THE 
 
 GREAT 
 HUNGER 
 
 JOHAN 
 BOJER
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 ^Univeriify of California^ 
 
 IRVINE
 
 THE GREAT HUNGER
 
 :c 
 
 Elt:^a3KfgEgOTgjWfc5Raga%SRK 
 
 M ^^N_ k_*j \*-/ \*-/ \i^ '^^''^ 
 
 :c' 
 
 "€' 
 
 f 
 
 •) THE 
 
 ^ GREAT HUNGER 
 
 ;•) 
 
 i'l 
 
 !>>' 
 
 ;•) 
 
 10 
 
 i) 
 
 ! 
 
 •) 
 
 JOHAN BOJER 
 
 Translated from the Norwegian by 
 
 W. J. ALEXANDER WORSTER 
 
 and 
 
 C. ARCHER 
 
 (Li^^fe^*^ 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers 
 by arrangement with the Century Company 
 
 (•: 
 
 Ci 
 
 (•i 
 
 (i 
 
 t'i 
 
 C-! 
 
 C-i 
 
 >^ 
 
 ii\ 
 
 i>: 
 
 ']»_ 
 
 
 >i 
 
 C^ 
 
 J^ 
 
 ir
 
 Copyright, 1919, by 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 BOOK I
 
 Chapter I 
 
 For sheer havoc, there is no gale like a good 
 northwester, when it roars in, through the long 
 winter evenings, driving the spindrift before it 
 between the rocky walls of the fjord. It chums 
 the water to a froth of rushing wave crests, while 
 the boats along the beach are flung in somersaults 
 Tip to the doors of the grey fisher huts, and solid 
 old barn gangways are lifted and sent flying like 
 unwieldy birds over the fields. "Mercy on us!" 
 cry the maids, for it is milking-time, and they have 
 to fight their way on hands and knees across the 
 yard to the cowshed, dragging a lantern that tvill 
 go out and a milk-pail that won't be held. And 
 **Lord preserve us!" mutter the old wives seated 
 round the stove within doors — and their thoughts 
 are far away in the north with the Lofoten fisher- 
 men, out at sea, maybe, this very night. 
 
 But on a calm spring day, the fjord just steals 
 in smooth and shining by ness and bay. And at 
 low water there is a whole wonderland of strange 
 little islands, sand-banks, and weed-fringed rocks 
 left high and dry, with clear pools between, where 
 bare-legged urchins splash about, and tiny flat- 
 fish as big as a halfpenny dart away to every side. 
 The air is filled with a smell of salt sea-water and 
 
 II
 
 12 The Great Hunger 
 
 warm, wet beacli-waste, and the sea-pie, see-saw- 
 ing about on a big stone in the water, lifts his red 
 beak cheerily sunwards and pipes : ''Kluip, kluip! 
 the spring has come ! ' ' 
 
 On just such a day, two boys of fourteen or 
 thereabouts came hurrying out from one of the 
 fishermen's huts down towards the beach. Boys 
 are never so busy as when they are up to some 
 piece of mischief, and evidently the pair had busi- 
 ness of this sort in hand. Peer Troen, fair-haired 
 and sallow-faced, was pushing a wheelbarrow ; his 
 companion, Martin Bruvold, a dark youth with 
 freckles, carried a tub. And both talked mysteri- 
 ously in whispers, casting anxious glances out 
 over the water. 
 
 Peer Troen was, of course, the ringleader. That 
 he always was: the forest fire of last year was 
 laid at his door. And now he had made it clear to 
 some of his friends that boys had just as much 
 right to lay out deep-sea lines as men. All through 
 the winter they had been kept at grown-up work, 
 cutting peat and carrying wood; why should they 
 be left now to fool about with the inshore fishing, 
 and bring home nothing better than flounders and 
 coal-fish and silly codlings? The big deep-sea line 
 they were forbidden to touch — that was so — ^but 
 the Lofoten fishery was at its height, and none of 
 the men would be back till it was over. So the 
 boys had baited up the line on the sly down at the 
 boathouse the day before, and laid it out across 
 the deepest part of the fjord.
 
 The Great Hunger 13 
 
 Now the thing about a deep-sea line is that it 
 may bring to the surface fish so big and so fear- 
 some that the like has never been seen before. 
 Yesterday, however, there had been trouble of a 
 different sort. To their dismay, the boys had 
 found that they had not sinkers enough to weight 
 the shore end of the line ; and it looked as if they 
 might have to give up the whole thing. But Peer, 
 ever ready, had hit on the novel idea of making 
 one end fast to the trunk of a small fir growing at 
 the outermost point of the ness, and carrying the 
 line from there out over the open fjord. Then a 
 stone at the farther end, and with the magic 
 words, *'Fie, fish!" it was paid out overboard, 
 vanishing into the green depths. The deed was 
 done. True, there were a couple of hooks dan- 
 gling in mid-air at the shore end, between the tree 
 and the water, and, while they might serve to catch 
 an eider duck, or a guillemot, if any one should 
 chance to come rowing past in the dark and get 
 hung up — why, the boys might find they had made 
 a human catch. No wonder, then, that they whis- 
 pered eagerly and hurried down to the boat. 
 
 ''Here comes Peter Ronningen," cried Martin 
 suddenly. 
 
 This was the third member of the crew, a lanky 
 youth with whitish eyebrows and a foolish face. 
 He stammered, and made a queer noise when he 
 laughed: "Chee-hee-hee." Twice he had been 
 turned down in the confirmation classes ; after all, 
 what was the use of learning lessons out of a book
 
 14 The Great Hunger 
 
 when nobody ever had patience to wait while he 
 said them? 
 
 Together they ran the boat down to the water's 
 edge, got it afloat, and scrambled in, with much 
 waving of patched trouser legs. ''Hi!" cried a 
 voice np on the beach, ' ' let me come too ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' There 's Klaus, ' ' said Martin. ' ' Shall we take 
 him along?" 
 
 *'No," said Peter Ronningen. 
 
 '*0h yes, let's," said Peer. 
 
 Klaus Brock, the son of the district doctor, was 
 a blue-eyed youngster in knickerbockers and a 
 sailor blouse. He was playing truant, no doubt — • 
 Klaus had his lessons at home with a private 
 tutor — and would certainly get a thrashing from 
 his father when he got home. 
 
 *' Hurry up," called Peer, getting ont an oar. 
 Klaus clambered in, and the white-straked four- 
 oar surged across the bay, rocking a little as the 
 boys pulled out of stroke. Martin was rowing at 
 the bow, his eyes fixed on Peer, who sat in the 
 stern in command with his eyes dancing, full of 
 great things to be done. Martin, poor fellow, was 
 half afraid already; he never could understand 
 why Peer, who was to be a parson when he grew 
 up, was always hitting upon things to do that 
 were evidently sinful in the sight of the Lord. 
 
 Peer was a town boy, who had been put out to 
 board with a fisherman in the village. His mother 
 had been no better than she should be, so people 
 said, but she was dead now, and the father at any
 
 The Great Hunger 15 
 
 rate must be a rich gentleman, for he sent the 
 boy a present of ten whole crowns every Christ- 
 mas, so that Peer always had money in his pocket. 
 Naturally, then, he was looked up to by the other 
 boys, and took the lead in all things as a chief- 
 tain by right. 
 
 The boat moved on past the grey rocks, the 
 beach and the huts above it growing blue and faint 
 in the distance. Up among the distant hills a red 
 wooden farm-house on its white foundation wall 
 stood out clear. 
 
 Here was the ness at last, and there stood 
 the fir. Peer climbed up and loosed the end of 
 the line, while the others leaned over the side, 
 watching the cord where it vanished in the depths. 
 What would it bring to light when it came up ? 
 
 *'Row!" ordered Peer, and began hauling in. 
 
 The boat was headed straight out across the 
 fjord, and the long line with its trailing hooks 
 hauled in and coiled up neatly in the bottom of 
 a shallow tub. Peer's heart was beating. There 
 came a tug — the first — and the faint shimmer of 
 a fish deep dowTi in the water. Pooh ! only a big 
 cod. Peer heaved it in with a careless swing over 
 the gunwale. Next came a ling — a deep water fish 
 at any rate this time. Then a tusk, and another, 
 and another; these would please the women, being 
 good eating, and perhaps make them hold their 
 tongues when the men came home. Now the line 
 jerks heavily; what is coming? A grey shadow 
 comes in sight. ''Here with the gaff!" cries Peer,
 
 16 The Great Hunger 
 
 and Peter throws it across to him. "What is it, 
 what is it?" shriek the other three. ** Steady! 
 don't upset the boat; a catfish." A stroke of the 
 gaff over the side, and a clumsy grey body is 
 heaved into the boat, where it rolls about, hissing 
 and biting at the bottom-boards and baler, the 
 splinters crackling under its teeth. *'Mind, 
 mind!" cries Klaus — he was always nervous in 
 a boat. 
 
 But Peer was hauling in again. They were 
 nearly half-way across the fjord by now, and the 
 line came up from mysterious depths, which no 
 fisherman had ever sounded. The strain on Peer 
 began to show in his looks ; the others sat watch- 
 ing his face. **Is the line heavy?" asked Klaus. 
 **Keep still, can't you?" put in Martin, glancing 
 along the slanting line to where it vanished far 
 below. Peer was still hauling. A sense of some- 
 thing uncanny seemed to be thrilling up into his 
 hands from the deep sea. The feel of the line was 
 strange. There was no great weight, not even the 
 clean tug-tug of an ordinary fish; it was as if a 
 giant hand were pulling gently, very gently, to 
 draw him overboard and down into the depths. 
 Then suddenly a violent jerk almost dragged him 
 over the side. 
 
 **Look out! What is it?" cried the three to- 
 gether. 
 
 *'Sit down in the boat," shouted Peer. And 
 with the true fisherman's sense of discipline they 
 obeyed.
 
 The Great Hunger 17 
 
 Peer was gripping the line firmly with one hand, 
 the other clutching one of the thwarts. ''Have 
 we another gaff?" he jerked out breathlessly. 
 
 "Here's one." Peter Ronningen pulled out a 
 second iron-hooked cudgel. 
 
 "You take it, Martin, and stand by." 
 
 ' ' But what— what is it r ' 
 
 "Don't know what it is. But it's something 
 big." 
 
 "Cut the line, and row for your lives!" wailed 
 the doctor's son. Strange he should be such a 
 coward at sea, a fellow who'd tackle a man twice 
 his size on dry land. 
 
 Once more Peer was jerked almost overboard. 
 He thought of the forest fire the year before — it 
 would never do to have another such mishap on 
 his shoulders. Suppose the great monster did 
 come up and capsize them — they were ever so far 
 from land. What a to do there would be if they 
 were all drowned, and it came out that it was his 
 fault. Involuntarily he felt for his knife to cut the 
 line — then thrust it back again, and went on haul- 
 ing. 
 
 Here it comes — a great shadow heaving up 
 through the water. The huge beast flings itself 
 round, sending a flurry of bubbles to the surface. 
 And there! — a gleam of white; a row of great 
 white teeth on the underside. Aha ! now he knows 
 what it is! The Greenland shark is the fiercest 
 monster of the northern seas, quite able to make 
 «hort work of a few boys or so.
 
 18 The Great Hunger 
 
 "Steady now, Martin — ready with the gaff." 
 
 The brute was wallowing on the surface now, the 
 water boiling around him. His tail lashed the sea 
 to foam, a big, pointed head showed up, squirming 
 under the hook. ''Now!" cried Peer, and two 
 gaffs struck at the same moment, the boat heeled 
 over, letting in a rush of water, and Klaus, drop- 
 ping his oars, sprang into the bow, with a cry of 
 ** Jesus, save us!" 
 
 Next second a heavy body, big as a grown man, 
 was heaved in over the gunwale, and two boys 
 were all but shot out the other way. And now 
 the fun began. The boys loosed their hold of the 
 gaffs, and sprang apart to give the creature room. 
 There it lay raging, the great black beast of prey, 
 with its sharp threatening snout and wicked red 
 eyes ablaze. The strong tail lashed out, hurling 
 oars and balers overboard, the long teeth snapped 
 at the bottom-boards and thwarts. Now and again 
 it would leap high up in the air, only to fall back 
 again, writhing furiously, hissing and spitting and 
 frothing at the mouth, its red eyes glaring from 
 one to another of the terrified captors, as if say- 
 ing: "Come on — just a little nearer!" 
 
 Meanwhile, Martin Bruvold was in terror that 
 the shark would smash the boat to pieces. He 
 drew his knife and took a step forward — a flash in 
 the air, and the steel went in deep between the 
 back fins, sending up a spurt of blood. "Look 
 out!" cried the others, but Martin had already 
 sprung back out of reach of the black tail. And
 
 The Great Hunger 19 
 
 now the dance of death began anew. The knife 
 was fixed to the grip in the creature's back; one 
 gaff had buried its hook between the eyes, and 
 another hung on the flank — the wooden shafts 
 were flung this way and that at every bound, and 
 the boat's frame shook and groaned under the 
 blows. 
 
 ''She '11 smash the boat and we'll go to the bot- 
 tom," cried Peer. 
 
 And now his knife flashed out and sent a stream 
 of blood spouting from between the shoulders, but 
 the blow cost him his foothold — and in a moment 
 the two bodies were rolling over and over together 
 in the bottom of the boat. 
 
 **0h, Lord Jesus!" shrieked Klaus, clinging to 
 thestempost. '' She '11 kill him ! She'll kill him!" 
 
 Peer was half up now, on his knees, but as he 
 reached out a hand to grasp the side, the brute's 
 jaws seized on his arm. The boy's face was con- 
 torted with pain — another moment and the sharp 
 teeth would have bitten through, when, swift as 
 thought, Peter Ronningen dropped his oars and 
 sent his knife straight in between the beast's eyes. 
 The blade pierced through to the brain, and the 
 grip of the teeth relaxed. 
 
 ''C-c-cursed d-d-devil!" stammered Peter, as he 
 scrambled back to his oars. Another moment, and 
 Peer had dragged himself clear and was kneeling 
 by the forward thwart, holding the ragged sleeve 
 of his wounded arm, while the blood trickled 
 through his fingers.
 
 20 The Great Hunger 
 
 "When at last they were pulliiig homeward, the 
 little boat overloaded with the weight of the great 
 carcase, all at once they stopped rowing. 
 
 "Where is Klans?" asked Peer — for the doc- 
 tor's son was gone from where he had sat, clinging 
 to the stem. 
 
 **Why — there he is — in the bottom!" 
 
 There lay the big lont of fifteen, who already 
 boasted of his love-affairs, learned German, and 
 was to be a gentleman like his father — there he lay 
 on the bottom-boards in the bow in a dead faint. 
 
 The others were frightened at first, but Peer, 
 who was sitting washing his wounded arm, took 
 a dipper full of water and flung it in the uncon- 
 scious one's face. The next instant Klaus had 
 started up sitting, caught wildly at the gunwale, 
 and shrieked out: 
 
 *'Cut the line, and row for your lives !" 
 
 A roar of laughter went up from the rest ; they 
 dropped their oars and sat doubled up and gasp- 
 ing. But on the beach, before going home, they 
 agreed to say nothing about Klaus 's fainting fit. 
 And for weeks afterwards the four scamps' ex- 
 ploit was the talk of the village, so that they felt 
 there was not much fear of their getting the 
 thrashing they deserved when the men came home.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 When Peer, as quite a little fellow, had been 
 sent to live with the old couple at Troen, he had 
 already passed several times from one adopted 
 home to another, though this he did not remember. 
 He was one of the madcaps of the village now, 
 but it was not long since he had been a solitary 
 child, moping apart from the rest. Why did peo- 
 ple always say ''Poor child!" whenever they were 
 speaking about his real mother? Why did they 
 do it? Why, even Peter Ronningen, when he was 
 angry, would stammer out: ''You ba-ba-bastard ! " 
 But Peer called the pock-marked good-wife at 
 Troen "mother" and her bandy-legged husband 
 ' ' father, ' ' and lent the old man a hand wherever 
 he was wanted — in the smithy or in the boats at 
 the fishing. 
 
 His childhood was passed among folk who 
 counted it sinful to smile, and whose minds were 
 gloomy as the grey sea-fog with poverty, psalm- 
 singing, and the fear of hell. 
 
 One day, coming home from his work at the peat 
 bog, he found the elders snuffling and sighing over 
 their afternoon meal. Peer wiped the sweat from 
 his forehead, and asked what was the matter. 
 
 The eldest son shoved a spoonful of porridge
 
 22 The Great Hunger 
 
 into his mouth, wiped his eyes, swallowed, and 
 said: ''Poor Peer!" 
 
 "Aye, poor little chap," sighed the old man, 
 thrusting his horn spoon into a. crack in the wall 
 that served as a rack. 
 
 "Neither father nor mother now," whimpered 
 the eldest daughter, looking over to the window. 
 
 "Mother? Is she " 
 
 "Ay, dearie, yes," sighed the old woman. 
 "She's gone for sure — gone to meet her Judge." 
 
 Later, as the day went on. Peer tried to cry 
 too. The worst thing of all was that every one in 
 the house seemed so perfectly certain where his 
 mother had gone to. And to heaven it certainly 
 was not. But how could they be so sure about it? 
 
 Peer had seen her only once, one summer's day 
 when she had come out to see the place. She wore 
 a light dress and a big straw hat, and he thought 
 he had never seen anything so beautiful before. 
 She made no secret of it among the neighbour's 
 that Peer was not her only child ; there was a little 
 girl, too, named Louise, who was with some folks 
 away up in the inland parishes. She was in high 
 spirits, and told risky stories and sang songs by 
 no means sacred. The old people shook their 
 heads over her — the younger ones watched her 
 with sidelong glances. And when she left, she 
 kissed Peer, and turned round more than once to 
 look back at him, flushed under her big hat, and 
 smiling; and it seemed to Peer that she must 
 surely be the loveliest creature in all the world.
 
 The Great Hunger 23 
 
 But now — now she had gone to a place where 
 the ungodly dwell in such frightful torment, and 
 no hope of salvation for her through all eternity — 
 and Peer all the while could only think of her in 
 a light dress and a big straw hat, all song and 
 happy laughter. 
 
 Then came the question: "Who was to pay for 
 the boy now? True, his baptismal certificate said 
 that he had a father — his name was Holm, and he 
 lived in Christiania — but, from what the mother 
 haci said, it was understood that he had disap- 
 peared long ago. What was to be done with the 
 
 Never till now had Peer rightly understood that 
 he was a stranger here, for all that he called the 
 old couple father and mother. 
 
 He lay awake night after night up in the loft, 
 listening to the talk about him going on in the 
 room below — the good-wife crying and saying: 
 **No, no!", the others saying how hard the times 
 were, and that Peer was quite old enough now to 
 be put to service as a goat-herd on some up-coun- 
 try farm. 
 
 Then Peer would draw the skin-rug up over his 
 head. But often, when one of the elders chanced 
 to be awake at night, he could hear some one in the 
 loft sobbing in his sleep. In the daytime he took 
 up as little room as he could at the table, and 
 ate as little as humanly possible ; but every morn- 
 ing he woke up in fear that to-day — to-day he
 
 24 The Great Hunger 
 
 would have to bid the old foster-mother farewell 
 and go ont among strangers. 
 
 Then something new and nnheard of plumped 
 down into the little cottage by the fjord. 
 
 There came a registered letter with great dabs 
 of sealing-wax all over it, and a handwriting so 
 gentlemanly as to be almost unreadable. Every 
 one crowded round the eldest son to see it opened 
 — and out fell five ten-crown notes. ''Mercy on 
 us ! ' * they cried in amazement, and * ' Can it be for 
 us ? " The next thing was to puzzle out what was 
 written in the letter. And who should that turn 
 out to be from but — no other than Peer's father, 
 though he did not say it in so many words. *'Be 
 good to the boy," the letter said. ''You will re- 
 ceive fifty crowns from me every half-year. See 
 that he gets plenty to eat and goes dry and well 
 shodo Faithfully your, P. Holm, Captain." 
 
 "Why, Peer — he's — he's Your father's a 
 
 captain, an officer, ' ' stammered the eldest girl, and 
 fell back a step to stare at the boy. 
 
 ••And we're to get twice as much for him as "be- 
 fore," said the son, holding the notes fast and 
 gazing up at the ceiling, as if he were informing 
 Heaven of the fact. 
 
 But the old wife was thinking of something else 
 as she folded her hands in thankfulness — ^now she 
 needn't lose the boy. 
 
 "Properly fed!" No need to fear for that. 
 Peer had treacle with his porridge that very day, 
 though it was only a week-day. And the eldest son
 
 The Great Hunger 25 
 
 gave him a pair of stockings, and made him sit 
 down and put them on then and there; and the 
 same night, when he went to bed, the eldest girl 
 came and tucked him up in a new skin-rug, not 
 quite so hairless as the old one. His father a cap- 
 tain! It seemed too wonderful to be true. 
 
 From that day times were changed for Peer. 
 People looked at him with very different eyes. No 
 one said * ' Poor boy ' ' of him now. The other boys 
 left off calling him bad names ; the grown-ups said 
 he had a future before him. **You'll see," they 
 would say, ''that father of yours will get you on; 
 you'll be a parson yet, ay, maybe a bishop, too." 
 At Christmas, there came a ten-crown note all for 
 himself, to do just as he liked with. Peer changed 
 it into silver, so that his purse was near bursting 
 with prosperity. No wonder he began to go about 
 with his nose in the air, and play the little prince 
 and chieftain among the boys. Even Klaus Brock, 
 the doctor's son, made up to him, and taught him 
 to play cards. But — "You surely don't mean to 
 go and be a parson," he would say. 
 
 For all this, no one could say that Peer was too 
 proud to help with the fishing, or make himself 
 useful in the smithy. But when the sparks flew 
 showering from the glowing iron, he could not help 
 seeing visions of his own — visions that flew out 
 into the future. Aye, he would be a priest. He 
 might be a sinner now, and a wild young scamp ; 
 he certainly did curse and swear like a trooper at 
 times, if only to show the other boys that it was
 
 26 The Great Hunger 
 
 all nonsense about the earth opening and swallow- 
 ing you up. But a priest he would be, all the same. 
 None of your parsons with spectacles and a pot 
 belly : no, but a sort of heavenly messenger with 
 snowy white robes and a face of glory. Perhaps 
 some day he might even come so far that he could 
 go down into that place of torment where his 
 mother lay, and bring her up again, up to salva- 
 tion. And when, in autumn evenings, he stood 
 outside his palace, a white-haired bishop, he would 
 lift up his finger, and all the stars should break 
 into song. 
 
 Clang, clang, sang the anvil under the hammer's 
 beat. 
 
 In the still summer evenings a troop of boys go 
 climbing up the naked slopes towards the high 
 wooded ranges to fetch home the cows for the 
 milking. The higher they climb, the farther and 
 farther their sight can travel out over the sea. 
 And an hour or two later, as the sun goes down, 
 here comes a long string of red-flanked cattle trail- 
 ing down, with a faint jangle of bells, over the far- 
 off ridges. The boys halloo them on — "Ohoo-oo- 
 00 !" — and swing their ringed rowan staves, and 
 spit red juice of the alder bark that they are chew- 
 ing as men chew tobacco. Far below them they 
 see the farm lands, grey in shadow, and, beyond, 
 the waters of the fjord, yellow in the evening light, 
 a mirror where red clouds and white sails and hills 
 of liquid blue are shining. And away out on the
 
 The Great Hunger 27 
 
 farthest headland, the lonely star of the coast light 
 over the grey sea. 
 
 On such an evening Peer came down from the 
 hills just in time to see a gentleman in a carriole 
 turn off from the highway and take the by-road 
 down towards Troen. The horse balked suddenly 
 at a small bridge, and when the driver reined him 
 in and gave him a cut with his whip, the beast 
 reared, swung about, and sent the cart fairly 
 dancing round on its high wheels. * ' Oh, well, then, 
 I'll have to walk," cried the gentleman angrily, 
 and, flinging the reins to the lad behind him, he 
 jumped down. Just at this moment Peer came up. 
 
 *'Here, boy," began the traveller, **just take 
 this bag, will you? And " He broke off sud- 
 denly, took a step backward, and looked hard at 
 
 the boy. ''What — surely it can't be Is it 
 
 you. Peer?" 
 
 "Ye-es," said Peer, gaping a little, and took 
 off his cap. 
 
 ''Well, now, that's funny. My name is Holm. 
 Well, well— well, well!" 
 
 The lad in the cart had driven off, and the gen- 
 tleman from the city and the pale country boy 
 with the patched trousers stood looking at each 
 other. 
 
 The newcomer was a man of fifty or* so, but still 
 straight and active, though his hair and close- 
 trimmed beard were sprinkled with grey. His 
 eyes twinkled gaily under the brim of his black 
 felt hat; his long overcoat was open, showing a
 
 28 The Great Hunger 
 
 gold chain across his waistcoat. With a pair of 
 gloves and an nmbrella in one hand, a light travel- 
 ling bag in the other, and his beautifully pohshed 
 shoes — a grand gentleman, thought Peer, if ever 
 there was one. And this was his father ! 
 
 "So that's how you look, my boy? Not very 
 big for your age — nearly sixteen now, aren't you? 
 Do they give you enough to eat?" 
 
 "Yes," said Peer, with conviction. 
 
 The pair walked down together, towards the 
 grey cottage by the fjord. Suddenly the man 
 stopped, and looked at it through half-shut eyes. 
 
 "Is that where you've been living all these 
 years ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In that little hut there?" 
 
 "Yes. That's the place — Troen they caU it." 
 
 "Why, that wall there bulges so, I should think 
 the whole affair would collapse soon." 
 
 Peer tried to laugh at this, but felt something 
 like a lump in his throat. It hurt to hear fine folks 
 talk like that of father and mother's little house. 
 
 There was a great flurry when the strange gen- 
 tleman appeared in the doorway. The old wife 
 was kneading away at the dough for a cake, the 
 front of her all white with flour; the old man sat 
 with his spectacles on, patching a shoe, and the 
 two girls sprang up from their spinning wheels. 
 "Well, here I am. My name's- Holm," said the 
 traveller, looking round and smiling. "Mercy on
 
 The Great Hunger 29 
 
 us! the Captain Ms own self," murmured the old 
 woman, wiping her hands on her skirt. 
 
 He was an affable gentleman, and soon set them 
 all at their ease. He sat down in the seat of 
 honour, drumming with his fingers on the table, 
 and talking easily as if quite at home. One of the 
 girls had been in service for a while in a Consul's 
 family in the town, and knew the ways of gentle- 
 folk, and she fetched a bowl of milk and offered 
 it with a curtsy and a: "Will the Captain please 
 to take some milk?" "Thanks, thanks," said the 
 visitor. "And what is your name, my dear? 
 Come, there's nothing to blush about. Nicoline? 
 First-rate! And you? Lusiana? That's right." 
 He looked at the red-rimmed basin, and, taking 
 it up, all but emptied it at a draught, then, wiping 
 his beard, took breath. "Phu! — that was good. 
 Well, so here I am." And he looked around the 
 room and at each of them in turn, and smiled, 
 and drummed with his fingers, and said, "Well, 
 well — well, well," and seemed much amused with 
 everything in general. "By the way, Nicoline," 
 he said suddenly, "since you're so well up in titles, 
 I'm not 'Captain' any more now; they've sent me 
 up this way as Lieutenant-Colonel, and my wife 
 has just had a house left her in your town here, 
 so we may be coming to settle down in these 
 parts. And perhaps you'd better send letters to 
 me through a friend in future. But we can talk 
 about all that by and by. Well, well — well, well. ' ' 
 And all the time he was drumming with his fingers
 
 30 The Great Hunger 
 
 on the table and smiling. Peer noticed that he 
 wore gold sleeve-links and a fine gold stud in his 
 broad white shirt-front. 
 
 And then a little packet was produced. *'Hi, 
 Peer, come and look; here's something for you." 
 And the ''something" was nothing less than a real 
 silver watch — and Peer was quite unhappy for the 
 moment because he couldn't dash off at once and 
 show it to all the other boys. ''There's a father 
 for you," said the old wife, clapping her hands, 
 and almost in tears. But the visitor patted her on 
 the shoulder. "Father? father? H'm— that's 
 not a thing any one can be so sure about. Haha- 
 ha!" And "hahaha" echoed the old man, still 
 sitting with the awl in his hand. This was the sort 
 of joke he could appreciate. 
 
 Then the visitor went out and strolled about the 
 place, with his hands under his coat tails, and 
 looked at the sky, and the fjord, and murmured, 
 "Well, well — well, well," and Peer followed him 
 about all the while, and gazed at him as he might 
 have gazed at a star. He was to sleep in a neigh- 
 bour's house, where there was a room that had a 
 bed with sheets on it, and Peer went across with 
 him and carried his bag. It was Martin Bruvold's 
 parents who were to house the traveller, and peo- 
 ple stood round staring at the place. Martin him- 
 self was waiting outside. ' ' This a friend of yours, 
 Peer? Here, then, my boy, here's something to 
 buy a big farm with." This time it was a five- 
 crown note, and Martin stood fingering it, hardly
 
 The Great Hunger 31 
 
 able to believe his eyes. Peer's father was some- 
 thing like a father. 
 
 It was a fine thing, too, to see a grand gentleman 
 undress. ''I'll have things like that some day," 
 thought Peer, watching each new wonder that 
 came out of the bag. There was a silver-backed 
 brush, that he brushed his hair and beard with, 
 walking up and down in his underclothes and hum- 
 ming to himself. And then there was another 
 shirt, with red stripes round the collar, just to 
 wear in bed. Peer nodded to himself, taking 
 it all in. And when the stranger was in bed 
 he took out a flask with a silver cork, that screwed 
 off and turned into a cup, and had a dram for a 
 nightcap; and then he reached for a long pipe 
 with a beaded cord, and when it was drawing well 
 he stretched himself out comfortably and smiled 
 at Peer. 
 
 *'Well, now, my boy — are you getting on well 
 at school?" 
 
 Peer put his hands behind him and set one foot 
 forward. "Yes — he says so — teacher does." 
 
 **How much is twelve times twelve?" 
 
 That was a stumper! Peer hadn't got beyond 
 ten times ten. 
 
 *'Do they teach you gymnastics at the school?" 
 
 **Gym ? What's that?" 
 
 "Jumping and vaulting and climbing ropes and 
 drilling in squads — what?" 
 
 "But isn't it— isn't that wicked?" 
 
 "Wicked! Hahaha! Wicked, did you say? So
 
 32 The Great Hunger 
 
 that's the way they look at things here, is it? Well, 
 well — well, well ! Hahaha ! Hand me that match- 
 box, my boy, H 'm ! " He puffed away for a while 
 in silence. Then, suddenly : 
 
 *'See here, boy. Did you know you'd a little 
 sister?" 
 
 *'Yes, I know." 
 
 * ' Half-sister, that is to say. I didn 't quite know 
 how it was myself. But I may as well tell you, my 
 boy, that I paid the same for you all along, the 
 same as now. Only I sent the money by your 
 mother, and she — well, she, poor girl, had another 
 one to look after, and no father to pay for it. So 
 she made my money do for both. Hahaha ! "Well, 
 poor girl, we can't blame her for that. Anyhow, 
 we'll have to look after that little half-sister of 
 yours now, I suppose, till she grows up. Don't 
 you think so yourself?" 
 
 Peer felt the tears coming. Think so ! — indeed 
 he did. 
 
 Next day Peer's father went away. He stood 
 there, ready to start, in the living-room at Troen, 
 stiff felt hat and overcoat and all, and said, in a 
 tone like the sheriff's when he gives out a public 
 notice at the church door: 
 
 **And, by the way, you're to have the boy con- 
 firmed this year." 
 
 *'Yes, to be sure we will," the old mother has- 
 tened to say. 
 
 ''Then I wish him to be properly dressed, like 
 the best of the other youngsters. And there's fifty
 
 The Great Hunger 33 
 
 crowns for him to give tlie scliool-teacher and the 
 parson as a parting gift. ' ^ He handed over some 
 more notes. 
 
 *' Afterwards," he went on, *'I mean, of course, 
 to look after him until he can make his own way 
 in a respectable position. But first we must see 
 what he has a turn for, and what he'd like to be 
 himself. He 'd better come to town and talk it over 
 with me — but I '11 write and arrange all that after 
 he's confirmed. Then in case anything unexpected 
 should happen to me, there's some money laid by 
 for him in a savings bank account; he can apply 
 to a friend of mine, who knows all about it. Well, 
 good-bye, and very many thanks!" 
 
 And the great man smiled to right and left, and 
 shook them all by the hand, and waved his hat and 
 was gone. 
 
 For the next few days Peer walked on air, and 
 found it hard to keep his footing at all on the 
 common earth. People were for ever filling his 
 head "with talk about that savings bank account — 
 it might be only a few thousands of crowns — ^but 
 then again, it might run up to a million. A million ! 
 and here he was, eating herrings for dinner, and 
 talking to Tom, Dick, and Harry just like any one 
 else. A million crowns ! 
 
 Late in the autumn came the confirmation, and 
 the old wooden church, with its tarred walls, nes- 
 tled among its mighty tree-tops, sent its chimes 
 ringing and ringing out into the blue autumn air. 
 It seemed to Peer like some kindly old grand-
 
 34 The Great Hunger 
 
 motlier, calling so lovingly: "Come, come — old 
 and young — old and young — from fjord and val- 
 ley — nortliways and southways ; come, come — this 
 day of all days — this day of all days — come, come, 
 come!" So it had stood, ringing out the chimes 
 for one generation after another through hundreds 
 of years, and now it is calling to us. And the young 
 folks are there, looking at one another in their 
 new clothes, and blowing their noses on clean 
 white handkerchiefs, so carefully folded. There 
 comes Peter Konningen, passed by good luck this 
 year, but forced to turn out in a jacket borrowed 
 from Peer, as the tailor wasn't ready with his 
 own new things. The boys say ''how-do-you-do" 
 and try to smile like grown-up folks. One or two 
 of them may have some little account dating from 
 old school-fights waiting to be settled — but, never 
 mind — just as well to forget old scores now. Peer 
 caught sight of Johan Koja, who stole a pencil 
 from him last summer, but, after all, even that 
 didn't seem worth making a fuss about. ''Well, 
 how've you been getting on since last summer!" 
 they ask each other, as they move together up the 
 stone steps to the big church door, through which 
 the peal of the organ comes rolling out to meet 
 them. 
 
 How good it seems, and how kind, the little 
 church, where all you see bids you welcome! 
 Through the stained-glass windows with their tiny 
 leaded panes falls a light so soft that even poor 
 "Ugly faces seem beautiful. The organ tones are
 
 The Great Hunger 35 
 
 the very light itself turned into sweet sound. On 
 one side of the nave you can see all the boys' 
 heads, sleek with water; on the other the little 
 mothers to be, in grown-up dress to-day for the 
 first time, kerchief on head and hjTiin-book in 
 hand, and with careful faces. And now they all 
 sing. The elder folks have taken their places 
 farther back to-day, but they join in, looking up 
 now and again from the book to those young heads 
 in front, and wondering how they will fare in life. 
 And the young folk themselves are thinking as 
 they sing, "To-day is the beginning of new things. 
 Play and frolic are over and done with; from to- 
 day w^e're grown-up." But the church and all in 
 it seemed to say: *'If ever you are in heavy 
 trouble, come hither to me." Just look at that 
 altar-piece there — the wood-carvings are a whole 
 Bible in themselves — ^but Moses with the Tables 
 of the Law is gentle of face to-day; you can see 
 he means no harm after all. St. Peter, with the 
 keys, pointing upwards, looks like a kind old uncle, 
 bringing something good home from market. And 
 then the angels on the walls, pictured or carved 
 in wood, have borrowed the voice of the organ and 
 the tones of the hymn, and they widen out the 
 vaulted roof into the dome of heaven ; while light 
 and song and worshippers melt together and soar 
 upwards toward the infinite spaces. 
 
 Peer was thinking all the time: I don't care if 
 I'm rich as rich, I will be a priest. And then per- 
 haps with all my money I can build a church
 
 36 The Great Hunger 
 
 that no one ever saw the like of. And the first 
 couple I'll marry there shall be Martin Bruvold 
 and little sister Louise — if only he'll have her. 
 Just wait and see ! 
 
 A few days later he wrote to his father, asking 
 if he might come into town now and go to school. 
 A long time passed, and then at last a letter came 
 in a strange hand-writing, and all the grown folks 
 at Troen came together again to read it. But 
 what was their amazement when they read : 
 
 *'You will possibly have learned by now from 
 the newspapers that your benefactor, Colonel 
 Holm, has met his death by a fall from a horse. I 
 must therefore request you to call on me person- 
 ally at your earliest convenience, as I have several 
 matters to settle with you. Yours faithfully, J. 
 Grundt, Senior Master." 
 
 They stood and looked at one another. 
 
 Peer was crying — chiefly, it must be admitted, 
 at the thought of having to bid good-bye to all 
 the Troen folks and the two cows, and the calf, 
 and the grey cat. He might have to go right on 
 to Christiania, no later than to-morrow — to go to 
 school there ; and when he came back — why, very 
 likely the old mother might not be there any 
 more. 
 
 So all three of them were heavy-hearted, when 
 the pock-marked good-wife, and the bow-legged 
 old man, came down with him to the pier. And 
 soon he was standing on the deck of the fjord 
 steamer, gazing at the two figures growing smaller
 
 The Great Hunger 37 
 
   *" .1 I. -.1 III. 111.   ^. .. . . „^.._, .1 .1 . . II , „ ^ 
 
 and smaller on the shore. And then one hut after 
 another in the little hamlet disappeared behind the 
 ness — Troen itself was gone now — and the hills 
 and the woods where he had cut ring staves and 
 searched for stray cattle — swiftly all known things 
 drew away and vanished, until at last the whole 
 parish was gone, and his childhood over.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 As evening fell, lie saw a multitude of lights 
 spread out on every side far ahead in the darkness. 
 And next, with his little wooden chest on his shoul- 
 der, he was finding his way up through the streets 
 by the quay to a lodging-house for country folk, 
 which he knew from former visits, when he had 
 come to the town with the Lofoten boats. 
 
 Next morning, clad in his country homespun, 
 he marched up along River Street, over the bridge, 
 and up the hill to the villa quarter, where he had 
 to ask the way. At last he arrived outside a white- 
 painted wooden house standing back in a garden. 
 Here was the place — the place where his fate was 
 to be decided. After the country fashion he 
 walked in at the kitchen door. 
 
 A stout servant maid in a big white apron was 
 rattling the rings of the kitchen range into place ; 
 there was a pleasing smell of coffee and good 
 things to eat. Suddenly a door opened, and a 
 figure in a dressing-go\vn appeared — a tall red- 
 haired man with gold spectacles astride on a long 
 red nose, his thick hair and scrubby little mous- 
 taches touched with grey. He gasped once or twice 
 and then started sneezing — hoc-hoc-put-putsch! — 
 wiped his nose with a large pocket-handkerchief, 
 and grumbled out: *'Ugh! — this wretched cold — 
 
 38
 
 The Great Hunger 39 
 
 can't get rid of it. How about my socks, Bertha, 
 my good girl; do you think they are quite dry 
 now?" 
 
 *'IVe had them hung up ever since I lit the 
 fire this morning," said the girl, tossing her 
 head. 
 
 * * But who is this young gentleman, may I ask ! ' ' 
 The gold spectacles were turned full on Peer, who 
 rose and bowed. 
 
 ''Said he wanted to speak to you, sir," put in 
 the maid. 
 
 **Ah. From the country, I see. Have you any- 
 thing to sell, my lad?" 
 
 *'No," said Peer. He had had a letter. . . . 
 
 The red head seemed positively frightened at 
 this — and the dressing-gown faltered backwards, 
 as if to find support. He cast a hurried glance at 
 the girl, and then beckoned with a long fore-finger 
 to Peer. *'Yes, yes, perfectly so. Be so good as 
 to come this way, my lad. ' ' 
 
 Peer found himself in a room with rows of books 
 all round the walls, and a big writing-table in the 
 centre. **Sit down, my boy." The schoolmaster 
 went and picked out a long pipe, and filled it, clear- 
 ing his throat nervously, with an occasional glance 
 at the boy. *'H'm — so this is you. This is Peer — 
 h'm." He lit his pipe and puffed a little, found 
 himself again obliged to sneeze — ^but at last set- 
 tled down in a chair at the writing-table, stretched 
 out his long legs, and puffed away again. 
 
 *'So that's what you look like?" "With a quick
 
 40 The Great Hunger 
 
 movement lie reached for a photograph in a frame. 
 Peer caught a glimpse of his father in miiform. 
 The schoolmaster lifted his spectacles, stared at 
 the picture, then let down his spectacles again and 
 fell to scrutinising Peer's face. There was a si- 
 lence for a while, and then he said: *'Ah, indeed —   
 I see — h 'm. ' ' Then turning to Peer : 
 
 **Well, my lad, it was very sudden — your bene- 
 factor's end — most imexpected. He is to be buried 
 to-day." 
 
 ** Benefactor?" thought Peer. *'Why doesn't 
 he say 'your father'?" 
 
 The schoolmaster was gazing at the window. 
 **He informed me some time ago of — h'm — of all 
 the — all the benefits he had conferred on you — 
 h'm! And he begged me to keep an eye on you 
 myself in case anything happened to him. And 
 now" — ^the spectacles swung round towards Peer 
 — **now you are starting out in life by yourself, 
 hey?" 
 
 *'Yes," said Peer, shifting a little in his seat. 
 
 "You will have to decide now what walk in life 
 you are to — er — devote yourself to." 
 
 ** Yes," said Peer again, sitting up straighter. 
 
 *'You would perhaps like to be a fisherman — 
 like the good people you've been brought up 
 among?" 
 
 **No." Peer shook his head disdainfully. "Was 
 this man trying to make a fool of him? 
 
 ''Some trade, then, perhaps?" 
 
 "NoJ'
 
 The Great Htmger 41 
 
 "Oh, then I suppose it's to be America. Well, 
 you will easily find company to go with. Such 
 numbers are going nowadays — I am sorry to 
 say. ..." 
 
 Peer pulled himself together. * * Oh, no, not that 
 at all." Better get it out at once. **I wish to be 
 a priest," he said, speaking with a careful town 
 accent. 
 
 The schoolmaster rose from his seat, holding his 
 long pipe up in the air in one hand, and pressing 
 his ear forward with the other, as though to hear 
 better. ' * What ?— what did you say ? " 
 
 ** A priest," repeated Peer, but he moved behind 
 his chair as he spoke, for it looked as if the school- 
 master might fling the pipe at his head. 
 
 But suddenly the red face broke into a smile, ex- 
 posing such an array of greenish teeth as Peer had 
 never seen before. Then he said in a sort of sing- 
 song, nodding: **A priest? Oh, indeed! Quite a 
 small matter!" He rose and wandered once or 
 twice up and down the room, then stopped, nodded, 
 and said in a fatherly tone — to one of the book- 
 shelves: "H'm — really — really — ^we're a little am- 
 bitious, are we not?" 
 
 He turned on Peer suddenly. **Look here, my 
 young friend — don't you think your benefactor has 
 been quite generous enough to you already?" 
 
 **Yes, indeed he has," said Peer, his voice be- 
 ginning to tremble a little. 
 
 * * There are thousands of boys in your position 
 who are thrown out in the world after confirma-
 
 42 The Great Hunger 
 
 tion and left to shift for themselves, without a soul 
 to lend them a helping hand." 
 
 ''Yes," gasped Peer, looking round involuntar- 
 ily towards the door. 
 
 ''I can't understand — who can have put these 
 wild ideas into your head?" 
 
 With an effort Peer managed to get out: ''It's 
 always been what I wanted. And he — father " 
 
 "Who? Father ? Do you mean your ben- 
 efactor!" 
 
 "Well, he was my father, wasn't he?" burst out 
 Peer. 
 
 The schoolmaster tottered back and sank into 
 a chair, staring at Peer as if he thought him a 
 quite hopeless subject. At last he recovered so 
 far as to say: "Look here, my lad, don't you 
 think you might be content to call him — now and 
 for the future — just your benefactor? Don't you 
 think he deserves it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," whispered Peer, almost in tears. 
 
 "You are thinking, of course — you and those 
 who have put all this nonsense into your head — 
 of the money which he — h'm " 
 
 "Yes — isn't there a savings bank ac- 
 count ?" 
 
 "Aha! There we are! Yes, indeed. There is 
 a savings bank account — in my care." He rose, 
 and hunted out from a drawer a small green- 
 covered book. Peer could not take his eyes from 
 it. "Here it is. The sum entered here to your 
 account amounts to eighteen hundred crowns."
 
 TJie Great Hunger 48 
 
 Crash! Peer felt as if he had fallen through 
 the floor into the cellarage. All his dreams van- 
 ished into thin air — the million crowns — priest 
 and bishop — Christiania — and all the rest. 
 
 *'0n the day when you are in a fair way to 
 set up independently as an artisan, a farmer, or 
 a fisherman — and when you seem to me, to the 
 best of my judgment, to deserve such help — then 
 and not till then I place this book at your dis- 
 posal. Do you understand what I sayT* 
 
 *'Yes.'» 
 
 **I am perfectly sure that I am in full agree- 
 ment with the wishes of the donor in deciding 
 that the money must remain untouched in my 
 safe keeping until then.** 
 
 **Yes," whispered Peer. 
 
 ""What? — are you crying?" 
 
 **N-no. Good-morning " 
 
 **No, pray don't go yet. Sit down. There are 
 one or two things we must get settled at once. 
 First of all — you must trust me, my good boy. 
 Do you believe that I wish you well, or do you 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then it is agreed that all these fancies about 
 going to college and so forth must be driven out of 
 your head once for all?" 
 
 "Y-yes, sir." 
 
 "You can see yourself that, even supposing you 
 had the mental qualifications, such a sum, gen-
 
 44 The Great Hunger 
 
 ___^ —     I . . — — . — .. ..-■11 I 1^ 
 
 erous as it is in itself, would not suffice to carry 
 you far." 
 
 *' No-no, sir.'* 
 
 **0n the other hand, if you wish it, I will gladly 
 arrange to get you an apprentice's place with a 
 good handicraftsman here. You would have free 
 board there, and — ^well, if you should want clothes 
 the first year or so, I dare say we could manage 
 that. You will be better without pocket-money 
 to fling about until you can earn it for your- 
 self." 
 
 Peer sighed, and drooped as he stood. When 
 he saw the green-backed book locked into its 
 drawer again, and heard the keys rattle as they 
 went back into a pocket under the dressing-gown, 
 he felt as if some one were pointing a jeering 
 finger at him, and saying, "Yah!" 
 
 * * Then there 's another thing. About your name. 
 What name have you thought of taking, my lad — 
 surname, I mean?" 
 
 **My name is Peer Hohn!" said the boy, in- 
 stinctively drawing himself up as he had done 
 when the bishop had patted his head at the con- 
 firmation and asked his name. 
 
 The schoolmaster pursed up his lips, took off 
 his spectacles and wiped them, put them on again, 
 and turned to the bookshelves with a sigh. *'Ah, 
 indeed! — ^yes — yes — I almost thought as much." 
 
 Then he came forward and laid a hand kindly 
 on Peer's shoulder. 
 
 "My dear boy — that is out of the question."
 
 The Great Hunger 45 
 
 A shiver went througli Peer. Had he done 
 something wrong again? 
 
 **See here, my boy — have you considered that 
 there may be others of that name in this same 
 place?'' 
 
 *'Yes— but *' 
 
 "Wait a minute — and that you would occasion 
 these — others — the deepest pain and distress if it 
 should become known that — ^well, how matters 
 stand. You see, I am treating you as a grown-up 
 man — a gentleman. And I feel sure you would not 
 wish to inflict a great sorrow — a crushing blow — 
 upon a widow and her innocent children. There, 
 there, my boy, there 's nothing to cry about. Life, 
 my young friend, life has troubles that must be 
 faced. "What is the name of the farm, or house, 
 where you have lived up to now?" 
 
 *'T— Troen.'' 
 
 "Troen — a very good name indeed. Then from 
 to-day on you will call yourself Peer Troen.'* 
 
 **Y-yes, sir." 
 
 *'And if any one should ask about your father, 
 remember that you are bound in honour and con- 
 science not to mention your benefactor's name." 
 
 *'Y-yes." 
 
 ''Well, then, as soon as you have made up your 
 mind, come at once and let me know. We shall 
 be great friends yet, you will see. You're sure 
 you wouldn't like to try America? Well, well, 
 come along out to the kitchen and see if we can 
 find you some breakfast."
 
 46 The Great Hunger 
 
 Peer found himself a moment after sitting on a 
 chair in the kitchen, where there was such a good 
 smell of coffee. ** Bertha," said the schoolmaster 
 coaxingly, ''you'll find something good for break- 
 fast for my young friend here, won't you?" He 
 waved a farewell with his hand, took down his 
 socks from a string above the stove, and disap- 
 peared through the door again.
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 When a country boy in blue bomespun, witb a 
 peaked cap on his blond head, goes wandering at 
 random through the streets of a town, it is no 
 particular concern of any one else. He moves 
 along, gazing in at shop windows, hands deep in 
 his pockets, whistling, looking at everything 
 around him — or at nothing at all. And yet — per- 
 haps in the head under that peaked cap it seems 
 as if a whole little world had suddenly collapsed, 
 and he may be whistling hard to keep from cry- 
 ing in the streets for people to see. He steps 
 aside to avoid a cart, and runs into a man, who 
 drops his cigar in the gutter. *' Confounded 
 country lout!" says the man angrily, but passes 
 on and has forgotten boy and all the next mo- 
 ment. But a little farther on a big dog comes 
 dashing out of a yard and unluckily upsets a fat 
 old woman on the pavement, and the boy with 
 the peaked cap, for all his troubles, cannot help 
 doubling up and roaring with laughter. 
 
 That afternoon. Peer sat on one of the ramparts 
 below the fortress, biting at a stalk of grass, and 
 twirling the end in his fingers. Below him lay 
 town and fjord in the mild October sunlight; the 
 rumble of traffic, the noises from workshops and
 
 48 The Great Hunger 
 
 harbour, came up to him through the rust-brown 
 luminous haze. There he sat, while the sentry 
 on the wall above marched back and forth, with 
 his rifle on his shoulder, left — right — left. 
 
 You may climb very high up indeed, and fall 
 down very deep, and no such terrible harm done 
 after all, as long as you don't absolutely break 
 your neck. And gradually Peer began to realise 
 that he was still alive, after all. It is a bad busi- 
 ness when the world goes against you, even though 
 you may have some one to turn to for advice and 
 sympathy. But when all the people round you 
 are utter strangers, there is nothing to be done 
 but sit down and twirl a straw, and think things 
 out a bit for yourself. Peer's thoughts were of 
 a thing in a long dressing-gown that had taken 
 his bank book and locked it up and rattled the 
 keys at him and said "Yah!" and deposed him 
 from his bishopric and tried to sneeze and squeeze 
 him into a trade, where he'd have to carry a 
 pressing-iron all his life and be Peer Troen, 
 Tailor. But he wouldn't have that. He sat there 
 bracing himself up, and trying to gather together 
 from somewhere a thing he had never had much 
 need of before — to wit, a will of his own, some- 
 thing to set up against the whole wide world. 
 What was he to do now? He felt he would like 
 to go back to Troen first of all, and talk things 
 over with the old father and mother; they would 
 be sorry for him there, and say ''Poor boy,*' and 
 pray for him — ^but after a day or two, he knew,
 
 The Great Hunger 49 
 
 they would begin to glance at him at meals, and 
 remember that there was no one to pay for him 
 now, and that times were hard. No, that was no 
 refuge for him now. But what could he do, then? 
 Clearly it was not such a simple matter to be all 
 alone in the world. 
 
 A little later he found himself on a hillside by 
 the Cathedral churchyard, sitting under the yel- 
 lowing trees, and wondering dreamily where his 
 father was to be buried. What a difference be- 
 tween him and that schoolmaster man! No 
 preaching with him; no whining about what his 
 boy might call himself or might not. Why must 
 he go and die ? 
 
 It was strange to think of that fine strong man, 
 who had brushed his hair and beard so carefully 
 with his silver-backed brush — to think that he was 
 lying still in a coffin now, and would soon be cov- 
 ered up with earth. 
 
 People were coming up the hill now, and pass- 
 ing in to the churchyard. The men wore black 
 clothes and tall shiny hats — but there were some 
 officers too, with plumes and sashes. And then a 
 regimental band — ^with its brass instruments. 
 Peer slipped into the churchyard with the crowd, 
 but kept apart from the rest, and took up his stand 
 a little way off, beside a big monument. ' ' It must 
 be father's funeral," he thought to himself, and 
 was broad awake at once. 
 
 This, he guessed, must be the Cadet School, 
 that came marching in, and formed up in two lines
 
 50 The Great Hunger 
 
 r- I ' 
 
 from the mortuary chapel to the open grave. 
 The place was nearly full of people now; there 
 were women holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, 
 and an elderly lady in black went into the chapel, 
 on the arm of a tall man in uniform. ' ' That must 
 be father's wife," thought Peer, *'and the young 
 ladies there in black are — my half-sisters, and 
 that young lieutenant — my half-brother." How 
 strange it all was ! A sound of singing came from 
 the chapel. And a little later six sergeants came 
 out, carrying a coffin all heaped with flowerSw 
 "Present arms!" And the soldiers presented, 
 and the band played a slow march and moved 
 off in front of the coffin, between the two lines 
 of soldiers. And then came a great following of 
 mourners. The lady in black came out again, 
 sobbing behind her handkerchief, and hardly able 
 to follow, though she clung to the tall officer's 
 arm. But in front of the pair, just behind the oof- 
 fin itself, walked a tall man in splendid uniform, 
 with gold epaulettes, plumed hat, and sword, bear- 
 ing a cushion with two jewelled stars. And the 
 long, long train of mourners moved slowly, gently 
 on, and there — there by the grave, stood the priest, 
 holding a spade. 
 
 Peer was anxious to hear what the priest would 
 have to say about his father. Involuntarily he 
 stole a little nearer, though he felt somehow that 
 it would not do to come too close. 
 
 A hymn was sung at the graveside, the band 
 accompanying. Peer took off his cap. He was
 
 The Great Hunger 51 
 
 too taken up to notice that one of the mourners 
 was watching him intently, and presently left the 
 group and came towards him. The man wore spec- 
 tacles, and a shiny tall hat, and it was not until 
 he began to sneeze that Peer recognised him. It 
 was the schoolmaster, glaring at him now with a 
 face so full of horror and fury that the spectacles 
 almost seemed to be spitting fire. 
 
 "You — you Are you mad?'* he whispered 
 
 in Peer's face, clenching his black gloved hands. 
 * * What are you doing here ? Do you want to cause 
 a catastrophe to-day of all days? Go — get away 
 at once, do you hear me ! Go ! For heaven's sake, 
 get away from here before any one sees." Peer 
 turned and fled, hearing behind him as he went 
 
 a threatening ''If ever you dare — again ," 
 
 while the voices and the band, swelling higher in 
 the hymn, seemed to strike him in the back and 
 drive him on. 
 
 He was far down in the town before he could 
 stop and pull himself together. One thing was 
 clear — after this he could never face that school- 
 master again. All was lost. Could he even be 
 sure that what he had done wasn't so frightfully 
 wrong that he would have to go to prison for it? 
 
 Next day the Troen folk were sitting at their 
 dinner when the eldest son looked out of the win- 
 dow and said: ''There's Peer coming." 
 
 ' ' Mercy on us ! " cried the good-wife, as he came 
 in. "What is the matter. Peer? Are you ill?" 
 
 Ah, it was good that night to creep in under
 
 52 The Great Hunger 
 
 the old familiar skin-mg once more. And the old 
 mother sat on the bedside and talked to him of the 
 Lord, by way of comfort. Peer clenched his hands 
 under the clothes — somehow he thought now of the 
 Lord as a sort of schoolmaster in a dressing- 
 gown. Yet it was some comfort all the same to 
 have the old soul sit there and talk to him. 
 
 Peer had much to put up with in the days that 
 followed — much tittering and whispers of ''Look I 
 there goes the priest," as he went by. At table, 
 he felt ashamed of every mouthful he took; he 
 hunted for jobs as day-labourer on distant farms 
 so as to earn a little to help pay for his keep. 
 And when the winter came he would have to do 
 as the others did — ^hire himself out, young and 
 small as he was, for the Lofoten fishing. 
 
 But one day after church Klaus Brock drew 
 him aside and got him to talk things over at length. 
 First, Klaus told him that he himself was going 
 away — he was to begin in one of the mechanical 
 workshops in town, and go from there to the 
 Technical College, to qualify for an engineer. 
 And next he wanted to hear the whole truth about 
 what had happened to Peer that day in town. 
 For when people went slapping their thighs and 
 Bniggering about the young would-be priest that 
 had turned out a beggar, Klaus felt he would 
 like to give the lot of them a darned good ham- 
 mering. 
 
 So the two sixteen-year-old boys wandered up 
 and down talking, and in the days to com'- Peer
 
 The Great Hunger 53 
 
 never forgot how his old accomplice in the shark- 
 fishing had stood by him now. *'Do like me,** 
 nrged Klans. * 'You're a bit of a smith already, 
 man; go to the workshops, and read np in your 
 spare time for the entrance exam, to the Technical. 
 Then three years at the College — the eighteen 
 hundred crowns will cover that — and there you 
 are, an engineer — and needn't even owe any one 
 a halfpenny." 
 
 Peer shook his head ; he was sure he would never 
 dare to show his face before that schoolmaster 
 again, much less ask for the money in the bank. 
 No; the whole thing was over and done with for 
 him. 
 
 **But devil take it, man, surely you can see 
 that this ape of a schoolmaster dare not keep you 
 out of your money. Let me come with you; we'll 
 go up and tackle him together, and then — ^then 
 you'll see." And Klaus clenched his fists and 
 thrust out one shoulder fiercely. 
 
 But when January came, there was Peer in oil- 
 skins, in the foc's'le of a Lofoten fishing-smack, 
 ploughing the long sea-road north to the fishing- 
 grounds, in frost and snow-storms. All through 
 that winter he lived the fisherman's life: on land, 
 in one of the tiny fisher-booths where a five-man 
 crew is packed like sardines in an air so thick you 
 can cut it with a knife; at sea, where in a fair 
 wind you stand half the day doing nothing and 
 freezing stiff the while — and a foul wind means 
 out oars, and row, row, row, over an endless plain
 
 54s The Great Hunger 
 
 of rolling icy combers ; row, row, till one's hands 
 are lumps of bleeding flesh. Peer lived through 
 it all, thinking now and then, when he could think 
 at all, how the grand gentlefolk had driven him 
 out to this life because he was impertinent enough 
 to exist. And when the fourteen weeks were past, 
 and the Lofoten boats stood into the fjord again 
 on a mild spring day, it was easy for Peer to 
 reckon out his earnings, which were just nothing 
 at all. He had had to borrow money for his out- 
 fit and food, and he would be lucky if his boy*s 
 share was enough to cover what he owed. 
 
 A few weeks later a boy stood by the yard gate 
 of an engineering works in the town just as the 
 bell was ringing and the men came streaming out, 
 and asked for Klaus Brock. 
 
 ** Hullo, Peer — that you? Been to Lofoten and 
 made your fortune?'* 
 
 The two boys stood a moment taking stock of 
 one another : Klaus grimy-faced and in working- 
 clothes — Peer weather-beaten and tanned by 
 storm and spray. 
 
 The manager of the factory was Klaus 's uncle, 
 and the same afternoon his nephew came into the 
 office with a new hand wanting to be taken on as 
 apprentice. He had done some smithy work be- 
 fore, he said; and he was taken on forthwith, at 
 a wage of twopence an hour. 
 
 **And what's your name?" 
 
 ''Peer — er" — ^the rest stuck in his throat. 
 
 "Holm," put in Klaus.
 
 The Great Hunger 55 
 
 *'Peer Holm? Very well, that'll do.'' 
 The two boys went out with a feeling of having 
 done something rather daring. And anyway, if 
 trouble should come along, there would be two of 
 them now to tackle it.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 In a narrow alley off Sea Street lived Gorseth the 
 job-master, with a household consisting of a lean 
 and skinny wife, two half-starved horses, and a 
 few ramshackle flies and sledges. The job-master 
 himself was a hulking toper with red nose and 
 beery-yellow eycs, who spent his nights in drink- 
 ing and got home in the small hours of the morn- 
 ing when his wife was just about getting up. All 
 through the morning she went about the place 
 scolding and storming at him for a drunken ne*er- 
 do-well, while Gorseth himself lay comfortably 
 snoring. 
 
 When Peer arrived on the scene with his box 
 on his shoulder, Gorseth was on his knees in the 
 yard, greasing a pair of leather carriage-aprons, 
 while his wife, sunken-lipped and fierce-eyed, 
 stood in the kitchen doorway, abusing him for a 
 profligate, a swine, and the scum of the earth. 
 Gorseth lay there on all-fours, with the sun shin- 
 ing on his bald head, smearing on the grease; 
 but every now and then he would lift his head and 
 snarl out, *'Hold your jaw, you damned old jade I" 
 
 ** Haven't you a room to let I" Peer asked. 
 
 A beery nose was turned towards him, and the 
 man dragged himself up and wiped his hands on 
 
 56
 
 The Great Hunger 57 
 
 his trousers. ** Right you are,** said he, and led 
 the way across the yard, up some stairs, and into 
 a little room with two panes of glass looking on 
 to the street and a half -window on the yard. The 
 room had a bed with sheets, a couple of chairs, 
 and a table in front of the half -window. Six and 
 six a month. Agreed. Peer took it on the spo; , 
 paid down the first month's rent, and having got 
 rid of the man sat down on his chest and looked 
 about him. Many people have never a roof to 
 their heads, but here was he. Peer, with a home 
 of his own. Outside in the yard the woman had 
 begun yelping her abuse again, the horses in 
 the stable beneath were stamping and whinnying, 
 but Peer had lodged in fisher-booths and peasants' 
 quarters and was not too particular. Here he 
 was for the first time in a place of his own, and 
 within its walls was master of the house and his 
 own master. 
 
 Food was the next thing. He went out and 
 bought in supplies, stocking his chest with plain 
 country fare. At dinner time he sat on the lid, as 
 fishermen do, and made a good solid meal of flat 
 bannocks and cold bacon. 
 
 And now he fell-to at his new work. There was 
 no question of whether it was what he wanted 
 or not; here was a chanc© of getting up in the 
 world, and that without having to beg any one's 
 leave. He meant to get on. And it was not long 
 before his dreams began to take a new shape from 
 his new life. He stood at the bottom of a ladder.
 
 58 The Great Hunger 
 
 a blacksmith's boy — but up at the top sat a mighty 
 Chief Engineer, with gold spectacles and white 
 waistcoat. That was where he would be one day. 
 And if any schoolmaster came along and tried to 
 keep him back this time — well, just let him try it. 
 They had turned him out of a churchyard once — 
 he would have his revenge for that some day. It 
 might take him years and years to do it, but one 
 fine day he would be as good as the best of them, 
 and would pay them back in full. 
 
 In the misty mornings, as he tramped in to his 
 work, dinner-pail in hand, his footsteps on the 
 plank bridge seemed hammering out with concen- 
 trated will : * '■ To-day I shall learn something new 
 — new — newl'* 
 
 The great works down at the harbour — ship- 
 yard, foundry, and machine shops — ^were a whole 
 city in themselves. And into this world of fire 
 and smoke and glowing iron, steam-hammers, rac- 
 ing wheels, and bustle and noise, he was thrust- 
 ing his way, intent upon one thing, to learn and 
 learn and ever learn. There were plenty of those 
 by him who were content to know their way 
 about the little comer where they stood — ^but they 
 would never get any farther. They would end 
 their days broken-down workmen — he would 
 carve his way through till he stood among the 
 masters. He had first to put in some months' 
 work in the smithy, then he would be passed on 
 to the machine shops, then to work with the car- 
 penters and painters, and finally in the shipyard.
 
 The Great Hunger 59 
 
 The whole thing would take a couple of years. 
 But the works and all therein were already a kind 
 of new Bible to him; a book of books, which he 
 must learn by heart. Only wait! 
 
 And what a place it was for new adventures 1 
 Many times a day he would find himself gazing 
 at some new wonder; sheer miracle and revela- 
 tion — yet withal no creation of God's grace, but 
 an invention of men. Press a button, and be- 
 hold, a miracle springs to life. He would stare 
 at the things, and the strain of understanding 
 them would sometimes keep him awake at night. 
 There was something behind this, something that 
 must be — spirit, even though it did not come from 
 God. These engineers were priests of a sort, 
 albeit they did not preach nor pray. It was a new 
 world. 
 
 One day he was put to riveting work on an 
 enormous boiler, and for the first time found him- 
 self working with a power that was not the power 
 of his own hands. It was a tube, full of com- 
 pressed air, that drove home the rivets in quick 
 succession with a clashing wail from the boiler 
 that sounded all over the town. Peer's head and 
 ears ached with the noise, but he smiled all the 
 same. He was used to toil himself, in weariness 
 of body; now he stood here master, was mind 
 and soul and directing will. He felt it now for 
 the first time, and it sent a thrill of triumph 
 through every nerve of his body. 
 
 But all through the long evenings he sat alone,
 
 60 The Great Hunger 
 
 reading, reading, and heard the horses stamping 
 in the stable below. And when he crept into bed, 
 well after midnight, there was only one thing that 
 troubled him — his ntter loneliness. Klaus Brock 
 lived with his uncle, in a fine house, and went to 
 parties. And he lay here all by himself. If he 
 were to die that very night, there would be hardly 
 a soul to care. So utterly alone he was — ^in a 
 strange and indifferent world. 
 
 Sometimes it helped him a little to think of the 
 old mother at Troen, or of the church at home, 
 where the vaulted roof had soared so high over 
 the swelling organ-notes, and all the faces had 
 looked so beautiful. But the evening prayer was 
 no longer what it had been for him. There was 
 no grey-haired bishop any more sitting at the top 
 of the ladder he was to climb. The Chief Engi- 
 neer that was there now had nothing to do with 
 Our Lord, or with life in the world to come. He 
 would never come so far now that he could go 
 down into the place of torment where his mother 
 lay, and bring her up with him, up to salvation. 
 And whatever power and might he gained, he 
 could never stand in autumn evenings and lift up 
 his finger and make all the stars break into song. 
 
 Something was past and gone for Peer. It was 
 as if he were rowing away from a coast where red 
 clouds hung in the sky and dream-visions filled 
 the air — rowing farther and farther away, to- 
 wards something quite new. A power stronger 
 than himself had willed it so.
 
 The Great Hunger 61 
 
 One Sunday, as lie sat reading, the door opened, 
 and Klaus Brock entered whistling, with his cap 
 on the back of his head. 
 
 *' Hullo, old boy ! So this is where you live!" 
 
 *' Yes, it is — and that's a chair over there.'* 
 
 But Klaus remained standing, with his hands 
 in his pockets and his cap on, staring about the 
 room. "Well, I'm blest!" he said at last. "If 
 he hasn't stuck up a photograph of himself on 
 bistable!" 
 
 "Well, did you never see one before? Don't 
 you know everybody has them?" 
 
 "Not their own photos, you ass! If anybody 
 sees that, you'll never hear the last of it." 
 
 Peer took up the photograph and flung it under 
 the bed. * * Well, it was a rubbishy thing, ' ' he mut- 
 tered. Evidently he had made a mistake. "But 
 what about this?" — pointing to a coloured picture 
 he had nailed np on the wall. 
 
 Klaus put on his most manly air and bit off a 
 piece of tobacco plug. "Ah! that!" he said, try- 
 ing not to laugh too soon. 
 
 "Yes; it's a fine painting, isn't it? I got it for 
 fourpence." 
 
 "Painting! Ha-ha! that's good! Why, you 
 silly cow, can't you see it's only an oleograph?" 
 
 "Oh, of course you know all about it. You 
 always do." 
 
 "I'll take you along one day to the Art Gal- 
 lery," said Klaus. "Then you can see what a
 
 62 The Great Hunger 
 
 real painting looks like. What's that youVe got 
 there — English reader?" 
 
 **Yes," put in Peer eagerly; *'hear me say a 
 poem." And before Klaus could protest, he had 
 begun to recite. 
 
 When he had finished, Klaus sat for a while in 
 silence, chewing his quid. "H'm!" he said at 
 last, "if our last teacher, Froken Zebbelin, could 
 have heard that English of yours, we'd have had 
 to send for a nurse for her, hanged if we 
 wouldn't!" 
 
 This was too much. Peer flung the book against 
 the wall and told the other to clear out to the 
 devil. When Klaus at last managed to get a word 
 in, he said: 
 
 *'If you are to pass your entrance at the Techni- 
 cal you'll have to have lessons — surely you can 
 see that. You must get hold of a teacher." 
 
 "Easy for you to talk about teachers! Let me 
 tell you my pay is twopence an hour. ' ' 
 
 "I'll find you one who can take you twice a week 
 or so in languages and history and mathematics. 
 I daresay some broken-down sot of a student 
 would take you on for sevenpence a lesson. You 
 could run to that, surely?" 
 
 Peer was quiet now and a little pensive. "Well, 
 if I give up butter, and drink water instead of 
 coffee " 
 
 Klaus laughed, but his eyes were moist. Hard 
 luck that he couldn't offer to lend his comrade a 
 few shillings — ^but it wouldn't do.
 
 The Great Hunger 63 
 
 So the summer passed. On Sundays Peer would 
 watch the young folks setting out in the morning 
 for the country, to spend the whole day wandering 
 in the fields and woods, while he sat indoors over 
 his books. And in the evening he would stick his 
 head out of his two-paned window that looked on 
 to the street, and would see the lads and girls 
 coming back, flushed and noisy, with flowers and 
 green boughs in their hats, crazy with sunshine 
 and fresh air. And still he must sit and read on. 
 But in the autumn, when the long nights set in, 
 he would go for a walk through the streets before 
 going to bed, as often as not up to the white 
 wooden house where the manager lived. This 
 was Klaus 's home. Lights in the windows, and 
 often music; the happy people that lived here 
 knew and could do all sorts of things that could 
 never be learned from books. No mistake : he had 
 a goodish way to go — a long, long way. But get 
 there he would. 
 
 One day Klaus happened to mention, quite casu- 
 ally, where Colonel Holm's widow lived, and late 
 one evening Peer made his way out there, and cau- 
 tiously approached the house. It was in Eiver 
 Street, almost hidden in a cluster of great trees, 
 and Peer stood there, leaning against the garden 
 fence, trembling with some obscure emotion. The 
 long rows of windows on both floors were lighted 
 up; he could hear youthful laughter within, and 
 then a young girl's voice singing — doubtless they 
 were having a party. Peer turned up his collar
 
 64 The Great Hunger 
 
 against the wind, and tramped back through the 
 town to his lodging above the carter's stable. 
 
 For the lonely working boy Saturday evening 
 is a sort of festival. He treats himself to an extra 
 wash, gets out his clean underclothes from his 
 chest, and changes. And the smell of the newly- 
 washed underclothing calls up keenly the thought 
 of a pock-marked old woman who sewed and 
 patched it all, and laid it away so neatly folded. 
 He puts it on carefully, feeling almost as if it 
 were Sunday already. 
 
 Now and again, when a Sunday seemed too long, 
 Peer would drift into the nearest church. "What 
 the parson said was all very good, no doubt, but 
 Peer did not listen; for him there were only the 
 hymns, the organ, the lofty vaulted roof, the col- 
 oured windows. Here, too, the faces of the people 
 looked otherwise than in the street without; 
 touched, as it were, by some reflection from all 
 that their thoughts aspired to reach. And it was 
 so homelike here. Peer even felt a sort of kin- 
 ship with them aU, though every soul there was 
 a total stranger. 
 
 But at last one day, to his surprise, in the mid- 
 dle of a hymn, a voice within him whispered sud- 
 denly: *'You should write to your sister. She's 
 as much alone in the world as you are." 
 
 And one evening Peer sat down and wrote. He 
 took quite a lordly tone, saying that if she wanted 
 help in any way, she need only let him know. And 
 if she would care to move in to town, she could
 
 The Great Hunger 65 
 
 come and live with him. After which he remained, 
 her affectionate brother, Peer Hohn, engineer ap- 
 prentice. 
 
 A few days later there came a letter addressed 
 in a fine slanting hand. Louise had just been con- 
 firmed. The farmer she was with wished to keep 
 her on as dairymaid through the winter, but she 
 was afraid the work would be too heavy for her. 
 So she was coming in to town by the boat arriv- 
 ing on Sunday evening. With kind regards, his 
 sister, Louise Hagen. 
 
 Peer was rather startled. He seemed to have 
 taken a good deal on his shoulders. 
 
 On Sunday evening he put on his blue suit and 
 stiff felt hat, and walked down to the quay. For 
 the first time in his life he had some one else to 
 look after — ^he was to be a father and benefactor 
 from now on to some one worse off than himself. 
 This was something new. The thought came back 
 to him of the jolly gentleman who had come driv- 
 ing down one day to Troen to look after his little 
 son. Yes, that was the way to do things; that 
 was the sort of man he would be. And invol- 
 untarily he fell into something of his father's look 
 and step, his smile, his lavish, careless air. ** Well, 
 •^ell — ^well, well — well, well," he seemed saying to 
 himself. He might almost, in his fancy, have 
 had a neat iron-grey beard on his chin. 
 
 The little green steamboat rounded the point 
 and lay in to the quay, the gangways were run 
 out, porters jumped aboard, and all the passen-
 
 66 The Great Hunger 
 
 gers came bundling ashore. Peer wondered how 
 he was to know her, this sister whom he had never 
 seen. 
 
 The crowd on deck soon thinned, and people be- 
 gan moving off from the quay into the town. 
 
 Then Peer was aware of a young peasant-girl, 
 with a box in one hand and a violin-case in the 
 other. She wore a grey dress, with a black ker- 
 chief over her fair hair; her face was pale, and 
 finely cut. It was his mother *s face; his mother 
 as a girl of sixteen. Now she was looking about 
 her, and now her eyes rested on him, half afraid, 
 half inquiring. 
 
 **Is it you, Louise?'* 
 
 "Is that you. Peer r» 
 
 They stood for a moment, smiling and measur- 
 ing each other with their eyes, and then shook 
 hands. 
 
 Together they carried the box up through the 
 town, and Peer was so much of a townsman al- 
 ready that he felt a little ashamed to find himself 
 walking through the streets, holding one end of 
 a trunk, with a peasant-girl at the other. And 
 what a clatter her thick shoes made on the pave- 
 ment! But all the time he was ashamed to feel 
 ashamed. Those blue arch eyes of hers, con- 
 stantly glancing up at him, what were they say- 
 ing? ''Yes, I have come," they said — **and I've 
 no one but you in all the world — and here I am," 
 they kept on saying.
 
 The Great Hunger 67 
 
 **Can you play that!" he asked, with a glance 
 at her violin-case. 
 
 "Oh well; my playing's only nonsense," she 
 laughed. And she told how the old sexton she had 
 been living with last had not been able to afford 
 a new dress for her confirmation, and had given 
 her the violin instead. 
 
 *'Then didn't you have a new dress to be con- 
 firmed inf* 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But wasn't it — didn't you feel horrible, with 
 the other girls standing by you all dressed up 
 fine?" 
 
 She shut her eyes for a moment. * ' Oh, yes — ^it 
 was horrid," she said. 
 
 A little farther on she asked: "Weile you 
 boarded out at a lot of places?" 
 
 "Five, I think." 
 
 "Pooh — why, that's nothing. I was at nine, I 
 was." The girl was smiling again. 
 
 "When they came up to his room she stood for 
 a moment looking round the place. It was hardly 
 what she had expected to find. And she had not 
 been in town lodgings before, and her nose wrin- 
 kled up a little as she smelt the close air. It 
 seemed so stuffy, and so dark. 
 
 "We'll light the lamp," he said. 
 
 Presently she laughed a little shyly, and asked 
 where she was to sleep. 
 
 Lord bless us, you may well ask!" Peer 
 
 < (
 
 68 The Great Hunger 
 
 scratched his head. "There's only one bed, you 
 see." At that they both burst out laughing. 
 
 **The one of us '11 have to sleep on the floor," 
 suggested the girl. 
 
 "Right. The very thing," said he, delighted. 
 "I've two pillows; you can have one. And two 
 rugs — anyway, you won't be cold." 
 
 "And then I can put on my other dress over," 
 she said. "And maybe you'll have an old over- 
 coat " 
 
 "Splendid I So we needn't bother an,y more 
 about that." 
 
 "But where do you get your food from?" She 
 evidently meant to have everything cleared up at 
 once. 
 
 Peer felt rather ashamed that he hadn't money 
 enough to invite her to a meal at an eating-house 
 then and there. But he had to pay his teacher's 
 fees the next day; and his store-box wanted re- 
 filling too. 
 
 "I boil the coffee on the stove there overnight," 
 he said, "so that it's all ready in the morning. 
 And the dry food I keep in that box there. We'll 
 see about some supper now." He opened the box, 
 fished out a loaf and some butter, and put the ket- 
 tle on the stove. She helped him to clear the pa- 
 pers off the table, and spread the feast on it. 
 There was only one knife, but it was really much 
 better fun that way than if he had had two. And 
 soon they were seated on their chairs — they had
 
 The Great Hunger 69 
 
 a chair each — having their first meal in their own 
 home, he and she together. 
 
 It was settled that Louise should sleep on the 
 floor, and they both laughed a great deal as he 
 tucked her in carefully so that she shouldn't feel 
 cold. It was not till afterwards, when the lamp 
 was out, that they noticed that the autumn gales 
 had set in, and there was a loud north-wester 
 howling over the housetops. And there they lay, 
 chatting to each other in the dark, before falling 
 asleep. 
 
 It seemed a strange and new thing to Peer, this 
 really having a relation of his own — and a girl, 
 too — a young woman. There she lay on the floor 
 near by him, and from now on he was responsible 
 for what was to become of her in the world. How 
 should he put that job through? 
 
 He could hear her turning over. The floor was 
 hard, very likely. 
 
 *' Louise?" 
 
 *'Yes." 
 
 *'Did you ever see mother?" 
 
 *'No." 
 
 "Or your father?" 
 
 ' ' My father ? " She gave a little laugh. 
 
 *'Yes, haven't you ever seen him either?" 
 
 **Why, how should I, silly? Who says that 
 mother knew herself who it was?" 
 
 There was a pause. Then Peer brought out, 
 rather awkwardly: "We're all alone, then — ^you 
 and L"
 
 70 The Great Hunger 
 
 **Yes^ — ^we are that." 
 
 "Louise! Wliat are you thinking of taking to 
 now?'' 
 
 ''What are you?" 
 
 So Peer told her all his plans. She said nothing 
 for a little while — no doubt she was lying thinking 
 of the grand things he had before him. 
 
 At last she spoke. *'Do you think — does it cost 
 very much to learn to be a midwife?" 
 
 ''A midwife — is that what you want to be, girl?" 
 Peer couldn't help laughing. So this was what 
 she had been planning in these days — since he had 
 offered to help her on in the world. 
 
 ''Do you think my hands are too big?" she ven- 
 tured presently — he could just hear the whisper. 
 
 Peer felt a pang of pity. He had noticed al- 
 ready how ill the red swollen hands matched her 
 pale clear-cut face, and he knew that in the coun- 
 try, when any one has small, fine hands, people 
 call them "midwife's hands." 
 
 "We'll manage it somehow, I daresay," said 
 Peer, turning round to the wall. He had heard 
 that it cost several hundred crowns to go through 
 the course at the midwifery school. It would be 
 years before he could get together anything like 
 that sum. Poor girl, it looked as if she would 
 have a long time to wait. 
 
 After that they fell silent. The north-wester 
 roared over the housetops, and presently brother 
 and sister were asleep. 
 
 When Peer awoke the next morning, Louise
 
 TJie Great Hunger 71 
 
 was about already, making coffee over the little 
 stove. Then she opened her box, took out a yel- 
 low petticoat and hung it on a nail, placed a pair 
 of new shoes against the wall, lifted out some 
 under-linen and woollen stockings, looked at them, 
 and put them back again. The little box held all 
 her worldly goods. 
 
 As Peer was getting up: "Gracious mercy!" 
 she cried suddenly, *'what is that awful noise 
 down in the yard?" 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing to worry about," said 
 Peer. "It's only the job-master and his wife. 
 They carry on like that every blessed morning; 
 you'll soon get used to it." 
 
 Soon they were seated once more at the little 
 table, drinking coffee and laughing and looking at 
 each other. Louise had found time to do her hair 
 — the two fair plaits hung down over her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 It was time for Peer to be off, and, warning 
 the girl not to go too far from home and get lost, 
 he ran down the stairs. 
 
 At the works he met Klaus Brock, and told him 
 that his sister had come to town. 
 
 "But what are you going to do with her?" 
 asked Klaus. 
 
 "Oh, she'll stay wdth me for the present." 
 
 "Stay with you? But you've only got one room 
 and one bed, man!" 
 
 "Well — she can sleep on the floor."
 
 72 T'he Great Hunger 
 
 '*She? Tour sister? She's to sleep on the floor 
 — and you in the bed ! ' ' gasped Klaus. 
 
 Peer saw he had made a mistake again. **0f 
 course I was only fooling," he hastened to say. 
 **0f course it's Louise that's to have the bed." 
 
 When he came home he found she had borrowed 
 a frying-pan from the carter's wife, and had 
 fried some bacon and boiled potatoes ; so that they 
 sat down to a dinner fit for a prince. 
 
 But when the girl's eyes fell on the coloured 
 print on the wall, and she asked if it was a paint- 
 ing, Peer became very grand at once. "That — a 
 painting? "Why, that's only an oleograph, silly I 
 No, I'll take you along to the Art Gallery one day, 
 and show you what real paintings are like. ' ' And 
 he sat drumming with his fingers on the table, 
 and saying: ''Well, well — well, well, well!" 
 
 They agreed that Louise had better look out at 
 once for some work to help things along. And at 
 the first eating-house they tried, she was taken on 
 at once in the kitchen to wash the floor and peel 
 potatoes. 
 
 When bedtime came he insisted on Louise tak- 
 ing the bed. ''Of course all that was only a joke 
 last night," he explained. "Here in town women 
 always have the best of everything — that's what's 
 called manners." As he stretched himself on the 
 hard floor, he had a strange new feeling. The 
 narrow little garret seemed to have widened out 
 now that he had to find room in it for a guest. 
 There was something not unpleasant even in lying
 
 The Great Hunger 73 
 
 ^1 —   ..I   I.   — I ... > 
 
 on the hard floor, since he had chosen to do it for 
 some one else's sake. 
 
 After the lamp was out he lay for a while, lis- 
 tening to her breathing. Then at last : 
 
 ** Louise." 
 
 *'Yesr' 
 
 *'Is your father — ^was his name Hagen?'* 
 
 **Yes. It says so on the certificate." 
 
 **Then you're Froken Hagen. Sounds quite 
 fine, doesn't it?" 
 
 **Uf ! Now you're making fun of me." 
 
 **And when you're a midwife, Froken Hagen 
 might quite well marry a doctor, you know." 
 
 *' Silly I There's no chance — ^with hands like 
 mine." 
 
 "Do you think your hands are too big for you 
 to marry a doctor?" 
 
 **Uf ! you are a crazy thing. Ha-ha-ha!" 
 
 ''Ha-ha-ha!" 
 
 They both snuggled down under the clothes, 
 with the sense of ease and peace that comes from 
 sharing a room with a good friend in a happy 
 humour. 
 
 ''Well, good-night, Louise." 
 
 ** Good-night, Peer."
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 So things went on till winter was far spent. Now 
 that Louise, too, was a wage-earner, and could 
 help with the expenses, they could dine luxuriously 
 at an eating-house every day, if they pleased, on 
 meat-cakes at fourpence a portion. They man- 
 aged to get a bed for Peer that could be folded 
 up during the day, and soon learned, too, that 
 good manners required they should hang up 
 Louise's big woollen shawl between them as a 
 modest screen while they were dressing and un- 
 dressing. And Louise began to drop her country 
 speech and talk city-fashion like her brother. 
 
 One thought often came to Peer as he lay awake. 
 ''The girl is the very image of mother, that's cer- 
 tain — what if she were to go the same way? Well, 
 no, that she shall not. You're surely man enough 
 to see to that. Nothing of that sort shall happen, 
 my dear Froken Hagen." 
 
 They saw but little of each other during the day, 
 though, for they were apart from early in the 
 morning till he came home in the evening. And 
 when he lectured her, and warned her to be care- 
 ful and take no notice of men who tried to speak 
 to her, Louise only laughed. When Klaus Brock 
 came up one day to visit them, and made great 
 
 74
 
 ■\ 
 
 The Great Hunger 75 
 
 play with his eyes while he talked to her, Peer 
 felt much inclined to take him by the scruff of 
 the neck and throw him downstairs. 
 
 "When Christmas-time was near they would 
 wander in the long evenings through the streets 
 and look in at the dazzlingly lit shop-windows, 
 with their tempting, glittering show of gold and 
 finery. Louise kept asking continually how much 
 he thought this thing or that cost — that lace, or 
 the cloak, or the stockings, or those gold brooches. 
 ''Wait till you marry that doctor," Peer would 
 say, ''then you can buy all those things." So 
 far neither of them had an overcoat, but Peer 
 turned up his coat-collar when he felt cold, and 
 Louise made the most of her thick woollen dress 
 and a pair of good country gloves that kept her 
 quite warm. And she had adventured on a hat 
 now, in place of her kerchief, and couldn't help 
 glancing round, thinking people must notice how 
 fine she was. 
 
 On Christmas Eve he carried up buckets of 
 water from the yard, and she had a great scrub- 
 bing-out of the whole room. And then they in 
 their turn had a good wash, helping each other in 
 country fashion to scrub shoulders and back. 
 
 Peer was enough of a townsman now to have 
 laid in a few little presents to give his sister ; but 
 the girl, who had not been used to such doings, 
 had nothing for him, and wept a good deal when 
 she realised it. They ate cakes from the confec- 
 tioner's with syrup over them, and drank choco-
 
 76 The Great Hunger 
 
 late, and then Louise played a hymn-tnne, in her 
 best style, on her violin, and Peer read the Christ- 
 mas lessons from the prayer-book — it was all just 
 like what they used to do at Troen on Christmas 
 Eve. And that night, after the lamp was put out, 
 they lay awake talking over plans for the future. 
 They promised each other that when they had 
 got well on in the world, he in his line and she 
 in hers, they would manage to live near each other, 
 so that their children could play together and 
 grow up good friends. Didn't she think that was 
 a good idea? Yes, indeed she did. And did he 
 really mean it ? Yes, of course he meant it, really. 
 
 But later on in the winter, when she sat at home 
 in the evenings waiting for him — he often worked 
 overtime — she was sometimes almost afraid. 
 There was his step on the stairs ! If it was hur- 
 ried and eager she would tremble a little. For 
 the moment he was inside the door he would burst 
 out: ''Hurrah, my girl! I've learnt something 
 new to-day, I tell you!" "Have you, Peer?'^ 
 And then out would pour a torrent of talk about 
 motors and power and pressures and cylinders 
 and cranes and screws, and such-like. She would 
 sit and listen and smile, but of course understood 
 not a word of it all, and as soon as Peer discovered 
 this he would get perfectly furious, and call her 
 a little blockhead. 
 
 Then there were the long evenings when he sat 
 at home reading, by himself or with his teacher 
 and she had to sit so desperately still that sh»
 
 The Great Hunger 77 
 
 hardly dared take a stitch with her needle. But 
 one day he took it into his head that his sister 
 ought to be studying too; so he set her a piece 
 of history to learn by the next evening. But time 
 to learn it — where was that to come from? And 
 then he started her writing to his dictation, to 
 improve her spelling — and all the time she kept 
 dropping off to sleep. She had washed so many 
 floors and peeled so many potatoes in the daytime 
 that now her body felt like lead. 
 
 ''Look here, my fine girl!" he would storm at 
 her, raging up and down the room, *'if you think 
 you can get on in the world without education, 
 you're most infernally mistaken." He succeeded 
 in reducing her to tears — but it wasn't long be- 
 fore her head had fallen forward on the table 
 again and she was fast asleep. So he realised 
 there was nothing for it but to help her to bed — 
 as quietly as possible, so as not to wake her up. 
 
 Some way on in the spring Peer fell sick. When 
 the doctor came, he looked round the room, 
 sniffed, and frowned. '*Do you call this a place 
 for human beings to live in?" he asked Louise, 
 who had taken the day off. * ' Plow can you expect 
 to keep well?" 
 
 He examined Peer, who lay coughing, his face 
 a burning red. *'Yes, yes — just as I expected. 
 Inflammation of the lungs." He glanced round 
 the room once more. ''Better get him off to the 
 hospital at once," he said. 
 
 Louise sat there in terror at the idea that Peer
 
 78 The Great Hunger 
 
 was to be taken away. And then, as the doctor 
 was going, he looked at her more closely, and said: 
 ** You'd do well to be a bit careful yourself, my 
 good girl. You look as if you wanted a change 
 to a decent room, with a little more light and air, 
 pretty badly. Good-morning." 
 
 Soon after he was gone the hospital ambulance 
 arrived. Peer was carried down the stairs on a 
 stretcher, and the green-painted box on wheels 
 opened its door and swallowed him up ; and they 
 would not even let her go with him. All through 
 the evening she sat in their room alone, sobbing. 
 
 The hospital was one of the good old-fashioned 
 kind that people don't come near if they can help 
 it, because the walls seem to reek of the discom- 
 fort and wretchedness that reign inside. The 
 general wards — ^where the poor folks went — were 
 always so overcrowded that patients with all sorts 
 of different diseases had to be packed into the 
 same rooms, and often infected each other. When 
 an operation was to be performed, things were 
 managed in the most cheerfully casual way: the 
 patient was laid on a stretcher and carried across 
 the open yard, often in the depth of winter, and 
 as he was always covered up with a rug, the others 
 usually thought he was being taken off to the 
 dead-house. 
 
 "When Peer opened his eyes, he was aware of a 
 man in a white blouse standing by the foot of his 
 bed. ''Why, I believe he's coming-to," said the 
 man, who seemed to be a doctor. Peer found out
 
 The Great Hunger 79 
 
 afterwards from a nurse that he had been uncon- 
 scious for more than twenty-four hours. 
 
 He lay there, day after day, conscious of noth- 
 ing but the stabbing of a red-hot iron boring 
 through his chest and cutting off his breathing. 
 Some one would come every now and then and 
 pour port wine and naphtha into his mouth ; and 
 morning and evening he was washed carefully 
 with warm water by gentle hands. But little by 
 little the room grew lighter, and his gruel began 
 to have some taste. And at last he began, to dis- 
 tinguish the people in the beds near by, and to 
 chat with them. 
 
 On his right lay a black-haired, yellow-faced 
 dock labourer with a broken nose. His disease, 
 whatever it might be, was clearly different from 
 Peer^s. He plagued the nurse with foul-mouthed 
 complaints of the food, swearing he would report 
 about it. On the other side lay an emaciated cob- 
 bler with a soft brown beard like the Christ pic- 
 tures, and cheeks glowing with fever. He was 
 dying of cancer. At right angles with him lay 
 a man with the face and figure of a prophet — a 
 Moses — all bushy white hair and beard; he was 
 in the last stage of consumption, and his cough 
 was like a riveting machine. **Huh!" he would 
 groan, **if only I could get across to Germany 
 there 'd be a chance for me yet." Beside him was 
 a fellow with short beard and piercing eyes, who 
 was a little off his head, and imagined himself a 
 corporal of the Guards. Often at night the others
 
 80 The Great Hunger 
 
 would be wakened by bis springing uprigbt in bed 
 and calling ont: "Attention!" 
 
 One man lay moaning and groaning all the time, 
 turning from side to side of a body covered with 
 sores. But one day he managed to swallow some 
 of the alcohol they used as lotion, and after that 
 lay singing and weeping alternately. And there 
 was a red-bearded man with glasses, a commer- 
 cial traveller; he had put a bullet into his head, 
 but the doctors had managed to get it out again, 
 and now he lay and praised the Lord for his 
 miraculous deliverance. 
 
 It was strange to Peer to lie awake at night in 
 this great room in the dim light of the night-lamp; 
 it seemed as if beings from the land of the dead 
 were stirring in those beds round about him. But 
 in the daytime, when friends and relations of the 
 patients came a-visiting, Peer could hardly keep 
 from crying. The cobbler had a wife and a little 
 girl who came and sat beside him, gazing at him 
 as if they could never let him go. The prophet, 
 too, had a wife, who wept inoonsolably — and all 
 the rest seemed to have some one or other to 
 care for them. But where was Louise — ^why did 
 Louise never come? 
 
 The man on the right had a sister, who came 
 sweeping in, gorgeous in her trailing soiled silk 
 dress. Her shoes were down at heel, but her hat 
 was a wonder, with enormous plumes. ''Hallo, 
 Ugly! how goes it?" she said; and sat down and 
 crossed her legs. Then the pair would talk mys-
 
 The Great Hunger 81 
 
 teriously of people with strange names: "The 
 Flea," '' Cockroach," ''The GalUot," *'King 
 Eing," and the like, evidently friends of theirs. 
 One day she managed to bring in a small bottle 
 of brandy, a present from "The Hedgehog," and 
 smuggle it under the bedclothes. As soon as she 
 had gone, and the coast was clear. Peer's neigh- 
 bour drew out the bottle, managed to work the 
 cork out, and offered him a drink. "Here's luck, 
 sonny; do you good." No — Peer would rather 
 not. Then followed a gurgling sound from the 
 docker's bed, and soon he too was lying singing 
 at the top of his voice. 
 
 At last one day Louise came. She was wearing 
 her neat hat, and had a little bundle in her hand, 
 and as she came in, looking round the room, the 
 close air of the sick-ward seemed to turn her a 
 little faint. But then she caught sight of Peer, 
 and smiled, and came cautiously to him, holding 
 out her hand. She was astonished to find him so 
 changed. But as she sat down by his pillow she 
 was still smiling, though her eyes were full of 
 tears. 
 
 "So you've come at last, thenf" said Peer. 
 
 "They wouldn't let me in before," she said with 
 a sob. And then Peer learned that she had come 
 there every single day, but only to be told that 
 he was too ill to see visitors. 
 
 The man with the broken nose craned his head 
 forward to get a better view of the modest young 
 girl. And meanwhile she was pulling out of the
 
 82 The Great Hunger 
 
 bundle the offering she had brought — a bottle of 
 lemonade and some oranges. 
 
 But it was a day or two later that something 
 happened which Peer was often to remember in 
 the days to come. 
 
 He had been dozing through the afternoon, 
 and when he woke the lamp was lit, and a dull 
 yellow half-light lay over the ward. The others 
 seemed to be sleeping; all was very quiet, only 
 the man with the sores was whimpering softly. 
 Then the door opened, and Peer saw Louise glide 
 in, softly and cautiously, with her violin-case 
 under her arm. She did not come over to where 
 her brother lay, but stood in the middle of the 
 ward, and, taking out her violin, began to play 
 the Easter hymn: "The mighty host in white 
 array. ' ' ^ 
 
 The man with the sores ceased whimpering ; the 
 patients in the beds round about opened their 
 eyes. The docker with the broken nose sat up in 
 bed, and the cobbler, roused from his feverish 
 dream, lifted himself on his elbow and whispered : 
 ''It is the Redeemer. I knew Thou wouldst 
 come." Then there was silence. Louise stood 
 there with eyes fixed on her violin, playing her 
 simple best. The consumptive raised his head and 
 forgot to cough ; the corporal slowly stiffened his 
 body to attention; the commercial traveller 
 folded his hands and stared before him. The 
 simple tones of the hymn seemed to be giving 
 * "Den store hvide Flok vi se."
 
 The Great Hunger 83 
 
 new life to all these unfortunates ; the light of it 
 was in their faces. But to Peer, watching his sis- 
 ter as she stood there in the half-light, it seemed 
 as if she grew to be one with the hjnnn itself, and 
 that wings to soar were given her. 
 
 When she had finished, she came softly over to 
 his bed, stroked his forehead with her swollen 
 hand, then glided out and disappeared as silently 
 as she had come. 
 
 For a long time all was silent in the dismal 
 ward, until at last the dying cobbler murmured: 
 **I thank Thee. I knew — I knew Thou wert not 
 far away.'* 
 
 When Peer left the hospital, the doctor said 
 he had better not begin work again at once; he 
 should take a holiday in the country and pick up 
 his strength. ''Easy enough for you to talk," 
 thought Peer, and a couple of days later he was 
 at the workshop again. 
 
 But his ways with his sister were more con- 
 siderate than before, and he searched about until 
 he had found her a place as seamstress, and saved 
 her from her heavy floor-scrubbing. 
 
 And soon Louise began to notice with delight 
 that her hands were much less red and swollen 
 than they had been; they were actually getting 
 soft and pretty by degrees. 
 
 Next winter she sat at home in the evenings 
 while he read, and made herself a dress and cloak 
 and trimmed a new hat, so that Peer soon had 
 quite an elegant young lady to walk out with.
 
 84 The Great Hunger 
 
   ■-. . - - —   —     ,. -■ . . — . — _ — _ — I* 
 
 But when men turned round to look at her as she 
 passed, he would scowl and clench his fists. At 
 last one day this was too much for Louise, and 
 she rebelled. ''Now, Peer, I tell you plainly I 
 won't go out with you if you go on like that." 
 
 ''All right, my girl," he growled. "I'll look 
 after you, though, never fear. We're not going 
 to have mother's story over again with you." 
 
 "Well, but, after all, I'm a grown-up-girl, and 
 you can't prevent people looking at me, idiot!" 
 
 Klaus Brock had been entered at the Technical 
 College that autumn, and went about now with 
 the College badge in his cap, and sported a walk- 
 ing-stick and a cigarette. He had grown into a 
 big, broad-shouldered fellow, and walked with a 
 little swing in his step; a thick shock of black 
 hair fell over his forehead, and he had a way of 
 looking about him as if to say; "Anything the 
 matter? All right, I'm ready!" 
 
 One evening he came in and asked Louise to go 
 with him to the theatre. The young girl blushed 
 red with joy, and Peer could not refuse; but he 
 was waiting for them outside the yard gate when 
 they came back. On a Sunday soon after Klaus 
 was there again, asking her to come out for a 
 drive. This time she did not even look to Peer for 
 leave, but said "yes" at once. "Just you wait," 
 said Peer to himself. And when she came back 
 that evening he read her a terrific lecture. 
 
 Soon he could not help seeing that the girl was 
 going about with half-shut eyes, dreaming dreams
 
 The Great Hunger 85 
 
 of which she would never speak to him. And as 
 the days went on her hands grew whiter, and she 
 moved more lightly, as if to the rhythm of un- 
 heard music. Always as she went about the 
 room on her household tasks she was crooning 
 some song; it seemed that there was some joy 
 in her soul that must find an outlet. 
 
 One Saturday in the late spring she had just 
 come home, and was getting the supper, when 
 Peer came tramping in, dressed in his best and 
 carrying a parcel. 
 
 * * Hi, girl ! Here you are ! We 're going to have 
 a rare old feast to-night. ' ' 
 
 "Why— what is it all about?'' 
 
 ''I've passed my entrance exam, for the Tech- 
 nical — hurrah! Next autumn — next autumn — I'll 
 be a student!" 
 
 ' ' Oh, splendid ! I am so glad ! ' ' And she dried 
 her hand and grasped his. 
 
 ''Here you are — sausages, anchovies — and 
 here's a bottle of brandy — the first I ever bought 
 in my life. Klaus is coming up later on to have 
 a glass of toddy. And here's cheese. We'U 
 make things hum to-night. ' ' 
 
 Klaus came, and the two youths drank toddy 
 and smoked £ind made speeches, and Louise played 
 patriotic songs on her violin, and Klaus gazed at 
 her and asked for "more — more." 
 
 When he left. Peer went with him, and as the 
 two walked down the street, Klaus took his 
 friend's arm, and pointed to the pale moon rid-
 
 86 The Great Hunger 
 
 ing high above the fjord, and vowed never to 
 give him up, till he stood at the very top of the 
 tree — never, never! Besides, he was a Socialist 
 now, he said, and meant to raise a revolt against 
 all class distinctions. And Louise — Louise was 
 the most glorious girl in all the world — and now 
 — and now — Peer might just as well know it 
 sooner as later — they were as good as engaged 
 to be married, he and Louise. 
 
 Peer pushed him away, and stood staring at 
 him. **Go home now, and go to bed," he said. 
 
 "Ha! You think I'm not man enough to defy 
 my people — to defy the whole world!" 
 
 "Good-night," said Peer. 
 
 Next morning, as Louise lay in bed — she had 
 asked to have her breakfast there for once in a 
 way — she suddenly began to laugh. "What are 
 you about now?" she asked teasingly. 
 
 "Shaving," said Peer, beginning operations. 
 
 "Shaving! Are you so desperate to be grand 
 to-day that you must scrape all your skin off? 
 You know there's nothing else to shave." 
 
 "You hold your tongue. Little do you know 
 what I've got in front of me to-day." 
 
 "What can it be? You're not going courting 
 an old widow with twelve children, are you?" 
 
 "If you want to know, I'm going to that school- 
 master fellow, and going to wring my savings- 
 bank book out of him." 
 
 Louise sat up at this. "My great goodness!" 
 she said.
 
 2^he Great Hunger 87 
 
 Yes ; lie had been working himself up to this for 
 a year or more, and now he was going to do it. 
 To-day he would show what he was made of — 
 whether he was a snivelling child, or a man that 
 could stand up to any dressing-gown in the world. 
 He was shaving for the first time — quite true. 
 And the reason was that it was no ordinary day, 
 but a great occasion. 
 
 His toilet over, he put on his best hat with a 
 flourish, and set out. 
 
 Louise stayed at home all the morning, waiting 
 for his return. And at last she heard him on the 
 stairs. 
 
 *'Puh!" he said, and stood still in the middle 
 of the room. 
 
 ''Well? Did you get it r' 
 
 He laughed, wiped his forehead, and drew a 
 green-covered book from his coat-pocket. "Here 
 we are, my girl — there's fifty crowns a month for 
 three years. It's going to be a bit of a pinch, with 
 fees and books, and living and clothes into the 
 bargain. But we'll do it. Father was one of the 
 right sort, I don't care what they say." 
 
 "But how did you manage it? "What did the 
 schoolmaster say?" 
 
 " 'Do you suppose that you — you with your 
 antecedents — could ever pass into the Technical 
 College?' he said. And I told him I had passed. 
 ' Good heavens ! How could you possibly qualify ? ' 
 and he shifted his glasses do^vn his nose. And 
 then: 'Oh, no! it's no good coming here with tales
 
 88 The Great Hunger 
 
 of that sort, my lad.' Well, then I showed him 
 the certificate, and he got much meeker. 'Really !' 
 he said, and 'Dear me!' and all that. But I say, 
 Louise — there's another Holm entered for the 
 autumn term." 
 
 ''Peer, you don't mean — your half-brother?" 
 
 "And old Dressing-gown said it would never 
 do — never ! But I said it seemed to me there must 
 be room in the world for me as well, and I'd like 
 that bank book now, I said. 'You seem to fancy 
 you have some legal right to it,' he said, and got 
 perfectly furious. Then I hinted that I'd rather 
 ask a lawyer about it and make sure, and at that 
 he regularly boiled with rage and waved his arms 
 all about. But he gave in pretty soon all the 
 same — said he washed his hands of the whole 
 thing. 'And besides,' he said, 'your name's 
 Troen, you know — Peer Troen.' Ho-ho-ho — Peer 
 Troen ! Wouldn 't he like it ! Tra-la-la-la ! — I say, 
 let's go out and get a little fresh air." 
 
 Peer said nothing then or after about Klaus 
 Brock, and Klaus himself was going off home for 
 the summer holidays. As the summer wore on 
 the town lay baking in the heat, reeking of drains, 
 and the air from the stable came up to the couple 
 in the garret so heavy and foul that they were 
 sometimes nearly stifled. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Peer one day, "we 
 really must spend a few shillings more on house 
 rent and get a decent place to live in." 
 
 And Louise agreed. For till the time came for
 
 The Great Hunger 89 
 
 him to join the College in the autumn, Peer was 
 obliged to stick to the workshops; he could not 
 afford a holiday just now. 
 
 One morning he was just starting with a work- 
 ing gang down to Stenkjaer to repair some dam- 
 age in the engine-room of a big Russian grain boat, 
 when Louise came and asked him to look at her 
 throat. *'It hurts so here," she said. 
 
 Peer took a spoon and pressed down her tongue, 
 but could not see anything wrong. ' ' Better go and 
 see the doctor, and make sure," he said. 
 
 But the girl made light of it. *'0h, nonsense!" 
 she said; ''it's not worth troubling about." 
 
 Peer was away for over a week, sleeping on 
 board with the rest. When he came back, he hur- 
 ried home, suddenly thinking of Louise and her 
 sore throat. He found the job-master greasing 
 the wheels of a carriage, while his wife leaned out 
 of a window scolding at him. "Your sister," re- 
 peated the carter, turning round his face with its 
 great red lump of nose — "she's gone to hospital — 
 diphtheria hospital — she has. Doctor was here 
 over a week ago and took her oif. They've been 
 here since poking round and asking who she was 
 and where she belonged — ^well, we didn't know. 
 And asking where you were, too — and we didn't 
 know either. She was real bad, if you ask 
 me " 
 
 Peer hastened off. It was a hot day, and the 
 air was close and heavy. On he went — all down 
 the whole length of Sea Street, through the fisher-
 
 90 The Great Hunger 
 
 men's quarter, and a good way further out round 
 the bay. And then he saw a cart coming towards 
 him, an ordinary work-cart, v^th a coffin on it. 
 The driver sat on the cart, and another man 
 walked behind, hat in hand. Peer ran on, and at 
 last came in sight of the long yellow building at 
 the far end of the bay. He remembered all the 
 horrible stories he had heard about the treatment 
 of diphtheria patients — how their throats had to 
 be cut open to give them air, or something burned 
 out of them with red-hot irons — oh! When at 
 last he had reached the high fence and rung the 
 bell, he stood breathless and dripping with sweat, 
 leaning against the gate. 
 
 There was a sound of steps within, a key was 
 turned, and a porter with a red moustache and 
 freckles about his hard blue eyes thrust out his 
 head. 
 
 ''What d'you want to go ringing like that for?'* 
 
 ''Froken Hagen — Louise Hagen — is she better 1 
 How — how is she?" 
 
 ''Lou — Louise Hagen? A girl called Louise 
 Hagen? Is it her you've come to ask about?" 
 
 "Yes. She's my sister. Tell me — or — let me in 
 to see her." 
 
 "Wait a bit. You don't mean a girl that was 
 brought in here about a week ago?" 
 
 "Yes, yes — but let me in." 
 
 "We've had no end of bother and trouble about 
 that girl, trying to find out where she came from, 
 and if she had people here. But, of course, this
 
 The Great Hunger 91 
 
 weather, we couldn't possibly keep her any longer. 
 Didn't you meet a coffin on a cart as you came 
 along?" 
 
 ''What — ^what — you don't mean ?" 
 
 **Well, you should have come before, you know. 
 She did ask a lot for some one called Peer. And 
 she got the matron to write somewhere — wasn't 
 it to Levanger? Were you the fellow she was ask- 
 ing for? So you came at last! Oh, well — she died 
 four or five days ago. And they're just gone now 
 to bury her, in St. Mary's Churchyard." 
 
 Peer turned round and looked out over the bay 
 at the town, that lay sunlit and smoke-wreathed 
 beyond. Towards the town he began to walk, but 
 his step grew quicker and quicker, and at last he 
 took off his cap and ran, panting and sobbing as 
 he went. Have I been drinking? was the thought 
 that whirled through his brain, or why can't I 
 wake? What is it? What is it? And still he ran. 
 There was no cart in sight as yet; the little streets 
 of the fisher-quarter were all twists and turns. 
 At last he reached Sea Street once more, and there 
 — there far ahead was the slow-moving cart. Al- 
 most at once it turned off to the right and disap- 
 peared, and when Peer reached the turning, it was 
 not to be seen. Still he ran on at haphazard. 
 There seemed to be other people in the streets — 
 children flying red balloons, women with baskets, 
 men with straw hats and walking-sticks. But Peer 
 marked his line, and ran forward, thrusting people 
 aside, upsetting those in his way, and dashing on
 
 92 The Great Hunger 
 
 again. In King Street lie came in sight of the 
 cart once more, nearer this time. The man walk- 
 ing behind it with his hat in his hand had red curl- 
 ing hair, and walked with a curtsying gait, giving 
 at the knees and turning out his toes. No doubt 
 he made his living as mourner at funerals to which 
 no other mourners came. As the cart turned into 
 the churchyard Peer came up with it, and tried to 
 follow at a walk, but stumbled and could hardly 
 keep his feet. The man behind the cart looked at 
 him. ''What's the matter with youf" he asked. 
 The driver looked round, but drove on again at 
 once. 
 
 The cart stopped, and Peer stood by, leaning 
 against a tree for support. A third man came up 
 — he seemed to be the gravedigger — and he heard 
 the three discussing how long they might have to 
 wait for the parson. ''The time's just about up, 
 isn't it?" said the driver, taking out his watch. 
 "Ay, the clerk said he'd be here by now," agreed 
 the gravedigger, and blew his nose. 
 
 Soon the priest came in sight, wearing his black 
 robe and white ruff; there were doubtless to be 
 other funerals that day. Peer sank down on a 
 bench and looked stupidly on while the coffin was 
 lifted from the cart, carried to the grave, and low- 
 ered down. A man with spectacles and a red nose 
 came up with a hymn-book, and sang something 
 over the grave. The priest lifted the spade — and 
 at the sound of the first spadeful of earth falling
 
 The Great Hunger 93 
 
 on Louise's coiEn, Peer started as if struck, and all 
 but fell from his seat. 
 
 When he looked up again, the place was de- 
 serted. The bell was ringing, and a crowd was 
 collecting in another part of the churchyard. Peer 
 sat where he was, quite still. 
 
 In the evening, when the gravedigger came to 
 lock the gates, he had to take the young man by 
 the shoulder and shake him to his senses. ''Lock- 
 ing-uj) time," he said. *'You must go now." 
 
 Peer rose and tried to walk, and by and by he 
 was stumbling blindly out through the gate and 
 down the street. And after a time he foand him- 
 self climbing a flight of stairs above a stable-yard. 
 Once in his room, he flung himself down on the bed 
 as he was, and lay there still. 
 
 The close heat of the day had broken in a down- 
 pour of rain, which drummed upon the roof above 
 his head, and poured in torrents through the gut- 
 ters. Instinctively Peer started up: Louise was 
 out in the rain — she would need her cloak. He 
 was on his feet in a moment, as if to find it — then 
 he stopped short, and sank slowly back upon the 
 bed. 
 
 He drew up his feet under him, and buried his 
 head in his arms. His brain was full of changing, 
 hurrying visions, of storm and death, of human 
 beings helpless in a universe coldly and indiffer- 
 ently ruled by a will that knows no pity. 
 
 Then for the first time it was as if he lifted up
 
 94 The Great Hunger 
 
 his head against Heaven itself and cried : * * There 
 is no sense in all this. I will not bear it.'* 
 
 Later in the night, when he found himself me- 
 chanically folding his hands for the evening prayer 
 he had learnt to say as a child, he suddenly burst 
 out laughing, and clenched his fists, and cried 
 aloud: ^'No, no, no — never — never again." 
 
 Once more it came to him that there was some- 
 thing in God like the schoolmaster — He took the 
 side of those who were well off already. ''Yes, 
 they who have parents and home and brothers and 
 sisters and worldly goods — them I protect and 
 care for. But here's a boy alone in the world, 
 struggling and fighting his way on as best he can 
 • — from him I will take the only thing he has. That 
 boy is nothing to any one. Let him be punished 
 because he is poor, and cast down to the earth, 
 for there is none to care for him. That boy is 
 nothing to any one — nothing." Oh, oh, oh! — ^he 
 clenched his fists and beat them against the wall. 
 
 His whole little world was broken to pieces. 
 Either God did not exist at all, or He was cold 
 and pitiless — one way of it was as bad as the 
 other. The heavenly country dissolved into cloud 
 and melted away, and above was nothing but 
 empty space. No more folding of your hands, hke 
 a fool ! Walk on the earth, and lift up your head, 
 and defy Heaven and fate, as you defied the school- 
 master. Your mother has no need of you to save 
 her — she is not anywhere any more. She is dead 
 ' — dead and turned to clay; and more than that
 
 The Great Hunger 95 
 
 there is not, for her or for you or any other being 
 in this world. 
 
 Still he lay there. He would fain have slept, 
 but seemed instead to sink into a vague far-away 
 twilight that rocked him — rocked him on its dark 
 and golden waves. And now he heard a sound — 
 what was it? A violin. **The mighty host in 
 white array." Louise — is it you — and playing? 
 He could see her now, out there in the twilight. 
 How pale she was! But still she played. And 
 now he understood what that twilight was. 
 
 It was a world beyond the consciousness of daily 
 life — and that world belonged to him. ''Peer, let 
 me stay here. ' ' And something in him answered : 
 *'Yes, you shall stay, Louise. Even though there 
 is no God and no immortality, you shall stay 
 here." And then she smiled. And still she 
 played. And it was as though he were building 
 a little vaulted chapel for her in defiance of 
 Heaven and of God — as though he were ringing 
 out with his own hands a great eternal chime for 
 her sake. What was happening to him? There 
 was none to comfort him, yet it ended, as he lay 
 there, mth his pouring out something of his inner- 
 most being, as an offering to all that lives, to the 
 earth and the stars, until all seemed rocking, rock- 
 ing with him on the stately waves of the psalm. 
 He lay there with fast-closed eyes, stretching out 
 his hands as though afraid to wake, and find it all 
 nothing but a beautiful dream.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 The two-o'clock bell at the Technical College had 
 just begun to ring, and a stream of students ap- 
 peared out of the long straggling buildings and 
 poured through the gate, breaking up then into 
 little knots and groups that went their several 
 ways into the town. 
 
 It was a motley crowd of young men of all ages 
 from seventeen to thirty or more. Students of 
 the everlasting type, sent here by their parents as 
 a last resource, for — *'he can always be an engi- 
 neer"; young sparks who paid more attention to 
 their toilet than their books, and hoped to **get 
 through somehow" without troubling to work; and 
 stiff youths of soldierly bearing, who had been 
 ploughed for the Army, but who likewise could 
 * ' always be engineers. ' ' There were peasant-lads 
 who had crammed themselves through their Inter- 
 mediate at a spurt, and now wore the College cap 
 above their rough grey homespun, and dreamed of 
 getting through in no time, and turning into great 
 men with starched cuffs and pince-nez. There 
 were pale young enthusiasts, too, who would prob- 
 ably end as actors; and there were also quondam 
 actors, killed by the critics, but still sufficiently 
 alive, it seemed, **to be engineers." And as the 
 
 96
 
 The Great Hunger 97 
 
 young fellows hurried on their gay and careless 
 way through the town, an older man here and 
 there might look round after them with a smile of 
 some sadness. It was easy to say what fate 
 awaited most of them. College ended, they would 
 be scattered like birds of passage throughout the 
 wide world, some to fall by sunstroke in Africa, 
 or be murdered by natives in China, others to be- 
 come mining kings in the mountains of Peru, or 
 heads of great factories in Siberia, thousands of 
 miles from home and friends. The whole planet 
 was their home. Only a few of them — not always 
 the shining lights — ^would stay at home, with a 
 post on the State railways, to sit in an office and 
 watch their salaries mount by increments of £12 
 every fifth year. 
 
 ''That's a devil of a fellow, that brother of 
 yours that's here," said Klaus Brock to Peer one 
 day, as they were walking into town together with 
 their books under their arms. 
 
 *'Now, look here, Klaus, once for all, be good 
 enough to stop calling him my brother. And an- 
 other thing — you're never to say a word to any 
 one about my father having been anything but a 
 farmer. My name's Holm, and I'm called so after 
 my father 's farm. Just remember that, will you ? ' ' 
 
 ''Oh, all right. Don't excite yourself." 
 
 "Do you suppose I'd give that coxcomb the tri- 
 umph of thinking I want to make up to him?" 
 
 "No, no, of course not." Klaus shrugged his 
 shoulders and walked on, whistling.
 
 98 The Great Hunger 
 
 "Or that I want to make trouble for that fine 
 family of his ? No, I may find a way to take it out 
 of him some day, but it won't be that way." 
 
 ''Well, but, damn it, man! you can surely stand 
 hearing what people say about him." And Klaus 
 went on to tell his story. Ferdinand Holm, it 
 seemed, was the despair of his family. He had 
 thrown up his studies at the Military Academy, 
 because he thought soldiers and soldiering ridic- 
 ulous. Then he had made a short experiment with 
 theology, but found that worse still; and finally, 
 having discovered that engineering was at any 
 rate an honest trade, he had come to anchor at 
 the Technical College. ''What do you say to 
 that?" asked Klaus. 
 
 "I don't see anything so remarkable about it." 
 
 "Wait a bit, the cream of the story's to come. 
 A few weeks ago he thrashed a policeman in the 
 street — said he'd insulted a child, or something. 
 There was a fearful scandal — arrest, the police- 
 court, fine, and so forth. And last winter what 
 must he do but get engaged, formally and publicly 
 engaged, to one of his mother's maids. And when 
 his mother sent the girl off behind his back, he 
 raised the standard of revolt and left home alto- 
 gether. And now he does nothing but breathe fire 
 and slaughter against the upper classes and all 
 their works. What do you say to that ? ' ' 
 
 "My good man, what the deuce has all this got 
 to do with me I" 
 
 "Well, I think it's confoundedly plucky of him,
 
 The Great Hunger 99 
 
 anyhow," said Klaus. **And for my part I shall 
 get to know him if I can. He 's read an awful lot, 
 they say, and has a damned clever head on his 
 shoulders." 
 
 On his very first day at the College, Peer had 
 learned who Ferdinand Holm was, and had studied 
 him with interest. He was a tall, straight-built 
 fellow with reddish-blond hair and freckled face, 
 and wore a dark tortoiseshell pincenez. He did 
 not wear the usual College cap, but a stiff grey felt 
 hat, and he looked about four or five and twenty. 
 
 ^'Wait!" thought Peer to himself — ''wait, my 
 fine fellow ! Yes, you were there, no doubt, when 
 they turned me out of the churchyard that day. 
 But all that won't help you here. You may have 
 got the start of me at first, and learned this, that, 
 and the other, but — you just wait." 
 
 But one morning, out in the quadrangle, he no- 
 ticed that Ferdinand Holm in his turn was look- 
 ing at him, in fact was putting his glasses straight 
 to get a better view of him — and Peer turned 
 round at once and walked away. 
 
 Ferdinand, however, had been put into a higher 
 class almost at once, on the strength of his matric- 
 ulation. Also he was going in for a different 
 branch of the work — roads and railway construc- 
 tion — so that it was only in the quadrangle and 
 the passages that the two ever met. 
 
 But one afternoon, soon after Christmas, Peer 
 was standing at work in the big designing-room,
 
 100 The Great Hunger 
 
 when he heard steps behind him, and, turning 
 round, saw Klaus Brock and — Ferdinand Hohn. 
 
 *'I wanted to make your acquaintance," said 
 Holm, and when Klaus had introduced them, he 
 held out a large white hand with a red seal-ring 
 on the first finger. "We're namesakes, I under- 
 stand, and Brock here tells me you take your name 
 from a country place called Holm. ' ' 
 
 "Yes. My father was a plain country farmer," 
 said Peer, and at once felt annoyed with himself 
 for the ring of humility the words seemed to have. 
 
 "Well, the best is good enough," said the other 
 with a smile. "I say, though, has the first-term 
 class gone as far as this in projection drawing? 
 Excuse my asking. You see, we had a good deal 
 of this sort of thing at the Military Academy, so 
 that I know a little about it." 
 
 Thought Peer: "Oh, you'd like to give me a lit- 
 tle good advice, would you, if you dared?" Aloud 
 he said: "No, the drawing was on the blackboard 
 — the senior class left it there — and I thought I'd 
 like to see what I could make out of it. ' ' 
 
 The other sent him a sidelong glance. Then he 
 nodded, said, "Good-bye — hope we shall meet 
 again, ' ' and walked off, his boots creaking slightly 
 as he went. His easy manners, his gait, the tone 
 of his voice, all seemed to irritate and humiliate 
 Peer. Never mind — just let him wait! 
 
 Days passed, and weeks. Peer soon found an- 
 other object to work for than getting the better of 
 Ferdinand Holm. Louise's dresses hung still un-
 
 Tlie Great Hunger 101 
 
 touched in his room, her shoes stood under the 
 bed ; it still seemed to him that some day she must 
 open the door and walk in. And when he lay there 
 alone at night, the riddle was always with him: 
 Where is she now? — why should she have died? — 
 would he never meet her again? He saw her al- 
 ways as she had stood that day playing to the sick 
 folks in the hospital ward. But now she was 
 dressed in white. And it seemed quite natural 
 now that she had wings. He heard her music too 
 — it cradled and rocked him. And all this came to 
 be a little world apart, where he could take refuge 
 for Sunday peace and devotion. It had nothing 
 to do with faith or religion, but it was there. And 
 sometimes in the midst of his work in the daytime 
 he would divine, as in a quite separate conscious- 
 ness, the tones of a fiddle-bow drawn across the 
 strings, like reddish waves coming to him from far 
 off, filling him mth harmony, till he smiled with- 
 out knowing it. 
 
 Often, though, a sort of hunger would come upon 
 him to let his being unfold in a great wide wave 
 of organ music in the church. But to church he 
 never went any more. He would stride by a 
 church door with a kind of defiance. It might in- 
 deed be an Almighty Will that had taken Louise 
 from him, but if so he did not mean to give thanks 
 to such a Will or bow down before it. It was as 
 though he had in view a coming reckoning — his 
 reckoning with something far out in eternity — and
 
 102 The Great Hunger 
 
 lie must see to it that when that time came he could 
 feel free — free. 
 
 On Sunday mornings, when the church bells be- 
 gan to ring, he would turn hastily to his books, as 
 if to find peace in them. Knowledge — knowledge 
 — could it stay his hunger for the music of the 
 hymn? "When he had first started work at the 
 shops, he had often and often stood wide-eyed be- 
 fore some miracle — now he was gathering the 
 power to work miracles himself. And so he read 
 and read, and drank in all that he could draw from 
 teacher or book, and thought and thought things 
 out for himself. Fixed lessons and set tasks were 
 all well enough, but Peer was for ever looking 
 farther; for him there were questions and more 
 questions, riddles and new riddles — always new, 
 always farther and farther on, towards the un- 
 known. He had made as yet but one step for- 
 ward in physics, mathematics, chemistry; he di- 
 vined that there were worlds still before him, and 
 he must hasten on, on, on. Would the day ever 
 come when he should reach the end? What is 
 knowledge? What use do men make of all that 
 they have learned? Look at the teachers, who 
 knew so much — were they greater, richer, brighter 
 beings than the rest? Could much study bring a 
 man so far that some night he could lift up a finger 
 and make the stars themselves break into song? 
 Best drive ahead, at any rate. But, again, could 
 knowledge lead on to that ecstasy of the Sunday 
 psalm, that makes all riddles clear, that bears a
 
 The Great Hunger 103 
 
 man upwards in nameless happiness, in wliich his 
 soul expands till it can enfold the infinite spaces? 
 Well, at any rate the best thing was to drive ahead, 
 drive ahead both early and late. 
 
 One day that spring, when the trees in the city 
 avenues were beginning to bud, Klaus Brock and 
 Ferdinand Holm were sitting in a cafe in North 
 Street. ''There goes your friend," said Ferdi- 
 nand ; and looking from the window they saw Peer 
 Holm passing the post-office on the other side of 
 the road. His clothes were shabby, his shoes had 
 not been cleaned, he walked slowly, his fair head 
 with its College cap bent forward, but seemed 
 nevertheless to notice all that was going on in the 
 street. 
 
 ** Wonder what he's going pondering over now," 
 said Klaus. 
 
 *'Look there — I suppose that's a type of car- 
 riage he's never seen before. Why, he has got the 
 driver to stop " 
 
 ''I wouldn't mind betting he'll crawl in between 
 the wheels to find out whatever he's after," 
 laughed Klaus, drawing back from the window so 
 as not to be seen. 
 
 ''He looks pale and fagged out," said Ferdi- 
 nand, shifting his glasses. "I suppose his peo- 
 ple aren't very well off?" 
 
 Klaus opened his eyes and looked at the other. 
 "He's not overburdened with cash, I fancy." 
 
 They drank off their beer, and sat smoking and 
 talking of other things, until Ferdinand remarked
 
 104 The Great Hunger 
 
 casually: *'By the way — about your friend — are 
 his parents still alive I ' ' 
 
 Klaus was by no means anxious to go into Peer's 
 family affairs, and answered briefly — No, he 
 thought not. 
 
 *'I'm afraid I'm boring you with questions, but 
 the fact is the fellow interests me rather. There 
 is something in his face, something — arresting. 
 Even the way he walks — where is it I've seen some 
 one walk like that before? And he works like a 
 steam-engine, I hear?" 
 
 ''Works!" repeated Klaus. "He'll ruin his 
 health before long, the way he goes on grinding. 
 I believe he's got an idea that by much learning 
 he can learn at last to Ha-ha-ha ! ' ' 
 
 "To do what?" 
 
 "Why — to understand God!" 
 
 Ferdinand was staring out of the window. 
 "Funny enough," he said, 
 
 "I ran across him last Sunday, up among the 
 hills. He was out studying geology, if you please. 
 And if there's a lecture anywhere about anything 
 — ^whether it's astronomy or a French poet — you 
 can safely swear he'U be sitting there, taking 
 notes. You can't compete with a fellow like that! 
 He'll run across a new name somewhere — Aris- 
 totle, for instance. It's something new, and off he 
 must go to the library to look it up. And then he '11 
 lie awake for nights after, stuffing his head with 
 translations from the Greek. How the deuce can 
 any one keep up with a man who goes at things
 
 The Great Hunger 105 
 
 that way? There's one thing, though, that he 
 knows nothing about." 
 
 ''And that is?" 
 
 *'Well, wine and women, we'll say — and fun in 
 general. One thing he isn't, by Jove ! — and that's 
 young.'^ 
 
 ''Perhaps he's not been able to afford that sort 
 of thing," said Ferdinand, with something like a 
 sigh. 
 
 The two sat on for some time, and every now 
 and then, when Klaus was off his guard, Ferdi- 
 nand would slip in another little question about 
 Peer. And by the time they had finished their sec- 
 ond glass, Klaus had admitted that people said 
 Peer's mother had been a — well — no better than 
 she should be. 
 
 "And what about his father?" Ferdinand let 
 fall casually. 
 
 Klaus flushed uncomfortably at this. "Nobody 
 — no — nobody knows much about him," he stam- 
 mered. "I'd tell you if I knew, hanged if I 
 wouldn't. No one has an idea who it was. He — 
 he's very likely in America." 
 
 "You're always mighty mysterious when you 
 get on the subject of his family, I've noticed," said 
 Ferdinand with a laugh. But Klaus thought his 
 companion looked a little pale. 
 
 A few days later Peer was sitting alone in his 
 room above the stables, when he heard a step on 
 the stairs, the door opened, and Ferdinand Hohn 
 walked in.
 
 106 The Great Hunger 
 
 Peer rose involuntarily and grasped at the back 
 of his chair as if to steady himself. If this young 
 coxcomb had come — from the schoolmaster, for in- 
 stance — or to take away his name — why, he'd just 
 throw him downstairs, that was all. 
 
 "I thought I'd like to look you up, and see where 
 you lived," began the visitor, laying down his hat 
 and taking a seat. "I've taken you unawares, I 
 see. Sorry to disturb 5^ou. But the fact is there's 
 something I wanted to speak to you about." 
 
 **0h, is there?" and Peer sat down as far as 
 conveniently possible from the other. 
 
 "I've noticed, even in the few times we've hap- 
 pened to meet, that you don't like me. "Well, you 
 know, that's a thing I'm not going to put up 
 with." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Peer, hardly 
 knowing whether to laugh or not. 
 
 "I want to be friends with you, that's all. You 
 probably know a good deal more about me than I 
 do about you, but that need not matter. Hullo — 
 do you always drum with your fingers on the table 
 like that? Ha-ha-ha! Why, that was a habit of 
 my father's, too." 
 
 Peer stared at the other in silence. But his fin- 
 gers stopped drumming. 
 
 "I rather envy you, you know, living as you do. 
 When you come to be a millionaire, you'll have an 
 effective background for your millions. And then, 
 you must know a great deal more about life thar 
 we do ; and the knowledge that comes out of books
 
 The Great Hunger 107 
 
 must have quite another spiritual value for you 
 than for the rest of us, whoVe been stuffed me- 
 chanically with 'lessons' and 'education' and so 
 forth since we were kids. And now you're going 
 in for engineering?" 
 
 *'Yes," said Peer. His face added pretty 
 clearly, **And what concern is it of yours?" 
 
 ''Well, it does seem to me that the modern tech- 
 nician is a priest in his way — or no, perhaps I 
 should rather call him a descendant of old Prome- 
 theus. Quite a respectable ancestry, too, don't you 
 think ? But has it ever struck you that with every 
 victory over nature won by the human spirit, a 
 fragment of their omnipotence is wrested from the 
 hands of the gods? I always feel as if we were 
 using fire and steel, mechanical energy and hu- 
 man thought, as weapons of revolt against the 
 Heavenly tyranny. The day will come when we 
 shall no longer need to pray. The hour will strike 
 when the Heavenly potentates will be forced to 
 capitulate, and in their turn bend the knee to us. 
 What do you think yourself? Jehovah doesn't 
 like engineers — that's my opinion." 
 
 "Sounds very well," said Peer briefly. But he 
 had to admit to himself that the other had put into 
 words something that had been strugghng for ex- 
 pression in his o^vn mind. 
 
 "Of course for the present we two must be con- 
 tent with smaller things," Ferdinand went on. 
 ' ' And I don 't mind admitting that laying out a bit 
 of road, or a bit of railway, or bridging a ditch
 
 108 The Great Hunger 
 
 or so, isn't work that appeals to me tremendously. 
 But if a man can get out into the wide world, 
 there are things enough to be done that give him 
 plenty of chance to develop what's in him — if 
 there happens to be anything. I used to envy the 
 great soldiers, who went about to the ends of the 
 earth, conquering wild tribes and founding em- 
 pires, organising and civilising where they went. 
 But in our day an engineer can find big jobs too, 
 once he gets out in the world — draining thousands 
 of square miles of swamp, or regulating the Nile, 
 or linking two oceans together. That's the sort 
 of thing I'm going to take a hand in some day. 
 As soon as I've finished here, I'm off. And we'll 
 leave it to the engineers to come, say in a couple 
 of hundred years or so, to start in arranging tour- 
 ist routes between the stars. Do you mind my 
 smoking?" 
 
 *'No, please do," said Peer. "But I'm sorry I 
 haven't " 
 
 "I have — thanks all the same." Ferdinand 
 took out his cigar-case, and when Peer had de- 
 clined the offered cigar, lit one himself. 
 
 *'Look here," he said, ''won't you come out and 
 have dinner with me somewhere?" 
 
 Peer started at his visitor. What did all this 
 mean? 
 
 ''I'm a regular Spartan, as a rule, but they've 
 just finished dividing up my father's estate, so 
 I'm in funds for the moment, and why shouldn't 
 we have a little dinner to celebrate ? If you want
 
 The Great Hunger 109 
 
 to change, I can wait outside — but come just as 
 you are, of course, if you prefer." 
 
 Peer was more and more perplexed. Was there 
 something behind all this ? Or was the fellow sim- 
 ply an astonishingly good sort? Giving it up at 
 last, he changed his collar and put on his best suit 
 and went. 
 
 For the first time in his life he found himself in 
 a first-class restaurant, with small tables covered 
 with snow-white tablecloths, flowers in vases, nap- 
 kins folded sugar-loaf shape, cut-glass bowls, and 
 coloured wine-glasses. Ferdinand seemed thor- 
 oughly at home, and treated his companion with a 
 friendly politeness. And during the meal he man- 
 aged to make the talk turn most of the time on 
 Peer's childhood and early days. 
 
 "When they had come to the coffee and cigars, 
 Ferdinand leaned across the table towards him, 
 and said: *'Look here, don't you think we two 
 ought to say thee and thou^ to each other?" 
 
 *'0h, yes!" said Peer, really touched now. 
 
 ''We're both Holms, you know." 
 
 *'Yes. So we are." 
 
 **And, after all, who knows that there mayn't 
 be some sort of connection? Come, now, don't 
 look like that ! I only want you to look on me as 
 your good friend, and to come to me if ever there's 
 anything I can do. We needn't live in each other's 
 pockets, of course, when other people are by — but 
 
 * ' ' Tutoyer, ' ' the mode of address of intimate friendship or re- 
 lationship.
 
 110 The Great Hunger 
 
 we must take in Klaus Brock along with us, don't 
 jou think?" 
 
 Peer felt a strong impulse to run away. Did 
 ihe other know everything? If so, why didn't he 
 <speak straight out? 
 
 As the two walked home in the clear light of 
 the spring evening, Ferdinand took his compan- 
 ion's arm, and said; **I don't know if you've 
 heard that I'm not on good terms with my people 
 ,at home. But the very first time I saw you, I had 
 a sort of feeling that we two belonged together. 
 .Somehow you seemed to remind me so of — well, 
 to tell the truth, of my father. And he, let me tell 
 -you, was a gallant gentleman " 
 
 Peer did not answer, and the matter went no 
 farther then. 
 
 But the next few days were an exciting time 
 -for Peer, He could not quite make out how much 
 Ferdinand knew, and nothing on earth would have 
 induced him to say anything more himself. And 
 tthe other asked no questions, but was just a first- 
 rate comrade, behaving as if they had been friends 
 for years. He did not even ask Peer any more 
 ;about his childhood, and never again referred to 
 his own family. Peer was always reminding him- 
 self to be on his guard, but could not help feel- 
 ing glad all the same whenever they were to meet. 
 
 He was invited one evening, with Klaus, to a 
 ■wine-party at Ferdinand's lodging, and found 
 himself in a handsomely furnished room, with pic- 
 itures on the .walls, and photographs of his host's
 
 The Great Hunger 111 
 
 parents. There was one of his father as a young 
 man, in uniform ; another of his grandfather, who 
 had been a Judge of the Supreme Court. **It's 
 very good of you to be so interested in my peo- 
 ple," said Ferdinand with a smile. Klaus Brock 
 looked from one to the other, wondering to him- 
 self how things really stood between the two. 
 
 The summer vacation came round, and the stu- 
 dents prepared to break up and go their various 
 ways. Klaus was to go home. And one day Fer- 
 dinand came to Peer and said: ''Look here, old 
 man. I want you to do me a great favour. I'd 
 arranged to go to the seaside this summer, but 
 I've a chance of going up to the hills, too. Well, 
 I can't be in two places at once — couldn't you take 
 on one of them for me? Of course I'd pay all ex- 
 penses." ''No, thank you!" said Peer, with a 
 laugh. But when Klaus Brock came just before 
 leaving and said: "See here. Peer. Don't you 
 think you and I might club together and put a 
 marble slab over — Louise's grave?", Peer was 
 touched, and clapped him on the shoulder. "What 
 a good old fellow you are, Klaus," he said. 
 
 Later in the summer Peer set out alone on a 
 tramp through the country, and whenever he saw 
 a chance, he would go up to one of the farms and 
 say: "Would you like to have a good map of the 
 farm? It'll cost ten crowns and my lodging while 
 I'm at it." It made a very pleasant holiday for 
 him, and he came home with a little money in his 
 pocket to boot.
 
 112 The Great Hunger 
 
 His second year at the school was much like the 
 first. He plodded along at his work. And now 
 and then his two friends would come and drag him 
 off for an evening's jollification. But after he had 
 been racketing about with the others, singing and 
 shouting through the sleeping town — and at last 
 was alone and in his bed in the darkness, another 
 and a very different life began for him, face to 
 face with his innermost self. Where are you head- 
 ing for, Peer ? What are you aiming at in all your 
 labours? And he would try to answer devoutly, 
 as at evening prayers : Where ? Why, of course, 
 I am going to be a great engineer. And then? I 
 will be one of the sons of Prometheus, that head 
 the revolt against the tyranny of Heaven. And 
 then? I will help to raise the great ladder on 
 which men can climb aloft — higher and higher, up 
 towards the light, and the spirit, and mastery over 
 nature. And then? Live happily, marry and 
 have children, and a rich and beautiful home. 
 And then? Oh, well, one fine day, of course, one 
 must grow old and die. And then? And then? 
 Aye, what then? 
 
 At these times he found a shadowy comfort in 
 taking refuge in the world where Louise stood — 
 playing, as he always saw her — and cradling him- 
 self on the smooth red billows of her music. But 
 why was it that here most of all he felt that hun- 
 ger for — for something more? 
 
 Ferdinand finished his College course, and went 
 out, as he had said, into the great world, and
 
 The Great Hunger 113 
 
 Klaus went with him. And so throughout his 
 third year Peer was mostly to be seen alone, al- 
 ways with books under his arm, and head bent 
 forward. 
 
 Just as he was getting ready to go up for his 
 final examination, a letter from Ferdinand ar- 
 rived, written from Egypt. *'Come over here, 
 young fellow," he wrote. ^'We have got good bil- 
 lets at last with a big British firm — Brown Bros., 
 of London — a firm that's building railways in 
 Canada, bridges in India, harbour works in Ar- 
 gentina, and canals and barrages here in Egj^pt. 
 We can get you a nice little post as draughtsman 
 to begin with, and I enclose funds for the passage 
 out. So come along." 
 
 But Peer did not go at once. He stayed on an- 
 other year at the College, as assistant to the lec- 
 turer on mechanics, while himself going through 
 the road and railway construction course, as his 
 half-brother had done. Some secret instinct urged 
 him not to be left behind even in this. 
 
 As the year went on the letters from his two 
 comrades became more and more pressing and 
 tempting. ''Out here," wrote Klaus, ''the engi- 
 neer is a missionary, proclaimer, not Jehovah, but 
 the power and culture of Europe. You're bound 
 to take a hand in that, my boy. There's work 
 worthy of a great general waiting for you here." 
 
 At last, one autumn day, when the woods stood 
 yellow all around the town, Peer drove away from 
 his home with a big new travelling-trunk strapped
 
 114 The Great Hunger 
 
 to tlie driver's seat. He had been up to the 
 churchyard before starting, with a little bunch of 
 flowers for Louise's grave. Who could say if he 
 would ever see it again? 
 
 At the station he stood for a moment looking 
 back over the old city with its cathedral, and the 
 ancient fortress, where the sentry was pacing 
 back and forth against the skyline. Was this the 
 end of his youth? Louise — the room above the 
 stables — the hospital, the lazarette, the College. 
 . . . And there lay the fjord, and far out some- 
 where on the coast there stood no doubt a little 
 grey fisher-hut, where a pock-marked goodwife 
 and her bow-legged goodman had perhaps even 
 now received the parcel of coffee and tobacco sent 
 them as a parting gift. 
 
 And so Peer journeyed to the capital, and from 
 there out into the wide world.
 
 BOOK II
 
 Chapter I 
 
 Some years had passed — a good many years — and 
 once more summer had come, and June. A pas^ 
 senger steamer, bound from Antwerp to Chris- 
 tiania, was ploughing her way one evening over a 
 sea so motionlessly calm that it seemed a single 
 vast mirror filled with a sky of grey and pink- 
 tinged clouds. There were plenty of passengers 
 on board, and no one felt inclined for bed ; it was so 
 warm, so beautiful on deck. Some artists, on their 
 way home from Paris or Munich, cast about for 
 amusements to pass the time ; some ordered wine, 
 others had unearthed a concertina, and very soon, 
 no one knew how, a dance was in full swing. ''No, 
 my dear," said one or two cautious mothers to 
 their girls, ''certainly not." But before long the 
 mothers were dancing themselves. Then there 
 was a doctor in spectacles, who stood up on a bar- 
 rel and made a speech; and presently two of the 
 artists caught hold of the grey-bearded captain 
 and chaired him round the deck. The night was 
 so clear, the skies so ruddily beautiful, the air so 
 soft, and out here on the open sea all hearts were 
 light and happy. 
 
 "Who's that wooden-faced beggar over there 
 that*s too high and mighty for a little fun?" asked 
 
 117
 
 118 The Great Hunger 
 
 Storaker the painter, of his friend the sculptor 
 Praas. 
 
 ''That fellow? Oh, he's the one that was so 
 infernally instructive at dinner, when we were 
 talking about Egyptian vases." 
 
 "So it is, by Jove! Schoolmaster abroad, I 
 should think. "When we got on to Athens and 
 Greek sculpture he condescended to set us right 
 about that, too." 
 
 "I heard him this morning holding forth to the 
 doctor on Assyriology. No wonder he doesn't 
 dance I ' ' 
 
 The passenger they were speaking of was a man 
 of middle height, between thirty and forty appar- 
 ently, who lay stretched in a deck-chair a little 
 way off. He was dressed in grey throughout, 
 from his travelling-cap to the spats above his 
 brown shoes. His face was sallow, and the short 
 brown beard was flecked with grey. But his eyes 
 had gay little gleams in them as they followed the 
 dancers. It was Peer Holm. 
 
 As he sat there watching, it annoyed him to feel 
 that he could not let himself go like the others. 
 But it was so long since he had mixed with his 
 own countrymen, that he felt insecure of his foot- 
 ing and almost like a foreigner among them. Be- 
 sides, in a few hours now they should sight the 
 skerries on the Norwegian coast; and the thought 
 awoke in him a strange excitement — it was a mo- 
 ment he had dreamed of many and many a time 
 out there in the wide world.
 
 The Great Hunger 119 
 
 After a while stillness fell on the decks around 
 him, and he too went below, but lay down in his 
 cabin without undressing. He thought of the time 
 when he had passed that way on the outward 
 voyage, poor and unknown, and had watched the 
 last island of his native land sink below the sea- 
 rim. Much had happened since then — and now 
 that he had at last come home, what life awaited 
 him there? 
 
 A little after two in the morning he came on 
 deck again, but stood still in astonishment at find- 
 ing that the vessel was now boring her way 
 through a thick woolly fog. The devil ! thought he, 
 beginning to tramp up and down the deck impa- 
 tiently. It seemed that his great moment was to 
 be lost — spoiled for him I But suddenly he stopped 
 by the railing, and stood gazing out into the east. 
 
 What was that? Far out in the depths of the 
 woolly fog a glowing spot appeared; the grey 
 mass around grew alive, began to move, to red- 
 den, to thin out as if it were streaming up in 
 flames. Ah! now he knew! It was the globe of 
 the sun, rising out of the sea. On board, every 
 point where the night's moisture had lodged be- 
 gan to shine in gold. Each moment it grew clearer 
 and lighter, and the eye reached farther. And be- 
 fore he could take in what was happening, the 
 grey darkness had rolled itself up into mounds, 
 into mountains, that grew buoyant and floated 
 aloft and melted away. And there, all revealed,
 
 120 The Great Hunger 
 
 lay the fresh bright morning, with a clear sun- 
 filled sky over the blue sea. 
 
 It was time now to get out his field-glasses. 
 For a long time he stood motionless, gazing in- 
 tently through them. 
 
 There! Was it his fancy? No, there far ahead 
 he can see clearly now a darker strip between sky 
 and sea. It*s the first skerry. It is Norway, at 
 last! 
 
 Peer felt a sudden catch in his breath ; he could 
 hardly stand still, but he stopped again and again 
 in his walk to look once more at the far-off strip 
 of grey. And now there were seabirds too, with 
 long necks and swiftly-beating wings. Welcome 
 home! 
 
 And now the steamer is ploughing in among the 
 skerries, and a world of rocks and islets unfolds 
 on every side. There is the first red fisher-hut. 
 And then the entrance to Christiansand, between 
 wooded hills and islands, where white cottages 
 shine out, each with its patch of green grassland 
 and its flagstaff before it. 
 
 Peer watched it all, drinking it in like nourish- 
 ment. How good it all tasted — he felt it would 
 be long before he had drunk his fill. 
 
 Then came the voyage up along the coast, all 
 through a day of brilliant sunshine and a luminous 
 night. He saw the blue sounds with swarms of 
 white gulls hovering above them, the little coast- 
 towns with their long white-painted wooden 
 houses, and flowers in the windows. He had never
 
 The Great Hunger 121 
 
 passed this way before, and yet something in him 
 seemed to nod and say: ^'I know myself again 
 here.'* All the way up the Christiania Fjord 
 there was the scent of leaves and meadows; big 
 farms stood by the shore shining in the sun. This 
 was what a great farm looked like. He nodded 
 again. So warm and fruitful it all seemed, and 
 dear to him as home — though he knew that, after 
 all, he would be little better than a tourist in his 
 own country. There was no one waiting for him, 
 no one to take him in. Still, some day things 
 might be very different. 
 
 As the ship drew alongside the quay at Chris- 
 tiania, the other passengers lined the rail, friends 
 and relations came aboard, there were tears and 
 laughter and kisses and embraces. Peer lifted his 
 hat as he passed down the gangway, but no one 
 had time to notice him just now. And when he 
 had found a hotel porter to look after his luggage, 
 he walked up alone through the town, as if he were 
 a stranger. 
 
 The light nights made it difficult to sleep — he 
 had actually forgotten that it was light all night 
 long. And this was a capital city — yet so touch- 
 ingly small, it seemed but a few steps wherever 
 he went. These were his countrymen, but he knew 
 no one among them ; there was no one to greet him. 
 Still, he thought again, some day all this might 
 be very different. 
 
 At last, one day as he stood looking at the win- 
 dow of a bookseller's shop, he heard a voice be-
 
 122 The Great Hunger 
 
 hind Mm: ''Why, bless me! surely it's Peer 
 Holm ! " It was one of his fellow-students at the 
 Technical College, Reidar Langberg, pale and thin 
 now as ever. He had been a shining light at the 
 College, but now — ^now he looked shabby, worn 
 and aged. 
 
 *'I hardly knew you again," said Peer, grasp- 
 ing the other's hand. 
 
 ''And you're a millionaire, so they say — and 
 famous, out in the big world?" 
 
 "Not quite so bad as that, old fellow. But what 
 about you?" 
 
 "I? Oh, don't talk about me." And as they 
 walked down the street together, Langberg poured 
 out his tale, of how times were desperately bad, 
 and conditions at home here simply strangled a 
 man. He had started ten or twelve years ago as 
 a draughtsman in the offices of the State Rail- 
 ways, and was still there, with a growing family 
 — and "such pay — such pay, my dear fellow!" 
 He threw up his eyes and clasped his hands de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 "Look here," said Peer, interrupting him. 
 "Where is the best place in Christiania to go and 
 have a good time in the evening?" 
 
 "Well, St. Hans Hill, for instance. There's 
 music there." 
 
 "Right — will you come and dine with me there, 
 to-night — shall we say eight o'clock?" 
 
 ' ' Thanks. I should think I would ! ' ' 
 
 Peer arrived in good time, and engaged a table
 
 The Great Hunger 123 
 
 on a verandah. Langberg made Ms appearance 
 shortly after, dressed in his well-saved Sunday 
 best — faded frock-coat, light trousers bagged at 
 the knees, and a straw hat yellow with age. 
 
 *'It's a pleasure to have someone to talk to 
 again," said Peer. *'For the last year or so I've 
 been knocking about pretty much by myself." 
 
 **Is it as long as that since you left Egypt?" 
 
 *'Yes; longer. I've been in Abyssinia since 
 then." 
 
 * ' Oh, of course, I remember now. It was in the 
 papers. Building a railway for King Menelik, 
 weren't you?" 
 
 '*0h, yes. But the last eighteen months or so 
 I've been idling — running about to theatres and 
 museums and so forth. I began at Athens and 
 finished up with London. I remember one day 
 sitting on the steps of the Parthenon declaiming 
 the Antigone — and a moment with some meaning 
 in it seemed to have come at last." 
 
 "But, dash it, man, you're surely not compar- 
 ing such trifles with a thing like the great Nile 
 barrage? You were on that for some years, 
 weren't you? Do let's hear something about that. 
 Up by the first cataract, wasn't it? And hadn't 
 you enormous quarries there on the spot? You 
 see, even sitting at home here, I haven't quite lost 
 touch. But you — good Lord! what things you 
 must have seen! Fancy living at — what was the 
 name of the town again?" 
 
 "Assuan," answered Peer indifferently, look-
 
 124 The Great Hunger 
 
 ifig out over the gardens, where more and more 
 visitors kept arriving. 
 
 "Thej^ say the barrage is as great a miracle as 
 the Pyramids. How many sluice-gates are there 
 again — a hundred and . . . ?" 
 
 *'Two hundred and sixteen," said Peer. 
 * * Look ! " he broke off. * ' Do you know those girls 
 over there ? " He nodded towards a party of girls 
 in light dresses who were sitting down at a table 
 close by. 
 
 Langberg shook his head. He was greedy for 
 news from the great world without, which he had 
 never had the luck to see. 
 
 ''I've often wondered," he went on, "how you 
 managed to come to the front so in that sort of 
 work — railways and barrages, and so forth — ^when 
 your original line was mechanical engineering. 
 Of course you did do an extra year on the roads 
 and railway side; but ..." 
 
 Oh, this shining light of the schools ! 
 
 *'What do you say to a glass of champagne?" 
 said Peer. ' ' How do you like it ? Sweet or dry ? ' ' 
 
 "Why, is there any difference? I really didn't 
 know. But when one's a millionaire, of 
 course ..." 
 
 "I'm not a millionaire," said Peer with a smile, 
 and beckoned to a waiter. 
 
 "Oh! I heard you were. Didn't you invent a 
 new motor-pump that drove all the other types 
 out of the field? And besides — that Abyssinian 
 railway. Oh weU, well!" he sighed, "it's a good
 
 The Great Hunger 125 
 
 thing somebody's lucky. The rest of us shouldn't 
 complain. But how about the other two — Klaus 
 Brock and Ferdinand Holm? What are they do- 
 ing now?" 
 
 '* Klaus is looking after the Khedive's estates 
 ,at Edfina. Agriculture by steam power ; his own 
 railway lines to bring in the produce, and so on. 
 Yes, Klaus has ended up in a nice little place of 
 his own. His district's bigger than the kingdom 
 of Denmark." 
 
 "Good heavens !" Langberg nearly fell off his 
 chair. "And Ferdinand Holm; what about him?" 
 
 "Oh, he's got bigger things on hand. "Went 
 nosing about the Libyan desert, and found that 
 considerable tracts of it have water-veins only a 
 few yards beneath the surface. If so, of course, 
 it's only a question of proper plant to turn an 
 enormous area into a paradise for corn-growing." 
 
 "Good gracious! What a discovery!" gasped 
 the other, almost breathless now. 
 
 Peer looked out over the fjord, and went on: 
 "Last year he managed at last to get the Khedive 
 interested, and they've started a joint-stock com- 
 pany now, with a capital of some millions. Ferdi- 
 nand is chief engineer." 
 
 "And what's his salary? As much as fifty 
 thousand crowns?" 
 
 "His pay is two hundred thousand francs a 
 year," said Peer, not without some fear that his 
 companion might faint. "Yes, he's an able fel= 
 low, is Ferdinand."
 
 126 The Great Hunger 
 
 It took Langberg some time to get his breath 
 again. At last he asked, with a sidelong glance: 
 
 "And you and Klaus Brock — I suppose you've 
 put your millions in his company?" 
 
 Peer smiled as he sat looking out over the gar- 
 den. Lifting his glass, ''Your good health," he 
 said, for all answer. 
 
 ''Have you been in America, too?" went on 
 the other. "No, I suppose not!" 
 
 "America? Yes, a few years back, when I was 
 with Brown Bros., they sent me over one time to 
 buy plant. Nothing so surprising in that, is 
 there?" 
 
 "No, no, of course not. I was only thinking — 
 you went about there, I daresay, and saw all the 
 wonderful things — the miracles of science they're 
 always producing." 
 
 "My dear fellow, if you only knew how deadly 
 sick I am of miracles of science! What I'm long- 
 ing for is a country watermill that takes twenty- 
 four hours to grind a sack of corn." 
 
 "What? What do you say?" Langberg 
 bounced in his chair. "Ha-ha-ha! You're the 
 same old man, I can see." 
 
 "I'm perfectly serious," said Peer, lifting his 
 glass towards the other. "Come. Here's to our 
 old days together!" 
 
 "Aye — thanks, a thousand thanks — to our old 
 days together I — Ah, delicious ! Well, then, I sup- 
 pose you've fallen in love away down there in the
 
 The Great Hunger 127 
 
 land of the barbarians! Haven't yon! Ha-ha- 
 
 ha!'' 
 
 '*Do you call Egypt a land of barbarians!** 
 
 ''Well, don't the fellahs still yoke their wives 
 to their ploughs?" 
 
 "A fellah will sit all night long outside his hut 
 and gaze up at the stars and give himself time to 
 dream. And a merchant prince in Vienna will 
 dictate business letters in his automobile as he's 
 driving to the theatre, and write telegrams as he 
 sits in the stalls. One fine day he'll be sitting in 
 his private box with a telephone at one ear and 
 listening to the opera with the other. That's what 
 the miracles of science are doing for us. Awe- 
 inspiring, isn't it!" 
 
 "And you talk like that — a man that's helped 
 to harness the Nile, and has built railways through 
 the desert?" 
 
 Peer shrugged his shoulders, and offered the 
 other a cigar from his case. A waiter appeared 
 with coffee. 
 
 "To help mankind to make quicker progress^ — 
 is that nothing?" 
 
 "Lord! "What I'd like to know is, where man- 
 kind are making for, that they're in such a hurry." 
 
 "That the Nile Barrage has doubled the pro- 
 duction of corn in Egypt — created the possibilities 
 of life for millions of human beings — is that noth- 
 ing?" 
 
 "My good fellow, do you really think there 
 aren't enough fools on this earth already? Have
 
 128 The Great Hunger 
 
 we too little wailing and misery and discontent 
 and class-hatred as it is ? Why must we go about 
 to double it?" 
 
 **But hang it all, man — ^what about European 
 culture? Surely you felt yourself a sort of mis- 
 sionary of civilisation, where you have been." 
 
 ''The spread of European civilisation in the 
 East simply means that half a dozen big financiers 
 in London or Paris take a fancy to a certain strip 
 of Africa or Asia. They press a button, and out 
 come all the ministers and generals and mission- 
 aries and engineers with a bow : At your service, 
 gentlemen I 
 
 ''Culture! One wheel begets ten new ones. 
 Brr-rrr! And the ten again another hundred. 
 Brr-rr-rrr — more speed, more competition — and 
 all for what? For culture? No, my friend, for 
 money. Missionary! I tell you, as long as West- 
 ern Europe with all its wonders of modem science 
 and its Christianity and its political reforms 
 hasn't turned out a better type of humanity than 
 the mean ruck of men we have now — we'd do best 
 to stay at home and hold our counfounded jaw. 
 Here's ourselves!" and Peer emptied his glass. 
 
 This was a sad hearing for poor Langberg. 
 For he had been used to comfort himself in his 
 daily round with the thought that even he, in his 
 modest sphere, was doing his share in the great 
 work of civilising the world. 
 
 At last he leaned back, watching the smoke 
 from his cigar, and smiling a little.
 
 The Great Hunger 129 
 
 **I remember a young fellow at the College," 
 he said, *'who used to talk a good deal about Pro- 
 metheus, and the grand work of liberating human- 
 ity, by stealing ne wand ever new fire from Olym- 
 pus." 
 
 ''That was me — yes," said Peer with a laugh. 
 *'As a matter of fact, I was only quoting Ferdi- 
 nand Holm." 
 
 "You don't believe in all that now?" 
 
 *'It strikes me that fire and steel are rapidly 
 turning men into beasts. Machinery is killing 
 more and more of what we call the godlike in us." 
 
 "But, good heavens, man! Surely a man can 
 be a Christian even if . . ." 
 
 "Christian as much as you like. But don't you 
 think it might soon be time we found something 
 better to worship than an ascetic on a cross ? Are 
 we to keep on for ever singing Hallelujah be- 
 cause we've saved our own skins and yet can hag- 
 gle ourselves into heaven? Is that religion?" 
 
 "No, no, perhaps not. But I don't know ..." 
 
 "Neither do I. But it's all the same; for any- 
 how no such thing as rehgious feeling exists any 
 longer. Machinery is killing our longings for 
 eternity, too. Ask the good people in the great 
 cities. They spend Christmas Eve playing tunes 
 from The Dollar Princess on the gramophone." 
 
 Langberg sat for a while watching the other 
 attentively. Peer sat smoking slowly; his face 
 was flushed with the wine, but from time to time
 
 130 The Great Hunger 
 
 his eyes half-closed, and his thoughts seemed to 
 be wandering in other fields than these. 
 
 *'And what do you think of doing now you are 
 home again?" asked his companion at last. 
 
 Peer opened his eyes. ''Doing? Oh, I don't 
 know. Look about me first of all. Then perhaps 
 I may find a cottar's croft somewhere and settle 
 down and marry a dairymaid. Here's luck!'* 
 
 The gardens were full now of people in light 
 summer dress, and in the luminous evening a con- 
 stant ripple of laughter and gay voices came up 
 to them. Peer looked curiously at the crowd, all 
 strangers to him, and asked his companion the 
 names of some of the people. Langberg pointed 
 out one or two celebrities — a Cabinet Minister sit- 
 ting near by, a famous explorer a little farther 
 off. "But I don't know them personally," he 
 added. ** Can't afford society on that scale, of 
 
 course." 
 
 *'How beautiful it is here!" said Peer, look- 
 ing out once more at the yellow shimmer of light 
 above the fjord. ''And how good it is to be home 
 again!"
 
 Chapter II 
 
 He sat in the train on his way up-country, and 
 from the carriage window watched farms and 
 meadows and tree-lined roads slide past. Where 
 was he going? He did not know himself. Why 
 should not a man start off at haphazard, and get 
 out when the mood takes him? At last he was able 
 to travel through his own country without having 
 to think of half-pennies. He could let the days 
 pass over his head without care or trouble, and 
 give himself good leisure to enjoy any beauty that 
 came in his way. 
 
 There is Mjosen, the broad lake with the rich 
 farmlands and long wooded ridges on either side. 
 He had never been here before, yet it seemed as 
 if something in him nodded a recognition to it all. 
 Once more he sat drinking in the rich, fruitful 
 landscape — the wooded hills, the fields and mead- 
 ows seemed to spread themselves out over empty 
 places in his mind. 
 
 But later in the day the landscape narrowed 
 and they were in Gudbrandsdalen, where the sun- 
 burned farms are set on green slopes between the 
 river and the mountains. Peer's head was full of 
 pictures from abroad, from the desert sands with 
 their scorched palm-trees to the canals of Venice.
 
 132 The Great Hunger 
 
 But here — he nodded again. Here he was at home, 
 though he had never seen the place before; just 
 this it was which had been calling to him all 
 through his long years of exile. 
 
 At last on a sudden he gathered up his traps 
 and got out, without the least idea even of the 
 name of the station. A meal at the hotel, a knap- 
 sack on his back, and hey ! — there before him lies 
 the road, up into the hills. 
 
 Alone? What matter, when there are endless 
 things that greet him from every side with ''Wel- 
 come home!" The road is steep, the air grows 
 lighter, the homesteads smaller. At last the huts 
 look like little matchboxes — from the valley, no 
 doubt, it must seem as if the people up here were 
 living among the clouds. But many and many a 
 youth must have followed this road in the even- 
 ings, going up to court his Mari or his Kari at the 
 sseter-hut, the same road and the same errand one 
 generation after another. To Peer it seemed as if 
 all those lads now bore him company — aye, as if 
 he discovered in himself something of wanton 
 youth that had managed to get free at last. 
 
 Puh! His coat must come off and his cap go 
 into the knapsack. Now, as the valley sinks and 
 sinks farther beneath him, the view across it 
 widens farther and farther out over the uplands 
 beyond. Brown hills and blue, ridges livid or 
 mossy-grey in the setting sun, rising and falling 
 wave behind wave, and beyond all a great snow- 
 field, like a sea of white breakers foaming against
 
 The Great Hunger 133 
 
 the sky. But surely he had seen all this before? 
 
 Ah I now he knew; it was the Lofoten Sea over 
 again — with its white foam-crested combers and 
 long-drawn, heavy-breathing swell — a rolling 
 ocean turned to rock. Peer halted a moment lean- 
 ing on his stick, and his eyes half -closed. Could 
 he not feel that same ocean-swell rising and sink- 
 ing in his own being? Did not the same waves 
 surge through the centuries, carrying the genera- 
 tions away with them upon great wanderings? 
 And in daily life the wave rolls us along in the 
 old familiar rhythm, and not one in ten thousand 
 lifts his head above it to ask: whither and why I 
 Even now just such a little wave has hold of him, 
 taking him — whither and why? Well, the coming 
 days might show; meanwhile, there beyond was 
 the sea of stone rolling its eternal cadence under 
 the endless sky. 
 
 He wiped his forehead and turned and went his 
 way. 
 
 But what is that far off in the north-east? three 
 sisters in white shawls, liftiug their heads to 
 heaven — that must be Rondane. And see how the 
 evening sun is kindling the white peaks to purple 
 and gold. 
 
 Puhl — only one more hill now, and here is the 
 top at last. And there ahead lie the great up- 
 lands, v/ith marsh and mound and gleaming tarns. 
 Ah, what a relief! What wonder that his step 
 grows lighter and quicker? Before he knows it he 
 is singing aloud In mere gaiety of heart. Ah, deai
 
 134 The Great Hunger 
 
 God, what if after all it were not too late to be 
 young! 
 
 A sster. A little hut, standing on a patch of 
 green, with split-stick fence and a long cow-house 
 of rough planks — it must be a saeter ! And listen 
 — isn't that a girl singing? Peer slipped softly 
 through the gate and stood listening against the 
 wall of the byre. "Shap, shap, shap," went the 
 streams of milk against the pail. It must be a 
 fairy sitting milking in there. Then came the 
 voice : 
 
 Oh, Sunday eve, oh, Sunday eve, 
 Ever wast thou my dearest eve! 
 
 **Shap, shap, shap!" went the milk once more 
 in the pail — and suddenly Peer joined in: 
 
 Oh bright, oh gentle Sunday eve — 
 Wilt ever be my dearest eve! 
 
 The milking stopped, a cowbell tinkled as the 
 cow turned her inquiring face, and a girl's light- 
 brown head of hair was thrust out of the doorway 
 — soon followed by the girl herself, slonder, eight- 
 een, red-cheeked, fresh and smiling. 
 
 ''Good evening," said Peer, stretching out his 
 hand. 
 
 The girl looked at him for a moment, then cast 
 a glance at her own clothes — as women will when 
 they see a man who takes their fancy. 
 
 **An' who may you be?" she asked. 
 
 **Can you cook me some cream-porridge?** 
 'A' must finish milking first, then." 
 
 (<
 
 The Great Hunger 135 
 
   I   —   — - —       - —   1^ 
 
 Here was a job that Peer could help with. He 
 took off his knapsack, washed his hands, and was 
 soon seated on a stool in the close sweet air of 
 the shed, milking busily. Then he fetched water, 
 and chopped some wood for the fire, the girl gaz- 
 ing at him all the time, no doubt wondering who 
 this crazy person could be. When the porridge 
 stood ready on the table, he insisted on her sitting 
 down close to him and sharing the meal. They 
 ate a little, and then laughed a little, and then 
 chatted, and then ate and then laughed again. 
 "When he asked what he had to pay, the girl said : 
 *' Whatever you like" — and he gave her two 
 crowns and then bent her head back and kissed 
 her lips. "What's the man up to?" he heard her 
 gasp behind him as he passed out; when he had 
 gone a good way and turned to look back, there 
 she was in the doorway, shading her eyes and 
 watching him. 
 
 Whither away now? Well, he was pretty surie 
 to reach some other inhabited place before night. 
 This, he felt, was not his abiding-place. No, it 
 was not here. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when he stood by the 
 shore of a broad mountain lake, beneath a snow- 
 flecked hill-side. Here were a couple of s^ters, 
 and across the lake, on a wooded island, stood a 
 small frame house that looked like some city peo- 
 ple's summer cottage. And see — over the lake, 
 that still mirrored the evening red, a boat ap-
 
 136 The Great Hunger 
 
 peared moving towards the island, and two white- 
 sleeved girls sat at the oars, singing as they rowed. 
 A strange feeling came over him. Here — here he 
 would stay. 
 
 In the saeter-hut stood an enormously fat 
 woman, with a rope round her middle, evidently 
 ready to go to bed. Could she put him up for the 
 night? Why, yes, she supposed so — and she rolled 
 off into another room. And soon he was lying 
 in a tiny chamber, in a bed with a mountainous 
 mattress and a quilt. There was a fresh smell 
 from the juniper twigs strewed about the newly- 
 washed floor, and the cheeses, which stood in rows 
 all round the shelf -lined walls. Ah! he had slept 
 in many places and fashions — at sea in a Lofoteii 
 boat; on the swaying back of a camel; in tents 
 out in the moonlit desert; and in palaces of the 
 Arabian Nights, where dwarfs fanned him with 
 palm-leaves to drive away the heat, and called him 
 pasha. But here, at last, he had found a place 
 where it was good to be. And he closed his eyes, 
 and lay listening to the murmur of a little stream 
 outside in the light summer night, till he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Late in the forenoon of the next day he was 
 awakened by the entry of the old woman with 
 coffee. Then a plunge into the blue-green water 
 of the mountain lake, a short swim, and back to 
 find grilled trout and new-baked waffles and thick 
 cream for lunch.
 
 The Great Hunger 137 
 
 Yes, said the old woman, if he could get along 
 with the sort of victuals she could cook, he might 
 stay here a few days and welcome. The bed was 
 standing there empty, anyway.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 So Peer stays on and goes fishing. He catclies 
 little; but time goes leisurely here, and the sum- 
 mer lies soft and warm over the brown and blue 
 hillsides. He has soon learned that a merchant 
 named Uthoug, from Eingeby, is living in the 
 house on the island, with his wife and daughter. 
 And what of it? 
 
 Often he would lie in his boat, smoking his pipe, 
 and giving himself up to quiet dreams that came 
 and passed. A young girl in a white boat, mov- 
 ing over red waters in the evening — a secret meet- 
 ing on an island — no one must know just yet. 
 . . . Would it ever happen to him I Ah, no. 
 
 The sun goes down, there come sounds of cow- 
 bells nearing the saeters, the musical cries and calls 
 of the saeter-girls, the lowing of the cattle. The 
 mountains stand silent in the distance, their snow- 
 clad tops grown golden; the stream slides rip- 
 pling by, murmuring on through the luminous 
 nights. 
 
 Then at last came the day of all days. 
 
 He had gone out for a long tramp at random 
 over the hills, making his way by compass, and 
 noting landmarks to guide him back. Here was 
 a marsh covered with cloudberries — ^the taste 
 
 138
 
 Tlie Great Hunger 139 
 
 brought back his own childhood. He wandered 
 on up a pale-bro\vn ridge flecked with red heather 
 — and what was that ahead? Smoke? He made 
 towards it. Yes, it was smoke. A ptarmigan 
 fluttered out in front of him, with a brood of tiny 
 youngsters at her heels — Lord, what a shave! — 
 he stopped short to avoid treading on them. The 
 smoke meant someone near — possibly a camp of 
 Lapps. Let's go and see. 
 
 He topped the last mound, and there was the 
 fire just below. Two girls jumped to their feet; 
 there was a bright coffee-kettle on the fire, and 
 on the moss-covered ground close by bread and 
 butter and sandwiches laid out on a paper table- 
 cloth. 
 
 Peer stopped short in surprise. The girls gazed 
 at him for a moment, and he at them, all three 
 with a hesitating smile. 
 
 At last Peer lifted his hat and asked the way to 
 Rustad saeter. It took them some time to explain 
 this, and then they asked him the time. He told 
 them exactly to the minute, and then showed them 
 his watch so that they might see for themselves. 
 All this took more time. Meanwhile, they had 
 inspected each other, and found no reason to part 
 company just yet. One of the girls was tall, slen- 
 der of figure, with a warm-coloured oval face and 
 dark brown hair. Her eyebrows were thick and 
 met above the nose, delightful to look at. She 
 wore a blue serge dress, with the skirt kilted up a 
 little, leaving her ankles visible. The other was a
 
 140 The Great Hunger 
 
 blonde, smaller of stature, and with a melancholy 
 face, though she smiled constantly. "Oh," she 
 said suddenly, **have you a pocket-knife by any 
 chance?" 
 
 **0h yes!" Peer was just moving off, but 
 gladly seized the opportunity to stay a while. 
 
 ** We've a tin of sardines here, and nothing to 
 open it with," said the dark one. 
 
 ''Let me try," said Peer. As luck would have 
 it, he managed to cut himself a little, and the two 
 girls tumbled over each other to tie up the wound. 
 It ended, of course, with their asking him to join 
 their coffee-party. 
 
 ''My name is Merle Uthoug," said the dark one, 
 with a curtsy. 
 
 "Oh, then, it's your father who has the place 
 on the island in the lake ? ' ' 
 
 "My name's only Mork — Thea Mork. My 
 father is a lawyer, and we have a little cottage 
 farther up the lake," said the blonde. 
 
 Peer was about to introduce himself, when the 
 dark girl interrupted: "Oh, we know you al- 
 ready," she said. "We've seen you out rowing on 
 the lake so often. And we had to find out who 
 you were. We have a good pair of glasses . . ." 
 
 ' ' Merle ! ' ' broke in her companion warningly. 
 
 "... and then, yesterday, we sent one of the 
 maids over reconnoitring, to make inquiries and 
 bring us a full report." 
 
 ' ' Merle ! How can you say such things ? ' ' 
 
 It was a cheery little feast. Ah! how young
 
 The Great Hunger 141 
 
 they were, these two girls, and how they laughed 
 at a joke, and what quantities of bread and but- 
 ter and coffee they all three disposed of! Merle 
 now and again would give their companion a side- 
 long glance, while Thea laughed at all the wild 
 things her friend said, and scolded her, and looked 
 anxiously at Peer. 
 
 And now the sun was nearing the shoulder of a 
 hill far in the west, and evening was falling. They 
 packed up their things, and Peer was loaded up 
 with a big bag of cloud-berries on his back, and a 
 tin pail to carry in his hand. ''Give him some 
 more," said Merle. ''It'll do him good to work 
 for a change." 
 
 "Merle, you really are too bad!" 
 
 ' ' Here you are, ' ' said the girl, and slid the han- 
 dle of a basket into his other hand. 
 
 Then they set out down the hill. Merle sang 
 and yodelled as they went; then Peer sang, and 
 then they all three sang together. And when they 
 came to a heather-tussock or a puddle, they did 
 not trouble to go round, but just jumped over it, 
 and then gave another jump for the fun of the 
 thing. 
 
 They passed the saeter and went on down to the 
 water's edge, and Peer proposed to row them 
 home. And so they rowed across. And the whole 
 time they sat talking and laughing together as if 
 they had known each other for years. 
 
 The boat touched land just below the cottage, 
 and a broad-shouldered man with a grey beard
 
 142 The Great Hunger 
 
 and a straw hat came down to meet them. **0h, 
 father, are you back again?" cried Merle, and, 
 springing ashore, she flung her arms round his 
 neck. The two exchanged some whispered words, 
 and the father glanced at Peer. Then, taking off 
 his hat, he came towards him and said politely, 
 *'It was very kind of you to help the girls down." 
 
 **This is Herr Holm, engineer and Egyptian," 
 said Merle, *'and this is father." 
 
 **I hear we are neighbours," said Uthoug. 
 * 'We're just going to have tea, so if you have 
 nothing better to do, perhaps you will join us." 
 
 Outside the cottage stood a grey-haired lady 
 with a pale face, wearing spectacles. She had a 
 thick white woollen shawl over her shoulders, but 
 even so she seemed to feel cold. *' Welcome," 
 she said, and Peer thought there was a tremor 
 in her voice. 
 
 There were two small low rooms with an open 
 fireplace in the one, and in it there stood a table 
 ready laid. But from the moment Merle entered 
 the house, she took command of everything, and 
 whisked in and out. Soon there was the sound 
 of fish cooking in the kitchen, and a moment later 
 she came in with a plate full of lettuce, and said : 
 **Mr. Egyptian — you can make us an Arabian 
 salad, can't you?" 
 
 Peer was deUghted. **I should think so," he 
 said. 
 
 ''You'll find salt and pepper and vinegar and 
 oil on the table there, and that's all we possess in
 
 The Great Hunger 143 
 
 the way of condiments. But it must be a real 
 Arabian salad all the same, if you please ! ' ' And 
 out she went again, while Peer busied himself 
 with the salad. 
 
 '*! hope you will excuse my daughter," said 
 Fru Uthoug, turning her pale face towards him 
 and looking through her spectacles. *'She is not 
 really so wild as she seems." 
 
 Uthoug himself walked up and down the room, 
 chatting to Peer and asking a great many ques- 
 tions about conditions in Egypt. He knew some- 
 thing about the Mahdi, and General Gordon, and 
 Khartoum, and the strained relations between the 
 Khedive and the Sultan. He was evidently a dili- 
 gent reader of the newspapers, and Peer gathered 
 that he was a Radical, and a man of some weight 
 in his party. And he looked as if there was plenty 
 of fire smouldering under his reddish eyelids : *^ A 
 bad man to fall out with," thought Peer. 
 
 They sat down to supper, and Peer noticed 
 that Fru Uthoug grew less pale and anxious as 
 her daughter laughed and joked and chattered. 
 There even came a slight glow at last into the 
 faded cheeks; the eyes behind the spectacles 
 seemed to shine with a light borrowed from her 
 daughter's. But her husband seemed not to no- 
 tice anything, and tried all the time to go on talk- 
 ing about the Mahdi and the Khedive and the 
 Sultan. 
 
 So for the first time for many years Peer sat 
 down to table in a Norwegian hom.e — and how
 
 144 The Great Hunger 
 
 good it was ! Would he ever have a home of his 
 own, he wondered. 
 
 After the meal, a mandolin was brought out, 
 and they sat round the fire in the great fireplace 
 and had some music. Until at last Merle rose 
 and said: *'Now, mother, it's time you went to 
 bed.'' 
 
 **Yes, dear," came the answer submissively, 
 and Fru Uthoug said good-night, and Merle led 
 her off. 
 
 Peer had risen to take leave, when Merle came 
 in again. ''Why," she said, "you're surely not 
 going off before you've rowed Thea home?" 
 
 *'0h. Merle, please ..." put in the other. 
 
 But when the two had taken their places in the 
 boat and were just about to start up the lake, 
 Merle came running down and said she might just 
 as well come too. 
 
 Half an hour later, having seen the young girl 
 safely ashore at her father's place. Merle and 
 Peer were alone, rowing back through the still 
 night over the waters of the lake, golden in the 
 light and dark blue in the shadows. Merle leaned 
 back in the stern, silent, trailing a small branch 
 along the surface of the water behind. After 
 a while Peer laid in his oars and let the boat 
 drift. 
 
 ''How beautiful it is!" he said. 
 
 The girl lifted her head and looked round. 
 "Yes," she answered, and Peer fancied her voic^ 
 had taken a new tone.
 
 The Great Hunger 145 
 
 It was past midnight. Heights and woods and 
 sseters lay lifeless in the soft suffused reddish, 
 light. The lake-trout were not rising any more, 
 but now and again the screech of a cock-ptarmi- 
 gan could be heard among the withies. 
 
 **What made you come just here for your holi- 
 day, I wonder," she asked suddenly. 
 
 *'I leave everything to chance, Froken Uthoug. 
 It just happened so. It's all so homelike here, 
 wherever one goes. And it is so wonderful to be 
 home in Norway again." 
 
 *'But haven't you been to see your people — 
 your father and mother — since you came home?" 
 
 *'I ! Do you suppose I have a father and 
 
 mother?" 
 
 *'But near relations — surely you must have a 
 brother or sister somewhere in the world?" 
 
 ''Ah, if one only had! Though, after all, one 
 can get on without. ' ' 
 
 She looked at him searchingly, as if trying to 
 see whether he spoke in earnest. Then she said : 
 
 ''Do you know that mother dreamed of you 
 before you came?" 
 
 "Of me?" Peer's eyes opened wide. "What 
 did she dream about me?" 
 
 A sudden flush came to the girl's face, and she 
 shook her head. "It's foolish of me to sit here 
 and tell you all this. But you see that was why 
 we wanted so much to find out about you when 
 you came. And it gives me a sort of feeling of 
 our having known each other a long time."
 
 146 The Great Hu7iger 
 
 **Yoii appear to have a very constant flow of 
 high spirits, Froken Uthoug ! ' ' 
 
 ''I? Why do you think ? Oh, well, yes. 
 
 One can come by most things, you know, if one 
 has to have them." 
 
 ''Even high spirits?" 
 
 She turned her head and looked towards the 
 shore. ''Some day perhaps — if we should come 
 to be friends — I'll tell you more about it." 
 
 Peer bent to his oars and rowed on. The still- 
 ness of the night drew them nearer and nearer 
 together, and made them silent ; only now and then 
 they would look at each other and smile. 
 
 "What mysterious creature is this I have come 
 upon?" thought Peer. She might be about one- 
 or two-and-twenty. She sat there with bowed 
 head, and in this soft glow the oval face had a 
 strange light of dreams upon it. But suddenly 
 her glance came back and rested on him again, 
 and then she smiled, and he saw that her mouth 
 was large and her lips full and red. 
 
 "I wish I had been all over the world, like you," 
 she said. 
 
 "Have you never been abroad, Froken 
 Uthoug?" he asked. 
 
 "I spent a winter in Berlin, once, and a few 
 months in South Germany. I played the violin 
 a little, you see; and I hoped to take it up seri- 
 ously abroad and make something of it — but " 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't you?" 
 
 She was silent for a little, then at last she said :
 
 The Great Hunger 147 
 
 **I suppose you are sure to know about it some 
 day, so I may just as well tell you now. Mother 
 has been out of her mind.*' 
 
 *'My dear Froken " 
 
 ''And when she's at home my — high spirits are 
 needed to help her to be more or less herself." 
 
 He felt an impulse to rise and go to the girl, 
 and take her head between his hands. But she 
 looked up, with a melancholy smile ; their eyes met 
 in a long look, and she forgot to withdraw her 
 glance. 
 
 "I must go ashore now," she said at last. 
 
 * * Oh, so soon ! Why, we have hardly begun our 
 talk!" 
 
 **I must go ashore now," she repeated; and her 
 voice, though still gentle, was not to be gainsaid. 
 
 At last Peer was alone, rowing back to his saeter. 
 As he rowed he watched the girl going slowly up 
 towards the cottage. "When she reached the door 
 she turned for the first time and waved to him. 
 Then she stood for a moment looking after him, 
 and then opened the door and disappeared. He 
 gazed at the door some time longer, as if expect- 
 ing to see it open again, but no sign of life was 
 to be seen. 
 
 The sun's rim was showing now above the dis- 
 tant ranges in the east, and the white peaks in the 
 north and west kindled in the morning glow. 
 Peer laid in his oars again, and rested, with his 
 elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
 
 148 The Great Hunger 
 
 What could this thing be that had befallen him to- 
 day? 
 
 How could those peaks stand round so aloof and 
 indifferent, and leave him here disconsolate and 
 alone ? 
 
 "What was it, this new rushing in his ears ; this 
 new rhythm of his pulse? He lay back at last in 
 the bottom of the boat, with hands clasped be- 
 hind his head, and let boat and all things drift. 
 
 And when the glare of the rising sun came slant- 
 ing into the boat and beat dazzlingly in his face, 
 he only turned his head a little and let it shine 
 full upon him. 
 
 Now she is lying asleep over there, the morn- 
 ing streaming red through her window — of whom 
 is she dreaming as she sleeps? 
 
 Have you ever seen such eyebrows before ? To 
 press one's lips to them — to take her head be- 
 tween one's hand . . . and so it is to save your 
 mother that you give up your own dreams, and 
 to warm her soul that you keep that flame of glad- 
 ness burning in you? Is that the sort you are? 
 
 Merle — was ever such a name? Are you called 
 Merle ? 
 
 Day spreads over the heavens, kindling all the 
 night-clouds, great and small, to gold and scarlet. 
 And here he lies, rocking, rocking, on no lake, but 
 on a red stately-heaving ocean swell. 
 
 Ah! till now your mind has been so filled with 
 cold mechanics, with calculations, with steel and 
 fire. More and more knowledge, ever more striv-
 
 The Great Hunger 149 
 
 ing to understand all things, to know all, to master 
 all. But meanwhile, the tones of the hymn died 
 within you, and the hunger for that which lies 
 beyond all things grew ever fiercer and fiercer. 
 You thought it was Norway that you needed — and 
 now you are here. But is it enough? 
 
 Merle — is your name Merle? 
 
 There is nothing that can be likened to the first 
 day of love. All your learning, your travel, and 
 deeds and dreams — all has been nothing but dry 
 firewood that you have dragged and heaped to- 
 gether. And now has come a spark, and the whole 
 heap blazes up, casting its red glow over earth 
 and heaven, and you stretch out your cold hands, 
 and warm them, and shiver with joy that a new 
 bliss has come upon the earth. 
 
 And all that you could not understand — the 
 relation between the spark of eternity in your soul 
 and the Power above, and the whole of endless 
 space — has all of a sudden become so clear that 
 you lie here trembling with joy at seeing to the 
 very bottom of the infinite enigma. 
 
 You have but to take her by the hand, and 
 *'Here are we two," you say to the powers of life 
 and death. ' '■ Here is she and here am I — we two ' * 
   — and you send the anthem rolhng aloft — a strain 
 from little Louise's fiddle-bow mingling with it — ' 
 not to the vaultings of any church, but into endless 
 space itself. And Thou, Power above, now I 
 understand Thee. How could I ever take seri- 
 ously a Power that sat on high playing with Sin
 
 150 The Great Hunger 
 
 and Grace — ^but now I see Thee, not tlie blood- 
 thirsty Jehovah, but a golden-haired youth, the 
 Light itself. We two worship Thee; not with a 
 wail of prayer, but with a great anthem, that 
 has the World-All in it. All our powers, our 
 knowledge, our dreams — all are there. And each, 
 has its own instrument, its own voice in the mighty 
 chorus. The dawn reddening over the hills is with 
 us. The goat grazing on that northern hillside, 
 dazzled with sun-gold when it turns its head to 
 the east — it is with us, too. The waking birds are 
 with us. A frog, crawling up out of a puddle 
 and stopping to wonder at the morning — it is 
 there. Even the little insect with diamonds on 
 its wings — and the grass-blade with its pearl of 
 dew, trying to mirror as much of the sky as it 
 can — it is there, it is there, it is there. We are 
 standing amid Love's first day, and there is no 
 more talk of grace or doubt or faith or need of 
 aid; only a rushing sound of music rising to 
 heaven from all the golden rivers in our hearts. 
 
 The saeters were beginning to wake. Musical 
 cries came echoing as the saeter-girls chid on the 
 cattle, that moved slowly up to the northern 
 heights, with lowings and tinkling of bells. But 
 Peer lay still where he was — and presently the 
 dairy-maid at the sseter caught sight of what 
 seemed an empty boat drifting on the lake, and 
 was afraid some accident had happened. 
 
 *' Merle," thought Peer, still lying motionless. 
 *'Is your name Merle!"
 
 The Great Hunger 151 
 
 The dairy-maid was down by the waterside now, 
 calling across toward the boat. And at last she 
 saw a man sit np, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 ''Mercy on us!" she cried. "Lord be thanked 
 that you're there. And you haven't been in the 
 whole blessed night!" 
 
 A goat with a broken leg, set in splints, had been 
 left to stray at will about the cattle-pens and in 
 and out of the house, while its leg-bones were set- 
 ting. Peer must needs pick up the creature and 
 carry it round for a while in his arms, though 
 it at once began chewing at his beard. When he 
 sat down to the breakfast-table, he found some- 
 thing so touching in the look of the cream and but- 
 ter, the bread and the coffee, that it seemed a man 
 would need a heart of stone to be willing to eat 
 such things. And when the old woman said he 
 really ought to get some food into him, he sprang 
 up and embraced her, as far as his arms would go 
 round. ''Nice carryings on!" she cried, strug- 
 gling to free herself. But when he went so far 
 as to imprint a sounding kiss on her forehead, 
 she fetched him a mighty push. "Lord!" she 
 said, "if the gomeril hasn't gone clean out of his 
 wits this last night!"
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 RiNGEBY lay on the shore of a great lake; and 
 was one of those busy commercial towns which 
 have sprung up in the last fifty years from a 
 nucleus consisting of a saw-mill and a flour-mill by 
 the side of a waterfall. Now quite a number of 
 modern factories had spread upwards along the 
 river, and the place was a town with some four 
 thousand inhabitants, with a church of its own, a 
 monster of a school building, and numbers of yel- 
 low workmen's dwellings scattered about at ran- 
 dom in every direction. Otherwise Ringeby was 
 much like any other Kttle town. There were two 
 lawyers, who fought for scraps of legal business, 
 and the editors of two local papers, who were con- 
 stantly at loggerheads before the Conciliation 
 Board. There was a temperance lodge and Work- 
 ers ' Union and a chapel and a picture palace. And 
 every Sunday afternoon the good citizens of 
 Ringeby walked out along the fjord, with their 
 wives on their arms. On these occasions most of 
 the men wore frock coats and grey felt hats ; but 
 Enebak, the tanner, being hunchbacked, preferred 
 a tall silk hat, as better suited to eke out his 
 height. 
 On Saturday evenings, when twilight began to
 
 The Great Hunger 153 
 
 fall, the younger men would meet at the comer 
 outside Hammer's store, to discuss the events of 
 the week. 
 
 ''Have you heard the latest news'?" asked 
 Lovli, the bank cashier, of his friend the tele- 
 graphist, who came up. 
 
 "News? Do you tell me that there's ever any 
 news in this accursed hole I" 
 
 ''Merle Uthoug has come back from the moun- 
 tains — engaged to be married." 
 
 "The devil she is I What does the old man say 
 to that?" 
 
 "Oh, well, the old man will want an engineer 
 if he's to get the new timber-mills into his 
 clutches." 
 
 "Is the man an engineer?'* 
 
 "From Egypt. A Muhammadan, I daresay. 
 Brown as a coffee-berry, and rolling in money." 
 
 "Do you hear that, Froken Bull? Stop a min- 
 ate, here's some news for you." 
 
 The girl addressed turned aside and joined 
 them. "Oh, the same piece of news that's all over 
 the town, I suppose. "Well, I can tell you, he's 
 most tremendously nice." 
 
 " Sh ! " whispered the telegraphist. Peer Holm 
 was just coming out of the Grand Hotel, dressed 
 in a grey suit, and with a dark coat over his arm. 
 He was trying to get a newly-lit cigar to draw, as 
 he walked with a light elastic step past the group 
 at the comer. A little farther up the street he 
 encountered Merle, and took her arm, and the two
 
 154 The Great Hunger 
 
 walked off together, tlie young people at the cor- 
 ner watching them as they went. 
 
 "And when is it to be?" asked the telegraphist. 
 
 ''He wanted to be married immediately, I be- 
 lieve," said Froken Bull, **but I suppose they'll 
 have to wait till the banns are called, like other 
 people." 
 
 Lorentz D. Uthoug's long, yellow-painted 
 wooden house stood facing the market square ; the 
 office and the big ironmonger's shop were on the 
 ground floor, and the family lived in the upper 
 storeys. ''That's where he lives," people would 
 say. Or "There he goes," as the broad, grey- 
 bearded man passed down the street. Was he 
 such a big man, then ? He could hardly be called 
 really rich, though he had a saw-mill and a ma- 
 chine-shop and a flour-mill, and owned a country 
 place some way out of the town. But there was 
 something of the chieftain, something of the 
 prophet, about him. He hated priests. He read 
 deep philosophical works, forbade his family to 
 go to church, and had been visited by Bjornson 
 himself. It was good to have him on your side; 
 to have him against you was fatal — you might 
 just as well clear out of the town altogether. He 
 had a finger in everything that went on; it was 
 as if he owned the whole town. He had been 
 known to meet a youth he had never spoken to 
 before in the street and accost him with a per- 
 emptory "Understand me, young man; you will 
 marry that girl." Yet for all this, Lorentz
 
 The Great Hunger 155 
 
 Uthoug was not altogether content. True, he was 
 head and shoulders above all the Eingeby folks, 
 but what he really wanted was to be the biggest 
 man in a place a hundred times as large. 
 
 And now that he had found a son-in-law, he 
 seemed as it were to be walking quietly round 
 this stranger from the great world, taking his 
 measure, and asking in his thoughts : ' ' Who are 
 you at bottom? What have you seen? What 
 have you read? Are you progressive or reac- 
 tionary? Have you any proper respect for what 
 I have accomplished here, or are you going about 
 laughing in your sleeve and calling me a whale 
 among the minnows?'* 
 
 Every morning when Peer woke in his room at 
 the hotel he rubbed his eyes. On the table beside 
 his bed stood a photograph of a young girl. 
 What? Is it really you, Peer, that have found 
 someone to stand close to you at last? Someone 
 in the world who cares about you. When you 
 have a cold, there'll be people to come round and 
 be anxious about you, and ask how you are getting 
 on. And this to happen to you! 
 
 He dined at the Uthougs' every day, and there 
 were always flowers beside his plate. Often there 
 would be some little surprise — a silver spoon or 
 fork, or a napkin-ring with his initials on. It 
 was like gathering the first straws to make his 
 new nest. And the pale woman with the spec- 
 tacles looked kindly at him, as if to say: **You 
 aro taking her from me, but I forgive you.**
 
 156 The Great Hunger 
 
 One day he was sitting in the hotel, reading, 
 when Merle came in. 
 
 ''Will you come for a walk?" she asked. 
 
 ''Good idea. "Where shall we go to-day?" 
 
 "Well, we haven't been to see Aunt Marit at 
 Bruseth yet. We really ought to go, you know. 
 I'll take you there to-day." 
 
 Peer found these ceremonial visits to his new 
 relatives quite amusing; he went round, as it 
 were, collecting uncles and aunts. And to-day 
 there was a new one. Well, why not? 
 
 "But — my dear girl, have you been crying?" 
 he asked suddenly, taking her head in his hands. 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing. Come — let's go now." And 
 she thrust him gently away as he tried to kiss her. 
 But the next moment she dropped into a chair, 
 and sat looking thoughtfully at him through half- 
 closed eyes, nodding her head very slightly. She 
 seemed to be asking herself: "Who is this man? 
 What is this I am taking on me? A fortnight ago 
 he was an utter stranger " 
 
 She passed her hand across her brow. "It's 
 mother — you know," she said. 
 
 "Is anything special wrong to-day?" 
 
 "She's so afraid you're going to carry me oft 
 into the wide world at a moment's notice." 
 
 'But I've told her we're going to live here for 
 the present." 
 
 The girl drew up one side of her mouth in a 
 smile, and her eyelids almost closed. "And what
 
 The Great Hunger 157 
 
 about me, then? After living here all these years 
 crazy to get out into the world?" 
 
 **And I, who am crazy to stay at home!" said 
 Peer with a laugh. *'How delicious it will be to 
 have a house and a family at last — and peace and 
 quiet!" 
 
 ''But what about me?" 
 
 ''You'll be there, too. I'll let you live with me." 
 
 "Oh! how stupid you are to-day. If you only 
 knew what it means, to throw away the best years 
 of one's youth in a hole like this! And besides — 
 I could have done somthing worth while in 
 
 music " 
 
 If 
 
 "Why, then, let's go abroad, by all means, 
 said Peer, wrinkling up his forehead as if to 
 laugh. 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! you know it's quite impossible 
 to go off and leave mother now. But you certainly 
 came at a very critical time. For anyway I was 
 longing and longing just then for someone to come 
 and carry me off." 
 
 "Aha! so I was only a sort of ticket for the 
 tour. ' ' He stepped over and pinched her nose. 
 
 "Oh! you'd better be careful. I haven't really 
 promised yet to have you, you know." 
 
 "Haven't promised? When you practically 
 asked me yourself." 
 
 She clapped her hands together. "Why, what 
 shameless impudence! After my saying No, No, 
 No, for days together. I won't, I won't, I won't— 
 I said it ever so many times. And you said it
 
 158 The Great Hunger 
 
 didn't matter — for you would. Yes, you took me 
 most unfairly off my guard ; but now look out for 
 yourself.'* 
 
 The next moment she flung her arms round his 
 neck. But when he tried to kiss her, she pushed 
 him away again. ''No," she said, "you mustn't 
 think I did it for that!" 
 
 Soon they were walking arm-in-arm along the 
 country road, on their way to Aunt Marit at 
 Bruseth. It was September, and all about the 
 wooded hills stood yellow, and the cornfields were 
 golden and the rowan berries blood-red. But 
 there was still summer in the air. 
 
 "Ugh! how impossibly fast you walk," ex- 
 claimed Merle, stopping out of breath. 
 
 And when they came to a gate they sat down in 
 the grass by the wayside. Below them was the 
 town, with its many roofs and chimneys standing 
 out against the shining lake, that lay framed in 
 broad stretches of farm and field. 
 
 "Do you know how it came about that mother 
 is — as she is?" asked Merle suddenly. 
 
 "No. I didn't like to ask you about it." 
 
 She drew a stalk of grass between her lips. 
 
 "Well, you see — mother's father was a clergy- 
 man. And when — when father forbade her to go 
 to church, she obeyed him. But she couldn't sleep 
 ifter that. She felt — as if she had sold her soul.'* 
 
 "And what did your father say to that?" 
 
 "Said it was hysteria. But, hysteria or not.
 
 The Great Hunger 159 
 
 mother couldn't sleep. And at last they had to 
 take her away to a home." 
 
 ''Poor soul!" said Peer, taking the girl's hand. 
 
 **And when she came back from there she was 
 so changed, one would hardly have known her. 
 And father gave way a little — more than he ever 
 used to do — and said: ^Well, well, I suppose you 
 must go to church if you wish, but you mustn't 
 mind if I don't go with you.' And so one Sunday 
 she took my hand and we went together, but as we 
 reached the church door, and heard the organ 
 playing inside, she turned back. *No — it's too 
 late now,' she said. 'It's too late, Merle.* And 
 she has never been since." 
 
 *'And she has always been — strange — since 
 then?" 
 
 Merle sighed. "The worst of it is she sees so 
 many evil things compassing her about. She says 
 the only thing to do is to laugh them away. But 
 she can't laugh herself. And so I have to. But 
 when I go away from her — oh! I can't bear to 
 think of it." 
 
 She hid her face against his shoulder, and he 
 began stroking her hair. 
 
 **Tell me. Peer" — she looked up with her one- 
 sided smile — **who is right — ^mother or father!" 
 
 ''Have you been trying to puzzle that out?" 
 
 "Yes. But it's so hopeless — so impossible to 
 come to any sort of certainty. Wliat do you think? 
 Tell me what you think. Peer." 
 
 They sat there alone in the golden autumn day,
 
 160 The Great Hunger 
 
 her head pressed against his shoulder. "Why 
 should he play the superior person and try to 
 put her off with vague phrases f 
 
 *'Dear Merle, I know, of course, no more than 
 you do. There was a time when I saw God stand- 
 ing with a rod in one hand and a sugar-cake in 
 the other — just punishment and rewards to all 
 eternity. Then I thrust Him from me, because 
 He seemed to me so unjust — and at last He van- 
 ished, melting into the solar systems on high, and 
 all the infinitesimal growths here on the earth 
 below. What was my life, what were my dreams, 
 i^y joy or sorrow, to these? Where was I mak- 
 ing for? Ever and always there was something 
 in me saying: He is\ But where? Somewhere 
 beyond and behind the things you know — it is 
 there He is. And so I determined to know more 
 things, more and more and more — and what wiser 
 was I? A steam-hammer crushes my skull one 
 day — and what has become of my part in progress 
 and culture and science? Am I as much of an 
 accident as a fly on an ant? Do I mean no more? 
 Do I vanish and leave as little trace? Answer 
 me that, little Merle — what do you think f" 
 
 The girl sat motionless, breathing softly, with 
 closed eyes. Then she began to smile — and her 
 lips were full and red, and at last they shaped 
 themselves to a kiss. 
 
 Bruseth was a large farm lying high above the 
 town, with its garden and avenues and long ve-
 
 The Great Hunger 161 
 
 randahs round the white dwelling-house. And 
 what a view out over the lake and the country 
 far around ! The two stood for a moment at the 
 gate, looking back. 
 
 Merle's aunt — her father's sister — was a widow, 
 rich and a notable manager, but capricious to a 
 degree, capable of being generous one day and 
 grasping the next. It was the sorrow of her life 
 that she had no children of her own, but she had 
 not yet decided who was to be her heir. 
 
 She came sailing into the room where the two 
 young people were waiting, and Peer saw her 
 coming towards them, a tall, full-bosomed woman 
 with grey hair and florid colour. Oho ! here's an 
 aunt for you with a vengeance, he thought. She 
 pulled off a blue apron she was wearing and ap- 
 peared dressed in a black woollen gown, with a 
 gold chain about her neck and long gold earrings. 
 
 *'So you thought you'd come over at last," she 
 said. ** Actually remembered my existence, after 
 all, did you. Merle?" She turned towards Peer, 
 and stood examining him, with her hands on her 
 hips. **So that's what you look like, is it. Peer? 
 And you're the man that was to catch Merle? 
 Well, you see I call you Peer at once, even though 
 you have come all the way from — Arabia, is it? 
 Sit down, sit down." 
 
 Wine was brought in, and Aunt Marit of Bru- 
 seth lifted a congratulatory glass toward the pair 
 with the following words : 
 
 ^'You'll fight, of course. But don't overdo it.
 
 162 The Great Hunger 
 
 that's all. And mark my words, Peer Holm, if 
 you aren't good to her, I'll come round one fine 
 day and warm your ears for you. Your healths, 
 children ! ' ' 
 
 The two went homewards arm-in-arm, dancing 
 down the hillsides, and singing gaily as they went. 
 But suddenly, when they were still some way 
 from the town, Merle stopped and pointed. 
 *' There," she whispered — 'there's mother!" 
 
 A solitary woman was walking slowly in the 
 twilight over a wide field of stubble, looking 
 around her. It was as if she were lingering here 
 to search out the meaning of something — of many 
 things. From time to time she would glance up 
 at the sky, or at the town below, or at people 
 passing on the road, and then she would nod her 
 head. How infinitely far off she seemed, how ut- 
 terly a stranger to all the noisy doings of men I 
 What was she seeing now? What were her 
 thoughts ? 
 
 *'Let us go on," whispered Merle, drawing him 
 with her. And the young girl suddenly began to 
 sing, loudly, as if in an overflow of spirits; and 
 Peer guessed that it was for her mother's sake. 
 Perhaps the lonely woman stood there now in 
 the twilight smiling after them. 
 
 One Sunday morning Merle drove up to the hotel 
 in a light cart with a big brown horse ; Peer came 
 out and climbed in, leaving the reins to her. They 
 were going out along the fjord to look at her
 
 The Great Hunger 163 
 
 father's big estate which in olden days had been 
 the County Governors' official residence. 
 
 It is the end of September. The sun is still 
 warm, but the waters of the lake are grey and all 
 the fields are reaped. Here and there a strip of 
 yellowing potato-stalks lies waiting to be dug up. 
 Up on the hillsides horses tethered for grazing 
 stand nodding their heads slowly, as if they knew 
 that it was Sunday. And a faint mist left by the 
 damps of the night floats about here and there 
 over the broad landscape. 
 
 They passed through a wood, and came on the 
 other side to an avenue of old ash trees, that 
 turned up from the road and ran uphill to a big 
 house where a flag was flying. The great white 
 dwelling-house stood high, as if to look out far 
 over the world; the red farm-buildings enclosed 
 the wide courtyard on three sides, and below were 
 gardens and broad lands, sloping down towards 
 the lake. Something like an estate I 
 
 ** What's the name of that place?" cried Peer, 
 gazing at it. 
 
 *'Loreng." 
 
 **And who owns it?" 
 
 ** Don't know," answered the girl, cracking her 
 whip. 
 
 Next moment the horse turned in to the avenue, 
 and Peer caught involuntarily at the reins. *'Hei! 
 Brownie — where are you going?" he cried. 
 
 ''Wliy not go up and have a look?" said Merle.
 
 164 The Great Hunger 
 
 **But we were going out to look at your father's 
 place. ' ' 
 
 ''Well, that is father's place." 
 
 Peer stared at her face and let go the reins. 
 *'What? What? You don't mean to say your 
 father owns that place there?" 
 
 A few minutes later they were strolling through 
 the great, low-ceiled rooms. The whole house was 
 empty now, the farm-bailiff living in the servants ' 
 quarters. Peer grew more and more enthusiastic. 
 Here, in these great rooms, there had been festive 
 gatherings enough in the days of the old Gov- 
 ernors, where cavaliers in uniform or with ele- 
 gant shirt-frills and golden spurs had kissed the 
 hands of ladies in sweeping silk robes. Old ma- 
 hogany, pot-pourri, convivial song, wit, grace — 
 Peer saw it all in his mind's eye, and again and 
 again he had to give vent to his feelings by seiz- 
 ing Merle and embracing her. 
 
 *'0h, but look here. Merle — you know, this is a 
 fairy-tale. ' ' 
 
 They passed out into the old neglected garden 
 with its grass-grown paths and well-filled carp- 
 ponds and tumble-down pavilions. Peer rushed 
 about it in all directions. Here, too, there had 
 been fetes, with coloured lamps festooned around, 
 and couples whispering in the shade of every bush. 
 ** Merle, did you say your father was going to sell 
 all this to the State?" 
 
 '*Yes, that's what it will come to, I expect," 
 she answered. *'The place doesn't pay, he says.
 
 The Great Hunger 165 
 
 when lie can't live here himself to look after it." 
 
 "But what use can the State make of it?*' 
 
 *'0h, a Home for Imbeciles, I believe." 
 
 *'Good Lord! I might have guessed it I An 
 idiot asylum — to be sure." He tramped about, 
 fairly jumping with excitement. *' Merle, look 
 here — will you come and live here?" 
 
 She threw back her head and looked at him. **I 
 ask you. Merle. Will you come and live here ? ' ' 
 
 **Do you want me to answer this moment, on 
 the spot?" 
 
 *'Yes. For I want to buy it this moment, on 
 the spot." 
 
 *'Well, aren't you " 
 
 ''Look, Merle, just look at it all. That long 
 balcony there, with the doric columns — ^nothing 
 shoddy about that — it's the real thing. Empire. 
 I know something about it." 
 
 *'But it'll cost a great deal. Peer." There was 
 some reluctance in her voice. Was she thinking 
 of her violin? Was she loth to take root to3 
 firmly? 
 
 **A great deal?" he said. ''What did your 
 father give for it?" 
 
 "The place was sold by auction, and he got it 
 cheap. Fifty thousand crowns, I think it was." 
 
 Peer strode off towards the house again. 
 "We'll buy it. It's the very place to make into 
 a home. . . . Horses, cattle, sheep, goats, cottars 
 — ah! it'll be grand." 
 
 Merle followed him more slowly. "But, Peer,
 
 166 The Great Hunger 
 
 remember you've just taken over father's ma» 
 chine-shops in town." 
 
 **Pooh!" said Peer scornfully. ''Do you think 
 I can't manage to run that village smithy and 
 live here too! Come along, Merle." And he took 
 her hand and drew her into the house again. 
 
 It was useless to try to resist. He dragged her 
 from room to room, furnishing as he went along. 
 "This room here is the dining-room — and that's 
 the big reception-room; this will be the study — 
 that's a boudoir for you. . . . Come now; to-mor- 
 row we'll go into Christiania and buy the furni- 
 ture." 
 
 Merle gasped for breath. He had got so far 
 by this time that the furnishing was complete 
 and they were installed. They had a governess 
 already, and he was giving parties too. Here 
 was the ballroom. He slipped an arm round her 
 waist and danced round the room with her, till 
 she was carried away by his enthusiasm, and 
 stood flushed and beaming, while all she had 
 dreamed of finding some day out in the wide world 
 seemed suddenly to unfold around her here in 
 these empty rooms. Was this really to be her 
 home? She stopped to take breath and to look 
 around her. 
 
 Late that evening Peer sat at the hotel with a 
 note-book, working the thing out. He had bought 
 Loreng; his father-in-law had been reasonable, 
 and had let him have the place, lands and woods 
 and all, for the ridiculous price he had paid him-
 
 The Great Hunger 167 
 
 self. There was a mortgage of thirty thousand 
 crowns on the estate. Well, that might stand as 
 it was, for the bulk of Peer's money was tied up 
 in Ferdinand Holm's company. 
 
 A few days after he carried Merle off to the 
 capital, leaving the carpenters and painters hard 
 at work at Loreng. 
 
 One day he was sitting alone at the hotel in 
 Christiania — Merle was out shopping — ^when there 
 was a very discreet knock at the door. 
 
 ''Come in," called Peer. And in walked a mid- 
 dle-sized man, of thirty or more, dressed in a 
 black frock-coat with a large-patterned vest, and 
 his dark hair carefully combed over a bald patch 
 on the crown. He had a red, cheery face; his 
 eyes were of the brightest blue, and the whole 
 man breathed and shone with good humour. 
 
 *'I am Uthoug junior," said the new-comer, 
 with a bow and a laugh. 
 
 *' Oh— that's capital." 
 
 **Just come across from Manchester — ^beastly 
 voyage. Thanks, thanl?:s — I'll find a seat." He 
 sat down, and flung one striped trouser-leg over 
 the other. 
 
 Peer sent for some wine, and in half an hour 
 the two were firm allies. Uthoug junior's life- 
 story to date was quickly told. He had run away 
 from home because his father had refused to let 
 him go on the stage — had found on trial that in 
 these days there weren't enough theatres to go 
 round — then had set uj) in business for himself,
 
 168 The Great Hunger 
 
 and now had a general agency for the sale of 
 English tweeds. *' Freedom, freedom," was his 
 idea; ''lots of elbow-room — room to turn about in 
 — without with your leave or by your leave to 
 father or anyone ! Your health ! ' * 
 
 A week later the street outside Lorentz D. 
 Uthoug's house in Ringeby was densely crowded 
 with people, all gazing up at the long rows of 
 lighted windows. There was feasting to-night in 
 the great man's house. About midnight a car- 
 riage drove up to the door. ''That's the bride- 
 groom's," whispered a bystander. "He got those 
 horses from Denmark!" 
 
 The street door opened, and a white figure, 
 thickly cloaked, appeared on the steps. "The 
 bride !" whispered the crowd. Then a slender man 
 in a dark overcoat and silk hat. "The bride- 
 groom!" And as the pair passed out, "Hip-hip- 
 hip " went the voice of the general agent for 
 
 English tweeds, and the hurrahs came with a will. 
 
 The carriage moved off, and Peer sat, with his 
 arm round his bride, driving his horses at a sharp 
 trot out along the fjord. Out towards his home, 
 towards his palace, towards a new and untried 
 future.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 A LITTLE shaggy, grey-bearded old man stood 
 chopping and sawing in the wood-shed at Loreng. 
 He had been there longer than anyone could re- 
 member. One master left, another took his place 
 — what was that to the little man? Didn't the 
 one need firewood — and didn't the other need fire- 
 wood just the same? In the evening he crept up 
 to his den in the loft of the servants' wing; at 
 meal-times he sat himself down in the last seat 
 at the kitchen-table, and it seemed to him that 
 there was always food to be had. Nowadays the 
 master's name was Holm — an engineer he was — 
 and the little man blinked at him with his eyes, 
 and went on chopping in the shed. If they came 
 and told him he was not wanted and must go — 
 why, thank heaven, he was stone deaf, as every- 
 one knew. Thud, thud, went his axe in the shed ; 
 and the others about the place were so used to 
 it that they heeded it no more than the ticking of 
 a clock upon the wall. 
 
 In the kitchen of the big house two girls stood 
 by the window peeping out into the garden and 
 giggling. 
 
 "There he is again," said Laura. "Sh! don't 
 laugh so loud. There! now he's stopping again!"
 
 170 The Great Hunger 
 
 ''He's whistling to a bird," said Oliana. ''Or 
 talking to himself perhaps. Do you think he's 
 quite right in his head?" 
 
 * ' Sh ! The mistress '11 hear. ' ' 
 
 It was no less a person than the master of Lo- 
 reng himself whose proceedings struck them as so 
 comic. 
 
 Peer it was, wandering about in the great neg- 
 lected garden, with his hands in the pockets of his 
 knickerbockers and his cap on the back of his 
 head, stopping here and there, and moving on 
 again as the fancy took him. Sometimes he would 
 hum a snatch of a song, and again fall to whis- 
 tling ; here he would pick up a twig and look at it, 
 or again it might be a bird, or perhaps an old 
 neglected apple-tree that seemed worth stopping 
 to talk to. The best of it was that these were 
 his own lands and his own woods that lay there 
 in the rusty October sunshine. Was all that noth- 
 ing? And the hill over on the farther shore, 
 standing on its head in the dark lake-mirror, 
 clothed in a whole world of colour — yellow leaves 
 and green leaves, and light red and dark red, and 
 golden and blood-red patches, with the dark green 
 of the pines between. His eyes had all this to 
 rest on. Did he really live here? What abun- 
 dant fruitfulness all around him! What a sky, 
 so wide, so golden that it seemed to ring again. 
 The potato-stalks lay uprooted, scattered on the 
 fields ; the corn was safely housed. And here he 
 stood. He seemed again to be drawing in nourish-
 
 The Great Hunger 171 
 
 ment from all he saw, drinking it greedily. The 
 empty places in his mind were filled ; the sight of 
 the rich soft landscape worked on his being, giv- 
 ing it something of its own abundant f ruitfulness, 
 its own wide repose. 
 
 And — what next? 
 
 ''What next?" he mimicked in his thoughts, 
 and started again tramping up and down the gar- 
 den paths. What next — what next? Could he not 
 afford now to take his time — to rest a little? 
 Every man must have an end in view — must strive 
 to reach this goal or that. And what was his 
 object now? What was it he had so toiled for, 
 from those hard years in the loft above the stable 
 even until now? What was it? Often it seemed 
 as if everything were going smoothly, going of 
 itself; as if one day, surely, he would find his 
 part in a great, happy world-harmony. But had 
 he not already found it? What more would he 
 have ? Of course he had found it. 
 
 But is this all, then? What is there behind and 
 beyond? Hush! have done with questioning. 
 Look at the beauty around you. Here is peace, 
 peace and rest. 
 
 He hurried up to the house, and in — it might 
 help matters if he could take his wife in his arms ; 
 perhaps get her to come out with him a while. 
 
 Merle was in the pantry, with a big apron onv 
 ranging jars of preserves on the shelves. 
 
 ''Here, dearest little wife,'' cried Peer, throw-
 
 172 The Great Hunger 
 
 ing his arms about her, **what do you say to a 
 Httle run?" 
 
 **Now? Do you suppose a housewife has noth- 
 ing better to do than gad about? Uf ! my hair I 
 you'll make it come down." 
 
 Peer took her arm and led her over to a window 
 looking out on the lake. *' There, dearest! Isn't 
 it lovely here?" 
 
 *'Peer, you've asked me that twenty times a 
 day ever since we came. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, and you never answer. And you 've never 
 once yet run and thrown your arms round my 
 neck and said how happy you were. And it's 
 never yet come to pass that you've given me a 
 single kiss of your own accord." 
 
 '*I should think not, when you steal such a lot.*' 
 Aud she pushed him aside, and slipped under his 
 arm, and ran out of the room. *'I must go in and 
 see mother again to-day," she said as she went. 
 
 "Huit! Of course!" He paced up and down 
 the room, his step growing more and more impa- 
 tient. *'In to mother — in to mother! Always 
 and everlastingly mother and mother and nothing 
 else. Hiiit!" and he began to whistle. 
 
 Merle put her head in at the door. **Peer — 
 have you such a terrible lot of spare time ? ' ' 
 
 ^'Well, yes and no. I'm busy enough looking 
 about in every corner here for something or an- 
 other. But I can't find it, and I don't even know 
 exactly what it is. Oh well, yes — ^I have plenty 
 of time to spare,"
 
 The Great Hunger 173 
 
 Vmmm ^ t   „ ■^»^— i imb. ™ — i   »   «   — i.... —     i   i^- n . i   — l^■■■^■l 1 I m ill n fc 
 
 '*But what about the farm?'' 
 
 "Well, there's the dairy-woman in the cow- 
 house, and the groom in the stables, and the bailiff 
 to worry the tenants and workpeople. What am 
 I to do — poke around making improvements!" 
 
 "But what about the machine-shop?" 
 
 "Don't I go in twice a day — cycle over tu see 
 how things are going? But with Eode for man- 
 ager — that excellent and high-principled en^- 
 neer " 
 
 "Surely you could help him in some way?" 
 
 "He's got to go on running along the line of 
 rails he's used to — nothing else for it, my darling. 
 And four or five thousand crowns a year, net 
 profit — why, it's magnificent!" 
 
 "But couldn't you extend the business?" 
 
 He raised his eyebrows, and his mouth pursed 
 itself up. 
 
 "Extend — did you say extend? Extend a — a 
 doll's house!" 
 
 "Oh, Peer, you shouldn't laugh at it — a thing 
 that father took so much pains to set going!" 
 
 "And you shouldn't go worrying me to get to 
 work again in earnest, Merle. You shouldn't 
 really. One of these days I might discover that 
 there's no way to be happy in the world but to 
 drag a plough and look straight ahead and forget 
 that there's anythiug else in existence. It may 
 come to that one day — ^but give me a little breath- 
 ing-space first, and you love me. Well, good-bye 
 for a whi]p,"
 
 174 The Great Hunger 
 
 Merle, busying herself again in lier pantry, 
 glanced out of the window and saw him disappear 
 into the stables. At first she had gone with him 
 when he wandered about like this, touching and 
 feeling all his possessions. In the cattle-stalls, 
 it might be, stroking and patting, getting himself 
 covered with hairs, and chattering away in child- 
 ish glee. "Look, Merle — this cow is mine, child I 
 Dagros her name is — and she's mine. We have 
 forty of them — and they're all mine. And that 
 nag there — what a sight he is! We have eight 
 of them. They're mine. Yours too, of course. 
 But you don't care a bit about it. You haven't 
 even hugged any of them yet. But when a man's 
 been as poor as I've been — and suddenly wakened 
 
 up one day and found he owned all this No, 
 
 wait a minute, Merle — come and kiss old 
 Brownie." She knew the ritual now — ^he could 
 go over it all again and again, and each time with 
 the same happy wonder. Was it odious of her 
 that she was beginning to find it a little comic? 
 And how did it come about that often, when she 
 might be filled with the deepest longing for him, 
 and he burst in upon her boisterously, hungry for 
 her caresses, she would grow suddenly cold, and 
 put him aside? What was the matter? Why did 
 she behave like this? 
 
 Perhaps it was because he was so much the 
 stronger, so overwhelming in his effect on her 
 that she had to keep a tight hold on herself to 
 avoid being swept clean away and losing her iden-
 
 The Great Hunger 175 
 
 tity. At one moment they might be sitting in the 
 lamplight, chatting easily together, and so near 
 in heart and mind ; and the next it would be over 
 — he would suddenly have started up and be pac- 
 ing up and down the room, delivering a sort of 
 lecture. Merle — isn't it marvellous, the spiritual 
 life of plants ? And then would come a torrent of 
 talk about strange plant-growths in the north and 
 in the south, plants whose names she had never 
 even heard — their struggle for existence, their 
 loves and longings, their heroism in disease, the 
 divine marvel of their death. Their inventions, 
 their wisdom, aye, their religious sense — is it not 
 marvellous. Merle ? From this it was only a step 
 to the earth's strata, fossils, crystals — a fresh 
 lecture. And finally he would sum up the whole 
 into one great harmony of development, from 
 the primary cell-life to the laws of gravitation 
 that rule the courses of the stars. Was it not 
 marvellous ? One common rhythm beating through 
 the universe — a symphony of worlds! — And then 
 he must have a kiss ! 
 
 But she could only draw back and put him gen- 
 tly aside. It was as if he came with all his stored- 
 up knowledge — his lore of plants and fossils, 
 crystals and stars — and poured it all out in a 
 caress. She could almost have cried out for help. 
 And after hurrying her through the wonders of 
 the universe in this fashion, he would suddenly 
 catch her up in his arms, and whirl her off in a 
 passionate intoxication of the senses till she woke
 
 176 The Gi'eat Hunger 
 
 at last like a castaway on an island, hardly know- 
 ing where or what she was. She laughed, but she 
 could have found it in her heart to weep. Could 
 this be love? In this strong man, vvhose life till 
 now had been all study and work, the stored-up 
 feeling burst vehemently forth, now that it had 
 found an outlet. But why did it leave her so cold? 
 
 When Peer came in from the stables, humming 
 a tune, he found her in the sitting-room, dressed 
 in a dark woollen dress with a red ribbon round 
 her throat. 
 
 He stopped short: "By Jove — ^how that suits 
 you, Merle!'* 
 
 She let her eyes linger on him for a moment, 
 and then came up and threw her arms round his 
 neck. 
 
 *'Did he have to go to the stables all alone to- 
 day?" 
 
 ' ' Yes ; I 've been having a chat with the young 
 colt.'* 
 
 "Am I unkind to you, Peer?" 
 
 "You?— you!" 
 
 "Not even if I ask you to drive me in to see 
 mother?" 
 
 "Why, that's the very thing. The new horse I 
 bought yesterday from Captain Myhre should be 
 here any minute — I'm just waiting for it." 
 
 "A new horse — to ride?" 
 
 "Yes. Hang it — I must get some riding. I had 
 to handle Arab horses for years. But we'll try 
 this one in the gig first."
 
 (I 
 
 The Great Hunger 177 
 
 Merle was still standing with her arms round 
 his neck, and now she pressed her warm rich lips 
 to his, close and closer. It was at such moments 
 that she loved him — when he stood trembling with 
 a joy unexpected, that took him unawares. She 
 too trembled, with a blissful thrill through soul 
 and body; for once and at last it was she who 
 gave. 
 
 Ah!" he breathed at last, pale with emotion. 
 
 I — I'd be glad to die like that." 
 
 A little later they stood on the balcony looking 
 over the courtyard, when a bearded farm-hand 
 came up with a big light-maned chestnut horse 
 prancing in a halter. The beast stood still in the 
 middle of the yard, flung up its head, and neighed, 
 and the horses in the stable neighed in answer. 
 
 "Oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed Merle, clap- 
 ping her hands. 
 
 **Put him into the gig," called Peer to the 
 stable-boy who had come out to take the horse. 
 
 The man touched his cap. ''Horse has never 
 been driven before, sir, I was to say. * ' 
 
 ''Everything must have a beginning," said 
 Peer. 
 
 Merle glanced at him. But they were both 
 dressed to go out when the chestnut came dancing 
 up before the door with the gig. The white hoofs 
 pawed impatiently, the head was high in the air, 
 and the eyes flashed fire — he wasn't used to hav- 
 ing shafts pressing on his sides and wheels rum- 
 bling just behind him. Peer lit a cigar.
 
 178 The Great Hunger 
 
 ''You're not going to smoke?" Merle burst out. 
 
 ''Just to show him I'm not excited," said Peer. 
 
 No sooner had they taken their seats in the gig 
 than the beast began to snort and rear, but the 
 long lash flicked out over its neck, and a minute 
 later they were tearing off in a cloud of dust to- 
 wards the town. 
 
 Winter came — and a real winter it was. Peer 
 moved about from one window to another, calling 
 all the time to Merle to come and look. He had 
 been away so long — the winter of Eastern Norway 
 was all new to him. Look — look! A world of 
 white — a frozen white tranquillity — woods, plains, 
 lakes all in white, a fairy-tale in sunlight, a dream- 
 land at night under the great bright moon. There 
 was a ringing of sleigh-bells out on the lake, and 
 up in the snow-powdered forest; the frost stood 
 thick on the horses' manes and the men's beards 
 were hung with icicles. And in the middle of the 
 night loud reports of splitting ice would come from 
 the lake — sounds to make one sit up in bed with a 
 start. 
 
 Driving's worth while in weather like this — 
 come, Merle. The new stallion from Gudbrandsdal 
 wants breaking in — we'll take him. Hallo! and 
 away they go in their furs, swinging out over the 
 frozen lake, whirling on to the bare glassy ice, 
 where they skid and come near capsizing, and 
 Merle screams — but they get on to snow, and hoofs 
 and runners grip again. None of your galloping
 
 The Great Hunger 179 
 
 — trot now, trot ! And Peer cracks his whip. The 
 black, long-maned Gudbrandsdaler lifts his head 
 and trots out. And the evening comes, and under 
 the wide and starry sky they dash up again to 
 Loreng — Loreng that lies there lighting them 
 home with its long rows of glowing windows. A 
 glorious day, wife! 
 
 Or they would go out on ski over the hills to 
 the woodmen's huts in the forest, and make a 
 blazing fire in the big chimney and drink steaming 
 coffee. Then home again through one of those 
 pale winter evenings with a violet twilight over 
 woods and fields and lake, over white snow and 
 blue. Far away on the brown hillside in the west 
 stands a farmhouse, with all its windows flaming 
 with the reflection from a golden cloud. Here 
 they come rushing, the wind of their passing shak- 
 ing the snow from the pines; on, on, over deep- 
 rutted woodcutters' roads, over stumps and stones 
 — falling, bruising themselves, burying their faces 
 deep in the snow, but dragging themselves up 
 again, smiling to each other and rushing on again. 
 Then, reaching home red and dripping, they lean 
 the ski up against the wall, and stamp the snow 
 off their boots. 
 
 ** Merle," said Peer, picking the ice from his 
 beard, *'we must have a bottle of Burgundy at 
 dinner to-night." 
 
 "Yes — and shall we ring up and ask someone 
 to come over?"
 
 180 The Great Hunger 
 
 "Someone — from outside? Can't we two have 
 a little jollification all to ourselves?" 
 
 *' Yes, yes, of course, if you like." 
 
 A shower-bath — a change of underclothes — how 
 delicious ! And — an idea ! He'll appear at dinner 
 in evening dress, just for a surprise. But as he 
 entered the room he stopped short. For there 
 stood Merle herself in evening dress — a dress of 
 dark red velvet, with his locket round her neck and 
 the big plaits of hair rolled into a generous knot 
 low on her neck. Flowers on the table — the wine 
 set to warm — the finest glass, the best silver — 
 ptarmigan — how splendid ! They lift their glasses 
 filled with the red wine and drink to each other. 
 
 The frozen winter landscape still lingered in 
 their thoughts, but the sun had warmed their 
 souls; they laughed and jested, held each other's 
 hands long, and sat smiling at each other in long 
 silences. 
 
 **A glorious day to-day, Merle. And to-morrow 
 we die." 
 
 "What do you say! — to-morrow!'* 
 
 "Or fifty years hence. It comes to the same 
 thing." He pressed her hand and his eyes half 
 closed. 
 
 "But this evening we're together — and what 
 could we want more ? ' ' 
 
 Then he fell to talking of his Egyptian experi- 
 ences. He had once spent a month's holiday in 
 visiting ruined cities with Maspero, the great Mas- 
 pero himself, going with him to Luxor, to Kamak,
 
 The Great Hunger 181 
 
 with its great avenues of sphinxes, to El Amama 
 and Shubra. They had looked on ancient cities of 
 temples and king's mausoleums, where men thou- 
 sands of years dead lay as if lost in thought, with 
 eyes wide open, ready at any moment to rise and 
 call out: Slave, is the bath ready? There in the 
 middle of a cornfield rises an obelisk. You ask 
 what it is — ^it is all that is left of a royal city. 
 There, too, a hundred thousand years ago maybe, 
 young couples have sat together, drinking to each 
 other in wine, revelling in all the delights of love 
 — and where are they now? Aye, where are they, 
 can you tell me? 
 
 "When that journey was over, Merle, I began 
 to think that it was not mere slime of the Nile 
 that fertilised the fields; it was the mouldered 
 bodies of the dead. I rode over dust that had 
 been human fingers, lips that had clung in kisses. 
 Millions and millions of men and women have 
 lived on those river-banks, and what has become 
 of them now? Geology. And I thought of the 
 millions of prayers wailed out there to the sun 
 and stars, to stone idols in the temples, to croco- 
 diles and snakes and the river itself, the sacred 
 river. And the air, Merle — the air received them, 
 and vibrated for a second — and that was all. And 
 even so our prayers go up, to this very day. We 
 press our warm lips to a cold stone, and think to 
 leave an impression. Skaal!" 
 
 But Merle did not touch her glass ; she sat still, 
 with her eyes on the yellow lampshade. She had
 
 182 The Great Hunger 
 
 not yet given up all her dreams of going forth and 
 conquering the world with her music — and he sat 
 there rolling out eternity itself before her, while 
 he and she herself, her parents, all, all became as 
 chaff blown before the wind and vanished. 
 
 * ' What, won 't you drink with me ? Well, well— ^ 
 then I must pledge you by myself. Shaal!" 
 
 And being well started on his travellers' tales 
 he went on with them, but now in a more cheer- 
 ful vein, so that she found it possible to smile. 
 He told of the great lake-swamps, with their 
 legions of birds, ibis, pelicans, swans, flamingos, 
 herons, and storks — a world of long beaks and 
 curved breasts and stilt-like legs and shrieking and 
 beating of wings. Most wonderful of all it was to 
 stand and watch and be left behind when the birds 
 of passage flew northward in their thousands in 
 the spring. My love to Norway, he would say, 
 as they passed. And in the autunm to see them 
 return, grey goose, starling, wagtail, and all the 
 rest. * ' How goes it now at home ? " he would think 
 —and "Next time I'll go with you," he would 
 promise himself year after year. 
 
 ' ' And here I am at last ! Shaal I ' ' 
 
 ** Welcome home," said Merle, lifting her glass 
 with a smile. 
 
 He rang the bell. ''What do you want?" her 
 eyes asked. 
 
 ** Champagne," said Peer to the maid, who ap^ 
 peared and vanished again. 
 
 ''Are you crazy, Peer?"
 
 The Great Hunger 183 
 
 He leaned back, flushed and in happy mood, 
 lit a cigarette and told of his greatest triumph out 
 there ; it was after he had finished his work at the 
 cataracts, and had started again with a branch of 
 the English firm in Alexandria. One morning in 
 walked the Chief and said: *'Now, gentlemen, 
 here's a chance for a man that has the stuff in him 
 to win his spurs — ^who's ready?'* And half a 
 score of voices answered **I." **Well, here's the 
 King of Abyssinia suddenly fimds he must be in 
 the fashion and have a railway — couple of hun- 
 dred miles of it — what do you say to that?" 
 * ' Splendid, ' ' we cried in chorus. * * Well, but we've 
 got to compete with Germans, and Swiss, and 
 Americans — and we 've got to win. " * * Of course ' * 
 — a louder chorus still. **Now, I'm going to take 
 two men and give them a free hand. They'll go 
 up there and survey and lay out lines, and work 
 out the whole project thoroughly, both from the 
 technical and the financial side — and a project 
 that's better and cheaper than the opposition ones. 
 Eight months' work for a good man, but I must 
 have it done in four. Take along assistants and 
 equipment — all you need — and a thousand pounds 
 premium to the man who puts it through so that 
 we get the job." 
 
 **Peer — ^were you sent?" Merle half rose from 
 her seat in her excitement. 
 
 '*I — and one other." 
 
 "Who was that?" 
 
 *'His name was Ferdinand Holm."
 
 184 The Great Hunger 
 
 Merle smiled her one-sided smile, and looked at 
 him through her long lashes. She knew it had 
 been the dream of his life to beat that half-brother 
 of his in fair fight. And now! 
 
 **And what came of it?" she asked, with a seem- 
 ing careless glance at the lamp. 
 
 Peer flung away his cigarette. "First an ex- 
 pedition up the Nile, then a caravan journey, 
 camels and mules and assistants and provisions 
 and instruments and tents and quinine — heaps of 
 quinine. Have you any idea, I wonder, what a job 
 like that means? The line was to run through 
 forests and tunnels, over swamps and torrents and 
 chasms, and everything had to be planned and 
 estimated at top speed — material, labour, time, 
 cost and all. It was all very well to provide for 
 the proper spans and girders for a viaduct, and 
 estimate for thoroughly sound work in casting and 
 erecting — but even then it would be no good if the 
 Germans could come along and say their bridge 
 lookea handsomer than ours. It was a job that 
 would take a good man eight months, and I had 
 to get it done in four. There are just twelve hours 
 in a day, it's true — ^but then there are twelve more 
 hours in the night. Fever? "Well, yes. And sun- 
 stroke — yes, both men and beasts went down with 
 that. Maps got washed out by the rain. I lost 
 my best assistant by snakebite. But such things 
 didn't count as hindrances, they couldn't be al- 
 lowed to delay the work. If I lost a man, it sim^ 
 ply meant so much more work for me. After a
 
 The Great Hunger 185 
 
 couple of months a blacksmitli's hammer started 
 thmnping in the back of my head, and when I 
 closed my eyes for a couple of hours at night, little 
 fiery snakes went wriggling about in my brain. 
 Tired out? When I looked in the glass, my eyes 
 were just two red balls in my head. But when the 
 four months were up, I was back in the Chief's 
 office. ' ' 
 
 *' And— and Ferdinand Holm?" 
 
 *'Had got in the day before." 
 
 Merle shifted a little in her seat. *'And so — he 
 won?" 
 
 Peer lit another cigarette. *'No," he said — the 
 cigarette seemed to draw rather badly — "I won. 
 And that's how I came to be building railways in 
 Abyssinia." 
 
 ** Here's the champagne," said Merle. And as 
 the wine foamed in the glasses, she rose and drank 
 to him. She said nothing, only looked at him with 
 eyes half veiled, and smiled. But a wave of fire 
 went through him from head to foot. 
 
 **I feel like playing to-night," she said. 
 
 It was rarely that she played, though he had 
 often begged her to. Since they had been married 
 she had seemed loth to touch her violin, feeling 
 perhaps some vague fear that it would disturb her 
 peace and awaken old longings. 
 
 Peer sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his 
 head in his hands, listening. And there she stood, 
 at the music-stand, in her red dress, flushed and
 
 186 The Great Hunger 
 
 warm, and shilling in tlie yellow lamplight, play- 
 ing. 
 
 Then suddenly the thought of her mother came 
 to her, and she went to the telephone. * ' Mother — 
 are you there, mother? Oh, we've had such a 
 glorious day. ' ' And the girl ran on, as if trying to 
 light up her mother's heart with some rays of the 
 happiness her own happy day had brought her. 
 
 A little later Peer lay in bed, while Merle flitted 
 about the room, lingering over her toilet. 
 
 He watched her as she stood in her long white 
 gown before the toilet-table with the little green- 
 shaded lamps, doing her hair for the night in a 
 long plait. Neither of them spoke. He could see 
 her face in the glass, and saw that her eyes were 
 watching him, with a soft, mysterious glance — ^the 
 scent of her hair seemed to fill the place with 
 youth. 
 
 She turned round towards him and smiled. And 
 he lay still, beckoning her towards him with shin- 
 ing eyes. All that had passed that evening — their 
 outing, and the homeward journey in the violet 
 dusk, their little feast, and his story, the wine — 
 all had turned to love in their hearts, and shone 
 out now in their smile. 
 
 It may be that some touch of the cold breath of 
 the eternities was still in their minds, the remem- 
 brance of the millions on millions that die, the 
 flight of the aeons towards endless darkness; yet 
 in spite of all, the minutes now to come, their warm 
 embrace, held a whole world of bliss, that out-
 
 The Great Hunger 187 
 
 weighed all, and made Peer, as he lay there, long 
 to send out a hymn of praise into the universe, be- 
 cause it was so wonderful to live. 
 
 He began to understand why she lingered and 
 took so long. It was a sign that she wanted to 
 surprise him, that her heart was kind. And her 
 light breathing seemed even now to fill the room 
 with love. 
 
 Outside in the night the lake-ice, splitting into 
 new crevices, sent up loud reports ; and the winter 
 sky above the roof that sheltered them was lit with 
 all its stars.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 Fob the next few years Peer managed his estate 
 and his workshop, without giving too much of his 
 time to either. He had his bailiff and his works- 
 manager, and the work went on well enough in its 
 accustomed grooves. If anyone had asked him 
 what he actually did himself all the time, he would 
 have found it hard to answer. He seemed to be 
 going round gathering up something not clearly 
 defined. There was something wanting — some- 
 thing missed that now had to be made good. It 
 was not knowledge now, but life — life in his na- 
 tive land, the life of youth, that he reached out to 
 grasp. The youth in him, that had never had free 
 play in the years of early manhood, lay still 
 dammed up, and had to find an outlet. 
 
 There were festive gatherings at Loreng. Long 
 rows of sleighs drove in the winter evenings up 
 from the town and back again. Tables were spread 
 and decked with glass and flowers, the rooms were 
 brightly lit, and the wine was good. And some- 
 times in the long moonlit nights respectable citi- 
 zens would be awakened by noisy mirth in the 
 streets of the little town, and, going to the window 
 in their night-shirts, would see sleighs come gal- 
 loping down, with a jangle of bells, full of laugh- 
 
 I88
 
 The Great Hunger 189 
 
 ing, singing young people, returning from some 
 excursion far up in the hills, where there had been 
 feasting and dancing. Here a young lawyer — 
 newly married and something of a privileged buf- 
 foon — was sitting on the lap of somebody else's 
 wife, playing a concertina, and singing at the top 
 of his voice. *'Some of that Loreng man's doings 
 again, ' ' people would say. * ' The place has never 
 been the same since he came here." And they 
 would get back to bed again, shaking their heads 
 and wondering what things were coming to. 
 
 Peer drove out, too, on occasion, to parties at 
 the big country houses round, where they would 
 play cards all night and have champagne sent up 
 to their rooms next morning, the hosts being men 
 who knew how to do things in style. This was 
 glorious. Not mathematics or religion any more 
 — what he needed now was to assimilate something 
 of the country life of his native land. He was 
 not going to be a stranger in his own country. 
 He wanted to take firm root and be able to feel, 
 like others, that he had a spot in the world where 
 he was at home. 
 
 Then came the sunny day in June when he stood 
 by Merle's bed, and she lay there smiling faintly 
 her one-sided smile, with a newborn girl on her 
 arm. 
 
 "What are we to call her. Peer?" 
 
 "Why, we settled that long ago. After your 
 mother, of course." 
 
 "Of course her name's to be Louise," said
 
 190 The Great Hunger 
 
 Merle, turning the tiny red face towards her 
 breast. 
 
 This came as a fresh surprise. She had been 
 planning it for weeks perhaps, and now it took 
 him unawares like one of her spontaneous caresses, 
 but this time a caress to his inmost soul. 
 
 He made a faint attempt at a joke. ''Oh well, 
 I never have any say in my own house. I suppose 
 you must have it your own way." He stroked 
 her forehead ; and when she saw how deeply moved 
 he was, she smiled up at him with her most radiant 
 smile. 
 
 On one of the first days of the hay-harvest, 
 Peer lay out on a sunny hillside with his head 
 resting on a haycock, watching his people at work. 
 The mowing machine was buzzing down by the 
 lake, the spreader at work on the hill-slopes, the 
 horses straining in front, the men sitting behind 
 driving. The whole landscape lay around him 
 breathing summer and fruitfulness. And he him- 
 self lay there sunk in his own restful quiet. 
 
 A woman in a light dress and a yellow straw 
 hat came down the field road, pushing a child's 
 cart before her. It was Merle, and Merle was 
 looking round her, and humming as she came. 
 Since the birth of her child her mind was at peace ; 
 it was clear that she was scarcely dreaming now 
 of conquering the world with her music — there 
 was a tiny being in the little cart that claimed all 
 her dreams. Never before had her skin been so 
 dazzling, her smile so red ; it was as if her youth
 
 The Great Hunger 191 
 
 now first blossomed out in all its fullness; her 
 eyes seemed opened wide in a dear surprise. 
 
 After a while Peer went down and drove the 
 mowing machine himself. He felt as if he must 
 get to work somehow or other to provide for his 
 wife and child. 
 
 But suddenly he stopped, got down, and began 
 to walk round the machine and examine it closely. 
 His face was all alert now, his eyes keen and 
 piercing. He stared at the mechanism of the 
 blades, and stood awhile thinking. 
 
 What was this ? A happy idea was beginning to 
 work in his mind. Vague only as yet — there was 
 still time to thrust it aside. Should he? 
 
 Warm mild days and luminous nights. Some- 
 times he could not sleep for thinking how delicious 
 it was to lie awake and see the sun come up. 
 
 On one such night he got up and dressed. A 
 few minutes later there was a trampling of hoofs 
 in the stable-yard and the chestnut stallion ap- 
 peared, with Peer leading him. He swung himself 
 into the saddle, and trotted off down the road, a 
 white figure in his drill suit and cork helmet. 
 
 Where was he going? Nowhere. It was a 
 change, to be up at an unusual hour and see the 
 day break on a July morning. 
 
 He trotted along at an easy pace, rising lightly 
 in the stirrups, and enjoying the pleasant warmth 
 the rider feels. All was quiet around him, the 
 homesteads still asleep. The sky was a pearly
 
 192 The Great Hunger 
 
 white, with here and there a few golden clouds, 
 reflected in the lake below. And the broad 
 meadows still spread their many-coloured flower- 
 carpet abroad ; there was a scent in the air of leaf 
 and meadow-grass and pine, he drew in deep 
 breaths of it and could have sung aloud. 
 
 He turned into the by-road up the hill, dismount- 
 ing now and again to open a gate ; past farms and 
 little cottages, ever higher and higher, till at last 
 he reached the topmost ridge, and halted in a clear- 
 ing. The chestnut threw up his head and sniffed 
 the air; horse and rider were wet with the dew- 
 drip from the trees, that were now just flushing 
 in the first glow of the coming sun. Far below 
 was the lake, reflecting sky and hills and farm- 
 steads, all asleep. And there in the east were the 
 red flames — the sun— the day. 
 
 The horse pawed impatiently at the ground, 
 eager to go on, but Peer held him back. He sat 
 there gazing under the brim of his helmet at the 
 sunrise, and felt a wave of strange feeling passing 
 through his mind. 
 
 It seemed to him impossible that he should ever 
 reach a higher pitch of sheer delight in life. He 
 was still young and strong; all the organs of his' 
 body worked together in happy harmony. No 
 cares to weigh upon his mind, no crushing re- 
 sponsibilities; the future lying calm and clear in 
 the light of day, free from dizzy dreams. His 
 hunger after knowledge was appeased; he felt 
 that what he had learned and seen and gathered
 
 The Great Hunger 193 
 
 was beginning to take living organic form in hia 
 mind. 
 
 But then — what theni 
 
 The great human type of which you dreamed —   
 have you succeeded in giving it life in yourself? 
 
 You know what is common knowledge about the 
 progress of humanity; its struggle towards higher 
 forms, its gropings up by many ways toward the 
 infinite which it calls God. 
 
 You know something of the life of plants; the 
 nest of a bird is a mystery before which you 
 could kneel in worship. A rock shows you the 
 marks of a glacier that scraped over it thousands 
 of years ago, and looking on it you have a glimpse 
 of the gigantic workings of the solar system. And 
 on autumn evenings you look up at the stars, and 
 the light and the death and the dizzy abysses of 
 space above you send a solemn thrill through 
 your soul. 
 
 And this has become a part of yourself. The 
 joy of life for you is to grasp all you can compass 
 of the universe, and let it permeate your thought 
 and sense on every side. 
 
 But what then? Is this enough? Is it enough 
 to rest thus m yourself? 
 
 Have you as yet raised one stepping-stone upon 
 which other men can climb and say: Now we 
 can see farther than before? 
 
 What is your inner being worth, unless it be 
 mirrored in action? 
 
 If the world one day came to be peopled with
 
 194 The Great Hunger 
 
 none but supermen — what profit in that, as long 
 as they must die? 
 
 "What is your faith? 
 
 Ah, this sense of exile, of religious homeless- 
 ness ! How many times have you and Merle lain 
 clasping each other's hands, your thoughts wan- 
 dering together hand in hand, seeking over earth 
 or among the stars for some being to whom you 
 might send up a prayer; no slavish begging cry 
 for grace and favour, but a jubilant thanksgiving 
 for the gift of life. 
 
 But where was He? 
 
 He is not. And yet — He is. 
 
 But the ascetic on the cross is a God for the 
 sick and aged. What of us others? When shall 
 the modern man, strong, scientifically schooled, 
 find a temple for the sacred music, the anthem of 
 eternity in his soul? 
 
 The sun rose up from behind a distant hill- 
 crest, scattering gold over the million spires of the 
 pine-forest. Peer bent forward, with red-gleam- 
 ing dewdrops on his hand and his white sleeve, and 
 patted the neck of his restless beast. 
 
 It was two o'clock. The fires of morning were 
 lit in the clouds and in all the waters over the 
 earth. The dew in the meadows and the pearls on 
 the wings of butterflies began to glisten. 
 
 **Now then, Bijou! — ^now for home!" 
 
 And he dashed off down the grass-grown forest 
 paths, the chestnut snorting as he galloped.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 **Hei, Merle; We're going to have distinguished 
 visitors — where in the world have you got to!'* 
 Peer hurried through the rooms with an open tele- 
 gram in his hand, and at last came upon his wife 
 in the nursery. *'0h, is it here you are?" 
 
 **Yes — but you shout so, I could hear you all 
 through the house. Who is it that's coming?" 
 
 ** Ferdinand Holm and Klaus Brock. Coming 
 to the christening after all. Great Caesar! — what 
 do you say to that. Merle?" 
 
 Merle was pale, and her cheeks a little sunken. 
 Two years more had passed, and she had her sec- 
 ond child now on her knee — a little boy with big 
 wondering eyes. 
 
 **How fine for you. Peer!" she said, and went 
 on undressing the child. 
 
 ''Yes; but isn't it splendid of them to set off 
 and come all that way, just because I asked them? 
 By Jove, we must look sharp and get the place 
 smartened up a bit." 
 
 And sure enough the whole place was soon 
 turned upside-down — cartloads of sand coming in 
 for the garden walks and the courtyard, and paint- 
 ers hard at work repainting the houses. And poor 
 Merle knew very well that there would be serious 
 
 I9S
 
 196 The Great Hunger 
 
 trouble if anything should be amiss with the en- 
 tertainment indoors. 
 
 At last came the hot August day when the flags 
 were hoisted in honour of the expected guests. 
 Once more the hum of mowing machines and hay- 
 rakes came from the hill-slopes, and the air was 
 so still that the columns of smoke from the chim- 
 neys of the town rose straight into the air. Peer 
 had risen early, to have a last look round, inspect- 
 ing everything critically, from the summer dress 
 Merle was to wear down to the horses in the stable, 
 groomed till their coats shone again. Merle under- 
 stood. He had been a fisher-boy beside the well- 
 dressed son of the doctor, and something meaner 
 yet in relation to the distinguished Holm family. 
 And there was still so much of the boy in him that 
 he wanted to show now at his very best. 
 
 A crowd of inquisitive idlers had gathered down 
 on the steamboat landing when the boat swung in 
 and lay by the pier. The pair of bays in the 
 Loreng carriage stood tossing their heads and 
 twitching and stamping as the flies tormented 
 them; but at last they got their passengers and 
 were given their heads, setting off with a wild 
 bound or two that scattered those who had pressed 
 too near. But in the carriage they could see the 
 two strangers and the engineer, all three laugh- 
 ing and gesticulating, and talking all at once. And 
 in a few moments they vanished in a cloud of dust, 
 whirling away beside the calm waters of the fjord. 
 
 Some way behind them a cart followed, driven
 
 The Great Hunger 197 
 
 by one of the stable-boys from Loreng, and loaded 
 with big brass-bound leather trunks and a huge 
 chest, apparently of wood, but evidently contain- 
 ing something frightfully heavy. 
 
 Merle had finished dressing, and stood looking 
 at herself in the glass. The light summer dress 
 was pretty, she thought, and the red bows at neck 
 and waist sat to her satisfaction. Then came the 
 roll of wheels outside, and she went out to receive 
 her guests. 
 
 ''Here they are,'* cried Peer, jumping down. 
 ''This is Ferdinand Pasha, Governor-General of 
 the new Kingdom of Sahara — and this is His 
 Highness the Kiedive's chief pipe-cleaner and 
 body-eunuch." 
 
 A tall, stooping man with white hair and a 
 clean-shaven, dried-up face advanced towards 
 Merle. It was Ferdinand Holm. "How do you 
 do, Madam?" he said, giving her a dry, bony hand. 
 
 "Why, this is quite a baronial seat you have 
 here," he added, looking round and settling his 
 pince-nez. 
 
 His companion was a round, plump gentleman, 
 with a little black goatee beard and dark eyes that 
 blinked continually. But his smile was full of 
 mirth, and the grip of his hand felt true. So this 
 was Klaus Brock. 
 
 Peer led his two friends in through the rooms, 
 showing them the view from the various windows. 
 Klaus broke into a laugh at last, and turned to 
 Merle: "He's just the same as ever," he said —
 
 198 The Great Hunger 
 
 **a little stouter, to be sure — it's clear youVe been 
 treating him well, madam." And he bowed and 
 kissed her hand. 
 
 There was hock and seltzer ready for them — 
 this was Merle 's idea, as suitable for a hot day — 
 and when the two visitors had each drunk off a 
 couple of glasses, with an : *' Ah ! delicious !", Peer 
 came behind her, stroked her hand lightly and 
 whispered, ''Thanks, Merle — first-rate idea of 
 yours." 
 
 *'By the way," exclaimed Ferdinand Holm sud- 
 denly, ''I must send off a telegram. May I use 
 the telephone a moment? ' ' 
 
 ** There he goes — can't contain himself any 
 longer!" burst out Klaus Brock with a laugh. 
 "He's had the telegraph wires going hard all the 
 way across Europe — ^but you might let us get in- 
 side and sit down before you begin again here." 
 
 **Come along," said Peer. ** Here's the tele- 
 phone." 
 
 When the two had left the room, Klaus turned 
 to Merle with a smile. ''Well, well — so I'm really 
 in the presence of Peer's wife — ^his wife in flesh 
 and blood. And this is what she looks like ! That 
 fellow always had all the luck. ' ' And he took her 
 hand again and kissed it. Merle drew it away and 
 blushed. 
 
 "You are not married, then, Mr. Brock?" 
 
 "I? Well, yes and no. I did marry a Greek 
 girl once, but she ran away. Just my luck. ' ' And
 
 The Great Hunger 199 
 
 he blinked his eyes and sighed with an expression 
 so comically sad that Merle burst out laughing. 
 
 **And your friend, Ferdinand Holm?" she 
 asked. 
 
 *'He, dear lady — ^he — why, saving your pres- 
 ence, I have an idea there's a select little harem 
 attached to that palace of his." 
 
 Merle turned towards the window and shook her 
 head with a smile. 
 
 An hour later the visitors came down from their 
 rooms after a wash and a change of clothes, and 
 after a light luncheon Peer carried them off to 
 show them round the place. He had added a num- 
 ber of new buildings, and had broken new land. 
 The farm had forty cows when he came, now he 
 had over sixty. *'0f course, all this is a mere 
 nothing for fellows like you, who bring your har- 
 vest home in railway trains," he said. "But, you 
 see, I have my home here." And he waved his 
 hand towards the house and the farmstead round. 
 
 Later they drove over in the light trap to look 
 at the workshop, and here he made no excuses for 
 its being small. He showed off the little foundry 
 as if it had been a world-famous seat of industry, 
 and maintained his serious air while his compan- 
 ions glanced sideways at him, trying hard not to 
 smile. 
 
 The workmen touched their caps respectfully, 
 and sent curious glances at the strangers. 
 
 ** Quite a treat to see things on the Norwegian
 
 200 The Great Hunger 
 
 scale again," Ferdinand Holm couldn't resist say- 
 ing at last. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it charming!" cried Peer, putting 
 on an air of ingenuous delight. * ' This is just the 
 size a foundry should be, if its owner is to have a 
 good time and possess his soul in peace." 
 
 Ferdinand Holm and Brock exchanged glances. 
 But next moment Peer led them through into a 
 side-room, with tools and machinery evidently 
 having no connection with the rest. 
 
 ''Now look out," said Klaus. "This is the 
 holy of holies, you'll see. He's hard at it working 
 out some new devilry here, or I'm a Dutchman." 
 
 Peer drew aside a couple of tarpaulins, and 
 showed them a mowing machine of the ordinary 
 type, and beside it another, the model of a new 
 type he had himself devised. 
 
 "It's not quite finished yet," he said. "But 
 I've solved the main problem. The old single 
 knife-blade principle was clumsy; dragged, you 
 know. But with two blades — a pair of shears, so 
 to speak — it'll work much quicker." And he gave 
 them a little lecture, showing how much simpler 
 his mechanism was, and how much lighter the 
 machine would be. 
 
 ' * And there you are, ' ' said Klaus. " It 's Colum- 
 bus 's Qgg over again." 
 
 * ' The patent ought to be worth a million, ' ' said 
 Ferdinand Holm, slowly, looking out of the win- 
 dow. 
 
 ' * Of course the main thing is, to make the work
 
 The Great Hunger 201 
 
 easier and cheaper for the fanners," said Peer, 
 with a rather sly glance at Ferdinand. 
 
 Dinner that evening was a festive meal. When 
 the liqueur brandy went round, Klaus greeted it 
 with enthusiasm. *'Why, here's an old friend, as 
 I live I Eeal Lysholmer ! — ^well, well ; and so you're 
 still in the land of the living? You remember the 
 days when we were boys together? ' ' He lifted the 
 little glass and watched the light play in the pale 
 spirit. And the three old friends drank together, 
 singing *'The first full glass," and then **The sec- 
 ond little nip," with the proper ceremonial observ- 
 ances, just as they had done in the old days, at 
 their student wine-parties. 
 
 The talk went merrily, one good story calling up 
 another. But Merle could not help noticing the 
 steely gleam of Ferdinand Holm's eyes, even when 
 he laughed. 
 
 The talk fell on new doings in Egypt, and as 
 Peer heard more and more of these, it seemed to 
 her that his look changed. His glance, too, seemed 
 to have that glint of steel, there was something 
 strange and absent in his face ; was he feeling, per- 
 haps, that wife and children were but a drag on a 
 man, after all? He seemed like an old war-horse 
 waking suddenly at the sound of trumpets. 
 
 ** There's a nice little job waiting for you, by 
 the way," said Ferdinand Holm, lifting his glass 
 to Peer. 
 
 "Very kind of you, I'm sure. A sub-director- 
 ship under you?"
 
 202 The Great Hunger 
 
 "You're no good under any one. You belong 
 on top." Ferdinand illustrated his words with a 
 downward and an upward pointing of the finger, 
 *'The harnessing of the Tigris and Euphrates will 
 have to be taken in hand. It's only a question of 
 time. ' ' 
 
 * ' Thanks very much I ' ' said Peer, his eyes wide 
 open now. 
 
 ''The plan's simply lying waiting for the right 
 man. It will be carried out, it may be next year, 
 it may be in ten years — ^whenever the man comes 
 along. I would think about it, if I were you." 
 
 All looked at Peer; Merle fastened her eyes on 
 him, too. But he laughed. **Now, what on earth 
 would be the satisfaction to me of binding in 
 bands those two ancient and honourable riv- 
 ers?" 
 
 ''Well, in the first place, it would mean an in- 
 crease of many millions of bushels in the corn pro- 
 duction of the world. Wouldn't you have any 
 satisfaction in that?" 
 
 "No," said Peer, with a touch of scorn. 
 
 "Or regular lines of communication over hun- 
 dreds of thousands of square miles of the most 
 fertile country on the globe?" 
 
 "Don't interest me," said Peer. 
 
 "Ah I" Ferdinand Holm lifted his glass to 
 Merle. "Tell me, dear lady, bow does it feel to 
 be married to an anachronism?" 
 
 "To — to what?" stammered Merle. 
 
 '*Yes, your husband's an anachronism. He
 
 The Great Hunger 203 
 
 might, if he chose, be one of the kings, the proph- 
 ets, who lead the van in the fight for civilisation. 
 But he will not ; he despises his own powers, and 
 one day he will start a revolution against himself. 
 Mark my words. Your health, dear lady ! ' ' 
 
 Merle laughed, and lifted her glass, but hesi- 
 tatingly, and with a side-glance towards Peer. 
 
 *'Yes, your husband is no better now than an 
 egoist, a collector of happy days.'^ 
 
 ''Well, and is that so very wicked ?'* 
 
 *'He sits ravelling out his life into a multitude 
 of golden threads," went on Ferdinand with a 
 bow, his steely eyes trying to look gentle. 
 
 **But what is wrong in that?" said the young 
 wife stoutly. 
 
 "It is wrong. It is wasting his immortal soul. 
 A man has no right to ravel out his life, even 
 though the threads are of gold. A man's days of 
 personal happiness are forgotten — his work en- 
 dures. And your husband in particular — ^why the 
 deuce should he be so happy? The world-evolu- 
 tion uses us inexorably, either for light or for fuel. 
 And Peer — ^your husband, dear lady — is too good 
 for fuel," 
 
 Merle glanced again at her husband. Peer 
 laughed, but then suddenly compressed his lips 
 and looked down at his plate. 
 
 Then the nurse came in with little Louise, to 
 say good-night, and the child was handed round 
 from one to the other. But when the little fair- 
 haired girl came to Ferdinand Holm, he seemed
 
 204 The Great Hunger 
 
 loth to touch her, and Merle read his glance at 
 Peer as meaning: *'Here is another of the bonds 
 you've tied yourself up with." 
 
 ''Excuse me," he said suddenly, looking at his 
 watch, ''I'm afraid I must ask for the use of the 
 telephone again. Pardon me, Fru Holm." And 
 he rose and left the room. Klaus looked at the 
 others and shook his head. "That man would 
 simply expire if he couldn't send a telegram once 
 an hour, ' ' he said with a laugh. 
 
 Coffee was served out on the balcony, and the 
 men sat and smoked. It was a dusky twilight of 
 early autumn; the hills were dark blue now and 
 distant ; there was a scent of hay and garden flow- 
 ers. After a while Merle rose and said good- 
 night. And in her thoughts, when she found her- 
 self alone in her bedroom, she hardly knew 
 whether to be displeased or not. These strange 
 men were drawing Peer far away from all that 
 had been his chief delight since she had known 
 him. But it was interesting to see how different 
 his manner was towards the two friends. Klaus 
 Brock he could jest and laugh with, but with Fer- 
 dinand Holm he seemed always on his guard, ready 
 to assert himself, and whenever he contradicted 
 him it was always with a certain deference. 
 
 The great yellow disc of the moon came up over 
 the hills in the east, drawing a broad pillar of 
 gold across the dark water. And the three com- 
 rades on the balcony sat watching it for a while in 
 silence.
 
 The Great Hunger 205 
 
 **So you're really going to go on idling here'?'* 
 asked Ferdinand at last, sipping his liqueur. 
 
 *'Is it me you mean?" asked Peer, bending 
 slightly forward. 
 
 ''Well, I gather you're going round here simply 
 being happy from morning to night. I call that 
 idling. ' ' 
 
 ''Thanks." 
 
 "Of course, you're very ^^^ihappy in reality. 
 Everyone is, as long as he's neglecting his powers 
 and aptitudes." 
 
 "Very many thanks," said Peer, with a laugh. 
 Klaus sat up in his chair, a little anxious as to 
 what was coming. 
 
 Ferdinand was still looking out over the lake. 
 "You seem to despise your own trade — as en- 
 gineer?" 
 
 "Yes," said Peer. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Why, I feel the lack of some touch of beauty 
 in our ceaseless craving to create something new, 
 something new, always something new. More 
 gold, more speed, more food — are these things not 
 all we are driving at?" 
 
 "My dear fellow, gold means freedom. And 
 food means life. And speed carries us over the 
 dead moments. Double the possibilities of life for 
 men, and you double their numbers." 
 
 "And what good will it do to double their num- 
 bers? Two thousand million machine-made souls 
   — is that what you want?"
 
 206 The Great Hunger 
 
 ''But hang it all, man," put in Klaus Brock 
 eagerly, ''think of our dear Norway at least. 
 Surely you don't think it would be a misfortune if 
 our population increased so far that the world 
 could recognise our existence." 
 
 "I do," said Peer, looking away over the lake. 
 
 "Ah, you're a fanatic for the small in size and 
 in numbers." 
 
 "I am loth to see all Norway polluted with 
 factories and proletariat armies. Why the devil 
 can't we be left in peace?" 
 
 "The steel will not have it," said Ferdinand 
 Holm, as if speaking to the pillar of moonlight on 
 the water. 
 
 "What? Who did you say?" Peer looked at 
 him with wide eyes. 
 
 Ferdinand went on undisturbed : ' ' The steel will 
 not have peace. And the fire will not. And Pro- 
 metheus will not. The human spirit has still too 
 many steps to climb before it reaches the top. 
 Peace? No, my friend — there are powers outside 
 you and me that determine these things." 
 
 Peer smiled, and lit a new cigar. Ferdinand 
 Holm leaned back in his chair and went on, ad- 
 dressing himself apparently to the moon. ' ' Tigris 
 and Euphrates — Indus and Ganges — and all the 
 rest of this planet — regulate and cultivate the 
 whole, and what is it after all? It's only a ques- 
 tion of a few years. It is only a humble begin- 
 ning. In a couple of centuries or so there will be 
 nothing left to occupy us any more on this little
 
 The Great Hunger 207 
 
 globe of ours. And then we'll have to set about 
 colonising other worlds." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Then Peer 
 spoke. 
 
 **And what do w^e gain by it allT* he asked. 
 
 "Gain? Do you imagine there will ever be any 
 'thus far and no farther' for the spirit of man? 
 Half a million years hence, all the solar systems 
 we know of now will be regulated and ordered by 
 the human spirit. There will be difficulties, of 
 course. Interplanetary wars will arise, planetary 
 patriotism, groups of planetary powers in alli- 
 ances and coalitions against other groups. Little 
 worlds will be subjugated by the bigger ones, and 
 so on. Is there anything in all this to grow dizzy 
 over? Great heavens — can anyone doubt that 
 man must go on conquering and to conquer for 
 millions of years to come? The world-will goes 
 its way. We cannot resist. Nobody asks whether 
 we are happy. The will that works towards the 
 infinite asks only whom it can use for its ends, and 
 who is useless. Viola tout." 
 
 **And when I die," asked Peer — ^**what then?" 
 
 * * You ! Are you still going about feeling your 
 own pulse and wanting to live for ever ? My dear 
 fellow, you don't exist. There is just one person 
 on our side — the world-will. And that includes 
 us all. That's what I mean by 'we.' And we are 
 working towards the day when we can make God 
 respect us in good earnest. The spirit of man will 
 hold a Day of Judgment, and settle accounts with
 
 208 The Great Hunger 
 
 Olympus — with the riddle, the almighty power be- 
 yond. It will be a great reckoning. And mark 
 my words — that is the one single religious idea 
 that lives and works in each and every one of us 
   — the thing that makes us hold up our heads and 
 walk upright, forgetting that we are slaves and 
 things that die.'* 
 
 Suddenly he looked at his watch. "Excuse me 
 a moment. If the telegraph office is open . . .** 
 and he rose and went in. 
 
 When he returned, Klaus and Peer were talk- 
 ing of the home of their boyhood and their early 
 days together. 
 
 ** Remember that time we went shark-fishing f 
 asked Klaus. 
 
 **0h yes — ^that shark. Let me see — you were a 
 hero, weren't you, and beat it to death with your 
 bare fists— wasn't that it I" And then "Cut the 
 line, cut the line, and row for your lives," he 
 mimicked, and burst out laughing. 
 
 "Oh, shut up now and don't be so witty," said 
 Klaus. "But tell me, have you ever been back 
 there since you came home?" 
 
 Peer told him that he had been to the village 
 last year. His old foster-parents were dead, and 
 Peter Ronningen too; but Martin Bruvold was 
 there still, living in a tiny cottage with eight chil- 
 dren. 
 
 "Poor devil!" said Klaus. 
 
 Ferdinand Holm had sat down again, and now 
 he nodded towards the moon. "An old chum
 
 The Great Hunger 209 
 
 of yours? Well, why don't we send him a thou- 
 sand crowns?" 
 
 There was a little pause. *'I hope you'll let me 
 join you," went on Ferdinand, taking a note for 
 five hundred crowns from his waistcoat pocket. 
 "You don't mind, do you?" 
 
 Peer glanced at him and took the note. **I'm 
 delighted for poor old Martin's sake," he said, 
 putting the note in his waistcoat pocket. ** That '11 
 make fifteen hundred for him." 
 
 Klaus Brock looked from one to the other and 
 smiled a little. The talk turned on other things 
 for a while, and then he asked : 
 
 ''*By the way. Peer, have you seen that adver- 
 tisement of the British Carbide Company's?" 
 
 *'No, what about?" 
 
 "They want tenders for the damming and har- 
 nessing of the Besna River, with its lake system 
 and falls. That should be something in your line.'' 
 
 "No," said Ferdinand sharply. "I told you 
 before — that job's too small for him. Peer's 
 going to the Euphrates." 
 
 "What would it amount to, roughly?" said Peer, 
 addressing no one in particular. 
 
 "As far as I could make out, it should be a mat- 
 ter of a couple of milKon crowns or thereabout," 
 said Klaus. 
 
 "That's not a thing for Peer," said Ferdinand, 
 rising and lifting his hand to hide a yawn. * ' Leave 
 trifles liie that to the trifling: souls. Good-night, 
 gentlemen. ' '
 
 210 The Great Hunger 
 
 A couple of hours later, when all was silent 
 throughout the house, Peer was still up, wander- 
 ing to and fro in soft felt slippers in the great 
 hall. Now and again he would stop, and look out 
 of the window. "Why could he not sleep? The 
 moon was paling, the day beginning to dawn.
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 The next morning Merle was alone in the pantry 
 when she heard steps behind her, and turned her 
 head. It was Klaus Brock. 
 
 ''Good-morning, madam — ah! so this is what 
 you look like in morning dress. Why, morning 
 neglige might have been invented for you, if I may 
 say so. You might be a Ghirlandajo. Or no, bet- 
 ter still, Aspasia herself." 
 
 ''You are up early," said Merle drily. 
 
 "Am I? What about Ferdinand Holm then! 
 He has been up since sunrise, sitting over his let- 
 ters and accounts. Anything I can help you with? 
 May I move that cheese for you? — Well, well! you 
 are strong. But there, I'm always de trop where 
 women are concerned." 
 
 "Always de trop?" repeated Merle, watching 
 him through her long lashes. 
 
 "Yes — my first and only love — do you know who 
 she was?" 
 
 ' ' No, indeed. How should I ? " 
 
 "Well, it was Louise — Peer's little sister. I 
 wish you could have known her. ' ' 
 
 "And since then?" Merle let her eyes rest on 
 this flourishing gentleman, who looked as if he 
 «ould never have had a trouble in the world. 
 
 211
 
 212 The Great Hunger 
 
 "Since then, dear lady? — since then? Let me 
 see. Why, at this moment I really can 't remember 
 ever having met any other woman except ..." 
 
 ''Except . . .V 
 
 ''Except yourself, madam.*' And he bowed. 
 
 ' ' You are too kind ! ' * 
 
 "And, that being so, don't you think it's your 
 plain duty, as a hospitable hostess, to grant 
 me . . ." 
 
 "Grant you — what? A piece of cheese?'* 
 
 "Why, no, thanks. Something better. Some- 
 thing much better than that." 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "A kiss. I might as well have it now." As he 
 took a step nearer, she looked laughingly round 
 for a way of escape, but he was between her and 
 the door. 
 
 "Well," said Merle, "but you must do some- 
 thing to make yourself useful first. Suppose you 
 ran up that step-ladder for me." 
 
 "Delighted. Why, this is great fun!" The 
 slight wooden ladder creaked under the weight of 
 his solid form as he climbed. "How high am I 
 logo?" 
 
 <(i 
 
 ■To reach the top shelf — that's it. Now, you 
 see that big brown jar? Careful — it's cranber- 
 
 ries." 
 
 ii\ 
 
 Splendid — I do believe we're to have cran- 
 berry preserve at dinner." By standing on tiptoe 
 he managed to reach and lift the heavy jar, and
 
 The Great Hunger 213 
 
 stood holding it, his face flushed with his exer- 
 tions. 
 
 ''And now, little lady r' 
 
 ** Just stay there a moment and hold it carefully; 
 I have to fetch something." And she hurried out. 
 
 Klaus stood at the top of the ladder, holding the 
 heavy jar. He looked round. What was he to do 
 with it? He waited for Merle to return — but she 
 did not appear. Someone was playing the piano 
 in the next room. Should he call for help? He 
 waited on, getting redder and redder in the face. 
 And still no Merle came. 
 
 With another mighty effort he set the jar back 
 in its place, and then climbed down the ladder and 
 walked into the drawing-room, very red and out 
 of breath. In the doorway he stopped short and 
 stared. 
 
 ''What — ^well, I'll And she's sitting here 
 
 playing the piano ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes. Aren 't you fond of music, Herr Brock ? ' * 
 
 "I'll pay you out for this," he said, shaking a 
 finger at her. ' ' Just you wait and see, little lady, 
 if I don't pay you out, with interest!" And he 
 turned and went upstairs, chuckling as he went. 
 
 Peer was sitting at the writing-table in his study 
 when Klaus came in. "I'm just sealing up the 
 letter with the money for Martin Bruvold," he 
 said, setting the taper to a stick of sealing wax. 
 "I've signed it: 'From the shark fishers.' " 
 'Yes, it was a capital idea of Ferdinand's. 
 
 (<'
 
 214 The Great Hunger 
 
 What d'you think the poor old fellow'll say when 
 he opens it and the big notes tumble out!" 
 
 "I'd like to see his face," said Peer, as he wrote 
 the address on the envelope. 
 
 Klaus dropped into a leather armchair and 
 leaned back comfortably. ''I've been downstairs 
 flirting a little with your wife," he said. "Your 
 wife's a wonder, Peer." 
 
 Peer looked at him, and thought of the old days 
 when the heavy-built, clumsy doctor's son had run 
 about after the servant-girls in the towTi. He had 
 still something of his old lurching walk, but in- 
 tercourse with the ladies of many lands had pol- 
 ished him and given lightness and ease to his man- 
 ner, 
 
 "What was I going to say?" Klaus went on. 
 "Oh yes — our friend Ferdinand's a fine fellow, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 "I felt yesterday exactly as I used to feel when 
 we three were together in the old days. When I 
 listen to his talk I can't help agreeing with him — 
 and then you begin to speak, and what you say, too, 
 seems to be just what I've been thinking in my in- 
 most soul. Do you think I've become shallow. 
 Peer?" 
 
 "Well, your steam ploughs look after them- 
 selves, I suppose, and the ladies of your harem 
 don't trouble you overmuch. Do you read at all?" 
 
 "Best not say too much about that," said Klaus
 
 I' he Great Hunger 215 
 
 with a sigh, and it suddenly struck Peer that his 
 friend's face had grown older and more worn. 
 
 * ' No, ' ' said Klaus again. ' ' Better not say much 
 about that. But tell me, old fellow — you mustn't 
 mind my asking — has Ferdinand ever spoken to 
 you as his brother . . . or . . ." 
 
 Peer flushed hotly. ' ' No, ' ' he said after a pause. 
 
 *'No?" 
 
 *'I owe more to him than to anybody in the 
 world. But whether he regards me as a kinsman 
 or simply as an object for his kindness to wreak 
 itself on is a matter he's always left quite vague." 
 
 *'It's just like him. He's a queer fellow. But 
 there's another thing. ..." 
 
 * * Well I ' ' said Peer, looking up. 
 
 ''It's — er — again it's rather a delicate matter to 
 touch on. I know, of course, that you're in the 
 enviable position of having your fortune invested 
 in the best joint-stock company in the world " 
 
 ''Yes; and so are you." 
 
 * ' Oh, mine 's a trifle compared with yours. Have 
 you still the whole of your money in Ferdinand's 
 company ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes. I've been thinking of selling a few shares, 
 by the way. As you may suppose, I've been spend- 
 ing a good deal just lately — ^more than my in- 
 come." 
 
 "You mustn't sell just now. Peer. They're — ^I 
 daresay you've seen that they're down — ^below 
 par, in fact." 
 
 ' ' What — below par ! No, I had no idea of that. * '
 
 216 The Great Hunger 
 
 **0h, only for the time being, of course. Just a 
 temporary drop. There's sure to be another run 
 on them soon, and they'll go up again. But the 
 Kiedive has the controlling interest, you know, 
 and he's rather a ticklish customer. Ferdinand 
 is all for extension — wants to keep on buying up 
 new land — new desert, that is. Irrigation there's 
 just a question of power — that's how he looks at 
 it. And of course the bigger the scale of the work 
 the cheaper the power will work out. But the Kie- 
 dive's holding back. It may be just a temporary 
 whim — may be all right again to-morrow. But 
 you never know. And if you think Ferdinand's 
 the man to give in to a cranky Khedive, you're 
 much mistaken. His idea now is to raise all the 
 capital he can lay hands on, and buy him out! 
 What do you say to that? Buy the Khedive clean 
 out of the company. It's a large order. And if 
 I were you, old man, as soon as the shares go up 
 again a bit, I'd sell out some of my holding, and 
 put the money into something at home here. After 
 all, there must be plenty of quite useful things to 
 be had here. ' ' 
 
 Peer frowned, and sat for a while looking 
 straight before him. ''No," he said at last. "As 
 things stand between Ferdinand Holm and me —   
 well, if either of us goes back on the other, it's 
 not going to be me.*' 
 
 "Ah, in that case — I beg your pardon," said 
 Klaus, and he rose and departed.
 
 The Great Hunger 217 
 
 The christening was a great occasion, with a 
 houseful of guests, and a great deal of speech- 
 making. The host was the youngest and gayest 
 of the party. The birth of his son should be cele- 
 brated in true Ethiopian fashion, he declared — 
 with bonfires and boating parties. 
 
 The moon was hidden that evening behind thick 
 dark clouds, but the boats full of guests glided 
 over the black water to the accompaniment of 
 music and laughter. The young madcap of a law- 
 yer was there, again sitting on the lap of someone 
 else's wife, and playing a concertina, till people 
 in the farms on shore opened their windows and 
 put their heads out to listen. 
 
 Later on the bonfires blazed up all along the 
 lake shore and shone like great flaming suns in the 
 water below. The guests lay on the grass in little 
 groups round picnic suppers, and here and there 
 a couple wandered by themselves, talking in whis- 
 pers. 
 
 Merle and Peer stood together for a moment be- 
 side one of the bonfires. Their faces and figures 
 were lit by the red glow ; they looked at each other 
 and exchanged a smile. He took her hand and led 
 her outside the circle of light from the fire, and 
 pointed over to their home, with all its windows 
 glowing against the dark. 
 
 ''Suppose this should be the last party we give, 
 Merle.'* 
 
 **Peer, what makes you say that!" 
 
 ''Oh, nothing — only I have a sort of feeling, as
 
 218 The Great Hunger 
 
 if something had just ended and something new 
 was to begin. I feel like it, somehow. But I 
 wanted to thank you, too, for all the happy times 
 we've had/* 
 
 "But Peer — what " She got no farther, for 
 
 Peer had already left her and joined a group of 
 guests, where he was soon as gay as the rest. 
 
 Then came the day when the two visitors were 
 to leave. Their birthday gift to the young gentle- 
 man so lately christened Lorentz Uthoug stood in 
 the drawing-room; it was a bust in red granite,, 
 the height of a man, of the Sun-god Re Hormachis, 
 brought with them by the godfathers from Alex- 
 andria. And now it sat in the drawing-room be- 
 tween palms in pots, pressing its elbows against 
 its sides and gazing with great dead eyes out into 
 endless space. 
 
 Peer stood on the quay waving farewell to his 
 old comrades as the steamer ploughed through the 
 water, drawing after it a fan-shaped trail of little 
 waves. 
 
 And when he came home, he walked about the 
 place, looking at farms and woods, at Merle and 
 the children, with eyes that seemed to her strange 
 and new. 
 
 Next night he stayed up once more alone, pacing 
 to and fro in the great hall, and looking out of the 
 windows into the dark. 
 
 Was he ravelling out his life into golden threads 
 that vanished and were forgotten?
 
 The Great Hunger 219 
 
 Was he content to be fuel instead of light? 
 
 What was he seeking? Happiness? And beyond 
 it! As a boy he had called it the anthem, the 
 universal hymn. What was it now! God? But 
 he would hardly find Him in idleness. 
 
 You have drawn such nourishment as you could 
 from joy in your home, from your marriage, your 
 fatherhood, nature, and the fellowmen around you 
 here. There are unused faculties in you that hun- 
 ger for exercise ; that long to be set free to work, 
 to strive, to act. 
 
 You should take up the barrage on the Besna, 
 Peer. But could you get the contract? If you 
 once buckle-to in earnest, no one is likely to beat 
 you — you'll get it, sure enough. But do you really 
 want it? 
 
 Are you not working away at a mowing-machine 
 as it is ? Better own up that you can't get on with- 
 out your old craft, after all — that you must for 
 ever be messing and meddling with steel and fire. 
 You can't help yourself. 
 
 All the things your eyes have been fixed on in 
 these last years have been only golden visions in 
 a mist. The steel has its own will. The steel is 
 beginning to wake in you — singing — singing — ^bent 
 on pressing onward. You have no choice. 
 
 The world-will goes on its way. Go with it or 
 be cast overboard as useless. 
 
 And still Peer walked up and down, up aii! 
 down.
 
 220 The Great Hunger 
 
 Next morning he set off for the capitaL Merle 
 watched the carriage as it drove away, and thought 
 to herself: "He was right. Something new is 
 beginning.'*
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 There came a card from Peer, with a brief mes- 
 sage: '' Off to inspect the ground. " A fortnight 
 later he came home, loaded with maps and plans. 
 *'0f course I'm late for the fair, as usual," he 
 said. ' ' But wait a bit. ' ' 
 
 He locked himself into his room. At last Merle 
 knew what it was like to have him at work. She 
 could hear him in the mornings, walking up and 
 down and whistling. Then silence — he would be 
 standing over his table, busy with notes and fig- 
 ures. Then steps again. Now he was singing — 
 and this was a novelty to himself. It was as if 
 he carried in him a store of happiness, a treasure 
 laid by of love, and the beauty of nature, and 
 happy hours, and now it found its way out in song. 
 Why should he not sing over the plans for a great 
 barrage? Mathematics are dry work enough, but 
 at times they can be as living visions, soaring up 
 into the light. Peer sang louder. Then silence 
 again. Merle never knew now when he stopped 
 work and came to bed. She would fall asleep to 
 the sound of his singing in his own room, and when 
 she woke he would already be tramping up and 
 down again in there ; and to her his steps seemed 
 like the imperious tread of a great commander. 
 
 221
 
 222 The Great Hunger 
 
 He was alight with new visions, new themes, and 
 his voice had a lordly ring. Merle looked at him 
 through half-closed eyes with a lingering glance. 
 Once more he was new to her : she had never seen 
 him like this. 
 
 At last the work was finished, and he sent in his 
 tender. And now he was more restless than ever. 
 For a week he waited for an answer, tramping in 
 and out of the place, going off for rides on Bijou, 
 and coming back with his horse dripping with 
 sweat. An impatient man cannot possibly ride at 
 any pace but a gallop. The days passed; Peer 
 was sleepless, and ate nothing. More days passed. 
 At last he came bursting into the nursery one 
 morning: "Trunk call, Merle; summons to a 
 meeting of the Company Directors. Quick's the 
 word. Come and help me pack — sharp." And in 
 no time he was off again to the city. 
 
 Now it was Merle's turn to walk up and down 
 in suspense. It mattered little to her in itself 
 whether he got the work or not, but she was keenly 
 anxious that he should win. 
 
 A couple of days later a telegram came : * * Hur- 
 rah, wife!" And Merle danced round the room, 
 waving the telegram above her head. 
 
 The next day he was back home again and 
 tramping up and down the room. "What do you 
 think your father will say to it, Merle — ha I" 
 
 "Father? Say to what?" 
 
 "When I ask him to be my surety for a couple 
 of hundred thousand crowns!"
 
 The Great Hunger 223 
 
 *'Is father to be in it, too?" Merle looked at 
 him open-eyed. 
 
 '*0h, if he doesn't want to, we'll let him off. 
 But at any rate I'll ask him first. Goodl»ye." 
 And Peer drove off into town. 
 
 In Lorentz Uthoug's big house you had to pass 
 through the hardware shop to get to his office, 
 which lay behind. Peer knocked at the door, with 
 a portfolio under his arm. Herr L'thoug had just 
 lit the gas, and was on the point of sitting down 
 at his American roll-top desk, when Peer entered. 
 The grey-bearded head with the close thick hair 
 turned towards him, darkened by the shadow from 
 the green shade of the burner. 
 
 ''You, is it?" said he. "Sit down. You've 
 been to Christiania, I hear. And what are you 
 busy with now?" 
 
 They sat down opposite each other. Peer ex- 
 plained, calmly and with confidence. 
 
 "And what does the thing amount to?" asked 
 Uthoug, his face coming out of the shadow and 
 looking at Peer in the full light. 
 
 ' ' Two million four hundred thousand. ' ' 
 
 The old man laid his hairy hands on the desk 
 and rose to his feet, staring at the other and 
 breathing deeply. The sum half-stunned him. Be- 
 side it he himself and his work seemed like dust 
 in the balance. Where were all his plans and 
 achievements now, his greatness, his position, his 
 authority in the town? Compared with amounts
 
 224 The Great Hunger 
 
 like this, what were the paltry sums he had been 
 used to handle? 
 
 ''I — I didn't quite catch " he stammered. 
 
 **Did you say two millions?" 
 
 *'Yes. I daresay it seems a trifle to you," said 
 Peer. ** Indeed, I've handled contracts myself 
 that ran to fifty million francs. ' ' 
 
 ''What? How much did you say?" Uthoug 
 began to move restlessly about the room. He 
 clutched his hair, and gazed at Peer as if doubting 
 whether he was quite sober. 
 
 At the same time he felt it would never do to let 
 himself be so easily thrown off his balance. Hft 
 tried to pull hiraself together. 
 
 ''And what do you make out of it?" he asked. 
 A couple of hundred thousand, I hope. ' ' 
 Oh!" A profit on this scale again rather 
 startled the old' man. No, he was nothing; he 
 never had been anything in this world ! 
 
 "How do you know that you will make so 
 much?" 
 
 "I've calculated it all out." 
 
 "But if — but how can you be sure of it? Sup- 
 pose you've got your figures wrong?" His head 
 was thrust forward again into the full light. 
 
 "I'm in the habit of getting my figures right," 
 said Peer. 
 
 When he broached the question of security, the 
 old man was in the act of moving away from him 
 across the room. But he stopped short, and looked 
 back over his shoulder. 

 
 The Great Hunger 225 
 
 ''What? Security! You want me to stand se- 
 curity for two million crowns?" 
 
 ''No; the Company asks for a guarantee for 
 four hundred thousand." 
 
 After a pause the old man said: "I see. Yes, 
 I see. But — ^but I'm not worth as much as that 
 altogether. ' ' 
 
 "I can put in three hundred thousand of the 
 four myself, in shares. And then, of course, T 
 have the Loreng property, and the works. But 
 put it at a round figure — ^will you guarantee a 
 hundred thousand ? ' ' 
 
 There was another pause, and then the reply 
 came from the far end of the room to which 
 Uthoug had drifted : ' ' Even that 's a big sum. ' ' 
 
 "Of course if you would rather not, I could 
 make other arrangements. My two friends, who 
 
 have just been here " He rose and began to 
 
 gather up his papers. 
 
 ' ' No, no ; you mustn't be in such a hurry. Why. 
 you come down on a man like an avalanche. You 
 must give me time to think it over — till to-morrow 
 at least. And the papers — at any rate, I must have 
 a look at them." 
 
 Uthoug passed a restless and troubled night. 
 The solid ground seemed to have failed him; his 
 mind could find no firm foothold. His son-in-law 
 must be a great man — ^he should be the last to 
 doubt it. But a hundred thousand — to be ven- 
 tured, not in landed property, or a big trade deal, 
 but on the success of a piece of construction work.
 
 226 The Great Hunger 
 
 This was something new. It seemed fantastic — 
 suited to the great world outside perhaps, or the 
 future. Had he courage enough to stand in ? Who 
 could tell what accidents, what disasters might not 
 happen? No! He shook his head. He could not. 
 He dared not. But — the thing tempted him. He 
 had always wanted to be something more than a 
 whale among the minnows. Should he risk it? 
 Should he not? It meant staking his whole for- 
 tune, his position, everything, upon the outcome 
 of a piece of engineering that he understood noth- 
 ing whatever about. It was sheer speculation ; it 
 was gambling. No, he must say: No. Then he 
 was only a whale among the minnows, after aU. 
 No, he must say: Yes. Good God 1 He clenched 
 his hands together ; they were clammy with sweat, 
 and his brain was in a whirl. It was a trial, a 
 temptation. He felt an impulse to pray. But 
 what good could that do — since he had himself 
 abolished God. 
 
 Next day Merle and Peer were rung up by tele- 
 phone and asked to come in to dinner with the old 
 folks. 
 
 But when they were all sitting at table, they 
 found it impossible to keep the conversation going. 
 Everyone seemed shy of beginning on the subject 
 they were all thinking about. The old man's face 
 was grey with want of sleep ; his wife looked from 
 one to the other through her spectacles. Peer was 
 calm and smiling. 
 
 A.t last, when the claret came round, Fru Uthoug
 
 The Great Hunger 227 
 
 lifted her glass and drank to Peer. ''Good for- 
 tune!" she said. ''We won't be the ones to stand 
 in your way. Since you think it is all right, of 
 course it is. And we all hope it will turn out well 
 for you, Peer." 
 
 Merle looked at her parents; she had sat 
 through the meal anxious and troubled, and now 
 the tears rose into her eyes. 
 
 "Thanks," said Peer, lifting his glass and 
 drinking to his host and hostess. "Thanks," he 
 repeated, bowing to old Uthoug. The matter was 
 arranged. Evidently the two old folks had talked 
 it over together and come to an agreement. 
 
 It was settled, but all four felt as if the solid 
 ground were rocking a little under their feet. All 
 their future, their fate, seemed staked upon a 
 throw. 
 
 A couple of days later, a day of mild October 
 sunshine. Peer happened to go into the town, and, 
 catching sight of his mother-in-law at the window, 
 he went off and bought some flowers, and took 
 them up to her. 
 
 She was sitting looking out at the yellow sky in 
 the west, and she hardly turned her head as she 
 took the flowers. "Thanks, Peer," she said, and 
 continued gazing out at the sky. 
 
 "What are you thinking of, dear mother?" 
 asked Peer. 
 
 "Ah! it isn't a good thing always to tell our 
 thoughts, ' ' she said, and she turned her spectacled 
 eyes so as to look out over the lake.
 
 228 The Great Hunger 
 
 "I hope it was something pleasant?" 
 
 **I was thinking of you, Peer. Of you and 
 Merle." 
 
 " It is good of you to think of us. ' * 
 
 "You see, Peer, there is trouble coming for you. 
 A great deal of trouble." She nodded her head 
 towards the yellow sky in the west. 
 
 ' ' Trouble ? Why ? Why should trouble come to 
 us?" 
 
 "Because you are happy. Peer." 
 
 "What? Because I am V 
 
 "Because all things blossom and flourish about 
 you. Be sure that there are unseen powers enough 
 that grudge you your happiness." 
 
 Peer smiled. "You think so?" he asked. 
 
 "I know it," she answered with a sigh, gazing 
 out into the distance. "You have made enemies 
 of late amongst all those envious shadows that 
 none can see. But they are all around us. I see 
 them every day; I have learned to know them, in 
 all these years. I have fought with them. And 
 it is well for Merle that she has learned to sing 
 in a house so full of shadows. God grant she may 
 be able to sing them away from you too." 
 
 When Peer left the house he felt as if little shud- 
 ders of cold were passing down his back. * * Pooh ! ' ' 
 he exclaimed as he reached the street. "She is 
 not right in her head." And he hurried to his 
 carriole and drove off home. 
 
 "Old Rode will be pleased, anyhow," he thought. 
 "He'll be his own master in the workshop now —
 
 The Great Hunger 229 
 
 the dream of his life. Well, everyone for himself. 
 And the bailiff will have things all his own way at 
 Loreng for a year or two. Well, well ! Come up, 
 Brownie 1'*
 
 Chapter X 
 
 **Peer, you're surely not going away just now? 
 Oh, Peer, you mustn't. You won't leave me alone, 
 Peer!" 
 
 "Merle, dear, now do be sensible. No, no — do 
 let go, dear." He tried to disengage her hands 
 that were clasped behind his neck. 
 
 ''Peer, you have never been like this before 
 Don't you care for me any more — or the chil- 
 dren?" 
 
 ** Merle, dearest, you don't imagine that I like 
 going. But you surely don't want me to have 
 another big breach this year. It would be sheer 
 ruin, I do assure you. Come, come now; let me 
 
 go." 
 
 But she held him fast. **And what happens to 
 those dams up there is more to you now than what 
 becomes of me ! ' ' 
 
 "You will be all right, dear. The doctor and 
 the nurse have promised to be on the spot the 
 moment you send word. And you managed so well 
 before. ... I simply cannot stay now, Merle. 
 There's too much at stake. There, there, good- 
 bye! Be sure you telegraph " He kissed her 
 
 over the eyes, put her gently down into a chair,
 
 The Great Hunger 231 
 
 and hurried out of the room, feeling her terrified 
 glance follow him as he went. 
 
 The April sun had cleared away the snow from 
 the lowlands, but when Peer stepped out of the 
 train up in Espedal he found himself back in win- 
 ter — farms and fields still covered, and ridges and 
 peaks deep in white dazzling snow. And soon he 
 was sitting wrapped in his furs, driving a miser- 
 able dun pony up a side-valley that led out on to 
 the uplands. 
 
 The road was a narrow track through the snow, 
 yellow with horse-dung, and a mass of holes and 
 ruts, worn by his own teams that had hauled their 
 heavy loads of cement this way all through that 
 winter and the last, up to the plateau and across 
 the frozen lakes to Besna. 
 
 The steel will on. The steel cares nothing for 
 human beings. Merle must come through it alone. 
 
 When a healthy, happy man is hampered and 
 thwarted in a great work by annoyances and dis- 
 asters, he behaves like an Arab horse on a heavy 
 march. At first it moves at a brisk trot, uphill 
 and downhill, and it goes faster and faster as its 
 strength begins to flag. And when at last it is 
 thoroughly out of breath and ready to drop, it 
 breaks into an easy gallop. 
 
 This was not the work he had once dreamed of 
 finding. Now, as before, his hunger for eternal 
 things seemed ever at the side of his accomplish- 
 ment, asking continually: Whither! Why? and 
 What then?
 
 232 The Great Hunger 
 
 But by degrees the difficnlties liad multiplied and 
 mounted, till at last his whole mind was taken up 
 by the one thought — to put it through. Good or 
 bad in itself — he must make a success of it. He 
 had undertaken it, and he must see it through. 
 He must not be beaten. 
 
 And so he fought on. It was merely a trial of 
 strength; a fight with material difficulties. Aye, 
 but was that all it was? Were there not times 
 when he felt himself struggling with something 
 greater, something worse? A new motive force 
 seemed to have come into his life — misfortune. A 
 power outside his own will had begun to play 
 tricks with him. 
 
 Your calculations may be sound, correct in every 
 detail, and yet things may go altogether wrong. 
 
 Who could include in his calculations the chance 
 that a perfectly sober engineer will get drunk one 
 day and give orders so crazy that it costs tens of 
 thousands to repair the damage ? Who could fore- 
 see that against all probability a big vein of water 
 would be tapped in tunnelling, and would burst 
 out, flooding the workings and overwhelming the 
 workmen — so that the next day a train of un- 
 painted deal coffins goes winding out over the 
 frozen lakes? 
 
 More than once there had been remarks and 
 questions in the newspapers: "Another disaster 
 at the Besna Falls. Who is to blame?'* 
 
 It was because he himself was away on a busi- 
 ness journey and Falkman had neglected to take
 
 The Great Hunger 233 
 
 elementary precautions that the big rock-fall oc- 
 curred in the tunnel, killing four men, and destroy- 
 ing the new Belgian rock-drill, that had cost a good 
 hundred thousand, before it had begun to work. 
 This sort of thing was not faulty calculation — it 
 was malicious fate. 
 
 **Come up, boy! We must get there to-night. 
 The flood mustn't have a chance this year to lay 
 the blame on me because I wasn't on the spot." 
 
 And then, to cap the other misfortunes, his chief 
 contractor for material had gone bankrupt, and 
 now prices had risen far above the rates he had 
 allowed for — adding fresh thousands to the extra 
 expenditure. 
 
 But he would put the thing through, even if he 
 lost money by it. His envious rivals who had 
 lately begun to run down his projects in the tech- 
 nical papers — ^he would make them look foolish 
 yet. 
 
 And then? 
 
 Well, it may be that the Promethean spirit is 
 preparing a settling day for the universe some- 
 where out in infinity. But what concern is that of 
 mine? What about my own immortal soul? 
 
 Silence — push on, push on. There may be a 
 snowstorm any minute. Come up — get along, you 
 scarecrow. 
 
 The dun struggles on to the end of a twelve- 
 mile stage, and then the valley ends and the full 
 blast from the plateau meets them. Here lies the 
 posting station, the last farm in the valley. He
 
 234 The Great Hunger 
 
 swings into tlie yard and is soon sitting in the 
 room over a cup of coffee and a pipe. 
 
 Merle? How are things with Merle now? 
 
 Ah! here comes his own horse, the big black 
 stallion from Gudbrandsdal. This beast's trot is 
 a different thing from the poor dun's — the sleigh 
 flies up to the door. And in a moment Peer is sit- 
 ting in it again in his furs. 
 
 Ah ! what a relief to have a fresh horse, and one 
 that makes light of the load behind him. Away 
 he goes at a brisk trot, with lifted head and bells 
 jingling, over the frozen lakes. Here and there 
 on the hillslopes a grey hut or two show out— 
 sseters, which have lain there unchanged for per- 
 haps a couple of thousand years. But a new time 
 is coming. The sseter-horns will be heard no 
 longer, and the song of the turbines will rise in 
 their place. 
 
 An icy wind is blowing; the horse throws up its 
 head and snorts. Big snowflakes come driving on 
 the wind, and soon a regular snowstorm is raging, 
 lashing the traveller's face till he gasps. First the 
 horse's mane and tail grow white with snow, then 
 its whole body. The drifts grow bigger, the black 
 has to make great bounds to clear them. Bravo, 
 old boy! we must get there before dark. There 
 are brushwood brooms set out across the ice to 
 mark the way, but who could keep them in sight 
 in a driving smother like this? Peer's own face 
 is plastered white now, and he feels stunned and 
 dazed under the lash of the snow.
 
 The Great Hunger 235 
 
 B.Q lias worked under the burning suns of Egypt 
 — and now here. But the steel will on. The wave 
 rolls on its way over all the world. 
 
 If this snow should turn to rain now, it will mean 
 a flood. And then the men will have to turn out 
 to-night and work to save the dams. 
 
 One more disaster, and he would hardly be able 
 to finish within the contract time. And that once 
 exceeded, each day's delay means a penalty of a 
 thousand crowns. 
 
 It is getting darker. 
 
 At last there is nothing to be seen on the way but 
 a shapeless mass of snow struggling with bowed 
 head against the storm, wading deep in the loose 
 drifts, wading seemingly at haphazard — and trail- 
 ing after it an indefinable bundle of white — dead 
 white. Behind, a human being drags along, hold- 
 ing on for dear life to the rings on the sleigh. It 
 is the post-boy from the last stage. 
 
 At last they were groping their way in the dark- 
 ness towards the shore, where the electric lights 
 of the station showed faintly through the snow- 
 fog. And hardly had Peer got out of the sleigh 
 before the snow stopped suddenly, and the daz, 
 zling electric suns shone over the place, -jvith the 
 workmen's barracks, the assistants' quarters, the 
 offices, and his own little plank-built house. Two 
 of the engineers came out to meet him, and saluted 
 respectfully. 
 
 "Well, how is everything getting on!**
 
 236 The Great Hunger 
 
 The greybeard answered: ''The nien have 
 struck work to-day/* 
 
 *' Struck? What f or r' 
 
 ''They want us to take back the machinist that 
 was dismissed the other day for drunkenness.*' 
 
 Peer shook the snow from his fur coat, took his 
 bag, and walked over to the building, the others 
 following. ''Then we'll have to take him back,** 
 he said. "We can't afford a strike now.'* 
 
 A couple of days later Peer was lying in bed, 
 when the post-bag was brought in. He shook the 
 letters out over the coverlet, and caught sight of 
 one from Klaus Brock. 
 
 What was this? Why did his hand tremble as 
 he took it up ? Of course it was only one of Klaus *s 
 ordinary friendly letterSo 
 
 Deah Fkiend, — This is a hard letter to write. 
 But I do hope you have taken my advice and got 
 some of your money at any rate over to Norway. 
 Well, to be as brief as possible ! Ferdinand Holm 
 has decamped, or is in prison, or possibly worse — 
 you know well enough it's no good asking ques- 
 tions in a country like this when a big man sud- 
 denly disappears. He had made enemies in the 
 highest places ; he was playing a dangerous game 
 — and this is the end of it. 
 
 You know what it means when a business goes 
 into liquidation out here, and no strong man on
 
 The Great Hunger 237 
 
 the spot to look after things. We Europeans can 
 whistle for our share. 
 
 You^ll take it coolly, I know. I've lost every 
 penny I had — but you've still got your place over 
 there and the workshops. And you're the sort of 
 fellow to make twice as much next time, or I don't 
 know you. I hope the Besna barrage is to be a 
 success. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Klaus Beock. 
 
 P.S. — Of course you'll understand that now my 
 friend has been thrown overboard it will very 
 likely be my turn next. But I can't leave now — to 
 try would rouse suspicion at once. We foreigners 
 have some difficult balancing to do, to escape a 
 fall. Well, if by chance you don't hear from me 
 again, you'll know something has happened! 
 
 Outside, the water was streaming down the 
 channels into the fall. Peer lay still for a while, 
 only one knee moving up and down beneath the 
 clothes. He thought of his two friends. And he 
 thought that he was now a poor man — and that the 
 greater part of the burden of the security would 
 fall now on old Lorentz D. Uthoug. 
 
 Clearly, Fate has other business on hand than 
 making things easy for you, Peer. You must fight 
 your fight out single-handed.
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 One evening in the late autumn Merle was sitting 
 at home waiting for her husband. He had been 
 away for several weeks, so it was only natural that 
 she should make a little festivity of his return. 
 The lamps were lit in all the rooms, wood fires 
 were crackling in all the stoves, the cook was busy 
 with his favourite dishes, and little Louise, now 
 five years old, had on her blue velvet frock. She 
 was sitting on the floor, nursing two dolls, and 
 chattering to them. *'Mind you're a good girl 
 now, Josephine. Your grandpa will be here di- 
 rectly. ' ' Merle looked in through the kitchen door : 
 *'Have you brought up the claret, Bertha? That's 
 right. You'd better put it near the stove to 
 warm. ' ' Then she went round all the rooms again. 
 The two youngest children were in bed — was there 
 anything more to be done? 
 
 It would be an hour at least before he could be 
 here, yet she could not help listening all the time 
 for the sound of wheels. But she had not finished 
 yet. She hurried up to the bathroom, turned on 
 the hot water, undressed, and put on an oilskin 
 cap to keep her hair dry, and soon she was splash- 
 ing about with soap and sponge. Why not make 
 
 238
 
 The Great Hunger 239 
 
 herself as attractive as she could, even if things 
 did look dark for them just now? 
 
 A little stream of talk went on in her brain. 
 Strange that one's body could be so great a pleas- 
 ure to another. Here he kissed you — and here — 
 and here — and often he seemed beside himself with 
 joy. And do you remember — that time ? You held 
 back and were cold often — perhaps too often — is 
 it too late now? Ah! he has other things to think 
 of now. The time is gone by when you could be 
 comfort enough to him in all troubles. But is it 
 quite gone by ? Oh yes ; last time he came home, 
 he hardly seemed to notice that we had a new lit- 
 tle girl, that he had never seen before. Well, no 
 doubt it must be so. He did not complain, and 
 he was calm and quiet, but his mind was full of 
 a whole world of serious things, a world where 
 there was no room for wife and children. Will 
 it be the same this evening again ? Will he notice 
 that you have dressed so carefully to please him? 
 Will it be a joy to him any more to feel his arms 
 around you ? 
 
 She stood in front of the big, white-framed mir- 
 ror, and looked critically at herself. No, she was 
 no longer young as she had been. The red in her 
 cheeks had faded a little these last few years, 
 and there were one or two wrinkles that could not 
 be hidden. But her eyebrows — he had loved to 
 kiss them once — they were surely much as be- 
 fore. And involuntarily she bent towards thp
 
 240 The Great Hunger 
 
 glass, and stroked the dark growth above her eyes 
 as if it were his hand caressing her. 
 
 She came down at last, dressed in a loose blue 
 dress with a broad lace collar and blond lace in 
 the wide sleeves. And not to seem too much 
 dressed, she had put on a red-flowered apron to 
 give herself a housewifely look. 
 
 It was past seven now. Louise came whimper- 
 ing to her, and Merle sank dowTi in a chair by 
 the window, and took the child on her lap, and 
 waited. 
 
 The sound of wheels in the night may mean the 
 approach of fate itself. Some decision, some final 
 word that casts us down in a moment from wealth 
 to ruin — who knows? Peer had been to England 
 now, trying to come to some arrangement with the 
 Company. Sh! — was that not wheels? She rose, 
 trembling, and listened. 
 
 No, it had passed on. 
 
 It was eight o'clock now, time for Louise to go 
 to bed; and Merle began undressing her. Soon 
 the child was lying in her little white bed, with a 
 doll on either side. ''Give Papa a tiss," she bab- 
 bled, * ' and give him my love. And Mama, do you 
 think he'll let me come into his bed for a bit to- 
 morrow morning!" 
 
 *'0h yes, I'm sure he will. And now lie down 
 and go to sleep, there's a good girl." 
 
 Merle sat down again in the room and waited. 
 But at last she rose, put on a cloak and went out. 
 
 The town lay down there in the autumn dark-
 
 The Great Hunger 241 
 
 ness under a milk-white mist of light. And over 
 the black hills all around rose a world of stars. 
 Somewhere out there was Peer, far out maybe 
 upon some country road, the horse plodding on 
 through the dark at its own will, its master sitting 
 with bowed head, brooding. 
 
 ''Help us. Thou above — and help him most, he 
 has had so much adversity in these last days." 
 
 But the starry vault seems icy cold — it has heard 
 the prayers of millions and millions before — the 
 hearts of men are nothing to the universe. 
 
 Merle drooped her head and went in again to 
 the house. 
 
 It was midnight when Peer drove up the hill 
 towards his home. The sight of the great house 
 with its brilliantly lighted windows jarred so 
 cruelly on his wearied mind that he involuntarily 
 gave the horse a cut with his whip. 
 
 He flung the reins to the stable-boy who had 
 come out with a lantern, and walked up the steps, 
 moving almost with a feeling of awe in this great 
 house, as if it already belonged to someone else. 
 
 He opened the door of the drawing-room — ^no 
 one there, but light, light and comfort. He passed 
 through into the next room, and there sat Merle, 
 alone, in an armchair, with her head resting on 
 the arm, asleep. 
 
 Had she been waiting so long? 
 
 A wave of warmth passed through him ; he stood 
 still, looking at her; and presently her bowed fig- 
 ure slowly straightened ; her pale face relaxed into
 
 24)2 The Great Hunger 
 
 a smile. Without waking her, he went on into the 
 nursery, where the lights were still burning. But 
 here the lights shone only on three little ones, 
 lying in their clean night-clothes, asleep. 
 
 He went back to the dining-room; more lights, 
 and a table laid for two, a snowy cloth and flowers, 
 and a single carnation stuck into his napkin — that 
 must be from Louise — little Louise. 
 
 At last Merle was awakened by the touch of his 
 hand on her shoulder. 
 
 **0h, are you there?" 
 
 "Good-evening, Merle!" They embraced, and 
 he kissed her forehead. But she could see that his 
 mind was busy with other things. 
 
 They sat down to table, and began their meal. 
 She could read the expression of his face, his voice, 
 his calm air — she knew they meant bad news. 
 
 But she would not question him. She would only 
 try to show him that all things else could be en- 
 dured, if only they two loved each other. 
 
 But the time had passed when an unexpected 
 caress from her was enough to send him wild with 
 joy. She sat there now trembling inwardly with 
 suspense, wondering if he would notice her — if he 
 could find any comfort in having her with him, still 
 young and with something of her beauty left. 
 
 He looked over to her with a far-away smile. 
 '* Merle," he asked, **what do you think your 
 father is worth altogether?" The words came 
 like a quiet order from a captain standing on the 
 bridge, while his ship goes down.
 
 The Great Hunger 243 
 
 **0h, Peer, don't think about all that to-night. 
 Welcome home!" And she smiled and took his 
 hand. 
 
 ''Thanks," he said, and pressed her fingers; but 
 his thoughts were still far off. And he went on 
 eating without knowing what he ate. 
 
 "And what do you think? Louise has begun the 
 violin. YouVe no idea how the little thing takes 
 to it." 
 
 "Oh?" 
 
 "And Asta's got another tooth — she had a 
 wretched time, poor thing, while it was coming 
 through. ' ' 
 
 It was as if she were drawing the children up to 
 him, to show him that at least he still had them. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment. "Merle, you 
 ought never to have married me. It would have 
 been better for you and for your people too." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, Peer — you know you'll be able 
 to make it all right again. ' ' 
 
 They went up to bed, and undressed slowly. 
 "He hasn't noticed me yet," thought Merle. 
 
 And she laughed a little, and said, "I was sitting 
 thinking this evening of the first day we met. I 
 suppose you never think of it now?" 
 
 He turned round, half undressed, and looked at 
 her. Her lively tone fell strangely on his ears. 
 "She does not ask how I have got on, or how 
 things are going," he thought. But as he went on 
 looking at her he began at last to see through her 
 smile to the anxious heart beneath.
 
 244 The Great Hunger 
 
 Ah, yes ; he remembered well that far-off sum- 
 mer when life had been a holiday in the hills, and 
 a girl making coffee over a fire had smiled at him 
 for the first time. And he remembered the first 
 sun-red night of his love on the shining lake-mir- 
 ror, when his heart was filled with the rush of a 
 great anthem to heaven and earth. 
 
 She stood there still. He had her yet. But for 
 the first time in their lives she came to him now 
 humbly, begging him to make the best of her as 
 she was. 
 
 An unspeakable warmth began to flow through 
 his heavy heart. But he did not rush to embrace 
 her and whirl her off in a storm of passionate de- 
 light. He stood still, staring before him, and, 
 drawing himself up, swore to himself with fast- 
 closed lips that he would, he would trample a way 
 through, and save things for them both, even yet. 
 
 The lights were put out, and soon they lay in 
 their separate beds, breathing heavily in the dark. 
 Peer stretched himself out, with his face up, think- 
 ing, with closed eyes. He was hunting in the dark 
 for some way to save his dear ones. And Merle 
 lay so long waiting for one caress from him that 
 at last she had to draw out her handkerchief and 
 press it over her eyes, while her body shook with 
 a noiseless sobbing.
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 Old Lorentz D. Uthoug rarely visited Ms rich sis- 
 ter at Bruseth, but to-day he had taken his weary 
 way up there, and the two masterful old folks sat 
 now facing each other. 
 
 * * So you 've managed to find your way up here ? ' ' 
 said Aunt Marit, throwing out her ample bosom 
 and rubbing her knees like a man. 
 
 *'Why, yes — I thought I'd like to see how you 
 were getting on," said Uthoug, squaring his broad 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Quite well, thanks. Having no son-in-law, I'm 
 not likely to go bankrupt, I daresay. ' ' 
 
 *'I'm not bankrupt, either," said old Uthoug, 
 fixing his red eyes on her face. 
 
 "Perhaps not. But what about him?" 
 
 * * Neither is he. He '11 be a rich man before verj'' 
 long." 
 
 "He! — rich! Did you say rich?" 
 
 "Before a year's out," answered the old man 
 calmly. ' ' But you '11 have to help. ' ' 
 
 " I ! " Aunt Marit shifted her chair backwards, 
 gaping. "I, did you say? Ha-ha-ha! Just tell 
 me, how many hundreds of thousands did he lose 
 over that ditch or drain or whatever it was?" 
 
 ' ' He was six months behind time in finishing it, 
 
 245
 
 546 The Great Hunger 
 
 I know. But the Company agreed to halve the 
 forfeit for delay when they 'd seen what a master- 
 piece the work was. ' ' 
 
 **Ah, yes — and what about the contractors, 
 whom he couldn't pay, I hear?" 
 
 ''He's paid them all in full now. The Bank 
 arranged things." 
 
 **I see. After you and he had mortaged every 
 stick and rag you had in the world. Yes, indeed —   
 you deserve a good whipping, the pair of you ! ' ' 
 
 Uthoug stroked his beard. ''From a financial 
 point of view the thing wasn't a success for him, 
 I'll admit. But I can show you here what the en- 
 gineering people say about it in the technical pa- 
 pers. Here's an article with pictures of him and 
 of the barrage." 
 
 "Well! he'd better keep his family on pictures 
 in the papers then," said the widow, paying no 
 attention to the paper he offered. 
 
 "He'll soon be on top again," said her brother, 
 putting the papers back in his pocket. He sat 
 there in front of her quite unruffled. He would let 
 people see that he was not the man to be crushed 
 by a reverse ; that there were other things he val- 
 ued more than money. 
 
 ' ' Soon be on top I ' ' repeated Aunt Marit. * ' Has 
 he got round you again with some nonsense!'* 
 
 "He's invented a new mowing machine. It's 
 nearly finished. And the experts say it will be 
 worth a million. ' ' 
 
 "Ho ! and vou want to come over me with a tale
 
 The Great Hunger 247 
 
 like that?" The widow shifted her chair a little 
 farther back. 
 
 ''You must help us to carry on through this 
 year — both of us. If you will stand security for 
 thirty thousand, the bank ..." 
 
 Aunt Marit of Bruseth slapped her knees em- 
 phatically. ''I'll do nothing of the sort I" 
 
 '^For twenty thousand, then?" 
 
 * ' Not for twenty pence ! " 
 
 Lorentz Uthoug fixed his gaze on his sister's 
 face ; his red eyes began, to glow. 
 
 "You'll have to do it, Marit," he said calmly. 
 He took a pipe from his pocket and set to work to 
 fill and light it. 
 
 The two sat for a while looking at each other, 
 each on the alert for fear the other's will should 
 prove the stronger. They looked at each other so 
 long that at last both smiled involuntarily. 
 
 "I suppose you've taken to going to church with 
 your wife now?" asked the widow at last, her eyes 
 blinking derision. 
 
 "If I put my trust in the Lord," he said, "I 
 might just sit down and pray and let things go to 
 ruin. As it is, I've more faith in human works, 
 and that's why I'm here now." 
 
 The answer pleased her. The widow at Bruseth 
 was no churchgoer herself. She thought the Lord 
 had made a bad mistake in not giving her any 
 children. 
 
 "Will you have some coffee?" she asked, rising 
 from her seat.
 
 248 The Great Hunger 
 
 **Now you're talking sense," said her brother, 
 and his eyes twinkled. He knew nis sister and her 
 ways. And now he lit his pipe and leaned back 
 comfortably in his chair.
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 Onob more Peer stood in his workroom down at 
 the foundry, wrestling with fire and steel. 
 
 A working drawing is a useful thing ; an idea in 
 one's head is all very well. But the men he em- 
 ployed to turn his plans into tangible models 
 worked slowly; why not use his own hands for 
 what had to be done? 
 
 When the workmen arrived at the foundry in 
 the morning there was hammering going on al- 
 ready in the little room. And when they left in 
 the evening, the master had not stopped working 
 yet. When the good citizens of Eingeby went to 
 bed, they would look out of their windows and see 
 his light still burning. 
 
 Peer had had plenty to tire him out even be- 
 fore he began work here. But in the old days no 
 one had ever asked if he felt strong enough to do 
 this or that. And he never asked himself. Now, 
 as before, it was a question of getting something 
 done, at any cost. And never before had there 
 been so much at stake. 
 
 The wooden model of the new machine is finished 
 already, and the castings put together. The whole 
 thing looks simple enough, and yet — what a dis- 
 tance from the first rough implement to this thing, 
 
 240
 
 250 The Great Hunger 
 
 which seems almost to live — a thing with a brain 
 of metal at least. Have not these wheels and axles 
 had their parents and ancestors — their pedigree 
 stretching back into the past? The steel has 
 brought forth, and its descendants again in 
 turn, advancing always toward something finer, 
 stronger, more efficient. And here is the last stage 
 reached by human invention in this particular 
 work up to now — yet, after all, is it good enough? 
 An invention successful enough to bring money 
 in to the inventor — that is not all. It must be 
 more ; it must be a world-success, a thing to make 
 its way across the prairies, across the enormous 
 plains of India and Egypt — that is what is needed. 
 Sleep? rest? food? What are such things when so 
 much is at stake ! 
 
 There was no longer that questioning in his ear : 
 Why? Whither? What then? Useless to ponder 
 on these things. His horizon was narrowed down 
 to include nothing beyond this one problem. Once 
 he had dreamed of a work allied to his dreams of 
 eternity. This, certainly, was not it. What does 
 the gain amount to, after all, when humanity has 
 one more machine added to it? Does it kindle a 
 single ray of dawn the more in a human soul? 
 
 Yet this work, such as it was, had now become 
 his all. It must and should be all. He was fast 
 bound to it. 
 
 When he looked up at the window, there seemed 
 to be faces at each pane staring in. ''What? Not 
 finished yet?" they seemed to say. ''Think what
 
 The Great Hunger 251 
 
 it means if you fail!" Merle *s face, and the chil- 
 dren's : "Must we be driven from Loreng, out into 
 the cold?" The faces of old Uthoug and his wife : 
 * ' "Was it for this you came into an honourable fam- 
 ily? To bring it to ruin?" And behind them, 
 swarming, all the town. All knew what was at 
 stake, and why he was toiling so. All stared at 
 him, waiting. The Bank Manager was there too — 
 waiting, like the rest. 
 
 One can seize one's neck in iron pincers, and 
 say: You shall! Tired? difficulties? time too 
 short? — all that doesn't exist. You shall! Is this 
 thing or that impossible? Well, make it possible. 
 It is your business to make it possible. 
 
 He spent but little time at home now ; a sofa in 
 the workshop was his bed. Often Merle would 
 come in with food for him, and seeing how pale 
 and grey and worn out he was, she did not dare to 
 question him. She tried to jest instead. She had 
 trained herself long ago to be gay in a house where 
 shadows had to be driven off with laughter. 
 
 But one day, as she was leaving, he held her 
 back, and looked at her with a strange smile. 
 
 ''Well, dear?" she said, with a questioning look. 
 
 He stood looking at her as before, with the same 
 far-off smile. He was looking through her into 
 the little world she stood for. This home, this 
 family that he, a homeless man, had won through 
 her, was it all to go down in shipwreck? 
 
 Then he kissed her eyes and let her go. 
 
 And as her footsteps died away, he stood a mo-
 
 / 252 The Great Hunger 
 
 ment, moved by a sudden desire to turn to some 
 Power above him with a prayer that he might 
 succeed in this work. But there was no such 
 Power. And in the end his eyes turned once more 
 to the iron, the fire, his tools, and his own hands, 
 and it was as though he sighed out a prayer to 
 these: ''Help me — help me, that I may save my 
 wife and children's happiness." 
 
 Sleep? rest? weariness? He had only a year's 
 grace. The bank would only wait a year. 
 
 "Winter and spring passed, and one day in July 
 he came home and rushed in upon Merle crjdng, 
 "To-morrow, Merle! They will be here to-mor- 
 row!" 
 
 ''Who!" 
 
 "The people to look at the machine. We're 
 going to try it to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, Peer!" she said breathlessly, gazing at 
 him. 
 
 "It's a good thing that I had connections 
 abroad, ' ' he went on. ' ' There 's one man coming 
 from an English firm, and another from America. 
 It ought to be a big business." 
 
 The morrow came. Merle stood looking after 
 her husband as he drove off, his hat on the back of 
 his head, through the haze that followed the 
 night's rain. But there was no time to stand 
 trembling; they were to have the strangers to 
 dinner, and she must see to it. 
 
 Out in the field the machine stood ready, a slen-
 
 The Great Hunger 253 
 
 der, newly painted thing. A boy was harnessing 
 the horses. 
 
 Two men in soft hats and light overcoats came 
 up; it was old Uthoug, and the Bank Manager. 
 They stopped and looked round, leaning on their 
 sticks; the results of the day were not a matter 
 of entire indifference to these two gentlemen. Ah I 
 here was the big carriage from Loreng, with the 
 two strangers and Peer himself, who had been 
 down to fetch them from the hotel. 
 
 He was a little pale as he took the reins and 
 climbed to his seat on the machine, to drive it him- 
 self through the meadow of high, thick timothy- 
 grass. 
 
 The horses pricked up their ears and tried to 
 break into a gallop, the noise of the machine be- 
 hind them startling them as usual at first, but they 
 soon settled down to a steady pace, and the steel 
 arm bearing the shears swept a broad swath 
 through the meadow, where the grass stood shin- 
 ing after the rain. 
 
 The two strangers walked slowly in the rear, 
 bending down now and again to look at the stub- 
 ble, and see if the shears cut clean. The tall man 
 with the heavy beard and pince-nez was the agent 
 for John Fowler of Leeds ; the little clean-shaven 
 one with the Jewish nose represented Harrow & 
 Co. of Philadelphia. 
 
 Now and again they called to Peer to stop, while 
 they investigated some part of the machine. 
 
 They asked him then to try it on different
 
 254 The Great Hunger 
 
 ground; on an uneven slope, over little tussocks; 
 and at last the agent for Fowler's would have it 
 that it should be tried on a patch of stony ground. 
 But that would spoil the shears ? Very likely, but 
 "fowler's would like to know exactly how the 
 shears were aif ected by stones on the ground. 
 
 At last the trials were over, and the visitors 
 nodded thoughtfully to each other. Evidently they 
 had come on something new here. There were pos- 
 sibilities in the thing that might drive most other 
 types out of the field, even in the intense compe^ 
 tition that rages all round the world in agricul- 
 tural machinery. 
 
 Peer read the expression in their eyes — these 
 cold-blooded specialists had seen the vision; they 
 had seen gold. 
 
 But all the same there was a hitch — a little 
 hitch. 
 
 Dinner was over, the visitors had left, and Merle 
 and Peer were alone. She lifted her eyes to his 
 inquiringly. 
 
 ''It went off well then?" she asked. 
 
 *'Yes. But there is just one little thing to put 
 right." 
 
 ''Still something to put right — after you have 
 worked so hard all these months ? ' ' She sat down, 
 and her hands dropped into her lap. 
 
 "It's only a small detail," he said eagerly, pac- 
 ing up and down. "When the grass is wet, it 
 Bticks between the steel fingers above the shears 
 and accumulates there and gets in the way. It's
 
 The Great Hunger 255 
 
 the devil and all tliat I never thought of testing it 
 myself in wet weather. But once I've got that 
 right, my girl, the thing will be a world-success." 
 
 Once more the machine was set up in his work- 
 shop, and he walked around it, watching, spying, 
 thinking, racking his brain to find the little device 
 that should make all well. All else was finished, 
 all was right, but he still lacked the single happy 
 thought, the flash of inspiration — that given, a 
 moment's work would be enough to give this thing 
 of steel life, and wings with which to fly out over 
 the wide world. 
 
 It might come at any moment, that happy 
 thought. And he tramped round and round his 
 machine, clenching his fists in desperation because 
 it was so slow in coming. 
 
 The last touch only, the dot upon an i, was want- 
 ing. A slight change in the shape or position of 
 the fingers, or the length of the shears — what was 
 it he wanted? How could he sleep that night? 
 
 He felt that he stood face to face with a diffi- 
 culty that could have been easily solved had he 
 come fresh to the work, but that his tortured brain 
 was too worn out to overcome. 
 
 But when an Arab horse is ready to drop with 
 fatigue, then is the time when it breaks into a 
 gallop. 
 
 He could not wait. There were the faces at the 
 window again, staring and asking : * ' Not finished 
 yet?" Merle, the children, Uthoug and his wife, 
 the Bank Manager. And there were his com-
 
 256 The Great Hunger 
 
 petitors the world over. To-day he was a length 
 ahead of them, but by to-morrow he might be left 
 behind. Wait? Rest? No! 
 
 It was antumn now, and sleepless nights drove 
 him to a doctor, who prescribed cold baths, per- 
 fect qniet, sleeping draughts, iron and arsenic. Ah, 
 yes. Peer could swallow all the prescriptions — • 
 the one thing he could not do was rest or sleep. 
 
 He would sit late into the night, prostrate with 
 exhaustion, watching the dying embers of the 
 forge, the steel, the tools. And innumerable sparks 
 would begin to fly before his eyes, and masses of 
 molten iron to creep about like living things over 
 walls and floor. — ^And over by the forge was some- 
 thing more defined, a misty shape, that grew in 
 size and clearness and stood at last a bearded^ 
 naked demigod, with fire in one hand and sledge- 
 hammer in the other. 
 
 *'What? Who is that?" 
 
 ''Man, do you not know me?" 
 
 ''Who are you, I ask?" 
 
 "I have a thing to tell you : it is vain for you to 
 seek for any other faith than faith in the evolution 
 of the universe. It will do no good to pray. You 
 may dream yourself away from the steel and the 
 fire, but you must offer yourself up to them at 
 last. You are bound fast to these things. Out- 
 side them your soul is nothing. God? happiness? 
 yourself ? eternal life for you ? All these are noth- 
 ing. The will of the world rolls on towards its
 
 The Great Hunger 257 
 
 eternal goal, and the individual is but fuel for the 
 fire." 
 
 Peer would spring up, believing for a moment 
 that someone was really there. But there was 
 nothing, only the empty air. 
 
 Now and again he would go home to Loreng, but 
 everything there seemed to pass in a mist. He 
 could see that Merle's eyes were red, though she 
 sang cheerily as she went about the house. It 
 seemed to him that she had begged him to go to 
 bed and rest, and he had gone to bed. It would 
 be delicious to sleep. But in the middle of the 
 night it was borne in upon him that the fault lay 
 in the shape of the shears after all, and then there 
 was no stopping him from getting up and hurrying 
 in to the workshop. "Winter has come round again, 
 and he fights his way in through a snow-storm. 
 And in the quiet night he lights his lamp, kindles 
 the forge fire, screws off the blades of the shears 
 once more. But when he has altered them and 
 fixed them in place again, he knows at once that 
 the defect was not in them after all. 
 
 Coffee is a good thing for keeping the brain 
 clear. He took to making it in the workshop for 
 himself — and at night especially a few cups did 
 him good. They were so satisfying too, that he 
 felt no desire for food. And when he came to 
 the conclusion that the best thing would be to 
 make each separate part of the machine over again 
 anew, coffee was n great help, keeping him awake 
 through many a long night.
 
 258 The Great Hunger 
 
 It began to dawn upon him that Merle and his 
 father-in-law and the Bank Manager had taken to 
 lurking about the place night and day, watching 
 and spying to see if the work were not nearly done. 
 Why in the devil's name could they not leave him 
 in peace — just one week more? In any case, the 
 machine could not be tried before next summer. 
 At times the workers at the foundry would be 
 startled by their master suddenly rushing out 
 from his inner room and crying fiercely : ' * No one 
 is to come in here. I will be left in peace !" 
 
 And when he had gone in again, they would look 
 at each other and shake their heads. 
 
 One morning Merle came down and walked 
 through the outer shops, and knocked at the door 
 of her husband's room. There was no answer; 
 and she opened the door and went in. 
 
 A moment after, the workmen heard a woman's 
 shriek, and when they ran in she was bending 
 over her husband, who was seated on the floor, 
 staring up at her with blank, uncomprehending 
 eyes. 
 
 **Peer," she cried, shaking his shoulder — ''Peer, 
 do you hear? Oh, for God's sake — what is it, my 
 darling " 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 One April day there was a stir in the little town 
 of Ringeby, and a stream of people, all in their best 
 clothes (though it was only Wednesday), was mov- 
 ing out along the fjord road to Loreng. There 
 were the two editors, who had just settled one of
 
 The Great Hunger 259 
 
 their everlasting disputes, and the two lawyers, 
 each still intent on snatching any scraps of busi- 
 ness that offered ; there were tradesmen and arti- 
 sans; and nearly everyone was wearing a long 
 overcoat and a grey felt hat. But the tanner had 
 put on a high silk hat, so as to look a little taller. 
 
 Where the road left the wood most of them 
 stopped for a moment to look up at Loreng. The 
 great white house seemed to have set itself high 
 on its hill to look out far and wide over the lake 
 and the country round. And men talked of the 
 great doings, the feasting and magnificence, the 
 great house had seen in days gone by, from the 
 time when the place had been a Governor's resi- 
 dence until a few years back, when Engineer Holm 
 was in his glory. 
 
 But to-day the place was up to auction, with 
 stock and furniture, and people had walked or 
 driven over from far around. For the bank man- 
 agement felt they would not be justified in giving 
 any longer grace, now that Peer Holm was lying 
 sick in hospital, and no doctor would undertake 
 to say whether he would ever be fit to work again. 
 
 The courtyard was soon crowded. Inside, in the 
 great hall, the auctioneer was beginning to put up 
 the lots already, but most people hung back a lit- 
 tle, as if they felt a reluctance to go in. For the 
 air in there seemed charged with lingering mem- 
 ories of splendour and hospitality, from the days 
 when cavaliers with ruffles and golden spurs had 
 done homage there to ladies in sweeping silk robes
 
 260 The Great Hunger 
 
 — down to the last gay banquets to whicli the fa- 
 mous engineer from Egypt had loved to gather all 
 the gentry round in the days of his prosperity. 
 
 Most of the people stood on the steps and in 
 the entrance-hall. And now and again they would 
 catch a glimpse of a pale woman, dressed in black, 
 with thick dark eyebrows, crossing the courtyard 
 to a servant's house or a storehouse to give some 
 order for moving the things. It was Merle, now 
 mistress here no longer. 
 
 Old Lorentz D. Uthoug met his sister, the mighty 
 lady of Bruseth, on the steps. She looked at him, 
 and there was a gleam of derision in her nar- 
 rowed eyes. But he drew himself up, and said as 
 he passed her, *' You've nothing to be afraid of. 
 I've settled things so that I'm not bankrupt yet. 
 And you shall have your share — in full. ' ' 
 
 And he strode in, a broad-shouldered, upright 
 figure, looking calmly at all men, that all might see 
 he was not the man to be crushed by a reverse. 
 
 Late in the day the chestnut. Bijou, was put up 
 for sale. He was led across the courtyard in a 
 halter, and as he came he stopped for a moment, 
 and threw up his head, and neighed, and from the 
 stables the other horses neighed in answer. Was 
 it a farewell? Did he remember the day, years 
 ago, when he had come there first, dancing on his 
 white-stockinged feet, full of youth and strength? 
 
 But by the woodshed there stood as usual a lit- 
 tle grey old man, busy sawing and chopping, as 
 if nothing at all was the matter. One master left,
 
 The Great Hunger 261 
 
 another took his place; one needed firewood, it 
 seemed to him, as much as the other. And if they 
 came and gave him notice — why, thank the Lord, 
 he was stone deaf. Thud, thud, the sound of the 
 axe went on. 
 
 A young man came driving up the hill, a florid- 
 faced young man, with very blue eyes. He took off 
 his overcoat in the passage, revealing a long black 
 frock coat beneath and a large-patterned waist- 
 coat. It was XJthoug junior, general agent for 
 English tweeds. He had taken no part in his 
 brother-in-law's business affairs, and so he was 
 able to help his father in this crisis. 
 
 But the auction at Loreng went on for several 
 days.
 
 BOOK III
 
 *«3f«0>—— ~ 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 Once more a deep valley, with sun-steeped farms 
 on the hillsides between the river and the moun- 
 tain-range behind. 
 
 One day about midsummer it was old Raastad 
 himself that came down to meet the train, driving 
 a spring-cart, with a waggon following behind. 
 Was he expecting visitors? the people at the sta- 
 tion asked him. * * Maybe I am, ' * said old Raastad, 
 stroking his heavy beard, and he limped about 
 looking to his horses. Was it the folk who had 
 taken the Court-house? "Ay, it's likely them," 
 said the old man. 
 
 The train came in, and a pale man, with grey 
 hair and beard, and blue spectacles, stepped out, 
 and he had a wife and three children with him. 
 **Paul Raastad?" inquired the stranger. **Ay, 
 that's me, ' ' said the old man. The stranger looked 
 up at the great mountains to the north, rising diz 
 zily into the sky. ' ' The air ought to be good here, 
 said he. '*Ay, the air's good enough, by all ac- 
 counts," said Raastad, and began loading up the 
 carts. 
 
 They drove off up the hill road. The man and 
 his wife sat in the spring-cart, the woman with a 
 child in her lap, but a boy and a girl were seated 
 
 265 
 
 19
 
 26(5 The Great Hunger 
 
 on the load in the baggage-waggon behind Raastad. 
 **Can we see the farm from here?" asked the 
 woman, turning her head. *' There," said the old 
 man, pointing. And looking, they saw a big farm- 
 stead high up on a sunny hill-slope, close under 
 the crest, and near by a long low house with a 
 steep slate roof, the sort of place where the dis- 
 trict oflBcers used to live in old days. "Is that 
 the house we are to live in?" she asked again. 
 *'Ay, that's it, right enough," said old Raastad, 
 and chirruped to his horses. 
 
 The woman looked long at the farm and sighed. 
 So this was to be their new home. They were to 
 live here, far from all their friends. And would it 
 give him back his health, after all the doctors* 
 medicines had failed? 
 
 A Lapland dog met them at the gate and barked 
 at them; a couple of pigs came down the road, 
 stopped and studied the new arrivals with pro- 
 found attention, then wheeled suddenly and gal- 
 loped off among the houses. 
 
 The farmer's wife herself was waiting outside 
 the Court-house, a tall wrinkled woman with a 
 black cap on her head. "Welcome," she said, of- 
 fering a rough and bony hand. 
 
 The house was one of large low-ceiled rooms, 
 with big stoves that would need a deal of firewood 
 in winter. The furniture was a mixture of every 
 possible sort and style: a mahogany sofa, cup- 
 boards with painted roses on the panels, chairs 
 covered with "Old Norse" carving, and on the
 
 The Great Hunger 267 
 
 walls appalling pictures of foreign royal families 
 and of the Crucifixion. ''Good Heavens!" said 
 Merle, as they went round the rooms alone: ''how 
 shall we ever get used to all this?" 
 
 But just then Louise came rushing in, breath- 
 less with news. "Mother — father — there are goats 
 here !" And little Lorentz came toddling in after 
 her: "Goats, mother," he cried, stumbling over 
 the doorstep. 
 
 The old house had stood empty and dead for 
 years. Now it seemed to have wakened up again. 
 Footsteps went in and out, and the stairs creaked 
 once more under the tread of feet, small, patter- 
 ing, exploring feet, and big feet going about on 
 grown-up errands. There was movement in every 
 comer: a rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen; 
 fires blazed up, and smoke began to rise from the 
 chimney; people passing by outside looked up at 
 it and saw that the dead old house had come to 
 life again. 
 
 Peer was weak still after his illness, but he could 
 help a little with the unpacking. It took very lit- 
 tle, though, to make him out of breath and giddy, 
 and there was a sledge-hammer continually 
 thumping somewhere in the back of his head. Sup- 
 pose — suppose, after all, the change here does you 
 no good? You are at the last stage. You've man- 
 aged to borrow the money to keep you all here 
 for a year. And then? Your wife and children! 
 Hush ! — better not think of that Not that ; think 
 of anything else, only not that.
 
 268 The Great Hunger 
 
 Clothes to be carried upstairs. Yes, yes — and 
 to think it was all to end in your living on other 
 people's charity. Even that can't go on long. If 
 you should be no better next summer — or two 
 years hence? — what then? For yourself — ^yes, 
 there's always one way out for you. But Merle 
 and the children? Hush, don't think of it! Once 
 it was your whole duty to finish a certain piece of 
 work in a certain time. Now it is your duty to get 
 well again, to be as strong as a horse by next year. 
 It is your duty. If only the sledge-hammer would 
 stop, that cursed sledge-hammer in the back of 
 your head. 
 
 Merle, as she went out and in, was thinking per- 
 haps of the same thing, but her head was full of 
 so much else — getting things in order and the 
 household set going. Food had to be bought from 
 the local shop ; and how many litres of milk would 
 she require in the morning? Where could she get 
 eggs? She must go across at once to the Raastads' 
 and ask. So the pale woman in the dark dress 
 walked slowly with bowed head across the court- 
 yard. But when she stopped to speak to people 
 about the place, they would forget their manners 
 and stare at her, she smiled so strangely. 
 
 ** Father, there's a box of starlings on the wall 
 here," said Louise as she lay in bed with her arms 
 round Peer's neck saying good-night. ''And 
 there's a swallow's nest imder the eaves too." 
 
 *'0h, yes, we'll have great fun at Raastad — ^just 
 you wait and see."
 
 The Great Hunger 269 
 
 Soon Merle and Peer too lay in their strange 
 beds, looking ont at the luminous summer night. 
 
 They were shipwrecked people washed ashore 
 here. But it was not so clear that they were 
 saved. 
 
 Peer turned restlessly from side to side. He 
 was so worn to skin and bone that his nerves 
 seemed laid bare, and he could not rest in any 
 position. Also there were three hundred wheels 
 whirring in his head, and striking out sparks that 
 flew up and turned to visions. 
 
 Eest? why had he never been content to rest 
 in the days when all went well? 
 
 He had made his mark at the First Cataract, 
 yes, and had made big sums of money out of his 
 new pump ; but all the time there were the gnawing 
 questions: Why? and whither? and what then? 
 He had been Chief Engineer and had built a rail- 
 way, and could have had commissions to build 
 more railways — but again the questions: "Why? 
 and what then ? Home, then, home and strike root 
 in his native land — ^well, and had that brought him 
 rest? What was it that drove him away again? 
 The steel, the steel and the jBre. 
 
 Ah! that day when he had stepped down from 
 the mowing machine and had been ensnared by 
 the idea of improving it. Why had he ever taken 
 it up? Did he need money? No. Or was the 
 work at a standstill? No. But the steel would 
 on; it had need of a man; it had taken him by 
 the throat and said, **You shall I'*
 
 270 The Great Hunger 
 
 Happiness? Eest? Ah no! For, yon see, a 
 stored-up mass of knowledge and experience turns 
 one fine day into an army of evil powers, that lash 
 you on and on, unceasingly. You may stumble, 
 you may fall — what does it matter? The steel 
 squeezes one man dry, and then grips the next. 
 The flame of the world has need of fuel — bow thy 
 head, Man, and leap into the fire. 
 
 To-day you prosper — to-morrow you are cast 
 down into a hell on earth. What matter? You 
 are fuel for the fire. 
 
 But I will not, I will not be swallowed up in the 
 flame of the world, even though it be the only god- 
 head in the imiverse. I will tear myself loose, be 
 something in and for myself. I will have an im- 
 mortal soul. The world-transformation that prog- 
 ress may have wrought a thousand years hence — 
 what is it to me? 
 
 Your soul? Just think of all your noble feelings 
 towards that true-bom half-brother of yours — ha- 
 ha-ha! Shakespeare was wrong. It's the bastard 
 that gets cheated. 
 
 *' Dearest Peer, do, for God's sake, try to get to 
 sleep." 
 
 "Oh yes. I'll get to sleep all right. But it's so 
 hot." He threw off the clothes and lay breathing 
 heavily. 
 
 **I'm sure you're lying thinking and brooding 
 over things. Can't you do what the Swedish doc- 
 tor told you — just tiy to think that everything is 
 dark all round you."
 
 The Great Hunger 271 
 
 Peer turns round, and everything around him 
 is dark. But in the heart of that darkness waves 
 arise, waves of melody, rolling nearer, nearer. It 
 is the sound of a hymn — it is Louise standing 
 playing, his sister Louise. And what peace — 
 God, what peace and rest! 
 
 But soon Louise fades away, she fades away, 
 and vanishes like a flame blown out. And there 
 comes a roaring noise, nearer and nearer, grind- 
 ing, crashing, rattling — and he knows now what it 
 is only too well : it is the song of the steel. 
 
 The roar of steel from ships eind from railway- 
 trains, with their pairs of yellow evil eyes, rush- 
 ing on, full of human captives, whither? Faster, 
 faster — driven by competition, by the steel demon 
 that hunts men on without rest or respite — that 
 hurries on the pulse of the world to fever, to 
 hallucination, to madness. 
 
 Crashing of steel girders falling, the hum of 
 wheels, the clash of cranes and winches and chains, 
 the clang of steam-hammers at work — all are in 
 that roar. The fire flares up with hellish eyes in 
 every dark corner, and men swarm around in the 
 red glow like evil angels. They are the slaves of 
 steel and fire, lashed onwards, never resting. 
 
 Is this the spirit of Prometheus ? Look, the will 
 of steel is flinging men up into the air now. It is 
 conquering the heavens. Why? That it may rush 
 the faster. It craves for yet more speed, quicker, 
 quicker, dizzier yet, hurrying — ^wherefore?— 
 whither? Alas ! it knows not itself.
 
 272 The Great Hunger 
 
 Are the children of the earth grown so home- 
 less! Do they fear to take a moment's rest? Do 
 they dread to look inward and see their own empti- 
 ness? Are they longing for something they have 
 lost — some hymn, some harmony, some God? 
 
 God? They find a bloodthirsty Jehovah, and an 
 ascetic on the cross. What gods are these for mod- 
 em men? Religious history, not religion. 
 
 **Peer,'' says Merle again, *'for God's sake try 
 to sleep." 
 
 *' Merle, do you think I shall get well here?" 
 
 *'Why, don't you feel already how splendid the 
 air is ? Of course you *11 get well. ' ' 
 
 He twined his fingers into hers, and at last the 
 sound of Louise's hymn came to him once more, 
 lifting and rocking him gently till his eyes closed.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 A LITTLE road winds in among tlie woods, two 
 wheel-tracks only, with a carpet of brown pine- 
 needles between; but there are trees and the sky, 
 quiet and peace, so that it's a real blessing to walk 
 there. It rises and falls so gently, that no one 
 need get out of breath ; indeed^ it seems to go along 
 with one all the time, in mere friendliness, whis- 
 pering : * * Take it easy. Take your time. Have a 
 good rest here." And so on it goes, winding in 
 among the tree-trunks, slender and supple as a 
 young girl. 
 
 Peer walked here every day. He would stop and 
 look up into the tops of the fir trees, and walk on 
 again; then sit down for a moment on a mossy 
 stone ; but only for a moment — always he was up 
 again soon and moving on, though he had nowhere 
 to go. But at least there was peace here. He 
 would linger watching an insect as it crept along 
 a fir branch, or listening to the murmur of the 
 river in the valley far below, or breathing in the 
 health-giving scent of the resin, thick in the warm 
 air. 
 
 This present life of his was one way of living. 
 As he lay, after a sleepless night, watching the 
 window grow lighter with the dawn, he would
 
 274s The Great Hunger 
 
 think : Yet another new day — and nothing that I 
 can do in it. 
 
 And yet he had to get np, and dress, and go 
 down and eat. His bread had a slightly bitter 
 taste to him — it tasted of charity and dependence, 
 of the rich widow at Bruseth and the agent for 
 English tweeds. And he must remember to eat 
 slowly, to masticate each mouthful carefully, to 
 rest after meals, and above all not to think — ^not 
 to think of anything in the wide world. After- 
 wards, he could go out and in like other people, 
 only that all his movements and actions were use- 
 less and meaningless in themselves; they were 
 done only for the sake of health, or to keep 
 thoughts away, or to make the time go by. 
 
 How had this come to pass? He found it still 
 impossible to grasp how such senseless things can 
 happen and no Providence interfere to set them 
 right. Why should he have been so suddenly 
 doomed to destruction? Days, weeks and months 
 of his best manhood oozing away into empty noth- 
 ingness — why? Sleeplessness and tortured nerves 
 drove him to do things that his will disowned ; he 
 would storm at his wife and children if a heel so 
 much as scraped on the floor, and the remorse that 
 followed, sometimes ending in childish tears, did 
 10 good, for the next time the same thing, or worse, 
 would happen again. This was the burden of his 
 days. This was the life he was doomed to live. 
 
 But up here on the little forest track he harms 
 no one; and no racking noises come thrusting
 
 The Great Hunger 275 
 
 sharp knives into his spine. Here is a great peace ; 
 a peace that does a man good. Down on the grassy 
 slope below stands a tumble-down grey barn ; it re- 
 minds him of an old worn-out horse, lifting its 
 head from grazing to gaze at you — a lonely for- 
 saken creature it seems — to-morrow it will sink to 
 the ground and rise no more — yet it takes its lot 
 calmly and patiently. 
 
 Ugh! how far he has got from Raastad. A 
 cold sweat breaks out over his body for fear he 
 may not have strength to walk back again uphill. 
 "Well, pull yourself together. Rest a little. And 
 he lies down on his back in a field of clover, and 
 stares up at the sky. 
 
 A stream of clean air, fresh from the snow, flows 
 all day long down the valley; as if Jotunheim it- 
 self, where it lies in there beneath the sky, w^ere 
 breathing in easy well-being. Peer fills his lungs 
 again and again with long deep draughts, drinking 
 in the air like a saving potion. * ' Help me then, oh 
 air, light, solitude ! help me that I may be whole 
 once more and fit to work, for this is the one and 
 only religion left me to cling to." 
 
 High above, over the two mountain ranges, a 
 blue flood stands immovable, and in its depths 
 eternal rest is brooding. But is there a will there 
 too, that is concerned with men on earth? You 
 do not believe in it, and yet a little prayer mounts 
 up to it as well ! Help me — thou too. Who ? Thou 
 that hearest. If Thou care at all for the miserable 
 things called men that crawl upon the earth —
 
 276 The Great Hunger 
 
 help me ! If I once prayed for a great work that 
 could stay my hunger for things eternal, I repent 
 me now and confess that it was pride and vanity. 
 Make me a slave, toiling at servile tasks for food, 
 so that Merle and the children be not taken from 
 me. Hearest Thou? 
 
 Does anyone in heaven find comfort in seeing 
 men tortured by blind fortune? Are my wife and 
 my children slaves of an unmeaning chance — and 
 yet can smile and laugh? Answer me, if Thou 
 hearest — Thou of the many names. 
 
 A grasshopper is shrilling in the grass about 
 him. Suddenly he starts up sitting. A railway- 
 train goes screaming past below. 
 
 And so the days go on. 
 
 Each morning Merle would steal a glance at her 
 husband's face, to see if he had slept; if his eyes 
 were dull, or inflamed, or calm. Surely he must 
 be better soon! Surely their stay here must do 
 him good. She too had lost faith in medicines, 
 but this air, the country life, the solitude — rest, 
 rest — surely there must soon be some sign that 
 these were helping him. 
 
 Many a time she rose in the morning without 
 having closed her eyes all night. But there were 
 the children to look after, the house to see to, and 
 she had made up her mind to get on without a maid 
 if she possibly could. 
 
 "What has taken you over to the farm so much 
 lately?" she asked one day. **You have been sit-
 
 The Great Hunger 277 
 
 ting over there with old Raastad for hours to- 
 gether." 
 
 *'I — I go over to amuse myself and pass the 
 time," he said. 
 
 ''Do you talk politics?" 
 
 "No — we play cards. Why do you look at me 
 like that?" 
 
 "You never cared for cards before." 
 
 "No; but what the devil am I to do? I can't 
 read, because of these cursed eyes of mine — and 
 the hammering in my head. . . . And I've counted 
 all the farms up and down the valley now. There 
 are fifty in all. And on the farm here there are 
 just twenty-one houses, big and little. What the 
 devil am I to take to next?" 
 
 Merle sighed. "It is hard," she said. "But 
 couldn't you wait till the evening to play cards — - 
 till the children are in bed — then I could play with 
 you. That would be better." 
 
 "Thank you very much. But what about the 
 rest of the day? Do you know what it's like to go 
 about from dawn to dark feeling that every minute 
 is wasted, and wasted for nothing? No, you can't 
 know it. What am I to do with myself all through 
 one of these endless, deadly days? Drink myself 
 drunk?" 
 
 "Couldn't you try cutting firewood for a little?" 
 
 "Firewood?" He whistled softly. "Well, 
 that's an idea. Ye — yes. Let's try chopping fire- 
 wood for a change." 
 
 Thud, thud, thud 1
 
 278 The Great Hunger 
 
 But as he straightened his back for a breathing- 
 space, the whirr, whirr of Raastad's mowing ma- 
 chine came to him from the hill-slope near by 
 where it was working, and he clenched his teeth 
 as if they ached. He was driving a mowing ma- 
 chine of his own invention, and it was raining con- 
 tinually, and the grass kept sticking, sticking — 
 and how to put it right — put it right? It was as if 
 blows were falling on festering wounds in his head, 
 making him dance with pain. Thud, thud, thud I 
 — anything to drown the whirr of that machine. 
 
 But a man may use an axe with his hands, and 
 yet have idiotic fancies all the time bubbling and 
 seething in his head. The power to hold in check 
 the vagaries of imagination may be gone. From 
 all sides they come creeping out in swarms, they 
 swoop down on him like birds of prey — as if in 
 revenge for having been driven away so often be- 
 fore — they cry : here we are ! He stood once more 
 as an apprentice in the mechanical works, riveting 
 the plates of a gigantic boiler with a compressed- 
 air tube — cling, clang! The wailing clang of the 
 boiler went out over the whole town. And now 
 that same boiler is set up inside his head — cling- 
 clang — ugh! A cold sweat breaks out upon his 
 body ; he throws down the axe ; he must go — must 
 fly, escape somewhere — where, he cannot tell. 
 Faces that he hates to think of peer out at him 
 from every corner, yapping out: ''Heh! — what 
 did we say? To-day a beggar — to-morrow a mad- 
 man in a cell."
 
 The Great Hunger 279 
 
 But it may happen, too, that help comes in the 
 night. Things come back to a man that it is good 
 to remember. That time — and that other. ... A 
 woman there — and the one you met in such a place. 
 There is a picture in the Louvre, by Veronese : a 
 young Venetian woman steps out upon the marble 
 stairway of a palace holding a golden-haired boy 
 by the hand; she is dressed in black velvet, she 
 glows with youth and happiness. A lovers* meet- 
 ing in her garden? The first kiss ! Moonlight and 
 mandolins 1 
 
 A shudder of pleasure passes through his weary 
 body. Bright recollections and impressions flock 
 towards him like spirits of light — he can hear the 
 rushing sound of their wings — he calls to them for 
 aid, and they encircle him round; they struggle 
 with the spirits of darkness for his soul. He has 
 known much brightness, much beauty in his life — 
 surely the bright angels are the stronger and must 
 conquer. Ah ! why had he not lived royally, amidst 
 women and flowers and wine? 
 
 One morning as he was getting up, he said: 
 "Merle, I must and will hit upon something that'll 
 send me to bed thoroughly tired out.'* 
 
 **Yes dear," she answered. '*Do try." 
 
 **I'll try wheeling stones to begin with," he said. 
 *'The devil's in it if a day at that doesn't make a 
 man sleep." 
 
 So that day and for many days he wheeled 
 stones from some newly broken land on the hillside 
 down to a dyke that ran along the road.
 
 280 The Great Hunger 
 
 Calm, golden autunm days ; one farm above an- 
 other rising up towards the crest of the range, all 
 set in ripe yellow fields. One little cottage standi3 
 right on the crest against the sky itself, and it, 
 too, has its tiny patch of yellow corn. And an 
 eagle sails slowly across the deep valley from peak 
 to peak. 
 
 People passing by stared at Peer as he went 
 about bare-headed, in his shirt-sleeves, wheeling 
 stones. **Aye, gentlefolks have queer notions,'* 
 they would say, shaking their heads. 
 
 "That's it — keep at it," a dry, hacking voice 
 kept going in Peer's head. "It is idiocy, but you 
 are doomed to it. Shove hard with those skinny 
 legs of yours ; many a jade before you has had to 
 do the same. You've got to get some sleep to- 
 night. Only ten months left now; and then we 
 shall have Lucifer turning up at the cross-roads 
 once more. Poor Merle — she 's beginning to grow 
 grey. And the poor little children — dreaming of 
 father beating them, maybe, they cry out so often 
 in their sleep. Off now, trundle away. Now over 
 with that load ; and back for another. 
 
 * ' You, that once looked down on the soulless toil 
 for bread, you have sunk now to something far 
 more miserable. You are dragging at a load of 
 sheer stupidity. You are a galley-slave, with 
 calamity for your task-master. As you move the 
 chains rattle. And that is your day." 
 
 He straightens himself up, wipes the sweat from
 
 The Great Hunger 281 
 
 his forehead, and begins heaving up stones into 
 his barrow again. 
 
 How long must it last, this life in manacles? 
 Do you remember Job? Job? Aye, doubtless 
 Jehovah was sitting at some jovial feast when he 
 conceived that fantasy of a drunken brain, to let 
 Satan loose upon a happy man. Job? His seven 
 sons and daughters, and his cattle, and his calves 
 were restored unto him, but we read nothing of 
 any compensation made him for the jest itself. 
 He was made to play court fool, with his boils 
 and his tortures and his misery, and the gods 
 had their bit of sport gratis. Job had his actuaJ 
 outlay in cattle and offspring refunded, and that 
 was all. Ha-ha ! 
 
 Prometheus! Is it you after all that are the 
 friend of man among the gods ? Have you indeed 
 the power to free us all some day? When will you 
 come, then, to raise the great revolt? 
 
 Come, come — up with the barrow again — you 
 see it is full. 
 
 ** Father, it's dinner-time. Come along home," 
 cries little Louise, racing down the hill with her 
 yellow plaits flying about her ears. But she stops 
 eautiously a little distance off — there is no know- 
 ing what sort of temper father may be in. 
 
 * ' Thanks, little monkey. Got anything good for 
 dinner to-day?" 
 
 *' Aha! that's a secret," said the girl in a teasing 
 '^oice; she was beaming now, with delight at find'
 
 282 The Great Hunger 
 
 ing him approachable. * ' Catch me, father ! I can 
 run quicker than you can ! ' * 
 
 ''I'm afraid I'm too tired just now, my little 
 girl." 
 
 ' ' Oh, poor papa ! are you tired ? ' * And she came 
 up and took him by the hand. Then she slipped 
 her arm into his — it was just as good fun to walk 
 up the hill on her father's arm like a grown-up 
 young lady. 
 
 Then came the frosts. And one morning the 
 hilltops were turned into leaden grey clouds from 
 which the snow came sweeping down. Merle stood 
 at the window, her face grey in the clammy light. 
 She looked down the valley to where the moun- 
 tains closed it in; it seemed still narrower than 
 before; one's breath came heavily, and one's mind 
 seemed stifled under cold damp wrappings. 
 
 Ugh ! Bette .•• go out into the kitchen and set to 
 work again — v ork — ^work and forget. 
 
 Then one (^.ay there came a letter telling her 
 that her mother was dead.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 Deae Klaus Beock, — 
 
 Legendary being! Cast down from Khedivial 
 heights one day and up again on high with Kitch- 
 ener the next. But, in Heaven's name, what has 
 taken you to the Soudan? What made you go and 
 risk your life at Omdurman? The same old des- 
 peration, I suppose, that you're always complain- 
 ing about. And why, of all things, plant yourself 
 away in an outpost on the edge of the wilderness, 
 to lie awake at nights nursing suicidal thoughts 
 over Schopenhauer? You have lived without prin- 
 ciples, you say. And wasted your youth. And are 
 homeless now all round, with no morals, no coun- 
 try, no religicn. But will you make all this better 
 by making things much worse ? 
 
 You've no reason to envy me my country life, 
 by the way, and there's no sense in your going 
 about longing for the little church of your child- 
 hood, with its Moses and hymns and God. Well, 
 longing does no harm, perhaps, but don't ever try 
 to find it. The fact is, old fellow, that such things 
 are not to be found any more. 
 
 I take it that religion had the same power on 
 you in your childhood as it had with me. We were 
 wild young scamps, both of us, but we liked going
 
 284 The Great Hunger 
 
 to church, not for the sake of the sermons, but to 
 bow our heads when the hymn arose and join in 
 singing it. When the waves of the organ-music 
 rolled through the church, it seemed — to me at 
 least — as if something were set swelling in my own 
 soul, bearing me away to lands and kingdoms 
 where all at last was as it should be. And when 
 we went out into the world we went with some echo 
 of the hymn in our hearts, and we might curse 
 Jehovah, but in a comer of our minds the hymn 
 lived on as a craving, a hunger for some world- 
 harmony. All through the busy day we might 
 bear our part in the roaring song of the steel, but 
 in the evenings, on our lonely couch, another power 
 would come forth in our minds, the hunger for the 
 infinite, the longing to be cradled and borne up 
 on the waves of eternity, whose way is past all 
 finding out. 
 
 Never believe, though, that you'll find the church 
 of your childhood now in any of our country 
 places. "We have electric light now everywhere, 
 telephones, separators, labour unions and political 
 meetings, but the church stands empty. I have 
 been there. The organ wails as if it had the tooth- 
 ache, the precentor sneezes out a hymn, the con- 
 gregation does not lift the roof off with its voice, 
 for the very good reason that there is no con- 
 gregation there. And the priest, poor devil, stands 
 up in his pulpit with his black moustache and 
 pince-nez ; he is an ofiScer in the army reserve, and 
 he reads out his highly rational remarks from a
 
 The Great Hunger 285 
 
 manuscript. But his face says all the time — ** You 
 two paupers down there that make up my congre- 
 gation, you don't believe a word I am saying; but 
 never mind, I don't believe it either." It's a 
 tragic business when people have outgrown their 
 own conception of the divine. And we — we are 
 certainly better than Jehovah. The dogma of the 
 atonement, based on original sin and the blood- 
 thirstiness of God, is revolting to us; we shrug 
 our shoulders, and turn away with a smile, or in 
 disgust. We are not angels yet, but we are too 
 good to worship such a God as that. 
 
 There is some excuse for the priest, of course. 
 He must preach of some God. And he has no 
 other. 
 
 Altogether, it's hardly surprising that evea 
 ignorant peasants shake their heads and give the 
 church a wide berth. What do they do on Sun- 
 days, then! My dear fellow, they have no Sunday. 
 They sit nodding their heads over a long table, 
 waiting for the day to pass. They remind one of 
 plough horses, that have filled their bellies, and 
 stand snoring softly, because there's no work to- 
 day. 
 
 The great evolutionary scheme, with its wonderj 
 of steel and miracles of science, goes marching on 
 victoriously, I grant you, changing the face of the 
 world, hurrying its pulse to a more and more 
 feverish beat. But what good will it do the peas- 
 ant to be able to fly through the air on his wheel- 
 barrow, while no temple, no holy day, is left him
 
 286 The Great Hunger 
 
 any more on earth? What errand can he have up 
 among the clouds, while yet no heaven arches 
 above his soul? 
 
 This is the burning question with all of us, with 
 you in the desert as with us up here under the 
 Pole. To me it seems that we need One who will 
 make our religion new — ^not merely a new prophet, 
 but a new God. 
 
 You ask about my health — well, I fancy it's too 
 early yet to speak about it. But so much I will 
 say : If you should ever be in pain and suffering, 
 take it out on yourself — not on others. 
 
 Greetings from us all. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Pbee Dalesman.
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 Christmas was near, the days were all grey twi- 
 light, and there was a frost that set the wall-tim- 
 bers cracking. The children went about blue with 
 cold. When Merle scrubbed the floors, they turned 
 into small skating-rinks, though there might be 
 a big fire in the stove. Peer waded and waded 
 through deep snow to the well for water, and his 
 beard hung like a wreath of icicles about his face. 
 Aye, this was a winter. 
 
 Old Eaastad's two daughters were in the dairy 
 making whey-cheese. The door was flung open, 
 there was a rush of frosty air, and Peer stood 
 there blinking his eyes. 
 '*Huh! what smokers you two are!'* 
 ''Are we now?" And the red-haired one and 
 the fair-haired one both giggled, and they looked 
 at each other and nodded. This queer townsman- 
 lodger of theirs never came near them that he 
 didn't crack jokes. 
 
 "By the way, Else, I dreamed last night that 
 we were going to be married. ' ' 
 Both the girls shrieked with delight at this. 
 ''And Mari, you were married to the bailiff." 
 ' ' Oh my ! That old creature down at Moen ? ' ' 
 ^ ' He was much older. Ninety years old he was. * ' 
 
 287
 
 288 The Great Hunger 
 
 **Uf! — you're always at your nonsense," said 
 the red-haired girl, stirring away at her huge, 
 steaming cauldron. 
 
 Peer went out again. The girls were hardly out 
 of their teens, and yet their faces seemed set 
 already and stiff with earnestness. And whenever 
 Peer had managed to set them laughing unawares, 
 they seemed frightened the next minute at having 
 been betrayed into doing something there was no 
 profit in. 
 
 Peer strode about in the crackling snow with his 
 fur cap drawn down over his ears. Jotunheim it- 
 self lay there up north, breathing an icy-blue cold 
 out over the world. 
 
 And he? Was he to go on like this, growing 
 hunchbacked under a burden that weighed and 
 bowed him down continually I Why the devil could 
 he not shake it off, break away from it, and kick 
 out bravely at his evil fate ? 
 
 "Peer," asked Merle, standing in the kitchen, 
 *'what did you think of giving the children for a 
 Christmas present?" 
 
 "Oh, a palace each, and a horse to ride, of 
 course. When you Ve more money than you know 
 what to do with, the devil take economy. And 
 what about you, my girl? Any objection to a 
 couple of thousand crowns' worth of furs?" 
 
 "No, but seriously. The children haven't any 
 ski — nor a hand-sleigh." 
 
 "Well, have you the money to buy them? I 
 haven't."
 
 The Great Hunger 289 
 
 ** Suppose you tried making them yourself?" 
 
 * * Ski ? ' ' Peer turned over the notion, whistling, 
 ''Well, why not? And a sleigh? We might man- 
 age that. But what about little Asta? — she's too 
 little for that sort of thing. ' ' 
 
 ''She hasn't any bed for her doll." 
 
 Peer whistled again. "There's something in 
 that. That's an idea. I'mnot so handless yet that 
 I couldn't " 
 
 He was soon hard at it. There were tools and a 
 joiner's bench in an outhouse, and there he worked. 
 He grew easily tired; his feet tried constantly to 
 take him to the door, but he forced himself to go 
 on. Is there anything in the notion that a man 
 can get well by simply willing it ? I will, will, will. 
 The thought of others besides himself began to 
 get the upper hand of those bird^ of prey ravening 
 in his head. Presents for the children, presents 
 that father had made himself — the picture made 
 light and warmth in his mind. Drive ahead then. 
 
 When it came to making the iron ribbons for 
 the sleigh runners he had to go across to the 
 smithy; and there stood a cottar at work roughing 
 horseshoes. Red glowing iron once more, and 
 steel. The clang of hammer on anvil seemed to 
 tear his ears ; yet it drew him on too. It was long 
 since last he heard that sound. And there were 
 memories. 
 
 "Want this welded, Jens? Where's the borax? 
 Look here, this is the way of it," 
 
 "Might ha' been bom and bred a smith," said
 
 290 The Great Hunger 
 
 Jens, as he watched the deft and easy hammer- 
 strokes. 
 
 Christmas Eve came, and the grey farm-pony 
 dragged up a big wooden case to the door. Peer 
 opened it and carried in the things — a whole heap 
 of good things for Christmas from the Ringeby 
 relations. 
 
 He bit his lips when he saw all the bags piled up 
 on the kitchen table. There had been a time not 
 long ago when Merle and he had loaded up a sledge 
 at the Loreng storehouse and driven off with 
 Christmas gifts to all the poor folk round. It was 
 part of the season's fun for them. And now — 
 now they must even be glad to receive presents 
 themselves. 
 
 ''Merle — have we nothing we can give away this 
 year?" 
 
 ''I don't know. What do you think?" 
 
 ''A poor man's Christmas it'll be with a ven- 
 geance — if we're only to take presents, and haven't 
 the least little thing to give away." 
 
 Merle sighed. ''We must hope it won't happen 
 to us again," she said. 
 
 "I won't have it happen to us now," he said, 
 pacing up and down. "There's that poor devil of 
 a joiner down at Moen, with consumption. I'm 
 going down there with a bit of a parcel to chuck 
 in at his door, if I have to take your shift and the 
 shirt off my back. You know yourself it won't be 
 any Christmas at all, if we don't do something." 
 
 "Well— if you Uke. I'll see if we can't find
 
 The Great Hunger 291 
 
 something among the children's clothes that they 
 can do without. ' * 
 
 The end of it was that Merle levied toll on all 
 the parcels from home, both rice and raisins and 
 cakes, and made up little packets of them to send 
 round by him. That was Merle's way; let her 
 alone and she would hit upon something. 
 
 The snow creaked and crackled underfoot as 
 Peer went off on his errand. A starry sky and a 
 biting wind, and light upon light from the windows 
 of the farms scattered over the dark hillsides. 
 High above all, against the sky, there was one little 
 gleam that might be a cottage window, or might be 
 a star. 
 
 Peer was flushed and freshened up when he came 
 back into the warmth of the room. And a chorus 
 of joyful shouts was raised when Merle announced 
 to the children: ** Father's going to bath you all 
 to-night.'* 
 
 The sawed-off end of a barrel was the bathing- 
 tub, and Peer stood in the kitchen with his sleeves 
 rolled up, holding the naked little bodies as they 
 sprawled about in the steaming water. 
 
 Mother was busy with something or other in the 
 sitting-room. But it was a great secret, and the 
 children were very mysterious about it. ''No, no, 
 you mustn't go in," they said to little Asta, who 
 went whimpering for her mother to the door. 
 
 And later in the evening, when the Christmas- 
 tree was lit up, and the windows shone white with 
 frost, there were great doings all about the sitting
 
 292 The Great Hunger 
 
 room floor. Louise got her ski on and immediately 
 fell on her face ; Lorentz, astride of the new sleigh, 
 was shouting "Hi, hi! — clear the course there!", 
 and over in a comer sat little Asta, busy putting 
 her baby to bed and singing it to sleep. 
 
 Husband and wife looked at each other and 
 smiled. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" said Merle. 
 
 Slowly, with torturing slowness, the leaden-grey 
 winter days creep by. For two hours in the mid- 
 dle of the day there is pale twilight — for two hours 
 — then darkness again. Through the long nights 
 the north wind howls funeral dirges — hu-u-u-u — 
 and piles up the snow into great drifts across the 
 road, deep enough, almost, to smother a sleigh and 
 its driver. The days and nights come and go, mo- 
 notonous, unchanged ; the same icy grey daylight, 
 and never a human soul to speak to. Across the 
 valley a great solid mountain wall hems you in, 
 and you gaze at it till it nearly drives you mad. 
 If only one could bore a hole through it, and steal 
 a glimpse of the world beyond, or could climb up 
 to the topmost ridge and for a moment look far 
 round to a wide horizon, and breathe freely once 
 more. 
 
 At last one day the grey veil lifts a little. A 
 strip of blue sky appears — and hearts grow lighter 
 at the sight. The snow peaks to the south turn 
 golden. What? Is it actually the sun ? And day 
 by day now a belt of gold grows broader, comes
 
 The Great Hunger 293 
 
 lower and lower on the hillside, till the highest- 
 lying farms are steeped in it and glow red. And 
 at last one day the red flame reaches the Court- 
 house, and shines in across the floor of the room 
 where Merle is sitting by the window patching the 
 seat of a tiny pair of trousers. 
 
 What life and cheer it brings with it! 
 
 "Mother — here's the sun," cries Louise joyfully 
 from the doorway. 
 
 '*Yes, child, Iseeit." 
 
 But Louise has only looked in for a moment to 
 beg some cake for Lorentz and herself, and be off 
 again on her ski to the hill-slopes. "Thank you, 
 mother — you're a darling!" And with a slice in 
 each hand she dashes out, glowing with health and 
 the cold air. 
 
 If only Peer could glow with health again ! But 
 though one day they might persuade themselves 
 that now — now at last he had turned the corner — 
 the next he would be lying tossing about in misery, 
 and it all seemed more hopeless than ever. He 
 had taken to the doctors ' medicines again — arsenic 
 and iron and so forth — and the quiet and fresh air 
 they had prescribed were here in plenty; would 
 nothing do him any good? There were not so 
 many months of their year left now. 
 
 And then? Another winter here? And living 
 on charity — ah me! Merle shook her head and 
 sighed. 
 
 The time had come, too, when Louise should go 
 to school.
 
 294< The Great Hunger 
 
 **Send the children over to me — all three of 
 them, if you like," wrote Aunt Marit from 
 Bruseth. No, thanks; Merle knew what that 
 meant. Aunt Marit wanted to keep them for good. 
 
 Lose her children — give away her children to 
 others? Was the day to come when that burden, 
 too, would be laid upon them ? 
 
 But schooling they must have ; they must learn 
 enough at least to fit them to make a living when 
 they grew up. And if their own parents could 
 not afford them schooling, why — why then perhaps 
 they had no right to keep them? 
 
 Merle sewed and sewed on, lifting her head now 
 and again, so that the sunlight fell on her face. 
 
 How the snow shone — like purple under the red 
 flood of sunlight After all, their troubles seemed 
 a little easier to bear to-day. It was as if some- 
 thing frozen in her heart were beginning to thaw. 
 
 Louise was getting on well with her violin. Per- 
 haps one day the child might go out into the world, 
 ipind win the triumphs that her mother had dreamed 
 of in vain. 
 
 There was a sound of hurried steps in the pas- 
 sage, and she started and sat in suspense. Would 
 he come in raging, or in despair, or had the pains 
 in his head come back? The door opened. 
 
 ** Merle I I have it now. By all the gods, little 
 woman, something's happened at last!" 
 
 Merle half rose from her seat, but sank back 
 again, gazing at his face. 
 
 ''I've got it this time, Merle," he said again.
 
 The Great Hunger 295 
 
 * ' And how on earth I never hit on it before — ^when 
 it's as simple as shelling peas I" 
 
 He was stalking about the room now, with his 
 hands in his pockets, whistling. 
 
 ''But what is it, Peer!" 
 
 ''Why, you see, I was standing there chopping 
 wood. And all the time swarms of mowing ma- 
 chines — nine million of them — were going in my 
 head, all with the grass sticking fast to the shears 
 and clogging them up. I was in a cold sweat — I 
 felt myself going straight to hell — and then, in a 
 flash — a flash of steel — it came to me. It means 
 salvation for us, Merle, salvation. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, do talk so that I can understand a little 
 of what you're saying." 
 
 "Why, don't you see — all that's wanted is a 
 small movable steel brush above the shears, to 
 flick away the grass and keep them clear. Hang 
 it all, a child could see it. By Jove, little woman, 
 it'll soon be changed times with us now." 
 
 Merle laid her work down in her lap and let her 
 hands fall. If this were true ! 
 
 "I'll have the machine up here. Merle. Making 
 the brushes and fixing them on will be no trouble 
 at all — I can do it in a day in the smithy here." 
 
 "What — you had better try! You're just be- 
 ginning to get a little better, and you want to spoil 
 it all again!" 
 
 ' ' I shall never get well, Merle, as long as I have 
 that infernal machine in my head balancing be- 
 tween world-success and fiasco. It presses on my
 
 296 The Great Hunger 
 
 brain like a leaden weight, I shall never have a 
 decent night's sleep till I get rid of it. Oh, my 
 great God — if times were to change some day — 
 even for us! Well! Do you think I wouldn't get 
 well when that day came ! ' ' 
 
 This time she let him take her in his arms. But 
 when he had gone, she sat still, watching the sun 
 sink behind the snow-ranges, till her eyes grew dim 
 and her breath came heavily. 
 
 A week later, when the sun was flaming on the 
 white roofs, the grey pony dragged a huge pack- 
 ing-case up to Raastad. And the same day a noise 
 of hammer and file at work was heard in the 
 smithy. 
 
 "What do a few sleepless nights matter now? 
 And they are sleepless not so much from anxiety 
 — for this time things go well — as because of 
 dreams. And both of them dream. They have 
 bought back Loreng, and they wander about 
 through the great light rooms once more, and all 
 is peace and happiness. All the evil days before 
 are as a nightmare that is past. Once more they 
 will be young, go out on ski together, and dine to- 
 gether after, and drink champagne, and look at 
 each other with love in their eyes. Once more — 
 and many times again. 
 
 ''Good-night, Merle." 
 
 *' Good-night, Peer, and sleep well." 
 
 Day after day the hammering went on in the 
 smithy. 
 
 A few years back he could have finished the
 
 The Great Hunger 297 
 
 whole business in a couple of days. But now, half 
 an hour's work was enough to tire him out. It is 
 exhausting work to concentrate your thoughts 
 upon a single point, when your brain has long been 
 used to play idly with stray fancies as they came. 
 He found, too, that there were defects to be put 
 right in the parts he thought were complete be- 
 fore, and he had no assistants now, no foundry to 
 get castings from, he must forge out each piece 
 with his own hands, and with sorry tools. 
 
 What did it matter? 
 
 He began to discipline his brain, denying him- 
 self every superfluous thought. He drew dark cur- 
 tains across every window in his consciousness, 
 save one — the machine. After half an hour 's work 
 he would go back to bed and rest — just close his 
 eyes, and rest. This too was discipline. Again 
 he flooded all his mind with darkness, darkness, 
 to save his strength for the half -hour of work next 
 day. 
 
 Was Merle fearful and anxious? At all events 
 she said no word about the work that so absorbed 
 him. He was excited enough as it was. And now 
 when he was irritable and angry with the children, 
 she did not even look at him reproachfully. They 
 must bear it, both she and the children — it would 
 soon be all over now. 
 
 In the clear moonlight nights, when the children 
 were in bed, the two would sometimes be seen wan- 
 dering about together. They went with their arms 
 about each other's waists, talking loudly, laughing
 
 298 The Great Hunger 
 
 a great deal, and sometimes singing. People going 
 by on the road would hear the laughter and sing- 
 ing, and think to themselves: It's either someone 
 that's been drinking, or else that couple from the 
 Court-house. 
 The spring drew on and the days grew lighter. 
 
 But at the Hamar Agricultural Exhibition, 
 where the machine was tried, an American com- 
 petitor was found to be just a little better. Every- 
 one thought it a queer business; for even if the 
 idea hadn't been directly stolen from Peer, there 
 could be no doubt that his machine had suggested 
 it. The principles adopted were the same in both 
 cases, but in the American machine there was just 
 enough improvement in carrying them out to make 
 it doubtful whether it would be any use going to 
 law over the patent rights. And besides — it's no 
 light matter for a man with no money at his back 
 to go to law with a rich American firm. 
 
 In the mighty race, with competitors the wide 
 world over, to produce the best machine, Peer had 
 been on the very point of winning. Another man 
 had climbed upon his chariot, and then, at the last 
 moment, jumped a few feet ahead, and had thereby 
 won the prize. 
 
 So that the achievement in itself be good, the 
 'vrorld does notinquire too onriously whether it was 
 Wnestly achieved. 
 
 And there is no use starting a joint-stock com-
 
 The Great Hwnger 299 
 
 pany to exploit a new macliine wlien there is a bet- 
 ter machiiie in the field. 
 
 The steel had seized on Peer, and used him as a 
 springboard. But the reward was destined for 
 another.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 Herb Uthoug juniob, Agent for English tweeds, 
 stepped out of the train one warm day in July, 
 and stood for a moment on the station platform 
 looking about him. Magnificent scenery, certainly. 
 And this beautiful valley was where his sister had 
 been living for more than a year. Splendid air — 
 and yet somehow it didn't seem to have done his 
 brother-in-law much good. Well, well! And the 
 neatly dressed young gentleman set off on foot to- 
 wards Raastad, asking his way from time to time. 
 He wanted to take them by surprise. There had 
 been a family council at Ringeby, and they had 
 agreed that some definite arrangement must be 
 made for the future of the sister and her husband, 
 with whom things had gone so hopelessly wrong. 
 
 As he turned up the by-road that led to the farm, 
 he was aware of a man in his shirt-sleeves, wheel- 
 ing a barrow full of stones. What? He thought — 
 could he be mistaken? No — sure enough it was 
 Peer Holm — Peer Holm, loading up stones and 
 wheeling them down the hill as zealously as if he 
 were paid for every step. 
 
 The Agent was not the man for lamentations or 
 condolences. ''Hullo!" he cried. ''Hard at it, 
 aren^t you? You've taken to farming, I see."
 
 The Great Hunger 301 
 
 Peer stood up straight, wiped his hands on his 
 trousers, and came towards him. *'Good heavens ! 
 how old he has grown ! ' ' thought Uthoug to him- 
 self. But aloud he said, ' ' Well, you do look fit. I 'd 
 hardly have known you again." 
 
 Merle caught sight of the pair from the kitchen 
 
 window. ''Why, I do believe " she exclaimed, 
 
 and came running out. It was so long since she 
 had seen any of her people, that she forgot her 
 dignity and in a moment had her arms round her 
 brother's neck, hugging him. 
 
 No, certainly Uthoug junior had not come with 
 lamentations and condolences. He had a bottle 
 of good wine in his bag, and at supper he filled the 
 glasses and drank with them both, and talked about 
 theatres and variety shows, and gave imitations of 
 well-known actors, till he had set the two poor 
 harassed creatures laughing. They must need a 
 little joy and laughter — ah ! well he knew how they 
 must need it. 
 
 But he knew, too, that Merle and Peer were on 
 tenterhooks waiting to know what the family had 
 decided about their future. The days of their life 
 here had been evil and sad, but they only hoped 
 now that they might be able to stay on. If the help 
 they had received up to now were taken from 
 them, they could neither afford to stay here nor to 
 go elsewhere. What then could they do? No won- 
 der they were anxious as they sat there. 
 
 After supper he went out for a stroll with Peer, 
 while Merle waited at home in suspense. She
 
 302 The Great Hunger 
 
 understood that their fate was being settled as she 
 waited. 
 
 At last they returned — and to her astonishment 
 they came in laughing. 
 
 Her brother said good-night, and kissed her on 
 the forehead, and patted her arm and was kindness 
 itself. She took him up to his room, and would 
 have liked to sit there a while and talk to him; 
 but she knew Peer had waited till they were alone 
 to tell her the news that concerned them so nearly. 
 ** Good-night, then, Carsten," she said to her 
 brother, and went downstairs. 
 
 And then at last she smd Peer were sitting alone 
 together, at her work-table by the window. 
 
 ''Well?" said Merle. 
 
 "The thing is this, Merle. If we have courage 
 i;o live at all, we must look facts in the face as they 
 Are.** 
 
 "Yes, dear, but tell me ..." 
 
 "And the facts are that with my health as it 
 now is I cannot possibly get any employment. It 
 is certain that I cannot. And as that is the case, 
 we may as well be here as anywhere else." 
 
 "But can we stay on here. Peer?" 
 
 "If you can bear to stay with a miserable 
 bungler like me — that, of course, is a question." 
 
 * ' Answer me — can we stay here ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes. But it may be years. Merle, before I'm 
 fit to work again — we've got to reckon with that. 
 And to live on charity year after year is what I 
 'Cannot and will not endure."
 
 The Great Hunger 303 
 
 **But what are we to do, then, Peer? There 
 seems to be no possible way for me to earn any 
 money. * ' 
 
 **I can try, at any rate," he answered, looking 
 out of the window. 
 
 **You? Oh no. Peer. Even if you could get 
 work as a draughtsman, you know quite well that 
 your eyes would never stand ..." 
 
 "I can do blacksmith's work," he said. 
 
 There was a pause. Merle glanced at him in- 
 voluntarily, as if she could hardly believe her ears. 
 Could he be in earnest? Was the engineer of the 
 Nile Barrage to sink into a country blacksmith ? 
 
 She sighed. But she felt she must not dishearten 
 him. And at last she said with an effort: *'It 
 would help to pass the time, I daresay. And per- 
 haps you would get into the way of sleeping bet- 
 ter." She looked out of the window with tightly 
 compressed lips. 
 
 "And if I do that. Merle, we can't stay on in this 
 house. In fact a great box of a place like this is 
 too big for us in any case — when you haven't even 
 a maid to help you. ' ' 
 
 ''But do you know of any smaller house we could 
 take?" 
 
 "Yes, there's a little place for sale, with a rood 
 or two of ground. If we had a cow and a pig. 
 Merle — and a few fowls — and could raise a bushel 
 or two of corn — and if I could earn a few shillings 
 a week in the smithy — we wouldn't come on the 
 parish, at any rate. I could manage the little jobs
 
 304 The Great Hunger 
 
 that I'd get — in fact, pottering about at them 
 would do me good. What do you say I" 
 
 Merle did not answer; her eyes were turned 
 away, gazing fixedly out of the window. 
 
 ''But there's another question — about you, 
 Merle. Are you willing to sink along with me into 
 a life like that? I shall be all right. I lived in 
 just such a place when I was a boy. But you! 
 Honestly, Merle, I don't think I should ask it of 
 you." His voice began to tremble; he pressed 
 his lips together and his eyes avoided her face. 
 
 There was a pause. "How about the money?'* 
 she said, at last. ' ' How will you buy the place ? ' ' 
 
 "Your brother has promised to arrange about a 
 loan. But I say again, Merle — 1 shall not blame 
 you in the least if you would rather go and live 
 with your aunt at Bruseth. I fancy she'd be glad 
 to have you, and the children too." 
 
 Again there was silence for a while. Then she 
 said: "If there are two decent rooms in the cot- 
 tage, we could be comfortable enough. And as you 
 say, it would be easier to look after." 
 
 Peer waited a little. There was something in 
 his throat that prevented speech. He understood 
 now that it was to be taken for granted, without 
 words, that they should not part company. And 
 it took him a little time to get over the discovery. 
 
 Merle sat facing him, but her eyes were turned 
 to the window as before. She had still the same 
 beautiful dark eyebrows, but her face was faded
 
 TJie Great Hunger 305 
 
 and worn, and there were streaks of grey in her 
 hair. 
 
 At last he spoke again. **And about the chil- 
 dren, Merle." 
 
 She started. ''The children — what about 
 thenar* Had it come at last, the thing she had 
 gone in fear of so longf 
 
 *'Aunt Marit has sent word to ask if we will let 
 your brother take Louise over to stay with her." 
 
 **No!" Merle flung out. "No, Peer. Surely 
 you said no at once. Surely you wouldn't let her 
 go. You know what it means, their wanting to 
 have her over there." 
 
 *'I know," he nodded. **But there's another 
 question: in Louise's own interest, have we any 
 right to say no f " 
 
 "Peer," she cried, springing up and wringing 
 her hands, "you mustn't ask it of me. You don't 
 want to do it yourself. Surely we have not come 
 to that — to begin sending — giving away — no, no, 
 no!" she moaned. "Do you hear me, Peerf I 
 cannot do it." 
 
 "As you please, Merle," he said, rising, and 
 forcing himself to speak calmly. "We can think 
 it over, at any rate, till your brother leaves to- 
 morrow. There are two sides to the thing: one 
 way of it may hurt us now; the other way may 
 be a very serious matter for Louise, poor thing.'* 
 
 Next morning, when it was time to wake the 
 children. Peer and Merle went into the nursery 
 together. They stopped by Louise's bed, and stood
 
 806 The Great Hunger 
 
 looking down at her. The child had grown a great 
 deal since they came to Raastad ; she lay now with 
 her nose buried in the pillow and the fair hair bid- 
 ing her cheek. She slept so soundly and securely. 
 This was home to her still; she was safer with 
 father and mother than anywhere else in the 
 world. 
 
 ** Louise," said Merle, shaking her. ''Time to 
 get up, dear.'* 
 
 The child sat up, still half asleep, and looked 
 wonderingly at the two faces. What was it? 
 
 ''Make haste and get dressed," said Peer. 
 * ' Fancy ! You 're going off with Uncle Carsten to- 
 day, to see Aunt Marit at Bruseth. What do you 
 say to that?" 
 
 The little girl was wide awake in a moment, and 
 hopped out of bed at once to begin dressing. But 
 there was something in her parents' faces which 
 a little subdued her joy. 
 
 That morning there was much whispering among 
 the children. The two youngest looked with won- 
 dering eyes at their elder sister, who was going 
 away. Little Lorentz gave her his horse as a keep- 
 sake, and Asta gave her youngest doll. And Merle 
 went about trying to make believe that Louise was 
 only going on a short visit, and would soon be 
 coming back. 
 
 By dinner-time they had packed a little trunk, 
 and Louise, in her best dress, was rushing about 
 saying goodbye all round the farm, the harvesters, 
 whom she had helped to drive in the hay, coming in
 
 The Great Hunger 307 
 
 for a specially affectionate farewell. Her last visit 
 was to Musin, the grey horse, that was grazing 
 tethered behind the smithy. Musin was busy crop- 
 ping the turf, but he just lifted his head and looked 
 at her — she plucked a handful of grass, and offered 
 it, and when he had disposed of that, she patted 
 his muzzle, and he let her cling round his neck for 
 a moment. 
 
 ''I'll be sure to write, *' she cried out to no one 
 in particular, as she went back over the courtyard 
 again. 
 
 The train moved out of the station, taking with 
 it Uthoug junior and Louise, each waving from 
 one of the windows of the compartment. 
 
 And Peer and Merle were left on the platform^ 
 holding their two youngest children by the hand. 
 They could still see a small hand with a white 
 handkerchief waving from the carriage window. 
 Then the last carriage disappeared into the cut- 
 ting, and the smoke and the rumble of the train 
 were all that was left. 
 
 The four that were left behind stood still for a 
 little while, but they seemed to have moved un- 
 consciously closer together than before.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 Some way up from the high-road there stands a 
 little one-storeyed house with three small win- 
 dows in a row, a cowshed on one side of it and a 
 smithy on the other. When smoke rises from the 
 smithy, the neighbours say : ' ' The engineer must 
 be a bit better to-day, since he's at it in the smithy 
 again. If there's anything you want done, you'd 
 better take it to him. He doesn't charge any more 
 than Jens up at Lia. ' ' 
 
 Merle and Peer had been living here a couple of 
 years. Their lives had gone on together, but there 
 had come to be this difference between them: 
 Merle still looked constantly at her husband's face, 
 always hoping that he would get better, while he 
 himself had no longer any hope. Even when the 
 thump, thumping in his head was quiet for a time, 
 there was generally some trouble somewhere to 
 keep him on the rack, only he did not talk about it 
 any more. He looked at his wife's face, and 
 thought to himself: ''She is changing more and 
 more ; and it is you that are to blame. You have 
 poured out your own misery on her day and night. 
 It is time now you tried to make some amends.'* 
 So had begun a struggle to keep silence, to endure, 
 if possible to laugh, even when he could have found 
 
 -to8
 
 The Great Hunger 309 
 
 it in his heart to weep. It was difficult enough, 
 especially at first, but each victory gained brought 
 with it a certain satisfaction which strengthened 
 him to take up the struggle again. 
 
 In this way, too, he learned to look on his fate 
 more calmly. His humour grew lighter; it was 
 as if he drew himself up and looked misfortune in 
 the eyes, saying: *'Yes, I know I am defence- 
 less, and you can plunge me deeper and deeper 
 yet ; but for all that, if I choose to laugh you can- 
 not hinder me. ^' 
 
 How much easier all things seemed, now that he 
 looked no longer for any good to come to him, and 
 urged no claims against anyone either in heaven 
 or on earth. But when he was tired out with his 
 work at the forge, there was a satisfaction in say- 
 ing to his wife: ''No, Merle, didn't I tell you I 
 wouldn't have you carrying the water up? Give 
 me the bucket. " * * You ? — you look fit for it, don 't 
 you?" ''Hang it all, am I a man, or am I not? 
 Get back to your kitchen — that's the place for a 
 woman. " So he carried water, and his mood was 
 the brighter for it, though he might feel at times 
 as if his back were breaking. And sometimes, 
 "I'm feeling lazy, to-day. Merle," he would say. 
 "If you don't mind I'll stay in bed a bit longer." 
 And she understood. She knew from experience 
 that these were the days when his nightmare head- 
 ache was upon him, and that it was to spare her 
 he called it laziness. 
 
 They had a cow now, and a pig and some fowls.
 
 510 The Great Hunger 
 
 It was not exactly on the same scale as at Loreng, 
 but it had the advantage that he could manage it 
 all himself. Last year they had raised so many 
 potatoes that they had been able to sell a few 
 bushels. They did not buy eggs any more — they 
 sold them. Peer carried them down himself to 
 the local dealer, sold them at market price, and 
 bought things they might need with the money. 
 Why not? Merle did not think it beneath her to 
 wash and scrub and do the cooking. Time enough, 
 things had been different with them once, but it 
 was only Merle now who ever had moments of 
 dreaming that the old days might come back. 
 Otherwise, for both him and her it was as if they 
 had been washed ashore on a barren coast, and 
 must try to live through the grey days as best 
 they could. 
 
 It would happen once in a while that a mowing 
 machine of the new American type would be sent 
 in by some farmer to the smithy for repairs. 
 When this happened. Peer would shut his lips 
 close, with a queer expression, look at the machine 
 for a moment, and swallow something in his throat. 
 The man who had stolen this thing from him and 
 bettered it by a hairsbreadth was doubtless a mil- 
 lionaire by now on the strength of it. 
 
 It cost him something of an effort to take these 
 repairs in hand, but he bowed his head and set to. 
 Merle, poor girl, needed a pair of shoes. 
 
 At times, too, he would turn from the anvil and 
 ihe darkness within and come out into the doorway
 
 The Great Hunger 311 
 
 for a breath of air; and here he would look out 
 upon the day— the great broad empty day. 
 
 A man with a sledge-hammer in his hands in- 
 stinctively looks up at the heavens. He has in- 
 herited that instinct from his great ancestor, who 
 brought down fire and thought to men, and taught 
 them to rebel against God. 
 
 Peer looked at the sky, and at the clouds, sweep- 
 ing across it in a meaningless turmoil. Rebellion 
 against someone up there ? But heaven is empty. 
 There is no one to rebel against. 
 
 But then all the injustice, the manifold iniquity I 
 Who is to sit in judgment on it at the great day? 
 
 Who? No one. 
 
 What? Think of the millions of all kinds of 
 martyrs, who died under the bloodiest torments, 
 yet innocent as babes at the breast — is there to be 
 no day of reparation for them? 
 
 None. 
 
 But there must be a whole world-full of victims 
 of injustice, whose souls flit restlessly around, be- 
 cause they died under a weight of undeserved 
 shame — ^because they lost a battle in which the 
 right was theirs — ^because they suffered and strove 
 for truth, but went down because falsehood was 
 the stronger. Truth? Eight? Is there no one, 
 then, who will one day give peace to the dead in 
 their graves and set things in their right places? 
 Is there no one? 
 
 No one.
 
 812 The Great Hunger 
 
 The world rolls on its way. Fate is blind, and 
 God smiles while Satan works his will npon Job. 
 
 Hold your peace and grip your sledge-hammer, 
 idiot. If ever your conscience should embrace the 
 universe, that day the horror of it would strike you 
 dead. Eemember that you are a vertebrate ani- 
 mal, and it is by mistake that you have developed 
 a soul. 
 
 Cling, clang. The red sparks fly from the anvil. 
 Live out your life as it is. 
 
 But there began to dawn in him a strange long- 
 ing to be united to all those unfortunates whom 
 fate had blindly crushed ; to gather them together, 
 not to a common lamentation, but to a common vic- 
 tory. Not for vengeance, but for a song of praise. 
 Behold, Thou eternal Omnipotence, how we requite 
 Thy cruelty — we praise life : see how much more 
 godlike we are than Thou. 
 
 A temple, a temple for the modem spirit of 
 man, hungry for eternity — ^not for the babbling of 
 prayers, but for a hymn from man's munificent 
 heart sent pealing up to heaven. Will it come — 
 will it one day be built? 
 
 One evening Peer came home from the post-of- 
 fice apparently in high spirits. *'Hi, Merle, I've 
 got a letter from the Bruseth lady." 
 
 Merle glanced at Lorentz, who had instinctively 
 come close to her, and was looking at his father. 
 
 ''From Bruseth? How is Louise getting on?" 
 she asked.
 
 The Great Hunger 313 
 
 **You can see for yonrself. Here's the letter,'* 
 said he. 
 
 Merle read it through hurriedly, and glanced at 
 Lorentz once more. 
 
 That evening, after the children had gone to 
 bed, the father and mother sat up talking together 
 in a low voice. 
 
 And Merle had to admit that her husband was 
 right. It would be selfish of them to keep the boy 
 here, when he might be heir to Bruseth some day 
 if they let him go. 
 
 Suppose he stayed and worked here under his 
 father and learned to be a smith? The black- 
 smith's day is over — factories do all the work now. 
 
 And what schooling could he get away here in 
 the country? Aunt Marit offered to send him to 
 a good school. — And so the die was cast for him 
 too. 
 
 But when they went with the boy to see him off 
 at the station, the mother's handkerchief was at 
 her eyes all the time, do what she would. 
 
 And when they came home she had to lie do^vm 
 in bed, while Peer went about the place, humming 
 to himself, while he got ready a little supper and 
 brought it to her bedside. 
 
 **I can't understand how you can take it so 
 easily," she burst out. 
 
 * ' No — no, ' ' he laughed a little oddly. * ' The less 
 said about that the better, perhaps." 
 
 But the next day it was Peer who said he felt
 
 314 The Great Hunger 
 
 lazy again and wonld lie still a Lit. Merle looked 
 at him and stroked his forehead. 
 
 And the time went on. They worked hard and 
 constantly to make both ends meet without help, 
 and they were content to take things as they came. 
 When the big dairy was started close by, he made 
 a good deal of money setting up the plant, but 
 he was not above sharpening a drill for the road- 
 gangs either. He was often to be seen going down 
 to the country store in a sleeved waistcoat with a 
 knapsack on his back. He carried his head high, 
 the close-trimmed beard was shading over into 
 white, his face often had the strained look that 
 comes from sleeplessness, but his step was light, 
 and he still had a joke for the girls whom he met. 
 
 In summer, the neighbours would often see them 
 shutting up the house and starting off up the hill 
 with knapsack and coffee-kettle and with little 
 Asta trotting between them. They were gone, it 
 might be, to try and recapture some memory of 
 old days, with coffee in the open air by a picnic 
 fire. 
 
 In the autumn, when the great fields yellowed all 
 the hillsides, Peer and Merle had a little plot of 
 their own that showed golden too. The dimensions 
 of things had shrunk not a little for these two. A 
 bushel of corn was much to them now. It hit them 
 hard if their potato-patch yielded a couple of meas- 
 ures less than they had reckoned on. But the 
 housewives from the farms near by would often 
 look in on Merle to see how bright and clean she
 
 The Great Himger 315 
 
 kept her little house ; and now that she had no one- 
 to help her, she found time herself to teach the 
 peasant girls something of cooking and sewing. 
 
 But one habit had grown upon her. She would 
 stand long and long by the window looking down 
 the valley to where the hills closed it in. It was 
 as if she were looking constantly for something 
 to come in sight, something that should bring them 
 better days. It was a kind of Sunday for her to 
 stand there and look and wait. 
 
 And the time went on.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 Beae Klaus Brock, 
 
 I write to tell you of what has lately happened 
 to us here, chiefly in the hope that it may be some 
 comfort to yourself. For I have discovered, dear 
 friend, that this world-sorrow of ours is something 
 a man can get over, if only he will learn to see with 
 his own eyes and not with those of others. 
 
 Most men would say things have steadily gone 
 from bad to worse with me, and certainly I shall 
 not pretend to feel any love for suffering in itself. 
 On the contrary, it hurts. It does not ennoble. It 
 rather brutalises, unless it becomes so great that 
 it embraces all things. I was once Engineer in 
 charge at the First Cataract — now I am a black- 
 smith in a country parish. And that hurts. I am 
 cut off from reading because of my eyes, and from 
 intercourse with people whose society would be a 
 pleasure because there are no such people here. 
 All this hurts, even when you've grown used to it 
 — a good thing in itself it is not. Many times I 
 have thought that we must have reached the very 
 bottom of the inclined plane of adversity, but al- 
 ways it proved to be only a break. The deepest 
 deep was still to come. You work on even when 
 your head feels like to split; you save up every 
 
 316
 
 The Great Hunger 317 
 
 pin, every match ; and yet the bread you eat often 
 tastes of charity. That hurts. You give up hop- 
 ing that things may be better some day ; you give 
 up all hope, all dreams, all faith, all illusions — 
 surely you have come to the end of al' things. But 
 no ; the very roots of one 's being are still left ; the 
 most precious thing of all is still left. "What can 
 that be, you ask? 
 
 That is what I was going to tell you. 
 
 The thing that happened came just when things 
 were beginning to look a little brighter for us. 
 For some time past my head had been less trouble- 
 some, and I had got to work on a new harrow — 
 steel again; it never lets one rest — and you know 
 what endless possibilities a man sees in a thing 
 like that. Merle was working with fresh courage. 
 What do you think of a wife like that? taking up 
 the cross of her own free will, to go on sharing the 
 life of a ruined man? I hope you may meet a 
 woman of her sort one day. True, her hair is 
 growing grey, and her face lined. Her figure is 
 not so straight as once it was ; her hands are red 
 and broken. And yet all this has a soul of its own, 
 a beauty of its own, in my eyes, because I know 
 that each wrinkle is a mark left by the time when 
 some new trouble came upon us, and found us to- 
 gether. Then one day she smiles, and her smile 
 has grown strained and full of sadness, but again 
 it brings back to me times when both heaven and 
 earth breathed cold upon us and we drew closer 
 "to each other for warmth. Our happiness and our
 
 318 The Great Hunger 
 
 sufferings have moulded her into what she now is. 
 The world may think perhaps that she is growing 
 old ; to me she is only more beautiful than before. 
 And now I am coming to what I was going to 
 tell you. Yoi" will understand that it was not easy 
 to send away the two children, and it doesn't make 
 things better to get letters from them constantly 
 begging us to let them come home again. But we 
 had still one little girl left, little Asta, who was 
 just five. I wish you could have seen her. If you 
 were a father and your tortured nerves had often 
 made you harsh and unreasonable with the two 
 elder ones, you would try — would you not? — to 
 make it up in loving-kindness to the one that was 
 left. Asta — isli't it pretty? Imagine a sunburnt 
 little being with black hair, and her mother's beau- 
 tiful eyebrows, always busy with her dolls, or 
 fetching in wood, or baking little cakes of her own 
 for father when mother's baking bread for us all, 
 chattering to the birds on the roof, or singing 
 now and then, just because some stray note of 
 music has come into her head. When mother is 
 busy scrubbing the floor, little Asta must needs 
 get hold of a wet rag behind her back and slop 
 away at a chair, until she has got herself in a 
 terrible mess, and then she gets smacked, and 
 screams for a moment, but soon runs out and sings 
 herself happy again. When you're at work in the 
 smithy, there comes a sound of little feet, and 
 "Father, come to dinner"; and a little hand takes 
 hold of you and leads you to the door. "Are you
 
 The Great Hunger 319 
 
 going to bath me to-night, father?" Or "Here's 
 your napkin, father." And though there might 
 be only potatoes and milk for dinner, she would 
 eat as if she were seated at the grandest banquet. 
 "Aren't potatoes and milk your favourite dish, 
 father ? ' ' And she makes faces at you in the eager- 
 ness of her questionings. At night she slept in a 
 box at the foot of our bed, and when I was lying 
 sleepless, it would often happen that her light, 
 peaceful breathing filled me too with peace; and 
 it was as if her little hand took mine and led me 
 on to sleep itself, to beautiful, divine sleep. 
 
 And now, as I come to the thing that happened, 
 I find it a little hard to write — my hand begins to 
 tremble. But my hope is that there may be some 
 comfort in it for you too, as there has proved to 
 be for Merle and me in the end. 
 
 Our next neighbours here were a brazier and 
 his wife — poor folks, like ourselves. Soon after 
 we first came I went over to have a talk with him. 
 I found him a poor wizened little creature, potter- 
 ing about with his acids, and making a living as 
 best as he could, soldering and tinning kettles and 
 pans. "What do you want?" he asked, looking 
 askance at me ; and as I went out, I heard him bolt 
 the door behind me. Alas ! he was afraid — afraid 
 that I was come to snatch his daily bread from 
 him. His wife was a big-boned fleshy lump of a 
 woman, insolent enough in her ways, though she 
 had just been in prison for criminal abetment in 
 the case of a girl that had g:ot into trouble.
 
 320 The Great Hunger 
 
 One Sunday morning I was standing looking at 
 some apple trees in bloom in his garden. One of 
 them grew so close to the fence that the branches 
 hung over on my side, and I bent one down to smell 
 the blossom. Then suddenly I heard a cry : ''Hi, 
 Tiger! catch him!" and the brazier's great wolf- 
 dog came bounding down, ready to fly at my throat. 
 I was lucky enough to get hold of its collar before 
 it could do me any harm, and I dragged it up to 
 its owner, and told him that if anything of the 
 sort happened again I'd have the sheriff's ofificer 
 after him. Then the music began. He fairly let 
 himself go and told me what he thought of me. 
 "You hold your jaw, you cursed pauper, coming 
 here taking the bread out of honest working peo- 
 ple's mouths," and so on. He hissed it out, 
 flourishing his arms about, and at last it seemed to 
 me he was fumbling about for a knife or something 
 to throw at my head. I couldn't help laughing. 
 It was a scene in the grand style between two 
 Great Powers in the world-competition. 
 
 A couple of days later I was standing at the 
 forge, when I heard a shriek from my wife. I 
 rushed out — what could be the matter? Merle was 
 down by the fence already, and all at once I saw 
 what it was — there was Asta, lying on the ground 
 under the body of a great beast. 
 
 And then Well, Merle tells me it was I that 
 
 tore the thing away from the little bundle of 
 clothes beneath it, and carried our little girl home. 
 
 A doctor is often a good refuge in trouble, but
 
 The Great Hunger 321 
 
 though he may sew up a ragged tear in a child's 
 throat ever so neatly, it doesn't necessarily follow- 
 that it will help much. 
 
 There was a mother, though, that would not let 
 him go — that cried and prayed and clung about 
 him, begging him to try once more if nothing could 
 be done. And when at last he was gone, she was 
 always for going after him again, and grovelled on 
 the floor and tore her hair — could not, would not, 
 believe what she knew was true. 
 
 And that night a father and mother sat up to- 
 gether, staring strangely in front of them. The 
 mother was quiet now. The child was laid out, 
 decked and ready. The father sat by the window, 
 looking out. It was in May, and the night was 
 grey. 
 
 Now it was that I began to realise how every 
 great sorrow leads us farther and farther out on 
 the promontory of existence. I had come to the 
 outermost point now — there was no more. 
 
 And I discovered too, dear friend, that these 
 many years of adversity had shaped me not in 
 one but in various moulds, for I had in me the stuff 
 for several quite distinct persons, and now the 
 work was done, and they could break free from 
 my being and go their several ways. 
 
 I saw a man rush out into the night, shaking his 
 fist at heaven and earth; a madman who refused 
 to play his part in the farce any more, and so 
 rushed down towards the river. 
 
 But I myself sat there still.
 
 322 The Great Hunger 
 
 And I saw another, a puny creature, let loose ; a 
 humble, ashen-grey ascetic, that bent his head and 
 bowed under the lash, and said: ''Thy will be 
 done. The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken 
 
 away " A pitiful being this, that stole out into 
 
 the night and disappeared. 
 
 But I myself sat there still. 
 
 I sat alone on the promontory of existence, with 
 the sun and the stars gone out, and ice-cold empti- 
 ness above me, about me, and in me, on every side. 
 
 But then, my friend, by degrees it dawned on 
 me that there was still something left. There was 
 one little indomitable spark in me, that began to 
 glow all by itself — it was as if I were lifted back 
 to the first day of existence, and an eternal will 
 rose up in me, and said : Let there be light ! 
 
 This will it was that by and by grew and grew 
 in me, and made me strong. 
 
 I began to feel an unspeakable compassion for 
 all men upon earth, and yet in the last resort I 
 was proud that I was one of them. 
 
 I understood how blind fate can strip and plun- 
 der us of all, and yet something will remain in us 
 at the last, that nothing in heaven or earth can 
 vanquish. Our bodies are doomed to die, and our 
 spirit to be extinguished, yet still we bear within 
 us the spark, the germ of an eternity of harmony 
 and light both for the world and for God. 
 
 And I knew now that what I had hungered after 
 in my best years was neither knowledge, nor 
 honour, nor riches; nor to be a priest or a great
 
 The Great Hunger 323 
 
 creator in steel; no, friend, but to build temples; 
 not chapels for prayers or churches for wailing 
 penitent sinners, but a temple for the human spirit 
 in its grandeur, where we could lift up our souls 
 in an anthem as a gift to heaven. 
 
 I could never do this now. Perhaps there was 
 nothing that I could do any more. And yet it 
 seemed to me as I sat there that I had conquered. 
 
 What happened then? Well, there had been a 
 terrible drought all that spring — it is often so in 
 this valley. The eternal north wind sent the dry 
 mould sweeping in clouds over the whole country- 
 side, and we were threatened with one of our worst 
 years of scarcity if the rain didn 't come. 
 
 At last people ventured to sow their com, but 
 then the frosts set in, and snow and sleet, and the 
 seed froze in the earth. My neighbour the brazier 
 had his patch of ground sown with barley — but 
 now he would have to sow it again, and where was 
 he to get the seed? He went from farm to farm 
 begging for some, but people hated the sight of 
 him after what had happened about Asta — no one 
 would lend him any, and he had no money to buy. 
 The boys on the roads hooted after him, and some 
 of the neighbours talked of driving him out of the 
 parish. 
 
 I wasn 't able to sleep much the next night either, 
 and when the clock struck two I got up. "Where 
 are you going?" asked Merle. "I want to see if 
 we haven't a half -bushel of barley left," I said. 
 "Barley — what do you want with barley in the
 
 324 The Great Hunger 
 
 middle of the night T * * * I want to sow the brazier 's 
 plot with it," I said, *'and it's best to do it now, 
 so that nobody will know it was me." 
 
 She sat up and stared at me. **Whatl His — 
 the — the brazier 's ? " 
 
 **Yes," said I. **It won't do us any good, you 
 know, to see his bit of field lying bare all summer." 
 
 "Peer — where are you going?" 
 
 "I've told you," said I, and went out. But I 
 knew that she was dressing and meant to come 
 too. 
 
 It had rained during the night, and as I came 
 out the air was soft and easy to breathe. The 
 morning still lay in a grey half-light with yellow 
 gleams from the wind-clouds to the north. The 
 scent of the budding birches was in the air, the 
 magpies and starlings were up and about, but not 
 a human soul was to be seen; the farms were 
 asleep, the whole countryside was asleep. 
 
 I took the grain in a basket, climbed over the 
 neighbour's fence and began to sow. No sign of 
 life in the house; the sheriff's officer had come 
 over and shot the dog the day before ; no doubt the 
 orazier and his wife were lying sleeping, dreaming 
 maybe of enemies all around, trying their best to 
 do them harm. 
 
 Dear friend, is there any need to tell the rest? 
 Just think, though, how one man may give away 
 a kingdom, and it costs him nothing, and another 
 may give up a few handfuls of corn, and it means 
 to him not only all that he has, but a world of
 
 The Great Hunger 325 
 
 struggle and passion before he can bring his soul 
 to make that gift. Do you think that is nothing! 
 As for me — i did not do this for Christ's sake, or 
 because I loved my enemy; but because, standing 
 upon the ruins of my life, I felt a vast responsibil- 
 ity. Mankind must arise, and be better than the 
 blind powers that order its ways ; in the midst of 
 its sorrows it must take heed that the god-like 
 does not die. The spark of eternity was once 
 more aglow in me, and said: Let there be light. 
 
 And more and more it came home to me that it 
 is man himself that must create the divine in 
 heaven and on earth — that that is his triumph over 
 the dead omnipotence of the universe. Therefore 
 I went out and sowed the corn in my enemy's field, 
 that God might exist. 
 
 Ah, if you had known that moment ! It was as 
 if the air about me grew alive with voices. It 
 was as though all the unfortunates I had seen and 
 known were bearing me company ; more and more 
 they came; the dead too were joined to us, an 
 army from times past and long ago. Sister Louise 
 was there, she played her hymn, and drew the 
 voices all together into a choir, the choir of the 
 living and the dead, the choir of all mankind. See, 
 here are we all, your sisters and brothers. Your 
 fate is ours. We are flung by the indifferent law 
 of the universe into a life that we cannot order 
 as we would ; we are ravaged by injustice, by sick- 
 ness and sorrow, by fire and blood. Even the hap- 
 piest must die. In his own home he is but on a
 
 326 The Great Hunger 
 
 visit. He never knows but that he may be gone to- 
 morrow. And yet man smiles and laughs in the 
 face of his tragic fate. In the midst of his thral- 
 dom he has created the beautiful on earth ; in the 
 midst of his torments he has had so much surplus 
 energy of soul that he has sent it radiating forth 
 into the cold deeps of space and warmed them with 
 God. 
 
 So marvellous art thou, spirit of man! So 
 godlike in thy very nature ! Thou dost reap death, 
 and in return thou sowest the dream of everlasting 
 life. In revenge for thine evil fate thou dost fill 
 the universe with an all-loving God. 
 
 We bore our part in his creation, all we who 
 now are dust; we who sank down into the dark 
 like flames gone out ; — ^we wept, we exulted, we felt 
 the ecstasy and the agony, but each of us brought 
 our ray to the mighty sea of light, each of us, from 
 the negro setting up the first mark above the grave 
 of his dead to the genius raising the pillars of 
 a temple towards heaven. "We bore our part, from 
 the poor mother praying beside a cradle, to the 
 hosts that lifted their songs of praise high up into 
 boundless space. 
 
 Honour to thee, spirit of man. Thou givest a 
 soul to the world, thou settest it a goal, thou art 
 the hymn that lifts it into harmony ; therefore turn 
 back into thyself, lift high thy head and meet 
 proudly the evil that comes to thee. Adversity 
 can crush thee, death can blot thee out, yet art 
 thou still unconquerable and eternal.
 
 The Great Hunger 327 
 
 Dear friend, it was thus I felt. And when the 
 com was sown, and I went back, the sun was glanc- 
 ing over the shoulder of the hill. There by the 
 fence stood Merle, looking at me. She had drawn 
 a kerchief forward over her brow, after the fash- 
 ion of the peasant women, so that her face was in 
 shadow; but she smiled to me — as if she, too, the 
 stricken mother, had risen up from the ocean of 
 her suffering that here, in the daybreak, she might 
 take her share in the creating of God. . . . 
 
 THB END
 
 TRANSLATOR'S NOTE 
 
 Peonunciation" of Peoper Names 
 
 Foe the convenience of readers a few points in 
 which Norwegian pronunciation differs from Eng- 
 lish are noted below: 
 
 The vowels a, e, and i in the middle of words 
 are pronounced much as in Italian. 
 
 aa = long o, as in **post" or **pole." 
 
 e final is sounded, as in German; thus Louise, 
 Merle, etc. 
 
 d final is nearly always elided; thus Raastad 
 = R5sta*. 
 
 g before e or i is hard; thus Ringeby, not 
 Rinjeby. 
 
 j = the English 2/; thus Bojer = Boyer, Jens = 
 Yens. 
 
 I before another consonant is sounded; thus 
 HoZm, not Home. 
 
 Cueeency 
 
 The unit of currency in Norway is the crown 
 (krone), which in normal conditions is worth 
 something over thirteen pence, so that about eight- 
 een crowns go to the pound sterling. Thus Peer 
 Holm's fortune in the Savings Bank represented 
 about £100 in English money, and a million crowns 
 is equivalent to about $260,000 in American 
 money. 
 
 To avoid encumbering the reader unnecessarily 
 with the details of Norwegian currency, small 
 amounts have been represented in this translation 
 by their equivalents in English money. 
 
 828
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRtNTEO IN U a A