FOURTH PART

Winter had come, a raw and wet winter almost without snow, a foggy and dark everlasting night, without a single fresh gust of wind, all the week long. The gas lamps burned nearly all day in the streets, and still people bumped into one another in the fog. All sounds— the clang of church bells, the jingles from the cab-horses, the voices of people, the hoofbeats— all sounded so brittle and clattering in the thick air, which got in the way of everything and dampened it all down. Week went by after week, and the weather was and remained the same.

And I was still staying down in Vaterland.

I became more and more firmly bound to this establishment, this lodging-house for travellers, where I had been allowed to stay, despite my wretchedness. My money had been used up long ago, and yet I continued to come and go in this place, as if I had a right to it and belonged there. The landlady had said nothing yet; but it tormented me all the same that I could not pay her. Thus three weeks passed.

I had already resumed my writing several days back, but I no longer succeeded in producing anything with which I was satisfied; I had no luck with me at all anymore, though I was very diligent and tried late and early; whatever I turned my hand to, it was of no use, my luck was gone, and my efforts were always in vain.

It was in a room on the second floor, in the best guest room, that I sat making these attempts. I had remained undisturbed up there since the first evening, when I had money and could settle my account. I also harboured the hope, all this time, that I might finally manage an article on something or other, so I could pay for the room and whatever else I owed; it was for this reason I worked so assiduously. In particular, I had a piece I had begun, from which I expected a great deal, an allegory of a fire in a bookstore, a profound thought upon which I intended to lavish all my care in its development and present to “the Commander” as a repayment. “The Commander” should indeed discover that this time he had truly helped a talent; I had no doubt that he should discover it; it was merely a matter of waiting until the Spirit came over me. And why should the Spirit not come over me? Why should it not come over me very soon, even? There was nothing wrong with me anymore; I got a little food each day from my landlady, some bread and butter morning and evening, and my nervousness had almost vanished. I no longer used rags around my hands when I wrote, and I could stare down into the street from my windows on the second floor without becoming dizzy. I was much better in every way, and it was beginning to frankly surprise me that I had not already finished my allegory. I did not understand how this could be.

One day, I was finally to get a sense of how weak I had actually become, how dully and ineptly my brain was working. For on that day, my landlady came up to me with a bill, which she asked me to look at; there must be something wrong with the bill, she said, it did not match her own book; but she had not been able to find the error.

I sat down to count; my landlady sat directly opposite me, watching me. I counted these twenty items, first once downwards, and found the sum correct, then once upwards, and again arrived at the same result. I looked at the woman; she sat right before me, waiting for my word; at the same time I noticed that she was with child, it did not escape my attention, and yet I was by no means staring at her inquisitively.

“The sum is correct,” I said.

“No, now look at each number,” she replied; “it cannot be so much; I am sure of it.”

And I began to revise each item: 2 loaves at 25, for lamp glass 18, soap 20, butter 32... It required no clever head to go through these columns of figures, this little grocer’s bill in which there were no complexities, and I tried honestly to find the error the woman spoke of, but did not find it. After I had wrestled with these numbers for a couple of minutes, I felt, unfortunately, that everything was beginning to dance around in my head; I no longer distinguished between debit and credit, I mixed it all up. Finally, I came to a dead stop at the following item: “3 5/16 pounds of Clove Cheese at 16.” My brain failed me completely; I stared stupidly down at the cheese and got nowhere.

“This is damnably scrawled!” I said in despair. “Here, God help me, it simply says five-sixteenths of cheese. Heh-heh, has anyone heard the like! Here, you can see for yourself!”

“Yes,” replied the madam, “they usually write it like that. It’s the Clove cheese. Yes, that’s correct! Five-sixteenths is thus five lod.”

“Yes, I understand that, of course!” I broke in, though in truth I understood nothing anymore.

I tried again to solve this little sum, which a few months ago I could have tallied in a minute; I sweated profusely and thought about these enigmatic numbers with all my might, and I blinked thoughtfully with my eyes, as if I were studying this matter very sharply; but I had to give it up. Those five lod of cheese finished me off completely; it was as if something snapped in my forehead.

In order, however, to give the impression that I was still working on my calculations, I moved my lips and now and then mentioned a number aloud, all the while sliding further and further down the bill, as if I were still progressing and nearing the conclusion. The madam sat and waited. Finally, I said:

“Well, I have now gone through it from beginning to end, and there is really no error, as far as I can see.”

“Is that so?” replied the woman, “ah, is that so?” But I saw well enough that she did not believe me. And suddenly, she seemed to adopt a faint trace of contempt for me in her speech, a slightly indifferent tone that I had not heard from her before. She said that perhaps I was not used to calculating with sixteenths; she also said that she would have to turn to someone who understood such things, to get the bill properly checked. All this she said not in a hurtful manner, to shame me, but thoughtfully and seriously. When she had reached the door and was about to leave, she said, without looking at me:

“Pardon me for having troubled you!”

She left.

A moment later the door opened again, and my landlady came back in; she could hardly have gone further than the hallway before turning back.

“That’s right!” she said. “You mustn’t take it ill; but I believe I have a little something owing from you now? Was it not three weeks yesterday, since you came? Yes, I thought so. It is not easy to manage with such a large family, so I cannot let anyone stay on credit, unfortunately…”

I stopped her.

“I am working on an article, as I have told you before,” I said, “and as soon as it is finished, you shall have your money. You can rest quite easy.”

“Yes, but you will never get that article finished, will you?”

“Do you think so? The Spirit may come over me tomorrow, or perhaps already tonight; it is not at all impossible that it will come over me sometime tonight, and then my article will be finished in a quarter of an hour at most. You see, it is not with my work as it is with other people’s; I cannot sit down and produce a certain amount per day, I must simply wait for the moment. And no one can say the day and hour upon which the Spirit will come over one; it must take its course.”

My landlady left. But her trust in me was surely much shaken.

I sprang up and tore at my hair in despair as soon as I was alone. No, there was truly no salvation for me after all, none, no salvation! My brain was bankrupt! Had I then become a complete idiot, since I could no longer calculate the value of a little piece of Clove cheese? But could I also have lost my mind, when I stood and asked myself such questions? Had I not, in the midst of my struggles with the bill, even made the crystal-clear observation that my landlady was with child? I had no reason to know it, no one had told me anything about it, nor did it simply occur to me at random; I sat and saw it with my own eyes, and I understood it at once, even in a desperate moment when I was wrestling with sixteenths. How was I to explain this to myself?

I went to the window and looked out; my window faced Vognmandsgaden. Some children were playing down on the cobblestones, poorly dressed children in the middle of the poor street; they were throwing an empty bottle amongst themselves and shrieking loudly. A moving wagon rolled slowly past them; it must be a displaced family, changing residence outside of the moving season. This I immediately imagined. On the wagon lay bedding and furniture, moth-eaten beds and chests of drawers, red-painted chairs with three legs, mats, scrap iron, tinware. A little girl, just a child, a truly hideous creature with a runny nose, sat atop the load, holding on with her poor blue hands so as not to tumble off. She sat on a bundle of dreadful, damp mattresses that children had lain on, and looked down at the little ones who were throwing the empty bottle amongst themselves…

All this I stood and watched, and I had no trouble understanding everything that was happening. While I stood there by the window observing this, I also heard my landlady’s maid singing in the kitchen right next to my room; I knew the melody she sang, and so I listened to see if she would sing it wrong. And I said to myself that all this an idiot could not have done; I was, thank God, as rational as any man. Suddenly I saw two of the children down in the street start to quarrel, two little boys; I knew one of them, it was my landlady’s. I open the window to hear what they are saying to each other, and at once a flock of children gathers beneath my window and looks up longingly. What were they waiting for? For something to be thrown out? Dried flowers, meat bones, cigar stubs, some thing or other they could gnaw on or amuse themselves with? They looked up towards my window with blue-frozen faces, with infinitely long eyes. Meanwhile, the two little enemies continue to scold each other. Words like large, clammy beasts swarm from these children’s mouths, terrible epithets, harlot’s language, sailor’s oaths, which they had perhaps learned down by the docks. And they are both so absorbed in this that they do not notice my landlady at all, who runs out to them to hear what is afoot.

“Well,” her son explains, “he grabbed me by the throat; I couldn’t get a breath for a long while!” And turning to the little miscreant, who stands there sneering maliciously at him, he becomes utterly enraged and shouts: “Go to hell, you Chaldean oaf! Such a lousy cur to grab a man by the throat! I’ll be damned if I…”

And the mother, this pregnant woman who dominates the whole narrow street with her belly, answers the ten-year-old child, as she seizes him by the arm and tries to take him with her:

“Shh! Shut your snout! I do believe you’re swearing too! You use your mouth as if you’d been in a whorehouse for years! Now you’re coming inside!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

I stand up in the window and see the mother’s anger rise; this grim scene agitates me violently, I can bear it no longer, I shout down to the boy that he should come up to me for a moment. I shout twice, merely to disturb them, to disrupt this scene; the last time, I shout very loudly, and the mother turns in astonishment and looks up at me. And at once she regains her composure, looks insolently at me, truly superior she looks at me, and then retreats with a reproachful remark to her son. She speaks loudly, so I can hear it, and says to him:

“Fie, you should be ashamed for letting people see how wicked you are!”

Of all this, which I thus stood and observed, there was nothing, not even a small side-circumstance, that was lost on me. My attention was extremely sharp, I inhaled every little thing sensitively, and I stood and formed my thoughts on these matters as they transpired. So there could not possibly be anything wrong with my mind. How could there be anything wrong with it now?

Listen, do you know what, I said suddenly; now you have gone on long enough concerning yourself with your mind and making worries in that respect; now there must be an end to these foolish tricks! Is it a sign of madness to notice and perceive all things as precisely as you do? You almost make me laugh at you, I assure you, it is not without humour, as far as I can judge. In short, it happens to every man to be stuck for once, and precisely in the simplest of questions. It means nothing, it is merely chance. As I said, I am on the verge of having a little laugh at your expense. As for that grocer’s bill, those paltry five-sixteenths of poor man’s cheese, I might as well call it— heh-heh, a cheese with cloves and pepper in it, on my honour a cheese that, to put it plainly, could get a woman with child— as for this ridiculous cheese, it could have happened to the best of men to be stupefied by it; the very smell of that cheese could do a man in… And I made the worst mockery of all Clove cheese… No, put me on to something edible! I said, put me, if you will, on to five-sixteenths of good dairy butter! That is another matter!

I laughed hectically at my own conceits and found them exceedingly amusing. There was really nothing wrong with me anymore, I was well preserved. I was, so to speak, extremely well preserved even! I was a clear head; there was nothing lacking there, God be praised and thanked!

My cheerfulness rose as I drifted about on the floor, conversing with myself; I laughed aloud and felt violently glad. It was also truly as if I merely needed this little happy moment, this instant of actual bright rapture, without sorrows in any direction, to get my head into working order. I sat down at the table and began to busy myself with my allegory. And it went very well, better than it had in a long time; it did not go quickly; but I thought that the little I produced was absolutely excellent. I also worked for an hour’s time without becoming tired.

So, I am sitting at a very important point in this allegory of a fire in a bookstore; it seemed so important to me that all the rest I had written was as nothing compared to this point. I wanted to shape, in a truly profound way, the thought that it was not books that were burning, it was brains, human brains, and I wanted to make a veritable St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of these burning brains. Then, all at once, my door was opened with great haste, and my landlady came sailing in. She came into the middle of the room, she did not even stop on the threshold.

I gave a little hoarse cry; it was truly as if I had received a blow.

“What?” she said. “I thought you said something? We have a new traveller, and we must have this room for him; you can sleep downstairs with us tonight; yes, you shall have your own bed there too.” And before she had got my answer, she began without further ado to gather my papers on the table and throw them all into disarray.

My happy mood was blown away; I was angry and desperate and rose at once. I let her clear the table and said nothing; I did not utter a word. And she gave all the papers into my hand.

There was nothing else for me to do, I had to leave the room. Now this precious moment was ruined as well! I met the new traveller already on the stairs, a young man with large blue anchor tattoos on the backs of his hands; after him followed a docker with a sea chest on his shoulder. The stranger was surely a sailor, thus only a chance traveller for the night; he would probably not occupy my room for any great length of time. Perhaps I could also be lucky tomorrow, when the man had left, and get one of my moments again; I only needed an inspiration of five minutes now, and my work on the fire would be finished. So, I had to resign myself to fate…

I had not been inside the family’s apartment before, this single room in which they all stayed day and night, the husband, the wife, the wife’s father, and four children. The maid lived in the kitchen, where she also slept at night. I approached the door with great reluctance and knocked; no one answered, yet I heard voices within.

The husband said not a word when I entered, did not even answer my greeting; he merely looked indifferently at me, as if I did not concern him. For the rest, he sat playing cards with a person I had seen down by the docks, a porter who went by the name of “The Windowpane.” An infant lay babbling to itself over in the bed, and the old man, the landlady’s father, sat hunched on a bed-bench, his head bowed over his hands, as if his chest or stomach pained him. He had almost white hair and looked in his hunched position like a stooping creature, sitting and pricking its ears for something.

“I am afraid I must ask for room down here tonight,” I said to the man.

“Did my wife say so?” he asked.

“Yes. A new man came to my room.”

To this the husband made no reply; he busied himself with the cards again.

Thus this man sat day after day, playing cards with whomever came in to him, playing for nothing, merely to pass the time and have something to do with his hands. He did nothing else, moved just as much as his lazy limbs were inclined, while his wife trudged up and down the stairs, was about on all sides, and took care to get guests for the house. She had also put herself in touch with dockers and porters, whom she paid a certain fee for each new lodger they brought her, and she often gave these dockers shelter for the night. Now it was “The Windowpane” who had just brought the new traveller.

A couple of the children came in, two little girls with thin, freckled girlish faces; they wore truly wretched clothes. A little later the landlady also came in. I asked her where she would put me for the night, and she answered curtly that I could lie in here, with the others, or out in the vestibule on the sofa-bench, just as I saw fit. While she answered me thus, she went about the room busying herself with various things that she was putting in order, and she did not once look at me.

I shrank at her answer, stood down by the door and made myself small, even pretended that I was quite content to swap rooms with another for a night’s sake; I deliberately put on a friendly face, so as not to provoke her and perhaps be chased clean out of the house. I said: “Oh, well, a solution will be found!” and fell silent.

She still bustled about the room.

“Besides, I will tell you that I have no means to keep people in board and lodging on credit,” she said. “And I have told you that before, too.”

“Yes, but my dear woman, it is only for these few days, until my article is finished,” I answered, “and then I will gladly give you a five-kroner piece extra, gladly.”

But she clearly had no faith in my article, I could see that. And I could not bring myself to be proud and leave the house, merely for a little slight; I knew what awaited me if I went my way.

* * *

A couple of days passed.

I was still staying down with the family, as it was too cold in the vestibule, where there was no stove; I also slept at night on the floor inside the room. The strange sailor still occupied my room and did not seem to be moving out soon. At noon, the landlady also came in and told me that he had paid her in advance for a whole month; besides, he was to take his mate’s examination before he left; that was why he was staying in the city. I stood and listened to this and understood that my room was now lost to me for good.

I went out into the vestibule and sat down; if I were to be so lucky as to get something written, it would have to be here, in the quiet. It was no longer my allegory that occupied me; I had got a new idea, a quite excellent plan: I would compose a one-act drama, “The Sign of the Cross,” with a theme from the Middle Ages. In particular, I had devised everything concerning the main character, a glorious, fanatical harlot who had sinned in the temple, not from weakness and not from desire, but from hatred of Heaven, sinned right at the foot of the altar, with the altar cloth under her head, merely from a magnificent contempt for Heaven.

I became more and more possessed by this figure as the hours went by. She finally stood bright and living before my eyes, and precisely as I wanted to portray her. Her body was to be flawed and repulsive: tall, very thin, and a little dark, and when she walked, her long legs would shine through her skirts with every step she took. She was also to have large, protruding ears. In short, she would be nothing for the eye, scarcely even bearable to look upon. What interested me in her was her wondrous shamelessness, this desperate pinnacle of premeditated sin which she had committed. She truly occupied me far too much; my brain was practically swollen with this strange malformation of a human being. And I wrote for a full two hours straight on my drama.

When I had produced half a score of pages, perhaps twelve pages, often with great difficulty, sometimes with long intervals in which I wrote in vain and had to tear up my sheets, I had become tired, quite stiff from cold and fatigue, and I rose and went out into the street. For the last half-hour I had also been disturbed by a child’s cries from the family’s room, so in any case I could not have written more just then. I therefore took a long walk out along Drammensveien and was gone until evening, all the while pondering how I would continue my drama. Before I came home that evening, the following had happened to me:

I was standing outside a shoemaker’s shop at the bottom of Karl Johan, almost down by the Railway Square. God knows why I had stopped just outside this shoemaker’s shop! I looked in the window where I stood, but was not, for that matter, thinking that I lacked shoes just then; my thoughts were far away, in other regions of the world. A swarm of conversing people passed behind my back, and I heard nothing of what was said. Then a voice greets me loudly:

“Good evening!”

It was “The Virgin” who greeted me.

“Good evening!” I answered absently. I also looked at “The Virgin” for a short while before I recognised him.

“Well, how goes it?” he asked.

“Oh, just fine… as usual!”

“Listen, tell me,” he said, “so you are still with Christie?”

“Christie?”

“I thought you said once that you were a bookkeeper for wholesaler Christie?”

“Ah! Yes, no, that is over. It was impossible to work with that man; it came to a halt rather quickly of its own accord.”

“Why was that, then?”

“Oh, I happened to make a writing error one day, and so…”

“Forgery?”

Forgery? There stood “The Virgin” and asked me straight out if I had committed forgery. He even asked quickly and with great interest. I looked at him, felt deeply offended, and did not answer.

“Well, well, my God, it can happen to the best of us!” he said, to console me. He still believed I had committed forgery.

“What is it that, yes, yes, my God, can happen to the best of us?” I asked. “To commit forgery? Listen, my good man, do you really believe, as you stand there, that I could have committed such a baseness? I?”

“But, my dear fellow, I thought so clearly that you said…”

“No, I said that I had made a writing error once, a year, a trifle, if you must know, a wrong date on a letter, a single wrong pen stroke— that was the whole of my fault. No, thank God, one can still distinguish right from wrong! How would things fare with me, if on top of everything I went and sullied my honour? It is simply my sense of honour that keeps me afloat now. But it is also strong enough, I hope; it has at least preserved me to date.”

I tossed my head, turned away from “The Virgin,” and looked down the street. My eye fell on a red dress that was approaching us, a woman beside a man. Had I not just had this conversation with “The Virgin,” had I not been offended by his coarse suspicion, and had I not made just this toss of the head and turned away a little insulted, then this red dress might have passed me without my having noticed it. And what did it concern me, in truth? What was it to me, even if it were the dress of Lady-in-Waiting Nagel?

“The Virgin” stood talking and sought to make his mistake good again; I did not listen to him at all, I stood the whole time and stared at this red dress, which was approaching up the street. And a movement ran through my breast, a gliding, fine pang; I whispered in my thought, whispered without moving my mouth:

“Ylajali!”

Now “The Virgin” also turned, noticed the two, the lady and the gentleman, greeted them, and followed them with his eyes. I did not greet them, or perhaps I greeted them unconsciously. The red dress glided up Karl Johan and disappeared.

“Who was that who accompanied her?” asked “The Virgin.”

“‘The Duke,’ did you not see? Called ‘the Duke.’ Did you know the lady?”

“Yes, in a way. Did you not know her?”

“No,” I answered.

“I thought you bowed so deeply?”

“Did I?”

“Heh, did you perhaps not?” said “The Virgin.” “That was peculiar! It was also only you she was looking at the whole time.”

“How do you know her?” I asked.

He did not really know her. It stemmed from an evening in the autumn. It was late, they had been three merry souls together, had just come from the Grand, met this person walking alone by Cammermeyer and had spoken to her. She had at first answered dismissively; but one of the merry souls, a man who feared neither fire nor water, had asked her straight to her face for the civilised pleasure of accompanying her home. He would, by God, not harm a hair on her head, as it is written, merely follow her to the gate, to convince himself that she got home safely, otherwise he would not get a moment’s peace all night. He talked incessantly as they walked, invented one thing after another, called himself Waldemar Atterdag and passed himself off as a photographer. In the end, she had had to laugh at this merry soul, who had not let himself be fazed by her coldness, and it ended with him accompanying her.

“Well, yes, what came of it then?” I asked, and I held my breath for so long.

“Came of it? Oh, don’t be like that! She is a lady.”

We both fell silent for a moment, both “The Virgin” and I.

“No, damn, was that ‘the Duke’! Does he look like that!” he then said thoughtfully. “But when she is with that man, I will not answer for her.”

I was still silent. Yes, of course “the Duke” would make off with her! Very well! What was it to me? I wished her a good day, along with her charms, a good day I wished her! And I tried to console myself by thinking the worst thoughts of her, took a positive pleasure in dragging her right down into the mire. It only annoyed me that I had taken off my hat to the pair, if I had indeed done so. Why should I take off my hat to such people? I did not care for her any longer, not at all; she was not the least bit beautiful anymore, she had lost her looks, pah, the devil, how she had faded! It might well be that it was only me she had looked at; that did not surprise me; perhaps it was regret that was beginning to strike her. But for that reason I did not need to fall at her feet and greet her like a fool, especially when she had, in fact, become so alarmingly faded of late. “The Duke” could have her for all I cared, much good may it do him! There might come a day when I would find it in my mind to walk proudly past her, without looking in the direction where she was. It might happen that I permitted myself to do this, even if she looked intently at me and, on top of that, wore a blood-red dress. It might well happen! Heh-heh, it would be a triumph! If I knew myself aright, I was capable of finishing my drama in the course of the night, and within eight days I should have brought the young lady to her knees. Along with her charms, heh-heh, along with all her charms…

“Farewell!” I said curtly.

But “The Virgin” held me back. He asked:

“But what do you do with yourself these days?”

“Do? I write, of course. What else should I do? It is what I live on. At the moment I am working on a great drama, ‘The Sign of the Cross,’ theme from the Middle Ages.”

“Death and damnation!” said “The Virgin” sincerely. “Well, if you can pull that off, then…”

“Have no great worries on that account!” I answered. “In about eight days’ time, I think you shall have heard from me, every one of you.”

With that I left.

When I got home, I immediately approached my landlady and asked for a lamp. It was very important for me to get this lamp; I did not want to go to bed tonight, my drama was raging inside my head, and I hoped so certainly to be able to write a good piece more by morning. I presented my request very humbly to the madam, as I noticed that she made a displeased grimace because I had again come into the room. I had, I said, almost finished a remarkable drama; I lacked only a couple of scenes, and I was counting on it being performed at some theatre or other before I knew what was happening. If she would now do me this great service, then…

But the madam had no lamp. She thought about it, but could not remember at all that she had a lamp anywhere. If I would wait until after twelve o’clock, I could perhaps have the kitchen lamp. Why could I not buy myself a candle?

I was silent. I did not have ten øre for a candle, and she knew it well enough. Of course, I was to run aground again! Now the maid was sitting down with us, she was simply sitting in the room and was not in the kitchen at all; the lamp up there was thus not even lit. And I stood and considered this, but said nothing more.

Suddenly the maid says to me:

“I thought I saw you coming out of the Palace a little while ago? Have you been to dinner?” And she laughed loudly at this jest.

I sat down, took out my papers, and would try to do something here for the time being, here where I sat. I held the papers on my knees and stared uninterruptedly down at the floor, so as not to be distracted by anything; but it was of no use to me, nothing was of any use, I did not get anywhere. The landlady’s two little girls came in and made a noise with a cat, a strange, sick cat that had almost no hair; when they blew in its eyes, water flowed out of them and down its nose. The landlord and a couple of other people sat at the table playing cards. The wife alone was industrious as always and sat sewing something. She saw well enough that I could not write anything in the middle of this disturbance, but she no longer cared about me; she had even smiled when the maid asked if I had been to dinner. The whole house had become hostile towards me; it was as if I only needed the humiliation of having to surrender my room to another to be treated entirely as a stranger. Even this maid, a little brown-eyed street urchin with a fringe and a completely flat chest, made fun of me in the evening when I got my bread and butter. She asked constantly where I usually took my dinners, since she had never seen me go and sink my teeth into anything outside the Grand. It was clear that she knew about my miserable condition and took pleasure in showing it to me.

I suddenly fall to thinking about all this and am unable to find a single line for my drama. I try again and again in vain; a strange buzzing begins in my head, and finally I give up. I stick the papers in my pocket and look up. The maid is sitting right in front of me, and I look at her, look at this narrow back and a pair of low shoulders that were not even fully grown yet. What business had she, now, throwing herself at me? And if I had come out of the Palace, what then? Could it harm her? In the last few days, she had laughed insolently at me when I was unfortunate and stumbled on the stairs or got caught on a nail, so I got a tear in my coat. It was no longer ago than yesterday that she had gathered up my drafts that I had tossed aside in the vestibule, stolen these discarded fragments of my drama and read them aloud in the room, made a joke of them for all to hear, just to amuse herself at my expense. I had never troubled her and could not remember that I had ever asked her for a service. On the contrary, I made my own bed on the floor of the room in the evening, so as not to cause her any trouble with it. She also made fun of me because my hair was falling out. There was hair floating in the washbasin in the morning, and she made herself merry over that. Now my shoes had become somewhat poor, especially the one that had been run over by the bread wagon, and she made sport of them too. God bless you and your shoes! she said; look at them, they are as big as doghouses! And she was right that my shoes were worn out; but I could not, in fact, get any others at the moment.

While I sit and remember all this and marvel at this open malice in the maid, the little girls had begun to tease the old man over in the bed; they both hopped around him and were fully occupied with this task. They had each found a straw, with which they poked him in the ears. I watched this for a while and did not interfere. The old man did not lift a finger to defend himself; he merely looked at his tormentors with furious eyes each time they poked at him, and shook his head to free himself when the straws were already in his ears.

I became more and more agitated at this sight and could not take my eyes off it. The father looked up from his cards and laughed at the little ones; he also drew his fellow players’ attention to what was going on. Why did he not move, the old man? Why did he not fling the children away with his arm? I took a step and approached the bed.

“Let them be! Let them be! He is paralysed,” shouted the landlord.

And for fear of being shown the door into the night, simply afraid of arousing the man’s displeasure by intervening in this scene, I silently stepped back to my old place and remained calm. Why should I risk my lodging and my bread and butter by sticking my nose into the family’s squabbles? No foolish tricks for the sake of a half-dead old man! And I stood there feeling wonderfully hard as flint.

The little trollops did not stop their torments. They were irritated that the old man would not hold his head still, and they also poked at his eyes and nostrils. He stared at them with a hardened gaze, he said nothing and could not move his arms. Suddenly he raised his upper body and spat in one of the little girls’ faces; he raised himself up again and also spat at the other, but missed her. I stood and watched as the landlord threw his cards down on the table where he sat and sprang over to the bed. He was red in the face and shouted:

“Are you sitting there spitting right in people’s eyes, you old boar!”

“But, for God’s sake, they gave him no peace!” I shouted, beside myself. But I stood the whole time afraid of being expelled, and I did not shout with any particular force at all; I merely trembled all over my body with agitation.

The landlord turned towards me.

“Well, listen to that! What the hell does it concern you? You just keep your trap shut, you, and do as I say; that will be best for you.”

But now the madam’s voice also sounded, and the whole house was filled with quarrelling.

“I do believe, God help me, you are all mad and possessed!” she screamed. “If you want to be in here, you’ll both have to be quiet, I’m telling you! Heh, it’s not enough that one has to provide room and board for the creature, one has to have doomsday and commotion and the devil’s own power in the rooms too. But I’ll have no more of that, I’ve decided! Shh! Shut your traps, you brats, and wipe your noses too, if not, I’ll come and do it. I have never seen the like of such people! Here they come in from the street, without an øre for louse ointment even, and begin to hold forth in the middle of the night and make a scene with the people of the house. I won’t have it, you understand, and you can all go your way, those who don’t belong here. I want peace in my own apartment, I’ve decided!”

I said nothing, I did not open my mouth at all, but sat down by the door again and listened to the noise. Everyone shrieked along, even the children and the maid, who wanted to explain how the whole conflict had begun. If I just kept silent, it would probably blow over eventually; it would certainly not come to the worst, as long as I did not say a word. And what word could I have to say? Was it not perhaps winter outside, and was it not, on top of that, approaching night? Was it then a time to strike the table and be a man for one’s hat? Just no foolish tricks! And I sat still and did not leave the house, was not ashamed to remain sitting, was frankly not ashamed of this, though I had almost been given notice. I stared hardened at the wall, where Christ hung in an oleograph, and remained stubbornly silent through all the landlady’s outbursts.

“Well, if it’s me you want to be rid of, Madam, then there shall be nothing in the way on my account,” said one of the card players.

He rose. The other card player also rose.

“No, I did not mean you. And not you either,” answered the landlady to the two. “If it comes to it, I’ll show you who I mean. If it comes to it. I’ve decided! It shall be seen who it is…”

She spoke in bursts, giving me these thrusts with small intervals and drawing it out properly, to make it clearer and clearer to me that it was me she meant. Quiet! I said to myself. Just quiet! She had not asked me to go, not explicitly, not in plain words. Just no haughtiness from my side, no untimely pride! Ears stiff!… It was, however, a peculiar green hair on that Christ in the oleograph. It resembled not a little green grass, or expressed with exquisite precision: thick meadow-grass. Heh, a quite correct observation, defensibly thick meadow-grass… A series of fleeting associations ran through my head in this moment: from the green grass to a passage of scripture that all life was as grass that is kindled, from there to doomsday, when all should burn up, then a little detour down to the earthquake in Lisbon, whereupon something about a Spanish brass spittoon and an ebony pen-handle, which I had seen at Ylajali’s, came to mind. Ah, yes, all was perishable! Just like grass that is kindled! It came down to four planks and a shroud— shrouds at Miss Andersen’s, to the right in the gateway…

And all this was tossed about in my head in this desperate moment, when my landlady was in the process of chasing me out the door.

“He doesn’t hear!” she shouted. “I’m saying you shall leave the house, now you know it! I believe, God damn me, that the man is mad, I do! Now you go, on the holy spot, and no more talk about that matter.”

I looked towards the door, not to go, not at all to go; a brazen thought occurred to me: if there had been a key in the door, I would have turned it, locked myself in with the others, to avoid having to go. I had an utterly hysterical dread of getting out on the street again. But there was no key in the door, and I rose up; there was no hope anymore.

Then suddenly my landlord’s voice mixes with his wife’s. I stood there astonished. The same man who had recently threatened me, strangely enough takes my part. He says:

“No, you can’t go chasing people out into the night, you know. There’s a penalty for that.”

I did not know if there was a penalty for this, I could not say; but perhaps it was so, and the wife came to her senses quite soon, became calm and spoke to me no more. She even laid out two pieces of bread and butter for me for supper, but I did not accept them, merely out of gratitude to the husband I did not accept them, pretending that I had got a little food out in town.

When I finally made my way out to the vestibule to go to bed, the madam came after me, stopped on the threshold and said loudly, while her large, pregnant belly jutted out towards me:

“But this is the last night you lie here, so you know.”

“Yes, yes!” I answered.

There would perhaps be a solution for shelter tomorrow as well, if I applied myself properly to it. Some hiding place or other I would have to find. For the time being, I was glad that I did not have to be out in the night.

I slept until five or six in the morning. It was not yet light when I woke, but I got up all the same; I had been lying in my full clothes for the sake of the cold and had nothing more to put on. When I had drunk a little water and in all silence got the door open, I also went out at once, fearing to meet my landlady again.

A constable here and there, who had kept watch through the night, was the only living thing I saw in the streets; a little later a couple of men also began to extinguish the gas lamps around. I drifted about without aim or purpose, came up into Kirkegaden and took the road down to the fortress. Cold and still sleepy, weak in the knees and back after the long walk and very hungry, I sat down on a bench 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 exactly a day since I had my last meal, it began to gnaw at me badly again, and I had to find a way out very soon. With that thought, I fell asleep again on the bench…

I was awakened by people talking in my vicinity, and when I had gathered myself a little, I saw that it was broad daylight, and that everyone was up and about. I rose and went away. The sun broke over the ridges, the sky was white and fine, and in my joy over the beautiful morning after the many dark weeks, I forgot all my sorrows and thought that it had often been worse for me. I clapped myself on my chest and sang a little scrap for myself. My voice sounded so poor, truly worn it sounded, and I moved myself to tears by it. This splendid day, the white, light-drenched sky also had too strong an effect on me, and I burst into loud weeping.

“What is it that ails you?” a man asked.

I did not answer, just hurried away, hiding my face from all people.

I came down to the docks. A large barque with a Russian flag lay unloading coal; I read its name, “Copégoro,” on the side. It distracted me for a while to observe what was happening on board this foreign ship. It must be almost unloaded, it already lay with IX feet bare on the stem, despite the ballast it had already taken in, and when the coal-heavers stamped across the deck with their heavy boots, it echoed hollowly throughout the whole ship.

The sun, the light, the salt breath from the sea, all this bustling and cheerful life braced me up and got my blood to beat with life. All at once it occurred to me that I might be able to do a couple of scenes for my drama while I sat here. And I took my pages out of my pocket.

I tried to form a line in a monk’s mouth, a line that should swell with power and intolerance; but I did not succeed. So I skipped over the monk and would work out a speech, the judge’s speech to the temple-desecrator, and I wrote half a page of this speech, whereupon I stopped. The right climate would not settle over my words. The bustle around me, the hoisting-songs, the noise of the capstans and the uninterrupted rattling of iron chains suited so little the air of dense, musty Middle Ages that should stand like a fog in my drama. I packed the papers together and rose.

Now I had nevertheless got blessedly on a roll, and I felt clearly that I could accomplish something now, if all went well. If only I had a place to resort to! I thought about it, stopped right in the street and thought, but knew not of a single quiet place in the whole city where I could settle down for a while. There was no other way, I would have to go back to the lodging-house in Vaterland. I shrank from it, and I said to myself the whole time that it would not do, but I still slid forward and steadily approached the forbidden place. It was certainly pitiful, I admitted to myself, yes, it was humiliating, truly humiliating it was; but that could not be helped. I was not the least bit haughty, I dared say so great a word, that I was one of the least conceited beings in existence to date. And I went.

I stopped at the gate and considered once more. Yes, it would have to be as it would be, I must risk it! What was it really, this trifle, that it was about? In the first place, it was only to last for a few hours, in the second, God forbid that I should ever later take refuge in that house again. I went into the courtyard. Even while I was crossing these uneven stones in the yard, I was uncertain and had almost turned back at the door. I gritted my teeth. No, no untimely pride! In the worst case, I could excuse myself by saying that I had come to say farewell, take proper leave, and make an arrangement concerning my debt to the house. I opened the door to the vestibule.

I stood perfectly still inside. Right in front of me, only two steps away, stood the landlord himself, without hat and without coat, peeking through the keyhole to the family’s own room. He made a silent gesture with his hand, to get me to be quiet, and peeked again through the keyhole. He stood there and laughed.

“Come here!” he said, whispering.

I approached on tiptoe.

“Look here!” he said and laughed with a quiet, intense laughter. “Look in! Hee-hee! There they are! Look at the old man! Can you see the old man?”

Inside the bed, right under the oleograph of Christ and directly opposite me, I saw two figures, the landlady and the strange mate; her legs shone white against the dark duvet. And in the bed by the other wall sat her father, the paralysed old man, and watched, leaning over his hands, hunched as usual, unable to move…

I turned towards my host. He had the greatest difficulty in refraining from laughing aloud.

“Did you see the old man?” he whispered. “Oh, God, did you see the old man? He’s sitting and watching!” And he put himself back to the keyhole.

I went over to the window and sat down. This sight had mercilessly brought disorder to all my thoughts and turned my rich mood upside down. Well, what did it concern me? When the husband himself put up with it, yes, even took his great pleasure in it, then there was no reason for me to take it to heart. And as for the old man, the old man was an old man. He perhaps did not even see it; perhaps he sat and slept; God knows if he was not even dead; it would not surprise me if he were dead. And I made no matter of conscience of it.

I again took up my papers and would repel all extraneous impressions. I had stopped in the middle of a sentence in the judge’s speech: “So bids me God and the law, so bids me the council of my wise men, so bids me also my own conscience…” I looked out of the window, to think about what his conscience should bid him. A little noise penetrated to me from the room within. Well, it did not concern me, not at all; the old man was besides dead, died perhaps this morning at four o’clock; so the noise was utterly and crushingly indifferent to me; why the hell was I sitting there thinking about it? Calm now!

“So bids me also my own conscience…”

But everything had conspired against me. The man was not standing quite still at the keyhole, I heard now and then his suppressed laughter and saw that he was shaking; out on the street something was also happening that distracted me. A little boy sat busying himself in the sun on the other pavement; he sensed peace and no danger, just tied some paper strips together and did no harm. Suddenly he springs up and curses; he jerks backwards into the street and catches sight of a man, a grown man with a red beard, who was leaning out of an open window on the second floor and spitting down on his head. The little one cried with rage and swore impotently up at the window, and the man laughed down in his face; perhaps five minutes passed in this way. I turned away, so as not to see the boy’s tears.

“So bids me also my own conscience, that…”

It was impossible for me to get any further. In the end, everything began to ramble for me; I thought that even what I had already written was unusable, yes, that the whole idea was some dangerous nonsense. One could not speak of conscience at all in the Middle Ages, conscience was first invented by the dancing master Shakespeare, consequently my whole speech was incorrect. Was there then nothing good in these pages? I ran through them again and at once resolved my doubts; I found magnificent places, truly long stretches of great noteworthiness. And again the intoxicating urge to take hold again and get my drama finished shot through my breast.

I rose and went to the door, without heeding the landlord’s furious signs to me to proceed quietly. I went with firm and determined mind out of the vestibule, up the stairs to the second floor, and entered my old room. The mate was not there, of course, and what was then the harm in my sitting here for a moment? I would not touch any of his things, I would not even use his table at all, but settle down on a chair by the door and be content. I eagerly unfold the papers on my knees.

Now, for several minutes, it went absolutely splendidly. Line after line arose fully formed in my head, and I wrote without interruption. I fill one page after another, set off at a gallop, whimper softly with delight at my good mood and am almost beside myself. The only sound I hear in this moment is my own happy whimpering. A very fortunate idea with a church bell also occurred to me, which was to clang into ringing at a certain point in my drama. Everything went overwhelmingly well.

Then I hear footsteps on the stairs. I tremble and am almost out of my mind, sitting practically on the verge of flight, shy, alert, full of fear of all things and agitated by hunger; I listen nervously, hold the pencil still in my hand and listen, I cannot write another word. The door opens; the pair from the room below enters.

Even before I had had time to ask for forgiveness for what I had done, the landlady shouts, utterly dumbfounded:

“No, God comfort and help me, isn’t he sitting here again!”

“Forgive me!” I said, and I wanted to say more, but got no further.

The landlady threw the door wide open and screamed:

“If you do not get out now, so God damn me I will not fetch the police!”

I rose.

“I only wanted to say farewell to you,” I mumbled, “and so I had to wait for you. I have not touched a thing, I was sitting here on the chair…”

“Well, it didn’t matter,” said the mate. “What the hell did it matter? Let the man be, !”

When I had got down the stairs, I suddenly became furious with this fat, swollen woman who followed at my heels to get me away quickly, and I stood still for a moment, with my mouth full of the worst epithets that I wanted to hurl at her. But I thought better of it in time and was silent, silent merely out of gratitude to the strange man who walked behind her and would be able to hear it. The landlady still followed me and scolded incessantly, while at the same time my anger increased with every step I took.

We came down into the courtyard, I walked very slowly, still considering whether I should deal with the landlady. I was in this moment quite deranged with rage, and I thought of the worst bloodshed, a blow that could lay her dead on the spot, a kick in the belly. A messenger passes me in the gateway, he greets me, and I do not answer; he addresses the madam behind me, and I hear that he asks for me; but I do not turn around.

A few steps outside the gate the messenger catches up with me, greets me again, and stops me. He gives me a letter. Violently and unwillingly I tear it open, a ten-kroner note falls out of the envelope, but no letter, not a word.

I look at the man and ask:

“What sort of foolish tricks is this? Who is the letter from?”

“Well, I do not know that,” he answers, “but it was a lady who gave it to me.”

I stood still. The messenger left. Then I stick the banknote back into the envelope, crumple the whole thing up really well, turn around and go over to the landlady, who is still keeping a lookout for me from the gate, and throw the note in her face. I said nothing, uttered not a syllable, I merely observed that she examined the crumpled paper before I left…

Heh, that was what one might call behaving with honour in life! To say nothing, not to address the pack, but quite calmly crumple up a large banknote and throw it in the eyes of one’s persecutors. That was what one might call acting with dignity! Thus they should have it, those beasts!…

When I had reached the corner of Tomtegaden and the Railway Square, the street suddenly began to spin before my eyes, there was a hollow rushing in my head, and I fell against the wall of a house. I simply could not walk any further, could not even straighten up from my crooked position; as I had fallen against the wall, so I remained standing, and I felt that I was beginning to lose consciousness. My frantic anger was only increased by this attack of exhaustion, and I lifted my foot and stamped on the pavement. I also did various other things to regain my strength, gritted my teeth, furrowed my brow, rolled my eyes in desperation, and it began to help. My thoughts became clear, I understood that I was on the verge of perishing. I put my hands forward and pushed myself back from the wall; the street still danced around with me. I began to hiccup with rage, and I struggled with my inmost soul against my misery, held my ground quite bravely so as not to collapse; I did not intend to sink down, I would die standing. A work cart rolls slowly past, and I see that there are potatoes in that cart, but out of rage, out of stubbornness, I decide to say that they were not potatoes at all, they were cabbages, and I swore horribly that they were cabbages. I heard clearly what I myself said, and I swore consciously again and again to this lie, merely to have the desperate satisfaction of committing brazen perjury. I intoxicated myself in this peerless sin, I raised my three fingers in the air and swore with trembling lips in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, that they were cabbages.

Time passed. I let myself fall down on a step beside me and wiped the sweat from my brow and neck, drew breath and forced myself to be calm. The sun was setting, it was late in the afternoon. I began again to brood over my situation; the hunger became shameful towards me, and in a few hours it would be night again; it was a matter of finding a solution while there was still time. My thoughts began again to circle around the lodging-house from which I had been driven; I would absolutely not return to it, but could nevertheless not help thinking of it. Actually, the woman had been within her rights to throw me out. How could I expect to stay with anyone when I could not pay my way? She had even given me food now and then; even last night, when I had provoked her, she had offered me two pieces of bread and butter, out of kindness she had offered them to me because she knew I needed them. So I had nothing to complain about, and I began, as I sat on the steps, to pray and beg her in my silent mind for forgiveness for my behaviour. In particular, I bitterly regretted that I had shown myself ungrateful to her at the last and thrown a ten-kroner note in her face…

The ten-kroner note! I whistled once with my mouth. The letter that the messenger brought, where did it come from? Only now in this moment did I think clearly about this and sensed at once how it all hung together. I became sick with pain and shame, I whispered Ylajali a few times with a hoarse voice and shook my head. Was it not I who, even as late as yesterday, had resolved to walk proudly past her when I met her, and show her the greatest indifference? And instead of that I had only aroused her pity and elicited from her a charitable shilling. No, no, no, there was never an end to my degradation! Not even towards her had I been able to maintain a decent position; I sank, sank on all sides, wherever I turned, sank to my knees, sank to my waist, submerged myself in dishonour and never came up again, never! It was the pinnacle! To take ten kroner in alms, without being able to hurl them back at the secret giver, to grab at coins with both hands wherever they were offered, and keep them, use them for lodging money, despite one’s own innermost revulsion…

Could I not again procure these ten kroner in some way or other? To go back to the landlady and have the banknote returned by her would probably be of no use; there must also be another way, if I thought about it, if I just strained myself very much and thought about it. Here it was, by God, not enough to think merely in the ordinary way, I had to think so it tore through my whole human frame, for a way to get these ten kroner. And I set myself to thinking hard.

The clock might be around four, in a couple of hours I could perhaps meet the theatre director, if only I had had my drama finished. I take up the manuscript, there where I sit, and will by force of will produce the last three or four scenes; I think and sweat and read over from the beginning, but get nowhere. No half-measures! I say, no stubbornness here! And I write away at my drama, write down everything that comes into my head, merely to be finished quickly and get away. I wanted to convince myself that I was having a new great moment, I lied to myself, deceived myself openly and wrote away, as if I did not need to search for the words. That’s good! that is really a find! I whispered now and then; just write it down!

In the end, however, my last lines begin to seem suspect to me; they contrasted so strongly with the lines in the first scenes, besides, no Middle Ages had settled at all into the monk’s words. I break my pencil between my teeth, spring up, tear my manuscript to pieces, tear every page to pieces, throw my hat on the street and trample on it. I am lost! I whisper to myself; my ladies and gentlemen, I am lost! And I say nothing other than these words, as long as I stand there and trample on my hat.

A police officer stands a few steps away observing me; he stands in the middle of the street and notices nothing other than me. As I raise my head, our eyes meet; he had perhaps been standing there for some time and just looking at me. I pick up my hat, put it on and go over to the man.

“Do you know what time it is?” I say.

He waits a moment before he hauls out his watch, and does not take his eyes off me in the meantime.

“About four,” he answers.

“Precisely!” I say; “about four, perfectly correct! You know your business, I hear, and I shall remember you.”

With that I left him. He was utterly astonished by me, stood and looked after me with his mouth open and still held the watch in his hand. When I had got outside the Royal, I turned and looked back: he was still standing in the same position and following me with his eyes.

Heh-heh, thus one should treat the beasts! With the most exquisite insolence! It impressed the beasts, it struck terror into the beasts… I was particularly pleased with myself and began again to sing a little scrap. Tense with agitation, without feeling any more pain, without even knowing any discomfort of any sort, I walked light as a feather across the whole square, turned up by the Bazaars and settled on a bench by Our Saviour’s.

Could it not also be rather indifferent, whether I sent the ten-kroner note back or not? When I had got it, it was mine, and there was certainly no need there, where it came from. I must, after all, accept it, when it was expressly sent to me; there was no sense in letting the messenger keep it. Nor would it do to send back a completely different ten-kroner note, than the one I had received. So there was nothing to be done about it.

I tried to watch the traffic around the square before me and occupy my thoughts with indifferent things; but I did not succeed, and I continued to concern myself with the ten-kroner note. Finally, I clenched my hands and became angry. It would wound her, I said, if I sent it back; why then should I do it? Constantly I was to go about considering myself too good for everything possible, shaking my head haughtily and saying No Thank You. Now I saw where that led; I was again on the bare street. Even when I had the best opportunity, I did not keep my good, warm lodging; I became proud, sprang up at the first word and was a man for my hat, paid out ten-kroner notes right and left and went my way… I took myself sharply to task for having left my lodging and again brought myself into difficulty.

Besides, I gave the pale yellow devil to it all! I had not asked for the ten-kroner note, and I had hardly even had it in my hands, but had given it away at once, paid it out to complete strangers whom I would never see again. That kind of man I was, always paid to the last farthing when something was at stake. If I knew Ylajali aright, she did not regret having sent me the money either; what then was I making such a fuss for? It was, in fact, the least she could do, to send me a ten-kroner note now and then. The poor girl was in love with me, heh, perhaps mortally in love with me even… And I sat and puffed myself up mightily for myself at this thought. There was no doubt that she was in love with me, the poor girl!…

The clock struck five. I collapsed again after my long nervous agitation and began anew to feel the empty rushing in my head. I stared straight ahead, held my eyes fixed, and looked out before me towards the Elephant Pharmacy. The hunger raged really strongly in me then, and I suffered greatly. As I sit thus and look into the air, a figure gradually clarifies itself before my fixed gaze, which I at last see perfectly clearly and recognise: it is the cake-woman by the Elephant Pharmacy.

I give a start, straighten up on the bench and begin to think. Yes, it was correct, it was the same woman in front of the same table in the same place! I whistle a couple of times and snap my fingers, rise from the bench and begin to walk towards the pharmacy. No nonsense! I didn’t give a damn whether it was the wages of sin or good Norwegian grocer’s money of silver from Kongsberg! I would not be ridiculous, one could die of too much pride…

I go up to the corner, take aim at the woman and position myself in front of her. I smile, nod familiarly, and arrange my words as if it were a matter of course that I would come back one day.

“Good day!” I say. “You perhaps don’t recognise me?”

“No,” she answers slowly and looks at me.

I smile even more, as if it were just her precious joke that she did not know me, and say:

“Do you not remember that I gave you a good many kroner once? I said nothing on that occasion, as far as I remember, I did not; I am not in the habit of doing so. When one has to do with honest people, it is unnecessary to make arrangements and, so to speak, draw up a contract for every little thing. Heh-heh! Yes, it was I who delivered you that money.”

“No, ah, was it you! Yes, now I do know you too, when I think about it…”

I wanted to prevent her from starting to thank me for the money, and so I say quickly, already searching with my eyes around the table for edibles:

“Yes, now I am coming to get the cakes.”

She does not understand that.

“The cakes,” I repeat, “now I am coming to get them. At least some, the first supply. I do not need everything today.”

“You are coming to get them?” she asks.

“I am indeed coming to get them, yes!” I answer and laugh loudly, as if it should have been obvious to her right away that I was coming to get them. I also take a cake down on the table, a kind of French bread, which I begin to eat.

When the woman sees this, she raises herself up in the cellar hatch, makes an involuntary movement, as if to protect her wares, and she lets me understand that she had not expected me back to rob her of them.

Is that so? I say. Ah, is that so? She was truly a precious woman to me! Had she ever experienced that someone had given her for safekeeping a sum of kroner, without the person in question having demanded them back? No, you see there! Did she perhaps believe that it was stolen money, since I had flung it to her in that way? Well, she did not believe that, though; that was still good, really good! It was, if I may say so, kind of her that she still held me for an honest man. Ha-ha! Yes, she was really good!

But why then did I give her the money? The woman became embittered and shouted loudly about it.

I explained why I had given her the money, explained it in a low and emphatic tone: It was my habit to proceed in that manner, because I trusted all people so well. Whenever anyone offered me a contract, a receipt, I shook my head and said No Thank You. God should know that I did!

But the woman still did not understand it.

I resorted to other means, spoke sharply and forbade nonsense. Had it never happened that someone else had paid her in advance in a similar way? I asked. I meant, of course, people who were well off, for example one of the consuls? Never? Well, I could not suffer for it being a manner of dealing foreign to her. It was custom and practice abroad. She had perhaps never been outside the country’s borders? No, you see there! Then she could not speak at all in this matter… And I reached for more cakes on the table.

She grumbled angrily, stubbornly refused to hand over anything she had on the table, even snatched a piece of cake out of my hand and put it back in its place. I became angry, struck the table and threatened with the police. I would be merciful to her, I said; if I took all that was mine, I would ruin her whole business, for it was a dangerous amount of money I had delivered to her in its time. But I would not take so much, I would in reality only have half value. And on top of that, I would not come back again. God preserve me from that, since she was of that sort of people…

Finally, she laid out a number of cakes at an exorbitant price, four or five pieces, which she valued at the highest she could think of, and asked me to take them and go my way. I still haggled with her, insisted that she was cheating me of at least a krone of the money and besides was exploiting me with her bloody prices. Do you know that there is a penalty for such knavish tricks? I said. God preserve you, you could go to penal servitude for life, old ass! She flung another cake

over to me and asked me, almost with gnashing teeth, to go.

And I left her.

Heh, the like of such an uninformed cake-woman one should never have seen! The whole time, as I walked across the square and devoured my cakes, I spoke aloud about the woman and her insolence, repeated to myself what we both had said to each other, and thought that I had been far superior to her. I ate the cakes in full view of all people and talked about this.

And the cakes disappeared one after another; it was of no avail, however much I ate, I was just as bottomlessly hungry. My dear God, that it would not be enough! I was so greedy that I had even nearly transgressed against the last cake, which right from the beginning I had decided to save, keep for the little one down in Vognmandsgaden, the boy who had played with the paper strips. I still remembered him, could not bring myself to forget his expression when he sprang up and cursed. He had turned towards my window when the man spat down on him, and he had positively looked to see if I too would laugh at it. God knows if I would find him now, when I got down there! I strained myself greatly to get down to Vognmandsgaden quickly, passed the place where I had torn up my drama, and where some paper still lay, bypassed the police officer whom I had recently so astonished with my behaviour, and stood at last by the steps where the boy had sat.

He was not there. The street was almost empty. It was beginning to grow dark, and I could not see where the boy was; he had perhaps gone inside. I laid the cake down carefully, stood it on its edge against the door, knocked hard and ran my way at once. He’ll find it for sure! I said to myself; the first thing he does when he comes out, is find it! And my eyes became wet with joy that the little one would find the cake.

I came down to the railway pier again.

Now I was no longer hungry, only the sweet food I had consumed began to cause me pain. In my head, too, the wildest thoughts were again making a noise: What if I secretly cut the hawser to one of these ships? What if I suddenly began to shout fire? I go further out on the pier, find myself a crate to sit on, fold my hands and feel that my head is becoming more and more bewildered. And I do not move, do nothing at all to hold myself up anymore.

I sit there and stare at “Copégoro,” the barque with the Russian flag. I glimpse a man by the rail; the port-side red lantern shines down on his head, and I rise and speak over to him. I had no intention of speaking as I did, nor did I expect to get any answer. I said:

“Are you sailing tonight, Captain?”

“Yes, in a little while,” answers the man. He spoke Swedish.

“Hm. You wouldn’t be in need of a man?” I was in this moment equally indifferent whether I got a refusal or not, it was all the same to me what answer the man would give me. I stood and waited for him.

“Ah, no,” he answered. “Unless it were a cabin boy.”

A cabin boy! I gave a start, slipped off my spectacles and stuck them in my pocket, stepped onto the gangway and strode on board.

“I am not experienced,” I said, “but I can do it. You set me to it. Where is the voyage to?”

“We are ballasted for Leeds for coal for Cadiz.”

“Good!” I said and pressed myself upon the man. “I am indifferent where it leads. I shall do my work.”

He stood for a while and looked at me and thought.

“Have you not sailed before?” he asked.

“No. But as I tell you, set me to a task, and I shall do it. I am used to a bit of everything.”

He thought again. I had already set it vividly in my head that I would go along, and I began to fear being chased ashore again.

“What do you think then, Captain?” I asked finally. “I can really do whatever is needed. What am I saying! I would have to be a poor man if I did not do more than just what I was set to. I can take two watches in a row, if need be. It will do me good, and I can endure it.”

“Yes, yes, we can try it,” he said. “If it does not work, we can part ways in England.”

“Of course!” I answered in my joy. And I repeated once more that we could part ways in England, if it did not work.

So he set me to work…

Out in the fjord I straightened up once, wet with fever and exhaustion, looked in towards land and said farewell for this time to the city, to Kristiania, where the windows shone so brightly from every home.

FJERDE STYKKE

Vinteren var kommet, en rå og våd Vinter næsten uden Sne, en tåget og mørk evigtvarende Nat, uden et eneste friskt Vindstød, så lang som Ugen var. Gassen brændte næsten hele Dagen i Gaderne, og Folk stødte alligevel på hinanden i Tågen. Alle Lyde, Kirkeklokkernes Klang, Bjælderne fra Droschehestene. Menneskenes Stemmer, Hovslagene, altsammen lød så sprukkent og klirrende i den tykke Luft, der lagde sig ivejen for alting og dæmped alt ned. Uge gik efter Uge, og Vejret var og blev det samme.

Og jeg opholdt mig stadigt nede i Vaterland.

Jeg blev fastere og fastere bunden til denne Beværtning, dette Logihus for Rejsende, hvor jeg havde fået bo, trods min Forkommenhed. Mine Penge var for længe siden opbrugte, og jeg vedblev alligevel at gå og komme på dette Sted, som om jeg havde Ret dertil og hørte hjemme der. Værtinden havde endnu intet sagt; men det pinte mig alligevel, at jeg ikke kunde betale hende. Således forløb tre Uger.

Jeg havde allerede for flere Dage tilbage genoptaget min Skrivning, men det lykkedes mig ikke længer at få til noget, som jeg var tilfreds med; jeg havde slet intet Held med mig mer, om jeg end var meget flittig og forsøgte sent og tidligt; hvad jeg end tog mig til, nytted det ikke, Lykken var borte, og jeg anstrængte mig altid forgæves.

Det var på et Værelse i anden Etage, i det bedste Gæsteværelse, jeg sad og gjorde disse Forsøg. Jeg var forbleven uforstyrret deroppe, siden den første Aften, da jeg havde Penge og kunde klarere for mig. Jeg havde også hele Tiden det Håb, at jeg endelig kunde få istand en Artikel om et eller andet, så jeg kunde få betalt Værelset og hvad jeg ellers skyldte for; det var derfor, jeg arbejded så ihærdigt. Især havde jeg et påbegyndt Stykke, som jeg vented mig meget af, en Allegori om en Ildebrand i en Boglade, en dybsindig Tanke, som jeg vilde lægge al min Flid på at udarbejde og bringe »Kommandøren« i Afbetaling. »Kommandøren« skulde dog erfare, at han denne Gang virkelig havde hjulpet et Talent; jeg havde ingen Tvivl om, at han skulde erfare det; det galdt blot at vente til Ånden kom over mig. Og hvorfor skulde ikke Ånden komme over mig? Hvorfor skulde den ikke komme over mig med det allerførste endog? Der var intet ivejen med mig mer; jeg fik lidt Mad hver Dag af min Værtinde, nogle Smørogbrød Morgen og Aften, og min Nervøsitet var næsten forsvunden. Jeg brugte ikke længer Klude om mine Hænder, når jeg skrev, og jeg kunde stirre ned i Gaden fra mine Vinduer i anden Etage, uden at blive svimmel. Det var bleven meget bedre med mig i alle Måder, og det begyndte ligefrem at forundre mig, at jeg ikke allerede havde fået min Allegori færdig. Jeg forstod ikke, hvordan det hang sammen.

En Dag skulde jeg endelig få en Anelse om, hvor svag jeg egentlig var bleven, hvor sløvt og udueligt min Hjærne arbejded. Den Dag kom nemlig min Værtinde op til mig med en Regning, som hun bad mig om at se på; der måtte være noget galt i den Regning, sagde hun, den stemte ikke med hendes egen Bog; men hun havde ikke kunnet finde Fejlen.

Jeg satte mig til at tælle; min Værtinde sad lige overfor mig og så på mig. Jeg talte disse tyve Poster, først en Gang nedad, og fandt Summen rigtig, derpå en Gang opad, og kom påny til samme Resultat. Jeg så på Konen, hun sad lige foran mig og vented på mit Ord; jeg lagde med det samme Mærke til, at hun var frugtsommelig, det undgik ikke min Opmærksomhed, og jeg stirred dog ingenlunde undersøgende på hende.

»Summen er rigtig,« sagde jeg.

»Nej, se nu efter for hvert Tal,« svared hun; »det kan ikke være så meget; jeg er sikker på det.«

Og jeg begyndte at revidere hver Post: 2 Brød á 25, i Lampeglas 18, Sæbe 20, Smør 32 . . . . Der skulde ikke noget kløgtigt Hoved til, forat gennemgå disse Talrækker, denne lille Høkerregning, hvori der ingen Vidtløftigheder fandtes, og jeg forsøgte redeligt at finde den Fejl, som Konen talte om, men fandt den ikke. Efterat jeg havde tumlet med disse Tal et Par Minutter, følte jeg desværre, at altsammen begyndte at danse rundt i mit Hoved; jeg gjorde ikke længer Forskel på Debet og Kredit, jeg blanded det hele sammen. Endelig stod jeg med ét bom stille ved følgende Post: »3 5/16 Pund Ost á 16«. Min Hjærne klikked fuldstændig, jeg stirred dumt ned på Osten og kom ingen Vej.

»Det er da også forbandet, så vredent dette er skrevet!« sagde jeg fortvivlet. »Her står Gud hjælpe mig simpelthen fem Sekstendele Ost. He-he, har man hørt Magen! Ja, her kan De se selv!«

»Ja,« svared Madamen, »de plejer at skrive så. Det er Nøgleosten. Jo, det er korrekt! Fem Sekstendele er altså fem Lod«

»Ja, det forstår jeg nok!« atbrød jeg, skønt jeg i Virkeligheden ikke forstod nogen Ting mer.

Jeg forsøgte påny at klare dette lille Regnestykke, som jeg for nogle Måneder siden kunde have talt op på et Minut; jeg sveded stærkt og tænkte over disse gådefulde Tal af alle Kræfter, og jeg blinked eftertænksomt med Øjnene, som om jeg studered rigtig skarpt på denne Sag; men jeg måtte opgive det. Disse fem Lod Ost gjorde det fuldstændigt af med mig; det var som om noget knak over i min Pande.

For dog at give Indtryk af, at jeg fremdeles arbejded med mine Beregninger, bevæged jeg Læberne og nævnte nu og da et Tal højt, alt imens jeg gled længer og længer nedad Regningen, som om jeg stadig gik fremad og nærmed mig Afslutningen. Madamen sad og vented. Endelig sagde jeg:

»Ja, nu har jeg gået den igennem fra først til sidst, og der er virkelig ingen Fejl, såvidt jeg kan se.«

»Ikke det?« svared Konen, »jaså, ikke det?« Men jeg så godt, at hun ikke troed mig. Og pludselig syntes hun på en Gang at antage et lidet Stænk af Ringeagt for mig i sin Tale, en lidt ligegyldig Tone, som jeg ikke tidligere havde hørt hos hende. Hun sagde, at jeg kanske ikke var vant til at regne med Sekstendele; hun sagde også, at hun måtte henvende sig til nogen, som forstod sig på det, forat få Regningen ordentlig gennemset. Alt dette sagde hun ikke på nogen sårende Måde, forat gøre mig tilskamme, men tankefuldt og alvorligt. Da hun var kommet til Døren og skulde gå, sagde hun, uden at se på mig:

»Undskyld, at jeg har heftet Dem, da!«

Hun gik.

Lidt efter åbnedes Døren påny, og min Værtinde kom atter ind; hun kunde næppe have gået længer end ud på Gangen, før hun vendte om.

»Det er sandt!« sagde hun. »De må ikke tage det ilde op; men jeg har vel lidt tilgode hos Dem nu? Var det ikke tre Uger igår, siden De kom? Ja, jeg mente, det var så. Det er ikke grejt at klare sig med så stor Familje, så jeg kan ikke lade nogen få bo på Kredit, desværre . . . .«

Jeg standsed hende.

»Jeg arbejder på en Artikel, som jeg altså har fortalt Dem om før,« sagde jeg, »og såsnart den blir færdig, skal De få Deres Penge. De kan være ganske rolig.«

»Ja, men De får jo aldrig den Artikel færdig, jo?«

»Tror De det? Ånden kommer muligens over mig imorgen, eller kanske allerede inat; det er slet ikke umuligt, at den kommer over mig engang inat, og da blir min Artikel færdig på et Kvarter højst. Ser De, det er ikke således med mit Arbejde, som med andre Folks; jeg kan ikke sætte mig ned og få istand en vis Mængde om Dag, jeg må bare vente på Øjeblikket. Og der er ingen, som kan sige Dag og Time, på hvilken Ånden kommer over én; det må have sin Gang.«

Min Værtinde gik. Men hendes Tillid til mig var vist meget rokket.

Jeg sprang op og sled mig i Håret at Fortvivlelse, såsnart jeg var bleven alene. Nej, der blev virkelig ingen Redning for mig alligevel, ingen, ingen Redning! Min Hjærne var bankerot! Var jeg da altså bleven helt Idiot, siden jeg ikke længer kunde regne ud Værdien af et lidet Stykke Nøgleost? Men kunde jeg også have tabt min Forstand, når jeg stod og gav mig selv slige Spørgsmål? Havde jeg ikke ovenikøbet midt under mine Anstrængelser med Regningen gjort den soleklare Iagttagelse, at min Værtinde var frugtsommelig? Jeg havde ikke nogen Grund til at vide det, der var ingen, som havde fortalt mig noget derom, det faldt mig heller ikke vilkårligt ind, jeg sad og så det med mine egne Øjne, og jeg forstod det straks, til og med i et fortvivlet Øjeblik, hvori jeg sad og regned med Sekstendele. Hvorledes skulde jeg forklare mig det?

Jeg gik til Vinduet og så ud; mit Vindu vendte ud mod Vognmandsgaden. Der legte nogle Børn nede på Brostenene, fattigt klædte Børn midt i den fattige Gade; de kasted en Tomflaske imellem sig og skråled højt. Et Flyttelæs rulled langsomt forbi dem; det måtte være en fordreven Familje, som skifted Bopæl udenfor Flyttetiden. Dette tænkte jeg mig øjeblikkelig. På Vognen lå Sengeklæder og Møbler, mølædte Senge og Komoder, rødmalede Stole med tre Ben, Matter, Jærnskrab, Bliktøj. En liden Pige, bare et Barn, en rigtig hæslig Unge med forkølet Næse, sad oppe i Læsset og holdt sig fast med sine stakkels blå Hænder, for ikke at tumle ned. Hun sad på en Bundt af rædsomme, våde Madrasser, som Børn havde ligget på, og så ned på de små, der kasted Tomflasken imellem sig . . . .

Alt dette stod jeg og så på, og jeg havde ingen Møje med at forstå alt, som foregik. Mens jeg stod der ved Vinduet og iagttog dette, hørte jeg også min Værtindes Pige synge inde i Køkkenet lige ved Siden af mit Værelse; jeg kendte den Melodi, hun sang, jeg hørte derfor efter, om hun skulde synge fejl. Og jeg sagde til mig selv, at alt dette kunde ikke en Idiot have gjort; jeg var Gudskelov så fornuftig, som noget Menneske. Pludselig så jeg to af Børnene nede i Gaden fare op at skændes, to Smågutter; jeg kendte den ene, det var min Værtindes. Jeg åbner Vinduet, forat høre, hvad de siger til hinanden, og straks stimler en Flok Børn sammen nedenunder mit Vindu og ser længselsfuldt op. Hvad vented de på? At noget skulde blive kastet ud? Tørrede Blomster, Kødben, Cigarstumper, en eller anden Ting, som de kunde gnave i sig eller more sig med? De så med blåfrosne Ansigter, med uendelig lange Øjne op mod mit Vindu. Imidlertid fortsætter de to små Fjender at skælde hinanden ud. Ord som store, klamme Udyr myldrer ud af disse Barnemunde, forfærdelige Øgenavne, Skøgesprog, Matroseder, som de kanske havde lært nede ved Bryggerne. Og de er begge to så optagne heraf, at de slet ikke lægger Mærke til min Værtinde, der løber ud til dem, forat få høre, hvad der er påfærde.

»Jo,« forklarer hendes Søn, »han tog mig i Barken; jeg fik ikke Pusten på en lang Stund!« Og vendende sig om mod den lille Ugærningsmand, der står og flirer ondskabsfuldt ad ham, blir han aldeles rasende og råber: »Rejs til hede Helvede, dit kaldæiske Naut, du er! En slig Lushorrik skal tage Folk i Struben! Jeg skal Herr’n forsyne mig . . . .«

Og Moderen, denne frugtsommelige Kone, der dominerer hele den trange Gade med sin Mave, svarer det tiårige Barn, idet hun griber ham i Armen og vil have ham med:

»Sh! Hold Snavel’n din! Jeg mener, du bander ogsål Du bruger Kæften, som om du skulde været på Ludderhus i årvis! Nu kommer du ind!«

»Nej, jeg gør ikke det!«

»Jo, du gør det!«

»Nej, jeg gør ikke det!«

Jeg står oppe i Vinduet og ser, at Moderens Vrede stiger; denne uhyggelige Scene ophidser mig voldsomt, jeg holder det ikke længer ud, jeg råber ned til Gutten, at han skal komme op til mig et Øjeblik. Jeg råber to Gange, blot forat forstyrre dem, forat få forpurret dette Optrin; den sidste Gang, råber jeg meget højt, og Moderen vender sig forbløffet om og ser op til mig. Og øjeblikkelig genvinder hun Fatningen, ser frækt på mig, rigtig overlegent ser hun på mig, og trækker sig så tilbage med en bebrejdende Bemærkning til sin Søn. Hun taler højt, så jeg kan høre det, og siger til ham:

»Fy, du måtte skamme dig for at lade Folk se, hvor slem du er!«

Af alt dette, som jeg således stod og iagttog, var der intet, ikke engang en liden Biomstændighed, som gik tabt for mig. Min Opmærksomhed var yderst vag, jeg indånded ømtåligt hver liden Ting, og jeg stod og gjorde mig mine Tanker om disse Ting, efterhvert som de foregik. Så der kunde umuligt være noget ivejen med min Forstand. Hvor kunde der også være noget ivejen med den nu?

Hør, ved du hvad, sagde jeg på en Gang; nu har du længe nok gået og befattet dig med din Forstand og gjort dig Bekymringer i så Henseende; nu får det være Slut med de Narrestreger! Er det Tegn på Galskab at mærke og opfatte alle Ting så nøjagtigt, som du gør det? Du får mig næsten til at le af dig, forsikkrer dig på, det er ikke uden Humor, såvidt jeg skønner. Kort og godt, det hænder alle Mennesker at stå fast for en Gangs Skyld, og det just netop i de simpleste Spørgsmål. Det siger intet, det er bare Tilfældighed. Som sagt, jeg er på et hængende Hår i Færd med at få mig en liden Latter over dig. Hvad den Høkerregning angår, disse lumpne fem Sekstendele Fattigmandsost, kan jeg gærne kalde det, — he-he, en Ost med Nellik og Pebber i, på min Ære en Ost, som man rent ud sagt kunde få Barn af, — hvad denne latterlige Ost angår, da kunde det have hændt den bedste at blive fordummet over den; selve Lugten af den Ost kunde gøre det af med en Mand . . . . Og jeg gjorde det værste Nar af al Nøgleost . . . . Nej, sæt mig på noget spiseligt! sagde jeg, sæt mig, om du vil, på fem Sekstendele godt Mejerismør! Det er en anden Sag!

Jeg lo hektisk ad mine egne Indfald og fandt dem såre morsomme. Der var virkelig ingenting, som fejled mig mer, jeg var vel bevaret. Jeg var så at sige yderst vel bevaret endog! Jeg var et klart Hoved; der mangled intet på det, Gud ske Lov og Tak!

Min Munterhed steg efterhvert, som jeg drev om der på Gulvet og samtalte med mig selv; jeg lo højt og følte mig voldsomt glad. Det var virkelig også, som om jeg blot behøved denne lille glade Stund, dette Øjeblik af egentlig lys Henrykkelse, uden Sorger til nogen Kant, forat få mit Hoved i arbejdsdygtig Stand. Jeg satte mig ind til Bordet og gav mig til at sysle med min Allegori. Og det gik meget godt, bedre end på lange Tider; det gik ikke hurtigt; men jeg syntes, at det lille, jeg fik til, blev aldeles udmærket. Jeg arbejded også en Times Tid, uden at blive træt.

Så sidder jeg just på et meget vigtigt Punkt i denne Allegori om en Ildebrand i en Boglade; det forekom mig så vigtigt, at alt det øvrige, jeg havde skrevet, var for intet at regne mod dette Punkt. Jeg vilde netop forme rigtig dybsindigt den Tanke, at det ikke var Bøger, som brændte, det var Hjærner, Menneskehjærner, og jeg vilde lave en ren Bartholomæusnat af disse brændende Hjærner. Da blev med en Gang min Dør åbnet med megen Hast, og min Værtinde kom sejlende ind. Hun kom midt ind i Værelset, hun standsed ikke engang på Dørstokken.

Jeg gav et lidet hæst Råb; det var virkelig, som om jeg havde fået et Slag.

»Hvad?« sagde hun. »Jeg syntes. De sagde noget? Vi har fået en Rejsende, og vi må have dette Værelse til ham; De får ligge nede hos os inat; ja, De skal få egen Seng der også.« Og førend hun havde fået mit Svar, begyndte hun uden videre at samle sammen mine Papirer på Bordet og bringe Uorden i dem allesammen.

Min glade Stemning var blæst bort, jeg var vred og fortvivlet og rejste mig straks. Jeg lod hende rydde Bordet og sagde ingenting; jeg mæled ikke et Ord. Og hun gav mig alle Papirerne i min Hånd.

Der var intet andet for mig at gøre, jeg måtte forlade Værelset. Nu var også dette dyrebare Øjeblik spoleret! Jeg mødte den ny Rejsende allerede i Trappen, en ung Mand med store blå Ankertegninger på Håndbagerne; bagefter ham fulgte en Sjouer med en Skibskiste på Skulderen. Den fremmede var vist en Sjømand, altså blot en tilfældig Rejsende for Natten; han skulde nok ikke optage mit Værelse i nogen længere Tid. Kanske kunde jeg også være heldig imorgen, når Manden var rejst, og få et af mine Øjeblikke igen; der mangled mig blot en Inspiration på fem Minutter nu, så var mit Værk om Ildebranden færdig. Altså, jeg fik finde mig i Skæbnen . . . .

Jeg havde ikke tidligere været inde i Familjens Lejlighed, denne eneste Stue, hvori allesammen holdt til Dag og Nat, Manden, Konen, Konens Fader og fire Børn. Pigen boed i Køkkenet, hvor hun også sov om Natten. Jeg nærmed mig med megen Modvilje Døren og banked på; ingen svared, dog hørte jeg Stemmer indenfor.

Manden sagde ikke et Ord, da jeg trådte ind, besvared ikke engang min Hilsen; han så blot ligegyldigt på mig, som om jeg ikke vedkom ham. Forresten sad han og spilled Kort med en Person, som jeg havde set nede ved Bryggerne, en Bærer, der lød Navnet »Glasruden«. Et Spædbarn lå og pludred med sig selv henne i Sengen, og den gamle Mand, Værtindens Fader, sad sammenkrøben på en Sengebænk og luded med Hovedet over sine Hænder, som om hans Bryst eller Mave smærted ham. Han havde næsten hvidt Hår og så ud i sin sammenkrøbne Stilling som et duknakket Kryb, der sad og spidsed Øren efter noget.

»Jeg kommer nok desværre til at bede om Rum hernede inat,« sagde jeg til Manden.

»Har min Kone sagt det?« spurgte han.

»Ja. Der kom en ny Mand på mit Værelse.«

Hertil svared ikke Manden noget; han gav sig atter i Færd med Kortene.

Således sad denne Mand Dag efter Dag og spilled Kort med hvemsomhelst, som kom ind til ham, spilled om ingenting, blot forat fordrive Tiden og have noget mellem Hænderne imens. Han foretog sig ellers intet, rørte sig netop så meget som hans lade Lemmer gad, mens Konen traved op og ned i Trapperne, var om sig på alle Kanter og havde Omsorg for at få Gæster til Huset. Hun havde også sat sig i Forbindelse med Bryggesjouere og Bærere, hvem hun betalte et vist Honorar for hver ny Logerende, de bragte hende, og hun gav ofte disse Sjouere Husly for Natten. Nu var det »Glasruden«, som just havde bragt den ny Rejsende med.

Et Par af Børnene kom ind, to Småpiger med magre, fregnede Tøseansigter; de havde rigtig usle Klæder på. Lidt efter kom også Værtinden ind. Jeg spurgte hende, hvor hun vilde anbringe mig for Natten, og hun svared kort, at jeg kunde ligge herinde, sammen med de andre, eller ude i Forstuen på Sofabænken, aldeles som jeg selv fandt for godt. Mens hun svared mig dette, gik hun omkring i Stuen og pusled med forskellige Ting, som hun satte i Orden, og hun så ikke en Gang på mig.

Jeg sank sammen ved hendes Svar, stod nede ved Døren og gjorde mig liden, lod endog som om jeg var godt tilfreds med at bytte Værelse med en anden for en Nats Skyld; jeg satte med Hensigt et venligt Ansigt op, for ikke at opirre hende og måske blive jaget helt ud af Huset. Jeg sagde: »Å, ja, der blir vel en Råd!« og taug.

Hun vimsed fremdeles omkring i Stuen.

»Forresten vil jeg sige Dem, at jeg slet ikke har Udkomme til at have Folk i Kost og Logi på Kredit,« sagde hun. »Og det har jeg sagt Dem før også.«

»Ja, men kære, det er jo bare disse Par Dage, til min Artikel er færdig,« svared jeg, »og da skal jeg gærne give Dem en Femkrone atpå, gærne det.«

Men hun havde åbenbart ingen Tro på min Artikel, det kunde jeg se. Og jeg kunde ikke give mig til at være stolt og forlade Huset, bare af en Smule Krænkelse; jeg vidste, hvad der vented mig, hvis jeg gik min Vej.

* * *

Der forløb et Par Dage.

Jeg holdt fremdeles til nede hos Familjen, da det var for koldt i Forstuen, hvor der ingen Ovn var; jeg sov også om Natten på Gulvet inde i Stuen. Den fremmede Sjømand boed stadigt på mit Værelse og lod ikke til at ville flytte så snart. Ved Middagstid kom også Værtinden ind og fortalte, at han havde betalt hende i Forskud for en hel Måned; forresten skulde han tage Styrmandseksamen, inden han rejste; det var derfor, han opholdt sig i Byen. Jeg stod og hørte på dette og forstod, at mit Værelse nu var tabt for mig for bestandigt.

Jeg gik ud i Forstuen og satte mig; skulde jeg være så heldig at få noget skrevet, så måtte det alligevel være her, i Stilheden. Det var ikke længer min Allegori, som beskæftiged mig; havde fået en ny Idé, en ganske fortræffelig Plan: jeg vilde forfatte et en Akts Drama, »Korsets Tegn«, Emne fra Middelalderen. Især havde jeg altsammen udtænkt angående Hovedpersonen, en herlig, fanatisk Skøge, der havde syndet i Templet, ikke af Svaghed og ikke af Attrå, men af Had mod Himlen, syndet lige ved Alterets Fod, med Alterdugen under sit Hoved, bare af dejlig Foragt for Himlen.

Jeg blev mer og mer besat af denne Skikkelse, efterhvert som Timerne gik. Hun stod tilsidst lys levende for mit Blik, og netop således, som jeg vilde have hende frem. Hendes Krop skulde være mangelfuld og frastødende: høj, meget mager og en Smule mørk, og når hun gik, vilde hendes lange Ben komme til at skinne igennem hendes Skørter for hvert Skridt, hun tog. Hun skulde også have store, udstående Ører. Kortsagt, hun vilde intet blive for Øjet, knapt nok udholdelig at se på. Hvad der interessered mig hos hende, var hendes underfulde Skamløshed, dette desperate Topmål af overlagt Synd, som hun havde begået. Hun sysselsatte mig virkelig altfor meget; min Hjærne var ligefrem udbulnet af denne sære Misdannelse af et Menneske. Og jeg skrev i samfulde to Timer i Træk på mit Drama.

Da jeg havde fået istand et halvt Snes Sider, måske tolv Sider, ofte med stort Besvær, undertiden med lange Mellemrum, hvori jeg skrev forgæves og måtte rive mine Ark itu, var jeg bleven træt, ganske stiv af Kulde og Træthed, og jeg rejste mig og gik ud på Gaden. I den sidste Halvtime var jeg også bleven forstyrret af Barneskrig inde fra Familjens Stue, så jeg kunde i ethvert Tilfælde ikke have skrevet mer netop da. Jeg tog derfor en lang Tur udad Drammensvejen og blev borte helt til Aften, idet jeg stadig gik og grunded på, hvorledes jeg videre vilde fortsætte mit Drama. Inden jeg kom hjem om Aftenen den Dag, havde der hændt mig følgende:

Jeg stod udenfor en Skomagerbutik nederst i Karl Johan, næsten nede ved Jærnbanetorvet. Gud ved, hvorfor jeg var standset just udenfor denne Skomagerbutik! Jeg så indad Vinduet, hvor jeg stod, men tænkte forresten ikke på, at jeg mangled Sko netop da; min Tanke var langt borte, i andre Egne af Verden. En Sverm af samtalende Mennesker gik bag min Ryg, og jeg hørte ingenting af, hvad der blev sagt. Da hilser en Stemme højt:

»Godaften!«

Det var »Jomfruen«, som hilste på mig.

»Godaften!« svared jeg fraværende. Jeg så også på »Jomfruen« en kort Stund, inden jeg kendte ham.

»Nå, hvordan går det?« spurgte han.

»Jo, bare bra . . . . som sædvanligt!«

»Hør, sig mig,« sagde han, »De er altså hos Christie endda?«

»Christie?«

»Jeg syntes, De sagde engang, at De var Bogholder hos Grosserer Christie?«

»Å! Ja, nej, det er forbi. Det var umuligt at arbejde sammen med den Mand; det gik istå temmelig snart af sig selv.«

»Hvorfor det, da?«

»Å, jeg kom til at skrive fejl en Dag, og så . . . .«

»Falsk?«

Falsk? Der stod »Jomfruen« og spurgte ligefrem, om jeg havde skrevet falsk. Han spurgte endog hurtigt og meget interesseret. Jeg så på ham, følte mig dybt krænket og svared ikke.

»Ja, ja, Herregud, det kan hænde den bedste!« sagde han, forat trøste mig. Han troed fremdeles, at jeg havde skrevet falsk.

»Hvad er det, som ja, ja Herregud kan hænde den bedste?« spurgte jeg. »At skrive falsk? Hør, min gode Mand, tror De virkelig, der De står, at jeg kunde have begået en slig Nederdrægtighed? Jeg?«

»Men, kære, jeg syntes så tydeligt, De sagde . . . .«

»Nej, jeg sagde, at jeg havde skrevet fejl engang, et Årstal, en Bagatel, om De vil vide det, en fejl Dato på et Brev, et eneste Pennestrøg galt — det var hele min Brøde. Nej, Gudskelov, man kan da skælne Ret fra Uret endda! Hvordan skulde det også bære afsted med mig, hvis jeg ovenikøbet gik hen og pletted min Ære? Det er simpelthen min Æresfølelse, jeg flyder på nu. Men den er også stærkt nok, håber jeg; den har ialfald bevaret mig til Dato.«

Jeg kasted på Hovedet, vendte mig bort fra »Jomfruen« og så nedad Gaden. Mit Øje faldt på en rød Kjole, som nærmed sig os, en Kvinde ved Siden af en Mand. Havde jeg nu ikke ført netop denne Samtale med »Jomfruen«, var jeg ikke bleven stødt af hans grove Mistanke, og havde jeg ikke gjort just dette Kast med Hovedet, samt vendt mig lidt fornærmet bort, så vilde denne røde Kjole måske have passeret mig, uden at jeg havde lagt Mærke til den. Og hvad vedkom den mig i Grunden? Hvad angik den mig, selv om det var Hoffrøken Nagels Kjole?

»Jomfruen« stod og talte og søgte at gøre sin Fejltagelse god igen; jeg hørte slet ikke på ham, jeg stod hele Tiden og stirred på denne røde Kjole, der nærmed sig opad Gaden. Og en Bevægelse løb mig gennem Brystet, et glidende, fint Stik; jeg hvisked i min Tanke, hvisked uden at røre Munden:

»Ylajali!«

Nu vendte også »Jomfruen« sig om, opdaged de to, Damen og Herren, hilste på dem og fulgte dem med Øjnene. Jeg hilste ikke, eller måske hilste jeg ubevidst. Den røde Kjole gled opad Karl Johan og forsvandt.

»Hvem var det, som fulgte hende?« spurgte »Jomfruen«.

»Hertugen«, så De ikke det? »Hertugen« kaldet. Kendte De Damen?«

»Ja, såvidt. Kendte ikke De hende!«

»Nej,« svared jeg.

»Jeg syntes, De hilste så dybt?«

»Gjorde jeg det?«

»He, gjorde De kanske ikke det?« sagde »Jomfruen«. »Det var da besynderligt! Det var også blot Dem, hun så på hele Tiden.«

»Hvor kender De hende fra?« spurgte jeg.

Han kendte hende egentlig ikke. Det skrev sig fra en Aften i Høst. Det var sent, de havde været tre glade Sjæle sammen, kom just fra Grand, traf dette Menneske gående alene ved Cammermeyer og havde talt til hende. Hun havde først svaret afvisende; men den ene af de glade Sjæle, en Mand, som ikke skyed hverken Ild eller Vand, havde bedt hende lige op i hendes Ansigt om at måtte have den Civilisationens Nydelse at følge hende hjem. Han skulde ved Gud ikke krumme et Hår på hendes Hoved, som skrevet står, blot følge hende til Porten, forat overbevise sig om, at hun kom sikkert hjem, ellers vilde ikke han få Ro hele Natten. Han talte ustandseligt, mens de gik, fandt på den ene Ting efter den anden, kaldte sig Waldemar Atterdag og udgav sig for Fotograf. Tilsidst havde hun måttet le ad denne glade Sjæl, som ikke havde ladet sig forbløffe af hendes Kulde, og det endte med, at han fulgte hende.

»Nå, ja, hvad blev det så til?« spurgte jeg, og jeg holdt mit Åndedræt sålænge.

»Blev til? Å, kom ikke der! Det er en Dame.«

Vi taug begge et Øjebik, både »Jomfruen« og jeg.

»Nej, Fan, var dét »Hertugen«! Ser han slig ud!« sagde han derpå tankefuldt. »Men når hun er sammen med den Mand, så vil jeg ikke svare for hende.«

Jeg taug fremdeles. Ja, naturligvis vilde »Hertugen« trække af med hende! Godt og vel! Hvad kom det mig ved? Jeg gav hende en god Dag, med samt hendes Yndigheder, en god Dag gav jeg hende! Og jeg forsøgte at trøste mig selv ved at tænke de værste Tanker om hende, gjorde mig ligefrem en Glæde af at rode hende rigtig ned i Sølen. Det ærgred mig blot, at jeg havde taget Hatten af for Parret, hvis jeg virkelig havde gjort det. Hvorfor skulde jeg tage Hatten af for sådanne Mennesker? Jeg brød mig ikke længer om hende, aldeles ikke; hun var ikke det allerringeste vakker mer, hun havde tabt sig, fy, Fan, hvor hun var falmet! Det kunde jo gærne være, at det blot var mig, hun havde set på; det forundred mig ikke; det var kanske Angeren, som begyndte at slå hende. Men derfor behøved ikke jeg at falde til Fode og hilse som en Nar, specielt når hun altså var bleven så betænkelig falmet på det sidste. »Hertugen« kunde gærne beholde hende, velbekomme! Der kunde komme en Dag, da jeg fik i Sinde at gå hende stolt forbi, uden at se til den Kant, hvor hun befandt sig. Det kunde hænde, at jeg tillod mig at gøre dette, selv om hun så stivt på mig og ovenikøbet gik i blodrød Kjole. Det kunde godt hænde! He-he, det vilde blive en Triumf! Kendte jeg mig selv ret, så var jeg istand til at gøre mit Drama færdigt i Løbet af Natten, og inden otte Dage skulde jeg da have bøjet Frøkenen i Knæ. Med samt hendes Yndigheder, he-he, med samt alle hendes Yndigheder . . . .

»Farvel!« sagde jeg kort.

Men »Jomfruen« holdt mig tilbage. Han spurgte:

»Men hvad bestiller De da nu om Dagen?«

»Bestiller? Jeg skriver, naturligvis. Hvad andet skulde jeg bestille? Det er jo det, jeg lever af. For Øjeblikket arbejder jeg på et stort Drama, »Korsets Tegn«, Emne fra Middelalderen.«

»Død og Pine!« sagde »Jomfruen« oprigtigt. »Ja, får De dét til, så . . . .«

»Har ingen store Bekymringer desangående!« svared jeg. »Om en otte Dages Tid tænker jeg, at De skal have hørt fra mig nogen hver.«

Dermed gik jeg.

Da jeg kom hjem, henvendte jeg mig straks til min Værtinde og bad om en Lampe. Det var mig meget om at gøre at få denne Lampe; jeg vilde ikke gå tilsengs inat, mit Drama rased inde i mit Hoved, og jeg håbed så sikkert at kunne skrive et godt Stykke til om Morgenen. Jeg fremførte min Begæring meget ydmygt for Madamen, da jeg mærked, at hun gjorde en utilfreds Grimase, fordi jeg atter kom ind i Stuen. Jeg havde altså næsten færdigt et mærkeligt Drama, sagde jeg; der mangled mig bare et Par Scener, og jeg slog på, at det kunde blive opført på et eller andet Teater, inden jeg selv vidste Ordet af det. Om hun nu vilde gøre mig denne store Tjeneste, så . . . .

Men Madamen havde ingen Lampe. Hun tænkte sig om, men husked slet ikke, at hun havde nogen Lampe nogen Steder. Hvis jeg vilde vente til efter Klokken tolv, så kunde jeg kanske få Køkkenlampen. Hvorfor kunde jeg ikke købe mig et Lys?

Jeg taug. Jeg havde ikke ti Øre til et Lys, og det vidste hun nok. Naturligvis skulde jeg strande igen! Nu sad Pigen nede hos os, hun sad simpelthen inde i Stuen og var slet ikke i Køkkenet; Lampen der oppe var således ikke engang tændt. Og jeg stod og overtænkte dette, men sagde intet mer.

Pludselig siger Pigen til mig:

»Jeg syntes, De kom ud af Slottet for lidt siden? Har De været i Middag?« Og hun lo højt ad denne Spas.

Jeg satte mig ned, tog mine Papirer frem og vilde forsøge at gøre noget her sålænge, her, hvor jeg sad. Jeg holdt Papirerne på mine Knæ og stirred uafbrudt ned i Gulvet, for ikke at adspredes af noget; men det nytted mig ikke, ingenting nytted mig, jeg kom ikke af Pletten. Værtindens to Småpiger kom ind og holdt Støj med en Kat, en underlig, syg Kat, som næsten ingen Hår havde; når de blæste den ind i Øjnene, flød der Vand ud af dem og nedad dens Næse. Værten og et Par andre Personer sad ved Bordet og spilled Hundred og En. Konen alene var flittig som altid og sad og syed på noget. Hun så godt, at jeg ikke kunde skrive noget midt i denne Forstyrrelse, men hun brød sig ikke om mig mer; hun havde endog smilet, da Tjenestepigen spurgte, om jeg havde været i Middag. Hele Huset var bleven fjendtlig mod mig; det var, som om jeg blot behøved den Forsmædelse at måtte overlade mit Værelse til en anden, forat blive behandlet ganske som en uvedkommende. Endog denne Tjenestepige, en liden brunøjet Gadetøs med Pandehår og aldeles fladt Bryst, gjorde Nar af mig om Aftenen, når jeg fik mine Smørogbrød. Hun spurgte idelig, hvor jeg dog plejed at indtage mine Middage, eftersom hun aldrig havde set mig gå og stikke mine Tænder udenfor Grand. Det var klart, at hun vidste Besked om min elendige Tilstand og gjorde sig en Fornøjelse af at vise mig det.

Jeg falder pludselig i Tanker om alt dette og er ikke istand til at finde en eneste Replik til mit Drama. Jeg forsøger Gang på Gang forgæves; det begynder at summe underligt i mit Hoved, og jeg giver mig tilsidst over. Jeg stikker Papirerne i Lommen og ser op. Pigen sidder lige foran mig, og jeg ser på hende, ser på denne smale Ryg og et Par lave Skuldre, som endnu ikke var rigtig voksne engang. Hvad havde nu hun med at kaste sig over mig? Og om jeg var kommet ud af Slottet, hvad så? Kunde det skade hende? Hun havde i de sidste Dage leet frækt ad mig, når jeg var uheldig og snubled i Trapperne eller hang fast i en Spiger, så jeg fik en Rift i min Frakke. Det var heller ikke længer siden end igår, at hun havde samlet op mine Kladder som jeg havde slængt fra mig i Forstuen, stjålet disse kasserede Brudstykker til mit Drama og læst dem op inde i Stuen, holdt Løjer med dem i alles Påhør, bare forat more sig over mig. Jeg havde aldrig forulempet hende og kunde ikke huske, at jeg nogensinde havde bedt hende om en Tjeneste. Tvertimod, jeg gjorde selv min Seng istand om Aftenen inde på Stuegulvet, for ikke at skaffe hende noget Bryderi dermed. Hun gjorde også Nar af mig, fordi mit Hår faldt af. Der lå Hår og flød i Vaskevandet om Morgenen, og det gjorde hun sig lystig over. Nu var mine Sko blevne noget dårlige, især den ene, som var bleven overkørt af Brødvognen, og hun drev også Spas med dem. Gud velsigne Dem og Deres Sko! sagde hun; se på dem, de er store som Hundehus! Og hun havde Ret i, at mine Sko var udtrådte; men jeg kunde altså ikke skaffe mig nogen andre netop for Øjeblikket.

Mens jeg sidder og husker på alt dette og forundrer mig over denne åbenlyse Ondskab hos Tjenestepigen, var Småpigerne begyndt at tirre den gamle Olding henne i Sengen; de hopped begge to omkring ham og var fuldt optagne af dette Arbejde. De havde fundet sig hver sit Halmstrå, som de stak ham i Ørene med. Jeg så på dette en Stund og blanded mig ikke ind i det. Den gamle rørte ikke en Finger, forat forsvare sig; han så blot på sine Plageånder med rasende Øjne for hver Gang, de stak efter ham, og rysted på Hovedet, forat befri sig, når Stråene allerede sad ham i Ørene.

Jeg blev mer og mer ophidset ved dette Syn og kunde ikke få mine Øjne bort fra det. Faderen så op fra Kortene og lo ad de små; han gjorde også sine Medspillere opmærksom på, hvad der foregik. Hvorfor rørte han sig ikke, den gamle? Hvorfor slængte han ikke Børnene væk med Armen? Jeg tog et Skridt og nærmed mig Sengen.

»Lad dem være! Lad dem være! Han er lam,« råbte Værten.

Og af Frygt for at blive vist Døren imod Natten, simpelthen bange for at vække Mandens Mishag ved at gribe ind i dette Optrin, trådte jeg stiltiende tilbage til min gamle Plads og forholdt mig rolig. Hvorfor skulde jeg resikere mit Logi og mine Smørogbrød ved at stikke min Næse ind i Familjens Kævlerier? Ingen Narrestreger for en halvdød Oldings Skyld! Og jeg stod og følte mig dejligt hård som Flint.

De små Tyvetøser holdt ikke op med sine Plagerier. De tirredes af, at Oldingen ikke vilde holde Hovedet stille, og de stak også efter hans Øjne og Næsebor. Han stirred på dem med et forhærdet Blik, han sagde intet og kunde ikke røre Armene. Pludselig letted han sig med Overkroppen og spytted den ene af Småpigerne ind i Ansigtet; han letted sig atter op og spytted også efter den anden, men traf hende ikke. Jeg stod og så på, at Værten kasted Kortene ned på Bordet, hvor han sad, og sprang hen til Sengen. Han var rød i Ansigtet og råbte:

»Sidder du og spytter Folk lige i Øjnene, din gamle Råne!«

»Men, Herregud, han fik jo ikke Fred for dem!« råbte jeg ude af mig selv. Men jeg stod hele Tiden og var bange for at blive udvist, og jeg råbte aldeles ikke med synderlig Kraft; jeg skalv blot over hele Legemet af Ophidselse.

Værten vendte sig om mod mig.

»Nej, hør på den! Hvad Fan skiller det Dem? Hold De bare Flabben på Dem ganske igen, De, og gør som jeg siger; det vil De have bedst af.«

Men nu lød også Madamens Stemme, og hele Huset blev fuldt af Skænderi.

»Jeg mener Gud hjælpe mig De er gale og besatte allesammen!« skreg hun. »Vil De være herinde, så får De være rolige begge to, det siger jeg Dem! He, det er ikke nok med, at man skal holde Hus og Kost for Kræket, man skal have Dommedag og Kommers og Satansmagt inde i Stuerne også. Men det skal jeg ikke have mer af, har jeg tænkt! Sh! Hold Tryterne Deres sammen. Unger, og tørk Næserne Deres også, hvis ikke, så skal jeg komme og gøre det. Jeg har aldrig set på Magen til Mennesker! Her kommer de ind fra Gaden, uden en Øre til Lusesalve engang, og begynder at holde Spræt midt på Katters Tide og gøre Leven med Husens Folk. Jeg vil ikke vide af det, forstår De, og De kan gå Deres Vej alle, som ikke hører hjemme her. Jeg vil have Fred i min egen Lejlighed, har jeg tænkt!«

Jeg sagde intet, jeg lukked slet ikke Munden op, men satte mig nede ved Døren igen og hørte på Larmen. Alle skråled med, endog Børnene og Tjenestepigen, som vilde forklare, hvordan hele Striden var begyndt. Når jeg bare var taus, så vilde det nok drive over engang; det vilde ganske vist ikke komme til det yderste, når jeg blot ikke sagde et Ord. Og hvilket Ord kunde jeg have at sige? Var det måske ikke Vinter ude, og led det ikke ovenikøbet mod Natten? Var det da Tid at slå i Bordet og være Karl for sin Hat? Bare ingen Narrestreger! Og jeg sad stille og forlod ikke Huset, undså mig ikke for at blive siddende, skammed mig ligefrem ikke herfor, skønt jeg næsten var bleven sagt op. Jeg stirred forhærdet hen på Væggen, hvor Kristus hang i Oljetryk, og taug hårdnakket til alle Værtindens Udfald.

»Ja, er det mig. De vil blive af med. Madam, så skal der ikke være noget ivejen for mit vedkommende,« sagde den ene af Kortspillerne.

Han rejste sig. Den anden Kortspiller rejste sig også.

»Nej, jeg mente ikke dig. Og ikke dig heller,« svared Værtinden de to. »Gælder det på, så skal jeg nok vise, hvem jeg mener. Hvis det gælder på. Har jeg tænkt! Det skal vise sig, hvem det er . . . .«

Hun talte afbrudt, gav mig disse Stød med små Mellemrum og trak det rigtigt i Langdrag, forat gøre det tydeligere og tydeligere for mig, at det var mig, hun mente. Stille! sagde jeg til mig selv. Bare stille! Hun havde ikke bedt mig om at gå, ikke udtrykkelig, ikke med rene Ord. Bare ingen Hovmodighed fra min Side, ingen utidig Stolthed! Ørene stive! . . . . Det var dog et ejendommeligt grønt Hår på den Kristus i Oljetryk. Det ligned ikke så lidet grønt Græs, eller udtrykt med udsøgt Nøjagtighed: tykt Enggræs. He, en ganske rigtig Bemærkning, forsvarligt tykt Enggræs . . . . En Række af flygtige Idéforbindelser løb mig i denne Stund gennem Hovedet: Fra det grønne Græs til et Skriftsted om, at hvert Liv var som Græs, der antændtes, derfra til Dommedag, når alt skulde brænde op, så en liden Afstikker ned til Jordskælvet i Lissabon, hvorpå der foresvæved mig noget om en spansk Spyttebakke af Messing og et Penskaft af Ibenholdt, som jeg havde set nede hos Ylajali. Ak, ja, alt var forgængeligt! Ganske som Græs, der antændtes! Det gik ud på fire Fjæle og et Ligsvøb — Ligsvøb hos Jomfru Andersen, tilhøjre i Porten . . . .

Og alt dette kastedes om i mit Hoved i dette fortvivlede Øjeblik, da min Værtinde stod i Færd med at jage mig på Dør.

»Han hører ikke!« råbte hun. »Jeg siger. De skal forlade Huset, nu ved De det! Jeg tror Gud fordømme mig, at Manden er gal, jeg! Nu går De på hellige Flæk, og så ikke mere Snak om den Sag.«

Jeg så mod Døren, ikke forat gå, aldeles ikke forat gå; der faldt mig ind en fræk Tanke: hvis der havde været en Nøgle i Døren, vilde jeg have vredet den om, stængt miginde sammen med de andre, forat slippe at gå. Jeg havde en aldeles hysterisk Gru for at komme ud på Gaden igen. Men der var ingen Nøgle i Døren, og jeg rejste mig op; der var intet Håb mer.

Da blander pludselig min Værts Røst sig med Konens. Jeg blev forbauset stående. Den samme Mand, som nylig havde truet mig, tager underligt nok mit Parti. Han siger:

»Nej, det går ikke an at jage Folk ud imod Natten, ved du. Der er Straf for det.«

Jeg vidste ikke, om der var Straf herfor, jeg kunde ikke sige det; men det var måske så, og Konen besinded sig ganske snart, blev rolig og talte ikke til mig mer. Hun lagde endog to Smørogbrød frem til mig til Aftens, men jeg modtog dem ikke, bare af Taknemmelighed mod Manden modtog jeg dem ikke, idet jeg foregav, at jeg havde fået lidt Mad ude i Byen.

Da jeg endelig begav mig ud i Forstuen, forat gå tilsengs, kom Madamen efter mig, standsed på Dørstokken og sagde højt, mens hendes store, frugtsommelige Mave strutted ud imod mig:

»Men det er sidste Nat, De ligger her, så De ved om det.«

»Ja, ja!« svared jeg.

Der blev vel kanske også en Råd til Husly imorgen, hvis jeg gjorde mig rigtig Flid for det. Et eller andet Skjulested måtte jeg dog finde. Foreløbig glæded jeg mig over, at jeg ikke behøved at gå ude inat.

* * *

Jeg sov til fem-seks Tiden om Morgenen. Det var endnu ikke lyst, da jeg vågned, men jeg stod alligevel op med det samme; jeg havde ligget i fulde Klæder for Kuldens Skyld og havde intet mer at klæde mig på. Da jeg havde drukket lidt Vand og i al Stilhed fået Døren åbnet, gik jeg også straks ud, idet jeg frygted for at træffe min Værtinde påny.

En og anden Konstabel, som havde våget Natten ud, var det eneste levende, jeg så i Gaderne; lidt efter begyndte også et Par Mænd at slukke Gaslygterne omkring. Jeg drev om uden Mål og Med, kom op i Kirkegaden og tog Vejen ned til Fæstningen. Kold og endnu søvnig, mat i Knæerne og Ryggen efter den lange Tur og meget sulten, satte jeg mig ned på en Bænk og døsed en lang Tid. Jeg havde i tre Uger levet udelukkende af de Smørogbrød, som min Værtinde havde givet mig Morgen og Aften; nu var det netop et Døgn, siden jeg fik mit sidste Måltid, det begyndte at gnave mig slemt påny, og jeg måtte have en Udvej ret snart. Med den Tanke sovned jeg atter ind på Bænken . . . .

Jeg vågned af, at Mennesker talte i min Nærhed, og da jeg havde summet mig lidt, så jeg, at det var lys Dag, og at alle Folk var kommet på Benene. Jeg rejste mig og gik bort. Solen brød op over Åserne, Himlen var hvid og fin, og i min Glæde over den skønne Morgen efter de mange mørke Uger glemte jeg alle Sorger og syntes, at det mangen Gang havde været værre for mig. Jeg klapped mig på mit Bryst og sang en liden Stump for mig selv. Min Stemme lød så dårlig, rigtig medtagen lød den, og jeg rørte mig selv til Tårer ved den. Denne pragtfulde Dag, den hvide, lysdrukne Himmel virked også altfor stærkt på mig, og jeg stak i at græde højt.

»Hvad er det, som fejler Dem?« spurgte en Mand.

Jeg svared ikke, hasted blot bort, skjulende mit Ansigt for alle Mennesker.

Jeg kom ned til Bryggerne. En stor Bark med russisk Flag lå og lossed Kul; jeg læste dens Navn, »Copégoro«, på Siden. Det adspreded mig en Tidlang at iagttage, hvad der foregik ombord i dette fremmede Skib. Det måtte være næsten udlosset, det lå allerede med IX Fod nøgne på Stilken, trods den Ballast, det alt havde taget ind, og når Kulsjouerne stamped henover Dækket med sine tunge Støvler, drøned det hult i hele Skibet.

Solen, Lyset, det salte Pust fra Havet, hele dette travle og lystige Liv stived mig op og fik mit Blod til at banke levende. Med en Gang faldt det mig ind, at jeg måske kunde gøre et Par Scener på mit Drama, mens jeg sad her. Og jeg tog mine Blade op af Lommen.

Jeg forsøgte at forme en Replik i en Munks Mund, en Replik, der skulde svulme af Kraft og Intolerance; men det lykkedes mig ikke. Så sprang jeg over Munken og vilde udarbejde en Tale, Dommerens Tale til Tempelskændersken, og jeg skrev en halv Side på denne Tale, hvorpå jeg holdt op. Der vilde ikke lægge sig det rette Klima over mine Ord. Travlheden omkring mig, Hejsesangene, Gangspillenes Støj og den uafbrudte Raslen med Jærnkættingerne passed så lidet til den Luft af tæt, muggen Middelalder, der skulde stå som en Tåge i mit Drama. Jeg pakked Papirerne sammen og rejste mig.

Nu var jeg alligevel kommet velsignet på Glid, og jeg følte klart, at jeg kunde udrette noget nu, hvis alt gik godt. Bare jeg havde et Sted at ty hen til! Jeg tænkte efter det, standsed ligefrem op i Gaden og tænkte efter, men vidste ikke af et eneste stille Sted i hele Byen, hvor jeg kunde slå mig ned en Stund. Der blev ingen anden Udvej, jeg fik gå tilbage til Logihuset i Vaterland. Jeg krymped mig ved det, og jeg sagde hele Tiden til mig selv, at det gik ikke an, men jeg gled dog fremad og nærmed mig stadig det forbudte Sted. Vist var det ynkeligt, indrømmed jeg mig selv, ja, det var forsmædeligt, rigtig forsmædeligt var det; men det fik ikke hjælpe. Jeg var ikke det ringeste hovmodig, jeg turde sige så stort et Ord, at jeg var et af de mindst kæphøje Væsener, som Dags Dato var til. Og jeg gik.

Jeg standsed ved Porten og overvejed endnu engang. Jo, det fik gå som det vilde, jeg måtte vove det! Hvad var det egentlig for en Bagatel, det drejed sig om? For det første skulde det jo vare blot i nogle Timer, for det andet skulde Gud forbyde, at jeg nogensinde senere tog min Tilflugt til det Hus igen. Jeg gik ind i Gården. Endnu mens jeg gik over disse ujævne Stene på Gårdspladsen, var jeg usikker og havde nær vendt om ved Døren. Jeg bed Tænderne sammen. Nej, ingen utidig Stolthed! I værste Fald kunde jeg undskylde mig med, at jeg kom for at sige Farvel, tage ordentlig Afsked og gjøre en Aftale angående min Gjæld til Huset. Jeg åbned Døren til Forstuen.

Jeg blev stående aldeles stille indenfor. Lige foran mig, blot i to Skridts Afstand, stod Værten selv, uden Hat og uden Frakke, og kiged ind gennem Nøglehullet til Familjens egen Stue. Han gjorde en tyst Bevægelse med Hånden, forat få mig til at være stille, og kiged atter indad Nøglehullet. Han stod og lo.

»Kom hid!« sagde han hviskende.

Jeg nærmed mig på Tæerne.

»Se her!« sagde han og lo med en stille, hidsig Latter. »Kig ind! Hi-hi! Der ligger de! Se på Gammeln! Kan De se Gammeln?«

Inde i Sengen, ret under Kristus i Oljetryk og lige mod mig, så jeg to Skikkelser, Værtinden og den fremmede Styrmand; hendes Ben skinned hvide mod den mørke Dyne. Og i Sengen ved den anden Væg sad hendes Fader, den lamme Olding, og så på, ludende over sine Hænder, sammenkrøben som sædvanligt, uden at kunne røre sig . . . .

Jeg vendte mig om mod min Vært. Han havde den største Møje med at af holde sig fra at le højt.

»Så De Gammeln?« hvisked han. »Å, Gud, så De Gammeln? Han sidder og ser på!« Og han lagde sig igen ind til Nøglehullet.

Jeg gik hen til Vinduet og satte mig. Dette Syn havde ubarmhjærtigen bragt Uorden i alle mine Tanker og vendt op og ned på min rige Stemning. Nå, hvad vedkom det mig? Når Manden selv fandt sig i det, ja, endog havde sin store Fornøjelse af det, så var der ingen Grund for mig til at tage mig det nær. Og hvad Oldingen angik, da var Oldingen en Olding. Han så det måske ikke engang; kanske sad han og sov; Gud ved, om han ikke endogså var død; det skulde ikke undre mig om han var død. Og jeg gjorde mig ingen Samvittighed af det.

Jeg tog atter mine Papirer op og vilde vise alle uvedkommende Indtryk tilbage. Jeg var standset midt i en Sætning i Dommerens Tale: »Så byder mig Gud og Loven, så byder mig mine vise Mænds Råd, så byder mig og min egen Samvittighed . . . .« Jeg så ud af Vinduet, forat tænke efter, hvad hans Samvittighed skulde byde ham. En liden Støj trængte ud til mig fra Stuen indenfor. Nå, det angik ikke mig, aldeles ikke; Oldingen var desuden død, døde kanske imorges ved fire Tiden; det var mig altså inderlig knusende ligegyldigt med den Støj; hvorfor Fan sad jeg da og gjorde mig mine Tanker om den? Rolig nu!

»Så byder mig og min egen Samvittighed . . . .«

Men alt havde forsvoret sig imod mig. Manden stod slet ikke ganske rolig henne ved Nøglehullet, jeg hørte nu og da hans indeklemte Latter og så, at han rysted; ude på Gaden foregik der også noget, som adspredte mig. En liden Gut sad og pusled for sig selv i Solen over på det andet Fortoug; han aned Fred og ingen Fare, knytted blot endel Papirstrimler sammen og gjorde ingen Fortræd. Pludselig springer han op og bander; han rykker baglænds ud i Gaden og får Øje på en Mand, en voksen Mand med rødt Skjæg, som lå udaf et åbent Vindu i anden Etage og spytted ned i hans Hoved. Den lille græd af Vrede og bandte vanmægtigt op mod Vinduet, og Manden lo ham ned i Ansigtet; der gik måske fem Minutter på den Måde. Jeg vendte mig bort, for ikke at se Guttens Gråd.

»Så byder mig og min egen Samvittighed, at . . . .«

Det var mig umuligt at komme længer. Tilsidst begyndte alt at rable for mig; jeg syntes, at endog det, jeg allerede havde skrevet, var ubrugeligt, ja, at hele Idéen var noget farligt Tøv. Man kunde slet ikke tale om Samvittighed i Middelalderen, Samvittigheden blev først opfundet af Danselærer Shakespeare, følgelig var min hele Tale urigtig. Var der altså intet godt i disse Blade? Jeg løb dem igennem påny og løste straks mine Tvivl; jeg fandt storartede Steder, rigtig lange Stykker af stor Mærkværdighed. Og der jog mig atter gennem mit Bryst den berusende Trang til at tage fat igen og få mit Drama færdigt.

Jeg reiste mig og gik til Døren, uden at agte på Værtens rasende Tegn til mig om at fare stille frem. Jeg gik bestemt og fast i Sind ud af Forstuen, opad Trapperne til anden Etage og trådte ind i mit gamle Værelse. Styrmanden var der jo ikke, og hvad var der så ivejen for, at jeg kunde sidde her et Øjeblik? Jeg skulde ikke røre nogen af hans Sager, jeg skulde slet ikke bruge hans Bord engang, men slå mig ned på en Stol ved Døren og være glad til. Jeg folder heftigt Papirerne ud på mine Knæ.

Nu gik det i flere Minutter aldeles udmærket. Replik efter Replik opstod fuldt færdig i mit Hoved, og jeg skrev uafbrudt. Jeg fylder den ene Side efter den anden, sætter afsted over Stok og Sten, klynker sagte af Henrykkelse over min gode Stemning og ved næsten ikke af mig selv. Den eneste Lyd, jeg hører i denne Stund, er min egen glade Klynken. Der faldt mig også ind en såre heldig Idé med en Kirkeklokke, som skulde smælde i at ringe på et vist Punkt i mit Drama. Alt gik overvældende.

Så hører jeg Skridt i Trappen. Jeg skælver og er næsten fra mig selv, sidder sågodtsom på Sprang, sky, vag, fuld af Angst for alle Ting og ophidset af Sult; jeg lytter nervøst, holder Blyanten stille i Hånden og lytter, jeg kan ikke skrive et Ord mer. Døren går op; Parret nede fra Stuen træder ind.

Endnu førend jeg havde fået Tid til at bede om Undskyldning for, hvad jeg havde gjort, råber Værtinden aldeles himmelfalden:

»Nej, Gud trøste og hjælpe mig, sidder han ikke her igen!«

»Undskyld!« sagde jeg, og jeg vilde sagt mer, men kom ikke længer.

Værtinden slog Døren op på vid Væg og skreg:

»Går De nu ikke ud, så Gud fordømme mig henter jeg ikke Politiet!«

Jeg rejste mig.

»Jeg vilde bare sige Farvel til Dem,« mumled jeg, »og så måtte jeg vente på Dem. Jeg har ikke rørt nogen Ting, jeg sad her på Stolen . . . .«

»Ja, det gjorde ingenting« sagde Styrmanden. »Hvad Fan gjorde det? Lad Manden være, han!«

Da jeg var kommet ned i Trappen, blev jeg med en Gang rasende på denne tykke, opsvulmede Kone, der fulgte mig i Hælene, forat få mig hurtigt væk, og jeg stod et Øjeblik stille, med Munden fuld af de værste Øgenavne, som jeg vilde slynge mod hende. Men jeg betænkte mig i Tide og taug, taug blot af Taknemmelighed mod den fremmede Mand, der gik bag hende og vilde kunne høre det. Værtinden fulgte stadig efter mig og skældte ustandseligt, mens samtidig min Vrede tiltog for hvert Skridt, jeg gik.

Vi kom ned i Gården, jeg gik rigtig langsomt, endnu overvejende, om jeg skulde give mig af med Værtinden. Jeg var i denne Stund ganske forstyrret af Raseri, og jeg tænkte på den værste Blodsudgydelse, et Tryk, som kunde lægge hende død på Stedet, et Spark i Maven. Et Bybud går forbi mig i Porten, han hilser, og jeg svarer ikke; han henvender sig til Madamen bag mig, og jeg hører, at han spørger efter mig; men jeg vender mig ikke om.

Et Par Skridt udenfor Porten indhenter Bybudet mig, hilser påny og standser mig. Han giver mig et Brev. Heftigt og uvilligt river jeg det op, en Tikrone falder ud af Konvolutten, men intet Brev, ikke et Ord.

Jeg ser på Manden og spørger:

»Hvad er dette for Slags Narrestreger? Hvem er Brevet ifra?«

»Ja, det ved jeg ikke,« svarer han, »men det var en Dame, som gav mig det.«

Jeg stod stille. Bybudet gik. Da stikker jeg Pengesedlen atter ind i Konvolutten, krøller det hele rigtig godt sammen, vender om og går hen til Værtinden, som endnu holder Udkig efter mig fra Porten, og kaster hende Sedlen i Ansigtet. Jeg sagde ikke noget, yttred ikke en Stavelse, jeg iagttog blot, at hun undersøgte det sammenkrøllede Papir, inden jeg gik . . . .

He, det kunde man kalde at opføre sig med Ære i Livet! Ikke sige noget, ikke tiltale Pakket, men ganske rolig krølle sammen en stor Pengeseddel og kaste den i Øjnene på sine Forfølgere. Det kunde man kalde at optræde med Værdighed! Således skulde de have det, de Dyr! . . . .

Da jeg var kommet på Hjørnet af Tomtegaden og Jærnbanetorvet, begyndte pludselig Gaden at svinge rundt for mine Øjne, det sused tomt i mit Hoved, og jeg faldt ind mod en Husvæg. Jeg kunde simpelthen ikke gå længer, kunde ikke engang rette mig op fra min skæve Stilling; således, som jeg var falden ind mod Væggen, således blev jeg stående, og jeg følte, at jeg begyndte at tabe Besindelsen. Min vanvittige Vrede forhøjedes blot ved dette Anfald af Udmattelse, og jeg løfted Foden og stamped i Fortouget. Jeg gjorde også forskellige andre Ting, forat komme til Kræfter, bed Tænderne sammen, rynked Panden, rulled fortvivlet med Øjnene, og det begyndte at hjælpe. Min Tanke blev klar, jeg forstod, at jeg holdt på at forgå. Jeg satte Hænderne frem og stødte mig tilbage fra Væggen; Gaden dansed fremdeles rundt med mig. Jeg begyndte at hikke af Raseri, og jeg stred af min inderste Sjæl med min Elendighed, holdt rigtig tappert Stand, for ikke at falde om; jeg agted ikke at synke sammen, jeg vilde dø stående. En Arbejdskærre ruller langsomt forbi, og jeg ser, at der er Poteter i den Kærre, men af Raseri, af Halsstarrighed finder jeg på at sige, at det slet ikke var Poteter, det var Kålhoveder, og jeg bandte grusomt på, at det var Kålhoveder. Jeg hørte godt, hvad jeg selv sagde, og jeg svor bevidst Gang efter Gang på denne Løgn, blot forat have den desperate Tilfredsstillelse, at jeg begik stiv Mened. Jeg berused mig i denne mageløse Synd, jeg rakte mine tre Fingre ivejret og svor med dirrende Læber i Faderens, Sønnens og den Helligånds Navn, at det var Kålhoveder.

Tiden gik. Jeg lod mig falde ned på et Trappetrin ved Siden af mig og tørred Sveden af min Pande og Hals, trak Vejret til mig og tvang mig til at være rolig. Solen gled ned, det led ud på Eftermiddagen. Jeg begyndte igen at gruble over min Stilling; Sulten blev skammelig mod mig, og om nogle Timer vilde det atter være Nat; det galdt at finde på en Råd, mens der endnu var Tid. Mine Tanker begyndte igen at kredse om Logihuset som jeg var bleven fordrevet fra; jeg vilde aldeles ikke vende tilbage dertil, men kunde alligevel ikke lade være at tænke på det. Egentlig havde Konen været i sin gode Ret til at kaste mig ud. Hvor kunde jeg vente at få bo hos nogen, når jeg ikke kunde betale for mig? Hun havde ovenikøbet givet mig Mad nu og da; endog igåraftes, da jeg havde opirret hende, havde hun budt mig to Smørogbrød, af Godhed havde hun budt mig dem fordi hun vidste, at jeg trængte til dem. Så jeg havde intet at beklage mig over, og jeg begyndte mens jeg sad på Trappen at bede og tigge hende i mit stille Sind om Tilgivelse for min Opførsel. Især angred jeg bitterlig, at jeg havde vist mig utaknemmelig mod hende tilsidst og kastet hende en Tikrone i Ansigtet . . . .

Tikronen! Jeg plystred en Gang med Munden. Brevet, som Budet bragte, hvor kom det fra? Først nu i dette Øjeblik tænkte jeg klart over dette og aned med en Gang, hvordan det hele hang sammen. Jeg blev syg af Smærte og Skam, jeg hvisked Ylajali nogle Gange med hæs Stemme og rysted på Hovedet. Var det ikke mig, som endog så sent som igår havde bestemt mig til at gå hende stolt forbi, når jeg traf hende, og vise hende den største Ligegyldighed? Og istedet derfor havde jeg blot vakt hendes Medlidenhed og aflokket hende en Barmhjærtighedsskilling. Nej, nej, nej, der blev aldrig Ende på min Nedværdigelse! Ikke engang overfor hende havde jeg kunnet hævde en skikkelig Stilling; jeg sank, sank på alle Kanter, hvor jeg vendte mig hen, sank tilknæs, sank tillivs, dukked mig under i Vanære og kom aldrig op igen, aldrig! Det var Toppunktet! Tage ti Troner i Almisse, uden at kunne slynge dem tilbage mod den hemmelige Giver, gramse Ører sammen med begge Hænder, hvor de bødes frem, og beholde dem, bruge dem til Logipenge, trods sin egen inderste Modbydelighed . . . .

Kunde jeg ikke atter skaffe tilveje disse ti Kroner på en eller anden Måde? At gå tilbage til Værtinden og få Pengesedlen tilbageleveret af hende, nytted nok ikke; der måtte også gives en anden Råd, når jeg tænkte mig om, når jeg bare anstrængte mig rigtigt meget og tænkte mig om. Her var det ved Gud ikke nok at tænke blot på almindelig Vis, jeg fik tænke, så det sled mig gennem hele mit Menneskeværk, efter en Udvej til disse ti Kroner. Og jeg satte mig til at tænke svare.

Klokken kunde vel være omkring fire, om et Par Timer kunde jeg kanske træffe Teaterchefen, hvis jeg blot havde havt mit Drama færdigt. Jeg tager Manuskriptet op, der jeg sidder, og vil med Vold og Magt få istand de tre fire sidste Scener; jeg tænker og sveder og læser over fra Begyndelsen, men kommer ingen Vej. Ikke noget Pærevæv! siger jeg, ingen Stivnakkethed her! Og jeg skriver løs på mit Drama, skriver ned alt, som falder mig ind, blot forat blive hurtigt færdig og komme afsted. Jeg vilde indbilde mig selv, at jeg havde et nyt stort Øjeblik, jeg løj mig fuld, bedrog mig åbenlyst og skrev væk, som om jeg ikke behøved at søge efter Ordene. Det er godt! det er virkelig et Fund! hvisked jeg alt imellem; skriv det bare ned!

Tilslut begynder imidlertid mine sidste Repliker at blive mig mistænkelige; de stak så stærkt af mod Replikerne i de første Scener, desuden havde der slet ikke lagt sig nogen Middelalder i Munkens Ord. Jeg knækker min Blyant over mellem mine Tænder, springer op, river mit Manuskript itu, river hvert Blad itu, kaster min Hat på Gaden og tramper på den. Jeg er fortabt! hvisker jeg for mig selv; mine Damer og Herrer, jeg er fortabt! Og jeg siger ikke andet end disse Ord, sålænge jeg står der og tramper på min Hat.

En Politibetjent står nogle få Skridt borte og iagttager mig; han står midt ude i Gaden og lægger ikke Mærke til noget andet end mig. Idet jeg slår Hovedet op, mødes vore Øjne; han havde kanske stået der i længere Tid og bare set på mig. Jeg tager min Hat op, sætter den på og går hen til Manden.

»Ved De, hvormange Klokken er?« siger jeg.

Han venter en Stund, inden han haler sit Ur frem, og tager ikke sine Øjne bort fra mig imens.

»Vel fire,« svarer han.

»Akkurat!« siger jeg; »vel fire, fuldkommen rigtigt! De kan Deres Ting, hører jeg, og jeg skal tænke på Dem.«

Dermed forlod jeg ham. Han blev til det yderste forbauset over mig, stod og så efter mig med åben Mund og holdt endnu Uret i Hånden. Da jeg var kommet udenfor Royal, vendte jeg mig om og så tilbage: endnu stod han i samme Stilling og fulgte mig med Øjnene.

He-he, således skulde man behandle Dyrene! Med den mest udvalgte Uforskammethed! Det imponered Dyrene, det satte Skræk i Dyrene . . . . Jeg var særdeles tilfreds med mig selv og gav mig atter til at synge en Stump. Anspændt af Ophidselse, uden at føle nogen Smærte mer, uden endog at kende noget Ubehag af nogen Sort, gik jeg let som en Fjær henover hele Torvet, drejed op ved Basarerne og slog mig ned på en Bænk ved Vor Frelsers.

Kunde det ikke også være temmelig ligegyldigt, enten jeg sendte den Tikrone tilbage eller ej? Når jeg havde fået den, så var den min, og der var visselig ikke Nød der, hvor den kom fra. Jeg måtte jo dog tage imod den, når den udtrykkelig blev sendt til mig; der var ingen Mening i at lade Bybudet beholde den. Heller ikke gik det an at sende tilbage en helt anden Tikrone, end den, jeg havde fået. Så der var intet at gøre ved det.

Jeg forsøgte at se på Færdselen omkring på Torvet foran mig og sysselsætte min Tanke med ligegyldige Ting; men det lykkedes mig ikke, og jeg beskæftiged mig stadig med Tikronen. Tilsidst knytted jeg Hænderne og blev vred. Det vilde såre hende, sagde jeg, hvis jeg sendte den tilbage; hvorfor skulde jeg da gøre det? Bestandig skulde jeg gå og holde mig for god til alt muligt, ryste hovent på Hovedet og sige Nej Tak. Nu så jeg, hvad det førte til; jeg stod atter på bar Gade. Selv når jeg havde den bedste Anledning til det, beholdt jeg ikke mit gode, varme Logi; jeg blev stolt, sprang op ved det første Ord og var Karl for min Hat, betalte Tikroner tilhøjre og venstre og gik min Vej . . . . Jeg gik skarpt i Rette med mig selv, fordi jeg havde forladt mit Logi og atter bragt mig i Omstændighed.

Forresten gav jeg den lysegule Fan altsammen! Jeg havde ikke bedt om den Tikrone, og jeg havde næsten ikke havt den mellem Hænderne engang, men givet den bort straks, betalt den ud til vild fremmede Mennesker, som jeg aldrig vilde få se igen. Den Slags Mand var jeg, betalte altid til sidste Hvid, når det galdt noget. Kendte jeg Ylajali ret, så angred hun heller ikke på, at hun havde sendt mig de Penge; hvad sad jeg da og hussered for? Det var ligefrem det mindste, hun kunde gøre, at sende mig en Tikrone nu og da. Den stakkels Pige var jo forelsket i mig, he, kanske dødeligt forelsket i mig endogså . . . . Og jeg sad og blæred mig dygtigt for mig selv ved denne Tanke. Der var ingen Tvivl om, at hun var forelsket i mig, den stakkels Pige! . . . .

Klokken blev fem. Jeg faldt atter sammen efter min lange nervøse Ophidselse og begyndte påny at føle den tomme Susen i mit Hoved. Jeg stirred ret frem, holdt Øjnene stive og så ud for mig henimod Elefantapoteket. Sulten rased rigtig stærkt i mig da, og jeg led meget. Mens jeg sidder således og ser ind i Luften, klarner der sig lidt efter lidt for mit stive Blik en Skikkelse, som jeg tilslut ser aldeles tydeligt og genkender: det er Kagekonen ved Elefantapoteket.

Jeg rykker til, retter mig op på Bænken og begynder at tænke mig om. Jo, det havde sin Rigtighed, det var den samme Kone foran det samme Bord på det samme Sted! Jeg plystrer et Par Gange og knipser i Fingrene, rejser mig op fra Bænken og begynder at gå henimod Apoteket. Ikke noget Nonsens! Jeg gav Fan, enten det var Syndens Penge eller gode norske Høkerpenge af Sølv fra Kongsberg! Jeg vilde ikke være latterlig, man kunde dø af formeget Hovmod . . . .

Jeg går frem til Hjørnet, tager Sigte på Konen og stiller mig op foran hende. Jeg smiler, nikker kendt og indretter mine Ord, som om det var en Selvfølge, at jeg vilde komme tilbage engang.

»Goddag!« siger jeg. »De kender mig kanske ikke igen?«

»Nej,« svarer hun langsomt og ser på mig.

Jeg smiler endda mer, som om det var bare hendes kostelige Spøg, at hun ikke kendte mig, og siger:

»Husker De ikke, at jeg gav Dem en hel Del Kroner engang? Jeg sagde ikke noget ved den Lejlighed, såvidt jeg husker, det gjorde jeg ikke; det plejer jeg ikke at gøre. Når man har med ærlige Folk at skaffe, så er det unødvendigt at aftale noget og så at sige oprette Kontrakt for hver liden Ting. He-he! Jo, det var mig, som levered Dem de Penge.«

»Nej, jaså, var det Dem! Ja, nu kender jeg Dem nok også, når jeg tænker mig om . . . .«

Jeg vilde forebygge, at hun skulde begynde at takke mig for Pengene, og jeg siger derfor hurtigt, idet jeg allerede søger med mine Øjne omkring på Bordet efter Madvarer:

»Ja, nu kommer jeg, forat få Kagerne.«

Det forstår hun ikke.

»Kagerne,« gentager jeg, »nu kommer jeg, forat få dem. Ialfald endel, første Forsyning. Jeg trænger ikke alt idag.«

»Kommer De, forat få dem?« spørger hun.

»Jagu kommer jeg, forat få dem, ja!« svarer jeg og ler højt, som om det burde have været indlysende for hende allerede straks, at jeg kom, forat få dem. Jeg tager også nede på Bordet en Kage, et Slags Franskbrød, som jeg begynder at spise på.

Da Konen ser dette, letter hun sig op i Kælderhullet, gør uvilkårlig en Bevægelse, som forat beskytte sine Varer, og hun lader mig forstå, at hun ikke havde ventet mig tilbage, forat berøve hende dem.

Ikke det? siger jeg. Jaså, ikke det? Hun var mig virkelig en kostelig Kone! Havde hun nogensinde oplevet, at nogen havde givet hende til Forvaring en Slump Kroner, uden at vedkommende havde krævet dem tilbage? Nej, ser De der! Troed hun kanske, at det var stjålne Penge, siden jeg havde slængt dem til hende på den Måde? Nå, det troed hun dog ikke; det var endda godt, virkelig godt! Det var om jeg så måtte sige snilt af hende, at hun dog holdt mig for en ærlig Mand. Ha-ha! Jo, hun var virkelig god!

Men hvorfor gav jeg hende da Pengene? Konen blev forbittret og råbte højt derom.

Jeg forklared, hvorfor jeg havde givet hende Pengene, forklared det dæmpet og eftertrykkeligt: Det var min Vane at gå frem på den Måde, fordi jeg troed alle Mennesker så godt. Bestandig når nogen bød mig en Kontrakt, et Bevis, så rysted jeg på Hovedet og sagde Nej Tak. Det skulde Gud vide, at jeg gjorde!

Men Konen forstod det fremdeles ikke.

Jeg greb til andre Midler, talte skarpt og frabad mig mig Vrøvl. Havde det aldrig hændt, at nogen anden havde betalt hende i Forskud på lignende Måde? spurgte jeg. Jeg mente naturligvis Folk, som havde god Råd, for Eksempel nogen af Konsulerne? Aldrig? Ja, det kunde ikke jeg undgælde for, at det var en hende fremmed Omgangsmåde. Det var Skik og Brug i Udlandet. Hun havde kanske aldrig været udenfor Landets Grændser? Nej, ser De der! Da kunde hun slet ikke tale med i denne Sag . . . . Og jeg tog efter flere Kager på Bordet.

Hun knurred vredt, vægred sig hårdnakket for at udlevere noget av, hvad hun havde på Bordet, rykked endog et Stykke Kage ud af min Hånd og lagde det tilbage på sin Plads. Jeg blev vred, slog i Bordet og trued med Politiet. Jeg skulde være nådig mod hende, sagde jeg; hvis jeg tog alt, hvad mit var, Så vilde jeg ruinere hele hendes Butik, for det var en farlig Masse Penge, jeg havde leveret hende i sin Tid. Men jeg vilde ikke tage så meget, jeg vilde i Virkeligheden kun have halv Valutta. Og jeg skulde ovenikøbet ikke komme igen mer. Det måtte Gud bevare mig for, eftersom hun var af den Slags Mennesker . . . .

Endelig lagde hun frem endel Kager til en ublu Pris, fire fem Stykker, som hun taksered til det højeste, hun kunde finde på, og bad mig tage dem og gå min Vej. Jeg kaevled fremdeles med hende, påstod, at hun snød mig for mindst en Krone af Pengene og desuden udsuged mig ved sine blodige Priser. Ved De, at der er Straf for slige Kæltringstreger? sagde jeg. Gud bevare Dem, De kunde komme på Slaveriet for Levetiden, gamle Asen! Hun slængte endnu en Kage

hen til mig og bad mig næsten tænderskærende om at gå.

Og jeg forlod hende.

He, Mage til uefterretlig Kagekone skulde man aldrig have set! Hele Tiden, mens jeg gik hen ad Torvet og åd på mine Kager, talte jeg højt om Konen og hendes Uforskammethed, gentog for mig selv, hvad vi begge havde sagt til hinanden, og syntes, at jeg havde været hende langt overlegen. Jeg åd af Kagerne i alle Folks Påsyn og talte om dette.

Og Kagerne forsvandt en efter en; det forslog intet, hvor meget jeg tog tillivs, jeg var lige bundløst hungrig. Herregud dog, at det ikke vilde forslå! Jeg var så grådig, at jeg endog nær havde forgrebet mig på den sidste Kage, Som jeg lige fra Begyndelsen havde bestemt mig til at spare, gæmme til den lille nede i Vognmandsgaden, Gutten, som havde leget med Papirstrimlerne. Jeg husked ham stadigt, kunde ikke få mig til at glemme hans Mine, da han sprang op og bandte. Han havde vendt sig ona mod mit Vindu, da Manden spytted ned på ham, og han havde ligefrem set efter, om også jeg skulde le deraf. Gud ved, om jeg nu traf ham, når jeg kom derned! Jeg anstrængte mig stærkt, forat komme hurtigt ned i Vognmandsgaden, passered det Sted, hvor jeg havde revet mit Drama istykker, og hvor endnu endel Papir lå tilbage, omgik Politibetjenten, som jeg nys havde forbauset så ved min Opførsel, og stod tilsidst ved Trappen, hvor Gutten havde siddet.

Han var der ikke. Gaden var næsten tom. Det tog til at mørkne, og jeg kunde ikke blive Gutten var; han var måske gået ind. Jeg lagde Kagen forsigtigt ned, rejste den på Kant mod Døren, banked hårdt på og sprang min Vej med det samme. Han finder den nok! sagde jeg til mig selv; det første, han gør, når han kommer ud, det er at finde den! Og mine Øjne blev våde af Glæde, over, at den lille vilde finde Kagen.

Jeg kom ned til Jærnbanebryggen igen.

Nu sulted jeg ikke mer, blot den søde Mad, jeg havde nydt, begyndte at volde mig ondt. I mit Hoved støjed også påny de vildeste Tanker: Hvad om jeg i Hemmelighed overskar Trossen til et af disse Skibe? Hvad om jeg pludselig gav mig til at råbe på Brand? Jeg går længer ud på Bryggen, finder mig en Kasse at sidde på, folder Hænderne og føler, at mit Hoved blir mer og mer fortumlet. Og jeg rører mig ikke, gør slet intet, forat holde mig oppe mer.

Jeg sidder der og stirrer på »Copégoro«, Barken med det russiske Flag. Jeg skimter en Mand ved Rækken; Bagbords røde Lanterne lyser ned på hans Hoved, og jeg rejser mig op og taler over til ham. Jeg havde ingen Hensigt med at tale, som jeg gjorde, jeg vented heller ikke at få noget Svar. Jeg sagde:

»Sejler De iaften, Kaptejn?«

»Ja, om en liden Stund,« svarer Manden. Han talte Svensk.

»Hm. De skulde ikke mangle en Mand?« Jeg var i dette Øjeblik lige glad, enten jeg fik et Afslag eller ej, det var mig ligegyldigt, hvilket Svar Manden vilde give mig. Jeg stod og vented så på ham.

»Å, nej,« svared han. »Det skulde da være en Jungmand.«

En Jungmand! Jeg gjorde et Ryk på mig, sneg mine Briller af og stak dem i Lommen, trådte op på Landgangen og skræved ombord.

»Jeg er ikke befaren,« sagde jeg, »men jeg kan gøre det. De sætter mig til. Hvor går Turen?«

»Vi er ballastet til Leeds efter Kul for Cadix.«

»Godt!« sagde jeg og tvang mig ind på Manden. »Jeg er lige glad, hvor det bærer hen. Jeg skal gøre mit Arbejde.«

Han stod en Stund og så på mig og tænkte sig om.

»Har du ikke faret før?« spurgte han.

»Nej. Men som jeg siger Dem, sæt mig til et Arbejde, og jeg skal gøre det. Jeg er vant til noget af hvert.«

Han tænkte sig atter om. Jeg havde allerede sat mig levende i Hovedet, at jeg vilde tage med, og jeg begyndte at ængstes for at blive jaget iland igen.

»Hvad mener De så, Kaptejn?« spurgte jeg endelig. »Jeg kan virkelig gøre, hvad det skal være. Hvad siger jeg! Jeg måtte være en dårlig Mand, om jeg ikke gjorde mer, end netop det, jeg var sat til. Jeg kan tage to Vagter i Træk, om det gælder. Det har jeg godt af, og jeg holder nok ud med det.«

»Ja, ja, vi kan forsøge det,« sagde han. »Går det ikke, så kan vi jo skilles i England.«

»Naturligvis!« svared jeg i min Glæde. Og jeg gentog endnu engang, at vi kunde skilles i England, hvis det ikke gik.

Så satte han mig til Arbejde . . . .

Ude i Fjorden retted jeg mig op engang, våd af Feber og Mathed, så indad mod Land og sagde Farvel for denne Gang til Byen, til Kristiania, hvor Vinduerne lyste så blankt fra alle Hjem.