blinded me, and I
had just stopped in order to wipe it away
a little. I did not notice the place I was
standing in ; in fact, I did not think about it ;
the noise around me was something frightful.

Suddenly a call rings out, a cold, sharp

Hunger 2 1 1

warning. I hear this cry — hear it quite well,
and I start nervously to one side, stepping
as quickly as my bad foot allows me to.
A monster of a bread-van brushes past me,
and the wheel grazes my coat ; I might perhaps
have been a little quicker if I had exerted
myself. Well, there was no help for it ; one
foot pained me, a couple of toes were crunched.
I felt that they, as it were, curled up in my
shoes.

The driver reins in his horse with all his
might. He turns round on the van and in-
quires in a fright how it fares with me. Oh !
it might have been worse, far worse. ... It
was perhaps not so dangerous. ... I didn't
think any bones were broken. Oh, pray . . .
I rushed over as quickly as I could to a
seat ; all these people who stopped and stared
at me abashed me. After all, it was no mortal
blow ; comparatively speaking, I had got off
luckily enough, as misfortune was bound to
come in my way. The worst thing was that
my shoe was crushed to pieces ; the sole was
torn loose at the toe. I held up my foot, and
saw blood inside the gap. Well, it wasn't in-
tentional on either side ; it was not the man's
purpose to make things worse for me than

212 Hunger

they were ; he looked much concerned about
it. It was quite certain that if I had begged
him for a piece of bread out of his cart he
would have given it to me. He would cer-
tainly have given it to me gladly God bless
him in return, wherever he is ! . . .

I was terribly hungry, and I did not know
what to do with myself and my shameless
appetite. I writhed from side to side on the
seat, and bowed my chest right down to my
knees ; I was almost distracted. When it got
dark I jogged along to the Town Hall — God
knows how I got there — and sat on the edge
of the balustrade. I tore a pocket out of my
coat and took to chewing it ; not with any
defined object, but with dour mien and un-
seeing eyes, staring straight into space. I
could hear a group of little children playing
around near me, and perceive, in an instinc-
tive sort of way, some pedestrian pass me by ;
otherwise, I observed nothing.

All at once, it enters my head to go to one
of the meat bazaars underneath me, and beg
a piece of raw meat. I go straight along the
balustrade to the other side of the bazaar
buildings, and descend the steps. When I had
nearly reached the stalls on the lower floor,

Hunger 2 1 3

I called up the archway leading to the stairs,
and made a threatening backward gesture, as
if I were talking to a dog up there, and boldly
addressed the first butcher I met.

"Ah, will you be kind enough to giv$ me
a bone for my dog ? " I said ; " only a bone.
There needn't be anything on it ; it 's just to
give him something to carry in his mouth."

I got the bone, a capital little bone, on which
there still remained a morsel of meat, and hid
it under my coat. I thanked the man so
heartily that he looked at me in amazement.

" Oh, no need of thanks," said he.

" Oh yes ; don't say that," I mumbled ; " it
is kindly done of you," and I ascended the
steps again.

My heart was throbbing violently in my
breast. I sneaked into one of the passages,
where the forges are, as far in as I could go,
and stopped outside a dilapidated door lead-
ing to a back-yard. There was no light to
be seen anywhere, only blessed darkness all
around me ; and I began to gnaw at the bone.

It had no taste ; a rank smell of blood oozed
from it, and I was forced to vomit almost
immediately. I tried anew. If I could only
keep it down, it would, in spite of all, have

214 Hunger

some effect. It was simply a matter of forcing
it to remain down there. But I vomited again.
I grew wild, bit angrily into the meat, tore
off a morsel, and gulped it down by sheer
strength of will ; and yet it was of no use.
Just as soon as the little fragments of meat
became warm in my stomach up they came
again, worse luck. I clenched my hands in
frenzy, burst into tears from sheer helpless-
ness, and gnawed away as one possessed. I
cried, so that the bone got wet and dirty with
my tears, vomited, cursed and groaned again,
cried as if my heart would break, and vomited
anew. I consigned all the powers that be to
the lowermost torture in the loudest voice.

Quiet — not a soul about — no light, no noise ;
I am in a state of the most fearful excitement ;
I breathe hardly and audibly, and I cry, with
gnashing teeth, each time that the morsel of
meat, which might satisfy me a little, comes
up. As I find that, in spite of all my efforts,
it avails me nought, I cast the bone at the
door. I am filled with the most impotent
hate ; shriek, and menace with my fists towards
Heaven ; yell God's name hoarsely, and bend
my fingers like claws, with ill - suppressed
fury. . . .

Hunger 215

I tell you, you Heaven's Holy Baal, you
don't exist ; but that, if you did, I would curse
you so that your Heaven would quiver with
the fire of hell ! I tell you, I have offered you
my service, and you repulsed me ; and I turn
my back on you for all eternity, because you
did not know your time of visitation ! I tell
you that I am about to die, and yet I mock
you ! You Heaven God and Apis ! with death
staring me in the face — I tell you, I would
rather be a bondsman in hell than a freedman
in your mansions ! I tell you, I am filled with
a blissful contempt for your divine paltriness ;
and I choose the abyss of destruction for a
perpetual resort, where the devils Judas and
Pharaoh are cast down !

I tell you your Heaven is full of the kingdom
of the earth's most crass-headed idiots and
poverty-stricken in spirit ! I tell you, you have
filled your Heaven with the grossest and most
cherished harlots from here below, who have
bent their knees piteously*before you at their
hour of death ! I tell you, you have used force
against me, and you know not, you omniscient
nullity, that I never bend in opposition ! I
tell you, all my life, every cell in my body,
every power of my soul, gasps to mock you,

216 Hunger

you Gracious Monster on High. I tell you, I
would, if I could, breathe it into every human
soul, every flower, every leaf, every dewdrop
in the garden ! I tell you, I would scoff you
on the day of doom, and curse the teeth out
of my mouth for the sake of your Deity's
boundless miserableness ! I tell you, from this
hour I renounce all thy works and all thy
pomps ! I will execrate my thought if it dwell
on you again, and tear out my lips if they
even utter your name ! I tell you, if you
exist, my last word in life or in death — I bid
you farewell, for all time and eternity — I bid
you farewell with heart and reins. I bid you
the last irrevocable farewell, and I am silent,
and turn my back on you and go my way. . . .
Quiet.

I tremble with excitement and exhaustion,
and stand on the same spot, still whispering
oaths and abusive epithets, hiccoughing after
the violent crying fit, broken down and apathetic
after my frenzied outburst of rage. I stand
there for maybe an hour, hiccough and whisper,
and hold on to the door. Then I hear voices —
a conversation between two men who are
coming down the passage. I slink away from
the door, drag myself along the walls of the

Hunger 217

houses, and come out again into the light streets.
As I jog along Young's Hill my brain begins
to work in a most peculiar direction. It occurs
to me that the wretched hovels down at the
corner of the market-place, the stores for loose
materials, the old booths for second-hand
clothes, are really a disgrace to the place — they
spoilt the whole appearance of the market,
and were a blot on the town. Fie ! away with
the rubbish! And I turned over in my mind
as I walked on what it would cost to remove
the Geographical Survey down there — that
handsome building which had always attracted
me so much each time I passed it It would
perhaps not be possible to undertake a removal
of that kind under two or three hundred pounds.
A pretty sum — three hundred pounds ! One
must admit, a tidy enough little sum for
pocket-money ! Ha, ha ! just to make a start
with, eh? and I nodded my head, and con-
ceded that it was a tidy enough bit of pocket-
money to make a start with. I was still
trembling over my whole body, and hiccoughed
now and then violently after my cry. I had
a feeling that there was not much life left in
me — that I was really singing my last verse.
It was almost a matter of indifference to me ;

218 Hunger

it did not trouble me in the least. On the
contrary, I wended my way down town, down
to the wharf, farther and farther away from
my room. I would, for that matter, have
willingly laid myself down flat in the street
to die. My sufferings were rendering me more
and more callous. My sore foot throbbed
violently ; I had a sensation as if the pain
was creeping up through my whole leg. But
not even that caused me any particular
distress ; I had endured worse sensations.

In this manner, I reached the railway wharf.
There was no traffic, no noise — only here and
there a person to be seen, a labourer or sailor
slinking round with their hands in their pockets.
I took notice of a lame man, who looked
sharply at me as we passed one another. I
stopped him instinctively, touched my hat,
and inquired if he knew if the Nun had sailed.
Someway, I couldn't help snapping my fingers
right under the man's nose, and saying, " Ay,
by Jove, the Nun ; yes, the Nun ! " which I
had totally forgotten. All the same, the
thought of her had been smouldering in me.
I had carried it about unconsciously.

Yes, bless me, the Nun had sailed.

He couldn't tell me where she had sailed to ?

Hunger 219

The man reflects, stands on his long leg,
keeps the other up in the air ; it dangles a
little.

"No," he replies. "Do you know what
cargo she was taking in here?"

"No," I answer. But by this time I had
already lost interest in the Nun, and I asked
the man how far it might be to Holmestrand,
reckoned in good old geographical miles.

"To Holmestrand? I should think . . ."

" Or to Vceblungsnaess ? "

" What was I going to say ? I should think
to Holmestrand . . ."

" Oh, never mind ; I have just remembered
it," I interrupted him again. "You wouldn't
perhaps be so kind as to give me a small bit
of tobacco — only just a tiny scrap ? "

I received the tobacco, thanked the man
heartily, and went on. I made no use of the
tobacco ; I put it into my pocket. He still
kept his eye on me — perhaps I had aroused his
suspicions in some way or another. Whether
I stood still or walked on, I felt his suspicious
look following me. I had no mind to be
persecuted by this creature. I turn round,
and, dragging myself back to him, say :

"Binder" — only this one word, "Binder!"

220 Hunger

no more. I looked fixedly at him as I say
it, indeed I was conscious of staring fearfully
at him. It was as if I saw him with my
entire body instead of only with my eyes.
I stare for a little while after I give utterance
to this word, and then I jog along again to
the railway square. The man does not utter a
syllable, he only keeps his gaze fixed upon me.

" Binder!" I stood suddenly still. Yes, wasn't
that just what I had a feeling of the moment
I met the old chap ; a feeling that I had met
him before ! One bright morning up in
Graendsen, when I pawned my waistcoat. It
seemed to me an eternity since that day.

Whilst I stand and ponder over this, I lean
and support myself against a house wall at
the corner of the railway square and Harbour
Street. Suddenly, I start quickly and make
an effort to crawl away. As I do not succeed
in it, I stare case-hardened ahead of me and
fling all shame to the winds. There is no
help for it. I am standing face to face with
the " Commandor." I get devil-may-care —
brazen. I take yet a step farther from the
wall in order to make him notice me. I do
not do it to awake his compassion, but to
mortify myself, place myself, as it were, on the

Hunger 221

pillory. I could have flung myself down in
the street and begged him to walk over me,
tread on my face. I don't even bid him good-
evening.

Perhaps the "Commandor" guesses that some-
thing is amiss with me. He slackens his pace
a little, and I say, in order to stop him, " I
would have called upon you long ago with
something, but nothing has come yet!"

" Indeed ? " he replies in an interrogative
tone. "You haven't got it finished, then?"

" No, it didn't get finished."

My eyes by this time are filled with tears
at his friendliness, and I cough with a bitter
effort to regain my composure. The "Com-
mandor" tweaks his nose and looks at me.

" Have you anything to live on in the mean-
time?" he questions.

"No," I reply. "I haven't that either; I
haven't eaten anything to-day, but . . ."

" The Lord preserve you, man, it will never
do for you to go and starve yourself to death,"
he exclaims, feeling in his pocket.

This causes a feeling of shame to awake in
me, and I stagger over to the wall and hold
on to it. I see him finger in his purse, and
he hands me half-a-sovereign.

222 Hunger

He makes no fuss about it, simply gives me
half-a-sovereign, reiterating at the same time
that it would never do to let me starve to
death. I stammered an objection and did
not take it all at once. It is shameful of me
to ... it was really too much. . . .

" Hurry up," he says, looking at his watch.
" I have been waiting for the train ; I hear it
coming now."

I took the money; I was dumb with joy,
and never said a word ; I didn't even thank
him once.

"It isn't worth while feeling put out about
it," said the " Commandor " at last. " I know
you can write for it."

And so off he went.

When he had gone a few steps, I remem-
bered all at once that I had not thanked
him for this great assistance. I tried to
overtake him, but could not get on quickly
enough ; my legs failed me, and I came near
tumbling on my face. He went farther
and farther away from me. I gave up
the attempt ; thought of calling after him,
but dared not ; and when after all I did
muster up courage enough and called once
or twice, he was already at too great a

Hunger 223

distance, and my voice had become too
weak.

I was left standing on the pavement, gazing
after him. I wept quietly and silently. " I
never saw the like ! " I said to myself. " He
gave me half-a-sovereign." I walked back and
placed myself where he had stood, imitated all
his movements, held the half-sovereign up to
my moistened eyes, inspected it on both sides,
and began to swear — to swear at the top of
my voice, that there was no manner of doubt
that what I held in my hand was half-a-
sovereign. An hour after, maybe — a very
long hour, for it had grown very silent all
around me — I stood, singularly enough, out-
side No. 11, Tomtegaden. After I had stood
and collected my wits for a moment and
wondered thereat, I went through the door
for the second time, right into the " Entertain-
ment and lodgings for travellers." Here I
asked for shelter, and was immediately sup-
plied with a bed.

Tuesday.

Sunshine and quiet — a strangely bright day.
The snow had disappeared. There was life
and joy, and glad faces, smiles, and laughter

224 Hunger

everywhere. The fountains threw up sprays
of water in jets, golden-tinted from the sun-
light, azure from the sky. . . .

At noon I left my lodgings in Tomtegaden,
where I still lived and found fairly comfortable,
and set out for town. I was in the merriest
humour, and lazied about the whole afternoon
through the most frequented streets and looked
at the people. Even before seven o'clock I
took a turn up St Olav's Place and took a
furtive look up at the window of No. 2. In
an hour I would see her. I went about the
whole time in a state of tremulous, delicious
dread. What would happen? What should
I say when she came down the stairs ? Good-
evening? or only smile? I concluded to let
it rest with the smile. Of course I would
bow profoundly to her.

I stole away, a little ashamed to be there
so early, wandered up Carl Johann for a while,
and kept my eyes on University Street.
When the clocks struck eight I walked once
more towards St Olav's Place. On the way
it struck me that perhaps I might arrive a
few minutes too late, and I quickened my
pace as much as I could. My foot was very
sore, otherwise nothing ailed me.

Hunger 225

I took up my place at the fountain and
drew breath. I stood there a long while and
gazed up at the window of No. 2, but she did
not come. Well, I would wait ; I was in no
hurry. She might be delayed, and I waited
on. It couldn't well be that I had dreamt the
whole thing! Had my first meeting with her
only existed in imagination the night I lay
in delirium? I began in perplexity to think
over it, and wasn't at all sure.

" Hem ! " came from behind me. I heard
this, and I also heard light steps near me, but
I did not turn round, I only stared up at the
wide staircase before me.

"Good-evening," came then. I forget to
smile ; I don't even take off my hat at first,
I am so taken aback to see her come this
way.

" Have you been waiting long ? " she asks.
She is breathing a little quickly after her walk.

" No, not at all ; I only came a little while
ago," I reply. "And besides, would it matter
if I had waited long? I expected, by-the-way,
that you would come from another direction."

" I accompanied mamma to some people.
Mamma is spending the evening with them."

"Oh, indeed," I say.
P

226 Hunger

We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A
policeman is standing at the corner, looking
at us.

" But, after all, where are we going to ? " she
asks, and stops.

" Wherever you wish ; only where you wish."

" Ugh, yes ! but it 's such a bore to have to
decide oneself."

A pause.

Then I say, merely for the sake of saying
something :

" I see it 's dark up in your windows."

"Yes, it is," she replies gaily; "the servant
has an evening off, too, so I am all alone at
home."

We both stand and look up at the windows
of No. 2 as if neither of us had seen them
before.

"Can't we go up to your place, then?" I
say ; " I shall sit down at the door the whole
time if you like."

But then I trembled with emotion, and re-
gretted greatly that I had perhaps been too
forward. Supposing she were to get angry,
and leave me. Suppose I were never to see
her again. Ah, that miserable attire of mine !
I waited despairingly for her reply.

Hunger 227

"You shall certainly not sit down by the
door," she says. She says it right down
tenderly, and says accurately these words :
"You shall certainly not sit down by the
door."

We went up.

Out on the lobby, where it was dark, she
took hold of my hand, and led me on. There
was no necessity for my being so quiet, she
said, I could very well talk. We entered.
Whilst she lit the candle — it was not a lamp
she lit, but a candle — whilst she lit the candle,
she said, with a little laugh :

" But now you mustn't look at me. Ugh !
I am so ashamed, but I will never do it
again."

"What will you never do again?"

" I will never . . . ugh . . . no . . . good
gracious ... I will never kiss you again ! "

" Won't you ? " I said, and we both laughed.
I stretched out my arms to her, and she glided
away ; slipped round to the other side of the
table. We stood a while and gazed at one
another ; the candle stood right between us.

" Try and catch me," she said ; and with
much laughter I tried to seize hold of her.
Whilst she sprang about, she loosened her

228 Hunger

veil, and took off her hat ; her sparkling eyes
hung on mine, and watched my movements.
I made a fresh sortie, and tripped on the carpet
and fell, my sore foot refusing to bear me
up any longer. I rose in extreme confusion.

"Lord, how red you did get!" she said.
"Well, it was awfully awkward of you."

"Yes, it was," I agreed, and we began the
chase afresh.

" It seems to me you limp."

" Yes ; perhaps I do — just a little — only just
a little, for that matter."

"Last time you had a sore ringer, now you
have got a sore foot ; it is awful the number
of afflictions you have."

"Ah, yes. I was run over slightly, a few
days ago."

"Run over! Tipsy again? Why, good
Heavens ! what a life you lead, young
man ! " and she threatened me with her fore-
finger, and tried to appear grave. "Well, let
us sit down, then ; no, not down there by the
door ; you are far too reserved ! Come here —
you there, and I here — so, that's it . . . ugh,
it 's such a bore with reticent people ! One
has to say and do everything oneself; one
gets no help to do anything. Now, for ex-

Hunger 229

ample, you might just as well put your arm
over the back of my chair ; you could easily
have thought of that much out of your own
head, couldn't you? But if I say anything
like that, you open your eyes as wide as if
you couldn't believe what was being said.
Yes, it is really true ; I have noticed it several
times ; you are doing it now, too ; but you
needn't try to persuade me that you are
always so modest ; it is only when you don't
dare to be otherwise than quiet. You were
daring enough the day you were tipsy — when
you followed me straight home and worried
me with your witticisms. 'You are losing
your book, madam ; you are quite certainly
losing your book, madam ! ' Ha, ha, ha ! it was
really shameless of you."

I sat dejectedly and looked at her ; my heart
beat violently, my blood raced quickly through
my veins, there was a singular sense of enjoy-
ment in it!

"Why don't you say something?"
" What a darling you are," I cried. " I am
simply sitting here getting thoroughly fascin-
ated by you — here this very moment thoroughly
fascinated. . . . There is no help for it. . . .
You are the most extraordinary creature that

230 Hunger

. . . sometimes your eyes gleam so, that I
never saw their match ; they look like flowers
. . . eh ? No, well no, perhaps not like flowers,
either, but ... I am so desperately in love
with you, and it is so preposterous . . . for,
great Scott ! there is naturally not an atom of
chance for me. . . . What is your name ? Now,
you really must tell me what you are called."

" No ; what is your name ? Gracious, I was
nearly forgetting that again ! I thought about
it all yesterday, that I meant to ask you —
yes, that is to say, not all yesterday, but "

" Do you know what I named you ? I
named you Ylajali. How do you like that?
It has a gliding sound. ..."

"Ylajali?"

" Yes."

"Is that a foreign language?"

" Humph — no, it isn't that either ! "

"Well, it isn't ugly!"

After a long discussion we told one another
our names. She seated herself close to my
side on the sofa, and shoved the chair away
with her foot, and we began to chatter
afresh.

" You are shaved this evening, too," she said ;
" look on the whole a little better than the last

Hunger 231

time — that is to say, only just a scrap better.
Don't imagine ... no ; the last time you were
really shabby, and you had a dirty rag round
your finger into the bargain ; and in that state
you absolutely wanted me to go to some
place, and take wine with you — thanks, not
me!"

" So it was, after all, because of my miser-
able appearance that you would not go with
me?" I said.

" No," she replied and looked down. " No ;
God knows it wasn't. I didn't even think
about it."

" Listen," said I ; " you are evidently sitting
here labouring under the delusion that I can
dress and live exactly as I choose, aren't you ?
And that is just what I can't do ; I am very,
very poor."

She looked at me. " Are you ? " she queried.

"Yes, worse luck, I am."

After an interval.

" Well, gracious, so am I, too," she said, with
a cheerful movement of her head.

Everyone of her words intoxicated me, fell
on my heart like drops of wine. She enchanted
me with the trick she had of putting her head
a little on one side, and listening when I said

232 Hunger

anything, and I could feel her breath brush
my face.

" Do you know," I said, " that . . . but, now,
you mustn't get angry — when I went to bed
last night I settled this arm for you ... so
... as if you lay on it . . . and then I went
to sleep."

" Did you ? That was lovely ! " A pause.
" But of course it could only be from a dis-
tance that you would venture to do such a
thing, for otherwise . . ."

" Don't you believe I could do it otherwise ? "

"No, I don't believe it."

"Ah, from me you may expect everything,"
I said, and I put my arm around her waist.

" Can I ? " was all she said.

It annoyed me, almost wounded me, that
she should look upon me as being so utterly
inoffensive. I braced myself up, steeled my
heart, and seized her hand ; but she with-
drew it softly, and moved a little away from
me. That just put an end to my courage
again ; I felt ashamed, and looked out through
the window. I was, in spite of all, in far too
wretched a condition ; I must, above all, not
try to imagine myself anyone in particular. It
would have been another matter if I had met

Hunger 233

her during the time that I still looked like a
respectable human being — in my old, well-off
days when I had sufficient to make an appear-
ance ; and I felt fearfully downcast !

"There now, one can see!" she said, "now
one can just see one can snub you with just
the tiniest frown — make you look sheepish by
just moving a little away from you" . . . she
laughed, tantalisingly, roguishly, with tightly-
closed eyes, as if she could not stand being
looked at, either.

" Well, upon my soul ! " I blurted out, " now
you shall just see," and I flung my arms
violently around her shoulder. I was mortified.
Was the girl out of her senses ? Did she think
I was totally inexperienced ! Ha ! Then I
would, by the living . . . No one should
say of me that I was backward on that score.
The creature was possessed by the devil him-
self! If it were only a matter of going at it,
well . . .

She sat quite quietly, and still kept her eyes
closed ; neither of us spoke. I crushed her
fiercely to me, pressed her body greedily
against my breast, and she spoke never a word.
I heard her heart's beat, both hers and mine ;
they sounded like hurrying hoof-beats.

234 Hunger

I kissed her.

I no longer knew myself. I uttered some
nonsense, that she laughed at, whispered pet
names into her mouth, caressed her cheek,
kissed her many times. I undid a couple of
buttons in her bodice and I caught a glimpse
of her breasts inside — white rounded breasts,
that peeped out like two sweet wonders behind
her linen.

" May I see ? " I say, and I try to undo
more buttons to make the opening wider, but
my movements are too rough, I make no way
with the lower buttons; besides, the bodice
tightened there.

"May I just see a little ... a little?"

She winds her arms about my neck, quite
slowly, tenderly, the breath of her pink quiver-
ing nostrils fans me right in the face ; with
one hand she begins herself to undo the buttons
one by one. She laughs embarrassedly, laughs
shortly, and looks up at me several times, to
see if I notice that she is afraid. She loosens
strings, unclasps her stays, is fascinated and
frightened — and I finger with my clumsy hands
at these buttons and strings. . . .

To divert my attention from what she is
doing, she strokes down my shoulders with her

Hunger 235

left hand, and says, " What a lot of loose hair
there is."

"Yes," I reply, and I try to penetrate into
her breast with my mouth. She is lying at
this moment with completely loosened clothes.
Suddenly, as if she changes her mind, as if she
thinks she has gone too far, she covers herself
again and rises up a little, and, to hide her
confusion at the state of her clothes, she begins
to remark anew on the mass of loose hair that
covers my shoulders.

" What can be the reason that your hair falls
out so?"

"Don't know."

" Ah, of course, because you drink too much,
and perhaps ... fie, I won't say it. You
ought to be ashamed. No, I wouldn't have
believed that of you ! To think that you, who
are so young, already should lose your hair!
Now, do please just tell me what sort of way
you really spend you life — I am certain it is
dreadful! But only the truth, do you hear;
no evasions. Anyway, I shall see by you if
you hide anything — there, tell now!"

"Yes; but let me kiss you on your breast
first, then."

"Are you mad? Well, begin now."

236 Hunger

" No, dear ; do give me leave, now, to do that
first."

" Humph, no ; not first ; . . . maybe after-
wards. ... I want to hear what kind of a
man you are. . . . Ah, I am sure it is
dreadful."

It hurt me that she should believe the worst
of me ; I was afraid of thrusting her away en-
tirely, and I could not endure the misgivings
she had as to my way of life. I would clear
myself in her eyes, make myself worthy of
her, show her that she was sitting at the side
of a person almost angelically disposed. Why,
bless me, I could count my falls up to date
on my fingers. I related — related all — and I
only related truth. I made out nothing any
worse than it was ; it was not my intention to
rouse her compassion. I told her also that
I had stolen five shillings one evening.

She sat and listened, with open mouth, pale,
frightened, her shining eyes completely be-
wildered. I desired to make it good again,
to disperse the sad impression I had made,
and I pulled myself up.

" Well, it is all over now ! " I said ; " there
can be no talk of such a thing happening
again ; I am saved now. . . ."

Hunger 237

But she was much dispirited, " The Lord
preserve me ! " was all she said, then kept
silent. She repeated this at short intervals,
and kept silent after each "the Lord pre-
serve me."

I began to jest, caught hold of her, tried to
tickle her, lifted her up to my breast. She had
buttoned up her frock again. This irritated
me not a little — indeed, downright hurt me.
Why should she button up her frock again?
Was I more unworthy in her eyes now, than
if I had myself been instrumental in causing
the falling out of my hair ? Would she have
thought more of me if I had made myself
out to be a roue} . . . No nonsense now ; . . .
it was just a matter of going at it ; and if it
was only just a matter of going at it, so, by
the living ... I laid her down — simply laid
her down on the sofa. She struggled quite
feebly, by-the-way, and looked astonished.

" No ; . . . what do you want ? " she queried.

"What do I want?"

Ha ! she asked me what I wanted. Go at it
was what I wanted — go right at it. It was not
only from a distance that I was able to go
at it. That was not the sort and condition of
man I was — I would have to prove I was not

238 Hunger

the sort of fellow to be trifled with, and not
to be snubbed by a frown. No, no, forsooth ;
I had never yet gone forth from such an affair
as this without having effected my purpose . . .
and I went at it.

" No ! ... no, but ... ? "

" Yes, rather ; that was just my intention."

" No ; do listen ! " she cried, and she added
these hurtful words, " I can't be sure that you
are not insane ! "

I checked myself involuntarily, and I said :
"You don't mean that!"

" Indeed, God knows I do ! you look so
strangely. And the forenoon you followed me
— after all, you weren't tipsy that time?"

" No ; but I wasn't hungry then, either ; I
had just eaten. ..."

" Yes ; but that made it so much the worse."

" Would you rather I had been tipsy? "

" Yes . . . ugh ... I am afraid of you !
Lord, can't you let me be now ! "

I considered a moment. No, I couldn't let
her be. No damned nonsense late in the
evening on a sofa. " Off with that petticoat ! "
Ha, what odd excuses one could hit upon in
such a moment, as if I didn't know it was
just half-coyness, mock modesty all the time.

Hunger 239

I would indeed be green! "There, be quiet!
No bosh ! Live king and country ! "

She fought and struggled against me with
unusual strength — far too strongly to only do so
from coyness. I happened, as if inadvertently,
to knock over the light, so that it went out.
She made a despairing struggle — gave vent at
last to a little whimper.

"No, not that — oh, not that! If you like,
you may rather kiss me on my breast, oh,
dear, kind ..."

I stopped instantly. Her words sounded so
terrified, so helpless, I was struck to the heart.
She meant to offer me a compensation by
giving me leave to kiss her breast! How
charming, how charmingly na'fve. I could
have fallen down and knelt before her.

"But, dear pretty one," I said, completely
bewildered, " I don't understand ... I really
can't conceive what sort of a game this is ... "

She rose, lit the candle again with trem-
bling hands. I leant back on the sofa and did
nothing. What would happen now? I was
in reality very ill at ease.

She cast a look over at the clock on the
wall, and started.

"Ugh, the girl will soon come now!" she

240 Hunger

said ; this was the first thing she said. I took
the hint, and rose. She took up her jacket
as if to put it on, bethought herself, and let
it lie, and went over to the fireplace. So that
it should not appear as if she had shown me
the door, I said :

" Was your father in the army ? " and at
the same time I prepared to leave.

" Yes ; he was an officer. How did you
know ? "

" I didn't know ; it just came into my head."

"That was odd."

" Ah, yes ; there were some places I came to
where I got a kind of presentiment. Ha, ha !
— a part of my insanity, eh ? "

She looked quickly up, but didn't answer.
I felt I worried her with my presence, and
determined to make short work of it. I went
towards the door. Would she not kiss me
any more now? not even give me her hand?
I stood and waited.

" Are you going now, then ? " she said, and
yet she remained quietly standing over near
the fireplace.

I did not reply. I stood humbly in con-
fusion, and looked at her without saying
anything. Why hadn't she left me in peace,

Hunger 241

when nothing was to come of it ? What was
the matter with her now ? It didn't seem to
put her out that I stood prepared to leave.
She was all at once completely lost to me,
and I searched for something to say to her in
farewell — a weighty, cutting word that would
strike her, and perhaps impress her a little.
And in the face of my first resolve, hurt as I
was, instead of being proud and cold, disturbed
and offended, I began right off to talk of
trifles. The telling word would not come ; I
conducted myself in an exceedingly aimless
fashion. Why couldn't she just as well tell
me plainly and straightly to go my way? I
queried. Yes, indeed, why not ? There was no
need of feeling embarrassed about it. Instead
of reminding me that the girl would soon
come home, she could have simply said as
follows : " Now you must run, for I must go
and fetch my mother, and I won't have your
escort through the street." So it was not
that she had been thinking about ? Ah, yes ;
it was that all the same she had thought
about ; I understood that at once. It did
not require much to put me on the right
track ; only, just the way she had taken up
her jacket, and left it down again, had con-
Q

242 Hunger

vinced me immediately. As I said before, I
had presentiments ; and it was not altogether
insanity that was at the root of it. . . .

" But, great heavens ! do forgive me for that
word ! It slipped out of my mouth," she
cried ; but yet she stood quite quietly, and
did not come over to me.

I was inflexible, and went on. I stood
there and prattled, with the painful conscious-
ness that I bored her, that not one of my
words went home, and all the same I did
not cease.

At bottom one might be a fairly sensitive
nature, even if one were not insane, I ventured
to say. There were natures that fed on trifles,
and died just for one hard word's sake ; and
I implied that I had such a nature. The fact
was, that my poverty had in that degree
sharpened certain powers in me, so that they
caused me unpleasantness. Yes, I assure you
honestly, unpleasantness ; worse luck ! But
this had also its advantages. It helped me in
certain situations in life. The poor intelligent
man is a far nicer observer than the rich
intelligent man. The poor man looks about
him at every step he takes, listens suspiciously
to every word he hears from the people he

Hunger 243

meets, every step he takes affords in this way
a task for his thoughts and feelings — an
occupation. He is quick of hearing, and
sensitive ; he is an experienced man, his soul
bears the sears of the fire. . . .

And I talked a long time over these sears
my soul had. But the longer I talked, the
more troubled she grew. At last she muttered,
" My God ! " a couple of times in despair, and
wrung her hands. I could see well that I
tormented her, and I had no wish to torment
her — but did it, all the same. At last, being
of the opinion that I had succeeded in telling
her in rude enough terms the essentials of
what I had to say, I was touched by her
heart-stricken expression. I cried :

" Now I am going, now I am going. Can't
you see that I already have my hand on the
handle of the door ? Good-bye, good-bye,"
I say. "You might answer me when I say
good-bye twice, and stand on the point of
going. I don't even ask to meet you again,
for it would torment you. But tell me, why
didn't you leave me in peace? What had I
done to you ? I didn't get in your way, now,
did I ? Why did you turn away from me
all at once, as if you didn't know me any

244 Hunger

longer ? You have plucked me now so thor-
oughly bare, made me even more wretched
than I ever was at any time before ; but, indeed,
I am not insane. You know well, if you think
it over, that nothing is the matter with me
now. Come over, then, and give me your
hand — or give me leave to go to you, will
you ? I won't do you any harm ; I will only
kneel before you, only for a minute — kneel
down on the floor before you, only for a
minute, may I ? No, no ; there, I am not
to do it then, I see. You are getting afraid.
I will not, I will not do it ; do you hear ?
Lord, why do you get so terrified? I am
standing quite still ; I am not moving. I would
have knelt down on the carpet for a moment
— just there, upon that patch of red, at your
feet ; but you got frightened — I could see it
at once in your eyes that you got frightened,
that was why I stood still. I didn't move a
step when I asked you might I, did I ? I
stood just as immovable as I stand now when
I point out the place to you where I would
have knelt before you, over there on the
crimson rose in the carpet. I don't even
point with my finger. I don't point at all ;
I let it be, not to frighten you. I only nod

Hunger 245

and look over at it, like this ! and you know
perfectly well which rose I mean, but you won't
let me kneel there. You are afraid of me,
and dare not come near to me. I cannot
conceive how you could have the heart to call
me insane. It isn't true ; you don't believe
it, either, any longer? It was once in the
summer, a long time ago, I was mad ; I worked
too hard, and forgot to go to dine at the right
hour, when I had too much to think about. That
happened day after day. I ought to have
remembered it ; but I went on forgetting it —
by God in Heaven, it is true! God keep me
from ever coming alive from this spot if I lie.
There, you can see, you do me an injustice.
It was not out of need I did it ; I can get
credit, much credit, at Ingebret's or Gravesen's.
I often, too, had a good deal of money in my
pocket, and did not buy food, all the same,
because I forgot it. Do you hear? You don't
say anything ; you don't answer ; you don't
stir a bit from the fire ; you just stand and
wait for me to go. . . ."

She came hurriedly over to me, and stretched
out her hand. I looked at her, full of mistrust.
Did she do it with any true heartiness, or did
she only do it to get rid of me ? She wound

246 Hunger

her arms round my neck ; she had tears in
her eyes ; I only stood and looked at her.
She offered her mouth ; I couldn't believe in
her ; it was quite certain she was making a
sacrifice as a means of putting an end to all
this.

She said something ; it sounded to me like,
" I am fond of you, in spite of all." She said
it very lowly and indistinctly ; maybe I did
not hear aright. She may not have said just
those words ; but she cast herself impetuously
against my breast, clasped both her arms about
my neck for a little while, stretched even up a
bit on her toes to get a good hold, and stood so
for perhaps a whole minute. I was afraid that
she was forcing herself to show me this tender-
ness, and I only said :

" What a darling you are now ! "
More I didn't say. I crushed her in my
arms, stepped back, rushed to the door, and
went out backwards. She remained in there,
behind me.

PART IV

Winter had set in — a raw, wet winter, almost
without snow. A foggy, dark, and everlasting
night, without a single blast of fresh wind the
whole week through. The gas was lighted
almost all the day in the streets, and yet
people jostled one another in the fog. Every
sound, the clang of the church bells, the jingling
of the harness of the droske horses, the people's
voices, the beat of the hoofs, everything, sounded
choked and jangling through the close air, that
penetrated and muffled everything.

Week followed week, and the weather was,
and remained, still the same.

And I stayed steadily down in Vaterland.
I grew more and more closely bound to this
inn, this lodging-house for travellers, where I
had found shelter, in spite of my starving
condition. My money was exhausted long
since ; and yet I continued to come and go
in this place as if I had a right to it, and
was at home there. The landlady had, as yet,
said nothing ; but it worried me all the same
247

248 Hunger

that I could not pay her. In this way three
weeks went by. I had already, many days
ago, taken to writing again ; but I could
not succeed in putting anything together
that satisfied me. I had no longer any luck,
although I was very painstaking, and strove
early and late ; no matter what I attempted,
it was useless. Good fortune had flown ; and
I exerted myself in vain.

It was in a room on the second floor, the
best guest-room, that I sat and made these
attempts. I had been undisturbed up there
since the first evening when I had money and
was able to settle for what I got. All the time
I was buoyed up by the hope of at last suc-
ceeding in getting together an article on some
subject or another, so that I could pay for my
room, and for whatever else I owed. That was
the reason I worked on so persistently. I had,
in particular, commenced a piece from which
I expected great things — an allegory about a
fire — a profound thought upon which I in-
tended to expend all my energy, and bring
it to the " Commandor " in payment. The
" Commandor " should see that he had helped
a talent this time. I had no doubt but that
he would eventually see that ; it only was a

Hunger 249

matter of waiting till the spirit moved me ;
and why shouldn't the spirit move me ? Why
should it not come over me even now, at a
very early date? There was no longer any-
thing the matter with me. My landlady gave
me a little food every day, some bread and
butter, mornings and evenings, and my ner-
vousness had almost flown. I no longer used
cloths round my hands when I wrote ; and
I could stare down into the street from my
window on the second floor without getting
giddy. I was much better in every way,
and it was becoming a matter of astonish-
ment to me that I had not already finished
my allegory. I couldn't understand why it
was. . . .

But a day came when I was at last to get
a clear idea of how weak I had really become ;
with what incapacity my dull brain acted.
Namely, on this day my landlady came up to
me with a reckoning which she asked me to
look over. There must be something wrong
in this reckoning, she said ; it didn't agree
with her own book ; but she had not been
able to find out the mistake.

I set to work to add up. My landlady sat
right opposite and looked at me. I totted

250 Hunger

up these score of figures first once down, and
found the total right ; then once up again, and
arrived at the same result. I looked at the
woman sitting opposite me, waiting on my
words. I noticed at the same time that she
was pregnant ; it did not escape my attention,
and yet I did not stare in any way scrutinis-
ingly at her.

"The total is right," said I.

" No ; go over each figure now," she answered.
" I am sure it can't be so much ; I am positive
of it."

And I commenced to check each line — 2
loaves at 2^d., 1 lamp chimney, 3d., soap, 4d.,
butter, 5d. . . . It did not require any particu-
larly shrewd head to run up these rows of
figures — this little huckster account in which
nothing very complex occurred. I tried
honestly to find the error that the woman
spoke about, but couldn't succeed. After I
had muddled about with these figures for some
minutes I felt that, unfortunately, everything
commenced to dance about in my head ; I
could no longer distinguish debit or credit ; I
mixed the whole thing up. Finally, I came to
a dead stop at the following entry — " 3. j^-ths of
a pound of cheese at 9d." My brain failed me

Hunger 251

completely; I stared stupidly down at the
cheese, and got no farther.

" It is really too confoundedly crabbed
writing," I exclaimed, in despair. " Why, God
bless me, here is T\ths of a pound of cheese
entered — ha, ha! did anyone ever hear the
like ? Yes, look here ; you can see for your-
self."

" Yes," she said ; " it is often put down like
that ; it is a kind of Dutch cheese. Yes, that
is all right — five-sixteenths is in this case five
ounces."

" Yes, yes ; I understand that well enough,"
I interrupted, although in truth I understand
nothing more whatever.

I tried once more to get this little account
right, that I could have totted up in a second
some months ago. I sweated fearfully, and
thought over these enigmatical figures with all
my might, and I blinked my eyes reflectingly,
as if I was studying this matter sharply, but
I had to give it up. These five ounces of
cheese finished me completely ; it was as if
something snapped within my forehead. But
yet, to give the impression that I still worked
out my calculation, I moved my lips and
muttered a number aloud, all the while sliding

252 Hunger

farther and farther down the reckoning as if
I were steadily coming to a result. She sat
and waited. At last I said :

"Well, now, I have gone through it from
first to last, and there is really no mistake,
as far as I can see."

" Isn't there ? " replied the woman, " isn't
there really?" But I saw well that she did
not believe me, and she seemed all at once
to throw a dash of contempt into her words, a
slightly careless tone that I had never heard
from her before. She remarked that perhaps
I was not accustomed to reckon in sixteenths ;
she mentioned also that she must only apply
to some one who had a knowledge of six-
teenths, to get the account properly revised.
She said all this, not in any hurtful way to
make me feel ashamed, but thoughtfully and
seriously. When she got as far as the door,
she said, without looking at me :

"Excuse me for taking up your time then."

Off she went.

A moment after, the door opened again, and
she re-entered. She could hardly have gone
much farther than the stairs before she had
turned back.

" That 's true," said she ; " you mustn't take

Hunger 253

it amiss ; but there is a little owing to me
from you now, isn't there? Wasn't it three
weeks yesterday since you came?" Yes, I
thought it was. "It isn't so easy to keep
things going with such a big family, so that
I can't give lodging on credit, more 's the . . ."

I stopped her. " I am working at an article
that I think I told you about before," said I,
"and as soon as ever that is finished, you
shall have your money ; you can make your-
self quite easy. . . ."

" Yes ; but you '11 never get that article
finished, though."

" Do you think that ? Maybe the spirit
will move me to-morrow, or perhaps already,
to-night ; it isn't at all impossible but that
it may move me some time to-night, and
then my article will be completed in a quarter
of an hour at the outside. You see, it isn't
with my work as with other people's ; I can't
sit down and get a certain amount finished
in a day. I have just to wait for the right
moment, and no one can tell the day or hour
when the spirit may move one — it must have
its own time. . . ."

My landlady went, but her confidence in me
was evidently much shaken.

254 Hunger

As soon as I was left alone I jumped up
and tore my hair in despair. No, in spite
of all, there was really no salvation for me—
no salvation ! My brain was bankrupt ! Had
I then really turned into a complete dolt
since I could not even add up the price of
a piece of Dutch cheese? But could it be
possible I had lost my senses when I could
stand and put such questions to myself? Had
not I, into the bargain, right in the midst
of my efforts with the reckoning, made the
lucid observation that my landlady was in
the family way? I had no reason for know-
ing it, no one had told me anything about
it, neither had it occurred to me gratuitously.
I sat and saw it with my own eyes, and I
understood it at once, right at a despairing
moment where I sat and added up sixteenths.
How could I explain this to myself?

I went to the window and gazed out ; it
looked out into Vognmandsgade. Some chil-
dren were playing down on the pavement ;
poorly dressed children in the middle of a
poor street. They tossed an empty bottle
between them and screamed shrilly. A load
of furniture rolled slowly by ; it must be-
long to some dislodged family, forced to

Hunger 255

change residence between "flitting time."*
This struck me at once. Bed-clothes and
furniture were heaped on the float, moth-eaten
beds and chests of drawers, red-painted chairs
with three legs, mats, old iron, and tin-ware.
A little girl — a mere child, a downright ugly
youngster, with a running cold in her nose
— sat up on top of the load, and held fast
with her poor little blue hands in order not
to tumble off. She sat on a heap of fright-
fully stained mattresses, that children must
have lain on, and looked down at the urchins
who were tossing the empty bottle to one
another. . . .

I stood gazing at all this ; I had no difficulty
in apprehending everything that passed before
me. Whilst I stood there at the window and
observed this, I could hear my landlady's
servant singing in the kitchen right alongside
of my room. I knew the air she was singing,
and I listened to hear if she would sing false,
and I said to myself that an idiot could not
have done all this. I was, God be praised,
as right in my senses as any man.

Suddenly, I saw two of the children down
in the street fire up and begin to abuse one

* In Norway, 14th of March and October.

256 Hunger

another. Two little boys ; I recognised one
of them ; he was my landlady's son. I open
the window to hear what they are saying to
one another, and immediately a flock of chil-
dren crowded together under my window, and
looked wistfully up. What did they expect?
That something would be thrown down ?
Withered flowers, bones, cigar ends, or one
thing or another, that they could amuse them-
selves with? They looked up with their
frost-pinched faces and unspeakably wistful
eyes. In the meantime, the two small foes
continued to revile one another.

Words like great buzzing noxious insects
swarm out of their childish mouths ; frightful
nicknames, thieves' slang, sailors' oaths, that
they perhaps had learnt down on the wharf;
and they are both so engaged that they do
not notice my landlady, who rushes out to
see what is going on.

"Yes," explains her son, "he catched me
by the throat ; I couldn't breathe for ever so
long," and turning upon the little man who
is the cause of the quarrel, and who is stand-
ing grinning maliciously at him, he gets
perfectly furious, and yells, "Go to hell,
Chaldean ass that you are! To think such

Hunger 257

vermin as you should catch folk by the
throat I will, may the Lord . . ."

And the mother, this pregnant woman, who
dominates the whole street with her size,
answers the ten-year-old child, as she seizes
him by the arm and tries to drag him in:

" Sh — sh. Hold your jaw ! I just like to hear
the way you swear, too, as if you had been in
a brothel for years. Now, in with you."

" No, I won't"

"Yes, you will."

" No, I won't"

I stand up in the window and see that the
mother's temper is rising; this disagreeable
scene excites me frightfully. I can't endure
it any longer. I call down to the boy to
come up to me for a minute ; I call twice,
just to distract them — to change the scene.
The last time I call very loudly, and the
mother turns round flurriedly and looks up
at me. She regains her self-possession at
once, looks insolently at me, nay, downright
maliciously, and enters the house with a chid-
ing remark to her offspring. She talks loudly,
so that I may hear it, and says to him, " Fie,
you ought to be ashamed of yourself to let
people see how naughty you are."
R

258 Hunger

Of all this that I stood there and observed
not one thing, not even one little accessory
detail, was lost on me ; my attention was
acutely keen ; I absorbed carefully every little
thing as I stood and thought out my own
thought, about each thing according as it
occurred. So it was impossible that there
could be anything the matter with my brain.
How could there, in this case, be anything the
matter with it?

Listen ; do you know what, said I all at
once to myself, that you have been worrying
yourself long enough about your brain, giving
yourself no end of worry in this matter ? Now,
there must be an end to this tomfoolery. Is
it a sign of insanity to notice and apprehend
everything as accurately as you do? You
make me almost laugh at you, I reply. To
my mind it is not without its humorous side,
if I am any judge of such a case. Why, it
happens to every man that he once in a way
sticks fast, and that, too, just with the simplest
question. It is of no significance, it is often
a pure accident. As I have remarked before, I
am on the point of having a good laugh at your
expense. As far as that huckster account is
concerned, that paltry five-sixteenths of beggar-

Hunger 259

man's cheese, I can happily dub it so. Ha, ha !
— a cheese with cloves and pepper in it ; upon
my word, a cheese in which, to put the matter
plainly, one could breed maggots. As far as
that ridiculous cheese is concerned, it might
happen to the cleverest fellow in the world to
be puzzled over it! Why, the smell of the
cheese was enough to finish a man ; . . . and I
made the greatest fun of this and all other
Dutch cheeses. . . . No ; set me to reckon up
something really eatable, said I — set me, if you
like, at five-sixteenths of good dairy butter.
That is another matter.

I laughed feverishly at my own whim, and
found it peculiarly diverting. There was
positively no longer anything the matter with
me. I was in good form — was, so to say, still in
the best of form ; I had a level head, nothing
was wanting there, God be praised and thanked !
My mirth rose in measure as I paced the floor
and communed with myself. I laughed aloud,
and felt amazingly glad. Besides, it really
seemed, too, as if I only needed this little
happy hour, this moment of airy rapture,
without a care on any side, to get my head
into working order once more.

I seated myself at the table, and set to work

260 Hunger

at my allegory ; it progressed swimmingly,
better than it had done for a long time ; not
very fast, 'tis true, but it seemed to me that
what I did was altogether first-rate. I worked,
too, for the space of an hour without getting
tired.

I am sitting working at a most crucial point
in this Allegory of a Conflagration in a Book-
shop. It appears to me so momentous a
point, that all the rest I have written counted
as nothing in comparison. I was, namely, just
about to weave in, in a downright profound
way, this thought. It was not books that
were burning, it was brains, human brains ;
and I intended to make a perfect Bartholomew's
night of these burning brains.

Suddenly my door was flung open with a
jerk and in much haste ; my landlady came
sailing in. She came straight over to the
middle of the room, she did not even pause
on the threshold.

I gave a little hoarse cry ; it was just as if
I had received a blow.

"What?" said she, "I thought you said
something. We have got a traveller, and we
must have this room for him. You will have
to sleep downstairs with us to - night. Yes ;

Hunger 261

you can have a bed to yourself there too."
And before she got my answer, she began,
without further ceremony, to bundle my papers
together on the table, and put the whole of
them into a state of dire confusion.

My happy mood was blown to the winds ;
I stood up at once, in anger and despair. I let
her tidy the table, and said nothing, never
uttered a syllable. She thrust all the papers
into my hand.

There was nothing else for me to do. I
was forced to leave the room. And so this
precious moment was spoilt also. I met the
new traveller already on the stairs : a young
man with great blue anchors tatooed on the
backs of his hands. A quay porter followed
him, bearing a sea-chest on his shoulders.
He was evidently a sailor, a casual traveller
for the night ; he would therefore not occupy
my room for any lengthened period. Perhaps,
too, I might be lucky to-morrow when the
man had left, and have one of my moments
again ; I only needed an inspiration for five
minutes, and my essay on the conflagration
would be completed. Well, I should have
to submit to fate.

I had not been inside the familv rooms

262 Hunger

before, this one common room in which they
all lived, both day and night — the husband,
wife, wife's father, and four children. The
servant lived in the kitchen, where she also
slept at night. I approached the door with
much repugnance, and knocked. No one
answered, yet I heard voices inside.

The husband did not speak as I stepped in,
did not acknowledge my nod even, merely
glanced at me carelessly, as if I were no
concern of his. Besides, he was sitting
playing cards with a person I had seen down
on the quays, with the by-name of " Pane o'
glass." An infant lay and prattled to itself
over in the bed, and an old man, the land-
lady's father, sat doubled together on a settle-
bed, and bent his head down over his hands
as if his chest or stomach pained him. His
hair was almost white, and he looked in his
crouching position like a poke -necked reptile
that sat cocking its ears at something.

" I come, worse luck, to beg for house - room
down here to-night," I said to the man.

" Did my wife say so ? " he inquired.

" Yes ; a new lodger came to my room."

To this the man made no reply, but
proceeded to finger the cards. There this

Hunger 263

man sat, day after day, and played cards
with anybody who happened to come in —
played for nothing, only just to kill time,
and have something in hand. He never did
anything else, only moved just as much as
his lazy limbs felt inclined, whilst his wife
bustled up and down stairs, was occupied on
all sides, and took care to draw customers to
the house. She had put herself in connection
with quay -porters and dock -men, to whom
she paid a certain sum for every new lodger
they brought her, and she often gave them,
in addition, a shelter for the night. This
time it was " Pane o' glass " that had just
brought along the new lodger.

A couple of the children came in — two
little girls, with thin, freckled, gutter-snipe
faces ; their clothes were positively wretched.
A while after the landlady herself entered.
I asked her where she intended to put me
up for the night, and she replied that I could
lie in here together with the others, or out
in the ante-room on the sofa, as I thought
fit. Whilst she answered me she fussed
about the room and busied herself with
different things that she set in order, and
she never once looked at me.

264 Hunger

My spirits were crushed by her reply.

I stood down near the door, and made
myself small, tried to make it appear as if
I were quite content all the same to change
my room for another for one night's sake. I
put on a friendly face on purpose not to
irritate her and perhaps be hustled right out
of the house.

" Ah, yes," I said, " there is sure to be some
way ! " and then held my tongue.

She still bustled about the room.

"For that matter, I may as well just tell
you that I can't afford to give people credit
for their board and lodging," said she, " and
I told you that before, too."

" Yes ; but, my dear woman, it is only for
these few days, until I get my article finished,"
I answered, "and I will willingly give you
an extra five shillings — willingly."

But she had evidently no faith in my article,
I could see that ; and I could not afford to be
proud, and leave the house, just for a slight
mortification ; I knew what awaited me if I
went out.

A few days passed over.

I still associated with the family below, for

Hunger 265

it was too cold in the ante-room where there
was no stove. I slept, too, at night on the
floor of the room.

The strange sailor continued to lodge in
my room, and did not seem like moving very
quickly. At noon, too, my landlady came in
and related how he had paid her a month
in advance, and, besides, he was going to take
his first -mate's examination before leaving,
that was why he was staying in town. I
stood and listened to this, and understood that
my room was lost to me for ever.

I went out to the ante-room, and sat down.
If I were lucky enough to get anything
written, it would have perforce to be here where
it was quiet. It was no longer the allegory
that occupied me ; I had got a new idea, a per-
fectly splendid plot ; I would compose a one-
act drama — " The Sign of the Cross." Subject
taken from the Middle Ages. I had especially
thought out everything in connection with the
principal characters : a magnificently fanatical
harlot who had sinned in the temple, not from
weakness or desire, but for hate against heaven ;
sinned right at the foot of the altar, with the
altar-cloth under her head, just out of delicious
contempt for heaven.

266 Hunger

I grew more and more obsessed by this
creation as the hours went on. She stood at
last, palpably, vividly embodied before my
eyes, and was exactly as I wished her to
appear. Her body was to be deformed and
repulsive, tall, very lean, and rather dark ; and,
when she walked, her long limbs should gleam
through her draperies at every stride she took.
She was also to have large outstanding ears.
Curtly, she was nothing for the eye to dwell
upon, barely endurable to look at. What
interested me in her was her wonderful shame-
lessness, the desperately full measure of cal-
culated sin which she had committed. She
really occupied me too much, my brain was
absolutely inflated by this singular monstrosity
of a creature, and I worked for two hours,
without a pause, at my drama. When I had
finished half-a-score of pages, perhaps twelve,
often with much effort, at times with long
intervals, in which I wrote in vain and had to
tear the page in two, I had become tired, quite
stiff with cold and fatigue, and I arose and
went out into the street. For the last half-
hour, too, I had been disturbed by the crying
of the children inside the family room, so that I
could not, in any case, have written any more

Hunger 267

just then. So I took a long time up over
Dram mens veien, and stayed away till the
evening, pondering incessantly, as I walked
along, as to how I would continue my drama.
Before I came home in the evening of this
day, the following happened :

I stood outside a shoemaker's shop far down
in Carl Johann Street, almost at the railway
square. God knows why I stood just outside
this shoemaker's shop. I looked into the
window as I stood there, but did not, by the
way, remember that I needed shoes then ; my
thoughts were far away in other parts of the
world. A swarm of people talking together
passed behind my back, and I heard nothing
of what was said. Then a voice greeted me
loudly :

" Good -evening."

It was " Missy " who bade me good-evening !
I answered at random, I looked at him, too,
for a while, before I recognised him.

"Well, how are you getting along?" he
inquired.

" Oh, always well ... as usual."

* By the way, tell me," said he, " are you,
then, still with Christie?"

"Christie?"

268 Hunger

" I thought you once said you were book-
keeper at Christie's?"

" Ah, yes. No ; that is done with. It was
impossible to get along with that fellow ; that
came to an end very quickly of its own
accord."

" Why so ? "

" Well, I happened to make a mis-entry one
day, and so — "

"A false entry, eh?"

False entry ! There stood " Missy," and asked
me straight in the face if I had done this
thing. He even asked eagerly, and evidently
with much interest. I looked at him, felt
deeply insulted, and made no reply.

" Yes, well, Lord ! that might happen to the
best fellow," he said, as if to console me. He
still believed I had made a false entry de-
signedly.

" What is it that, ' Yes, well, Lord ! indeed
might happen to the best fellow ' ? " I inquired.
" To do that. Listen, my good man. Do you
stand there and really believe that I could
for a moment be guilty of such a mean trick
as that? I!"

" But, my dear fellow, I thought I heard you
distinctly say that."

Hunger 269

" No ; I said that I had made a mis-entry
once, a bagatelle ; if you want to know, a
false date on a letter, a single stroke of the
pen wrong — that was my whole crime. No,
God be praised, I can tell right from wrong
yet a while. How would it fare with me if I
were, into the bargain, to sully my honour?
It is simply my sense of honour that keeps
me afloat now. But it is strong enough too ;
at least, it has kept me up to date."

I threw back my head, turned away from
"Missy," and looked down the street. My
eyes rested on a red dress that came towards
us ; on a woman at a man's side. If I had
not had this conversation with " Missy," I
would not have been hurt by his coarse
suspicion, and I would not have given this
toss of my head, as I turned away in offence ;
and so perhaps this red dress would have
passed me without my having noticed it.
And at bottom what did it concern me?
What was it to me if it were the dress of
the Hon. Miss Nagel, the lady-in-waiting?
" Missy " stood and talked, and tried to make
good his mistake again. I did not listen to
him at all ; I stood the whole time and stared
at the red dress that was coming nearer up

270 Hunger

the street, and a stir thrilled through my
breast, a gliding delicate dart, I whispered in
thought without moving my lips :

" Ylajali ! "

Now " Missy " turned round also and noticed
the two — the lady and the man with her, —
raised his hat to them, and followed them
with his eyes. I did not raise my hat, or
perhaps I did unconsciously. The red dress
glided up Carl Johann, and disappeared.

" Who was it was with her ? " asked " Missy."

"The Duke, didn't you see? The so-called
1 Duke.' Did you know the lady ? "

"Yes, in a sort of way. Didn't you know
her?"

"No," I replied.

" It appears to me you saluted profoundly
enough."

"Did I?"

" Ha, ha ! perhaps you didn't," said " Missy."
" Well, that is odd. Why, it was only at you
she looked, too, the whole time."

"When did you get to know her?" I asked.

He did not really know her. It dated from
an evening in autumn. It was late ; they
were three jovial souls together, they came
out late from the Grand, and met this being

Hunger 271

going along alone past Cammermeyers, and
they addressed her. At first she answered
rebuffingly ; but one of the jovial spirits, a
man who neither feared fire nor water,
asked her right to her face if he might not
have the civilised enjoyment of accompanying
her home? He would, by the Lord, not hurt
a hair on her head, as the saying goes — only
go with her to her door, reassure himself that
she reached home in safety, otherwise he could
not rest all night. He talked incessantly as
they went along, hit upon one thing or another,
dubbed himself Waldemar Atterdag, and re-
presented himself as a photographer. At last
she was obliged to laugh at this merry soul
who refused to be rebuffed by her coldness,
and it finally ended by his going with her.

" Indeed, did it ? and what came of it ? "
I inquired ; and I held my breath for his
reply.

" Came of it ? Oh, stop there ; there is a
lady in question."

We both kept silent a moment, both " Missy "
and I.

"Well, I'm hanged, was that 'the Duke'?
So that 's what he looks like," he added, reflec-
tively. " Well, if she is in contact with that

272 Hunger

fellow ; well, then, I wouldn't like to answer
for her."

I still kept silent. Yes, of course "the
Duke" would make the pace with her. Well,
what odds ? How did it concern me ? I bade
her good-day with all her wiles : a good-day
I bade her ; and I tried to console myself by
thinking the worst thoughts about her ; took
a downright pleasure in dragging her through
the mire. It only annoyed me to think that
I had doffed my hat to the pair, if I really
had done so. Why should I raise my hat to
such people? I did not care for her any
longer, certainly not ; she was no longer in
the very slightest degree lovely to me; she
had fallen off. Ah, the devil knows how soiled
I found her! It might easily have been the
case that it. was only me she looked at ; I was
not in the least astounded at that ; it might
be regret that began to stir in her. But that
was no reason for me to go and lower myself
and salute, like a fool, especially when she had
become so seriously besmirched of late. " The
Duke " was welcome to her ; I wish him joy !
The day might come when I would just take
into my head to pass her haughtily by with-
out glancing once towards her. Ay, it might

Hunger 273

happen that I would venture to do this, even
if she were to gaze straight into my eyes, and
have a blood-red gown on into the bargain. It
might very easily happen ! Ha, ha ! that would
be a triumph. If I knew myself aright, I was
quite capable of completing my drama during
the course of the night, and, before eight days
had flown, I would have brought this young
lady to her knees — with all her charms, ha, ha !
with all her charms. . . .

" Good - bye," I muttered, shortly ; but
" Missy " held me back. He queried :

" But what do you do all day now ? "

" Do ? I write, naturally. What else should
I do? Is it not that I live by? For the
moment, I am working at a great drama, ' The
Sign of the Cross.' Theme taken from the
Middle Ages."

" By Jove ! " exclaimed " Missy," seriously.
" Well, if you succeed with that, why . . ."

" I have no great anxiety on that score,"
I replied. " In eight days' time or so, I think
you and all the other folks will have heard a
little more of me."

With that I left him.

When I got home I applied at once to my
landlady, and requested a lamp. It was of the
S

274 Hunger

utmost importance to me to get this lamp ; I
would not go to bed to-night ; my drama was
raging in my brain, and I hoped so surely to
be able to write a good portion of it before
morning. I put forward my request very
humbly to her, as I had noticed that she made
a dissatisfied face on my re-entering the sitting-
room. I said that I had almost completed a
remarkable drama, only a couple of scenes
were wanting ; and I hinted that it might be
produced in some theatre or another, in no
time. If she would only just render me this
great service now. . . .

But madam had no lamp. She considered
a bit, but could not call to mind that she
had a lamp in any place. If I liked to wait
until after twelve o'clock, I might perhaps get
the kitchen lamp. Why didn't I buy myself
a candle ?

I held my tongue. I hadn't a farthing to
buy a candle, and she knew that right well.
Of course I was foiled again ! The servant-girl
sat inside with us — simply sat in the sitting-
room, and was not in the kitchen at all ; so
that the lamp up there was not even lit. And
I stood and thought over this, but said no
more. Suddenly the girl remarked to me :

Hunger 275

" I thought I saw you come out of the palace
a while ago ; were you at a dinner party ? " and
she laughed loudly at this jest.

I sat down, took out my papers, and at-
tempted to write something here, in the mean-
time. I held the paper on my knees, and
gazed persistently at the floor to avoid being
distracted by anything ; but it helped not a
whit ; nothing helped me ; I got no farther.
The landlady's two little girls came in and
made a row with a cat — a queer, sick cat
that had scarcely a hair on it ; they blew into
its eyes until water sprang out of them and
trickled down its nose. The landlord and a
couple of others sat at a table and played
cent et un. The wife alone was busy as
ever, and sat and sewed at some garment.
She saw well that I could not write anything
in the midst of all this disturbance ; but she
troubled herself no more about me ; she even
smiled when the servant -girl asked me if I
had been out to dine. The whole household
had become hostile towards me. It was as
if I had only needed the disgrace of being
obliged to resign my room to a stranger to
be treated as a man of no account. Even the
servant, a little, brown-eyed street-wench, with

276 Hunger

a big fringe over her forehead, and a perfectly
flat bosom, poked fun at me in the evening
when I got my ration of bread and butter.
She inquired perpetually where, then, was I
in the habit of dining, as she had never seen
me picking my teeth outside the Grand? It
was clear that she was aware of my wretched
circumstances, and took a pleasure in letting
me know of it.

I fall suddenly into thought over all this,
and am not able to find a solitary speech for
my drama. Time upon time I seek in vain ;
a strange buzzing begins inside my head, and
I give it up. I thrust the papers into my
pocket, and look up. The girl is sitting straight
opposite me. I look at her — look at her narrow
back and drooping shoulders, that are not yet
fully developed. What business was it of hers
to fly at me? Even supposing I did come
out of the palace, what then? Did it harm
her in any way ? She had laughed insolently
in the past few days at me, when I was a
bit awkward and stumbled on the stairs, or
caught fast on a nail and tore my coat. It
was no later than yesterday that she gathered
up my rough copy, that I had thrown aside
in the ante-room — stolen these rejected frag-

Hunger 277

ments of my drama, and read them aloud in
the room here ; made fun of them in everyone's
hearing, just to amuse herself at my expense.
I had never molested her in any way, and
could not recall that I had ever asked her
to do me a service. On the contrary, I made
up my bed on the floor in the ante-room
myself, in order not to give her any trouble
with it. She made fun of me, too, because
my hair fell out. Hair lay and floated about
in the basin I washed in in the mornings, and
she made merry over it. Then my shoes, too,
had grown rather shabby of late, particularly
the one that had been run over by the bread-
van, and she found subject for jesting in
them. " God bless you and your shoes ! " said
she, looking at them ; " they are as wide
as a dog's house." And she was right ; they
were trodden out. But then I couldn't procure
myself any others just at present.

Whilst I sit and call all this to mind,
and marvel over the evident malice of the
servant, the little girls have begun to tease
the old man over in the bed ; they are jump-
ing around him, fully bent on this diversion.
They both found a straw, which they poked
into his ears. I looked on at this for a while,

278 Hunger

and refrained from interfering. The old fellow
did not move a finger to defend himself; he
only looked at his tormentors with furious
eyes each time they prodded him, and jerked
his head to escape when the straws were
already in his ears. I got more and more
irritated at this sight, and could not keep
my eyes away from it. The father looked
up from his cards, and laughed at the
youngsters ; he also drew the attention of his
comrades at play to what was going on. Why
didn't the old fellow move ? Why didn't he
fling the children aside with his arms ? I
took a stride, and approached the bed.

" Let them alone ! let them alone ! he is
paralysed," called the landlord.

And out of fear to be shown the door for
the night, simply out of fear of rousing the
man's displeasure by interfering with this scene,
I stepped back silently to my old place and
kept myself quiet. Why should I risk my
lodging and my portion of bread and butter
by poking my nose into the family squabbles ?
No idiotic pranks for the sake of a half-dying
old man, and I stood and felt as delightfully
hard as a flint.

The little urchins did not cease their

Hunger 279

plaguing ; it amused them that the old chap
could not hold his head quiet, and they aimed
at his eyes and nostrils. He stared at them
with a ludicrous expression ; he said nothing,
and could not stir his arms. Suddenly he raised
the upper part of his body a little and spat
in the face of one of the little girls, drew him-
self up again and spat at the other, but did not
reach her. I stood and looked on, saw that
the landlord flung the cards on the table
at which he sat, and sprang over towards
the bed. His face was flushed, and he
shouted :

"Will you sit and spit right into people's
eyes, you old boar ? "

" But, good Lord, he got no peace from
them ! " I cried, beside myself.

But all the time I stood in fear of being
turned out, and I certainly did not utter my
protest with any particular force ; I only
trembled over my whole body with irritation.
He turned towards me, and said :

"Eh, listen to him, then. What the devil
is it to you? You just keep your tongue in
your jaw, you — just mark what I tell you,
'twill serve you best."

But now the wife's voice made itself heard,

280 Hunger

and the house was filled with scolding and
railing.

" May God help me, but I think you are
mad or possessed, the whole pack of you ! "
she shrieked. " If you want to stay in here
you '11 have to be quiet, both of you ! Humph !
it isn't enough that one is to keep open house
and food for vermin, but one is to have spar-
ring and rowing and the devil's own to-do in
the sitting-room as well. But I won't have
any more of it, not if I know it. Sh — h !
Hold your tongues, you brats there, and wipe
your noses, too ; if you don't, I '11 come and
do it. I never saw the like of such people.
Here they walk in out of the street, without
even a penny to buy flea-powder, and begin
to kick up rows in the middle of the night
and quarrel with the people who own the
house. I don't mean to have any more of it,
do you understand that? and you can go
your way, everyone who doesn't belong home
here. I am going to have peace in my own
quarters, I am."

I said nothing, I never opened my mouth
once. I sat down again next the door and
listened to the noise. They all screamed
together, even the children, and the girl who

Hunger 281

wanted to explain how the whole disturbance
commenced. If I only kept quiet, it would
all blow over sometime ; it would surely not
come to the worst if I only did not utter a
word ; and what word after all could I have
to say? Was it not perhaps winter outside,
and far advanced into the night, besides?
Was that a time to strike a blow, and show
one could hold one's own ? No folly now !
... So I sat still and made no attempt to
leave the house ; I never even blushed at
keeping silent, never felt ashamed, although I
had almost been shown the door. I stared
coolly, case-hardened, at the wall where Christ
hung in an oleograph, and held my tongue
obstinately during all the landlady's attack.

"Well, if it is me you want to get quit of,
ma'am, there will be nothing in the way as far
as I am concerned," said one of the card-
players as he stood up. The other card-
players rose as well.

" No, I didn't mean you — nor you either,"
replied the landlady to them. "If there's any
need to, I will show well enough who I mean,
if there's the least need to, if I know myself
rightly. Oh, it will be shown quick enough
who it is. . . ."

282 Hunger

She talked with pauses, gave me these
thrusts at short intervals, and spun it out to
make it clearer and clearer that it was me
she meant "Quiet," said I to myself; "only-
keep quiet ! " She had not asked me to go — not
expressly, not in plain words. Just no put-
ting on side on my part — no untimely pride !
Brave it out ! . . . That was really most
singular green hair on that Christ in the
oleograph. It was not too unlike green
grass, or expressed with exquisite exactitude
thick meadow grass. Ha ! a perfectly correct
remark — unusually thick meadow grass. ... A
train of fleeting ideas darts at this moment
through my head. From green grass to the
text, Each life is like unto grass that is
kindled ; from that to the Day of Judgment,
when all will be consumed ; then a little de-
tour down to the earthquake in Lisbon, about
which something floated before me in refer-
ence to a brass Spanish spitoon and an ebony
pen handle that I had seen down at Ylajali's.
Ah, yes, all was transitory, just like grass
that was kindled. It all ended in four planks
and a winding-sheet. "Winding-sheets to be
had from Miss Andersen's, on the right of
the door." . . . And all this was tossed about

Hunger 283

in my head during the despairing moment
when my landlady was about to thrust me
from her door.

" He doesn't hear," she yelled. " I tell you,
you '11 quit this house. Now you know it !
I believe, God blast me, that the man is mad,
I do! Now, out you go, on the blessed spot,
and so no more chat about it."

I looked towards the door, not in order to
leave — no, certainly not in order to leave. An
audacious notion seized me — if there had been
a key in the door, I would have turned it and
locked myself in along with the rest to escape
going. I had a perfectly hysterical dread of
going out into the streets again.

But there was no key in the door.

Then, suddenly my landlord's voice mingled
with that of his wife, I stood still with amaze-
ment. The same man who had threatened
me a while ago took my part, strangely
enough, now. He said :

" No, it won't do to turn folk out at night ; do
you know one can be punished for doing that ? "

" I didn't know if there was a punishment
for that ; I couldn't say, but perhaps it was so,"
and the wife bethought herself quickly, grew
quiet, and spoke no more.

284 Hunger

She placed two pieces of bread and butter
before me for supper, but I did not touch
them, just out of gratitude to the man ; so I
pretended that I had had a little food in town.

When at length I took myself off to the
ante-room to go to bed, she came out after
me, stopped on the threshold, and said loudly,
whilst her unsightly figure seemed to strut
out towards me :

"But this is the last night you sleep here,
so now you know it."

" Yes, yes," I replied.

There would perhaps be some way of find-
ing a shelter to-morrow, if I tried hard for it.
I would surely be able to find some hiding-
place. For the time being I would rejoice
that I was not obliged to go out to-night.

I slept till between five and six in the
morning — it was not yet light when I awoke
— but all the same I got up at once. I had
lain in all my clothes on account of the cold,
and had no dressing to do. When I had
drunk a little cold water and opened the door
quietly, I went out directly, for I was afraid
to face my landlady again.

A couple of policemen who had been on
watch all night were the only living beings

Hunger 285

I saw in the street. A while after, some men
began to extinguish the lamps. I wandered
about without aim or end, reached Kirkegade
and the road down towards the fortress. Cold
and still sleepy, weak in the knees and back
after my long walk, and very hungry, I sat
down on a seat and dozed for a long time.
For three weeks I had lived exclusively on the
bread and butter that my landlady had given
me morning and evening. Now it was twenty-
four hours since I had had my last meal.
Hunger began to gnaw badly at me again; I
must seek a help for it right quickly. With this
thought I fell asleep again upon the seat. . . .
I was aroused by the sound of people speak-
ing near me, and when I had collected myself
a little, I saw that it was broad day, and that
everyone was up and about. I got up and
walked away. The sun burst over the heights,
the sky was pale and tender, and in my de-
light over the lovely morning, after the many
dark gloomy weeks, I forgot all cares, and it
seemed to me as if I had fared worse on
other occasions. I clapped myself on the
chest and sang a little snatch for myself.
My voice sounded so wretched, downright
exhausted it sounded, and I moved myself to

286 Hunger

tears with it. This magnificent day, the
white heavens swimming in light, had far too
mighty an effect upon me, and I burst into
loud weeping.

"What is the matter with you?" inquired
a man. I did not answer, but hurried away,
hiding my face from all men. I reached the
bridge. A large barque with the Russian flag
lay and discharged coal. I read her name,
Copegoro, on her side. It distracted me for
a time to watch what took place on board
this foreign ship. She must be almost dis-
charged ; she lay with IX foot visible on her
side, in spite of all the ballast she had
already taken in, and there was a hollow
boom through the whole ship whenever the
coal-heavers stamped on the deck with their
heavy boots.

The sun, the light, and the salt breath from
the sea, all this busy, merry life pulled me
together a bit, and caused my blood to run
lustily. Suddenly it entered my head that
I could work at a few scenes of my drama
whilst I sat here, and I took my papers out
of my pocket.

I tried to place a speech into a monk's
mouth — a speech that ought to swell with

Hunger 287

pride and intolerance, but it was of no use ;
so I skipped over the monk and tried to
work out an oration — the Deemster's oration
to the violator of the Temple, — and I wrote
half- a -page of this oration, upon which I
stopped. The right local colour would not
tinge my words, the bustle about me, the
shanties, the noise of the gangways, and the
ceaseless rattle of the iron chains, fitted in
so little with the atmosphere of the musty
air of the dim Middle Ages, that was to
envelop my drama as with a mist.

I bundled my papers together and got up.

All the same, I had got into a happy vein
— a grand vein, — and I felt convinced that I
could effect something if all went well.

If I only had a place to go to. I thought
over it — stopped right there in the street and
pondered, but I could not bring to mind a
single quiet spot in the town where I could
seat myself for an hour. There was no other
way open ; I would have to go back to the
lodging-house in Vaterland. I shrank at the
thought of it, and I told myself all the while
that it would not do. I went ahead all the
same, and approached nearer and nearer to
the forbidden spot. Of course it was wretched.

288 Hunger

I admitted to myself that it was degrading —
downright degrading, but there was no help
for it. I was not in the least proud ; I dared
make the assertion roundly, that I was one
of the least arrogant beings up to date. I
went ahead.

I pulled up at the door and weighed it
over once more. Yes, no matter what the
result was, I would have to dare it. After all
said and done, what a bagatelle to make such
a fuss about. For the first, it was only a
matter of a couple of hours ; for the second,
the Lord forbid that I should ever seek refuge
in such a house again. I entered the yard.
Even whilst I was crossing the uneven stones
I was irresolute, and almost turned round at
the very door. I clenched my teeth. No !
no pride ! At the worst I could excuse myself
by saying I had come to say good-bye, to
make a proper adieu, and come to a clear
understanding about my debt to the house.

I opened the door of the long room. I entered
and stood stock-still when I got inside. Right
in front of me, only a few paces away, stood
the landlord himself. He was without hat or
coat, and was peeping through the keyhole
into the family room. He made a sign, a warn-

Hunger 289

ing sign with his hand to me to keep quiet,
and peeped again through the hole.

"Come here," he whispered. I approached
on tip-toe.

"Look there," he said, and laughed with a
quiet, eager laugh. " Peep in ! Hi, hi ! there
they are ! Look at the old chap ! Can you
see the old chap ? "

In the bed under the Christ in oleograph I
saw two figures, the landlady and the strange
sailor: her legs gleamed whitely against the
dark coverlid, and in bed against the wall
sat her father, the paralysed old man, and
looked on, bending over his hands, crouched
together as always, without being able to move.

I turned round towards my landlord. He
had the greatest trouble to keep himself from
laughing out loudly.

" Did you see the old chap ? " he whispered.
" Ah Lord ! did you see the old chap ? He
is sitting looking on," and he placed himself
once more before the keyhole.

I went over to the window, and sat down.
This sight had brought all my thoughts into
merciless disorder, and put an end to my bright
mood. Well, what concern was it of mine?
When the husband himself agreed to it, ay,
T

290 Hunger

even found his greatest diversion in it, there
was no reason why I should take it to heart.
And as far as the old fellow was concerned, well,
the old fellow was, once for all, an old fellow,
and no more. Perhaps he didn't even notice it.
Maybe that he just sat and dozed. God knows,
he may have been dead ; it would not surprise
me in the least if he were dead ; I would
have no scruples of conscience on this score.

I took forth my papers once more, and
determined to thrust all irrelevant impressions
aside. I had left off right in the middle of
a sentence in the inquisitor's address — "Thus
dictate God and the law to me, thus dictates
also the counsel of my wise men, thus dictate
I and my own conscience ..." I looked out
of the window to think over what his conscience
should dictate to him. A little row reached
me from the room inside. Well, it was no
affair of mine, anyway. Besides, the old chap
was surely dead — died perhaps this morning
about four ; it was therefore entirely and totally
indifferent to me what noise arose. Why the
devil should I sit thinking about it? Keep
quiet now! "Thus dictate I and my own
conscience ..." But everything conspired
against me ; the man over at the keyhole

Hunger 291

did not stand quiet a second. I could now
and then hear his stifled laughter, and see how-
he shook. Outside in the street, too, some-
thing was taking place that disturbed me. A
little lad sat and amused himself in the sun
on the opposite side of the pavement. He
was happy and in fear of no danger — just sat
and knotted together a lot of paper streamers,
and injured no one. Suddenly he jumps up
and begins to curse ; he goes backwards to
the middle of the street and catches sight of
a man, a grown-up man, with a red beard, who
is leaning out of an open window in the second
storey, and who spat down on his head. The
little chap cried with rage, and swore im-
patiently up at the window; and the man
laughed in his face. Perhaps five minutes
passed in this way. I turned aside to avoid
seeing the little lad's tears.

"Thus dictate I and my own conscience
..." I found it impossible to get any farther.
At last everything began to get confused; it
seemed to me that even that which I had
already written was unfit to use, ay, that the
whole idea was contemptible rubbish. How
could one possibly talk of conscience in the
Middle Ages? Conscience was first invented

292 Hunger

by Dancing-master Shakespeare, consequently
my whole address was wrong. Was there, then,
nothing of value in these pages ? I ran through
them anew, and solved my doubt at once. I
discovered grand pieces — downright lengthy
pieces of remarkable merit — and once again
the intoxicating desire to set to work again
darted through my breast — the desire to finish
my drama.

I got up and went to the door, without
paying any attention to my landlord's furious
signs to go out quietly ; I walked out of the
room firmly, and with my mind made up. I
went upstairs to the second floor, and entered
my former room. The man was not there,
and what was to hinder me from sitting here
for a moment? I would not touch one of his
things. I wouldn't even once use his table ;
I would just seat myself on a chair near the
door, and be happy. I spread the papers
hurriedly out on my knees. Things went
splendidly for a few minutes. Retort upon
retort stood ready in my head, and I wrote
uninterruptedly. I filled one page after the
other, dashed ahead over stock and stone,
chuckled softly in ecstacy over my happy
vein, and was scarcely conscious of myself.

Hunger 293

The only sound I heard in this moment was
my own merry chuckle.

A singularly happy idea had just struck me
about a church bell — a church bell that was
to peal out at a certain point in my drama.
All was going ahead with overwhelming rapidity.
Then I hear a step on the stairs. I tremble,
and am almost beside myself; sit ready to bolt,
timorous, watchful, full of fear at everything,
and excited by hunger. I listen nervously,
just hold the pencil still in my hand, and
listen. I cannot write a word more. The
door opens, and the pair from below enter.

Even before I had time to make an excuse
for what I had done, the landlady calls out,
as if struck of a heap with amazement :

"Well, God bless and save us, if he isn't
sitting here again ! "

" Excuse me," I said, and I would have
added more, but got no farther; the landlady
flung open the door, as far as it would go,
and shrieked :

"If you don't go out, now, may God blast
me, but I'll fetch the police!" •

I got up.

" I only wanted to say good-bye to you,"
I murmured ; " and I had to wait for you. I

294 Hunger

didn't touch anything ; I only just sat here
on the chair. . . ."

" Yes, yes ; there was no harm in that,"
said the man. " What the devil does it matter ?
Let the man alone ; he "

By this time I had reached the end of the
stairs. All at once I got furious with this
fat, swollen woman, who followed close to my
heels to get rid of me quickly, and I stood
quiet a moment with the worst abusive epithets
on my tongue ready to sling at her. But I
bethought myself in time, and held my peace,
if only out of gratitude to the stranger man,
who followed her, and would have to hear
them. She trod close on my heels, railing
incessantly, and my anger increased with every
step I took.

We reached the yard below. I walked very
slowly, still debating whether I would not
have it out with her. I was at this moment
completely blinded with rage, and I searched
for the worst word — an expression that would
strike her dead on the spot, like a kick in
her stomach. A commissionaire passes me
at the entrance. He touches his hat ; I take
no notice ; he applies to her ; and I hear that
he inquires for me, but I do not turn round.

Hunger 295

A couple of steps outside the door he overtakes
and stops me. He hands me an envelope. I
tear it open, roughly and unwillingly. It con-
tains half-a-sovereign — no note, not a word. I
look at the man, and ask :

" What tomfoolery is this ? Who is the
letter from?"

" Oh, that I can't say ! " he replies ; " but
it was a lady who gave it to me."

I stood still. The commissionaire left.

I put the coin into the envelope again,
crumple it up, coin and envelope, wheel round
and go straight towards the landlady, who is
still keeping an eye on me from the doorway,
and throw it in her face. I said nothing ;
I uttered no syllable — only noticed that she
was examining the crumpled paper as I left
her. . . . Ha! that is what one might call
comporting oneself with dignity. Not to say a
word, not to mention the contents, but crumple
together, with perfect calmness, a large piece
of money, and fling it straight in the face of
one's persecutor ! One might call that making
one's exit with dignity. That was the way
to treat such beasts ! . . .

When I got to the corner of Tomtegaden
and the railway place, the street commenced

296 Hunger

suddenly to swim round before my eyes ; it
buzzed vacantly in my head, and I staggered
up against the wall of a house. I could simply
go no farther, couldn't even straighten myself
from the cramped position I was in. As I
fell up against it, so I remained standing, and
I felt that I was beginning to lose my senses.
My insane anger had augmented this attack
of exhaustion. I lifted my foot, and stamped
on the pavement. I also tried several other
things to try and regain my strength : I
clenched my teeth, wrinkled my brows, and
rolled my eyes despairingly ; it helped a little.
My thoughts grew more lucid. It was clear
to me that I was about to succumb. I stretched
out my hands, and pushed myself back from
the wall. The street still danced wildly round
me. I began to hiccough with rage, and I
wrestled from my very inmost soul with my
misery ; made a right gallant effort not to
sink down. It was not my intention to collapse ;
no, I would die standing. A dray rolls slowly
by, and I notice there are potatoes in it ; but
out of sheer fury and stubbornness, I take
it into my head to assert that they are not
potatoes, but cabbages, and I swore frightful
oaths that they were cabbages. I heard quite

Hunger 297

well what I was saying, and I swore this lie
wittingly ; repeating, time after time, just to
have the vicious satisfaction of perjuring my-
self. I got intoxicated with the thought of this
matchless sin of mine. I raised three fingers
in the air, and swore, with trembling lips, in
the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
that they were cabbages.

Time went. I let myself sink down on the
steps near me, and dried the sweat from my
brow and throat, drew a couple of long breaths,
and forced myself into calmness. The sun slid
down ; it declined towards the afternoon. I
began once more to brood over my condition.
My hunger was really something disgraceful,
and, in a few hours more, night would be
here again. The question was, to think of
a remedy while there was yet time. My
thoughts flew again to the lodging-house from
which I had been hunted away. I could on
no account return there ; but yet one could
not help thinking about it. Properly speaking,
the woman was acting quite within her rights
in turning me out. How could I expect to
get lodging with anyone when I could not pay
for it? Besides, she had occasionally given
me a little food ; even yesterday evening, after

298 Hunger

I had annoyed her, she offered me some bread
and butter. She offered it to me out of sheer
good nature, because she knew I needed it, so
I had no cause to complain. I began, even
whilst I sat there on the step, to ask her
pardon in my own mind for my behaviour.
Particularly, I regretted bitterly that I had
shown myself ungrateful to her at the last,
and thrown half-a-sovereign in her face. ...

Half-a-sovereign ! I gave a whistle. The
letter the messenger brought me, where did
it come from? It was only this instant I
thought clearly over this, and I divined at
once how the whole thing hung together. I
grew sick with pain and shame. I whispered
"Ylajali" a few times, with hoarse voice, and
flung back my head. Was it not I who, no
later than yesterday, had decided to pass her
proudly by if I met her, to treat her with the
greatest indifference? Instead of that, I had
only aroused her compassion, and coaxed an
alms from her. No, no, no ; there would never
be an end to my degradation ! Not even in her
presence could I maintain a decent position.
I sank, simply sank, on all sides — every way
I turned ; sank to my knees, sank to my waist,
dived under in ignominy, never to rise again

Hunger 299

— never ! This was the climax ! To accept
half-a-sovereign in alms without being able
to fling it back to the secret donor ; scramble
for half- pence whenever the chance offered,
and keep them, use them for lodging money,
in spite of one's own intense inner aversion. . . .

Could I not regain the half-sovereign in some
way or another ? To go back to the landlady
and try to get it from her would be of no
use. There must be some way, if I were to
consider — if I were only to exert myself
right well, and consider it over. It was not, in
this case, great God, sufficient to consider in
just an ordinary way ! I must consider so that
it penetrated my whole sentient being ; con-
sider and find some way to procure this half-
sovereign. And I set to, to consider the answer
to this problem.

It might be about four o'clock ; in a few
hours' time I could perhaps meet the manager
of the theatre ; if only I had my drama
completed.

I take out my MSS. there where I am sitting,
and resolve, with might and main, to finish
the last few scenes. I think until I sweat,
and re-read from the beginning, but make no
progress. No bosh ! I say — no obstinacy, now !

300 Hunger

and I write away at my drama — write down
everything that strikes me, just to get finished
quickly and be able to go away. I tried to
persuade myself that a new supreme moment
had seized me ; I lied right royally to myself,
deceived myself knowingly, and wrote on, as
if I had no need to seek for words.

That is capital ! That is really a find !
whispered I, interpolatingly ; only just write
it down ! Halt ! they sound questionable ;
they contrast rather strongly with the speeches
in the first scenes ; not a trace of the Middle
Ages shone through the monk's words. I
break my pencil between my teeth, jump to
my feet, tear my manuscript in two, tear each
page in two, fling my hat down in the street
and trample upon it. I am lost! I whisper
to myself. Ladies and gentlemen, I am lost!
I utter no more than these few words as long
as I stand there, and tramp upon my hat.

A policeman is standing a few steps away,
watching me. He is standing in the middle
of the street, and he only pays attention to
me. As I lift my head, our eyes meet.
Maybe he has been standing there for a long
time watching me. I pick up my hat, put it
on, and go over to him.

Hunger 301

"Do you know what o'clock it is?" I ask.

He pauses a bit as he hauls out his watch,
and never takes his eyes off me the whole
time.

" About four," he replies.

" Accurately," I say, " about four, perfectly
accurate. You know your business, and I '11
bear you in mind." Thereupon I left him.
He looked utterly amazed at me, stood and
looked at me, with gaping mouth, still holding
his watch in his hand.

When I got in front of the Royal Hotel
I turned round and looked back. He was
still standing in the same position, following
me with his eyes.

Ha, ha! That is the way to treat the
brutes ! With the most refined effrontery !
That impresses the brutes — puts the fear of
God into them. ... I was peculiarly satisfied
with myself, and began to sing a little strain.
Every nerve was tense with excitement.
Without feeling any more pain, without even
being conscious of discomfort of any kind, I
walked, light as a feather, across the whole
market, turned round at the stalls, and came
to a halt — sat down on a bench near Our
Saviour's Church. Might it not just as well

3<D2 Hunger

be a matter of indifference whether I returned
the half-sovereign or not? When once I
received it, it was mine ; and there was evi-
dently no want where it came from. Besides,
I was obliged to take it when it was sent
expressly to me ; there could be no object
in letting the messenger keep it. It wouldn't
do, either, to send it back — a whole half-
sovereign that had been sent to me. So
there was positively no help for it.

I tried to watch the bustle about me in the
market, and distract myself with indifferent
things, but I did not succeed ; the half-
sovereign still busied my thoughts. At last
I clenched my fists and got angry. It would
hurt her if I were to send it back. Why,
then, should I do so? Always ready to
consider myself too good for everything — to
toss my head and say, No, thanks! I saw
now what it led to. I was out in the street
again. Even when I had the opportunity I
couldn't keep my good warm lodging. No ; I
must needs be proud, jump up at the first
word, and show I wasn't the man to stand
trifling, chuck half-sovereigns right and left,
and go my way. ... I took myself sharply to
task for having left my lodging and brought

Hunger 303

myself into the most distressful circum-
stances.

As for the rest, I consigned the whole
affair to the keeping of the yellowest of
devils. I hadn't begged for the half-sover-
eign, and I had barely had it in my hand,
but gave it away at once — paid it away to
utterly strange people whom I would never see
again. That was the sort of man I was; I
always paid out to the last doit whatever I
owed. If I knew Ylajali aright, neither did
she regret that she had sent me the money,
therefore why did I sit there working myself
into a rage? To put it plainly, the least she
could do was to send me half-a-sovereign
now and then. The poor girl was indeed in
love with me — ha ! perhaps even fatally in
love with me ; . . . and I sat and puffed myself
up with this notion. There was no doubt
that she was in love with me, the poor
girl.

It struck five o'clock ! Again I sank under
the weight of my prolonged nervous excite-
ment. The hollow whirring in my head
made itself felt anew. I stared straight
ahead, kept my eyes fixed, and gazed at the
chemist's under the sign of the elephant.

304 Hunger

Hunger was waging a fierce battle in me at
this moment, and I was suffering greatly.
Whilst I sit thus and look out into space,
a figure becomes little by little clear to my
fixed stare. At last I can distinguish it per-
fectly plainly, and I recognise it. It is that of
the cake-vendor who sits habitually near the
chemist's under the sign of the elephant. I
give a start, sit half-upright on the seat, and
begin to consider. Yes, it was quite correct
— the same woman before the same table on
the same spot! I whistle a few times and
snap my fingers, rise from my seat, and make
for the chemist's. No nonsense at all ! What
the devil was it to me if it was the wages of
sin, or well-earned Norwegian huckster pieces
of silver from Kongsberg? I wasn't going to
be abused ; one might die of too much
pride. . . .

I go on to the corner, take stock of the
woman, and come to a standstill before her.
I smile, nod as to an acquaintance, and shape
my words as if it were a foregone conclusion
that I would return sometime.

" Good-day," say I ; " perhaps you don't
recognise me again."

" No," she replied slowly, and looks at me.

Hunger 305

I smile still more, as if this were only an
excellent joke of hers, this pretending not to
know me again, and say :

"Don't you recollect that I gave you a lot
of silver once? I did not say anything on
the occasion in question ; as far as I can call
to mind, I did not ; it is not my way to do so.
When one has honest folk to deal with, it is
unnecessary to make an agreement, so to say,
draw up a contract for every trifle. Ha, ha !
Yes, it was I who gave you the money ! "

" No, then, now ; was it you ? Yes, I re-
member you, now that I come to think over
it.

I wanted to prevent her from thanking me
for the money, so I say, therefore, hastily,
whilst I cast my eye over the table in search
of something to eat :

" Yes ; I Ve come now to get the cakes."

She did not seem to take this in.

" The cakes," I reiterate ; " I 've come now
to get them — at any rate, the first instal-
ment ; I don't need all of them to-day."

"You've come to get them?"

" Yes ; of course I 've come to get them,"
I reply, and I laugh boisterously, as if it ought
to have been self-evident to her from the out-
U

306 Hunger

set that I came for that purpose. I take, too,
a cake up from the table, a sort of white roll
that I commenced to eat.

When the woman sees this, she stirs un-
easily inside her bundle of clothes, makes an
involuntary movement as if to protect her
wares, and gives me to understand that she
had not expected me to return to rob her
of them.

"Really not?" I say, "indeed, really not?"
She certainly was an extraordinary woman.
Had she, then, at any time, had the experience
that someone came and gave her a heap of
shillings to take care of, without that person
returning and demanding them again ? No ;
just look at that now ! Did she perhaps run
away with the idea that it was stolen money,
since I slung it at her in that manner ? No ;
she didn't think that either. Well, that at
least was a good thing — really a good thing.
It was, if I might so say, kind of her, in spite
of all, to still consider me an honest man.
Ha, ha ! yes, indeed, she really was good !

But why did I give her the money, then?
The woman was exasperated, and called out
loudly about it. I explained why I had given
her the money, explained it temperately and

Hunger 307

with emphasis. It was my custom to act in
this manner, because I had such a belief in
everyone's goodness. Always when anyone
offered me an agreement, a receipt, I only
shook my head and said : No, thank you ! God
knows I did.

But still the woman failed to comprehend
it. I had recourse to other expedients — spoke
sharply, and bade a truce to all nonsense.
Had it never happened to her before that
anyone had paid her in advance in this
manner ? I inquired — I meant, of course,
people who could afford it — for example,
any of the consuls ? Never ! Well, I could
not be expected to suffer because it happened
to be a strange mode of procedure to her.
It was a common practice abroad. She had
perhaps never been outside the boundaries of
her own country? No? Just look at that
now! In that case, she could of course have
no opinion on the subject ; . . . and I took
several more cakes from the table.

She grumbled angrily, refused obstinately
to give up any more of her stores from off
the table, even snatched a piece of cake out
of my hand and put it back into its place.
I got enraged, banged the table, and threatened

308 Hunger

to call the police. I wished to be lenient
with her, I said. Were I to take all that was
lawfully mine, I would clear her whole stand,
because it was a big sum of money that I
had given to her. But I had no intention of
taking so much, I wanted in reality only half
the value of the money, and I would, into
the bargain, never come back to trouble her
again. Might God preserve me from it, seeing
that that was the sort of creature she was. . . .
At length she shoved some cakes towards me,
four or five, at an exorbitant price, the highest
possible price she could think of, and bade
me take them and begone. I wrangled still
with her, persisted that she had at least
cheated me to the extent of a shilling, besides
robbing me with her exorbitant prices. "Do
you know there is a penalty for such rascally
trickery," said I ; " God help you, you might
get penal servitude for life, you old fool ! "
She flung another cake to me, and, with almost
gnashing teeth, begged me to go.

And I left her.

Ha ! a match for this dishonest cake-vendor
was not to be found. The whole time, whilst
I walked to and fro in the market-place and
ate my cakes, I talked loudly about this

Hunger 309

creature and her shamelessness, repeated to
myself what we both had said to one another,
and it seemed to me that I had come out of
this affair with flying colours, leaving her no-
where. I ate my cakes in face of everybody,
and talked this over to myself.

The cakes disappeared one by one ; they
seemed to go no way ; no matter how I ate
I was still greedily hungry. Lord, to think
they were of no help ! I was so ravenous
that I was even about to devour the last
little cake that I had decided to spare, right *
from the beginning, to put it aside, in fact,
for the little chap down in Vognmandsgade
— the little lad who played with the paper
streamers. I thought of him continually —
couldn't forget his face as he jumped and
swore. He had turned round towards the
window when the man spat down on him,
and he had just looked up to see if I was
laughing at him. God knows if I should meet
him now, even if I went down that way.

I exerted myself greatly to try and reach
Vognmandsgade, passed quickly by the spot
where I had torn my drama into tatters, and
where some scraps of paper still lay about ;
avoided the policeman whom I had amazed by

310 Hunger

my behaviour, and reached the steps upon
which the laddie had been sitting.

He was not there. The street was almost
deserted — dusk was gathering in, and I could
not see him anywhere. Perhaps he had gone
in. I laid the cake down, stood it upright
against the door, knocked hard, and hurried
away directly. He is sure to find it, I said to
myself; the first thing he will do when he
comes out will be to find it. And my eyes
grew moist with pleasure at the thought of
the little chap finding the cake.

I reached the terminus again.

Now I no longer felt hungry, only the sweet
stuff I had eaten began to cause me discomfort.
The wildest thoughts, too, surged up anew in
my head.

Supposing I were in all secretness to cut the
hawser mooring of one of those ships ? Sup-
posing I were to suddenly yell out "Fire"?
I walk farther down the wharf, find a packing-
case and sit upon it, fold my hands, and am
conscious that my head is growing more and
more confused. I do not stir ; I simply make
no effort whatever to keep up any longer. I
just sit there and stare at the Coptfgoro, the
barque flying the Russian flag.

Hunger 3 1 1

I catch a glimpse of a man at the rail ; the
red lantern slung at the port shines down
upon his head, and I get up and talk over
to him. I had no object in talking, as I did
not expect to get a reply, either. I said :

"Do you sail to-night, Captain?"

" Yes ; in a short time," answered the man.
He spoke Swedish.

" Hem, I suppose you wouldn't happen to
need a man?"

I was at this instant utterly indifferent as
to whether I was met by a refusal or not;
it was all the same to me what reply the
man gave me, so I stood and waited for it.

" Well, no," he replied ; " unless it chanced
to be a young fellow."

" A young fellow ! " I pulled myself to-
gether, took off my glasses furtively and thrust
them into my pocket, stepped up the gangway,
and strode on deck.

" I have no experience," said I ; " but I can
do anything I am put to. Where are you
bound for?"

"We are in ballast for Leith, to fetch coal
for Cadiz."

" All right," said I, forcing myself upon the
man ; " it 5s all the same to me where I go ; I
am prepared to do my work."

312 Hunger

"Have you never sailed before?" he asked.

" No ; but as I tell you, put me to a task,
and I '11 do it. I am used to a little of all
sorts."

He bethought himself again.

I had already taken keenly into my head
that I was to sail this voyage, and I began
to dread being hounded on shore again.

"What do you think about it, Captain?" I
asked at last. " I can really do anything that
turns up. What am I saying? I would be
a poor sort of chap if I couldn't do a little
more than just what I was put to. I can
take two watches at a stretch, if it comes to
that. It would only do me good, and I could
hold out all the same."

" All right, have a try at it. If it doesn't
work, well, we can part in England."

"Of course," I reply in my delight, and I
repeated over again that we could part in
England if it didn't work.

And he set me to work. . . .

Out in the fjord I dragged myself up once,
wet with fever and exhaustion, and gazed land-
wards, and bade farewell for the present to
the town — to Christiania, where the windows
gleamed so brightly in all the homes.

Spring 1899

essrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s

List of Publications

5 Old Bond Street London W

MESSRS

EONARD SMITHERS & CO.'S
List of Publications

NEW ART BOOKS
3en Ionson : His Volpone ; or,

the Foxe.

Edition de Luxe of Ben Jonson's most celebrated Comedy,
printed in demy quarto size on art paper, and embellished with
a Cover Design, a Frontispiece in Line, and five Initial Letters
decorative and illustrative, reproduced in half-tone from Pencil
Drawings by Aubrey Beardsley, together with a Critical
Essay on the Author of the play by Vincent O'Sullivan, and an
Eulogy of the Artist by Robert Ross. Bound in blue cloth, with
an elaborate Original Design in gold by Mr Beardsley. Price
7s. 6d. net ; edition limited to iooo copies.

One Hundred Copies only on Japanese Vellum, bound
in pure English vellum, with gilt design. Price Two Guineas
net. These copies contain a duplicate set of the plates, beauti-
fully printed in photogravure in the same size as the Original Pencil
Drawings.

Mademoiselle de Maupin. By Aubrey

Beardsley. A water-colour portrait study of
Gautier's famous character Mademoiselle De Maupin.
Reproduced in Photogravure, and printed in colours
by Boussod, Valadon & Co.

PARTICULARS OF ISSUE

5 Proofs on pure Vellum .... Price £5, 5s. each.
o ,, ,, white Satin .... ,, £4, 4s. ,,

5 ,, „ Japanese Vellum . . . ,, £3, 3s. „

o Lettered Prints on Plate Paper . . . ,, j£i, is. „

4 Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
Six Drawings Illustrating Theophile

Gautier's Romance " Mademoiselle de Maupin,"

by Aubrey Beardsley.

Folio size, in a Portfolio of grey cloth and boards. Fifty copies
only of this Series of Six Photogravures (being reproductions of
an uncompleted set of Illustrations by the late Aubrey Beardsley
to "Mademoiselle de Maupin") have been printed, at the price
of Two Guineas net. Only Eight copies remain for sale.

A Book of Fifty Drawings by

Aubrey Beardsley. With an Iconography of
the Artist's work by Aymer Vallance.

Demy 4to, bound in scarlet cloth extra, with cover design by
Mr Beardsley. Edition (500 copies) printed on imitation Japanese 1
vellum, 10s. 6d. net, out of print ; 50 copies, printed on
Imperial Japanese vellum, Two Guineas net, out of print.

This Album of Drawings comprises, in addition to several hitherto unpublished
designs, a selection by Mr Beardsley of his most important published work (" Morte
Darthur," "Salome," '^Rape of the Lock," "Yellow Book," "Savoy," etc.)- The
volume is of additional interest to the Artist's many admirers from the fact that the I
plates are in most cases reproduced from the original drawings, with due regard to
their size and technique, thus preserving many delicate features which have been,
to a great extent, lost by the treatment the drawings received on their first publica-
tion. The frontispiece is a reproduction of a photograph of Mr Beardsley.

A Second Book of Fifty Drawings!

by Aubrey Beardsley.

Demy quarto, bound in scarlet cloth extra, with cover design!
by Mr Beardsley. Edition (1000 copies) printed on art paper, J
10s. 6d. net. Fifty copies printed on Imperial Japanese vellum,
Two Guineas net. Large Paper Edition is out of print.

This Album of Drawings contains Twenty-nine hitherto unpublished deigns,
in addition to a selection of the artist's best published work.

The Savoy. Edited by Arthur

Symons.

The complete set of " The Savoy," bound in three volumes, in
artistic blue cloth cases, with original cover design by Mr Aubrey
Beardsley, is offered for sale at ONE GUINEA net.

Art Contents.— Among the Art Contents are a notable series
of Forty-two Drawings by Aubrey Beardsley ; three Lithographs

List of Publications 5

by Charles H. Shannon, and one by T. R. Way; Caricatures
by Max Beerbohm ; Views in London by Joseph Pennell ;
Unpublished Illustrations to Dante's Divine Comedy, by William
Blake ; and examples of the work of Botticelli, Whistler, D. G.
Rossetti, Eisen, Charles Conder, Louis Oury, W. Rothenstein,
F. Sandys, Jacques E. Blanche, J. Lemmen, W. T. Horton,
Ph. Caresme, Albert Sterner, W. Sickert, Mrs P. Dearmer, Phil
May, W. B. Macdougall, A. K. Womrath, Fred Hyland, etc. etc.

Literary Contents. — Among the contributors of Prose and
Verse are W. B. Yeats, Edmund Gosse, George Moore, G.
Bernard Shaw, John Gray, Frederick Wedmore, Paul Verlaine,
Max Beerbohm, Fiona Macleod, Vincent O'Sullivan, Clara Savile
Clarke, Bliss Carman, Emile Verhaeren, Edward Carpenter,
Havelock Ellis, Selwyn Image, Humphrey James, Joseph Conrad,
Theodore Wratislaw, Ernest Dowson, Rudolf Dircks, Mathilde
Blind, Cesare Lombroso, Leila Macdonald, Hubert Crackan-
thorpe, Edgar Prestage, George Morley, Ford Maddox Hueffer,
Osman Edwards, Stephane Mallarme, Antonio Ferreira, R.
M.-Wierzbinski, Joseph Pennell, Ernest Rhys, Edith M. Thomas,
O. G. Destree, Sarojini Chattopadhyay, Lionel Johnson, Jean
Moreas, Gabriel Gillett, O. Shakespear, Aubrey Beardsley, Arthur
Symons, etc. etc.

r These three volumes, profusely illustrated, and luxuriously printed, in crown
Kto, on fine paper, at the Chiswick Press, present a most interesting record of the
[vork done in 1896 by the " New School " of English writers and artists.

The Rape of the Lock. By Alex-
ander Pope. Illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley.

Edition de Luxe of the above famous Poem, printed at the Chis-
wick Press, in crown 4to size, on old-style paper, illustrated with
nine elaborate drawings by Mr Aubrey Beardsley, and bound
in specially designed cloth cover. Limited edition, price 10s. 6d.
net. Twenty-five copies on Japanese vellum, at Two Guineas net.

[Large Paper Edition out of print.

The Rape of the Lock. Bijou Edition,

consisting of 1000 copies on art paper and 50 copies on Japanese
vellum, in demy i6mo. The publisher thinks that the reduction
in size of the plates in this edition has in no way injured their
attractiveness or brilliancy ; a new cover design was furnished
by Mr Beardsley, and the cover design to the 1896 Edition
is reproduced on the third page of this volume. The volume
is bound in a specially designed scarlet cloth cover. Price 4s.
net. Fifty copies printed on Japanese vellum, price One
Guinea net.

6 Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
The Pierrot of the Minute.

Dramatic Phantasy by Ernest Dowson. Illui
trated with Frontispiece, Initial Letter, Vignette
and Cul-de-Lampe by Aubrey Beardsley.

Three Hundred Copies, crown 4to, price 7s. 6d. net. Thirty]
copies on Japanese vellum, One Guinea net.

[Large Paper Edition out of print.

Mr Beardsley's designs in this volume are amongst the most
charming which have come from his pen.

The Raven and The Pit and The

Pendulum. By Edgar Allen Poe. Edition def
Luxe, illustrated with Seven fine Chalk Drawings
by W. T. Horton, reproduced in Photogravure by
Lemercier & Co., of Paris.

Demy quarto. Limited edition, printed at the Chiswick Press,
and bound in cloth extra, 7s. 6d. net.

Fourteen Drawings Illustrating

Edward Fitzgerald's translation of the " Rubaiyat
of Omar Khayyam," by Gilbert James.

Demy quarto, bound in grey cloth extra, with cover design by
the Artist. Limited edition, printed on art paper, 7s. 6d. net.

Caricatures of Twenty-five Gentlemen

By Max Beerbohm. With an Introduction by L.
Raven-Hill.

Edition of 500 copies, printed on art paper, crown 4*0, bound
in blue cloth extra, with special cover design by the Artist. Price
1 os. 6d. net.

Contents.— The Prince of Wales, The Earl of Rosebery,
Paderewski, Henry Labouchere, M.P., A. W. Pinero, Richard le
Gallienne, A. J. Balfour, M.P., Frank Harris, Lord William
Nevill, Rudyard Kipling, Sir W. Vernon Harcourt, M.P., Aubrey

List of Publications 7

Beardsley, Robert S. Hichens, Henry Chaplin, M.P., Henry
Harland, George Alexander, The Marquis of Queensberry, The
Warden of Merton, Joseph Chamberlain, M.P., George Bernard
Shaw, Sir George Lewis, George Moore, The Marquis of Granby,
Beerbohm Tree, The Duke of Cambridge.

The Novels of Honore de Balzac.

The First Issue consists of "SCENES OF
PARISIAN LIFE." In Eleven Volumes.

The Scenes of Parisian Life comprise — " Splendours and
Miseries," "Cousin Bette," "Cousin Pons," "History of the
Thirteen," " Cesar Birotteau," "The Civil Service," "House of
Nucingen," and " The Petty Bourgeois," and are now for the first
time completely translated into English by competent hands, and
illustrated with a series of eighty-eight etchings after drawings by
celebrated Parisian book-illustrators — viz. G. Bussiere, G. Cain,
Dubouchet, L. E. Fournier, A. Lynch, A. Robaudi, and M.
Vidal. The volumes are handsomely printed on deckle-edged
paper, demy 8vo, and bound in cloth extra. Price ,£4, 4s. per
set of eleven volumes.

There is a special Edition de Luxe, printed on Imperial Japanese
vellum, with the etchings in two states Before and After Remarques.
Price £8, 8s. per set.

This first series will be followed at a brief interval by the remain-
ing works of Balzac, and subscriptions may, if desired, be given
for the entire " Comedie Humaine."

" It is impossible to enter on a detailed criticism of Balzac's novels. In them
he scales every height and sounds every depth of human character, — from the purity
of the mysterious Seraphitus-Seraphita, cold and strange, like the peaks of her
northern Alps, to the loathsome sins of the Marneffes whose deeds should find no
calendar but that of hell. In the great divisions of his Comedie, the scenes of private
and of public life, of the provinces and of the city, in the philosophic studies, and in the
Contes Drdlatiques, Balzac has built up a work of art which answers to a mediaeval
cathedral. There are subterranean places, haunted by the Vautrins and ' Filles
aux yeux d'or ' ; there are the seats of the money-changers, where the Nucingens sit
at the receipt of custom ; there is the broad platform of every-day life, where the
journalists intrigue, where love is sold for hire, where splendours and miseries
abound, where the peasants cheat their lords, where women betray their husbands ;
there are the shrines where pious ladies pass saintly days ; there are the_ dizzy
heights of thought and rapture, whence falls a ray from the supernatural light of
Swedenborg; there are the lustful and hideous grotesques of the Contes Dr61atiques.
Through all swells, like the organ-tone, the ground-note and mingled murmur of
Parisian life. The qualities of Balzac are his extraordinary range of knowledge,
observation, sympathy, his steadfast determination to draw every line and shadow
of his subject, his keen analysis of character and conduct. Balzac holds a more
distinct and supreme place in French fiction than perhaps any English author does
in the same field of art." — Encyclopedia Britannica.

8 Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
La Fille aux Yeux d'Or. Translated

from the French of Honore de Balzac by Ernes'
Dowson, and Illustrated with six designs b]
Charles Conder.

Five Hundred Copies, royal 8vo size, bound in blue clot
extra, with gilt cover design. Price 12s. 6d. net.

An attempt has been made to produce an edition worthy ol
reputation of one of the most famous productions of Balzac
Attention is directed to the method pursued in producing the
illustrations — viz. wood engraving, which, it is hoped, will be a
welcome change from the cheap photographic processes now so"
much in vogue.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses (Dangerous

Entanglements) ; or, Letters collected in a Private
Society, and published for the instruction of others.
By Choderlos de Laclos. Translated by Ernest
Dowson, and illustrated by Monnet, Fragonard
Fils, and Gerard.

To render this edition of " Les Liaisons Dangereuses " worthy
of its fame as one of the chefs cFceuvre of Literature, it is illustrated
with fine photogravure reproductions of the whole of the 15
charming designs of Monnet, Fragonard Fils, and Gerard, which
appeared in the much-coveted French Edition of 1796, and which
are full of that inexpressible grace and beauty inseparable from the
work of these masters of French Art of the eighteenth century.

This translation of "Les Liaisons Dangereuses " is complete in
two volumes, demy 8vo, containing upwards of 580 closely-printed
pages, and the impression of the book is strictly limited to1
360 copies, each numbered. The book is choicely printed on
good paper, and bound in blue cloth extra. Price, to subscribers
only, Two Guineas net.

Count Hamilton's Fairy Tale: The

Four Facardins. Reprinted, with Corrections, from
Bonn's Extra Series. With a Frontispiece and
Cover Design in colours by Hugh Graham.

680 copies, printed in demy 8vo, and bound in pictorial cover.
Price One Guinea net.

List of Publications 9

,a Chartreuse de Parme.

By Stendhal (Henri Beyle). Now first translated
by E. P. Robins.

Illustrated with thirty-two Etchings by G. Merrier, from designs
by N. Foulquier, and Portrait of the Author. Now ready in three
volumes, post 8vo, printed on Dickinson's antique paper, artistic
binding, £i, is. net. Special Edition, printed on Van Gelder's
hand-made paper, £2, 2s. net ; and Edition de Luxe, printed on
Imperial Japanese vellum, with Etchings in two states, one pulled
on Japanese vellum, and one on pure vellum, £$, 5s. net.

The Publishers feel that the production of the first English translation of this
mous novel, one of the masterpieces of French literature of the present century,
:eds very little in the way of introduction or explanation. The Author, a con-
mporary of Balzac — who described him as "an immense genius," and pronounced
La Chartreuse de Parme " his masterpiece — though not generally recognised at
s true value during his lifetime, could say with a confidence which has justified
teelf : " I shall be understood in 1880 " ; for, as Bourget has justly observed : "We
ow speak casually of Balzac and Stendhal as we speak of Hugo and Lamartine,
ngres and Delacroix."

fled and Black. (Le Rouge et le

Noir.) By Stendhal. Now first translated by
E. P. Robins. With Frontispieces by Dubouchet,
etched by Gustave Mercier. Two volumes, post
8vo. Price 7s. 6d. net.

WORKS BY ARTHUR STMONS

London Nights,

Second Edition, revised, with a New Preface. Large post 8vo.
Price 6s. net. (A few Large Paper copies of the First Edition
remain. Price One Guinea net.)

Silhouettes.

Second Edition, revised and enlarged. Large post 8vo.
Price 5s. net. (A few Large Paper copies remain. Price One
Guinea net.)

io Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
Amoris Victima : A Poem.

I. Amoris Victima. II. Amoris Exsul. III. Arm
Triumphans. IV. Mundi Victima. Large post 8vo.
Price 6s. net. Large Paper Edition, One Guine
net.

Studies in Two Literatures.

Large post 8vo. Price 6s. net.

WORKS BT VINCENT OSVLLIVAB
A Book of Bargains. Stories of the

Weird and Fantastic. With Frontispiece designed
by Aubrey Beardsley. Crown 8vo. Price 4s. net.

The Houses of Sin : A Book of

Poems. Large post 8vo. Price 5s. net.

The Green Window : A Book of

Essays. Large post 8vo. Price 3 s. 6d. net.

WORKS BT OSCAR WILDE
The Ballad of Reading Gaol. By

C. 3. 3. [Oscar Wilde]. Seventh edition. Large
post 8vo. Price 2 s. 6d. net.

The Importance of being Earnest.

A Play by the Author of " Lady Windermere's
Fan." Pott quarto. Price 7s. 6d. net. 100 Large
Paper copies, price One Guinea net.

List of Publications 1 1

^n Ideal Husband. A Play by

the Author of " Lady Windermere's Fan." Pott
quarto. Price 7s. 6d. net. One Hundred Large
Paper copies, price one Guinea net.

Verses. By Ernest Dowson

Three Hundred Small Paper copies on hand-made paper,
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printed on Japanese vellum, at One Guinea net. Printed at the
Chiswick Press.

Orchids : Poems by Theodore

Wratislaw.

Two Hundred and Fifty Small Paper copies on foolscap 8vo,
deckle-edged paper, bound in cream-coloured art linen, at 5s.
net ; and 10 copies, printed on Japanese vellum, at One Guinea
net. Printed at the Chiswick Press.

Nocturnes and Pastorals : Poems

by A. Bernard Miall. Large post 8vo. Price
5s. net.

Magister Adest : A Manual of

Catholic Devotion for the use of Convents and
Schools. With about 150 Illustrations. Crown 8 vo.
Price 5s. net.

The Life and Times of Madame

du Barry. By Robert B. Douglas.

A limited edition in one volume, with a Portrait of Madame du
Barry finely engraved upon wood, 394 pages, demy 8vo, bound in
blue cloth, with armorial cover design by Aubrey Beardsley,
at 1 6s. net.

J

12 Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
Memoirs of Paul de Kock. Writte

by Himself. Demy 8vo. Price 1 6s.

The Reign of Terror. A Collection

of Authentic Narratives of the horrors committed
by the Revolutionary Government of France under
Marat and Robespierre. Written by eye-witnesses
of the scenes. Translated from the French.
Interspersed with biographical notices of prominent
characters, and curious anecdotes illustrative of a
period without its parallel in history. In two
volumes. "With two Frontispieces : being photo-
gravure portraits of the Princesse de Lamballe and
M. de Beaumarchais.

" The Reign of Terror " is complete in two volumes, demy
8vo, containing together 530 closely-printed pages. The volumes
are illustrated with portrait frontispieces of the Princesse de
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from rare and well-executed contemporary engravings. The book
is choicely printed on fine paper, and bound in blue cloth extra.
Price 1 6s. net.

The Souvenirs of Jean Leonard,

Coiffeur to Queen Marie Antoinette. Written by
himself. Now for the first time translated into
English. With Historical and Explanatory Notes
by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.

This translation of " The Souvenirs of Leonard " is complete in
two volumes, demy 8vo, containing together 702 closely-printed
pages. The volumes are illustrated with portrait frontispieces of
Louis XV. and Marie Antoinette, reproduced in photogravure from
exceedingly rare and well-executed contemporary engravings, and
the impression of the book is strictly limited to 250 copies, each
numbered. The book is choicely printed on fine paper, and
bound in blue cloth extra, with appropriate gilt cover design.
Price, to subscribers only, Two Guineas net.

List of Publications 13

la Pucelle (the Maid of Orleans) :

An Heroic-Comical Poem, in Twenty-One Cantos,
by Arouet de Voltaire. A new and complete
Translation into English Verse. Revised, Cor-
rected, and Augmented from the earlier English
Translation of W. H. Ireland, and the one
attributed to Lady Charleville, with the Variants
now for the first time Translated by Ernest
Dowson.

In Two Volumes. Foolscap quarto. Price Two Guineas net.

'he Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter,

a Roman Knight, in Prose and Verse, with the
Fragments recover'd at Belgrade in the year 1698.
Made English by Mr Wilson of the Middle
Temple, and several others. With a Frontispiece
in Photogravure depicting the Feast of Trimalchio.

A verbatim Reprint of the original edition of 170S A.D. Demy
8vo. Price One Guinea net.

elf-Seekers. A Novel by Andre

Raffalovich. Crown 8vo. Price 4s. net.

^he Fool and his Heart ; being the

plainly told story of Basil Thimm. A Novel by
F. Norreys Connell. Crown 8vo. Price 4s. 6d.
net.

lidden Witchery. Stories by Nigel

Tourneur. Illustrated by Will Mein. Crown
8vo. Price 4s. net.

14 Messrs Leonard Smithers & Co.'s
Unparalleled Patty : A Tale oi

Life in London. By Thomas Gray. Crown 8vo,
Price 3 s. 6d. net.

Aurora la Cujini. A Realistic Sketch

in Seville. By R. B. Cunninghame Graham. With
a Frontispiece. Imperial i6mo. Price 5s. net.

Literary London. Sketches by W. P.

Ryan. Large post 8vo.

[Out of print.

Alone. A Novel by <l>.

Crown 8vo. Price 6s. net.

[Out of Print.

Last Links with Byron, Shelley, and

Keats. By Wm. Graham. Large post 8vo.
Price 6s. net.

A Chaplet of Love Poems. By

Ethel M. de Fonblanque (Mrs Arthur Harter).
Large post 8vo. Price 5s. net. A few copies with
Frontispiece Portrait of the Author, 7s. 6d. net.

Verses at Sunset. By Mrs. E. F.

Cunliffe. Large post 8vo. Price 5s. net.

{Out of Print.

London Fairy Tales. By A. D.

Lewis. Illustrated by the Artist. Foolscap
4to. Price 4s. net.

List of Publications 15

/rabesques. Impressions of Travel

by Cyprian Cope. Demy 8vo. Price 14s. net.

(dd Issues. Stories by S. S.

Sprigge. Crown 8vo. Price 4s. net.

lunger. A Novel translated from

the Norwegian of Knut Hamsun by George
Egerton. Crown 8vo. Price 3 s. 6d. net.

In Preparation.

liemoirs of Cardinal Dubois. In

Two Volumes.

vlemoirs of the Due de Richelieu.

In Three Volumes.

>laves of Chance. A Novel by

Ferrier Langworthy.

Circulars of any of the above Books will be sent on
application to

LEONARD SMITHERS AND CO
5 OLD BOND STREET LONDON W

V

II 1 1 III fflfffijR fl! IL|LINOIS-UR?ANA

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