Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [127]
Nagel covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, swaying his head back and forth as if his thoughts were in a whirl. He was standing in the middle of the room.
What was I just thinking about? ... All right, she’s afraid of me, but we are in agreement. And I feel in my heart that I’ll always be good to her. I shall break with the world, I’ll return the ring; I’ve been romping like a fool among other fools, committing crazy pranks, even playing the violin, and the people shouted: well roared, lion! I’m nauseated by the unspeakably crude triumph of hearing the carnivores applauding, I refuse to compete any longer with a telegraph operator from Kabelvåg; I shall go to the valley of peace and be the most peaceable creature in the woods, worshiping my god, humming happy songs, turning superstitious, shaving only at flood tide, and noting the cries of certain birds before I sow my grain. And when I’m tired from work, my wife will wave to me from the doorway, and I’ll give her my blessing and thank her for all her endearing smiles.... Martha, we did agree, didn’t we? Your promise was so definite; when I explained it all to you, you wanted it yourself at the end, didn’t you? And yet nothing came of the whole thing. You were abducted, caught off guard and abducted, not to your ruin but to mine....
Dagny, I do not love you, you have blocked me everywhere; I do not love your name, it exasperates me and I sneer at it, calling you Dangni and sticking out my tongue. Listen to me, for Christ’s sake! I’ll come to you at the stroke of the hour, when I’m dead; I’ll show myself to you on the fire wall with the face of the jack of clubs, and I’ll haunt you as a skeleton, dance around you on one leg, and paralyze your arms by my touch. I’ll do it, I’ll do it! God save me from you henceforth and always—I swear it by holy hell, that’s how fervently I pray for it....
And so what? For the seventh and last time, so what? I love you all the same, and you know very well, Dagny, that I love you all the same and that I regret my bitter words. But so what? What good does it do me? And besides, who knows whether it isn’t better this way? If you say it is, then in fact it is so; I feel the same as you, I’m a wanderer brought to a halt. But suppose you had gone along, that you had broken with everyone else and committed yourself to me—which I didn’t deserve, but let’s suppose it anyway—what would it have led to? At most you would have wanted to help me perform my tasks, fulfill my mission in the world. I tell you, it makes me feel ashamed, my heart stops with shame at the thought. I would do as you wished because I loved you, but it would make my soul suffer.... But what on earth is the use of supposing one thing after another, of setting up these impossible points of departure? You refused to break with everybody and commit yourself to me—you decline with thanks, laugh me to scorn, mock me; so what have I to do with you? Period.
Pause. Then, vehemently: For the rest, let me say that I’m drinking this good glass of water and telling you to go straight to hell! It is unspeakably stupid of you to think I love you, that I really should want to bother with that now, when the fullness of time is so near. I loathe your whole taxpayer’s existence, dolled up, groomed, and inane as it is. I loathe it, God knows I do, and I feel indignation rising within me like a rushing mighty wind of the Holy Spirit when I think of you. What would you have turned me into? Heh-heh, I bet you’d have turned me into a great man. Heh-heh, go and show thyself to the priests! In my heart I’m ashamed of your great men.
A great man! How many great men are there in the world? First, there are the great men in Norway, they are the greatest. Then there are the great men in France, in the land of Hugo and the poets. Next come