Victoria

Translated from the Norwegian of
Knut Hamsun
By Arthur G. Chater

New York
Alfred A Knopf
1923

Published, April, 1923
Second Printing, June, 1923

Set up, electrotyped, and printed by the Vail-Ballou Co.,
Binghamton, N. Y.

Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York.
Bound by H. Wolff Estate, New York.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Victoria

The Miller's son walked in thought. He was a big lad of fourteen, tanned by sun and wind and full of all manner of ideas.

When he grew up he would go to work in a match factory. It was so jolly and dangerous; he might get his fingers covered with sulphur so that nobody would dare shake hands with him. He would be thought a lot of by his chums on account of his lurid trade.

He looked about in the wood for his birds. For he knew them all, knew where their nests were, understood their cries and had different calls to answer them. More than once he had given them dough balls made of flour from his father's mill.

All these trees along the path were good friends of his. In spring he had drawn their sap and in winter had been a little father to them, freeing them of snow and helping them to hold up their boughs. And even up in the abandoned granite quarry there wasn't a stone that was a stranger to him, he had cut letters and signs on them and set them up, arranged them like a congregation around their parson. All kinds of strange things happened in that old granite quarry.

He turned off and came down to the mill-dam. The mill was at work; an immense and ponderous noise surrounded him. He was in the habit of wandering about here, talking to himself aloud. Every bead of foam seemed to have a little life to talk about, and over by the sluice the water fell straight down and looked like a shining sheet of stuff hung out to dry. In the pool below the fall there were fish; he had stood there with his rod many a time.

When he grew up he would be a diver. That was it. Then he would step down into the sea from the deck of a ship and enter strange realms and countries where great and wonderful forests stood swaying and a castle of coral lay at the bottom. And the Princess beckoned to him from a window and said "Come in!"

Then he heard his name called; his father stood behind him and shouted "Johannes!"

"There's a message for you from the Castle. You're to row the children over to the island!"

He went off in a hurry. A new favour and a great one had been vouchsafed to the Miller's son.

"The Mansion" looked like a little castle in the green landscape, indeed it was like a stupendous palace in its solitude. The house was built of wood and painted white, with many bow-windows in its walls and roof, and a flag flew on the round tower when there were visitors. People called it the Castle. And outside its grounds lay the bay to one side, and to the other the great forests; far away some little farms were to be seen.

Johannes appeared at the landing-stage and got the young people into the boat. He knew them of old; they were the children of the "Castle" and their friends from town. They all had on high boots for wading; but Victoria, who only had little shoes on and besides was not more than ten, she had to be carried ashore when they reached the island.

"Shall I carry you?" asked Johannes.

"Let me!" said Otto, the gentleman from town, a man nearly old enough to leave school, and he took her in his arms.

Johannes stood and watched her being carried high up on land and heard her thanks. Then Otto looked back:

"Well, you'll look after the boat—what was his name?"

"Johannes," answered Victoria. "Yes, he'll look after the boat."

He was left behind. The others went off into the island, carrying baskets for collecting eggs. He stood pondering for a while; he would have liked to go with the others and they could have dragged the boat ashore for the matter of that. Too heavy? It wasn't too heavy. And he laid his fist on the boat and hauled it up a little way.

He heard the laughter and chatter of the young party growing fainter. All right, good-bye for the present. But they might have taken him with them. He knew of nests that he could have taken them to, wonderful hidden holes in the rock, where lived birds of prey with tufts on their beaks. And once he had seen a stoat.

He shoved the boat off and started to row round to the other side of the island. He had rowed a good way when they shouted to him:

"Row back. You're scaring the birds."

"I only wanted to show you where the stoat lives?" he answered tentatively. He waited a moment. "And then we could smoke out the snakes' nest? I've got some matches."

He got no answer. Then he turned the boat and rowed back to the landing-place. He drew the boat up.

When he grew up he would buy an island of the Sultan and forbid any one to approach it. A gunboat should guard his shores. Your Lordship, the slaves would come and tell him, there's a boat aground on the reef; she has struck, the young people in her will perish. Let them perish! he answers. Your Lordship, they are calling for help; we can save them yet and there is a woman in white among them. Save them! he commands in a voice of thunder. Then he meets the children of the Castle again after many years and Victoria throws herself at his feet and thanks him for her rescue. Nothing to thank me for, it was but my duty, he answers; go freely where you will within my domains. And then he has the gates of the palace thrown open to the company and feasts them on golden dishes and three hundred brown slave girls sing and dance the whole night long. But when it is time for the children of the Castle to leave, Victoria cannot go. She throws herself in the dust before him and sobs because she loves him. Let me stay here, thrust me not away, Your Lordship, let me be one of your slaves....

He began to walk quickly across the island, thrilled through with emotion. Very well, he would rescue the Castle children. Who knows, perhaps they had lost their way? Perhaps Victoria had got stuck between two rocks and could not get out? He would only have to reach out his arm to set her free.

But the children looked at him in astonishment when he came. Had he left the boat?

"I hold you responsible for the boat," said Otto.

"I could show you where there are some wild raspberries?" suggested Johannes.

Silence among the party. Victoria came to the rescue.

"No? Where are they?"

But the gentleman from town put temptation aside and said:

"We can't bother about that now."

Johannes said:

"I know where we can find mussels, too."

Silence again.

"Are there pearls in them?" asked Otto.

"Fancy, if there were!" said Victoria.

Johannes replied, No, he didn't know about that; but the mussels were a long way out on the white sand; they would have to have the boat and dive for them.

That finished that idea, and Otto remarked:

"Yes, you look like a diver, don't you?"

Johannes began to breathe heavily.

"If you like I can go up the rocks there and roll a big stone down into the sea," he said.

"What for?"

"Oh nothing. But you could watch it."

But that proposal was not accepted either and Johannes held his tongue and felt ashamed. Then he went off to look for eggs a long way from the others, in another part of the island.

When the whole party came together again down by the boat Johannes had many more eggs than the rest; he carried them carefully in his cap.

"How is it that you found so many?" asked Otto.

"I know where the nests are," answered Johannes, feeling happy. "Now I'll put them with yours, Victoria."

"Stop!" cried Otto. "What are you doing that for?"

Everybody looked at him. Otto pointed to his cap and said:

"How am I to know that that cap is clean?"

Johannes said nothing. His happiness came to an abrupt end. Then he began walking up the island again, taking the eggs with him.

"What's the matter with him? Where's he going?" said Otto impatiently.

"Where are you going, Johannes?" cried Victoria running after him.

He stopped and answered quietly:

"I'm going to put the eggs back in the nests."

They stood for a moment looking at each other.

"And then I'm going up to the quarry this afternoon," he said.

She made no answer.

"Then I could show you the cave."

"Oh, but I'm so frightened," she answered. "You said it was so dark."

Then Johannes smiled in spite of his great sorrow and said courageously:

"Yes, but I shall be with you."

All his life he had played in the old granite quarry. People had heard him working and holding forth up there though he was all alone; sometimes he had been a parson and had held a service.

The place had been abandoned long ago, moss grew on the stones and the marks of boring and blasting were almost obliterated. But the Miller's son had cleared the inside of the secret cave and decked it out most ingeniously, and there he dwelt, chief of the world's bravest robber band.

He rings a silver bell. A little manikin, a dwarf with a diamond clasp in his cap, hops in. This is his servant. He bows to the dust. When Princess Victoria comes, bring her in! says Johannes in a loud voice. The dwarf bows to the dust again and vanishes. Johannes stretches himself comfortably on the soft divan and thinks. There he would lead her to a seat and offer her costly dishes of gold and silver plate; a blazing fire should light up the cave; behind the heavy curtain of gold brocade at the back of the cave her couch should be prepared and twelve knights should stand on guard....

Johannes got up, crept out of the cave and listened. There was a rustling of twigs and leaves on the path.

"Victoria!" he called.

"Yes," came the answer.

He went to meet her.

"I hardly dare," she said.

He swayed his shoulders and answered:

"I've just been in there. I've only just come out."

They went into the cave. He showed her to a seat on a stone and said:

"That's the stone the giant was sitting on."

"Ugh, stop, don't tell me! Weren't you frightened?"

"No."

"Well, but you said he only had one eye; then he must have been a troll."

Johannes thought a moment.

"He had two eyes, but he was blind of one. He said so himself."

"What else did he say? No, don't tell me!"

"He asked if I would serve him."

"Oh, but you wouldn't, would you? How awful!"

"Well I didn't say no. Not right out."

"Are you mad? Do you want to be shut up inside the mountain?"

"Well, I don't know. Things are pretty bad on earth too."

Pause.

"Since these town boys came you spend all your time with them," he said.

Another pause.

Johannes went on:

"But I have more strength to lift you out of the boat and carry you than any of them. I'm sure I'm strong enough to hold you up a whole hour. Look here."

He took her in his arms and lifted her up. She held on to his neck.

"There, now you mustn't hold me any longer."

He put her down. She said:

"Yes, but Otto is strong too. And he has fought grown-up men too."

Johannes asked doubtfully:

"Grown-up men?"

"Yes, he has. In town."

Pause. Johannes was thinking.

"Very well, that's the end of that," he said. "I know what I shall do."

"What will you do?"

"I shall take service with the giant."

"Oh, but you're mad, do you hear!" screamed Victoria.

"Oh well, it's all the same to me. I shall do it."

Victoria was thinking of a way out.

"Yes, but perhaps he won't come back again?"

Johannes answered:

"He'll come."

"Here?" she asked quickly.

"Yes."

Victoria got up and made for the entrance.

"Come along, we'd better go out again."

"There's no hurry," said Johannes, who had turned pale himself. "He won't come before tonight. At the hour of midnight."

Victoria felt reassured and was going to sit down again. But Johannes didn't find it easy to lay the uncanny feeling he had himself called up, the cave was getting too dangerous for him and he said:

"If you really want to go out again I have a stone out there with your name on it. I'll show it you."

They crept out of the cave and found the stone. Victoria was proud of it and happy. Johannes was touched, he could have cried, and he said:

"When you look at it you must think of me sometimes when I am gone. Give me a kind thought."

"Of course," answered Victoria. "But you'll come back, won't you?"

"Oh, goodness knows. No, I don't suppose I shall."

They began to walk homewards. Johannes was near to tears.

"Well, good-bye," said Victoria.

"No, I can go with you a little farther."

But her heartlessness in being so ready to bid him good-bye had made him bitter, stirred up the wrath in his wounded heart. He stopped abruptly and said with righteous indignation: "But I'll tell you this, Victoria, you won't get anybody who would have been so kind to you as I should. That's all I've got to say."

"Well, but Otto is kind too," she objected.

"All right, take him."

They went a few paces in silence.

"I shall have a splendid time. Don't be afraid about that. You don't even know what my reward's going to be."

"No. What is it going to be?"

"Half of the kingdom. That was the first thing."

"Fancy, are you going to have that?"

"And then I'm to get the Princess."

Victoria stopped still.

"That's not true, is it?"

"Yes, it is," he said.

Pause. Victoria remarked absently:

"I wonder what she looks like?"

"Oh, bless you, she's prettier than any one on earth. And that we knew before."

Victoria was conquered.

"Will you take her then?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, "that's what it will come to." But as Victoria was really moved he added: "But maybe I'll come back some time. I might come up to earth for a trip again."

"Well, but don't bring her with you then," she begged. "Why should you bring her with you?"

"No, I could come by myself, I dare say."

"Will you promise me that?"

"Oh yes, I can promise that. But what does it matter to you? I can't expect you to care."

"You mustn't say that, do you hear?" answered Victoria. "I'm certain she isn't so fond of you as I am."

A glow of rapture thrilled his young heart. He could have sunk into the earth from joy and bashfulness at her words. He dared not look at her, he looked away. Then he picked up a stick off the ground, scraped off its bark and hit himself on the hand with it. At last he began to whistle in his embarrassment.

"Well, I shall have to be going home," he said.

"Good-bye then," she answered and gave him her hand.

The Miller's son went away. He stayed away a long time, went to school and learned a great deal, grew up, big and strong, and got down on his upper lip. It was so far to town, the journey there and back cost so much, that the thrifty Miller kept his son in town summer and winter for many years. He studied all the time.

But now he was grown into a man; he was eighteen or twenty.

Then one afternoon in spring he landed from the steamer. The flag was flying at the Castle in honour of the son who had also come home for his holidays by the same boat; a carriage had been sent down to the pier to fetch him. Johannes bowed to the Master and Mistress of the Castle and Victoria. How big and tall Victoria had grown! She did not return his greeting.

He took off his cap again and heard her ask her brother:

"Look, Ditlef, who's that bowing?"

Her brother answered:

"That's Johannes. Johannes Miller."

She darted her eyes at him again; but he was too bashful to bow any more. Then the carriage drove off.

Johannes took himself home.

Dear me, what a funny little place it was! He could hardly get into the door without stooping. His parents brought out wine for the occasion. His feelings gripped him, it was all so dear and so touching, his father and mother so good and so grey, they gave him their hands in turn and welcomed him home again.

The very same evening he walked round and looked at everything, the mill, the quarry and the place where he used to fish, listened with a touch of sadness to the birds he knew which were already building their nests in the trees, and took a turn round by the big anthill in the woods. The ants were gone, the hill was deserted. He dug into it, there was not a sign of life. As he wandered about he noticed that a lot of trees had been cut down in the Castle woods.

"Do you recognize the place again?" his father asked jokingly. "Have you found your old thrushes?"

"I find some changes. There's been some felling."

"It's the Master's wood," his father answered. "It's not for us to count his trees. Anybody may be in want of money; the Master wants a deal of money."

The days came and went, mild, lovely days, wonderful hours of solitude, with gentle memories of childhood, the call of earth and sky, of air and hills.

He walked along the road to the Castle. He had been stung by a wasp that morning and his upper lip was swollen; if he met any one he would just bow and pass on. He met nobody. In the Castle garden he saw a lady; when he came nearer he bowed deeply and passed on. It was the Lady of the house. His heart still beat as of old when he went past the Castle. Respect for the big house, the many windows, the Master's severe and dignified person was still in his blood.

He took the road to the pier.

Then suddenly he met Ditlef and Victoria. Johannes felt uncomfortable; they might think he had gone to look for them. Besides, he had a swollen upper lip. He reduced his pace, uncertain whether to go on. He went on. While still a long way off he took off his cap and carried it in his hand as he passed. They both acknowledged his greeting in silence and walked slowly past. Victoria looked straight at him; her face changed a little.

Johannes went on down to the quay; a restlessness had taken hold of him, his steps became nervous. Why, what a big girl Victoria was now, quite grown up, lovelier than ever. Her eye-brows nearly met above her nose, they were like two fine velvet strokes. Her eyes had got darker, very dark blue.

On his way home he struck into a path which led through the wood, avoiding the Castle garden. Nobody should say that he dogged the steps of the Castle children. He came up a hill, found a stone and sat down. The birds kept up a wild and passionate music, calling and chasing each other, and flew with twigs in their beaks. A sweet smell of mould, of bursting buds and decaying trees filled the air.

He had strayed into Victoria's path, she was coming straight towards him from the opposite direction.

A helpless feeling of annoyance seized him, he wished himself far, far away; of course she must think this time that he had followed her. Should he greet her again? He might perhaps look another way; besides, he had this wasp sting.

But when she came near enough he got up and took his cap off. She smiled and nodded.

"Good evening. Welcome back," she said.

Again her lips seemed to quiver a little; but she recovered herself at once.

He said:

"It looks rather funny, Victoria; but I didn't know you were here."

"Naturally you didn't," she replied. "It was just a whim of mine; I thought I would walk round here."

Whew! he'd been too familiar.

"How long are you going to stay at home?" she asked.

"Till the holidays are over."

It was hard work answering her, she seemed all of a sudden to have gone so far away. Then why had she spoken to him?

"Ditlef says you're so clever, Johannes. You always come out top. And he says you write poetry too; is that true?"

He answered curtly with a squirm:

"Yes, of course. Everybody does."

Now, he thought, she wouldn't stay much longer, for she said nothing more.

"Did you ever see anything like it, I was stung by a wasp this morning," he said, showing his mouth. "That's why I look like this."

"Then you've been away too long, the wasps don't recognize you."

It made no difference to her whether he had been disfigured by a wasp or not. All right. She stood there twirling a red gold-mounted parasol on her shoulder and nothing else mattered to her. And yet he had carried her ladyship in his arms more than once.

"I don't recognize the wasps," he answered; "they used to be friends of mine."

But she didn't see the deep meaning in his words; she didn't answer. Oh, but it was so deep.

"I don't recognize anything here now. Even the woods have been cut down."

A little twitch passed over her face.

"Then perhaps you can't write poetry here," she answered. "Fancy if you would write me a poem some day. No, what am I talking about! That shows you how little I know about it."

He looked at the ground, stung and silent. She was making a fool of him in the friendliest way, she talked patronizingly and watched him for the effect. Begging her pardon, he hadn't wasted all his time in writing, he had studied more than most....

"Well, we shall meet another time. Good-bye for the present."

He took off his cap and went without making a reply.

If she only knew it, it was to her and no one else he had written his poems, every one of them, even the one to Night, even the one to the Spirit of the Mere. She should never find that out.

On Sunday Ditlef called and wanted him to come over to the island. I'm to be boatman again, he thought. He went. There was a group of Sunday idlers on the pier, otherwise all was quiet and the sun was bright and warm. Suddenly a distant sound of music came from over the water, from the islands outside; the mail-boat swung in towards the pier in a great curve; there was a band on board.

Johannes cast off the boat and took the oars. He was in a yielding, pliant mood, this bright day and the music from the ship were weaving a tissue of flowers and golden grain before his eyes....

Why didn't Ditlef come? He was standing on shore looking at the people and the ship as if he didn't mean to go any farther. Johannes thought: I'm not going to sit holding these oars any longer, I'm going ashore. He began to turn the boat.

Then he suddenly saw a gleam of white and heard a splash; a desperate cry of many voices rose from the ship and from people ashore and hands and eyes all pointed to the place where the white flash had disappeared. The band stopped playing at once.

In an instant Johannes was on the spot. He acted altogether instinctively, without thinking, without making up his mind. He did not hear the screams of the mother on deck: "My girl, my girl!" He no longer saw anybody. He jumped straight away out of the boat and dived.

For a moment he was gone, a minute; they could see the water seething where he had jumped in and knew he was at work. The cries of distress still came from the ship.

Then he came up again, farther out, several fathoms from the scene of the accident. They shouted to him, pointing like mad: "No, here it was, here!"

And he dived again.

Another interval of torture, an unbroken cry of anguish from a woman and a man on deck wringing their hands. Another man dived off the ship, the mate who had thrown off his jacket and shoes. He carefully searched the place where the girl had gone down and they all set their hopes on him.

Then Johannes' head appeared again above the surface, still farther out, many fathoms farther than before. He had lost his cap and his head shone like a seal's in the sunlight. They could see that he was struggling with something, he swam with difficulty, one of his hands was hampered. A moment later he had got hold of something in his mouth, between his teeth, a huge bundle; it was the girl. Shouts of surprise reached him from the ship and from the shore, even the mate must have heard the difference; he put his head out of the water and looked around.

At last Johannes reached the boat, which had drifted off; he got the girl on board and climbed in himself; all without any stopping to think. They saw him bend over the girl and literally tear the clothes upon her back, then he grasped the oars and pulled furiously to the ship. When the victim was seized and dragged on board everybody cheered wildly.

"What made you try so far out?" they asked him.

He answered:

"I know the shoals. And there's a current here. I knew that."

A man forced his way to the side of the ship; he was pale as death, with a tortured smile and tears hanging on his eyelashes.

"Come on board a moment!" he called down. "I want to thank you. We owe you so many thanks. Only a moment."

And the man left the rail again, pale as death.

The gangway was thrown open and Johannes climbed on board.

He did not stay long; he gave his name and address, a woman embraced him, soaking as he was; the pale, distracted man pressed his watch into his hand. Johannes found himself in a cabin where two men were busy with the drowning girl. They said: "Now she's coming round, her pulse is going!" Johannes looked at the sufferer, a fair young girl in a short frock; her frock was all torn open at the back. Then a man put a hat on his head and he was led out.

He did not know exactly how he got ashore and pulled the boat up. He heard another cheer raised and the band playing a gay tune as the ship steamed away. A luxurious wave of rapture, cold and sweet, rolled through him from head to foot; he smiled and moved his lips.

"No row for us today then," said Ditlef. He looked annoyed about it.

Victoria had come, she joined them and said quickly:

"What are you thinking of? He must go home and change his clothes."

Ah, what an event, in his nineteenth year!

Johannes started off home. The music and the loud cheering still rang in his ears, a powerful emotion drove him on and on. He went past his home and took the path through the wood to the quarry. Here he looked out for a good place were the sun was warm. His clothes were steaming. He sat down. A wild, blissful unrest made him get up and walk about again. How full of happiness he was! He fell on his knees and thanked God with hot tears for this day. She was standing below there, she had heard the cheering. Go home and put on dry clothes, she said.

He sat down and laughed again and again, rapt with joy. Yes, she had seen him do it, this heroic deed; she had watched him with pride as he came back with the drowning girl in his teeth. Victoria, Victoria! Did she know how unspeakably he was hers every minute of his life? He would be her servant and her slave and sweep a way for her with his shoulders. And he would kiss her little shoes and draw her carriage and put logs in her stove on cold days. Gilt logs he would put in her stove, Victoria.

He looked around. Nobody heard him, he was all by himself. In his hand he held the valuable watch, it was ticking, it went.

Thanks, thanks for this good day! He patted the moss on the stones and the fallen twigs. Victoria had not smiled at him; no, but that was not her way. She simply stood on the pier; a little tinge of red flew over her cheeks. Perhaps she would have liked his watch if he had given it her?

The sun sank and the warmth began to fail. He felt he was wet. And then he ran home, light as a feather.

There were summer visitors at the Castle, a party from town, with dancing and revelry. And the flag flew night and day from the round tower for a week.

And there was the hay to be carried, but the horses were all taken up by the holiday makers and the hay was left out. And there were fields and fields of uncut grass, but all the farm hands were pressed into service as coachmen and boatmen and the grass was left to spoil.

And the music never ceased in the yellow drawing-room.

The old Miller stopped his mill and locked it up while this went on. He had learnt wisdom, for he had known the times when the rollicking townspeople had come in a body and played practical jokes with his sacks of corn. For the nights were so warm and light and they invented all manner of diversions. The rich Chamberlain in his young days had once with his very own hands carried an ant-heap in a trough into the mill and left it there. Now the Chamberlain was well on in years but Otto his son still came to the Castle and found strange ways of amusing himself. Many tales were told about him....

The sound of hoofs and shouting come through the wood. The young people were out for a ride and the Castle horses were glossy and fresh. The party came up to the Miller's house, knocked with their whips and wanted to ride in. The door was so low and yet they wanted to ride in.

"Good day, good day," they cried. "We came to say how d'ye do."

The Miller laughed obsequiously at the joke.

Then they dismounted, tied up their horses and started the mill.

"The hopper's empty!" yelled the Miller. "You'll smash up the mill."

But nobody heard him in the roar.

"Johannes!" shouted the Miller with the full force of his lungs in the direction of the quarry.

Johannes came.

"They're grinding up my millstones," his father cried, pointing.

Johannes went quietly towards the group. He was fearfully pale and the veins on his temples grew bigger. He recognized Otto, the Chamberlain's son, who was in cadet's uniform; there were two others besides him. One of them smiled a greeting to smooth things over.

Johannes made no sound or sign, but went on. He was making straight for Otto. At that moment he saw two ladies on horseback coming out of the wood; one of them was Victoria. She had on a green habit and was riding the white mare from the Castle. She did not get off, but sat watching them all with questioning eyes.

Then Johannes altered his course; he turned off, went up on the weir and opened the sluice; the noise gradually subsided, the mill stopped.

Otto called out:

"No, let it go on. What are you doing that for? Let the mill go on, I tell you."

"Was it you who started the mill?" asked Victoria.

"Yes," he answered with a laugh. "What's it stopped for? Why mayn't it go on?"

"Because it's empty," answered Johannes, with a catch in his breath, looking at him. "Do you understand? The mill is empty."

"It was empty, do you hear?" Victoria repeated.

"How was I to know that?" asked Otto laughing. "Why was it empty I want to know. Wasn't there any corn in it?"

"Get up again!" broke in one of his companions, to put an end to it.

They mounted. One of them apologized to Johannes before they rode off.

Victoria was the last. When she had gone a little way she turned her horse and came back.

"You must please ask your father to excuse this," she said.

"It would have been more proper if the Cadet had done that himself," answered Johannes.

"I know. Of course, but—He is always taking things into his head.... How long it is since I saw you, Johannes!"

He looked up at her, wondering if he had heard aright. Had she forgotten last Sunday, his great day!

He answered:

"I saw you on the pier on Sunday."

"Oh yes," she said at once. "What a lucky thing you were able to help the mate with the dragging. You found the girl, didn't you?"

He answered shortly in a hurt tone:

"Yes, we found the girl."

"Or how was it?" she went on, as though something had struck her; "was it you alone.... Oh, it doesn't matter. Well then, I hope you'll speak to your father about that. Good-night."

She nodded with a smile, picked up her reins and rode away.

When Victoria was out of sight Johannes wandered on into the wood, indignant and restless. He found Victoria standing by a tree quite alone. She was leaning against the tree and sobbing.

Had she fallen off? had she hurt herself?

He went up to her and asked:

"Is there anything wrong?"

She took a step towards him, spread out her arms and gave him a radiant look. Then she stopped, let her arms drop and answered:

"No, there's nothing wrong with me; I got off and let the mare go home by herself.... Johannes, you mustn't look at me like that. You were looking at me down by the pond. What do you want?"

He stammered:

"What do I want? I don't understand...."

"You're so broad there," she said, suddenly laying her hand on his. "You're so broad there, about the wrist. And then you're quite brown with the sun, brown as a berry...."

He moved his hand, trying to take hers. Then she picked up her habit and said:

"No, there was nothing the matter, you see. I only thought I'd go home on foot. Good-night."

III

Johannes went back to town. And days and years passed, a long, eventful time of work and dreams, of lectures and verse. He was getting on well, he had succeeded in writing a poem about Esther, "a Jew Girl who was made Queen of Persia," a work which was printed and for which he got paid. A second poem, "Love's Labyrinth," which he put into the mouth of Friar Vendt, made his name known.

Ah, what was Love? A breeze whispering in the roses; no, a yellow phosphorescence in the blood. Love was a music hot as hell which stirs even old men's hearts to dance. It was like the daisy that opens wide to the coming of night, and it was like the anemone that closes at a breath and dies at a touch.

Such a thing was Love.

It might ruin its man, raise him up again and brand him anew; it might love me today, you tomorrow and him tomorrow night, so inconstant was it. But again it might hold like an unbreakable seal and burn with an unquenchable flame even to the hour of death, for so eternal was it. How then was Love?

Oh, Love is the summer night with stars in the sky and fragrance on the earth. But why does it make the youth seek hidden paths and why does it make the greybeard stand tiptoe in his lonely chamber? Ah, Love turns the heart of man to a garden of fungus, a luxuriant and shameless garden wherein mysterious and immodest toadstools raise their heads.

Does it not lead the friar to slink into closed gardens and glue his eyes to the windows of the sleepers at night? And does it not possess the nun with folly and darken the understanding of the princess? It casts the king's head to the ground so that his hair sweeps all the dust of the highway, and he whispers unseemly words to himself the while and laughs and puts out his tongue.

Such was Love.

No, no, it was again something very different and it was like nothing else in the whole world. It came to earth one spring night when a youth saw two eyes, two eyes. He gazed and saw. He kissed a mouth, and then it was as though two lights met in his heart, a sun flashing towards a star. He fell into an embrace, and then he heard and saw no more in all the world.