Part 25 (1/2)
”Well, if it is me you want to get quit of, ma'am, there will be nothing in the way as far as I am concerned,” said one of the card-players as he stood up. The other card-players rose as well.
”No, I didn't mean you--nor you either,” replied the landlady to them.
”If there's any need to, I will show well enough who I mean, if there's the least need to, if I know myself rightly. Oh, it will be shown quick enough who it is....”
She talked with pauses, gave me these thrusts at short intervals, and spun it out to make it clearer and clearer that it was me she meant.
”Quiet,” said I to myself; ”only keep quiet!” She had not asked me to go--not expressly, not in plain words. Just no putting on side on my part--no untimely pride! Brave it out!... That was really most singular green hair on that Christ in the oleograph. It was not too unlike green gra.s.s, or expressed with exquisite exact.i.tude thick meadow gra.s.s. Ha! a perfectly correct remark--unusually thick meadow gra.s.s.... A train of fleeting ideas darts at this moment through my head. From green gra.s.s to the text, Each life is like unto gra.s.s that is kindled; from that to the Day of Judgment, when all will be consumed; then a little detour down to the earthquake in Lisbon, about which something floated before me in reference to a bra.s.s Spanish spittoon and an ebony pen handle that I had seen down at Ylajali's. Ah, yes, all was transitory, just like gra.s.s that was kindled. It all ended in four planks and a winding-sheet. ”Winding-sheets to be had from Miss Andersen's, on the right of the door....” And all this was tossed about in my head during the despairing moment when my landlady was about to thrust me from her door.
”He doesn't hear,” she yelled. ”I tell you, you'll quit this house. Now you know it. I believe G.o.d blast me, that the man is mad, I do! Now, out you go, on the blessed spot, and so no more chat about it.”
I looked towards the door, not in order to leave--no, certainly not in order to leave. An audacious notion seized me--if there had been a key in the door, I would have turned it and locked myself in along with the rest to escape going. I had a perfectly hysterical dread of going out into the streets again.
But there was no key in the door.
Then, suddenly my landlord's voice mingled with that of his wife, and I stood still with amazement. The same man who had threatened me a while ago took my part, strangely enough now. He said:
”No, it won't do to turn folk out at night; do you know one can be punished for doing that?”
”I didn't know if there was a punishment for that; I couldn't say, but perhaps it was so,” and the wife bethought herself quickly, grew quiet, and spoke no more.
She placed two pieces of bread and b.u.t.ter before me for supper, but I did not touch them, just out of grat.i.tude to the man; so I pretended that I had had a little food in town.
When at length I took myself off to the anteroom to go to bed, she came out after me, stopped on the threshold, and said loudly, whilst her unsightly figure seemed to strut out towards me:
”But this is the last night you sleep here, so now you know it.”
”Yes, yes,” I replied.
There would perhaps be some way of finding a shelter tomorrow, if I tried hard for it. I would surely be able to find some hiding-place.
For the time being I would rejoice that I was not obliged to go out tonight.
I slept till between five and six in the morning--it was not yet light when I awoke--but all the same I got up at once. I had lain in all my clothes on account of the cold, and had no dressing to do. When I had drunk a little cold water and opened the door quietly, I went out directly, for I was afraid to face my landlady again.
A couple of policemen who had been on watch all night were the only living beings I saw in the street. A while after, some men began to extinguish the lamps. I wandered about without aim or end, reached Kirkegaden and the road down towards the fortress. Cold and still sleepy, weak in the knees and back after my long walk, and very hungry, I sat down on a seat and dozed for a long time. For three weeks I had lived exclusively on the bread and b.u.t.ter that my landlady had given me morning and evening. Now it was twenty-four hours since I had had my last meal. Hunger began to gnaw badly at me again; I must seek a help for it right quickly. With this thought I fell asleep again upon the seat....
I was aroused by the sound of people speaking near me, and when I had collected myself a little I saw that it was broad day, and that every one was up and about. I got up and walked away. The sun burst over the heights, the sky was pale and tender, and in my delight over the lovely morning, after the many dark gloomy weeks, I forgot all cares, and it seemed to me as if I had fared worse on other occasions. I clapped myself on the chest and sang a little s.n.a.t.c.h for myself. My voice sounded so wretched, downright exhausted it sounded, and I moved myself to tears with it. This magnificent day, the white heavens swimming in light, had far too mighty an effect upon me, and I burst into loud weeping.
”What is the matter with you?” inquired a man. I did not answer, but hurried away, hiding my face from all men. I reached the bridge. A large barque with the Russian flag lay and discharged coal. I read her name, _Copegoro_, on her side. It distracted me for a time to watch what took place on board this foreign s.h.i.+p. She must be almost discharged; she lay with IX foot visible on her side, in spite of all the ballast she had already taken in, and there was a hollow boom through the whole s.h.i.+p whenever the coal-heavers stamped on the deck with their heavy boots.
The sun, the light, and the salt breath from the sea, all this busy, merry life pulled me together a bit, and caused my blood to run l.u.s.tily. Suddenly it entered my head that I could work at a few scenes of my drama whilst I sat here, and I took my papers out of my pocket.
I tried to place a speech into a monk's mouth--a speech that ought to swell with pride and intolerance, but it was of no use; so I skipped over the monk and tried to work out an oration--the Deemster's oration to the violator of the Temple,--and I wrote half-a-page of this oration, upon which I stopped. The right local colour would not tinge my words, the bustle about me, the shanties, the noise of the gangways, and the ceaseless rattle of the iron chains, fitted in so little with the atmosphere of the musty air of the dim Middle Ages, that was to envelop my drama as with a mist.
I bundled my papers together and got up.
All the same, I got into a happy vein--a grand vein,--and I felt convinced that I could effect something if all went well.
If I only had a place to go to. I thought over it--stopped right there in the street and pondered, but I could not bring to mind a single quiet spot in the town where I could seat myself for an hour. There was no other way open; I would have to go back to the lodging-house in Vaterland. I shrank at the thought of it, and I told myself all the while that it would not do. I went ahead all the same, and approached nearer and nearer to the forbidden spot. Of course it was wretched. I admitted to myself that it was degrading--downright degrading, but there was no help for it. I was not in the least proud; I dared make the a.s.sertion roundly, that I was one of the least arrogant beings up to date. I went ahead.
I pulled up at the door and weighed it over once more. Yes, no matter what the result was, I would have to dare it. After all said and done, what a bagatelle to make such a fuss about. For the first it was only a matter of a couple of hours; for the second, the Lord forbid that I should ever seek refuge in such a house again. I entered the yard. Even whilst I was crossing the uneven stones I was irresolute, and almost turned round at the very door. I clenched my teeth. No! no pride! At the worst I could excuse myself by saying I had come to say good-bye, to make a proper adieu, and come to a clear understanding about my debt to the house....
I took forth my papers once more, and determined to thrust all irrelevant impressions aside. I had left off right in the middle of a sentence in the inquisitor's address--”Thus dictate G.o.d and the law to me, thus dictates also the counsel of my wise men, thus dictate I and my own conscience....” I looked out of the window to think over what his conscience should dictate to him. A little row reached me from the room inside. Well, it was no affair of mine anyway; it was entirely and totally indifferent to me what noise arose. Why the devil should I sit thinking about it? Keep quiet now! ”Thus dictate I and my own conscience....” But everything conspired against me. Outside in the street, something was taking place that disturbed me. A little lad sat and amused himself in the sun on the opposite side of the pavement. He was happy and in fear of no danger--just sat and knotted together a lot of paper streamers, and injuring no one. Suddenly he jumps up and begins to curse; he goes backwards to the middle of the street and catches sight of a man, a grown-up man, with a red beard, who is leaning out of an open window in the second storey, and who spat down on his head. The little chap cried with rage, and swore impatiently up at the window; and the man laughed in his face. Perhaps five minutes pa.s.sed in this way. I turned aside to avoid seeing the little lad's tears.