THIRD PART

A week went by in splendour and joy.

I was over the worst of it this time as well; I had food every day, my spirits rose, and I had one iron after another in the fire. I had three or four treatises underway that plundered my poor brain of every spark, every thought that arose within it, and it seemed to me that things were going better than before. The last article, for which I had run so many errands and in which I had placed so much hope, had already been returned to me by the editor, and I had destroyed it at once, angry, insulted, without reading it through again. For the future, I would try a different paper, to open up more avenues for myself. In the worst case, if that did not help either, I had the ships to resort to; ‘The Nun’ lay ready to sail down by the quay, and I could perhaps work my passage on her to Archangel, or wherever it was she was bound. So I did not lack for prospects in many quarters.

The last crisis had treated me rather harshly; I began to lose my hair in great quantities, the headaches were also very grievous, especially in the morning, and my nervousness would not relent. I sat during the day and wrote with my hands wrapped in cloths, simply because I could not bear my own breath against them. When Jens Olaj slammed the stable door hard below me, or a dog came into the backyard and began to bark, it pierced me to the marrow like cold stabs that struck me everywhere. I was quite worn down.

Day after day I toiled with my work, barely allowing myself time to swallow my food before I sat down to write again. During that time, both the bed and my little rickety desk were inundated with notes and written-on pages, which I worked on alternately, adding new things that might occur to me in the course of the day, striking through, freshening up the dead spots with a colourful word here and there, wrestling my way forward sentence by sentence with the greatest difficulty. One afternoon, one of my articles was finally finished, and I put it in my pocket, happy and glad, and made my way up to ‘the Commander.’ It was high time I made arrangements for some money again; I did not have many øre left.

The Commander asked me to sit for a moment, then he would be right with me… and he wrote on.

I looked around the small office: busts, lithographs, clippings, an immense wastepaper basket that looked as if it could swallow a man, hide and hair. I felt a sadness of spirit at the sight of this monstrous maw, this dragon’s mouth that always stood open, always ready to receive new rejected works — new crushed hopes.

‘What is today’s date?’ the Commander said suddenly from his desk.

‘The 28th,’ I replied, glad to be of service to him.

‘The 28th.’ And he continued to write. At last he put a couple of letters in envelopes, sent some papers over into the basket, and laid down his pen. Then he swung around in his chair and looked at me. When he noticed that I was still standing by the door, he made a gesture with his hand, half serious, half jocular, and pointed to a chair.

I turned away so that he would not see I had no waistcoat on when I opened my coat and took the manuscript from my pocket.

‘It is only a small characterisation of Correggio,’ I said, ‘but it is probably not written in such a way, unfortunately, that…’

He took the papers from my hand and began to leaf through them. He turned his face towards me.

So this was how he looked at close quarters, this man whose name I had heard in my earliest youth, and whose paper had had the greatest influence on me through the years. His hair is curly and his handsome brown eyes a little restless; he has a habit of sniffing a little now and then. A Scottish minister could not look milder than this dangerous writer, whose words had always left bloody welts wherever they fell. A peculiar feeling of fear and admiration took hold of me before this man; I was on the verge of tears, and I involuntarily took a step forward to tell him how dearly I held him for all he had taught me, and to beg him not to do me any harm; I was but a poor wretch who had it badly enough as it was…

He looked up and folded my manuscript slowly, while he sat and thought. To make it easier for him to give me a refusal, I held out my hand a little and said:

‘Oh, no, it is of no use, of course?’ And I smiled, to give the impression of taking it lightly.

‘Everything we can use must be very popular,’ he replied; ‘you know what sort of readership we have. But can you not take it and make it a little simpler? Or think of something else that people will better understand?’

His considerateness astonished me. I understood that my article was rejected, and yet I could not have received a more handsome refusal. So as not to take up more of his time, I replied:

‘Yes, indeed, I can do that.’

I went to the door. Hm. He must excuse me for having detained him with this… I bowed and took hold of the doorknob.

‘If you need it,’ he said, ‘you can have a little in advance. You can write for it, you know.’

Now, he had seen that I was no good at writing, so his offer humbled me a little, and I answered:

‘No, thank you, I can manage for a while yet. I thank you very much all the same. Farewell!’

‘Farewell!’ replied the Commander, turning at that same moment back to his desk.

He had, for all that, treated me with undeserved kindness, and I was grateful to him for it; I would also know how to appreciate it. I resolved not to go to him again until I could bring a work with which I was entirely satisfied, which might astonish the Commander a little and make him grant me ten kroner without a moment’s thought. And I went home again and took up my writing once more.

In the following evenings, when the clock struck about eight and the gas was already lit, the following regularly happened to me:

As I came out of my gateway, to venture out for a stroll about the streets after the day’s toil and troubles, a lady in black stood by the gas lamp just outside the gate and turned her face towards me, following me with her eyes as I passed her. I noticed that she always wore the same attire, the same dense veil that hid her face and fell down upon her breast, and in her hand a little umbrella with an ivory ring in its handle.

It was already the third evening I had seen her there, always in the very same spot; as soon as I had passed her, she turned slowly and walked down the street, away from me.

My nervous mind put out its feelers, and I immediately had the unreasonable inkling that it was I her visits concerned. I was at last on the verge of addressing her, asking her if she was looking for someone, if she needed my help with something, if I might escort her home, as poorly dressed as I unfortunately was, protect her in the dark streets; but I had a vague fear that it might perhaps cost something, a glass of wine, a carriage ride, and I had no money at all anymore; my desolately empty pockets had too dispiriting an effect on me, and I did not even have the courage to look at her a little sharply when I walked past. Hunger had again begun to ravage me; I had had no food since last evening. It was not a long time; I had often been able to endure for several days; but I had begun to waste away alarmingly. I could not starve as well as before; a single day could now almost make me dazed, and I suffered from constant vomiting as soon as I drank water. In addition, I lay freezing at night, lay in the same full set of clothes I stood and walked in by day, and froze blue, chilled to the bone each evening with shivers and grew stiff in my sleep. The old blanket could not keep the draught out, and I would wake in the morning to find my nose congested from the rank, frosty air that seeped in from outside.

I walked along the streets, thinking how I should manage to keep myself going until I finished my next article. If only I had a candle, I would try to push on through the night; it would take a couple of hours if I could just get into a proper rhythm; tomorrow I could then approach the Commander again.

Without further ado, I went into Oplandske and looked for my young acquaintance from the bank, to procure ten øre for a candle. I was allowed to pass unhindered through all the rooms; I walked past a dozen tables where leisurely guests sat eating and drinking, I pushed right into the back of the café, into the Red Room, without finding my man. Abashed and angry, I withdrew again to the street and began to walk in the direction of the Palace.

Was it not as if the very eternal devil himself were at work, that there would never be an end to my adversities! With long, furious strides, with my coat collar brutally turned up at my neck and my hands clenched in my trouser pockets, I walked and cursed my unlucky star the whole way. Not a truly carefree moment in seven or eight months, not enough food for my needs for even one short week, before destitution again brought me to my knees. And here, in the midst of this misery, I had even gone about being honest, he-he, honest to the core! God preserve me, how foolish I had been! And I began to recount to myself how I had even gone about with a guilty conscience because I had once taken Hans Pauli’s blanket to the pawnbroker. I laughed scornfully at my tender probity, spat contemptuously in the street, and could find no words strong enough to mock myself for my stupidity. It should only have been now! If at this moment I found a schoolgirl’s savings on the street, a poor widow’s last øre, I would pick it up and put it in my pocket, steal it with deliberate intent and sleep as soundly as a stone all night afterwards. I had not for nothing suffered so unspeakably much; my patience was at an end, I was prepared for whatever might come.

I walked around the Palace three or four times, then decided to turn for home, made one more little detour into the Park, and finally walked back down Karl Johan street.

The time was about eleven o’clock. The street was rather dark, and people were wandering about everywhere, quiet couples and noisy clusters mingled together. The great hour had arrived, the mating time, when the secret traffic proceeds and the joyous adventures begin. Rustling girls’ skirts, a short, sensual laugh here and there, heaving bosoms, vehement, panting breaths; far down by the Grand a voice calling: ‘Emma!’ The whole street was a swamp from which hot vapours arose.

I involuntarily sounded my pockets for two kroner. The passion that quivered in the movements of every passer-by, the dim light of the gas lamps themselves, the still, pregnant night, all of it began to assail me; this air filled with whispers, embraces, trembling confessions, half-spoken words, little squeals; some cats were making love with loud cries inside Blomqvist’s gateway. And I did not have two kroner. It was a misery, a wretchedness without equal to be so impoverished! What a humiliation, what a disgrace! And I again came to think of a poor widow’s last mite, which I would have stolen, a schoolboy’s cap or handkerchief, a beggar’s food pouch, which I would have taken without ceremony to the rag-and-bone man and squandered. To console myself and make amends, I began to invent all manner of faults in these happy people who glided past me; I shrugged my shoulders angrily and looked at them with disdain as they passed, pair by pair. These easily satisfied, sweet-eating students, who thought they were cutting a European dash when they got to pat a seamstress on the stomach! These young gentlemen, bankers, wholesalers, boulevard lions, who did not even scorn seamen’s wives, the fat ladybirds of the Cattle Market, who would fall into the first available gateway for a stein of beer! What sirens! The place at their side was still warm from a fireman or a stable-hand from last night; the throne was always just as vacant, just as wide open, please, ascend!… I spat far along the pavement, not caring if it might hit someone, angry, filled with contempt for these people who rubbed up against each other and coupled right before my eyes. I lifted my head and felt within myself the blessing of being able to keep my path clean.

At Storting Square, I met a girl who stared very fixedly at me as I came alongside her.

‘Good evening!’ I said.

‘Good evening!’ She stopped.

Hm. Was she out walking so late? Was it not a little risky for a young lady to be walking on Karl Johan at this time of night? No? Well, but was she never addressed, molested, I mean, to put it plainly, asked to go home with someone?

She stared at me in wonder, examining my face, as if to fathom what I could mean by this. Then she suddenly put her hand under my arm and said:

‘Let’s go, then!’

I went along. When we had walked a few steps past the cabs, I stopped, freed my arm and said:

‘Listen, my friend, I don’t own an øre.’ And I prepared to go on my way.

At first she would not believe me; but when she had felt in all my pockets and found nothing, she grew annoyed, tossed her head, and called me a cold fish.

‘Goodnight!’ I said.

‘Wait a minute!’ she cried. ‘Are those gold spectacles you have?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then go to the devil!’

And I went.

A moment later she came running after me and called to me again.

‘You can come with me anyway,’ she said.

I felt humbled by this offer from a poor street girl, and I said no. Besides, it was late at night, and I had to be somewhere; she could not afford such sacrifices either.

‘Yes, now I want you to come with me.’

‘But I will not go on that basis.’

‘You must be going to someone else, of course,’ she said.

‘No,’ I replied.

But I had the feeling that I stood in a pitiful position before this peculiar girl, and I decided to save face.

‘What is your name?’ I asked. ‘Marie? Well now! Listen here, Marie!’ And I began to explain my conduct. The girl grew more and more surprised as I went on. So, had she thought that I, too, was one of those who walked the streets in the evenings picking up little girls? Did she really believe something so wicked of me? Had I perhaps said anything improper to her from the beginning? Did one behave as I did, when one had ill intentions? In short, I had spoken to her and accompanied her those few steps to see how far she would take it. Besides, my name was so-and-so. Reverend so-and-so. Goodnight! Go, and sin no more!

With that, I left.

I rubbed my hands in delight at my clever invention and spoke aloud to myself. What a joy it was to go about doing good deeds! I had perhaps given this fallen creature a push towards redemption for the rest of her life! Saved her once and for all from corruption! And she would appreciate it when she had had time to reflect on it, even remember me on her deathbed with a heart full of thanks. Oh, it paid to be honest after all, honest and righteous!

My mood was absolutely brilliant; I felt fresh and brave enough for anything. If only I had had a candle, I might have finished my article! I walked along, dangling my new gate key in my hand, humming, whistling, and pondering a way to get a light. There was no other recourse; I would have to take my writing materials down, out into the street, under the gas lamp. And I opened the gate and went up for my papers.

When I came down again, I locked the gate from the outside and positioned myself in the lamplight. It was quiet everywhere; I heard only the heavy, clinking footsteps of a constable down the cross-street, and far away, in the direction of St. Hanshaugen, a dog barking. There was nothing to disturb me; I pulled my coat collar up over my ears and set myself to think with all my might. It would help me so splendidly if I were so lucky as to finish the conclusion of this little treatise. I was at a rather difficult point; there was to be a quite imperceptible transition to something new, then a muted, gliding finale, a long rumbling that was finally to end in a climax as steep, as shocking as a gunshot, or as the sound of a mountain collapsing. Full stop.

But the words would not come to me. I read the whole piece through from the beginning, read each sentence aloud, and I could not gather my thoughts for this dazzling climax at all. While I stood working at this, the constable, to make matters worse, came walking up and positioned himself in the middle of the street a little way from me, spoiling my entire mood. What business was it of his if I at this moment was standing and writing a brilliant climax to an article for the Commander? Good Lord, how utterly impossible it was for me to keep my head above water, no matter what I tried! I stood there for an hour or so, the constable went his way, the cold began to grow too severe for standing still. Disheartened and dejected by the new wasted attempt, I finally opened the gate again and went up to my room.

It was cold up there, and I could barely see my window in the thick darkness. I felt my way to the bed, took off my shoes, and sat down to warm my feet between my hands. Then I lay down, as I had done for a long time, just as I was, in my full set of clothes.

***

The next morning, I sat up in bed as soon as it grew light and took up my article again. I sat in this position until noon, by which time I had produced ten or twenty lines. And I still had not reached the finale.

I got up, put on my boots, and began to pace back and forth on the floor to get warm. There was frost on the windows; I looked out, it was snowing, down in the backyard a thick layer of snow lay over the cobblestones and the water pump.

I pottered about my room, making aimless trips back and forth, scraping the walls with my fingernails, resting my forehead gently against the door, tapping the floor with my index finger and listening intently, all without any purpose, but quietly and thoughtfully, as if it were a matter of importance I was attending to. And all the while I said aloud, time after time, so that I heard it myself: But good God, this is madness! And I carried on just the same. After a long time had passed, perhaps a couple of hours, I pulled myself together forcefully, bit my lip, and braced myself as best I could. There had to be an end to this! I found a wood splinter to chew on and sat down resolately to write again.

A couple of short sentences came into being with great difficulty, a score of poor words that I wrung forth by force, just to move forward. Then I stopped; my head was empty, I had no more strength. And as I could get no further at all, I sat and stared with wide-open eyes at these last words, this unfinished page, gaping at these strange, trembling letters that bristled up from the paper like small, hairy animals, and in the end I understood none of it, I thought of nothing.

Time passed. I heard the traffic in the street, the clatter of wagons and hooves; Jens Olaj’s voice rose up to me from the stable when he shouted at the horses. I was utterly listless; I sat and smacked my lips a little, but otherwise did nothing. My chest was in a sorry state.

It began to grow dim; I slumped more and more, grew tired, and lay back on the bed. To warm my hands a little, I ran my fingers through my hair, back and forth, criss-cross; little tufts came away, loose wisps that settled between my fingers and flowed out over the pillow. I did not think anything of it just then; it was as if it did not concern me, I had enough hair left anyway. I tried again to shake myself out of this strange stupor that glided through all my limbs like a mist; I sat up, beat my knees with the flat of my hand, coughed as hard as my chest allowed — and I fell back again. Nothing helped; I died away helplessly with open eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. At last I stuck my forefinger in my mouth and began to suck on it. Something began to stir in my brain, a thought that was rooting its way out in there, a stark-mad notion: What if I bit it? And without a moment’s thought, I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth.

I sprang up. At last I was awake. A little blood trickled from my finger, and I licked it off as it came. It did not hurt much, nor was the wound large; but I had at once been brought back to myself. I shook my head and went to the window, where I found a cloth which I wrapped around the wound. While I stood busying myself with this, my eyes filled with water; I wept quietly to myself. This gaunt, bitten finger looked so sorrowful. God in heaven, what had I come to now!

The darkness grew thicker. It was perhaps not impossible that I could write my finale during the evening, if only I had a candle. My head had become clear again. Thoughts came and went as usual, and I was not suffering particularly; I did not even feel the hunger as badly as a few hours ago, I could certainly hold out until the next day. Perhaps I could get a candle on credit for the time being if I went to the grocer’s and explained my situation. I was so well known down there; in the good days, while I could still afford it, I had bought many a loaf in that shop. There was no doubt that I would get a candle on my honest name. And for the first time in a long while, I set about brushing my clothes a little, even removing the loose hairs from my coat collar, as far as it was possible in the dark; then I fumbled my way down the stairs.

When I came out onto the street, it occurred to me that I should perhaps ask for a loaf of bread instead. I became doubtful, stopped, and thought it over. By no means! I finally answered myself. I was unfortunately not in a state to tolerate food now; the same old story would then repeat itself with visions and sensations and mad fancies, my article would never be finished, and it was important to get to the Commander before he forgot me again. By no means possible! And I decided on a candle. With that, I went into the shop.

A woman was standing at the counter making purchases; several small packages in different kinds of paper lay beside her. The clerk, who knew me and knew what I usually bought, left the woman and without further ado wrapped a loaf of bread in a newspaper and placed it before me.

‘No — it was actually a candle this evening,’ I said. I said it very quietly and humbly, so as not to annoy him and spoil my prospect of getting the candle.

My answer bewildered him; he was quite flustered by my unexpected words. It was the first time I had requested anything other than bread from him.

‘Well, you’ll have to wait a moment then,’ he said finally, and occupied himself with the woman again.

She got her things, paid, handed over a five-kroner coin, from which she received change, and left.

Now the clerk and I were alone.

He said:

‘Right, so it was a candle then.’ And he tore open a packet of candles and took one out for me.

He looked at me, and I looked at him; I could not get my request over my lips.

‘Oh yes, that’s right, you’ve paid,’ he said suddenly. He simply said that I had paid; I heard every word. And he began to count out silver coins from the drawer, krone after krone, shiny, fat coins — he was giving change for five kroner again.

‘Here you are!’ he said.

Now I stood and looked at these coins for a second; I sensed that something was wrong, I did not reflect, did not think of anything at all, just fell into a daze over all this wealth that lay gleaming before my eyes. And I mechanically gathered up the coins.

I stood there before the counter, dumb with astonishment, stricken, annihilated; I took a step towards the door and stopped again. I fixed my gaze on a certain point on the wall; a little bell hung there in a leather collar, and below it a bundle of string. And I stood and stared at these things.

The clerk, who thought I wanted to strike up a chat since I was taking my time, said, as he arranged some wrapping paper that was strewn about the counter:

‘It looks as though we shall have winter now.’

‘Hm. Yes,’ I answered, ‘it looks as though we shall have winter now. It looks like it.’ And a moment later I added: ‘Oh, yes, it’s not too soon.’

I heard myself speak, but perceived every word I said as if it came from another person; I spoke quite unconsciously, involuntarily, without feeling it myself.

‘Yes, do you really think so?’ said the clerk.

I put the hand with the money in my pocket, took hold of the latch, and left; I heard myself say goodnight, and the clerk reply.

I had gone a couple of steps from the door when the shop door was torn open and the clerk shouted after me. I turned around, without surprise, without a trace of fear; I just gathered the coins together in my hand and prepared to give them back.

‘Here you are, you’ve forgotten your candle,’ said the clerk.

‘Oh, thank you!’ I replied calmly. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’

And I wandered down the street again, carrying the candle in my hand.

My first rational thought concerned the money. I went over to a lamp post and counted it again, weighed it in my hand, and smiled. So I was gloriously helped after all, magnificently, wonderfully helped for a long, long time! And I put my hand with the money back in my pocket and walked on.

Outside an eatery in Storgaden, I stopped and considered, coolly and calmly, whether I should dare to enjoy a little supper right away. I heard the clatter of plates and knives from within, and the sound of meat being pounded; this became too strong a temptation for me, and I entered.

‘A beefsteak!’ I said.

‘A beefsteak!’ the girl called out through a hatch.

I sat down at a small table by myself just inside the door and began to wait. It was a little dark where I sat; I felt quite well hidden and set myself to thinking. Now and then the girl looked over at me with somewhat curious eyes.

My first real dishonesty had been committed, my first theft, compared to which all my previous mischief was as nothing; my first great fall… Very well! There was nothing to be done about it. Besides, it was up to me; I could sort it out with the grocer later, at a later time, when I had a better opportunity. It need not go any further with me; besides, I had not undertaken to live more honestly than all other people, there was no agreement…

‘Will the beefsteak be coming soon, do you think?’

‘Yes, very soon.’ The girl opened the hatch and looked into the kitchen.

But what if the matter came to light? What if the clerk began to suspect something, began to think about the incident with the bread, the five kroner the woman got change for? It was not impossible that it would occur to him one day, perhaps the next time I went in there. Well, good Lord!… I shrugged my shoulders secretly.

‘Here you are!’ the girl said kindly, and set the beefsteak on the table. ‘But wouldn't you rather go into another room? It’s so dark here.’

‘No, thank you, just let me be here,’ I replied. Her kindness moved me at once; I paid for the beefsteak immediately, gave her a random handful of what I could get hold of in my pocket, and closed her hand. She smiled, and I said in jest, with tears in my eyes: ‘The rest is for you to buy a house with… Oh, you’re welcome!’…

I began to eat, growing more and more ravenous as I went, swallowing large pieces without chewing them, gorging myself beast-like with every mouthful. I tore at the meat like a cannibal.

The girl came over to me again.

‘Wouldn’t you like something to drink?’ she said. And she leaned a little towards me.

I looked at her; she spoke very low, almost shyly; she cast down her eyes.

‘I mean half a beer, or whatever you’d like… on me… to go with it… if you’d like…’

‘No, many thanks!’ I replied. ‘Not now. I shall come again another time.’

She drew back and sat down behind the counter; I could see only her head. What a strange person!

When I had finished, I went at once to the door; I already felt nauseous. The girl stood up. I was afraid to come into the light, feared showing myself too much to the young girl who had no idea of my misery, and so I quickly said goodnight, bowed, and left.

The food began to take effect; I suffered greatly from it and did not get to keep it for long. I walked along, emptying my mouth into every dark corner I passed, struggling to suppress this nausea that was hollowing me out anew, clenching my hands and steeling myself, stamping my foot in the street and furiously swallowing back down what wanted to come up — in vain! I finally dashed into a gateway, bent over, head first, blind from the water that burst from my eyes, and emptied myself again.

I became embittered, walked along the street and wept, cursed the cruel powers, whoever they were, that pursued me so, swore them down to hell’s damnation and eternal torment for their vileness. There was little chivalry in fate, really quite little chivalry, one had to say!… I went up to a man who stood gaping into a shop window and asked him in the greatest haste what, in his opinion, one should offer a man who had been starving for a long time. It was a matter of life and death, I said; he could not tolerate beefsteak.

‘I’ve heard that milk is good, boiled milk,’ the man replied, utterly surprised. ‘Who are you asking for, by the way?’

‘Thank you! Thank you!’ I said. ‘It may well be that it’s quite good, boiled milk…’

And I went on.

At the first café I came upon, I went in and asked for boiled milk. I got the milk, drank it down as hot as it was, greedily swallowing every drop, paid, and left again. I made my way home.

Now something strange happened. Outside my gate, leaning against the gas lamp and in the full light of it, stood a person whom I glimpsed from a great distance — it was the lady in black again. The same lady in black from the previous evenings. There was no mistaking it; she had appeared in the very same spot for the fourth time. She stood completely motionless.

I found this so peculiar that I involuntarily slowed my steps; at this moment my thoughts were in good order, but I was very agitated, my nerves were frayed from the last meal. I walked straight past her as usual, almost reached the gate, and was about to step inside. Then I stopped. I suddenly had an inspiration. Without any real reason, I turned and walked straight up to the lady, looked her in the face, and greeted her:

‘Good evening, miss!’

‘Good evening!’ she replied.

Excuse me, was she looking for someone? I had noticed her before; could I be of any assistance to her? I begged her pardon, by the way.

Well, she didn’t quite know…

No one lived through this gateway except for three or four horses and me; it was, moreover, a stable and a tinsmith’s workshop… She was certainly on the wrong track, unfortunately, if she was looking for someone here.

Then she turned her face away and said:

‘I’m not looking for anyone, I’m just standing here, it occurred to me…’

She paused.

So, she was just standing there, stood there like that evening after evening, just on an impulse. That was a little strange; I thought about it and became more and more perplexed by the lady. Then I decided to be bold. I jingled my money a little in my pocket and, without further ado, invited her for a glass of wine somewhere… considering that winter had come, he-he… It need not take long… But she wouldn’t want that, would she?

Oh no, thank you, that would not do. No, she could not do that. But would I be so kind as to accompany her a little way, then… It was rather dark on the way home, and it bothered her to walk alone up Karl Johan street after it had grown so late.

We set off; she walked on my right side. A peculiar, beautiful feeling took hold of me, the consciousness of being in the presence of a young girl. I walked and looked at her the whole way. The perfume in her hair, the warmth that emanated from her body, this scent of woman that followed her, the sweet breath every time she turned her face towards me — all of it streamed in upon me, penetrating all my senses uncontrollably. I could just make out a full, slightly pale face behind the veil and a high bosom that swelled against her cloak. The thought of all this hidden splendour, which I sensed was present within the cloak and the veil, confused me, made me idiotically happy, for no reasonable cause; I could bear it no longer, I touched her with my hand, fumbled at her shoulder, and smiled foolishly. I heard my heart beat.

‘How strange you are!’ I said.

Yes, how so, exactly?

Well, for one thing, she simply had the habit of standing still outside a stable gate evening after evening, with no purpose whatsoever, just because it occurred to her…

Well, she might have her reasons for that; besides, she liked to be up until late at night, she had always been so fond of that. Did I mind going to bed before twelve?

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

Well, there you see! So she took this stroll in the evenings when she had nothing to neglect by doing so; she lived up at St. Olavs Plads…

‘Ylajali!’ I cried.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I just said Ylajali… Very well, continue!’

She lived up at St. Olavs Plads, rather lonely, with her mama, with whom it was impossible to speak because she was so deaf. Was there anything strange, then, in her wanting to be out a little?

No, not at all! I replied.

Well then, what of it? I could hear from her voice that she was smiling.

Did she not have a sister?

Yes, an older sister — how did I know that, by the way? — but she had gone to Hamburg.

Recently?

Yes, five weeks ago. Where had I got it from that she had a sister?

I had not got it from anywhere; I was just asking.

We fell silent. A man walked past us with a pair of shoes under his arm; otherwise, the street was empty as far as we could see. Over by the Tivoli, a long row of coloured lamps shone. It was no longer snowing; the sky was clear.

‘God, aren’t you freezing without an overcoat?’ the lady said suddenly, looking at me.

Should I tell her why I had no overcoat? Reveal my situation at once and frighten her away, better sooner than later? Yet it was so lovely to walk here at her side and keep her in ignorance for a little while longer; I lied, I answered:

‘No, not at all.’ And to change the subject, I asked: ‘Have you seen the menagerie at the Tivoli?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Is it anything to see?’

What if she decided she wanted to go there? Into all that light, with so many people! She would be far too embarrassed; I would drive her away with my shabby clothes, my gaunt face, which I had not even washed in two days; she might even discover that I had no waistcoat…

‘Oh, no,’ I therefore replied, ‘it’s probably not much to see.’ And a few fortunate thoughts occurred to me, which I immediately made use of, a couple of paltry words, remnants from within my exhausted brain: What could one expect from such a small menagerie? In any case, it did not interest me to see animals in cages. These animals know that one is standing and looking at them; they feel the hundred curious gazes and are affected by them. No, give me animals that did not know they were being watched, the shy creatures that potter about in their lairs, lie with drowsy, green eyes, licking their claws and thinking. What?

Yes, I was probably right about that.

It was the animal in all its strange dreadfulness and strange wildness that was something. The silent, stealthy steps in the gloom and darkness of the night, the weathered eeriness of the forest, the cries of a passing bird, the wind, the scent of blood, the rumbling up in the sky, in short, the spirit of the wilderness over the wild beast… The poetry of the unconscious…

But I was afraid that this was tiring her, and the feeling of my great poverty seized me again and crushed me. If only I had been somewhat decently dressed, I could have pleased her with that trip to the Tivoli! I did not understand this person, who could find any pleasure in letting herself be escorted up the whole of Karl Johan by a half-naked beggar. What in God’s name was she thinking? And why was I walking here, putting on airs and smiling idiotically at nothing? Did I have any reasonable cause to let myself be tormented on such a long walk by this fine silken bird? Did it not cost me an effort? Did I not feel the chill of death right in my heart at even the gentlest gust of wind that blew against us? And was not madness already roaring in my brain, merely from lack of food for many months on end? She was even preventing me from going home and getting a little milk on my tongue, another spoonful of milk that I might be able to keep down. Why did she not turn her back on me and let me go to the devil?…

I became desperate; my hopelessness brought me to the brink, and I said:

‘You really ought not to be walking with me, miss; I am prostituting you in the sight of all people merely by my attire. Yes, it is really true; I mean it.’

She started. She looked up at me quickly and was silent. Then she said:

‘Good heavens!’ She said no more.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.

‘Ugh, no, you make me ashamed… We don’t have far to go now.’ And she walked a little faster.

We turned up Universitetsgaden and could already see the lamps on St. Olavs Plads. Then she walked more slowly again.

‘I don’t wish to be indiscreet,’ I said, ‘but won’t you tell me your name before we part? And won’t you just for a moment take off your veil, so I may see you? I should be so grateful.’

Pause. I walked and waited.

‘You have seen me before,’ she replied.

‘Ylajali!’ I said again.

‘I beg your pardon? You followed me for half a day, right to my home. Were you drunk then?’ I heard again that she was smiling.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, unfortunately, I was drunk then.’

‘That was ugly of you!’

And I admitted, utterly crushed, that it was ugly of me.

We had reached the fountain; we stopped and looked up at the many lit windows in Number 2.

‘Now you must not come any further,’ she said; ‘thank you for this evening!’

I bowed my head; I did not dare to say anything. I took off my hat and stood bareheaded. Would she offer me her hand?

‘Why don’t you ask me to walk back a little way with you?’ she said softly, looking down at the tip of her shoe.

‘Good heavens,’ I replied, beside myself, ‘good heavens, if you would do that!’

‘Yes, but just a little way.’

And we turned back.

I was utterly confused; I did not know how to walk or stand; this person completely turned my whole way of thinking upside down. I was ecstatic, wonderfully happy; I felt I was perishing beautifully from happiness. She had expressly wanted to walk back; it was not my idea, it was her own wish. I walked and looked at her and grew more and more bold; she encouraged me, drew me to her with every word. I forgot for a moment my poverty, my lowliness, my whole miserable existence; I felt the blood coursing hotly through my body, as in the old days, before I collapsed, and I decided to feel my way forward with a little trick.

‘Besides, it was not you I was following that time,’ I said; ‘it was your sister.’

‘It was my sister?’ she said, in the highest degree astonished. She stopped, looked at me, truly expecting an answer. She asked in all seriousness.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Hm. That is to say, it was the younger of the two ladies who walked before me.’

‘The younger, yes? Yes? Aha!’ She laughed at once, loudly, heartily like a child. ‘No, how cunning you are! You only said that to get me to take off my veil. Didn’t you? Yes, I understood. But you shall pay for that… as a punishment.’

We began to laugh and jest; we talked incessantly the whole time, I did not know what I said, I was so happy. She told me she had seen me once before, a long time ago, at the theatre. I had three companions with me, and I had behaved like a madman; I had certainly been drunk then too, unfortunately!

Why did she think that?

Well, I had laughed so much.

I see. Oh, yes, I laughed a great deal then.

But not any longer?

Oh, yes, now too. It was glorious to be alive!

We came down towards Karl Johan. She said: ‘Now we go no further!’ And we walked up Universitetsgaden again. When we once more reached the fountain, I slowed my steps a little; I knew I would not be allowed to accompany her any further.

‘Well, now you must turn back,’ she said and stopped.

‘Yes, I suppose I must,’ I replied.

But a moment later she thought I could probably come as far as the gate. Good heavens, there was nothing wrong with that. Was there?

‘No,’ I said.

But when we stood at the gate, all my misery pressed in on me again. How could one keep one’s spirits up when one was so broken? Here I stood before a young lady, dirty, ragged, disfigured by hunger, unwashed, only half-dressed — it was enough to make one sink into the earth. I made myself small, instinctively ducked my head, and said:

‘May I not see you again?’

I had no hope of being allowed to meet her again; I almost wished for a sharp no, which might brace me and make me indifferent.

‘Yes,’ she said softly, almost inaudibly.

‘When?’

‘I don’t know.’

Pause.

‘Won’t you be so kind as to take off your veil for just a single moment,’ I said, ‘so I may see who I have been speaking with. Just a moment. For I must surely see who I have been speaking with.’

Pause.

‘You can meet me here outside on Tuesday evening,’ she said. ‘Will you do that?’

‘Yes, my dear, if I may be allowed!’

‘At eight o’clock.’

‘Good.’

I ran my hand down her cloak, brushing the snow off it, merely for an excuse to touch her; it was a delight for me to be so near her.

‘Then you mustn’t think too badly of me,’ she said. She smiled again.

‘No…’

Suddenly she made a resolute movement and drew the veil up to her forehead; we stood and looked at each other for a second. Ylajali! I said. She raised herself up, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me right on the mouth. A single time, quickly, confusingly quickly, right on the mouth. I felt how her breast heaved; she was breathing violently.

And immediately she tore herself from my hands, cried goodnight, breathless, whispering, turned and ran up the stairs, without saying more…

The gate door fell shut.

***

It snowed even more the next day, a heavy, rain-mixed snow, large wet tufts that fell and turned to slush. The weather was raw and freezing.

I had woken somewhat late, strangely dazed in the head from the evening’s emotions, intoxicated at heart by the beautiful meeting. In my rapture, I had lain awake for a while and imagined Ylajali at my side; I spread my arms wide, embraced myself, and kissed the air. Then I had finally risen and had another cup of milk and immediately thereafter a beefsteak, and I was no longer hungry; only my nerves were strongly agitated again.

I made my way down to the clothing bazaars. It occurred to me that I might be able to get a used waistcoat for a cheap price, something to wear under my coat, no matter what. I went up the stairs to the bazaar and got hold of a waistcoat, which I began to examine. While I was busying myself with this, an acquaintance passed by; he nodded and called up to me. I left the waistcoat hanging and went down to him. He was a technician and was on his way to the office.

‘Come along and have a glass of beer,’ he said. ‘But be quick, I have little time… Who was that lady you were strolling with last night?’

‘Now listen here,’ I said, jealous of his mere thought, ‘what if she were my sweetheart?’

‘Death and damnation!’ he said.

‘Yes, it was settled yesterday.’

I had floored him; he believed me unconditionally. I filled him with lies to be rid of him again; we got the beer, drank, and left.

‘Good morning, then!… Listen,’ he said suddenly, ‘I owe you a few kroner, you know, and it’s a shame I haven’t paid them back long since. But you shall have them very soon.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied. But I knew that he would never pay me back those kroner.

The beer, unfortunately, went straight to my head; I became very hot. The thought of the evening’s adventure overwhelmed me, made me almost deranged. What if she did not show up on Tuesday! What if she began to think, to suspect!… Suspect what?… My thoughts suddenly became intensely vivid and began to tumble with the money. I became afraid, mortally terrified of myself. The theft stormed in on me with all its details; I saw the little shop, the counter, my gaunt hand as I grabbed the money, and I pictured the police’s procedure when they came to take me. Irons on hands and feet, no, only on the hands, perhaps only on one hand; the dock, the duty officer’s logbook, the sound of his pen scratching, perhaps he took a new one for the occasion; his gaze, his dangerous gaze: Well, Mr. Tangen? The cell, the eternal darkness…

Hm. I clenched my hands violently together to give myself courage, walked faster and faster, and came to the main square. Here I sat down.

No childishness! Where on earth could they prove that I had stolen? Besides, the grocer’s boy would not dare to raise an alarm, even if one day he happened to remember how it all had happened; he held his position too dear for that. No fuss, no scenes, if I might ask!

But this money still weighed sinfully in my pocket and gave me no peace. I set about examining myself and found in the clearest terms that I had been happier before, back when I went about suffering in all honesty. And Ylajali! Had I not also gone and dragged her down with my sinful hands! Good God! Lord, my God! Ylajali!

I felt as drunk as a lord, suddenly sprang up and went straight to the cake-woman by the Elephant Pharmacy. I could still raise myself from dishonour, it was far from too late, I would show the whole world that I was capable of it! On the way, I got the money ready, held every øre in my hand; I bent down over the woman’s table, as if I wanted to buy something and, without further ado, slapped the money into her hand. I did not say a word; I left at once.

How wonderfully it tasted to be an honest man again! My empty pockets no longer weighed me down; it was a pleasure to be broke once more. When I really thought about it, this money had, in truth, cost me much secret sorrow; I had really thought of it with a shudder time and again. I was no hardened soul; my honest nature had rebelled against the base deed. Thank God, I had elevated myself in my own consciousness. Do that, if you can! I said, looking out over the teeming square. Just try to do that! I had gladdened an old, poor cake-woman, so that it was a proper sight to see; she did not know which way to turn. Tonight her children would not go hungry to bed… I worked myself up with these thoughts and felt that I had behaved admirably. Thank God, the money was now out of my hands.

Drunk and nervous, I walked along the street, swaggering. The joy of being able to meet Ylajali clean and honest and look her in the face, quite carried me away; I had no more pains, my head was clear and empty, it was as if it were a head made of pure light, standing and shining on my shoulders. I felt an urge to play pranks, to do astonishing things, to turn the city on its head and make a racket. All the way up Grensen street, I behaved like a madman; there was a light ringing in my ears, and in my brain the intoxication was in full swing. Inspired by foolhardiness, I took it into my head to go and give my age to a messenger boy who, by the way, had not spoken a word, to take his hand, look him intently in the face, and leave him again, without any explanation. I distinguished the nuances in the voices and laughter of the passers-by, observed some small birds hopping in front of me in the street, began to study the expressions of the cobblestones, and found all sorts of signs and strange figures in them. During this, I had come down to Storting Square.

I suddenly stood still and stared down at the cabs. The drivers were walking about, talking; the horses stood drooping forward against the nasty weather. Come on! I said, nudging myself with my elbow. I walked quickly over to the first carriage and got in. Ullevoldsvejen Number 37! I shouted. And we rolled away.

On the way, the driver began to look back, to lean down and peer into the carriage, where I sat under the hood. Had he become suspicious? There was no doubt that my wretched attire had made him take notice.

‘It’s a man I have to see!’ I shouted to him, to preempt him, and I explained to him earnestly that I absolutely had to see this man.

We stopped outside Number 37. I jumped out, ran up the stairs, all the way to the third floor, seized a bell-pull and tugged; the bell gave six or seven terrible peals inside.

A girl came and opened the door; I noticed she had gold knobs in her ears and black broadcloth buttons on her grey bodice. She looked at me, horrified.

I asked for Kierulf, Joachim Kierulf, if I might say so, a wool-merchant, in short, he was unmistakable…

The girl shook her head.

‘No Kierulf lives here,’ she said.

She stared at me, holding the door, ready to retreat. She made no effort to find the man; she really looked as if she knew the person I was asking for, if only she would think about it, the lazy creature. I became angry, turned my back on her, and ran down the stairs again.

‘He wasn’t there!’ I shouted to the driver.

‘He wasn’t there?’

‘No. Drive to Tomtegaden Number 11.’

I was in the most violent state of agitation and communicated some of it to the driver; he certainly believed it was a matter of life and death, and he drove off without further ado. He laid on the whip.

‘What’s the man’s name?’ he asked, turning on the box.

‘Kierulf, the wool-merchant Kierulf.’

And the driver, too, seemed to think that this man was unmistakable. Didn’t he usually wear a light-coloured coat?

‘What’s that?’ I shouted, ‘a light-coloured coat? Are you mad? Do you think it’s a teacup I’m asking for?’ This light-coloured coat came at a most inconvenient time, spoiling the whole man for me, as I had imagined him.

‘What did you say his name was? Kierulf?’ ‘Of course,’

I replied, ‘is there anything strange in that? The name shames no one.’

‘Doesn’t he have red hair?’

Now it might well be that he had red hair, and when the driver mentioned it, I was at once certain that he was right. I felt grateful to the poor cabman and told him he had captured the man to a T; it really was as he said; it would be a rare sight, I said, to see such a man without red hair.

‘It must be him I’ve driven a couple of times,’ said the driver. ‘He had a gnarled stick?’

This made the man spring to life for me, and I said:

‘He-he, no one has yet seen that man without a gnarled stick in his hand, I daresay. On that score, you can rest assured, quite assured.’

Yes, it was clear that it was the same man he had driven. He recognised him…

And on we drove, so the horseshoes struck sparks.

In the midst of this agitated state, I had not for a single moment lost my presence of mind. We passed a police officer, and I noticed that he had the number 69. This number struck me so cruelly, stood at once like a splinter in my brain. 69, exactly 69, I must not forget it!

I leaned back in the carriage, a prey to the maddest fancies, huddled in there under the hood so no one should see my mouth move, and began to chatter idiotically with myself. Madness raged through my brain, and I let it rage; I was fully conscious that I was under the influence of forces over which I had no control. I began to laugh, silently and passionately, for no reason at all, still merry and full from the couple of glasses of beer I had drunk. Little by little my agitation subsided; my calm returned more and more. I felt a coldness in my sore finger, and I tucked it down between my collar to warm it a little. Thus we came down to Tomtegaden. The driver pulled up.

I got out of the carriage, without haste, thoughtlessly, limp, heavy in the head, I went into the gateway, came into a backyard which I crossed, bumped into a door which I opened and went through, and found myself in a corridor, a sort of antechamber with two windows. Two trunks stood there, one on top of the other, in one corner, and on the long wall an old, unpainted sofa-bench, on which lay a blanket. To the right, in the next room, I heard voices and children crying, and above me, on the second floor, the sound of an iron plate being hammered. All this I noticed as soon as I had entered.

I walked calmly across the room, to the opposite door, without hurrying, without a thought of escape, opened that one too, and came out into Vognmandsgaden. I looked up at the house I had just passed through: Lodging & Refreshments for Travellers.

It did not occur to me to try to get away, to steal away from the driver who was waiting for me; I walked very sedately out along Vognmandsgaden, without fear and without being me conscious of any wrongdoing. Kierulf, this wool-merchant who had haunted my brain for so long, this person whom I believed existed, and whom I absolutely had to meet, had vanished from my thoughts, erased along with other mad notions that came and went in turn; I remembered him no more than as a premonition, a memory.

I grew more and more sober, as I walked along, felt heavy and weary, and dragged my legs after me. The snow still fell down in large, wet flakes. At last I came out at Grønland, right by the church, where I sat down to rest on a bench. Everyone who passed by regarded me with great wonder. I fell into thought.

Good God, how badly off I was now! I was so utterly sick and tired of my whole miserable life that I found it not worth the trouble to fight any longer to keep it. Adversity had gained the upper hand; it had been too coarse. I was so strangely ruined, quite like a shadow of what I once was. My shoulders had sunk down, all to one side, and I had got into the habit of stooping very much forward when I walked, to spare my chest what little I could. I had examined my body a couple of days ago, one afternoon up in my room, and I had stood and wept the whole time over it. I had been in the same shirt for many weeks; it was quite stiff with old sweat and had chafed my navel raw. A little bloody water came out of the wound, but it did not hurt much, only it was so sorrowful to have this wound in the middle of my stomach. I had no remedy for it, and it would not heal of its own accord; I washed it, dried it carefully, and put the same shirt on again. There was nothing to be done about it…

I sat there on the bench, thinking over all this, and was quite melancholy. I was disgusted with myself; even my hands seemed repulsive to me. This flabby, almost shameless expression on the backs of my hands tormented me, caused me discomfort; at the sight of my gaunt fingers I felt crudely affected, I hated my whole shrunken body and shuddered to carry it, to feel it about me. Good God, if only there could be an end to it now! I would dearly love to die.

Completely overcome, defiled and degraded in my own consciousness, I rose mechanically and began to walk homewards. On the way, I passed a gateway where the following was written: ‘Shrouds at Miss Andersen’s, to the right in the gateway.’ — Old memories! I said, and I remembered my former room at Hammersborg, the little rocking chair, the newspaper lining by the door, the Lighthouse Director’s advertisement, and Baker Fabian Olsen’s freshly baked bread. Oh, yes, I had had it much better then than now; one night I had written a feuilleton for ten kroner, now I could write nothing more, I could write absolutely nothing more, my head became empty at once as soon as I tried. Yes, I wanted an end to it now! And I walked and walked.

As I drew nearer and nearer to the grocer’s, I had the half-unconscious feeling that I was approaching a danger; but I held fast to my purpose, I wanted to give myself up. I walked calmly up the steps, met in the doorway a little girl carrying a cup in her hand, and I let her pass and closed the door. The clerk and I stood for the second time facing each other, alone.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s terrible weather.’

What was the need for this roundabout approach? Why did he not take me at once? I became furious and said:

‘I have not come to talk about the weather.’

This vehemence astonished him; his little grocer’s brain misfired. It had not occurred to him at all that I had cheated him out of five kroner.

‘Do you not know, then, that I have swindled you?’ I said impatiently, and I panted heavily, trembled, was ready to use force if he did not come to the point at once.

But the poor man suspected nothing.

No, great heavens, what stupid people one was forced to live among! I scolded him, explained to him point by point how the whole thing had happened, showed him where I had stood and where he had stood when the deed was done, where the money had lain, how I had gathered it down into my hand and closed my hand around it — and he understood it all, but still did nothing to me. He turned this way and that, listened for footsteps in the side room, hushed me to make me speak lower, and finally said:

‘That was rather shabby of you!’

‘No, wait a minute!’ I cried in my urge to contradict him, to egg him on; it was not as low and vile as he with his miserable grocer’s head imagined. I did not keep the money, of course, it would never occur to me; for my part, I would not derive any benefit from it, my thoroughly honest nature was against it…

‘Where did you get rid of it, then?’

I gave it away to an old, poor woman, every øre, he should know; that was the sort of person I was, I did not forget the poor so utterly…

He stood and thought about this for a little while, evidently becoming very doubtful as to whether I was an honest man or not. Finally he said:

‘Should you not rather have returned the money?’

‘No, listen here,’ I replied, ‘I did not want to cause you any trouble, I wanted to spare you. But that is the thanks one gets for being magnanimous. Now I stand here and explain the whole thing to you, and you are not ashamed as a dog, simply make no arrangements to have the matter settled with me. Therefore I wash my hands of it. Besides, I give you to the devil. Farewell!’

I left and slammed the door hard behind me.

But when I got home to my room, into that dismal hole, soaked through by the soft snow, trembling in the knees from the day’s wanderings, I immediately lost my cockiness and collapsed again. I regretted my assault on the poor shopman, wept, seized myself by the throat, to punish myself for my wretched prank, and raised a sinful commotion. He had, of course, been in mortal fear for his position, had not dared to make any fuss about these five kroner that the business had lost. And I had taken advantage of his fear, had tormented him with my loud talk, speared him with every word I shouted out. And the grocer himself had perhaps been sitting inside in the room next door and felt on a knife’s edge prompted to go out to us and see what it was that was going on. No, there was no longer any limit to the despicable things I could do!

Well, but why had I not been arrested? Then there would have been a conclusion. I had as good as held out my hands for the irons. I would not have made any resistance at all; on the contrary, I would have helped. Lord of heaven and earth, a day of my life for a happy second again! My whole life for a mess of pottage! Hear me just this once!…

I lay down in my wet clothes; I had a vague idea that I might die in the night, and I used my last strength to tidy up a little in my bed, so that it might look a little orderly around me in the morning. I folded my hands and chose my position.

Then all at once I remembered Ylajali. That I had forgotten her so completely all evening long! And the light penetrated quite faintly into my mind again, a little ray of sun that made me so blessedly warm. And there was more sun, a mild, fine silken light that brushed me so stupefyingly beautifully. And the sun grew stronger and stronger, burned sharply against my temples, boiled heavy and glowing in my emaciated brain. And at last there flamed before my eyes a mad bonfire of rays, a heaven and earth ignited, men and beasts of fire, mountains of fire, devils of fire, an abyss, a desert, a whole world ablaze, a smoking final day.

And I saw and heard no more…

***

I awoke in a sweat the next day, damp all over my body, very damp; the fever had pressed me quite violently. At first, I had no clear consciousness of what had happened to me; I looked around in wonder, felt totally changed in my being, did not recognise myself at all. I felt up my arms and down my legs, was astonished that the window was on that wall and not on the diametrically opposite wall, and I heard the stamping of the horses down in the yard as if it came from above. I was also rather nauseous.

My hair lay wet and cold about my forehead; I raised myself on my elbow and looked down at the pillow: wet hair lay there again too, in little tufts. My feet had swollen up inside my shoes during the night, but they did not hurt; I just could not move my toes much, they had become too stiff.

As the afternoon wore on, and it had already begun to grow a little dim, I got out of bed and began to potter about the room. I tried my way forward with small, careful steps, taking care to keep my balance and sparing my feet as much as possible. I did not suffer much, and I did not weep; I was, on the whole, not sad, I was on the contrary blessedly content; it did not occur to me just then that anything could be different from how it was.

Then I went out.

The only thing that plagued me a little, despite my nausea for food, was nevertheless hunger. I began to feel a shameful appetite again, an inner ravenous desire for food, which grew steadily worse and worse. It gnawed unmercifully in my chest, a quiet, strange work was being carried out in there. It might have been a score of tiny, fine animals that laid their heads on one side and gnawed a little, then laid their heads on the other side and gnawed a little, lay perfectly still for a moment, began again, bored their way in without noise and without haste, and left empty stretches everywhere they went…

I was not ill, but weary; I began to sweat. I thought of going to the main square, to rest a little; but the way was long and difficult. At last, however, I was almost there; I stood on the corner of the square and Torvegaden. The sweat ran down into my eyes, fogged my spectacles, and made me blind, and I had just stopped to wipe myself off a little. I did not notice where I stood, I did not think about it; the noise around me was terrible.

Suddenly a shout sounded, a cold, sharp warning. I heard this shout, heard it very well, and I jerked nervously to the side, took a step as quickly as my poor legs could move. A monster of a bread wagon brushed past me, grazing my coat with its wheel; had I been a little quicker, I would have got clear altogether. I could perhaps have been a little quicker, just a little quicker, if I had tried; there was no helping it, one of my feet hurt, a couple of toes were crushed; I felt them as it were curl up inside my shoe.

The bread-driver reined in the horses with all his might; he turned around on the wagon and asked in alarm, how I was. Well, it could have been much worse… it was perhaps not so dangerous… I did not think anything was broken… Oh, I beg you…

I drifted over to a bench as fast as I could; these many people who stopped and stared at me had made me embarrassed. Actually, it was not a death blow; it had gone relatively well, since the accident had to happen. The worst was that my shoe was crushed, the sole torn loose at the toe. I held up my foot and saw blood inside the gape. Well, it was not done intentionally on either side; it was not the man’s intention to make it worse for me than it was; he looked very sad. Perhaps if I had asked him for a small loaf from the wagon, I would have got it. He would probably have given it to me with pleasure. God bless him in return, wherever he is!…

I was starving, and I did not know what to do with myself for my shameless appetite. I writhed back and forth on the bench and laid my chest right down on my knees; I was almost deranged. When it grew dark, I shambled over to the town hall — God knows how I got there — and sat down on the edge of the balustrade. I tore one pocket out of my coat and began to chew on it, otherwise with no purpose, with dark features, with my eyes staring straight ahead, without seeing. I heard some small children playing around me, and sensed instinctively when some stroller passed me; otherwise I observed nothing.

Then all at once it occurred to me to go down into one of the bazaars below me and get a piece of raw meat. I rose and crossed the balustrade, over to the other end of the bazaar roof, and climbed down. When I had got almost all the way down to the meat stall, I shouted up the stairwell and shooed backwards, as if speaking to a dog up there, and addressed the first butcher I met with insolence.

‘Oh, be so kind as to give me a bone for my dog!’ I said. ‘Just a bone; there need not be anything on it; he just needs something to carry in his mouth.’

I got a bone, a splendid little bone, on which there was still a little meat left, and stuck it under my coat. I thanked the man so heartily that he looked at me in surprise.

‘Nothing to thank me for,’ he said.

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ I mumbled, ‘it’s kind of you.’

And I went up. My heart beat strongly within me.

I sneaked into Smedgangen, as deep in as I could get, and stopped outside a dilapidated gate to a backyard. There was not a light to be seen anywhere; it was blessedly dark around me. I began to gnaw at the bone.

It tasted of nothing; a rank smell of blood arose from the bone, and I had to start vomiting at once. I tried again; if only I could keep it down, it would surely have its effect; the main thing was to make it stay down there. But I threw up again. I became angry, bit fiercely into the meat, tore off a little bit and swallowed it down by force. And it was no use anyway; as soon as the little morsels of meat had become warm in my stomach, they unfortunately came up again. I clenched my hands madly, began to cry with helplessness and gnawed like one possessed; I wept so that the bone became wet and dirty with tears, threw up, cursed, and gnawed again, wept as if my heart would break and threw up again. And I swore with a loud voice all the powers of the world down in torment.

Silence. Not a soul around, no light, no noise. I was in the most violent state of agitation, I panted heavily and loudly and wept with grinding teeth every time I had to give up these morsels of meat that might have satisfied me a little. When it was of no use at all, no matter how much I tried, I hurled the bone against the gate, full of the most impotent hatred, ecstatic with rage, shouting and threatening violently up towards the heavens, screaming God’s name hoarsely and fiercely and curving my fingers like claws… I tell you, you holy Ba’al of heaven, you do not exist, but if you did, I would curse you so that your heaven would tremble with the fire of hell. I tell you, I have offered you my service, and you have rejected it; I tell you, you have cast me away, and I turn my back on you forever, because you did not know the time of your visitation. I tell you, I know that I shall die, and yet I mock you, you god and Apis of heaven, with death right at my teeth. I tell you, I would rather be a lackey in hell than free in your dwellings; I tell you, I am full of blissful contempt for your heavenly vileness, and I choose the abyss for my eternal abode, where the devil, Judas, and Pharaoh are cast down. I tell you, your heaven is full of all the earth’s most thick-headed idiots and poor in spirit; I tell you, you have filled your heaven with the fat, blessed whores from down here, who have piteously bent the knee to you in their hour of death. I tell you, you have used force against me, and you do not know, you omniscient nullity, that I never bow in adversity. I tell you, my whole life, every cell in my body, every faculty in my soul gasps to mock you, you merciful scum on high. I tell you, I would, if I could, cry this aloud into your heaven and over the whole earth; I would, if I could, breathe it into every unborn human soul that will one day come upon the earth, every flower, every leaf, every drop in the sea. I tell you, I will mock you on the Day of Judgement and curse the teeth out of my mouth for your divinity’s endless pitifulness. I tell you, I will from this hour forsage all your works and all your being; I will curse my thought, if it thinks of you again, and tear off my lips, if they again utter your name. I tell you, if you exist, the last word in life and in death, I tell you farewell forever and always, I tell you farewell with heart and kidneys, I tell you the last irrevocable farewell, and I fall silent and turn my back and go my way…

Silence,

I trembled with agitation and exhaustion, stood there in the same spot, still whispering oaths and curses, hiccupping from the violent weeping, broken and limp after the mad outburst of rage. I stood there perhaps for an hour and hiccupping and whispering and holding on to the gate. Then I heard voices, a conversation between two men who were coming walking down Smedgangen. I slunk away from the gate, drew myself along the house walls, and came out again onto the bright streets. As I shuffled down Youngsbakken, my brain suddenly began to work in a most peculiar direction. It occurred to me that the miserable shanties down at the edge of the square, the material stalls, and the old dens with used clothes, were a disgrace to the place. They ruined the whole appearance of the square and stained the city, fie, down with the rubbish! And I went about calculating in my head what it would cost to move the Geographical Survey down there, that beautiful building which had always appealed to me so much every time I had passed it. It would perhaps not be possible to carry out a move of that kind for under seventy to seventy-two thousand kroner, — a tidy sum, one had to say, a rather neat bit of pocket money, he-he, to begin with, eh? And I nodded with my empty head and admitted that it was a rather neat bit of pocket money to begin with. I was still trembling all over my body and hiccupped deeply now and then from the weeping.

I had the feeling that there was not much life left in me, that I was in fact on my last legs. It was also rather indifferent to me; it did not occupy me in the least. On the contrary, I sought my way down through the city, down to the quays, further and further away from my room. I could just as well have laid myself flat in the street, to die. The suffering made me more and more insensitive; my sore foot throbbed strongly, I even had the impression that the pain was spreading up my entire leg, and not even that hurt particularly. I had endured worse sensations.

Then I came down to the railway quay. There was no traffic, no noise, only here and there a person to be seen, a docker or a sailor, drifting about with his hands in his pockets. I noticed a lame man who squinted fixedly at me as we passed each other. I stopped him instinctively, touched my hat, and asked, if he knew whether ‘The Nun’ had sailed. And afterwards, I could not help snapping my fingers once right in the man’s face and saying: Death and damnation, ‘The Nun,’ yes! ‘The Nun,’ which I had completely forgotten! The thought of her had nevertheless smouldered unconsciously within me; I had carried it without knowing it myself.

Yes, heavens, ‘The Nun’ had probably sailed.

Could he not tell me, where she had sailed to?

The man thought for a moment, stood on his long leg holding the short one in the air; the short one dangled a little.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Do you know, what she was loading here?’

‘No,’ I replied.

But now I had already forgotten ‘The Nun,’ and I asked the man, how far it might be to Holmestrand, reckoned in good, old geographical miles.

‘To Holmestrand? I would suppose…’

‘Or to Væblungsnæs?’

‘What I was going to say: I suppose, that to Holmestrand…’

‘Oh, listen, while I remember,’ I interrupted him again, ‘you wouldn’t happen to be so kind as to give me a little bit of tobacco, just a tiny little bit!’

I got the tobacco, thanked the man very warmly, and walked away. I made no use of the tobacco; I put it in my pocket at once. The man was still keeping an eye on me; I had perhaps aroused his suspicion in some way; wherever I stood and walked I had this suspicious gaze following me, and I did not like to be pursued by this man. I turned back and drew near to him again, looked at him and said:

‘Needler.’

Just that word: Needler. Nothing more. I looked very fixedly at him as I said it; I felt that I was staring terribly at him; it was as if I was looking at him with my whole body, instead of just with my eyes. And I stood for a little while after I had said this word. Then I shuffled up to the railway square again. The man did not make a sound; he just kept his eye on me.

Needler? I suddenly stood still. Yes, was it not what I had felt right away: I had met the cripple before. Up in Grensen street, one bright morning; I had pawned my waistcoat. It seemed like an eternity since that day.

While I stood thinking about this — I was standing and leaning against a house wall on the corner of the square and Havnegaden — I suddenly started and tried to crawl away. When this did not succeed, I stared hardened straight ahead and threw all shame to the winds, there was no helping it, — I stood face to face with the Commander.

I became carelessly brazen; I even took a step forward from the house wall to draw his attention to me. And I did not do it to arouse pity, but to mock myself, to put myself in the pillory; I could have thrown myself down in the street and asked the Commander to walk over me, to tread on my face. I did not even say good evening.

The Commander perhaps sensed that there was something wrong with me; he slowed his steps a little, and I said, to stop him:

‘I was supposed to have brought you something, but it hasn’t come to anything yet.’

‘Yes?’ he replied questioningly. ‘You don’t have it finished, then?’

‘No, I haven’t got it finished.’

But now my eyes suddenly filled with water at the Commander’s kindness, and I cleared my throat and coughed bitterly to make myself strong. The Commander sniffed once; he stood and looked at me.

‘Do you have anything to live on in the meantime, then?’ he said.

‘No,’ I replied, ‘I don’t have that either. I haven’t eaten yet today, but…’

‘God preserve you, you can’t go around starving to death here, man!’ he said. And he at once reached for his pocket.

Now the feeling of shame awakened in me; I staggered back to the house wall and held on; I stood and watched as the Commander fumbled in his purse; but I said nothing. And he held out a ten-kroner note to me. He made no more ceremony about it; he simply gave me ten kroner. At the same time, he repeated that it would not do for me to starve to death.

I stammered an objection and did not take the note at once: This was shameful of me… it was also far too much…

‘Hurry now!’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve been waiting for the train; but now it’s coming, I hear.’

I took the money; I was numb with joy and said not another word; I did not even thank him.

‘It’s not worth being embarrassed about,’ the Commander said at last; ‘you can write for it, you know.’

Then he left.

When he had gone a few steps, I suddenly remembered that I had not thanked the Commander for this help. I tried to catch up with him, but could not get away fast enough; my legs failed me, and I kept wanting to fall on my face. He got further and further away. I gave up the attempt, thought of calling after him, but did not dare, and when I finally did pluck up the courage and called, once, twice, he was already too far away; my voice had become too weak.

I stood back on the pavement and looked after him; I wept quite quietly. I’ve never seen the like! I said to myself; he gave me ten kroner! I went back and stood there, where he had stood, and mimicked all his movements. And I held the banknote up to my wet eyes, examined it on both sides and began to swear — swearing wildly that it was true with it, what I held in my hand, it was a ten-kroner note.

A while later — perhaps a very long while; for it had already become quite quiet everywhere — I found myself, strangely enough, outside Tomtegaden Number 11. When I had stood and collected myself a moment and marvelled at this, I went into the gateway for the second time, straight into Lodging & Refreshments for Travellers. Here I asked for shelter and was at once given a bed.

* * *

Tuesday.

Sunshine and stillness, a wonderfully bright day. The snow was gone; everywhere life and light and happy faces, smiles and laughter. From the fountains, the jets of water rose in arcs, golden from the sun, bluish from the bluish sky… At noon, I went out from my lodging in Tomtegaden, where I still lived and was comfortable, and made my way into the city. I was in the gayest of moods and drifted about the whole afternoon in the most crowded streets, looking at people. Even before the clock struck seven in the evening, I took a trip up to St. Olavs Plads and peered furtively up to the windows of Number 2. In an hour, I would see her! I walked in a light, lovely anxiety the whole time. What would happen? What should I think of to say, when she came down the stairs? Good evening, miss? Or just smile? I decided to let it rest with a smile. Of course, I would bow deeply to her.

I slunk away, a little ashamed of being out so early, wandered about Karl Johan a while and kept an eye on the University clock. When the clock struck eight, I set off up Universitetsgaden again. On the way, it occurred to me that I might be a couple of minutes late, and I stretched my legs as much as I could. My foot was very sore, otherwise, nothing was wrong with me.

I took up my post by the fountain and caught my breath; I stood there for a very long time and looked up at the windows of Number 2; but she did not come. Well, I would just have to wait, I was in no hurry; she might be detained. And I waited again. Could I have dreamed the whole thing? Had the first meeting with her been in my imagination the night, I lay in a fever? I began, bewildered, to think back and felt not at all sure of my case.

‘Hm!’ it said behind me.

I heard this clearing of the throat; I also heard light steps near me; but I did not turn around, I just stared up at the large staircase before me.

‘Good evening!’ it said then.

I forgot to smile, I did not even touch my hat at once, I was so surprised to see her come this way.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ she said, and she was breathing a little quickly from her walk.

‘No, not at all, I came a little while ago,’ I replied. ‘And besides, what would it have mattered if I had waited long? I thought, by the way, that you would come from another direction?’

‘I have taken Mama to a family, Mama is to be out this evening.’

‘I see!’ I said.

Now we had involuntarily begun to walk. A police officer stood on the street corner and looked at us.

‘But where are we actually going?’ she said and stopped.

‘Wherever you wish, just wherever you wish.’

‘Ugh, yes, but it’s so tedious to decide for oneself.’

Pause.

Then I said, just to say something:

‘It’s dark in your windows, I see.’

‘Yes, indeed!’ she replied lively. ‘The maid has been given the evening off too. So I am quite alone at home.’

We both stood and looked up at the windows of Number 2, as if neither of us had seen them before.

‘Can we go up to your place, then?’ I said. ‘I shall sit by the door the whole time, if you wish…’

But now I was trembling with emotion and greatly regretted that I had been too bold. What if she became angry and left me? What if I never saw her again? Oh, the wretched attire I had on! I waited desperately for the answer.

‘You shall not sit by the door at all,’ she said. She spoke outright tenderly and said exactly these words: You shall not sit by the door at all.

We went up.

Out in the corridor, where it was dark, she took my hand and led me forward. I did not need to be so quiet, she said; I could speak. And we went in. While she lit a candle — it was not a lamp, she lit, but a candle — while she lit this candle, she said with a little laugh:

‘But now you mustn’t look at me. Ugh, I’m ashamed! But I shall never do it again.’

‘What will you never do again?’

‘I shall never… ugh, no. God preserve me… I shall never kiss you again.’

‘You won’t?’ I said, and we both laughed. I stretched my arms out for her. And she glided aside, slipped away, to the other side of the table. We stood and looked at each other for a little while, the candle stood right between us.

‘Try to catch me!’ she said.

And with much laughter, I tried to catch her. As she ran around, she undid her veil and took off her hat; her playful eyes still clung to me and watched my movements. I made another lunge, stumbled on the carpet, and fell; my sore foot would no longer hold me up. I rose, extremely embarrassed.

‘God, how red you became!’ she said. ‘Yes, that was also terribly clumsy.’

‘Yes, it was!’ I replied.

And we began to run around again.

‘I think, you’re limping?’

‘Yes, perhaps I limp a little, just a little, by the way.’

‘Last time you had a sore finger, now you have a sore foot; it’s hard, so many ailments you have.’

‘Oh, yes. —I was run over a little a few days ago.’

‘Run over? Drunk again then? No, God preserve me, how you live, young man!’ She wagged her forefinger and made herself serious. ‘Let’s sit down then!’ she said. ‘No, not down there by the door; you are far too reserved; up here; you there and I here, so, yes!… Ugh, it’s rather tedious with reserved people! Then one has to say and do everything oneself, one gets no help with anything. Now you could, for example, gladly rest your hand on the back of my chair, you could have thought of so much yourself, you could. For if I say something like that, you put on a pair of eyes, as if you don’t quite believe it, what is being said. Yes, it’s really true, I’ve seen it several times, you’re doing it now too. But you mustn’t imagine, that you are so modest always, when you just dare let yourself go. You were rather bold that day, when you were drunk and followed me right home and plagued me with your witticisms: You’re losing your book, miss, you’re definitely losing your book, miss! Ha-ha-ha! Fie, that was really ugly of you!’

I sat, lost, and looked at her. My heart beat loudly; the blood pulsed warmly through my veins. What a wonderful delight!

‘Why don’t you say anything?’

‘No, how sweet you are!’ I said. ‘I am simply sitting here and becoming utterly captivated by you, at this moment utterly captivated… There is no helping it… You are the most peculiar person, that… Sometimes your eyes shine so, I have never seen the like, they look like flowers… What? No-no, perhaps not like flowers either, but… I am so completely in love with you, and it is so unreasonable… Good heavens, of course, it’s no use to me at all… What is your name? Now you must da really tell me, what your name is…’

‘No, what is your name? God, now I had almost forgotten it again! I thought about it all yesterday, that I should ask you. Yes, that is to say not all yesterday, but…’

‘Do you know, what I have called you? I have called you Ylajali. What do you think of that? Such a gliding sound…’

‘Ylajali?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it a foreign language?’

‘Hm, No, it isn’t that either.’

‘Well, it’s not ugly…’

After long negotiations, we told each other our names. She sat down right beside me on the sofa and pushed the chair away with her foot, And we began to chat again.

‘You have shaved this evening too,’ she said. ‘You look a little better on the whole than last time, but just a tiny bit, by the way; don’t you go imagining… No, last time you really were shabby. You even went about with a dreadful cloth around your finger. And in that state, you absolutely wanted to go in somewhere and drink wine with me. No, thank you!’

‘So it was because of my miserable appearance, that you wouldn’t go with me after all then?’ I said.

‘No,’ she replied and looked down. ‘No, God knows it wasn’t! I didn’t even think about it.’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘you are probably sitting here in the illusion, that I can dress and live exactly as I wish. You are? But I cannot, you know, I am very, very poor.’

She looked at me.

‘Are you?’ she said.

‘Yes, I am, unfortunately.’

Pause.

‘Well, good heavens, so am I, too,’ she said with a jaunty movement of her head.

Every one of her words intoxicated me, struck my heart like drops of wine. She enchanted me with the habit, she had of tilting her head a little to the side and listening, when I said something. And I felt her breath right on my face.

‘Do you know,’ I said, ‘that… But now you mustn’t be angry… When I went to bed last night, I arranged this arm for you… like this… as if you were lying in it… and then I fell asleep…’

‘I see? That was beautiful!’ Pause. ‘But that would have to be at a distance, that you could do such a thing; for otherwise…’

‘You don’t think, I could do it otherwise?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Oh, from me you can expect anything,’ I said. And I put my arm around her waist.

‘Can I?’ was all she said.

It annoyed me, almost offended me, that she considered me so very proper; I puffed out my chest, pushed my heart up into my throat and took her hand. But she withdrew it quite calmly and moved a little away from me. This killed my courage again, I became ashamed and looked towards the window. I was far too pitiful after all, as I sat, I just must not try to imagine anything. It would have been a different matter, if I had met her back then, when I still looked like a human being, in my days of vigour, when I had a little something to get by on. And I felt very downcast.

‘There you see!’ she said, ‘now you just see: one can unbalance you with just a little wrinkle of the brow, make you so flat, just by moving a little away from you…’ She laughed teasingly, playfully, with her eyes completely closed, as if she, too, could not bear to be looked at.

‘No, but good heavens!’ I burst out, ‘now you shall just see!’ And I threw my arms violently around her shoulders. I was almost offended. Was the girl out of her mind! Did she take me for completely inexperienced! Heh, I would, by the living… No one should say of me, that I held back in this matter. What a devil of a person! If it was just a matter of pressing on, then…

She sat quite still, and her eyes were still closed; neither of us spoke. I pressed her hard against me, greedily crushed her body to my breast, and she did not say a word. I heard our heartbeats, both hers and mine, they sounded like muffled hoofbeats.

I kissed her.

I was no longer aware of myself, I said some nonsense that she laughed at, whispered pet names into her mouth, patted her on the cheek, kissed her many times. I undid a button or two in her bodice, and I glimpsed her breasts within, white, round breasts, that peeped out like two sweet wonders from behind the linen.

‘May I see!’ I said, and I tried to undo more buttons, to make the opening larger; but my movement was too strong, I could get nowhere with the lower buttons, where the bodice was tight besides. ‘May I just see a little… a little…’

She put her arm around my neck, very slowly, tenderly; her breath puffed me right in the face from her red, quivering nostrils; with her other hand she herself began to undo the buttons, one for one. She laughed shyly, laughed briefly, and looked several times up at me, as if to see if I noticed that she was afraid. She untied the ribbons, unhooked the corset, ecstatic and anxious. And I fumbled with my coarse hands at these buttons and ribbons…

To divert attention from, what she did, she stroked me with her left hand over the shoulder and said:

‘What a lot of loose hair is lying here!’

‘Yes,’ I replied and wanted to press my mouth to her breast. She lay at this moment with her clothes quite open. Suddenly it was as if she came to her senses, as if she thought she had gone too far; she covered herself again and sat up a little. And to hide her embarrassment with her open clothes, she began again to speak of the amount of fallen hair, that lay on my shoulders.

‘How can it be, that your hair is falling out so much?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Oh, you drink too much, of course, and perhaps — Fie, I don’t want to say it! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No, I wouldn’t have thought that of you! That you, so young, are already losing your hair!… Now you will please tell me, how you actually live your life. I’m sure it’s dreadful! But only the truth, you understand, no evasions! I shall be able to see it in you anyway, if you try to hide something. So, tell me now!’

‘Yes, let me kiss you on the breast first, then.’

‘Are you mad? So, begin now!’

‘No, my dear, let me do that first!’

‘Hm. No, not first… Later perhaps… I want to hear, what sort of person you are… Oh, I’m sure, it’s terrible!’

It also pained me that she should think the worst of me, I was afraid of pushing her away completely, and I could not bear the suspicion she had about my way of life. I wanted to cleanse myself in her eyes, make myself worthy of her, show her that she was sitting beside a person who was all but angelically pure. Good heavens, I could count on my fingers my falls to date.

I told her, I told her everything, and I told only the truth. I did not make anything worse than it was, it was not my intention to arouse her pity; I also said, that I had stolen five kroner one evening.

She sat and listened with a gaping mouth, pale, frightened, her bright eyes utterly bewildered. I wanted to make it right again, to disperse the sad impression I had made, and braced myself:

‘It’s over now!’ I said; ‘there can be no more talk of such things; now I am saved…’

But she was very dejected. ‘God preserve me!’ was all she said, and fell silent. She said this at short intervals and fell silent each time again. ‘God preserve me!’

I began to jest, took her by the side, to tickle her, lifted her up to my breast. She had buttoned her dress again; this annoyed me a little, hurt me, in fact. Why should she button her dress again? Was I, in her eyes, more unworthy now, than if I myself had been to blame, for my hair falling out? Would she have thought better of me, if I had made myself out to be a rake?… No nonsense. It was just a matter of pressing on! And if it was just a matter of pressing on, then by the living…

I laid her down, simply laid her down on the sofa. She struggled against it, very little, by the way, and looked surprised.

‘No… what do you want?’ she said.

‘What do I want?!’

Heh, she asked, what I wanted! To press on, that’s what I wanted, to press straight on! It was not only at a distance, that I was in the habit of pressing on; that was not my sort and disposition of man. I made a point of being a man for my hat and not being floored by a wrinkle in the brow. No-no, indeed, I had never yet gone with my business undone from such an affair…

And I pressed on.

‘No… no, but…?’

Yes, I thought, that was the intention!

‘No, do you hear!’ she cried. And she added these wounding words: ‘I cannot be sure that you are not mad.’

I involuntarily paused a little, and I said:

‘You don’t mean that!’

‘Yes, by God, you look so strange! And that morning, you followed me, — you weren’t drunk then?’

‘No. But I wasn’t hungry then either, I had just eaten…’

‘Yes, so much the worse.’

‘Would you rather I had been drunk?’

‘Yes… Hu, I’m afraid of you! Good heavens, can’t you let go now!’

I thought for a moment. No, I could not let go. No damned nonsense on a late evening on a sofa! Off with the flannel! Heh, what excuses did one not come up with at such a moment! As if I did not know, that it was all just shyness! Then I must be green! So be quiet now! No hesitation! Long live the King and the Fatherland!…

She resisted with surprising strength, far too strongly to just be resisting out of shyness. I happened to knock the candle over, so that it went out, she resisted desperately, even uttered a little whimper.

‘No, not that, not that! If you want so you can rather kiss me on the breast. My dear, please…’

I stopped immediately. Her words sounded so terrified, helpless, I was utterly stricken. She meant to offer me a substitute by giving me permission to kiss her breast! How lovely, lovely and simple! I could have fallen down and knelt before her.

‘But, my dear, my sweet!’ I said completely confused, ‘I don’t understand… I really don’t comprehend, what sort of game this is…’

She rose and lit the candle again with trembling hands; I sat back on the sofa and did nothing. What would happen now? I was, in truth, very ill at ease.

She cast her eyes on the wall, at the clock, and started.

‘Ugh, the maid will be home soon!’ she said. This was the first thing, she said.

I understood this hint and rose. She reached for her cloak, as if to put it on, but thought better of it, left it lying and went over to the fireplace. She was pale and grew more and more restless. So that it should not look, as if she were showing me the door, I said:

‘Was your father in the military?’ and at the same time I prepared to leave.

Yes, he was in the military. How did I know that?

I did not know, it just occurred to me.

That was peculiar!

Oh, yes. There were certain places, I came to, where I got these premonitions. He-he, it was part of my madness, that…

She looked up quickly, but did not answer. I felt, that I was tormenting her with my presence, and wanted to make it short. I went to the door. Would she not kiss me anymore now? Not even offer me her hand? I stood and waited.

‘Are you leaving now, then?’ she said, and she still stood still over by the fireplace.

I did not answer. I stood, humbled and confused and looked at her, without saying anything. Why had she not left me in peace, when it could not come to anything? What was wrong with her at this moment? It did not seem to concern her, that I stood ready to leave; she was at once completely lost to me, and I searched for something to say to her in parting, a heavy, deep word, that could strike her and perhaps impress her a little. And contrary to my firm resolution, wounded, instead of proud and cold, restless, offended, I began outright to speak of trivialities; the striking word did not come, I behaved most thoughtlessly.

Why could she not just as well say clearly and distinctly, that I should be on my way? I asked. Yes, yes, why not? It was not worth being embarrassed. Instead of reminding me, that the maid would soon be home, she could also simply have said the following: Now you must disappear, because now I am going to fetch my mother, and I do not want your company down the street. So, that was not it, she had been thinking of? Oh, yes, it probably was it anyway, she had been thinking of; I understood that at once. It took so little, to put me on the track; just the way, she had reached for the cloak and then left it lying, had convinced me at once. As I said, I had these premonitions. And there was perhaps not so much madness in it, in truth…

‘But, good heavens, forgive me for that word! It slipped out of my mouth!’ she cried. But she still stood still and did not come over to me.

I was unyielding and continued. I stood there chattering away with the painful feeling, that I was boring her, that not a single one of my words hit the mark, and yet I did not stop: In truth, one could be a rather sensitive soul, without being mad, I thought; there were natures, that nourished themselves on trifles and died merely for a harsh word. And I implied, that I had such a nature. The fact was, that my poverty had to such a degree sharpened certain faculties in me, that it caused me outright unpleasantness, yes, I assure you, outright unpleasantness, unfortunately. But it also had its advantages, it helped me in certain situations. The poor intelligent man was a far finer observer than the rich intelligent man. The poor man looks around at every step, he takes, listens suspiciously to every word, he hears from the people, he meets; every step, he himself takes, thus sets his thoughts and feelings a task, a work. He is sharp-eared and sensitive, he is an experienced man, his soul bears the scars of burns…

And I spoke for a very long time about these burn scars, that my soul had. But the longer I spoke, the more restless she became; at last she said: ‘Good heavens!’ a couple of times in despair and wrung her hands. I saw well, that I was plaguing her, and I did not want to plague her, but did it anyway. Finally, I thought I had told her in broad strokes the most necessary of, what I had to say, I was seized by her despairing gaze and cried:

‘Now I am going! Now I am going! Can you not see, that I already have my hand on the latch? Farewell! Farewell, I say! You might at least answer me, when I say farewell twice and stand ready to leave. I do not even ask to see you again, for that would pain you; but tell me: Why did you not leave me in peace? What have I done to you? I was not in your way now; was I? Why do you suddenly turn away from me, as if you did not know me at all anymore? Now you have stripped me so utterly bare, made me even more wretched than I ever was. Good heavens, but I am not mad, you know very well, if you would think about it, that there is nothing, wrong with me now. Come now and give me your hand! Or let me be allowed to come to you! Will you? I shall not do you any harm, I will just kneel before you a moment, kneel down on the floor there before you, just a moment; may I? No, no, then I shall not do it, I see, you are frightened, I shall not, shall not do it, do you hear. Good heavens, why do you become so terrified? I am standing still, I am not moving. I would have knelt down on the carpet a minute, just there, on the red colour right by their feet. But you were frightened, I could see at once in your eyes, that you were frightened, so I stood still. I did not take a step, when I asked you that; did I? I stood just as motionless as now, when I show you the place, where I would have knelt for you, over there on the red rose in the carpet. I am not even pointing with my finger, I am not pointing at all, I am leaving it be, so as not to frighten you, I am just nodding and looking that way, like this! And you understand very well, which rose, I mean, but you will not allow me to kneel there; you are afraid of me and dare not come near me. I do not comprehend, that you can bring yourself to call me mad. Is it not true, you don’t believe it any longer either? It was once in the summer, a long time ago, then I was mad; I worked too hard and forgot to go to dinner at the right time, when I had a lot to think about. It happened day after day; I should have remembered it, but I kept forgetting. By God in heaven, it is true! May God never let me leave this place alive, if I am lying! There you see, you do me an injustice. It was not out of need, I did it; I have credit, great credit, with Ingebret and Gravesen; I also often walked about with a lot of money in my pocket and still did not buy food, because I forgot. Do you hear that! You say nothing, you do not answer, you do not move away from the fireplace at all, you just stand and wait for me to go…’

She came quickly towards me and held out her hand. I looked at her, full of mistrust. Did she do it with a light heart? Or did she do it just, to be rid of me? She put her arm around my neck, she had tears in her eyes. I just stood and looked at her. She held out her mouth; I could not believe her, it was certainly a sacrifice, she was making, a means to put an end to it.

She said something, it sounded to me like: ‘I am fond of you all the same!’ She said it very softly and indistinctly, perhaps I did not hear correctly, perhaps she did not say exactly those words; but she threw herself vehemently around my neck, held both arms around my neck for a little while, even stretched a little on her toes, to reach up properly, and stood thus for perhaps a whole minute.

I was afraid that she was forcing herself to show this tenderness, I just said:

‘How lovely you are now!’

I said no more. I embraced her violently, stepped back, bumped against the door and went out backwards. And she remained within.

TREDJE STYKKE

En Uges Tid gik i Herlighed og Glæde.

Jeg var over det værste også denne Gang, jeg havde Mad hver Dag, mit Mod steg, og jeg stak det ene Jærn efter det andet i Ilden. Jeg havde tre eller fire Afhandlinger under Arbejde, der plyndred min fattige Hjærne for hver Gnist, hver Tanke, som opstod i den, og jeg syntes, at det gik bedre end før. Den sidste Artikel, som jeg havde havt så meget Rænd for og sat så meget Håb til, var allerede bleven mig tilbageféveret af Redaktøren, og jeg havde tilintetgjort den straks, vred, fornærmet, uden at læse den igennem påny. For Eftertiden vilde jeg forsøge med et andet Blad, forat åbne mig flere Udveje. I værste Fald, hvis heller ikke det hjalp, havde jeg Skibene at tage til; »Nonnen« lå sejlklar nede ved Bryggen, og jeg kunde måske få arbejde mig over på den til Archangel, eller hvor det nu var, den skulde hen. Så der mangled mig ikke Udsigter på mange Kanter.

Den sidste Krise havde faret noget ilde med mig; jeg begyndte at miste Hår i stor Mængde, Hovedpinen var også meget plagsom, især om Morgenen, og Nervøsiteten vilde ikke give sig. Jeg sad om Dagen og skrev med Hænderne bundet ind i Kluder, blot fordi jeg ikke tålte mit eget Åndedrag imod dem. Når Jens Olaj slog Stalddøren hårdt i nedenunder mig, eller en Hund kom ind i Baggården og begyndte at gø, gik det mig gennem Marv og Ben som kolde Stik, der traf mig allevegne. Jeg var temmelig forkommen.

Dag efter Dag stræved jeg med mit Arbejde, undte mig knapt Tid til at sluge min Mad, førend jeg atter satte mig til at skrive. I den Tid var både Sengen og mit lille vaklende Skrivebord oversvømmet med Notiser og beskrevne Blade, som jeg vekselvis arbejded på, føjed til nye Ting, som kunde falde mig ind i Løbet af Dagen, strøg over, frisked op de døde Punkter med et farvefuldt Ord hist og her, sled mig fremad Sætning for Sætning med den værste Møje. En Eftermiddag var endelig den ene af mine Artikler færdig, og jeg stak den lykkelig og glad i Lommen og begav mig op til »Kommandøren«. Det var på høj Tid, at jeg gjorde Anstalter til lidt Penge igen, jeg havde ikke mange Øre tilbage.

»Kommandøren« bad mig om at sidde et Øjeblik, så skulde han straks . . . . og han skrev videre.

Jeg så mig om i det lille Kontor: Buster, Litografier, Udklip, en umådelig Papirkurv, der så ud til at kunne sluge en Mand med Hud og Hår. Jeg følte mig trist tilmode ved Synet af dette uhyre Gab, denne Dragekæft, der altid stod åben, altid var færdig til at modtage nye kasserede Arbejder — nye knuste Håb.

»Hvad Dato har vi?« siger pludselig »Kommandøren« borte ved Bordet.

»28de,« svarer jeg, glad over at kunne være ham til Tjeneste.

»28de.« Og han skriver fremdeles. Endelig konvolutterer han et Par Breve, sender nogle Papirer hen i Kurven og lægger Pennen ned. Så svinger han sig omkring på Stolen og ser på mig. Da han mærker, at jeg endnu står ved Døren, gør han et halvt alvorligt, halvt spøgefuldt Vink med Hånden og peger på en Stol.

Jeg vender mig bort, forat han ikke skal se, at jeg ingen Vest har på, når jeg åbner Frakken og tager Manuskriptet op af Lommen.

»Det er bare en liden Karakteristik af Correggio,« siger jeg, »men den er vel ikke skrevet slig, desværre, at . . . .«

Han tager Papirerne ud af min Hånd og begynder at blade i dem. Han vender sit Ansigt mod mig.

Således så han da ud på nært Hold denne Mand, hvis Navn jeg hørte allerede i min tidligste Ungdom, og hvis Blad havde havt den største Indflydelse på mig op gennem Årene. Hans Hår er krøllet og de smukke brune Øjne en Smule urolige; han har for Vane at støde lidt i Næsen nu og da. En skotsk Præst kunde ikke se mildere ud end denne farlige Skribent, hvis Ord altid havde slået blodige Striber, hvor de faldt ned. En ejendommelig Følelse af Frygt og Beundring betager mig overfor dette Menneske, jeg er lige ved at få Tårer i Øjnene, og jeg rykker uvilkårlig et Skridt frem, forat sige ham, hvor inderlig jeg holdt af ham for alt, han havde lært mig, og bede ham om ikke at gøre mig Fortræd; jeg var blot en fattig Stymper, som havde det slemt nok alligevel . . . .

Han så op og lagde mit Manuskript langsomt sammen, mens han sad og tænkte efter. Forat lette ham i at give mig et afslående Svar, rækker jeg Hånden lidt frem og siger:

»Å, nej, det er naturligvis ikke brugbart?« Og jeg smiler, forat give Indtryk af at tage det let.

»Det må være så populært alt, som vi kan bruge,« svarer han; »De ved, hvad Slags Publikum vi har. Men kan De ikke tage og gøre det lidt enklere? Eller finde på noget andet, som Folk forstår bedre?«

Hans Hensynsfuldhed forundrer mig. Jeg forstår, at min Artikel er kasseret, og dog kunde jeg ikke fået et vakkrere Afslag. For ikke at optage ham længer, svarer jeg:

»Jo, da, det kan jeg nok.«

Jeg går til Døren. Hm. Han måtte undskylde, at jeg havde heftet ham bort med dette . . . . Jeg bukker og tager i Dørvrideren.

»Hvis De trænger det,« siger han, »så kan De heller få lidt i Forskud. De kan jo skrive for det.«

Nu havde han jo set, at jeg ikke dued til at skrive, hans Tilbud ydmyged mig derfor lidt, og jeg svared:

»Nej, Tak, jeg klarer mig endda en Stund. Takker ellers så meget. Farvel!«

»Farvel!« svarer »Kommandøren« og vender sig i det samme ind til sit Skrivebord.

Han havde nu alligevel behandlet mig ufortjent velvilligt, og jeg var ham taknemmelig herfor; jeg skulde også vide at påskønne det. Jeg foresatte mig ikke at gå til ham igen, førend jeg kunde tage med et Arbejde, som jeg var helt tilfreds med, som kunde forbause »Kommandøren« en Smule og få ham til at anvise mig ti Kroner uden et Øjebliks Betænkning. Og jeg gik hjem igen og tog fat på min Skrivning påny.

I de følgende Aftener, når Klokken blev omkring otte og Gassen allerede var tændt, hændte der mig regelmæssig følgende:

Idet jeg kommer ud af mit Portrum, for efter Dagens Møje og Besværligheder at begive mig ud på en Spadsertur omkring i Gaderne, står der en sortklædt Dame ved Gaslygten lige udenfor Porten og vender Ansigtet mod mig, følger mig med Øjnene, når jeg passerer hende. Jeg lægger Mærke til, at hun stadig har den samme Dragt på, det samme tætte Slør, der skjuler hendes Ansigt og falder nedad hendes Bryst, og i Hånden en liden Paraply med Elfenbens Ring i Håndtaget.

Det var allerede tredje Aften, jeg havde set hende der, al tid på selvsamme Sted; såsnart jeg var kommet hende forbi, vender hun sig langsomt om og går nedad Gaden, bort fra mig.

Min nervøse Hjærne skød Følehorn ud, og jeg fik straks den urimelige Anelse, at det var mig, hendes Besøg galdt. Jeg var tilsidst næsten i Begreb med at tiltale hende, spørge hende, om hun søgte efter nogen, om hun trængte min Hjælp til noget, om jeg måtte følge hende hjem, så dårligt antrukken som jeg desværre var, beskytte hende i de mørke Gader; men jeg havde en ubestemt Frygt for, at det kanske vilde komme til at koste noget, et Glas Vin, en Køretur, og jeg havde slet ingen Penge mer; mine trøstesløst tomme Lommer virked altfor nedslående på mig, og jeg havde ikke engang Mod til at se lidt skarpt på hende, når jeg gik hende forbi. Sulten var igen begyndt at hussere med mig, jeg havde ikke havt Mad, siden igåraftes; det var ikke nogen lang Tid, jeg havde ofte kunnet holde ud i flere Dage; men jeg var begyndt at tage betænkeligt af, jeg kunde slet ikke sulte så godt som før, en eneste Dag kunde nu næsten gøre mig fortumlet, og jeg led af idelige Opkastelser, såsnart jeg drak Vand. Dertil kom, at jeg lå og frøs om Nætterne, lå i fulde Klæder, som jeg stod og gik om Dagen, og blåfrøs, ised ned hver Aften under Kuldegysninger og stivned til under Søvnen. Det gamle Tæppe kunde ikke holde Trækvinden ude, og jeg vågned om Morgenen af, at jeg var bleven tæt i Næsen af den ramme Rimluft, der trængte ind til mig udenfra.

Jeg går henad Gaderne og tænker på, hvorledes jeg skulde bære mig ad med at holde mig oppe, til jeg fik min næste Artikel færdig. Havde jeg blot et Lys, vilde jeg forsøge at kile på udover Natten; det vilde tage et Par Timer, hvis jeg først kom rigtig i Ånde; imorgen kunde jeg så atter henvende mig til »Kommandøren«.

Jeg går uden videre ind i Oplandske og søger efter min unge Bekendt fra Banken, forat skaffe mig ti Øre til et Lys. Man lod mig uhindret passere alle Værelser; jeg gik forbi et Dusin Borde, hvor passiarende Gæster sad og spiste og drak, jeg trængte lige ind i Bunden af Kaféen, ind i Röda Rummet, uden at finde min Mand. Flau og vred drog jeg mig igen ud på Gaden og gav mig til at gå i Retning af Slottet.

Var det nu ikke også som hede, levende, evige Fan, at det aldrig vilde tage nogen Ende med mine Genvordigheder! Med lange, rasende Skridt, med Frakkekraven brutalt brættet op i Nakken og med Hænderne knyttet i Bukselommerne, gik jeg og skældte ud min ulykkelige Stjærne hele Vejen. Ikke en rigtig sorgfri Stund på syv, otte Måneder, ikke Mad til Nødtørft en kort Uge tilende, førend Nøden påny brød mig i Knæ. Her havde jeg ovenikøbet gået og været ærlig midt i Elendigheden, he-he, ærlig i Bund og Grund! Gud bevare mig, hvor jeg havde været naragtig! Og jeg begyndte at fortælle mig selv om, hvorledes jeg endog havde gået og havt ond Samvittighed, fordi jeg engang havde bragt Hans Paulis Tæppe til Pantelåneren. Jeg lo hånligt ad min ømme Retskaffenhed, spytted foragteligt i Gaden og fandt slet ikke Ord stærke nok til at gøre Nar ad mig for min Dumhed. Det skulde bare været nu! Fandt jeg i denne Stund en Skolepiges Spareskillinger på Gaden, en fattig Enkes eneste Øre, jeg skulde plukke den op og stikke den i Lommen, stjæle den med velberåd Hu og sove roligt som en Sten hele Natten bagefter. Jeg havde dog ikke for intet lidt så usigelig meget, min Tålmodighed var forbi, jeg var beredt til hvad det skulde være.

Jeg gik rundt Slottet tre, fire Gange, tog derpå den Bestemmelse at vende hjem, gjorde endnu en liden Afstikker ind i Parken og gik endelig tilbage nedad Karl Johan.

Klokken var omkring elleve. Gaden var temmelig mørk, og der vandred Mennesker omkring overalt, stille Par og larmende Klynger om hinanden. Den store Stund var indtrådt, Parringstiden, når den hemmelige Færdsel foregår og de glade Æventyr begynder. Raslende Pigeskørter, en og anden kort, sandselig Latter, bølgende Bryster, heftige, pæsende Åndedrag; langt nede ved Grand en Stemme, som råber: »Emma!« Hele Gaden var en Sump, hvorfra hede Dunster steg op.

Jeg forfarer uvilkårlig mine Lommer efter to Kroner. Den Lidenskab, der dirrer i hver af de forbigåendes Bevægelser, selve Gaslygternes dunkle Lys, den stille, svangre Nat, altsammen har begyndt at angribe mig, denne Luft, der er fyldt af Hvisken, Omfavnelser, skælvende Tilståelser, halvt udtalte Ord, små Hvin; endel Katte elsker med høje Skrig inde i Blomqvists Port. Og jeg havde ikke to Kroner. Det var en Jammer, en Elendighed uden Lige at være så udarmet! Hvilken Ydmygelse, hvilken Vanære! Og jeg kom atter til at tænke på en fattig Enkes sidste Skærv, som jeg vilde have stjålet, en Skoleguts Kasket eller Lommetørklæde, en Betlers Madpose, som jeg uden Omstændighed vilde have bragt til Kludehandleren og sviret op. Forat trøste mig selv og holde mig skadesløs begyndte jeg at finde op alle mulige Fejl ved disse glade Mennesker, som gled mig forbi; jeg trak vredt på Skuldrene og så ringeagtende på dem, efterhvert som de passered, Par for Par. Disse nøjsomme, sukkertøjspisende Studenter, som mente at skeje europæisk ud, når de fik klappe en Sypige på Maven! Disse Ungherrer, Bankmænd, Grosserere, Boulevardløver, som ikke engang slog Vrag på Sjømandskoner, tykke Kutorvets Marihøner, der kunde falde ned i det første det bedste Portrum for en Sejdel Øl! Hvilke Sirener! Pladsen ved deres Side var endnu varm efter en Brandkonstabel eller en Staldkarl fra sidste Nat; Tronen var altid lige ledig, lige vidåben, værsågod, stig op! . . . . Jeg spytted langt hen ad Fortouget, uden at bekymre mig om, at det kunde træffe nogen, var vred, opfyldt af Foragt for disse Mennesker, der gned sig opad hinanden og parred sig sammen midt for mine Øjne. Jeg løfted mit Hoved og følte med mig selv Velsignelsen af at kunne bevare min Sti ren.

Ved Stortingsplads mødte jeg en Pige, som stirred meget stivt på mig, idet jeg kom på Siden af hende.

»Godaften!« sagde jeg.

»Godaften!« Hun standsed.

Hm. Om hun var ude og gik så sent? Var det nu ikke lidt resikabelt for en ung Dame at gå på Karl Johan på denne Tid af Døgnet? Ikke? Ja, men blev hun da aldrig tiltalt, forulempet, jeg mener rent ud sagt bedt om at gå med hjem?

Hun stirred forundret på mig, undersøgte mit Ansigt, hvad jeg vel kunde mene med dette. Så stak hun pludselig Hånden ind under min Arm og sagde:

»Så gik vi da!«

Jeg fulgte med. Da vi havde gået nogle Skridt forbi Droscherne, standsed jeg op, gjorde min Arm fri og sagde:

»Hør, min Ven, jeg ejer ikke en Øre.« Og jeg belaved mig på at gå min Vej.

I Førstningen vilde hun ikke tro mig; men da hun havde fået føle efter i alle mine Lommer og intet fandt, blev hun ærgerlig, kasted på Hovedet og kaldte mig en Tørfisk.

»Godnat!« sagde jeg.

»Vent lidtl« råbte hun. »Er det Guldbriller, De har?«

»Nej.«

»Ja, så gå Pokker ivold med Dem!«

Og jeg gik.

Lidt efter kom hun løbende efter mig og råbte på mig påny.

»De kan være med mig alligevel,« sagde hun.

Jeg følte mig ydmyget af dette Tilbud fra en stakkels Gadetøs, og jeg sagde Nej. Det var desuden sent på Nat, og jeg skulde et Sted hen; hun havde heller ikke Råd til slige Opofrelser.

»Jo, nu vil jeg have Dem med.«

»Men jeg går ikke med på den Måde.«

»De skal naturligvis til en anden,« sagde hun.

»Nej,« svared jeg.

Men jeg havde Følelsen af, at jeg stod i en ynkelig Stilling overfor denne aparte Tøs, og jeg beslutted mig til at redde Skinnet.

»Hvad hedder De?« spurgte jeg. »Marie? Nå! Hør nu her, Marie!« Og jeg gav mig til at forklare min Opførsel. Pigen blev mer og mer forundret efterhvert. Om hun altså havde troet, at også jeg var en af dem, som gik på Gaden om Aftenerne og kapred Småpiger? Om hun virkelig troed noget så slet om mig? Havde jeg måske sagt noget uartigt til hende fra Begyndelsen af? Bar man sig slig ad, som jeg, når man havde noget ondt fore? Kort og godt, jeg havde tiltalt hende og fulgt hende de Par Skridt, forat se, hvor vidt hun vilde drive det. Forresten var mit Navn det og det. Pastor den og den. Godnat! Gå hen og synd ikke mer!

Dermed gik jeg.

Jeg gned mig henrykt i Hænderne over mit gode Påfund og talte højt med mig selv. Hvor det var en Glæde at gå omkring og gøre gode Gærninger! Jeg havde måske givet denne faldne Skabning et Skub til Oprejsning for hele Livet! Frelst hende engang for alle fra Fordærvelsen! Og hun vilde påskønne det, når hun fik summet sig på det, endog huske mig i sin Dødsstund med Hjærtet fuldt af Tak. Å, det lønte sig at være ærlig alligevel, ærlig og retskaffen!

Mit Humør var aldeles strålende, jeg følte mig frisk og modig nok til hvad det skulde være. Om jeg blot havde havt et Lys, så kunde jeg kanske fået min Artikel færdig! Jeg gik og dingled med min nye Portnøgle i Hånden, nynned, plystred og spekulered på en Udvej til Lys. Der blev ingen anden Råd, jeg fik tage mine Skrivesager ned, ud på Gaden, ind under Gaslygten. Og jeg åbned Porten og gik op efter mine Papirer.

Da jeg kom ned igen, lukked jeg Porten ilås udenifra og stilled mig hen i Lygteskinnet. Det var stille overalt, jeg hørte blot de tunge, klirrende Fodtrin af en Konstabel nede i Tværgaden, og langt borte, i Retning af St. Hanshaugen, en Hund, som gøed. Der var intet, som forstyrred mig, jeg trak Frakkekraven op for Ørene og gav mig til at tænke af alle Kræfter. Det vilde hjælpe mig så storartet, om jeg var så heldig at få istand Slutningen af denne lille Afhandling. Jeg stod just på et lidt vanskeligt Punkt, der skulde komme en ganske umærkelig Overgang til noget nyt, derpå en dæmpet, glidende Finale, en lang Knurren, der tilsidst skulde ende i en Klimaks så stejl, så oprørende som et Skud, eller som Lyden af et Bjærg, der brast. Punktum.

Men Ordene vilde ikke falde mig ind. Jeg læste hele Stykket igennem fra Begyndelsen af, læste højt hver Sætning, og jeg kunde slet ikke samle mine Tanker til denne spragende Klimaks. Mens jeg stod og arbejded med dette, kom ovenikøbet Konstablen gående og stilled sig op midt i Gaden et lidet Stykke borte fra mig og spolered hele min Stemning. Hvad kom det nu ham ved, om jeg i dette Øjeblik stod og skrev på en udmærket Klimaks til en Artikel for »Kommandøren«? Herregud, hvor det var plat umuligt for mig at holde mig oven Vande, hvad jeg end prøved med! Jeg stod der en Times Tid, Konstablen gik sin Vej, Kulden begyndte at blive for stærk til at stå stille i. Modløs og forsagt over det ny spildte Forsøg, åbned jeg endelig atter Porten og gik op på mit Rum.

Det var koldt deroppe, og jeg kunde knapt se mit Vindu i det tykke Mørke. Jeg følte mig frem til Sengen, trak Skoene af og satte mig til at varme mine Fødder mellem Hænderne. Så lagde jeg mig ned, således, som jeg havde gjort i lang Tid, rund som jeg gik, i fulde Klæder.

* * *

Morgenen efter rejste jeg mig overende i Sengen, såsnart det blev lyst, og tog fat på min Artikel igen. Jeg sad i denne Stilling til Middags, da jeg havde fået istand en ti, tyve Linjer. Og jeg var endda ikke kommet til Finalen.

Jeg stod op, tog Støvlerne på og gav mig til at drive frem og tilbage på Gulvet, forat blive varm. Der lå Rim på Vinduerne; jeg så ud, det sneed, nede i Baggården lå et tykt Lag af Sne over Brolægningen og Vandposten.

Jeg pusled omkring i mit Værelse, gjorde viljeløse Ture frem og tilbage, skrabed med Neglene i Væggene, lagde min Pande forsigtigt ind mod Døren, banked med Pegefingeren i Gulvet og lytted opmærksomt, altsammen uden nogen Hensigt, men stille og eftertænksomt, som om det var en Sag af Vigtighed, jeg havde fore. Og imens sagde jeg højt Gang på Gang, så jeg hørte det selv: Men du gode Gud, dette er jo Vanvid! Og jeg drev på lige galt. Efter en lang Stunds Forløb, kanske et Par Timer, tog jeg mig stærkt sammen, bed mig i Læben og strammed mig op det bedste, jeg kunde. Der måtte blive en Ende på dette! Jeg fandt mig en Flis at tygge på og satte mig resolut til at skrive igen.

Et Par korte Sætninger kom istand med stort Besvær, et Snes fattige Ord, som jeg pinte frem med Vold og Magt, for dog at bevæge mig fremad. Da standsed jeg, mit Hoved var tomt, jeg årked ikke mer. Og da jeg slet ikke kunde komme længer, satte jeg mig til at stirre med vidåbne Øjne på disse sidste Ord, dette ufuldførte Ark, glante på disse underlige, skælvende Bogstaver, der stritted op fra Papiret som små hårede Dyr, og jeg forstod tilsidst ikke noget af det hele, jeg tænkte på ingen Ting.

Tiden gik. Jeg hørte Færdselen på Gaden, Larmen af Vogne og Hovtramp; Jens Olajs Stemme steg op til mig fra Stalden, når han råbte til Hestene. Jeg var aldeles sløv, jeg sad og smatted lidt med Munden, men foretog mig ellers intet. Mit Bryst var i en sørgelig Forfatning.

Det begyndte at skumre, jeg faldt mer og mer sammen, blev træt og lagde mig tilbage på Sengen. Forat varme mine Hænder lidt, strøg jeg Fingrene gennem mit Hår, frem og tilbage, på kryds og tvers; der fulgte små Dotter med, løsnede Tjavser, som lagde sig mellem Fingrene og flød udover Hovedpuden. Jeg tænkte ikke noget over det just da, det var som det ikke kom mig ved, jeg havde også nok af Hår tilbage. Jeg forsøgte atter at ryste mig op af denne forunderlige Døs, der gled mig gennem alle Lemmer som en Tåge; jeg rejste mig overende, banked mig med flad Hånd over Knæerne, hosted så hårdt, som mit Bryst tillod, — og jeg faldt tilbage påny. Intet hjalp; jeg døde hjælpeløst hen med åbne Øjne, stirrende ret op i Taget. Tilsidst stak jeg Pegefingeren i Munden og gav mig til at patte på den. Der begyndte at røre sig noget i min Hjærne, en Tanke, der roded sig frem derinde, et splittergalt Påfund: Hvad om jeg bed til? Og uden et Øjebliks Betænkning kneb jeg Øjnene i og slog Tænderne sammen.

Jeg sprang op. Endelig var jeg bleven vågen. Der pibled lidt Blod ud af Fingeren, og jeg slikked det af efterhvert. Det gjorde ikke meget ondt, Såret var heller ikke stort; men jeg var med en Gang bragt til mig selv; jeg rysted på Hovedet og gik hen til Vinduet, hvor jeg fandt mig en Klud, som jeg vikled om Såret. Mens jeg stod og pusled hermed, blev njine Øjne fulde af Vand, jeg græd sagte for mig selv. Denne magre, itubidte Finger så så sørgelig ud. Gud i Himlen, hvor langt det nu var kommet med mig!

Mørket blev tættere. Det var kanske ikke umuligt, at jeg kunde skrive min Finale ud over Aftenen, hvis jeg bare havde et Lys. Mit Hoved var atter blevet klart. Tanker kom og gik som sædvanligt, og jeg led ikke synderligt; jeg følte ikke engang Sulten så slemt, som for nogle Timer siden, jeg kunde nok holde ud til næste Dag. Måske kunde jeg få et Lys på Kredit sålænge, når jeg henvendte mig i Husholdningshandelen og forklared min Stilling, Jeg var så godt kendt dernede; i de gode Dage, mens jeg endnu havde Råd til det, havde jeg købt mangt et Brød i den Butik. Der var ingen Tvivl om, at jeg vilde få et Lys på mit ærlige Navn. Og for første Gang i lang Tid tog jeg mig til at børste mine Klæder en Smule, fjærned endog de løse Hår på min Frakkekrave, såvidt det lod sig gøre i Mørket; så famled jeg mig nedad Trapperne.

Da jeg kom ud på Gaden, faldt det mig ind, at jeg kanske heller burde begære et Brød. Jeg blev tvivlrådig, standsed op og tænkte efter. På ingen Måde! svared jeg endelig mig selv. Jeg var desvære ikke i den Tilstand, at jeg tålte Mad nu; de samme Historier vilde da gentage sig med Syner og Fornemmelser og vanvittige Indfald, min Artikel vilde aldrig blive færdig, og det galdt at komme til »Kommandøren«, inden han glemte mig igen. På ingen mulig Måde! Og jeg bestemte mig for et Lys. Dermed gik jeg ind i Butiken.

En Kone står ved Disken og gør Indkøb; der ligger flere små Pakker i forskellige Sorter Papir ved Siden af hende. Betjenten, der kender mig og ved, hvad jeg sædvanligvis køber, forlader Konen og pakker uden videre et Brød ind i en Avis og lægger frem til mig.

»Nej — det var egentlig et Lys iaften,« siger jeg. Jeg siger det meget stille og ydmygt, for ikke at gøre ham ærgerlig og forspilde min Udsigt til at få Lyset.

Mit Svar forvilder ham, han løber ganske Sur i mine uventede Ord; det var første Gang, jeg havde forlangt noget andet end Brød af ham.

»Ja, så får De vente lidt da«, siger han endelig og giver sig atter i Færd med Konen.

Hun får sine Ting, betaler, leverer en Femkrone, som hun får tilbage på, og går.

Nu er Betjenten og jeg alene.

Han siger:

»Ja, så var det altså et Lys.« Og han river op en Pakke Lys og tager ud et til mig.

Han ser på mig, og jeg ser på ham, jeg kan ikke få min Begæring over Læberne.

»Nå ja, det var sandt, De betalte jo,« siger han pludselig. Han siger simpelthen, at jeg havde betalt; jeg hørte hvert Ord. Og han begynder at tælle Sølvpenge op fra Skuffen, Krone efter Krone, blanke, fede Penge, — han giver atter tilbage på fem Kroner.

»Værsågod!« siger han.

Nu står jeg og ser på disse Penge et Sekund, jeg fornemmer, at det er galt fat med noget, jeg overvejer ikke, tænker slet ikke på nogen Ting, falder blot i Staver over al denne Rigdom, som ligger og lyser foran mine Øjne. Og jeg samler mekanisk Pengene op.

Jeg står der udenfor Disken, dum af Forundring, slagen, tilintetgjort; jeg gør et Skridt hen mod Døren og standser igen. Jeg retter mit Blik mod et vist Punkt på Væggen; der hænger en liden Bjælde i et Læderhalsbånd, og nedenunder den en Bundt Snøre. Og jeg står og stirrer på disse Sager.

Betjenten, som mener, at jeg vil slå af en Passiar, eftersom jeg giver mig så god Tid, siger, idet han ordner endel Indpakningspapir, som flyder om på Disken:

»Det ser ud til, at vi skal få Vinter nu.«

»Hm. Ja,« svarer jeg, »det ser ud til at vi skal få Vinter nu. Det ser ud til det.« Og lidt efter lægger jeg til: »Å, ja, det er ikke fortidligt.«

Jeg hørte mig selv tale, men opfatted hvert Ord, jeg sagde, som om de kom fra en anden Person; jeg talte ganske ubevidst, ufrivilligt, uden at føle det selv.

»Ja, synes De egentlig det?« siger Betjenten.

Jeg stak Hånden med Pengene i Lommen, tog i Låsen og gik; jeg hørte, at jeg sagde Godnat, og at Betjenten svared.

Jeg var kommet et Par Skridt bort fra Trappen, da Butiksdøren blev revet op og Betjenten råbte efter mig. Jeg vendte mig om, uden Forundring, uden Spor af Angst; jeg samled blot Pengene sammen i Hånden og beredte mig på at give dem tilbage.

»Værsågod, De har glemt Deres Lys,« siger Betjenten.

»Å, Tak!« svarer jeg roligt. »Tak! Tak!«

Og jeg vandred atter nedad Gaden, bærende Lyset i Hånden.

Min første fornuftige Tanke galdt Pengene. Jeg gik hen til en Lygte og talte dem over påny, vejed dem i Hånden og smilte. Så var jeg alligevel herligt hjulpen, storslagent, vidunderligt hjulpen for lang, lang Tid! Og jeg stak atter Hånden med Pengene i Lommen og gik.

Udenfor en Madkælder i Storgaden standsed jeg og overvejed koldt og roligt, om jeg skulde driste mig til at nyde en liden Lunch allerede straks. Jeg horte Klirren af Talærkener og Knive indenfor, og Lyden af Kød, som bankedes; dette blev mig en altfor stærk Fristelse, jeg trådte ind.

»En Bif!« siger jeg.

»En Bif!« råber Jomfruen ud gennem en Luge.

Jeg slog mig ned ved et lidet Bord for mig selv lige indenfor Døren og gav mig til at vente. Det var lidt mørkt der, hvor jeg sad, jeg følte mig nokså godt skjult og satte mig til at tænke. Nu og da så Jomfruen hen på mig med lidt nysgærrige Øjne.

Min første egentlige Uærlighed var begået, mit første Tyveri, mod hvilket alle mine tidligere Streger var for intet at regne; mit første store Fald . . . . Godt og vel! Der var intet at gøre ved det. Forresten stod det mig frit for, jeg kunde ordne det med Kræmmeren siden, senerehen, når jeg fik bedre Anledning til det. Det behøved ikke at komme videre med mig; desuden havde jeg ikke påtaget mig at leve mere ærligt end alle andre Mennesker, det var ingen Aftale . . . .

»Kommer Bifen snart, tror De?«

»Ja, ganske snart.« Jomfruen åbner Lugen og ser ind i Køkkenet.

Men hvis nu Sagen kom for en Dag? Hvis Betjenten kom til at fatte Mistanke, begyndte at tænke over Hændelsen med Brødet, de fem Kroner, som Konen fik tilbage på? Det var ikke umuligt, at han vilde komme på det en Dag, måske næste Gang, når jeg gik derind. Nå ja, Herregud! . . . . Jeg trak i Smug på Skuldrene.

»Værsågod!« siger Jomfruen venligt og sætter Bifen på Bordet. »Men vil De ikke heller gå ind i et andet Rum? Her er så mørkt.«

»Nej, Tak, lad mig bare være her,« svarer jeg. Hendes Venlighed gør mig med en Gang bevæget, jeg betaler Bifen straks, giver hende på Slump, hvad jeg får fat i nede i Lommen, og lukker hendes Hånd til. Hun smiler, og jeg siger for Spøg, med Tårer i Øjnene: »Resten skal De have at købe Dem en Gård for . . . . Å, velbekomme!« . . . .

Jeg begyndte at spise, blev mer og mer grådig efterhvert, slugte store Stykker, uden at tygge dem, gassed mig dyrisk ved hver Mundfuld. Jeg rev i Kødet som en Menneskeæder.

Jomfruen kom igen hen til mig.

»Vil De ikke have noget at drikke?« siger hun. Og hun luder sig lidt ned mod mig.

Jeg så på hende; hun talte meget lavt, næsten undseligt; hun slog Øjnene ned.

»Jeg mener en halv Øl, eller hvad De vil . . . . af mig . . . . atpå . . . . dersom De vil . . . .«

»Nej, mange Tak!« svared jeg. »Ikke nu. Jeg skal komme igen en anden Gang.«

Hun trak sig tilbage og satte sig indenfor Disken; jeg så blot hendes Hoved. Hvilket underligt Menneske!

Da jeg blev færdig, gik jeg med en Gang til Døren, jeg følte allerede Kvalme. Jomfruen rejste sig. Jeg var bange for at komme hen i Lyset, frygted for at vise mig formeget frem for den unge Pige, som ikke aned min Elendighed, og jeg sagde derfor hurtigt Godnat, bukkede og gik.

Maden begyndte at virke, jeg led meget af den og fik ikke beholde den længe. Jeg gik og tømte min Mund ud i hver mørk Krog, som jeg kom forbi, stred med at dæmpe denne Kvalme, som udhuled mig påny, knytted Hænderne og gjorde mig hårdfør, stamped i Gaden og svælged rasende ned igen hvad der vilde op — forgæves! Jeg sprang tilsidst ind i et Portrum, foroverbøjet, med Hovedet foran, blind af Vand, som sprængtes ud i mine Øjne, og tømte mig igen.

Jeg blev forbittret, gik henad Gaden og græd, bandte de grusomme Magter, hvem de end var, som forfulgte mig så, svor dem ned i Helvedes Fordømmelse og evige Kval for deres Usselhed. Der var liden Ridderlighed hos Skæbnen, virkelig nokså liden Ridderlighed, måtte man sige! . . . . Jeg gik hen til en Mand, som stod og glante indad et Butiksvindu, og spurgte ham i største Hast, hvad man efter hans Mening skulde byde en Mand, som havde sultet i lang Tid. Det galdt Livet, sagde jeg, han tålte ikke Bif.

»Jeg har hørt sige, at Mælk skal være bra, kogt Mælk,« svarer Manden yderst forundret. »Hvem er det forresten. De spørger for?«

»Tak! Tak!« siger jeg. »Det kan hænde, at det er nokså bra det, kogt Mælk . . . .«

Og jeg går.

Ved den første Kafé, jeg traf på, gik jeg ind og bad om kogt Mælk. Jeg fik Mælken, drak den ned så hed, som den var, slugte glubsk hver Dråbe, betalte og gik atter. Jeg tog Vejen hjem.

Nu hændte der noget forunderligt. Udenfor min Port, lænet op til Gaslygten og midt i Lyset fra denne, står et Menneske, som jeg skimter allerede på lang Afstand, — det er den sortklædte Dame igen. Den samme sortklædte Dame fra de tidligere Aftener. Det var ikke til at tage fejl af, hun havde mødt op på selvsamme Sted for fjerde Gang. Hun står aldeles urørlig.

Jeg finder dette så besynderligt, at jeg uvilkårlig sagtner mine Skridt; i dette Øjeblik er mine Tanker i god Orden, men jeg er meget ophidset, mine Nerver er optirrede af det sidste Måltid. Jeg går som sædvanligt lige forbi hende, kommer næsten til Porten og er i Færd med at træde indenfor. Da standser jeg. Jeg får med ét en Indskydelse. Uden at gøre mig nogen Rede for det, vender jeg mig om og går lige hen til Damen, jeg ser hende ind i Ansigtet og hilser:

»Godaften, Frøken!«

»Godaften!« svarer hun.

Undskyld, søgte hun efter nogen? Jeg havde lagt Mærke til hende før; om jeg kunde være hende behjælpelig på nogen Måde? Beder så meget om Undskyldning forresten.

Ja, hun vidste ikke rigtig . . . .

Der boed ingen ind ad denne Port, foruden en tre, fire Hester og mig; det var forøvrigt en Stald og et Blikkenslagerværksted . . . . Hun var ganske vist på Vildspor, desværre, når hun ledte efter nogen her.

Da vender hun Ansigtet bort og siger:

»Jeg leder ikke efter nogen, jeg bare står her, det faldt mig ind . . . .«

Hun holdt inde.

Jaså, hun stod der bare, stod der sådan Aften efter Aften, bare af at Indfald. Det var lidt rart; jeg tænkte over det og kom mer og mer i Vildrede med Damen. Så beslutted jeg mig til at være dristig. Jeg ringled en Smule med mine Penge i Lommen og bød hende uden videre med på et Glas Vin et eller andet Sted . . . . i Betragtning af, at Vinteren var kommet, he-he . . . . Det behøved ikke at tage lang Tid . . . . Men det vilde hun vel ikke?

Å, nej, Tak, det gik vel ikke an. Nej, det kunde hun ikke gøre. Men vilde jeg være så snil at følge hende et Stykke, så . . . . Det var nokså mørkt hjemover, og det genered hende at gå alene opad Karl Johan, efterat det var bleven så sent.

Vi satte os i Bevægelse; hun gik på min højre Side. En ejendommelig, skøn Følelse greb mig, Bevidstheden om at være i en ung Piges Nærhed. Jeg gik og så på hende hele Vejen. Parfumen i hendes Hår, Varmen, der stod ud fra hendes Legeme, denne Duft af Kvinde, der fulgte hende, det søde Åndedrag hver Gang, hun vendte Ansigtet mod mig, — altsammen strømmed ind på mig, trængte mig uregerligt ind i alle mine Sandser. Jeg kunde såvidt skimte et fyldigt, lidt blegt Ansigt bag Sløret og et højt Bryst, der strutted ud mod Kåben. Tanken på al denne skjulte Herlighed, som jeg aned var tilstede indenfor Kåben og Sløret, forvirred mig, gjorde mig idiotisk lykkelig, uden nogen rimelig Grund; jeg holdt det ikke længer ud, jeg berørte hende med min Hånd, fingred ved hendes Skulder og smilte fjollet. Jeg hørte mit Hjærte slå.

»Hvor De er rar!« sagde jeg.

Ja, hvordan det, egentlig?

Jo, for det første havde hun ligefrem den Vane at stå stille udenfor en Staldport Aften efter Aften, uden nogensomhelst Hensigt, bare fordi det faldt hende ind . . . .

Nå, hun kunde jo have sine Grunde herfor; hun holdt desuden af at være oppe til langt på Nat, det havde hun altid syntes så godt om. Om jeg brød mig om at lægge mig før tolv?

Jeg? Var det nogen Ting i Verden jeg haded, så var det at lægge mig før Klokken tolv om Natten.

Ja, ser De der! Så tog hun altså denne Tur sådan om Aftenerne, når hun ikke havde noget at forsømme med det; hun boed oppe på St. Olafs Plads . . . .

»Ylajali!« råbte jeg.

»Hvadbehager?«

»Jeg sagde bare Ylajali . . . . Godt og vel, fortsæt!«

Hun boed oppe på St. Olafs Plads, nokså ensomt, sammen med sin Mama, som det ikke gik an at tale med, fordi hun var så døv. Var der da noget rart i, at hun gærne vilde være lidt ude?

Nej, slet ikke! svared jeg.

Nå ja, hvad så? Jeg kunde høre på hendes Stemme, at hun smilte.

Havde hun ikke en Søster?

Jo, en ældre Søster — hvordan vidste jeg forresten det? — Men hun var rejst til Hamborg.

Nylig?

Ja, for fem Uger siden. Hvor havde jeg det fra, at hun havde en Søster?

Jeg havde det slet ikke, jeg bare spurgte.

Vi taug. En Mand går forbi os med et Par Sko under Armen, ellers er Gaden tom så langt, vi kan se. Borte ved Tivoli lyser en lang Række af kulørte Lamper. Det sneed ikke mer, Himlen var klar.

»Gud, fryser De ikke uden Yderfrakke?« siger pludselig Damen og ser på mig.

Skulde jeg fortælle hende, hvorfor jeg ikke havde Yderfrakke? åbenbare min Stilling straks og skræmme hende bort lige så godt først som sidst? Det var dog dejligt at gå her ved hendes Side og holde hende i Uvidenhed endnu en liden Stund; jeg løj, jeg svared:

»Nej, aldeles ikke.« Og forat komme ind på noget andet, spurgte jeg: »Har De set Menageriet på Tivoli?«

»Nej,« svared hun. »Er det noget at se?«

Hvis hun nu fandt på at ville gå derhen? Ind i alt det Lys, sammen med så mange Mennesker! Hun vilde blive altfor flau, jeg vilde jage hende på Dør med mine dårlige Klæder, mit magre Ansigt, som jeg ikke engang havde vasket i to Dage; hun vilde kanske endog opdage, at jeg ingen Vest havde . . . .

»Å, nej,« svared jeg derfor, »det er vist ikke noget at se.« Og der faldt mig ind endel lykkelige Ting, som jeg straks gjorde Brug af, et Par tarvelige Ord, Rester inde fra min udsugede Hjærne: Hvad kunde man vel vente af et sådant lidet Menageri? Overhovedet interessered det ikke mig at se Dyr i Bur. Disse Dyr ved, at man står og ser på dem; de føler de hundrede nysgærrige Blikke og påvirkes af dem. Nej, måtte jeg bede om Dyr, som ikke vidste, at man beskued dem, de sky Væsener, der pusler i sit Hi, ligger med dorske, grønne Øjne, slikker sine Klør og tænker. Hvad?

Ja, det havde jeg vist Ret i.

Det var Dyret i al sin sære Forfærdelighed og sære Vildhed, som der var noget ved. De lydløse, listende Skridt i Nattens Mulm og Mørke, Skogens forvittrede Uhygge, Skrigene fra en forbifarende Fugl, Vinden, Blodlugten, Bulderet oppe i Rummet, kortsagt Vilddyrrigets Ånd over Vilddyret . . . . Det ubevidstes Poesi . . . .

Men jeg var bange for, at dette trætted hende, og Følelsen af min store Armod greb mig påny og knuged mig sammen. Om jeg nu blot havde været så nogenlunde godt antrukken, kunde jeg have glædet hende med den Tur i Tivoli! Jeg begreb ikke dette Menneske, som kunde finde nogen Fornøjelse i at lade sig ledsage opad hele Karl Johan af en halvt nøgen Stodder. Hvad i Guds Navn tænkte hun på? Og hvorfor gik jeg her og skabte mig til og smilte idiotisk ad ingen Ting? Havde jeg også nogen rimelig Årsag til at lade mig plage ud af denne fine Silkefugl til så lang en Tur? Koste det mig kanske ikke Anstrængelse? Følte jeg ikke Dødens Isnen lige ind i mit Hjærte, bare ved det sagteste Vindstød, der blæste mod os? Og støjed ikke allerede Vanviddet i min Hjærne, bare af Mangel på Mad i mange Måneder i Træk? Hun hindred mig endog fra at gå hjem og få mig lidt Mælk på Tungen, en ny Skefuld Mælk, som jeg kanske kunde få beholde. Hvorfor vendte hun mig ikke Ryggen og lod mig gå Pokker ivold? . . . .

Jeg blev fortvivlet; min Håbløshed bragte mig til det yderste, og jeg sagde:

»De burde i Grunden ikke gå sammen med mig. Frøken; jeg prostituerer Dem midt for alle Folks Øjne bare ved min Dragt. Ja, det er virkelig sandt; jeg mener det.«

Hun studser. Hun ser hurtigt op på mig og tier. Derpå siger hun:

»Herregud dog!« Mer siger hun ikke.

»Hvad mener De med det.« spurgte jeg.

»Uf, nej, De gør mig skamfuld . . . . Nu har vi ikke så langt igen.« Og hun gik lidt hurtigere til.

Vi drejed op Universitetsgaden og så allerede Lygterne på St. Olafs Plads. Da gik hun langsommere igen.

»Jeg vil ikke være indiskret« siger jeg, »men vil De ikke sige mig deres Navn, før vi skilles? Og vil De ikke bare for et Øjeblik tage Sløret bort, så jeg får se Dem? Jeg skulde være så taknemmelig.«

Pause. Jeg gik og vented.

»De har set mig før,« svarer hun.

»Ylajali!« siger jeg igen.

»Hvadbehager? De har forfulgt mig en halv Dag, lige hjem. Var De fuld dengang?« Jeg hørte igen, at hun smilte.

»Ja,« sagde jeg, »ja, desværre, jeg var fuld dengang.«

»Det var stygt af Dem!«

Og jeg indrømmed sønderknust, at det var stygt af mig.

Vi var kommet til Fontænen, vi standser og ser opad de mange oplyste Vinduer i Numer 2.

»Nu må De ikke følge med længer,« siger hun; »Tak for iaften!«

Jeg bøjed Hovedet, jeg turde ikke sige nogen Ting. Jeg tog af min Hat og stod barhovedet. Mon hun vilde række mig Hånden?

»Hvorfor beder De mig ikke om at gå med tilbage et Stykke?« siger hun lavt, og hun ser ned på sin Skosnude.

»Herregud,« svarer jeg ude af mig selv, »Herregud, om De vilde gøre det!«

»Ja, men bare et lidet Stykke.«

Og vi vendte om.

Jeg var yderst forvirret, jeg vidste slet ikke, hvordan jeg skulde gå eller stå; dette Menneske vendte fuldstændig op og ned på hele min Tankegang. Jeg var henrykt, vidunderlig glad; jeg syntes, jeg gik dejligt tilgrunde af Lykke. Hun havde udtrykkelig villet gå med tilbage, det var ikke mit Påfund, det var hendes eget Ønske. Jeg går og ser på hende og blir mer og mer modig, hun opmuntrer mig, trækker mig til sig ved hvert Ord. Jeg glemmer for et Øjeblik min Armod, min Ringhed, hele min jammerlige Tilværelse, jeg føler Blodet jage mig varmt gennem Kroppen, som i gamle Dage, før jeg faldt sammen, og jeg beslutted at føle mig frem med et lidet Kneb.

»Forresten var det ikke Dem, jeg forfulgte dengang,« sagde jeg; »det var Deres Søster.«

»Var det min Søster?« siger hun i højeste Grad forbauset. Hun standser, ser på mig, venter virkelig Svar. Hun spurgte for ramme Alvor.

»Ja,« svared jeg. »Hm. Det vil sige, det var altså den yngste af de to Damer, som gik foran mig.«

»Den yngste, ja? Ja? Åhå!« Hun lo med en Gang, højt, inderligt som et Barn. »Nej, hvor De er slu! Det sagde De bare, forat få mig til at tage Sløret af. Ikke? Ja, jeg forstod det. Men det skal De være blå for . . . . til Straf.«

Vi begyndte at le og spase, vi talte ustandseligt hele Tiden, jeg vidste ikke, hvad jeg sagde, jeg var så glad. Hun fortalte, at hun havde set mig engang før, for længe siden, i Teatret. Jeg havde tre Kammerater med, og jeg havde båret mig ad som en gal; jeg havde bestemt været fuld da også, desværre!

Hvorfor troed hun det?

Jo, jeg havde leet så.

Jaså. Å, ja, jeg lo meget dengang.

Men ikke nu længer?

Å, jo, nu også. Det var herligt at være til!

Vi kom ned mod Karl Johan. Hun sagde: »Nu går vi ikke længer!« Og vi gik atter opad Universitetsgaden. Da vi igen kom op til Fontænen, sagtned jeg lidt mine Skridt, jeg vidste, at jeg ikke fik følge med længer.

»Ja, nu må De altså vende om,« sagde hun og standsed.

»Ja, jeg må vel det,« svared jeg.

Men lidt efter mente hun, at jeg nok kunde være med til Porten. Herregud, der var da ikke noget galt i det. Vel?

»Nej,« sagde jeg.

Men da vi stod ved Porten, trængte al min Elendighed igen ind på mig. Hvor kunde man også holde Modet oppe, når man var så knækket sammen? Her stod jeg foran en ung Dame, smudsig, forreven, vansiret af Sult, uvasket, blot halvt påklædt, — det var til at synke i Jorden af. Jeg gjorde mig liden, dukked mig uvilkårlig ned og sagde:

»Må jeg nu ikke træffe Dem mer?«

Jeg havde intet Håb om at få Lov til at møde hende igen; jeg ønsked næsten et skarpt Nej, som kunde stive mig op og gøre mig ligeglad.

»Jo.« sagde hun lavt, næsten uhørligt.

»Hvornår?«

»Jeg ved ikke.«

Pause.

»Vil De ikke være så snil at tage Sløret af bare et eneste Øjeblik,« sagde jeg, »så jeg får se, hvem jeg har talt med. Bare et Øjeblik. For jeg må da se, hvem jeg har talt med.«

Pause.

»De kan møde mig her udenfor Tirsdag Aften,« siger hun. »Vil De det?«

»Ja, kære, får jeg Lov til det!«

»Klokken otte.«

»Godt.«

Jeg strøg med min Hånd nedad hendes Kåbe, børsted Sneen af den, blot forat få et Påskud til at røre ved hende; det var mig en Vellyst at være hende så nær.

»Så får De ikke tro altfor galt om mig da,« sagde hun. Hun smilte igen.

»Nej . . . .«

Pludselig gjorde hun en resolut Bevægelse og trak Sløret op i Panden; vi stod og så på hinanden et Sekund. Ylajali! sagde jeg. Hun hæved sig op, slog Armene om min Hals og kyssed mig midt på Munden. En eneste Gang, hurtigt, forvirrende hurtigt, midt på Munden. Jeg følte, hvor hendes Bryst bølged, hun pusted voldsomt.

Og øjeblikkelig rev hun sig ud af mine Hænder, råbte Godnat, stakåndet, hviskende, vendte sig og løb opad Trappen, uden at sige mer . . . .

Portdøren faldt i.

* * *

Det sneed end mer den næste Dag, en tung, regnblandet Sne, store våde Dotter, som faldt ned og blev til Søle. Vejret var råt og isnende.

Jeg var vågnet noget sent, underlig fortumlet i Hovedet af Aftenens Sindsbevægelser, beruset i Hjærtet af det skønne Møde. I min Henrykkelse havde jeg ligget en Stund vågen og tænkt mig Ylajali ved min Side; jeg bredte Armene ud, omfavned mig selv og kyssed ud i Luften. Så havde jeg endelig stået op og fået mig en ny Kop Mælk og straks derpå en Bif, og jeg var ikke længer sulten; blot mine Nerver var stærkt ophidsede igen.

Jeg begav mig ned til Klædesbasarerne. Det faldt mig ind, at jeg kanske kunde få mig en brugt Vest for en billig Pris, noget at have på under Frakken, lige meget hvad. Jeg gik opad Trappen til Basaren og fik fat på en Vest, som jeg begyndte at undersøge. Mens jeg pusled med dette, kom en Bekendt forbi; han nikked og råbte op til mig, jeg lod Vesten hænge og gik ned til ham. Han var Tekniker og skulde på Kontoret.

»Følg med og tag et Glas Øl,« sagde han. »Men kom fort, jeg har liden Tid . . . . Hvad var det for det for en Dame, De spadsered med igåraftes?«

»Hør nu her,« sagde jeg, skinsyg på hans blotte Tanke, »om det nu var min Kæreste?«

»Død og Pine!« sagde han.

»Ja, det blev afgjort igår.«

Jeg havde slået ham flad, han troed mig ubetinget. Jeg løj ham fuld, forat blive af med ham igen; vi fik Øllet, drak og gik.

»Godmorgen, da! . . . . Hør,« sagde han pludselig, »jeg skylder Dem altså nogle Kroner, og det er Skam, at jeg ikke har betalt dem tilbage for længe siden. Men nu skal De få dem med det første.«

»Ja, Tak,« svared jeg. Men jeg vidste, at han aldrig vilde betale mig tilbage de Kroner.

Øllet steg mig desværre straks til Hovedet, jeg blev meget hed. Tanken på Aftenens Æventyr overvælded mig, gjorde mig næsten forstyrret. Hvad om hun nu ikke mødte op Tirsdag! Hvad om hun begyndte at tænke over, fatte Mistanke! . . . . Fatte Mistanke til hvad? . . . . Min Tanke blev med ét spillevende og begyndte at tumle med Pengene. Jeg blev angst, dødelig forfærdet over mig selv. Tyveriet stormed ind på mig med alle dets Detaljer; jeg så den lille Butik, Disken, min magre Hånd, da jeg greb Pengene, og jeg udmaled mig Politiets Fremgangsmåde, når det kom og skulde tage mig. Jærn om Hænder og Fødder, nej, blot om Hænderne, kanske blot på den ene Hånd; Skranken, Vagthavendes Protokol, Lyden af hans Pen, som skrabed, kanske tog han en ny for Anledningen; hans Blik, hans farlige Blik: Nå, Hr. Tangen? Cellen, det evige Mørke . . . .

Hm. Jeg knytted Hænderne heftigt sammen, forat give mig Mod, gik hurtigere og hurtigere og kom til Stortorvet. Her satte jeg mig.

Ingen Barnestreger! Hvor i alverden kunde man bevise, at jeg havde stjålet? Desuden turde ikke Høkergutten gøre Allarm, selv om han en Dag kom til at huske, hvordan det hele var gået til; han havde nok sin Plads for kær. Ingen Larm, ingen Scener, om jeg måtte bede!

Men disse Penge tynged alligevel syndigt i min Lomme og gav mig ikke Fred. Jeg satte mig til at prøve mig selv og fandt ud på det klareste, at jeg havde været lykkeligere før, dengang, da jeg gik og led i al Ærlighed. Og Ylajali! Havde jeg ikke også gået og trukket hende ned med mine syndige Hænder! Herregud! Herre, min Gud! Ylajali!

Jeg følte mig fuld som en Alke, sprang pludselig op og gik lige hen til Kagekonen ved Elefantapoteket. Jeg kunde endnu rejse mig fra Vanæren, det var langtfra forsent, jeg skulde vise hele Verden, at jeg var istand til det! Undervejs fik jeg Pengene i Beredskab, holdt hver Øre i Hånden; jeg bukked mig ned over Konens Bord, som om jeg vilde købe noget, og slog hende uden videre Pengene i Hånden. Jeg sagde ikke et Ord, jeg gik straks.

Hvor det smagte vidunderligt at være ærligt Menneske igen! Mine tomme Lommer tynged ikke mer, det var mig en Nydelse at være blank påny. Når jeg rigtig tænkte efter, havde disse Penge i Grunden kostet mig megen hemmelig Kummer, jeg havde virkelig tænkt på dem med Gysen Gang på Gang; jeg var ingen forstokket Sjæl, min ærlige Natur havde oprørt sig mod den lave Gærning. Gudskelov, jeg havde hævet mig i min egen Bevidsthed. Gør mig det efter! sagde jeg og så udover det myldrende Torv. Gør mig det bare efter! Jeg havde glædet en gammel, fattig Kagekone, så det havde Skik; hun vidste hverken ud eller ind. Iaften skulde ikke hendes Børn gå sultne tilsengs . . . . Jeg gejled mig op med disse Tanker og syntes, at jeg havde båret mig udmærket ad. Gudskelov, Pengene var nu ude af mine Hænder.

Fuld og nervøs gik jeg henad Gaden og aksled mit Skind. Glæden over at kunne gå Ylajali ren og ærlig imøde og se hende ind i Ansigtet, løb ganske af med mig; jeg havde ingen Smærter mer, mit Hoved var klart og tomt, det var som det skulde være et Hoved af idel Lys, som stod og skinned på mine Skuldre. Jeg fik Lyst til at gøre Skøjerstreger, begå forbausende Ting, sætte Byen på Ende og støje. Opad hele Grændsen opførte jeg mig som en vanvittig Mand; det sused let for mine Øren, og i min Hjærne var Rusen i fuld Gang. Begejstret af Dumdristighed fik jeg i Sinde at gå hen og opgive min Alder for et Bybud, som forresten ikke havde talt et Ord, tage ham i Hånden, se ham indtrængende ind i Ansigtet og forlade ham igen, uden nogen Forklaring. Jeg skælned Nuancerne i de forbigåendes Stemmer og Latter, iagttog nogle Småfugle, som hopped foran mig i Gaden, gav mig til at studere Brostenenes Udtryk og fandt allehånde Tegn og underlige Figurer i dem. Under dette var jeg kommet ned til Stortingsplads.

Jeg står pludselig stille og stirrer ned på Droscherne. Kuskene vandrer samtalende omkring, Hestene står og luder forover mod det stygge Vejr. Kom! sagde jeg og puffed til mig selv med Albuen. Jeg gik hurtigt hen til den første Vogn og steg op. Ullevoldsvejen Numer 37! råbte jeg. Og vi rulled afsted.

Undervejs begyndte Kusken at se sig tilbage, lægge sig ned og kige ind i Vognen, hvor jeg sad under Kaleschen. Var han bleven mistænksom? Der var ingen Tvivl om, at min usle Påklædning havde gjort ham opmærksom.

»Det er en Mand, jeg skal træffe!« råbte jeg til ham, forat komme ham i Forkøbet, og jeg forklared ham indstændigt, at jeg absolut måtte træffe denne Mand.

Vi standser udenfor 37, jeg hopper ud, springer opad Trapperne, helt op til tredje Etage, griber en Klokkestræng og rykker til; Bjælden gjorde seks, syv forfærdelige Slag indenfor.

En Pige kommer og lukker op; jeg lægger Mærke til, at hun har Gulddobber i Ørene og sorte Lastingsknapper i det grå Kjoleliv. Hun ser forfærdet på mig.

Jeg spørger efter Kierulf, Joachim Kierulf, om jeg så måtte sige, en Uldhandler, kortsagt, han var ikke til at tage fejl af . . . .

Pigen ryster på Hovedet.

»Bor ingen Kierulf her,« siger hun.

Hun stirrer på mig, tager i Døren, færdig til at trække sig tilbage. Hun gjorde sig ingen Anstrængelse for at finde Manden; hun så virkelig ud til at kende den Person, jeg spurgte efter, når hun bare vilde tænke sig om, den lade Skabning. Jeg blev vred, vendte hende Ryggen og løb nedad Trapperne igen.

»Han var ikke der!« råbte jeg til Kusken.

»Var han ikke der?«

»Nej. Kør til Tomtegaden Numer 11.«

Jeg var i det heftigste Sindsoprør og meddelte Kusken noget deraf; han troed ganske vist, at det galdt Livet, og han kørte uden videre afsted. Han slog stærkt på.

»Hvad hedder Manden?« spurgte han og vendte sig på Bukken.

»Kierulf, Uldhandler Kierulf.«

Og Kusken syntes nok også, at den Mand ikke var til at tage fejl af. Om han ikke plejed at gå med en lys Frakke?

»Hvadfor noget?« råbte jeg, »lys Frakke? Er De gal? Tror De, det er en Tékop, jeg spørger efter?« Denne lyse Frakke kom mig meget ubelejligt, spolered hele Manden for mig, således, som jeg havde tænkt mig ham.

»Hvad var det, De sagde, han hedte? Kierulf?«

»Javist,« svared jeg, »er der noget underligt i det? Navnet skæmmer ingen.«

»Har han ikke rødt Hår?«

Nu kunde det gærne være, at han havde rødt Hår, og da Kusken nævnte den Ting, var jeg med engang sikker på, at han havde Ret. Jeg følte mig taknemmelig mod den stakkels Vognmand og sagde ham, at han havde taget Manden ganske på Spiddet; det forholdt sig virkelig, som han sagde; det vilde være et Særsyn, sagde jeg, at se en sådan Mand uden rødt Hår.

»Det må være ham, som jeg har kørt et Par Gange,« sagde Kusken. »Han havde en Knortekæp?«

Dette gjorde Manden lys levende for mig, og jeg sagde:

»He-he, der har vel endnu ingen set den Mand uden med en Knortekæp i Hånden Forsåvidt så kan De være tryg, ganske tryg.«

Ja, det var klart, at det var samme Mand, som han havde kørt. Han kendte ham igen . . . .

Og vi kørte på, så det gnistred af Hesteskoene.

Midt i denne ophidsede Tilstand havde jeg ikke et eneste Øjeblik tabt Åndsnærværelsen. Vi kommer forbi en Politibetjent, og jeg lægger Mærke til, at han har Numret 69. Dette Tal træffer mig så grusomt nøje, står med en Gang som en Splint i min Hjærne. 69, nøjagtigt 69, jeg skulde ikke glemme det!

Jeg læned mig tilbage i Vognen, et Bytte for de galeste Indfald, krøb sammen derinde under Kaleschen, så ingen skulde se, at jeg rørte Munden, og gav mig til at passiare idiotisk med mig selv. Vanviddet raser mig gennem Hjærnen, og jeg lader det rase, jeg er fuldt bevidst, at jeg ligger under for Indflydelser, som jeg ikke er Herre over. Jeg begyndte at le, tyst og lidenskabeligt, uden Spor af Grund, endnu lystig og fuld af det Par Glas Øl, jeg havde drukket. Lidt efterhvert tager min Ophidselse af, min Ro vender mer og mer tilbage. Jeg følte Kulde i min såre Finger, og jeg stak den ned mellem Halselinningen, forat varme den lidt. Således kom vi ned til Tomtegaden. Kusken holder an.

Jeg stiger ud af Vognen, uden Hast, tankeløst, slapt, tung i Hovedet, Jeg går indad Porten, kommer ind i en Baggård, som jeg går tvers over, støder mod en Dør, som jeg åbner og går indad, og jeg befinder mig i en Gang, et Slags Forværelse med to Vinduer. Der står to Kufferter, den ene ovenpå den anden, i den ene Krog, og på Langvæggen en gammel, umalet Sofabænk, hvori der ligger et Tæppe. Tilhøjre, i næste Værelse, hører jeg Stemmer og Barneskrig, og ovenover mig, i anden Etage, Lyden af en Jærnplade, som der hamres på. Alt dette mærker jeg, såsnart jeg er kommet ind.

Jeg går roligt tvers over Værelset, hen til den modsatte Dør, uden at skynde mig, uden Tanke på Flugt, åbner også den og kommer ud i Vognmandsgaden. Jeg ser opad Huset, som jeg just har passeret igennem: Beværtning & Logi for Rejsende.

Det falder mig ikke ind at søge at komme væk, stjæle mig bort fra Kusken, som venter på mig; jeg går meget sindigt udefter Vognmandsgaden, uden Frygt og uden at være mig noget galt bevidst. Kierulf, denne Uldhandler, som havde spøgt så længe i min Hjærne, dette Menneske, som jeg mente var til, og som jeg nødvendigvis måtte træffe, var bleven borte for min Tanke, visket ud sammen med andre gale Påfund, som kom og gik efter Tur; jeg husked ham ikke mer uden som en Anelse, et Minde.

Jeg blev mer og mer ædru, efterhvert som jeg vandred frem, følte mig tung og mat og slæbte Benene efter mig. Sneen faldt fremdeles ned i store, våde Filler. Tilsidst kom jeg ud på Grønland, lige ud til Kirken, hvor jeg satte mig til at hvile på en Bænk. Alle, som gik forbi, betragted mig meget forundret. Jeg faldt i Tanker.

Du gode Gud, hvor det var dårligt fat med mig nu! Jeg var så inderlig ked og træt af hele mit elendige Liv, at jeg fandt det ikke Møjen værd at kæmpe længer, forat beholde det. Modgangen havde taget Overhånd, den havde været for grov; jeg var så mærkelig ødelagt, ganske som en Skygge af, hvad jeg engang var. Mine Skuldre var sunkne ned, helt til den ene Side, og jeg var kommet i Vane med at lude meget forover, når jeg gik, forat spare mit Bryst det lille, jeg kunde. Jeg havde undersøgt min Krop for et Par Dage siden, en Middagstid oppe på mit Rum, og jeg havde stået og grædt hele Tiden over den. Jeg havde gået i den samme Skjorte i mange Uger, den var ganske stiv af gammel Sved og havde gnavet min Navle itu; der kom lidt blodigt Vand ud af Såret, men det smærted ikke meget, kun var det så sørgeligt at have dette Sår midt på Maven. Jeg havde ingen Råd med det, og det vilde ikke gro igen af sig selv; jeg vasked det, tørred det omhyggeligt af og trak den samme Skjorte atter på. Der var intet at gøre ved det . . . .

Jeg sidder der på Bænken og tænker over alt dette og er temmelig trist. Jeg væmmedes ved mig selv; endog mine Hænder forekommer mig modbydelige. Dette slattede, næsten ublufærdige Udtryk i mine Håndbage piner mig, volder mig Ubehag; jeg føler mig ved Synet af mine magre Fingre råt påvirket, jeg hader hele mit slunkne Legeme og gyser ved at bære på det, føle det om mig. Herregud, om der bare blev en Ende på det nu! Jeg vilde inderlig gærne dø.

Aldeles overvunden, besudlet og nedværdiget i min egen Bevidsthed, rejste jeg mig mekanisk op og begyndte at gå hjemad. Undervejs kom jeg forbi en Port, hvor der stod følgende at læse: »Ligsvøb hos Jomfru Andersen, tilhøjre i Porten.« — Gamle Minder! sagde jeg, og jeg husked mit forrige Rum på Hammersborg, den lille Gyngestol, Avisbetrækket nede ved Døren, Fyrdirektørens Avertissement og Bager Fabian Olsens nybagte Brød. Å, ja, jeg havde jo havt det meget bedre dengang end nu; en Nat havde jeg skrevet en Føljeton til ti Kroner, nu kunde jeg ikke skrive noget mer, jeg kunde aldeles ikke skrive noget mer, mit Hoved blev straks tomt, såsnart jeg forsøgte. Ja, jeg vilde have en Ende på det nu! Og jeg gik og gik.

Efterhvert som jeg kom nærmere og nærmere Husholdningshandelen, havde jeg halvt ubevidst Følelsen af, at jeg nærmed mig en Fare; men jeg holdt fast ved mit Forsæt, jeg vilde udlevere mig. Jeg gik roligt opad Trappen, jeg møder i Døren en liden Pige, som bærer en Kop i Hånden, og jeg slipper hende forbi og lukker Døren. Betjenten og jeg står for anden Gang overfor hinanden, alene.

»Nå,« siger han, »det er et skrækkeligt Vejr.«

Hvad skulde denne Omvej til? Hvorfor tog han mig ikke med en Gang? Jeg blev rasende og sagde:

»Jeg kommer altså ikke, forat prate om Vejret.«

Denne Heftighed forbløffer ham, hans lille Høkerhjærne slår Klik; det havde slet ikke faldt ham ind, at jeg havde bedraget ham for fem Kroner.

»Ved De da ikke, at jeg har snydt Dem?« siger jeg utålmodig, og jeg puster heftigt, skælver, er færdig til at bruge Magt, hvis han ikke straks kommer til Sagen.

Men den stakkels Mand aner ingen Ting.

Nej, du store Verden, hvilke dumme Mennesker, man var nødt til at leve iblandt! Jeg skælder ham ud, forklarer ham Punkt for Punkt, hvorledes det hele var gået til, viser ham, hvor jeg stod og hvor han stod, da Gærningen skete, hvor Pengene havde ligget, hvorledes jeg havde samlet dem ned i min Hånd og lukket Hånden sammen om dem, — og han forstår altsammen, men gør alligevel intet ved mig. Han vender sig hid og did, lytter efter Fodtrinnene i Sideværelset, tysser på mig, forat få mig til at tale lavere, og siger tilslut:

»Det var nokså sjofelt gjort af Dem!«

»Nej, vent lidt!« råbte jeg i min Trang til at modsige ham, ægge ham op; det var ikke så lavt og nedrigt, som han med sit elendige Husholdningshoved forestilled sig. Jeg beholdt naturligvis ikke Pengene, det kunde aldrig falde mig ind; jeg for min Part vilde ikke drage nogen Nytte af dem, det bød min bundærlige Natur imod . . . .

»Hvor gjorde De af dem da?«

Jeg gav dem bort til en gammel, fattig Kone, hver Øre, måtte han vide; den Slags Person var jeg, jeg glemte ikke de fattige så aldeles . . . .

Han står og tænker en liden Stund på dette, blir åbenbart meget tvivlrådig om, hvorvidt jeg er en ærlig Mand eller ikke. Endelig siger han:

»Burde De ikke heller have leveret Pengene tilbage?«

»Nej, hør her,« svarer jeg, »jeg vilde ikke bringe Dem i Ulejlighed, jeg vilde spare Dem. Men det er Takken, man har, forat man er ædelmodig. Nu står jeg her og forklarer Dem det hele, og De skammer Dem ikke som en Hund, gør simpelthen ingen Anstalter til at få Striden udjævnet med mig. Derfor vasker jeg mine Hænder. Forresten giver jeg Dem Fan. Farvel!«

Jeg gik og slog Døren hårdt i efter mig.

Men da jeg kom hjem på mit Værelse, ind i dette bedrøvelige Hul, gennemvåd af den bløde Sne, skælvende i Knæerne af Dagens Vandringer, tabte jeg øjeblikkelig min Kæphøjhed og faldt sammen påny. Jeg angred mit Overfald på den arme Butiksmand, græd, greb mig i Struben, forat straffe mig for min usle Streg, og holdt et syndigt Hus. Han havde naturligvis været i den dødeligste Angst for sin Post, havde ikke vovet at gøre nogen Kvalm for disse fem Kroner, som Forretningen havde tabt. Og jeg havde benyttet mig af hans Frygt, havde pint ham med min højrøstede Tale, spiddet ham med hvert Ord, som jeg råbte ud. Og Høkerchefen selv havde måske siddet indenfor i Værelset ved Siden af og følt sig på et hængende Hår opfordret til at gå ud til os og se, hvad det var, som foregik. Nej, der var ingen Grændse længer for, hvad jeg kunde gøre af nederdrægtige Ting!

Nå, men hvorfor var jeg ikke bleven sat fast? Så var det kommet til en Afslutning. Jeg havde jo sågodtsom rakt Hænderne frem til Jærnene. Jeg vilde aldeles ikke have gjort nogen Modstand, jeg vilde tvertimod have hjulpet til. Himlens og Jordens Herre, en Dag af mit Liv for et lykkeligt Sekund igen! Mit hele Liv for en Ret Linser! Hør mig bare denne Gang! . . . .

Jeg lagde mig i de våde Klæder; jeg havde en uklar Tanke om, at jeg kanske vilde dø om Natten, og jeg brugte min sidste Kraft til at ordne op en Smule i min Seng, så det kunde se lidt ordentlig ud omkring mig om Morgenen. Jeg folded Hænderne og valgte min Stilling.

Så med engang husker jeg Ylajali. At jeg havde glemt hende så ganske hele Aftenen udover! Og Lyset trænger ganske svagt ind i mit Sind igen, en liden Stråle Sol, der gør mig så velsignet varm. Og der blir mere Sol, et mildt, fint Silkelys, der strejfer mig så bedøvende dejligt. Og Solen blir stærkere og stærkere, brænder skarpt mod mine Tindinger, koger tung og glødende i min udmagrede Hjærne. Og der flammer tilsidst for mine Øjne et vanvittigt Bål af Stråler, en antændt Himmel og Jord, Mennesker og Dyr af Ild, Bjærge af Ild, Djævle af Ild, en Afgrund, en Ørken, en Alverden i Brand, en rygende yderste Dag.

Og jeg så og hørte intet mer . . . .

* * *

Jeg vågned i Sved den næste Dag, fugtig over hele Legemet, meget fugtig; Feberen havde presset mig ganske voldsomt. I Førstningen havde jeg ingen klar Bevidsthed om, hvad der var foregået med mig, jeg så mig omkring med Forundring, følte mig totalt forbyttet i mit Væsen, kendte mig slet ikke igen. Jeg følte mig efter opad Armene og nedad Benene, faldt i Forbauselse over, at Vinduet stod på den Væg og ikke på den stik modsatte Væg, og jeg hørte Hestenes Trampen nede i Gården, som om den kom ovenfra. Jeg var også temmelig kvalm.

Mit Hår lå vådt og koldt om min Pande; jeg rejste mig på Albuen og så ned på Hovedpuden: vådt Hår lå også igen på den, i små Dotter. Mine Fødder havde hovnet op inde i Skoene i Løbet af Natten, men de smærted ikke, jeg kunde blot ikke røre Tæerne stort, de var blevne for stive.

Da det led ud på Eftermiddagen, og det allerede var begyndt at skumre lidt, stod jeg op af Sengen og begyndte at pusle omkring i Værelset. Jeg prøved mig frem med små, forsigtige Skridt, passed på at holde Ligevægten og spared så meget som muligt mine Fødder. Jeg led ikke meget, og jeg græd ikke; jeg var i det hele taget ikke trist, jeg var tvertimod velsignet tilfreds; det faldt mig ikke ind netop da, at nogen Ting kunde være anderledes end den var.

Så gik jeg ud.

Det eneste, som plaged mig en Smule, var trods min Kvalme for Mad alligevel Sulten. Jeg begyndte at føle en skammelig Appetit igen, en indre glubende Madlyst, som det stadig blev værre og værre med. Det gnaved ubarmhjærtigt i mit Bryst, bedreves et tyst, underligt Arbejde derinde. Det kunde være et Snes bitte små, fine Dyr, som lagde Hovedet på den ene Side og gnaved lidt, lagde derpå Hovedet på den anden Side og gnaved lidt, lå et Øjeblik aldeles stille, begyndte igen, bored sig ind uden Støj og uden Hast og efterlod tomme Strækninger overalt, hvor de for frem . . . .

Jeg var ikke syg, men mat, jeg begyndte at svede. Jeg tænkte mig hen på Stortorvet, forat hvile lidt; men Vejen var lang og besværlig; endelig var jeg dog næsten fremme, jeg stod på Hjørnet af Torvet og Torvegaden. Sveden randt ned i mine Øjne, dugged mine Briller og gjorde mig blind, og jeg var netop standset, forat tørre mig af en Smule. Jeg mærked ikke, hvor jeg stod, jeg tænkte ikke over det; Larmen omkring mig var frygtelig.

Pludselig lyder et Råb, et koldt, skarpt Varsko. Jeg hører dette Råb, hører det meget godt, og jeg rykker nervøst til Siden, gor et Skridt så hurtigt, mine dårlige Ben kan bevæge sig. Et Uhyre af en Brødvogn stryger mig forbi og strejfer min Frakke med Hjulet; havde jeg været lidt hurtigere, vilde jeg gået aldeles fri. Jeg kunde kanske været lidt hurtigere, ganske lidt hurtigere, hvis jeg havde anstrængt mig; der var ingen Råd med det, det gjorde ondt i min ene Fod, et Par Tæer blev maset; jeg følte, at de ligesom krølled sig sammen inde i Skoen.

Brødkøreren holder Hestene an af alle Kræfter; han vender sig om på Vognen og spørger forfærdet, hvordan det gik. Jo, det kunde gået langt værre . . . . det var vel kanske ikke så farligt . . . . jeg troed ikke, at der var nogen Ting knust . . . . Å, jeg be’r . . . .

Jeg drev hen til en Bænk det forteste, jeg kunde; disse mange Mennesker, som standsed op og gloed på mig, havde gjort mig flau. Egentlig var det ikke noget Dødsstød, det var gået forholdsvis heldigt, når Ulykken endelig skulde være ude. Det værste var, at min Sko var trykket istykker, Sålen revet løs på Snuden. Jeg holdt Poden op og så Blod inde i Gabet. Nå, det var ikke med Vilje gjort på nogen af Siderne, det var ikke Mandens Hensigt at gøre det værre for mig end det var; han så meget bedrøvet ud. Kanske hvis jeg havde bedt ham om et lidet Brød fra Vognen, så havde jeg fået det. Han havde vist givet mig det med Glæde. Gud glæde ham til Gengæld der, han er! . . . .

Jeg sulted hårdt, og jeg vidste ikke, hvor jeg skulde gøre af mig for min ublu Appetit. Jeg vred mig hid og did på Bænken og lagde Brystet helt ned på mine Knæ; jeg var næsten forstyrret. Da det blev mørkt, rusled jeg bort til Rådstuen — Gud ved, hvordan jeg kom did — og satte mig på Kanten af Ballustraden. Jeg rev den ene Lomme ud af min Frakke og gav mig til at tygge på den, forresten uden nogen Hensigt, med mørke Miner, med Øjnene stirrende ret frem, uden at se. Jeg hørte endel Småbørn, som legte omkring mig, og fornam instinktsmæssig, når en eller anden spadserende gik mig forbi; ellers iagttog jeg intet.

Så med én Gang falder det mig ind at gå ned i en af Basarerne nedenunder mig og få et Stykke råt Kød. Jeg rejser mig og går tvers over Ballustraden, hen til den anden Ende af Basartaget, og stiger ned. Da jeg var kommet næsten helt ned til Kødboden, råbte jeg opad Trappeåbningen og hytted tilbage, som om jeg talte til en Hund deroppe, og henvendte mig frækt til den første Slagter, jeg traf.

»Å, vær så snil at give mig et Ben til Hunden min!« sagde jeg. »Bare et Ben; der behøver ikke at være noget på det; den skal bare have noget at bære i Munden.«

Jeg fik et Ben, et prægtigt lidet Ben, hvor der endnu var lidt Kød tilbage, og stak det ind under Frakken. Jeg takked Manden så inderligt, at han så forbauset på mig.

»Ingenting at takke for,« sagde han.

»Jo, sig ikke det,« mumled jeg, »det er snilt gjort af Dem.«

Og jeg gik op. Hjærtet slog stærkt i mig.

Jeg sneg mig ind i Smedgangen, så dybt ind, som jeg kunde komme, og standsed udenfor en forfalden Port til en Baggård. Der var ikke et Lys at se på nogen Kant, det var velsignet mørkt omkring mig; jeg gav mig til at gnave i mig af Benet.

Det smagte ingenting; en ram Lugt af Blod stod op fra Benet, og jeg måtte ganske straks begynde at kaste op. Jeg forsøgte igen; hvis jeg bare fik beholde det, vilde det nok gøre sin Virkning; det galdt at få det til at bero dernede. Men jeg kasted atter op. Jeg blev vred, bed heftigt i Kødet, sled af en liten Smule og svælged det ned med Vold. Og det nytted alligevel ikke; såsnart de små Kødsmuler var blevne varme i Maven, kom de desværre atter op. Jeg knytted vanvittigt Hænderne, stak i at græde af Hjælpeløshed og gnaved som en besat; jeg græd, så Benet blev vådt og skiddent af Tårer, kasted op, banded og gnaved igen, græd som Hjærtet skulde briste og kasted atter op. Og jeg svor med høj Røst alle Verdens Magter ned i Pinen.

Stille. Ikke et Menneske omkring, intet Lys, ingen Støj. Jeg er i det voldsommeste Sindsoprør, jeg puster tungt og højlydt og græder tænderskærende for hver Gang, jeg må levere disse Kødsmuler, som kanske kunde mætte mig lidt. Da det slet ikke hjælper noget, hvormeget jeg end forsøger, slynger jeg Benet mod Porten, fuld af det afmægtigste Had, henrykt af Raseri, råber og truer voldsomt op mod Himlen, skriger Guds Navn hæst og indædt og krummer mine Fingre som Klør . . . . Jeg siger dig, du Himlens hellige Ba’al, du er ikke til, men hvis du var til, så skulde jeg bande dig slig, at din Himmel skulde dirre af Helvedes Ild. Jeg siger dig, jeg har budt dig min Tjeneste, og du har afvist den, jeg siger dig, du har stødt mig bort, og jeg vender dig for evigt Ryggen, fordi du ikke kendte din Besøgelsestid. Jeg siger dig, jeg ved, at jeg skal dø, og jeg håner dig dog, du Himlens Gud og Apis, med Døden lige for Tænderne. Jeg siger dig, jeg vil heller være Lakej i Helvede end Fri i dine Boliger; jeg siger dig, jeg er fuld af livsalig Foragt for din himmelske Usselhed, og jeg vælger mig Afgrunden til evigt Tilhold, hvor Djævelen, Judas og Farao er stødt ned. Jeg siger dig, din Himmel er fuld af alle Jorderigets mest råhovedede Idioter og fattige i Ånden, jeg siger dig, du har fyldt din Himmel med de fede, salige Horer hernedefra, som ynkeligen har bøjet Knæ for dig i sin Dødsstund. Jeg siger dig, du har brugt Magt mod mig, og du ved ikke, du alvidende Nul, at jeg aldrig bøjer mig i Modgang. Jeg siger dig, hele mit Liv, hver Celle i min Krop, hver Evne i min Sjæl gisper efter at håne dig, du nådefulde Afskum i det høje. Jeg siger dig, jeg vilde, om jeg kunde, råbe dette højlydt ind i din Himmel og hen over den hele Jord, jeg vilde, om jeg kunde, ånde det ind i hver ufødt Menneskesjæl, som engang kommer på Jorden, hver Blomst, hvert Blad, hver Dråbe i Havet. Jeg siger dig, jeg vil spotte dig ud på Dommens Dag og bande dig Tændeme ud af min Mund for din Guddoms endeløse Ynkelighed. Jeg siger dig, jeg vil fra denne Stund forsage alle dine Gærninger og alt dit Væsen, jeg vil forbande min Tanke, om den tænker på dig igen, og rive mine Læber af, om de atter nævner dit Navn. Jeg siger dig, hvis du er til, det sidste Ord i Livet og i Døden, jeg siger dig Farvel for evigt og altid, jeg siger dig Farvel med Hjærte og Nyrer, jeg siger dig det sidste uigenkaldelige Farvel, og jeg tier og vender dig Ryggen og går min Vej . . . .

Stille,

Jeg dirrer af Ophidselse og Forkommenhed, står der på samme Sted, endnu hviskende Eder og Skældsord frem, hikkende efter den heftige Gråd, knækket og slap efter det vanvittige Vredesudbrud. Jeg står der måske en Time og hikker og hvisker og holder mig fast til Porten. Så hører jeg Røster, en Samtale mellem to Mænd, som kommer gående indad Smedgangen. Jeg slænger bort fra Porten, drager mig frem efter Husvæggene og kommer atter ud på de lyse Gader. Idet jeg tusler nedad Youngsbakken, begynder min Hjærne pludselig at virke i en højst mærkelig Retning. Det falder mig ind, at de elendige Rønner nede i Kanten af Torvet, Materialboderne og de gamle Buler med brugte Klæder, dog var en Skændsel for Stedet. De ødelagde hele Torvets Udseende og pletted Byen, fy, ned med Skramlet! Og jeg gik og slog over i Tankerne, hvad det vel vilde komme til at koste at flytte Den geografiske Opmåling derned, denne smukke Bygning, som altid havde tiltalt mig så meget hver Gang, jeg havde passeret den. Det vilde kanske ikke lade sig gøre at foretage en Flytning af den Art under sytti a to og sytti tusind Kroner, — en pen Sum, måtte man sige, en nokså net Lommeskilling, he-he, at begynde med, hvad? Og jeg nikked med mit tomme Hoved og indrømmed, at det var en nokså pen Lommeskilling at begynde med. Jeg rysted fremdeles over hele Legemet og hikked nu og da endnu dybt efter Gråden.

Jeg havde Følelsen af, at der ikke var meget Liv igen i mig, at jeg i Grunden sang på det sidste Vers. Det var mig også temmelig ligegyldigt, det beskæftiged mig ikke det mindste; jeg søgte tvertimod nedad Byen, ned til Bryggerne, længer og længer bort fra mit Værelse. Jeg kunde for den Skyld gærne have lagt mig plat ned i Gaden, forat dø. Lidelserne gjorde mig mer og mer ufølsom; det banked stærkt i min såre Fod, jeg havde endog Indtryk af, at Smærten forplanted sig opad hele Læggen, og ikke engang det gjorde synderlig ondt. Jeg havde udstået værre Fornemmelser.

Så kom jeg ned på Jærnbanebryggen. Der var ingen Trafik, ingen Støj, kun hist og her et Menneske at se, en Sjouer eller Sjømand, som drev om med Hænderne i Lommen. Jeg lagde Mærke til en halt Mand, som skeled stivt hen på mig, idet vi passered hinanden. Jeg standsed ham instinktsmæssig, tog til Hatten og spurgte, om han kendte til om »Nonnen« var rejst. Og bagefter kunde jeg ikke lade være at knipse en eneste Gang i Fingrene lige for Mandens Næse og sige: Død og Pine, »Nonnen«, ja! »Nonnen«, som jeg helt havde glemt! Tanken på den havde alligevel ulmet ubevidst i mit Indre, jeg havde båret på den, uden at vide af det selv.

Ja, Kors, »Nonnen« var nok sejlet.

Han kunde ikke sige mig, hvor den var sejlet hen?

Manden tænker sig om, står på det lange Ben og holder det korte ivejret; det korte dingler lidt.

»Nej,« siger han. »Ved De, hvad den lå her og lasted?«

»Nej,« svarer jeg.

Men nu havde jeg allerede glemt »Nonnen«, og jeg spurgte Manden, hvor langt det vel kunde være til Holmestrand, regnet i gode, gamle geografiske Mile.

»Til Holmestrand? Jeg vil antage . . . .«

»Eller til Væblungsnæs?«

»Hvad jeg vilde sige: jeg antager, at til Holmestrand . . . .«

»Å, hør, med det samme jeg husker det,« afbrød jeg ham igen, »De skulde vel ikke ville være så snil at give mig en liden Bid Tobak, bare en bitte liden Smule!«

Jeg fik Tobakken, takked Manden meget varmt og gik bort. Jeg gjorde intet Brug af Tobakken, jeg stak den i Lommen straks. Manden holdt fremdeles Øje med mig, jeg havde kanske vakt hans Mistanke på en eller anden Måde; hvor jeg stod og gik havde jeg dette mistænksomme Blik efter mig, og jeg syntes ikke om at blive forfulgt af dette Menneske. Jeg vender om og drager mig atter hen til ham, ser på ham og siger:

»Nådler.«

Bare dette Ord: Nådler. Ikke mer. Jeg ser meget stivt på ham, idet jeg siger det, jeg følte, at jeg stirred frygteligt på ham; det var, som om jeg så på ham med hele Kroppen, istedetfor bare med Øjnene. Og jeg står en liden Stund, efterat jeg har sagt dette Ord. Så tusler jeg op til Jærnbanetorvet igen. Manden gav ikke en Lyd fra sig, han bare holdt Øje med mig.

Nådler? Jeg stod med en Gang stille. Ja, var det ikke det, jeg havde Fornemmelsen af allerede straks: jeg havde truffet Krøblingen før. Oppe i Grændsen, en lys Morgen; jeg havde pantsat min Vest. Det forekom mig som en Evighed siden den Dag.

Mens jeg står og tænker på dette — jeg står og støtter mig til en Husvæg på Hjørnet af Torvet og Havnegaden — farer jeg pludselig sammen og søger at kravle mig væk. Da dette ikke lykkes mig, stirrer jeg forhærdet ret frem og bider Hovedet af al Skam, der var ingen Råd med det, — jeg står Ansigt til Ansigt med »Kommandøren«.

Jeg blir skødesløst fræk, jeg tager endog et Skridt frem fra Husvæggen, forat gøre ham opmærksom på mig. Og jeg gør det ikke forat vække Medlidenhed, men forat håne mig selv, stille mig i Gabestokken; jeg kunde væltet mig ned i Gaden og bedt »Kommandøren« gå over mig, træde på mit Ansigt. Jeg siger ikke engang Godaften.

»Kommandøren« aned måske, at der var noget galt fat med mig, han sagtned sine Skridt en Smule, og jeg siger, forat standse ham:

»Jeg skulde været hos Dem med noget, men det er ikke blevet noget af endda.«

»Ja?« svarer han spørgende. »De har det ikke færdigt, da?«

»Nej, jeg har ikke fået det færdigt.«

Men nu står mine Øjne pludselig i Vand ved »Kommandørens« Venlighed, og jeg harker og hoster forbittret, forat gøre mig stærk. »Kommandøren« støder en Gang i Næsen; han står og ser på mig.

»Har De noget at leve af imens, da?« siger han.

»Nej,« svarer jeg, »jeg har ikke det heller. Jeg har ikke spist endda idag, men . . . . . .

»Gud bevare Dem, det går da ikke an, at De går her og sulter ihjæl, Mand!« siger han. Og han tager med en Gang til Lommen.

Nu vågner Skamfølelsen i mig, jeg raver igen bort til Husvæggen og holder mig fast, jeg står og ser på, at »Kommandøren« roder om i sin Pengepung; men jeg siger intet. Og han rækker mig en Tikrone. Han gør ingen flere Omstændigheder med det, han giver mig simpelthen ti Kroner. Med det samme gentager han, at det ikke gik an, at jeg sulted ihjæl.

Jeg stammed en Indvending og tog ikke Sedlen straks: Det var skammeligt af mig dette . . . . det var også altfor meget . . . .

»Skynd Dem nu!« siger han og ser på sit Ur. »Jeg har ventet på Toget; men nu kommer det, hører jeg.«

Jeg tog Pengene, jeg var lam af Glæde og sagde ikke et Ord mer, jeg takked ikke engang.

»Det er ikke værdt at genere sig for det,« siger »Kommandøren« tilsidst; »De kan jo skrive for det, ved jeg.«

Så gik han.

Da han var kommet nogle Skridt bort, husked jeg med en Gang på, at jeg ikke havde takket »Kommandøren« for denne Hjælp. Jeg forsøgte at indhente ham, men kunde ikke komme fort nok afsted, mine Ben slog Klik, og jeg vilde idelig falde på Næsen. Han fjærned sig mer og mer. Jeg opgav Forsøget, tænkte at råbe efter ham, men turde ikke, og da jeg endelig alligevel tog Mod til mig og råbte, en Gang, to Gange, var han allerede forlangt borte, min Stemme var bleven for svag.

Jeg stod tilbage på Fortouget og så efter ham, jeg græd ganske stille. Jeg har aldrig set på Magen! sagde jeg til mig selv; han gav mig ti Kroner! Jeg gik tilbage og stilled mig der, hvor han havde stået, og eftergjorde alle hans Bevægelser. Og jeg holdt Pengesedlen op til mine våde Øjne, beså den på begge Sider og begyndte at bande — bande i vilden Sky på, at det havde sin Rigtighed med det, jeg holdt i Hånden, det var en Tikrone.

En Stund efter — måske en meget lang Stund; ti det var allerede bleven ganske stille overalt — stod jeg besynderligt nok udenfor Tomtegaden Numer 11. Da jeg havde stået og summet mig et Øjeblik og forundret mig herover, gik jeg indad Porten for anden Gang, lige ind i Beværtning & Logi for Rejsende. Her bad jeg om Husly og fik straks en Seng.

* * *

Tirsdag.

Solskin og Stille, en vidunderlig lys Dag. Sneen var borte; allevegne Liv og Lyst og glade Ansigter, Smil og Latter. Fra Fontænerne steg Vandstrålerne op i Buer, gyldne af Solen, blålige af den blålige Himmel . . . . Ved Middagstid gik jeg ud fra mit Logi i Tomtegaden, hvor jeg fremdeles boed og havde det godt, og begav mig ud i Byen. Jeg var i den gladeste Stemning og drev om den ganske Eftermiddag i de mest befærdede Gader og så på Mennesker. Endnu før Klokken blev syv om Aftenen, gjorde jeg mig en Tur op til St. Olafs Plads og kiged i Smug op til Vinduerne i Numer 2. Om en Time skulde jeg se hende! Jeg gik i en let, dejlig Angst hele Tiden. Hvad vilde der ske? Hvad skulde jeg finde på at sige, når hun kom nedad Trappen? Godaften, Frøken? Eller bare smile? Jeg beslutted mig til at lade det bero med at smile. Naturligvis vilde jeg hilse dybt på hende.

Jeg lusked bort, lidt skamfuld over at være så tidligt ude, vandred om i Karl Johan en Stund og holdt Øje med Universitetsuret. Da Klokken blev otte, satte jeg atter opad Universitetsgaden. Under vejs faldt det mig ind, at jeg kanske kunde komme et Par Minutter forsent, og jeg strakte ud alt, jeg årked. Min Fod var meget sår, ellers mangled der mig ingenting.

Jeg tog Post ved Fontænen og pusted ud; jeg stod der rigtig længe og så op til Vinduerne i Numer 2; men hun kom ikke. Nå, jeg skulde nok vente, det havde ingen Hast med mig; hun havde kanske Forhindringer. Og jeg vented igen. Jeg skulde da vel aldrig have drømt det hele? Havt det første Møde med hende i Indbildningen den Nat, jeg lå i Feber? Jeg begyndte rådvild at tænke efter og følte mig aldeles ikke sikker i min Sag.

»Hm!« sagde det bag mig.

Jeg hørte denne Harken, jeg hørte også lette Skridt i Nærheden af mig; men jeg vendte mig ikke om, jeg stirred blot op til den store Trappe foran mig.

»Godaften!« siger det så.

Jeg glemmer at smile, jeg tager ikke engang straks til Hatten, jeg blir så forundret over at se hende komme denne Vej.

»Har De ventet længe?« siger hun, og hun puster lidt hurtigt efter Gangen.

»Nej, aldeles ikke, jeg kom for en liden Stund siden,« svared jeg. »Og desuden, hvad havde det gjort, om jeg havde ventet længe? Jeg tænkte forresten, at De skulde komme fra en anden Kant?«

»Jeg har fulgt Mama til en Familie, Mama skal være ude iaften.«

»Jaså!« sagde jeg.

Nu var vi uvilkårlig begyndt at gå. En Politibetjent står på Gadehjørnet og ser på os.

»Men hvor går vi egentlig hen?« siger hun og standser.

»Did, hvor De vil, bare did, hvor De vil.«

»Uf, ja, men det er så kedeligt at bestemme det selv.«

Pause.

Så siger jeg, bare for at sige noget:

»Det er mørkt i Deres Vinduer, ser jeg.«

»Ja, da!« svarer hun livligt. »Pigen har også fået fri. Så jeg er ganske alene hjemme.«

Vi står begge to og ser opad Vinduerne i Numer 2, som om ingen af os havde set dem før.

»Kan vi gå op til Dem, da?« siger jeg. »Jeg skal sidde nede ved Døren hele Tiden, dersom De vil . . . .«

Men nu skalv jeg af Bevægelse og angred meget, at jeg havde været for fræk. Hvad om hun blev vred og gik bort fra mig? Hvad om jeg aldrig fik se hende igen? Å, det elendige Antræk, jeg havde på! Jeg vented fortvivlet på Svaret.

»De skal aldeles ikke sidde nede ved Døren,« siger hun. Hun taler ligefrem ømt og siger akkurat disse Ord: De skal aldeles ikke sidde nede ved Døren.

Vi gik op.

Ude på Gangen, hvor det var mørkt, tog hun min Hånd og ledte mig frem. Jeg behøved slet ikke at være så stille, sagde hun, jeg kunde godt tale. Og vi kom ind. Mens hun tændte Lys — det var ikke en Lampe, hun tændte, men et Lys — mens hun tændte dette Lys, sagde hun med en liden Latter:

»Men nu får De ikke se på mig. Uf, jeg er skamfuld! Men jeg skal aldrig gøre det mer.«

»Hvad skal De aldrig gøre mer?«

»Jeg skal aldrig . . . . uf, nej. Gud bevare mig . . . . jeg skal aldrig kysse Dem mer.«

»Skal De ikke det?« sagde jeg, og vi lo begge. Jeg strakte Armene ud efter hende, Og hun gled tilside, smutted væk, over på den anden Side af Bordet. Vi stod og så på hinanden en liden Stund, Lyset stod midt imellem os.

»Forsøg at få fat på mig!« sagde hun.

Og under megen Latter forsøgte jeg at få fat på hende. Mens hun sprang omkring, løste hun Sløret op og tog Hatten af; hendes spillende Øjne hang fremdeles ved mig og vogted på mine Bevægelser. Jeg gjorde et Udfald påny, snubled i Tæppet og faldt; min såre Fod vilde ikke længer holde mig oppe. Jeg rejste mig yderlig flau.

»Gud, hvor rød De blev!« sagde hun. »Ja, det var også græsselig kejtet.«

»Ja, det var det!« svared jeg.

Og vi begyndte påny at springe omkring.

»Jeg synes, De halter?«

»Ja, jeg halter kanske lidt, bare lidt forresten.«

»Sidst havde De en sår Finger, nu har De en sår Fod; det er svært, så mange Plager De har.«

»Å, ja. — Jeg blev lidt overkørt for nogle Dage siden.«

»Overkørt? Fuld da igen? Nej, Gud bevare mig, hvordan De lever, unge Mand!« Hun trued med Pegefingeren og gjorde sig alvorlig. »Så sætter vi os da!« sagde hun. »Nej, ikke der nede ved Døren; De er så altfor tilbageholden; her oppe; De der og jeg her, så ja! . . . . Uf, det er nokså kedeligt med tilbageholdne Mennesker! Så må man sige og gøre alt selv, man får ingen Hjælp til noget. Nu kunde De for Eksempel gærne holde Deres Hånd på min Stolryg, De kunde gærne fundet på så meget af Dem selv, kunde De. For om jeg siger noget sligt, så sætter De op et Par Øjne, som om De ikke rigtig tror det, som blir sagt. Ja, det er virkelig sandt, jeg har set det flere Gange, De gør det nu også. Men De skal bare ikke indbilde mig, at De er så beskeden altid, når De blot tør dy Dem. De var nokså fræk den Dag, da De var fuld og gik efter mig lige hjem og plaged mig med Deres Åndrigheder: De mister Deres Bog, Frøken, De mister ganske bestemt Deres Bog, Frøken! Ha-ha-ha! Fy, det var virkelig stygt af Dem!«

Jeg sad fortabt og så på hende. Mit Hjærte slog højt, Blodet spændte mig varmt gennem Årene. Hvilken vidunderlig Nydelse!

»Hvorfor siger De ingenting?«

»Nej, hvor De er sød!« sagde jeg. »Jeg sidder simpelthen her og blir inderlig betaget af Dem, her i denne Stund inderlig betaget . . . . Der er ingen Råd med det . . . . De er det besynderligste Menneske, som . . . . Stundom stråler Deres Øjne så, jeg har aldrig set Magen, de ser ud som Blomster . . . . Hvad? Nej-nej, kanske ikke som Blomster heller, men . . . . Jeg er så aldeles forelsket i Dem, og det er så urimeligt . . . . Herregud, naturligvis, det nytter mig ikke det Spor . . . . Hvad hedder De? Nu må De da virkelig sige mig, hvad De hedder . . . .«

»Nej, hvad hedder De? Gud, nu havde jeg nær glemt det igen! Jeg tænkte på det i hele Går, at jeg skulde spørge Dem. Ja, det vil sige ikke i hele Går, men . . . .«

»Ved De, hvad jeg har kaldt Dem? Jeg har kaldt Dem Ylajali. Hvad synes De om det? En sådan glidende Lyd . . . .«

»Ylajali?«

»Ja.«

»Er det fremmede Sprog?«

»Hm, Nej, det er ikke det heller.«

»Ja, det er ikke stygt . . . .«

Efter lange Forhandlinger sagde vi hinanden vore Navne. Hun satte sig lige ved Siden af mig i Sofaen og skøv Stolen bort med Foden, Og vi begyndte at passiare påny.

»De har barberet Dem også iaften,« sagde hun. »De ser i det hele taget lidt bedre ud end sidst, men bare bitte lidt forresten; indbild Dem nu bare ikke . . . . Nej, sidst var De virkelig sjofel da. De gik ovenikøbet med en fæl Klud om Fingeren. Og i den Tilstand vilde De absolut gå ind et Sted og drikke Vin med mig. Nej, Tak!«

»Det var altså for mit misserable Udseendes Skyld, at De ikke vilde gå med alligevel da?« sagde jeg.

»Nej,« svared hun og så ned. »Nej, det skal Gud vide, det ikke var! Jeg tænkte ikke på det engang.«

»Hør,« sagde jeg, »De sidder vist her i den Overtro, at jeg kan klæde mig og leve akkurat som jeg ønsker. De? Men det kan jeg nok ikke, jeg er meget, meget fattig.«

Hun så på mig.

»Er De det?« sagde hun.

»Ja, jeg er det, desværre.«

Pause.

»Ja, Herregud, det er jeg også, det,« sagde hun med en frejdig Bevægelse med Hovedet.

Hvert af hendes Ord berused mig, traf mig i Hjærtet som Vindråber. Hun henrykte mig med den Vane, hun havde at lægge sit Hoved lidt på Siden og lytte, når jeg sagde noget. Og jeg følte hendes Åndedrag lige op i mit Ansigt.

»Ved De,« sagde jeg, »at . . . . Men nu må De ikke blive sint . . . . Da jeg gik tilsengs igåraftes, lagde jeg denne Arm tilrette for Dem . . . . således . . . . som om De lå i den . . . . og så sovned jeg ind . . . .«

»Jaså? Det var vakkert!« Pause. »Men det måtte nu også være på Frastand, De kunde gøre sligt noget; for ellers . . . .«

»Tror De ikke, jeg kunde gøre det ellers?«

»Nej, det tror jeg ikke.«

»Jo, af mig kan De vente alt,« sagde jeg. Og jeg lagde Armen om hendes Liv.

»Kan jeg det?« sagde hun bare.

Det ærgred mig, stødte mig næsten, at hun holdt mig for så altfor skikkelig; jeg brysted mig op, skød Hjærtet op i Livet og tog hendes Hånd. Men hun trak den ganske stilfærdigt tilbage og flytted sig lidt bort fra mig. Dette gjorde det atter af med mit Mod, jeg blev skamfuld og så bort mod Vinduet. Jeg var alligevel så altfor ynkelig der, jeg sad, jeg måtte blot ikke prøve at indbilde mig noget. Det havde været en anden Sag, hvis jeg havde truffet hende dengang, da jeg endnu så ud som et Menneske, i mine Velmagtsdage, da jeg havde lidt at redde mig med. Og jeg følte mig meget nedslagen tilmode.

»Der kan De se!« sagde hun, »nu kan De bare se: Man kan vippe Dem blot med en liden Rynke i Panden, gøre Dem så flad, bare ved at flytte sig lidt bort fra Dem . . . .« Hun lo drillende, skøjeragtigt, med aldeles lukkede Øjne, som om heller ikke hun holdt ud at blive set på.

»Nej, men du store min!« bused jeg ud, »nu skal De bare se!« Og jeg slog Armene heftigt om hendes Skuldre. Jeg var næsten krænket. Var Pigen fra Forstanden! Tog hun mig for aldeles uerfaren! He, jeg skulde dog ved den levende . . . . Ingen skulde sige om mig, at jeg stod tilbage i dette Stykke. Det var dog Satan til Menneske! Galdt det bare at gå på, så . . . .

Hun sad ganske rolig, og hun havde Øjnene fremdeles lukket; ingen af os talte. Jeg trykked hende hårdt ind til mig, klemte grådigt hendes Krop ind til mit Bryst, og hun sagde ikke et Ord. Jeg hørte vore Hjærteslag, både hendes og mine, de lød som begravede Hovtramp.

Jeg kyssed hende.

Jeg vidste ikke længere af mig selv, jeg sagde noget Nonsens, som hun lo ad, hvisked Kælenavne ind i hendes Mund, klapped hende på Kindet, kyssed hende mange Gange. Jeg åbned en Knap eller to i hendes Liv, og jeg skimted hendes Bryster indenfor, hvide, runde Bryster, der titted frem som to søde Vidundere bag Linnedet.

»Må jeg få se!« siger jeg, og jeg forsøger at åbne flere Knapper, gøre Hullet større; men min Bevægelse er for stærk, jeg kommer ingen Vej med de nederste Knapper, hvor desuden Livet strammer på. »Må jeg bare få se lidt . . . . lidt . . . .«

Hun slår Armen om min Hals, ganske langsomt, ømt; hendes Ånde puster mig lige i Ansigtet fra de røde, dirrende Næsebor; med den anden Hånd begynder hun selv at åbne Knapperne, en for en. Hun ler forlegent, ler kort og ser flere Gange op på mig, om jeg skal mærke, at hun er bange. Hun løser Båndene op, hægter op Korsettet, er henrykt og ængstelig. Og jeg fingrer med mine grove Hænder ved disse Knapper og Bånd . . . .

Forat aflede Opmærksomheden fra, hvad hun gor, stryger hun mig med sin venstre Hånd over Skulderen og siger:

»Hvilken Mængde løse Hår der ligger!«

»Ja,« svarer jeg og vil trænge indtil hendes Bryst med min Mund. Hun ligger i dette Øjeblik med ganske åbne Klæder. Pludselig er det som om hun besinder sig, som om hun synes at have gået for vidt; hun dækker sig atter til og rejser sig lidt op. Og forat skjule sin Forlegenhed med de åbne Klæder, giver hun sig atter til at tale om den Mængde affaldne Hår, der lå på mine Skuldre.

»Hvor kan det være, at Håret falder så af Dem?«

»Ved ikke!«

»Å, De drikker naturligvis formeget, og kanske — Fy, jeg vil ikke sige det! De måtte skamme Dem! Nej, det havde jeg ikke troet om Dem! At De, som er så ung, allerede mister Håret! . . . . Nu skal De værsågod fortælle mig, hvorledes De egentlig lever Deres Liv hen. Jeg er sikker på, det er frygteligt! Men bare Sandhed, forstår De, ikke nogen Udflugter! Jeg skal nok forresten se det på Dem, om de vil skjule noget. Så, fortæl nu!«

»Ja, lad mig få kysse Dem på Brystet først, så.«

»Er De gal? Så, begynd nu!«

»Nej, kære, lad mig nu få Lov til det først!«

»Hm. Nej, ikke først . . . . Siden kanske . . . . Jeg vil høre, hvad De er for et Menneske . . . . Å, jeg er sikker på, det er forfærdeligt!«

Det pinte mig også, at hun skulde tro det værste om mig, jeg var bange for at støde hende helt bort, og jeg holdt ikke ud den Mistanke, hun havde om mit Levnet. Jeg vilde rense mig i hendes Øjne, gøre mig værdig til hende, vise hende, at hun sad ved en på det nærmeste engleren Persons Side. Herregud, jeg kunde jo tælle på Fingerne mine Fald til Dato.

Jeg fortalte, jeg fortalte alt, og jeg fortalte bare Sandhed. Jeg gjorde intet værre end det var, det var ikke min Agt at vække hendes Medlidenhed; jeg sagde også, at jeg havde stjålet fem Kroner en Aften.

Hun sad og lytted med gabende Mund, bleg, bange, aldeles forstyrret i de blanke Øjne. Jeg vilde gøre det godt igen, sprede det triste Indtryk, jeg havde gjort, og strammed mig op:

»Det er jo over nu!« sagde jeg; »det kan ikke være Tale om sligt noget længer; nu er jeg bjærget . . . .«

Men hun var meget forsagt. »Gud bevare mig!« sagde hun bare og taug. Hun sagde dette med korte Mellemrum og taug hver Gang igen. »Gud bevare mig!«

Jeg begyndte at spøge, tog hende i Siden, forat kildre hende, løfted hende op til mit Bryst. Hun havde atter knappet Kjolen igen; dette ærgred mig en Smule, såred mig ligefrem. Hvorfor skulde hun knappe Kjolen igen? Var jeg i hendes Øjne mer uværdig nu, end om jeg selv havde forskyldt, at mit Hår faldt af? Vilde hun have syntes bedre om mig, hvis jeg havde gjort mig til en Udhaler? . . . . Ikke noget Sludder. Det galdt bare at gå på! Og hvis det bare galdt at gå på, så ved den levende . . . .

Jeg lagde hende ned, lagde hende simpelthen ned i Sofaen. Hun stred imod, ganske lidt forresten, og så forbauset ud.

»Nej . . . . hvad vil De?« sagde hun.

»Hvad jeg vil?!«

He, hun spurgte, hvad jeg vilde! Gå på, vilde jeg, gå lige på! Det var ikke bare på Frastand, jeg havde det med at gå på; det var ikke min Art og Beskaffenhed af Menneske. Jeg gjorde i at være Karl for min Hat og ikke slåes flad af en Rynke i Panden. Nej-nej, san, jeg havde endnu aldrig gået med uforrettet Sag fra en sådan Affære . . . .

Og jeg gik på.

»Nej . . . . nej, men . . . .?«

Jo, mente jeg, det var Meningen det!

»Nej, hører De!« råbte hun. Og hun lagde til disse sårende Ord: »Jeg kan jo ikke være tryg for, at De ikke er vanvittig.«

Jeg holdt uvilkårlig lidt inde, og jeg sagde:

»Det mener De ikke!«

»Jo, ved Gud, De ser så rar ud! Og den Formiddag, De forfulgte mig, — De var altså ikke fuld dengang?«

»Nej. Men da var jeg jo ikke sulten heller, jeg havde netop spist . . . .«

»Ja, så meget værre var det.«

»Vilde De heller, at jeg skulde været fuld?«

»Ja . . . . Hu, jeg er bange for Dem! Herregud, kan De nu ikke slippe!«

Jeg tænkte mig om. Nej, jeg kunde ikke slippe. Ikke noget forbandet Pærevæv en silde Aftenstund på en Sofa! Op med Flonellen! He, hvilke Udflugter fandt man ikke på at komme med i et sligt Øjeblik! Som om jeg ikke vidste, at det var bare Undselighed altsammen! Da måtte jeg være grøn! Så stille nu! Ikke noget Tøv! Leve Kongen og Fædrelandet! . . . .

Hun stritted besynderlig stærkt imod, altfor stærkt til bare at stritte imod af Undselighed. Jeg kom som af Vanvare til at støde Lyset overende, så det slukned, hun gjorde fortvivlet Modstand, udstødte endog et lidet Klynk.

»Nej, ikke det, ikke det! Hvis De vil så skal De heller få kysse mig på Brystet. Kære, snille . . . .«

Jeg standsed øjeblikkelig. Hendes Ord lød så forfærdede, hjælpeløse, jeg blev inderlig slagen. Hun mente at byde mig en Erstatning ved at give mig Lov til at kysse hendes Bryst! Hvor det var skønt, skønt og enfoldigt! Jeg kunde faldt ned og knælet for hende.

»Men, kære, vene!« sagde jeg aldeles forvirret, »jeg forstår ikke . . . . jeg begriber virkelig ikke, hvad dette er for en Slags Spil . . . .«

Hun rejste sig og tændte atter Lyset med rystende Hænder; jeg sad tilbage på Sofaen og foretog mig ingenting. Hvad vilde nu ske? Jeg var i Grunden meget ilde tilmode.

Hun kasted Øjnene hen på Væggen, hen til Klokken, og for sammen.

»Uf, nu kommer Pigen snart!« sagde hun. Dette var det første, hun sagde.

Jeg forstod denne Hentydning og rejste mig. Hun tog efter Kåben, som forat klæde den på, men betænkte sig, lod den ligge og gik bort til Kaminen. Hun var bleg og blev mer og mer urolig. Forat det dog ikke skulde se ud, som om hun viste mig Døren, sagde jeg:

»Var han Militær Deres Far?« og samtidig gjorde jeg mig istand til at gå.

Ja, han var Militær. Hvoraf vidste jeg det?

Jeg vidste det ikke, det faldt mig bare ind.

Det var besynderligt!

Å, ja. Det var enkelte Steder, jeg kom, hvor jeg fik det med Anelser. He-he, det hørte med til mit Vanvid, det . . . .

Hun så hurtig op, men svared ikke. Jeg følte, at jeg pinte hende med min Nærværelse, og vilde gøre kort Proces. Jeg gik til Døren. Vilde hun ikke kysse mig mer nu? Ikke engang række mig Hånden? Jeg stod og vented.

»Skal De gå nu da?« sagde hun, og hun stod endda stille borte ved Kaminen.

Jeg svared ikke. Jeg stod ydmyget og forvirret og så på hende, uden at sige noget. Hvorfor havde hun da ikke ladet mig i Fred, når det ikke kunde blive til noget? Hvad gik der af hende i dette Øjeblik? Det lod ikke til at angå hende, at jeg stod færdig til at gå; hun var på en Gang aldeles tabt for mig, og jeg ledte efter noget at sige hende til Afsked, et tungt, dybt Ord, som kunde ramme hende og måske imponere hende lidt. Og stik imod min faste Beslutning, såret, istedetfor stolt og kold, urolig, fornærmet, gav jeg mig ligefrem til at tale om Uvæsentligheder; det rammende Ord kom ikke, jeg bar mig yderst tankeløst ad.

Hvorfor kunde hun ikke lige så godt sige klart og tydeligt, at jeg skulde gå min Vej? spurgte jeg. Jo, jo, hvorfor ikke? Det var ikke værdt at genere sig. Istedetfor at minde mig om, at Pigen snart vilde komme hjem, kunde hun også simpelthen have sagt følgende: Nu må De forsvinde, for nu skal jeg gå og hente min Mor, og jeg vil ikke have Deres Følge nedad Gaden. Så, det var ikke det, hun havde tænkt på? Å, jo, det var nok alligevel det, hun havde tænkt på; det forstod jeg straks. Der skulde så lidet til, forat sætte mig på Spor; bare den Måden, hvorpå hun havde taget efter Kåben og atter ladet den ligge, havde overbevist mig med en Gang. Som sagt, jeg havde det med Anelser. Og der var vel kanske ikke så meget Vanvid i det i Grunden . . . .

»Men, Herregud, tilgiv mig nu for det Ord! Det slap mig af Munden!« råbte hun. Men hun stod fremdeles stille og kom ikke hen til mig.

Jeg var ubøjelig og fortsatte. Jeg stod der og sludred væk med den pinlige Fornemmelse, at jeg keded hende, at ikke et eneste af mine Ord traf, og alligevel holdt jeg ikke op: I Grunden kunde man jo være et temmelig ømtåligt Gemyt, om man ikke var gal, mente jeg; der var Naturer, som næred sig af Bagateller og døde bare for et hårdt Ord. Og jeg lod underforstå, at jeg havde en sådan Natur. Sagen var den, at min Fattigdom havde i den Grad skærpet visse Evner i mig, at det voldte mig ligefrem Ubehageligheder, ja, jeg forsikrer Dem ligefrem Ubehageligheder, desværre. Men det havde også sine Fordele, det hjalp mig i visse Situationer. Den fattige intelligente var langt finere Iagttager end den rige intelligente. Den fattige ser sig om for hvert Skridt, han tager, lytter mistænksomt til hvert Ord, han hører af de Mennesker, han træffer; hvert Skridt, han selv tager, stiller således hans Tanker og Følelser en Opgave, et Arbejde. Han er lydhør og følsom, han er en erfaren Mand, hans Sjæl har Brandsår . . . .

Og jeg talte rigtig længe om disse Brandsår, som min Sjæl havde. Men jo længer jeg talte, des uroligere blev hun; tilsidst sagde hun: »Herregud!« et Par Gange i Fortvivlelse og vred sine Hænder. Jeg så godt, at jeg plaged hende, og jeg vilde ikke plage hende, men gjorde det alligevel. Endelig mente jeg at have fået sagt hende i grove Træk det nødvendigste af, hvad jeg havde at sige, jeg blev greben af hendes fortvivlede Blik og råbte:

»Nu går jeg! Nu går jeg! Kan De ikke se, at jeg allerede har Hånden på Låsen? Farvel! Farvel, siger jeg! De kunde dog gærne svare mig, når jeg siger Farvel to Gange og står fiks og færdig til at gå. Jeg beder ikke engang om at få træffe Dem igen, for det vil pine Dem; men sig mig: Hvorfor lod De mig ikke være i Fred? Hvad har jeg gjort Dem? Jeg gik dog ikke ivejen for Dem nu; vel? Hvorfor vender De Dem pludselig bort fra mig, som om De slet ikke kendte mig mer? Nu har De ribbet mig så inderlig blank, gjort mig endda mere ussel end jeg var nogensinde. Herregud, men jeg er jo ikke vanvittig, De ved meget godt, når De vil tænke Dem om, at der er ingenting, som fejler mig nu. Kom nu da og ræk mig Hånden! Eller lad mig få Lov til at komme til Dem! Vil De det? Jeg skal ikke gøre Dem noget ondt, jeg vil bare knæle for Dem et Øjeblik, knæle ned på Gulvet der foran Dem, blot et Øjeblik; må jeg? Nej, nej, så skal jeg ikke gøre det, jeg ser, De blir bange, jeg skal ikke, skal ikke gøre det, hører De. Herregud dog, hvorfor blir De så forfærdet? Jeg står jo stille, jeg rører mig ikke. Jeg vilde have knælet ned på Tæppet et Minut, just der, på den røde Farve lige ved deres Fødder. Men De blev bange, jeg kunde straks se det på Deres Øjne, at De blev bange, derfor stod jeg stille. Jeg gjorde ikke et Skridt, da jeg bad Dem derom; vel? Jeg stod lige så urørlig som nu, når jeg viser Dem det Sted, hvor jeg vilde knælet for Dem, der borte på den røde Rose i Tæppet. Jeg peger ikke med Fingeren engang, jeg peger slet ikke, jeg lader det være, for ikke at forskrække Dem, jeg nikker bare og ser derhen, således! Og De forstår meget godt, hvilken Rose, jeg mener, men De vil ikke tillade mig at knæle der; De er bange for mig og tør ikke komme mig nær. Jeg begriber ikke, at De kan bringe over Deres Hjærte at kalde mig gal. Ikke sandt, De tror det heller ikke længer? Det var engang i Sommer, for længe siden, da var jeg gal; jeg arbejded for hårdt og glemte at gå til Middags i ret Tid, når jeg havde meget at tænke på. Det hændte Dag efter Dag; jeg burde have husket det, men jeg glemte det stadig væk. Ved Gud i Himlen, det er sandt! Gud lade mig aldrig komme levende fra dette Sted, hvis jeg lyver! Der kan De se, De gør mig Uret. Det var ikke af Trang, jeg gjorde det; jeg har Kredit, stor Kredit, hos Ingebret og Gravesen; jeg gik også ofte med mange Penge i Lommen og købte alligevel ikke Mad, fordi jeg glemte det. Hører De der! De siger ikke noget, De svarer ikke, De går aldeles ikke bort fra Kaminen, De står bare og venter på, at jeg skal gå . . . .«

Hun kom hurtigt henimod mig og rakte sin Hånd frem. Jeg så fuld af Mistro på hende. Gjorde hun det også med noget let Hjærte? Eller gjorde hun det blot, forat blive af med mig? Hun lagde sin Arm om min Hals, hun havde Tårer i Øjnene. Jeg stod bare og så på hende. Hun rakte sin Mund frem; jeg kunde ikke tro hende, det var ganske bestemt et Offer, hun bragte, et Middel til at få en Ende på det.

Hun sagde noget, det lød for mig som: »Jeg er glad i Dem alligevel!« Hun sagde det meget lavt og utydeligt, måske hørte jeg ikke rigtig, hun sagde kanske ikke just de Ord; men hun kasted sig heftigt om min Hals, holdt begge Armene om min Hals en liden Stund, strakte sig endog en Smule på Tæerne, forat række godt op, og stod således måske et helt Minut.

Jeg var bange for, at hun tvang sig selv til at vise denne Ømhed, jeg sagde blot:

»Hvor De er dejlig nu!«

Mer sagde jeg ikke. Jeg omfavned hende voldsomt, trådte tilbage, stødte til Døren og gik baglænds ud. Og hun stod igen derinde.

Aller au chapitre suivant >