Miss Andresen, who sat next to Nagel, said impulsively, “Oh God, yes, how lovely it must have been!”
“Only once have I heard something more beautiful, and that was in a dream. But it was a long time ago, I was still a child when I had that dream. When you grow up, you no longer have beautiful dreams like that.”
“No?” said Miss Andresen.
“Oh no. Well, it’s an exaggeration, of course, but... I still remember my last dream so clearly: I saw an open marsh.... Oh, excuse me, I’m talking all the time, forcing you to listen to me. It may be tiresome in the long run. I don’t always talk so much.”
Then Dagny Kielland opened her mouth and said, “There’s nobody here, I think, who wouldn’t rather listen to you than relate something herself.” And leaning toward Mrs. Stenersen, she whispered, “Can’t you get him started? Please, do. Just listen to that voice!”
Nagel said, smiling, “I’ll be glad to jabber away. All in all, I’m minded to this evening, God knows what’s come over me.... Well, actually, that little dream wasn’t anything to talk about. True, I did see an open marsh, without trees, only with lots of roots lying about everywhere, like strangely writhing serpents. And then a madman who was walking around among all those crooked tree roots. I can still see him, he was pale and had a dark beard, but the beard was so small and sparse that his skin showed through everywhere. He was staring about him with wide-open eyes, and his eyes were full of suffering. Hiding behind a rock, I called out to him. Then he instantly looked at the rock, without seeming to wonder where the call was coming from; it was as though he knew I was lying exactly there, though I was well hidden. He kept staring at the rock the whole time. He won’t find me anyway, I thought, and if worst comes to worst and he does, I can take to my heels. And though I didn’t like to have him staring at me, I called out once more to tease him. He took a couple of steps toward me, his mouth open and ready to bite, but he couldn’t get going; the roots were piling up before him—he was weighed down by roots and couldn’t budge. I called out again, many times in a row, to get him thoroughly worked up, and he began tackling the roots to clear them away, tossing them aside by armfuls in his laborious struggle to reach me. But it was no use. Then he started groaning, so loud that I could hear him despite the distance, his eyes fixed in a painful stare. When I saw I was perfectly safe, I got up and swung my cap, showing myself in my full height, teasing him by continually shouting halloo to him, stamping the ground and shouting halloo. I even went closer so I could tease him more cruelly still, thumbing my nose at him and crying halloo insultingly close to his ears, to bewilder him even more, if possible. Then I retraced my steps, leaving him there to realize how close to him I had been. But he wasn’t quite giving up; he was still struggling with the roots, inured to pain as he toiled to clear them away, getting scratched till the blood came and hurting his face, then raising himself on tiptoe to scream at me. Yes, can you imagine, he stood bolt upright on tiptoe staring at me and screaming! His face was dripping with perspiration, distorted by terrible suffering because he couldn’t get hold of me. Wanting to goad him even further, I went closer still, snapping my fingers under his nose and calling ‘tee-hee-hee-hee-hee’ with the most awful mockery. I flung a tree root at him, hitting him in the mouth, and almost succeeded in knocking him down; but he simply spat out the blood, put his hand to his mouth and continued to struggle with the roots. Then, thinking I could risk it, I stretched out my hand to touch him; I wanted to put my finger on his forehead and withdraw again. But at that moment he caught me. Good Lord, what a fright it gave me to be caught like that! He made a furious grab at me and clutched my hand. I screamed, but he simply held my hand and followed me. We walked out of the marsh—the tree roots no longer hampered him once he’d gotten hold of my hand—and came to the rock where I had at first been hiding. When we got there, the man prostrated himself before me and kissed the ground I had walked on; bloody and bruised, he kneeled before me, thanking me for having been kind to him. Then he blessed me, and prayed to God to bless me as well. His eyes were candid and filled with good prayers to God for me, and he didn’t kiss my hand, or even my shoes, but the ground where my shoes had trod. ‘Why do you kiss the ground exactly where I’ve walked?’ I asked.—‘Because,’ he said, ‘because my mouth is bleeding and I don’t want to dirty your shoes.’—He didn’t want to dirty my shoes! Again I said, ‘But why do you thank me when I’ve done you harm and caused you pain?’—‘I thank you,’ he replied, ’‘because you didn’t cause me more pain, because you were kind enough not to torture me still more.’—‘All right,’ I said, ‘but why did you scream at me and open your mouth to bite me?’—‘I wasn’t going to bite you,’ he replied, ‘I opened my mouth to ask you for help; but I couldn’t utter a word and you didn’t understand. And then I screamed because I suffered so terribly.’—‘So that’s why you screamed?’ I asked.—‘Yes, that’s why!’ ... I looked at the lunatic—he was still spitting blood but prayed to God for me all the same. I realized I had seen him before and that I knew him; he was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a miserable little beard—it was Miniman.”
Nagel fell silent. His listeners were stunned. Mr. Reinert lowered his eyes and looked at the ground for a long while.
“Miniman? So it was him?” asked Mrs. Stenersen.
“Yes, that’s who it was,” Nagel replied.
“Ooh, you almost give me the creeps.”
“I knew it!” Dagny Kielland said of a sudden. “I recognized him the moment you said he kneeled down and kissed the ground. I assure you I recognized him. Have you talked to him at any length?”
“No, I’ve met him only a couple of times.... But come, I seem to have spoiled your good mood; Mrs. Stenersen, you’ve turned quite pale! What on earth—it was only a dream, you know!”
“Yes, this won’t do!” the doctor chimed in. “How the hell does it concern us that Miniman—. Let him kiss every tree root in Norway, for that matter. Look at Miss Andresen, though, she’s downright crying. Ha-ha-ha.”
“I’m not crying at all,” she retorted, “it wouldn’t occur to me. But I do admit that this dream made an impression on me. And I dare say it made an impression on you, too.”
“On me?” cried the doctor. “Of course not, not a bit! Ha-ha-ha, have you all gone mad? Now, let’s take a little walk. Up, all of you! It’s getting chilly. Are you cold, Jetta?”
“No, I’m not, let’s stay here,” his wife replied.
But the doctor was set on taking a walk, he insisted on it. It was getting chilly, he repeated, and he would get moving even if he had to go by himself. Then Nagel rose and went with him.
They strolled up and down the pier a few times, elbowing their way through the crowd, chatting and returning people’s greetings. After they had walked like this for about half an hour, Mrs. Stenersen called to them, “Get back here, will you! Can you guess what we’ve dreamed up while you were gone? Well, we’ve decided to throw a big party at our house tomorrow night. And you, Mr. Nagel, must definitely come! But I have to tell you that a big party at our house means a minimum of food and drink—”
“And a maximum of fun, of course,” the doctor cheerily broke in. “Believe me, I know. Well, that’s not a bad idea at all; you’ve come up with far worse things, Jetta.” Suddenly the doctor was in high spirits, his whole face wreathed in a good-natured smile at the prospect of the party. “Just don’t be late,” he said, “and cross your fingers that I won’t be called away.”
“But can I show up in these clothes?” Nagel asked. “I don’t have any other.”
Everyone laughed, and Mrs. Stenersen answered, “Of course. It will be quite amusing.”
On the way back Nagel found himself walking beside Dagny Kielland. He had made no effort to bring this about, it happened quite by chance; nor did Miss Kielland do anything to forestall it. She had just said how much she was looking forward to tomorrow evening, because it was always so pleasant and relaxed at the doctor’s; they were such exce
llent people, and they knew how to make their guests enjoy themselves. At that point Nagel blurted out in a low voice, “May I hope, Miss Kielland, that you’ve forgiven me that awful piece of folly in the woods a while ago?”
He spoke eagerly, almost in a whisper, and she was forced to answer him.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I now have a better understanding of your conduct that evening. You don’t seem to be quite like other people.”
“Thank you!” he whispered. “Oh, I thank you as I’ve never thanked anyone in my whole life! And why am I not like other people? I want you to know, Miss Kielland, that I’ve made an effort all evening to soften that first impression you must have received of me. I didn’t say a word that wasn’t meant for you. What do you say to that?3 Remember, I had offended you terribly and had to do something. I confess I’ve been in a rather unusual state of mind all day, but I’ve made myself appear a good deal worse than I really am, and most of the time I’ve been playing a rather underhanded game. You see, it was important to me to make you think that I really was a bit unpredictable, that I committed bizarre transgressions in general; I hoped to make you pardon me more easily that way. This was also why I intruded with my dreams at the wrong time and place—well, I even crudely exposed myself concerning a violin case, voluntarily exposing my foolishness, which I wasn’t obliged to do—”
“Pardon me!” she broke in abruptly, “but why are you telling me all this, spoiling everything?”
“No, I’m not spoiling anything.4 If I tell you I really gave in to a momentary malicious impulse when I ran after you in the woods that time, you will understand. It was only a sudden desire to scare you, because you ran away. Well, I didn’t know you then, of course. And if I now tell you that I’m just like other people, you will understand that too. This evening I made myself a laughingstock and astonished everyone by a most eccentric behavior, simply in order to soothe you sufficiently to make you at least listen to me when I came and explained myself. This I have achieved. You have listened to me and5 understood everything.”
“No, frankly, I have to confess6 I don’t quite understand you. But let be, I certainly won’t start brooding over that—”
“No, of course not; why should you trouble your head about that! But don’t you agree, this party tomorrow night was decided on because you all regarded me as an odd fellow who could be expected to dream up quite a few antics, wasn’t it? Maybe I’ll disappoint you, maybe I’ll just hem and haw, maybe I won’t even come. God knows.”
“Oh, but of course you must come!”
“Must I?” he said, looking at her.
She let that pass. They were still walking side by side.7
They had reached the Parsonage Road. Miss Kielland stopped, burst out laughing and said, “Who would ever believe it!” And she shook her head.8
She began to wait for the rest of the party, which had fallen behind. He wanted to ask her if he could walk her home; he was about to risk it, when she suddenly turned away from him and called to the teacher, “Come on, will you!” And she eagerly waved her hand to hurry him on.
VII
AT SIX O’CLOCK the following evening Nagel entered the doctor’s parlor. He thought he had arrived too early, but the party from the previous evening were already assembled. There were also a few other guests, a lawyer and a blond young student. At two tables they were already drinking cognac and club soda, at a third the ladies, Mr. Reinert, and the student were talking together. The teacher, a reticent man who seldom or never gave out a sound, was already quite drunk, and in the heat of the moment, his cheeks flushed, he was sounding off about one subject after another. There was Serbia, for example, where eighty percent of the population could neither read nor write, or did anybody maintain it wasn’t that bad? Well, he was just asking! And he looked about him with a grim expression on his face, though not a soul had contradicted him.
The hostess called Nagel and made room for him at the ladies’ table. What would he like to drink? They were just talking about Kristiania, she said. What a quaint idea of Nagel’s to come and settle down in a small town, when he was free to choose and could even be in Kristiania!
But Nagel didn’t find the idea the least bit quaint; after all, he had come to the country for a holiday. In any case, he wouldn’t want to be in Kristiania; Kristiania was one of the last places he would choose.
Really? Still, it was the capital. It was, after all, the meeting place for whatever the country had to offer of great and famous people, of art and theater, and everything under the sun.
“Yes; and what about all those foreigners who come flocking there!” Miss Andresen remarked. “Foreign actors, singers, musicians, artists of all kinds.”
Dagny Kielland just listened, without saying anything.
Well, that might be true enough, Nagel admitted; but somehow, for some reason he couldn’t explain, every time Kristiania was mentioned he saw a section of Grænsen Street before his eyes, and it smelled of clothes hung out to dry. It was really true, he didn’t invent it. What he envisioned was a snooty small town with a couple of churches, a couple of newspapers, a hotel and a town pump, but with the grandest people in the world. He had never seen people swagger as they did in Kristiania, and good grief, how many a time he had wished himself far away when he lived there!
Mr. Reinert couldn’t understand how it was possible to conceive such an antipathy—not toward an individual but toward a whole city, the country’s capital. In fact, Kristiania was not that small anymore, it was taking its place among other prominent cities. And the Grand Café was anything but a poor café.
At first Nagel made no protest apropos of the Grand. But a moment later he wrinkled his brows and remarked for all to hear, “The Grand is a unique café.”
“You don’t seem to mean that.”
“Oh yes.” The Grand was that notorious place1 in the city where everything great foregathered. There sat the world’s greatest painters, the world’s most promising young men, the world’s most fashionable ladies, the world’s most able editors, and the world’s greatest authors! “Heh-heh!” There they sat and puffed themselves up for each other2—each delighted to be appreciated by everyone else. “I’ve seen everyman sitting there rejoicing because other everymen were watching him.”
This answer provoked general indignation. Mr. Reinert leaned over to Miss Kielland’s chair and said quite loud, “Did you ever hear such conceited talk!”
Waking up, she cast a quick glance at Nagel: he must have heard Mr. Reinert’s words, but didn’t seem to feel hurt by them. On the contrary, he was drinking with the student and began to talk about something else with a nonchalant air. She, too, was irritated by his superior manner; God knows what he thought of them all if he felt he could offer them such condescending talk! What conceit, what megalomania! When Mr. Reinert asked her, “And what do you think?” she replied in an affectedly loud voice, “What I think? I think Kristiania is good enough for me.”
Nagel’s composure remained unruffled. Hearing this loud voice half addressed to himself, he turned to look at her with a pensive air, as if trying to remember how he might have offended her. He rested his eyes on her for more than a minute, blinking his eyes and considering, his face meanwhile showing a sorrowful expression.
By now the teacher had also heard what it was all about and protested the view that Kristiania was smaller than, for example, Belgrade.3 On the whole, Kristiania was no smaller than any other capital of a reasonable size....
This made everyone laugh; with his burning cheeks and unshakable conviction, the teacher looked too absurd. Mr. Hansen, the lawyer, a fat little man with a bald pate wearing gold-rimmed glasses, couldn’t stop laughing at him, slapping his knees and laughing.
“A reasonable size, a reasonable size,” he shouted. “Kristiania is no smaller than any other capital of the same size, of exactly the same size. Not much smaller. Oh, dear me! Skoal!”4
Nagel resumed his conversation with Øien, the student. Well, wh
en he was younger he too—Nagel—had had a passion for music, especially Wagner. But with the years his interest had faded. Anyway, he had never got beyond learning the notes and striking a few chords.
“On the piano?” the student asked. The piano was his line.
“Ugh, no! On the violin. But as I said, I didn’t get anywhere and soon gave it up.”
By chance his eyes brushed Miss Andresen, who had been chatting with Mr. Reinert in a corner by the stove for at least a quarter of an hour. Her eyes met Nagel’s, though only fleetingly and inadvertently; still, it made her fidget on her chair and stop dead in what she was going to say.
Dagny was tapping her hand with a folded newspaper.5 There were no rings on her long white fingers. Nagel scrutinized her on the sly. Good God, how lovely she was tonight! In this light, against the background of the dark wall, her thick blond braid looked even more blond. When she was sitting down, her figure had a touch of buxomness, which disappeared when she stood up. She had a light, swinging walk, as if she used to skate a lot.6
Nagel got up and walked over to her.7
She had allowed her deep-blue eyes to rest on him for a moment, and he exclaimed at once, without thinking, “Good Lord, how beautiful you are!”
She was completely bewildered by such directness; she was all agape and didn’t know where to turn. Then she whispered, “Please, be reasonable!”
Shortly afterward she rose and walked over to the piano, where she began to leaf through some music, her cheeks flaming red.
The doctor, who was itching to talk politics, suddenly asked the gathering, “Have you read today’s papers? Look at Morgenbladet —it’s a damn shame what they print these days! It’s not fit reading for educated people anymore, just vulgar talk and abusive language from beginning to end.”
But since he wasn’t contradicted, the doctor couldn’t get anywhere. Being aware of that, Hansen, the lawyer, remarked, slyly and genially, “Shouldn’t we say there are faults on both sides?”8