Growth of the Soil - Knut Hamsun
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Ay, it looked as if things were going to be on a grander scale all
round. Here was a young foreman or manager in charge of the carting
work; a lordly young spark he was, and grumbled at not getting horses
enough, for all that there were not so many loads to come.
"But there can't be so much more to come now, with the houses all up,"
they said.
"Ho, and what about the goods?" he answered.
Sivert from Sellanraa came clattering up homeward, empty as usual, and
the foreman called to him: "Hi, what are you coming up empty for? Why
didn't you bring up a load for us here?"
"Why, I might have," said Sivert. "But I'd no knowledge of it."
"He's from Sellanraa; they've two horses there," some one whispered.
"What's that? You've got two horses?" says the foreman. "Bring them
down, then, the pair of them, to help with the cartage here. We'll pay
you well."
"Why," says Sivert, "that's none so bad, dare say. But we're pressed
just now, and can't spare the time."
"What? Can't spare the time to make money!" says the foreman.
But they had not always time at Sellanraa, there was much to do on the
place. They had hired men to help--the first time such a thing had
ever been done at Sellanraa--two stoneworkers from the Swedish side,
to get out stone for a new cowshed.
This had been Isak's great idea for years past, to build a proper
cowshed. The turf hut where the cattle were housed at present was too
small, and out of repair; he would have a stone-built shed with double
walls and a proper dung-pit under. It was to be done now. But there
were many other things to be done as well, one thing always leading to
another; the building work, at any rate, seemed never to be finished.
He had a sawmill and a cornmill and a summer shed for the cattle; it
was but reasonable he should have a smithy. Only a little place, for
odd jobs as need arose; it was a long way to send down to the village
when the sledge-hammer curled at the edges or a horseshoe or so
wanted looking to. Just enough to manage with, that was all--and why
shouldn't he? Altogether, there were many outbuildings, little and
big, at Sellanraa.
The place is growing, getting bigger and bigger, a mighty big place at
last. Impossible now to manage without a girl to help, and Jensine has
to stay on. Her father, the blacksmith, asks after her now and again,
if she isn't coming home soon; but he does not make a point of it,
being an easy-going man, and maybe with his own reasons for letting
her stay. And there is Sellanraa, farthest out of all the settlements,
growing bigger and bigger all the time; the place, that is, the houses
and the ground, only the folk are the same. The day is gone when
wandering Lapps could come to the house and get all they wanted for
the asking; they come but rarely now, seem rather to go a long way
round and keep out of sight; none are even seen inside the house, but
wait without if they come at all. Lapps always keep to the outlying
spots, in dark places; light and air distress them, they cannot
thrive; 'tis with them as with maggots and vermin. Now and again
a calf or a lamb disappears without a trace from the outskirts of
Sellanraa, from the farthest edge of the land--there is no helping
that. And Sellanraa can bear the loss. And even if Sivert could shoot,
he has no gun, but anyway, he cannot shoot; a good-tempered fellow,
nothing warlike; a born jester: "And, anyway, I doubt but there's a
law against shooting Lapps," says he.
Ay, Sellanraa can bear the loss of a head or so of cattle here and
there; it stands there, great and strong. But not without its troubles
for all that. Inger is not altogether pleased with herself and with
life all the year round, no; once she made a journey to a place a long
way off, and it seems to have left an ugly discontent behind. It
may disappear for a time, but always it returns. She is clever and
hard-working as in her best days, and a handsome, healthy wife for a
man, for a barge of a man--but has she no memories of Trondhjem; does
she never dream? Ay, and in winter most of all. Full of life and
spirits at times, and wanting no end of things--but a woman cannot
dance by herself, and so there was no dancing at Sellanraa. Heavy
thoughts and books of devotion? Ay, well.... But there's something,
Heaven knows, in the other sort of life, something splendid and
unequalled. She has learned to make do with little; the Swedish
stoneworkers are something, at any rate; strange faces and new voices
about the place, but they are quiet, elderly men, given to work
rather than play. Still, better than nothing--and one of them sings
beautifully at his work; Inger stops now and again to listen. Hjalmar
is his name.
And that is not all the trouble at Sellanraa. There is Eleseus, for
instance--a disappointment there. He had written to say that his place
in the engineer's office was no longer open, but he was going to
get another all right--only wait. Then came another letter; he was
expecting something to turn up very shortly, a first-rate post; but
meantime, he could not live on nothing at all, and when they sent him
a hundred-_Krone_ note from home, he wrote back to say it was just
enough to pay off some small debts he had.... "H'm," said Isak. "But
we've these stoneworker folk to pay, and a deal of things ... write
and ask if he wouldn't rather come back here and lend a hand."
And Inger wrote, but Eleseus did not care about coming home again; no,
no sense in making another journey all to no purpose; he would rather
starve.
Well, perhaps there was no first-rate post vacant just then in the
city, and Eleseus, perhaps, was not as sharp as a razor in pushing his
way. Heaven knows--perhaps he wasn't over clever at his work either.
Write? ay, he could write well enough, and quick and hard-working
maybe, but there might be something lacking for all that. And if so,
what was to become of him?
When he arrived from home with his two hundred _Kroner_, the city was
waiting for him with old accounts outstanding, and when those were
paid, well, he had to get a proper walking-stick, and not the remains
of an umbrella. There were other little things as well that were but
reasonable--a fur cap for the winter, like all his companions wore,
a pair of skates to go on the ice with as others did, a silver
toothpick, which was a thing to clean one's teeth, and play with
daintily when chatting with friends over a glass of this or that. And
as long as he had money, he stood treat as far as he was able; at a
festive evening held to celebrate his return to town, he ordered half
a dozen bottles of beer, and had them opened sparingly, one after
another. "What--twenty _Ore_ for the waitress?" said his friends;
"ten's quite enough."
"Doesn't do to be stingy," said Eleseus.
Nothing stingy nor mean about Eleseus, no; he come from a good home,
from a big place, where his father the Margrave owned endless tracts
of timber, and four horses and thirty cows and three mowing-machines.
Eleseus was no liar, and it was not he who had spread abroad all the
fantastic stories about the Sellanraa estate; 'twas the district
surveyor who had amused himself talking grandly about it a long while
back. But Eleseus was not displeased to find the stories taken more or
less for truth. Being nothing in himself, it was just as well to be
the son of somebody that counted for something; it gave him credit,
and was useful that way. But it could not last for ever; the day came
when he could no longer put off paying, and what was he to do then?
One of his friends came to his help, got him into his father's
business, a general store where the peasants bought their
wares--better than nothing. It was a poor thing for a grown lad to
start at a beginner's wage in a little shop; no short cut to the
position of a Lensmand; still, it gave him enough to live on, helped
him over the worst for the present--oh, 'twas not so bad, after all.
Eleseus was willing and good-tempered here too, and people liked him;
he wrote home to say he had gone into trade.
This was his mother's greatest disappointment. Eleseus serving in a
shop--'twas not a whit better than being assistant at the store
down in the village. Before, he had been something apart, something
different from the rest; none of their neighbours had gone off to live
in a town and work in an office. Had he lost sight of his great aim
and end? Inger was no fool; she knew well enough that there was a
difference between the ordinary and the uncommon, though perhaps she
did not always think to reckon with it. Isak was simpler and slower of
thought; he reckoned less and less with Eleseus now, when he reckoned
at all; his eldest son was gradually slipping out of range. Isak no
longer thought of Sellanraa divided between his two sons when he
himself should be gone.
* * * * *
Some way on in spring came engineers and workmen from Sweden; going
to build roads, put up hutments, work in various ways, blasting,
levelling, getting up supplies of food, hiring teams of horses, making
arrangements with owners of land by the waterside; what--what was it
all about? This is in the wilds, where folk never came but those who
lived there? Well, they were going to start that copper mine, that was
all.
So it had come to something after all; Geissler had not been merely
boasting.
It was not the same big men that had come with him that time--no, the
two of them had stayed behind, having business elsewhere, no doubt.
But the same engineer was there, and the mining expert that had come
at first. They bought up all the sawn planks Isak could spare, bought
food and drink and paid for it well, chatted in kindly fashion and
were pleased with Sellanraa. "Aerial railway," they said. "Cable
haulage from the top of the fjeld down to the waterside," they said.
"What, down over all this moorland here?" said Isak, being slow to
think. But they laughed at that.
"No, on the other side, man; not this way, 'twould be miles to go. No,
on the other side of the fjeld, straight down to the sea; a good fall,
and no distance to speak of. Run the ore down through the air in iron
tanks; oh, it'll work all right, you wait and see. But we'll have to
cart it down at first; make a road, and have it hauled down in carts.
We shall want fifty horses--you see, we'll get on finely. And we've
more men on the works than these few here--that's nothing. There's
more coming up from the other side, gangs of men, with huts all
ready to put up, and stores of provisions and material and tools and
things--then we meet and make connection with them half-way, on the
top, you see? We'll make the thing go, never fear--and ship the ore to
South America. There's millions to be made out of it."
"What about the other gentlemen," asked Isak, "that came up here
before?"
"What? Oh, they've sold out. So you remember them? No, they've sold.
And the people that bought them out have sold again. It's a big
company now that owns the mine--any amount of money behind it."
"And Geissler, where'll he be now?" asks Isak.
"Geissler? Never heard of him. Who's he?"
"Lensmand Geissler, that sold you the place first of all."
"Oh, him! Geissler was his name? Heaven knows where he is now. So you
remember him too?"
* * * * *
Blasting and working up in the hills, gangs of men at work all through
the summer--there was plenty doing about the place. Inger did a
busy trade in milk and farm produce, and it amused her--going into
business, as it were, and seeing all the many folk coming and going.
Isak tramped about with his lumbering tread, and worked on his land;
nothing disturbed him. Sivert and the two stoneworkers got the new
cowshed up. It was a fine building, but took a deal of time before it
was finished, with only three men to the work, and Sivert, moreover,
often called away to help in the fields. The mowing-machine was useful
now; and a good thing, too, to have three active women that could take
a turn at the haymaking.
All going well; there was life in the wilds now, and money growing,
blossoming everywhere.
And look at Storborg, the new trader's place--there was a business on
a proper scale! This Aron must be a wizard, a devil of a fellow; he
had learned somehow beforehand of the mining operations to come, and
was on the spot all ready, with his shop and store, to make the most
of it. Business? He did business enough for a whole State--ay, enough
for a king! To begin with, he sold all kinds of household utensils and
workmen's clothes; but miners earning good money are not afraid to
spend it; not content with buying necessaries only; they would buy
anything and everything. And most of all on Saturday evenings, the
trading station at Storborg was crowded with folk, and Aron raking
money in; his clerk and his wife were both called in to help behind
the counter, and Aron himself serving and selling as hard as he could
go at it--and even then the place would not be empty till late at
night. And the owners of horse-flesh in the village, they were right;
'twas a mighty carting and hauling of wares up to Storborg; more than
once they had to cut off corners of the old road and make new short
cuts--a fine new road it was at last, very different from Isak's
first narrow path up through the wilds. Aron was a blessing and a
benefactor, nothing less, with his store and his new road. His name
was not Aron really, that being only his Christian name; properly, he
was Aronsen, and so he called himself, and his wife called him the
same. They were a family not to be looked down upon, and kept two
servant-girls and a lad.
As for the land at Storborg, it remained untouched for the present.
Aronsen had no time for working on the soil--where was the sense of
digging up a barren moor? But Aronsen had a garden, with a fence all
round, and currant bushes and asters and rowans and planted trees--ay,
a real garden. There was a broad path down it, where Aronsen could
walk o' Sundays and smoke his pipe, and in the background was the
verandah of the house, with panes of coloured glass, orange and red
and blue. Storborg ... And there were children--three pretty little
things about the place. The girl was to learn to play her part as
daughter of a wealthy trader, and the boys were to learn the business
themselves--ay, three children with a future before them!
Aronsen was a man to take thought for the future, or he would not have
come there at all. He might have stuck to his fishery, and like enough
been lucky at that and made good money, but 'twas not like going into
business; nothing so fine, a thing for common folk at best. People
didn't take off their hats to a fisherman. Aronsen had rowed his boat
before, pulling at the oars; now he was going to sail instead. There
was a word he was always using: "Cash down." He used it all sorts of
ways. When things went well, they were going "cash down." His children
were to get on in the world, and live more "cash down" even than
himself. That was how he put it, meaning that they should have an
easier life of it than he had had.
And look you, things did go well; neighbours took notice of him, and
of his wife--ay, even of the children. It was not the least remarkable
thing, that folk took notice of the children. The miners came down
from their work in the hills, and had not seen a child's face for many
days; when they caught sight of Aronsen's little ones playing in the
yard, they would talk kindly to them at once, as if they had met three
puppies at play. They would have given them money, but seeing they
were the trader's children, it would hardly do. So they played music
for them on their mouth-organs instead. Young Gustaf came down, the
wildest of them all, with his hat over one ear, and his lips ever
ready with a merry word; ay, Gustaf it was that came and played with
them for long at a time. The children knew him every time, and ran to
meet them; he would pick them up and carry them on his back, all three
of them, and dance with them. "Ho!" said Gustaf, and danced with them.
And then he would take out his mouth-organ and play tunes and music
for them, till the two servant-girls would come out and look at him,
and listen, with tears in their eyes. Ay, a madcap was Gustaf, but he
knew what he was doing!
Then after a bit he would go into the shop and throw his money about,
buying up a whole knapsack full of things. And when he went back up
the road again, it was with a whole little stock-in-trade of his
own--and he would stop at Sellanraa on the way and open his pack and
show them. Notepaper with a flower in the corner, and a new pipe and
a new shirt, and a fringed neckerchief--sweets for the womenfolk, and
shiny things, a watch-chain with a compass, a pocket-knife--oh, a host
of things. Ay, there were rockets he had bought to let off on
Sunday, for every one to see. Inger gave him milk, and he joked with
Leopoldine, and picked up little Rebecca and swung her up in the
air--"_Hoy huit_!"
"And how's the building getting on?" he asked the Swedes--Gustaf was
a Swede himself, and made friends with them too. The building was
getting on as best it could, with but themselves to the work. Why,
then, he'd come and give them a hand himself, would Gustaf, though
that was only said in jest.
"Ay, if you only would," said Inger. For the cowshed ought to be ready
by the autumn, when the cattle were brought in.
Gustaf let off a rocket, and having let off one, there was no sense
in keeping the rest. As well let them off too--and so he did, half a
dozen of them, and the women and children stood round breathless at
the magic of the magician; and Inger had never seen a rocket before,
but the wild fire of them somehow reminded her of the great world she
had once seen. What was a sewing-machine to this? And when Gustaf
finished up by playing his mouth-organ, Inger would have gone off
along the road with him for sheer emotion....
The mine is working now, and the ore is carted down by teams of horses
to the sea; a steamer had loaded up one cargo and sailed away with it
to South America, and another steamer waits already for the next load.
Ay, 'tis a big concern. All the settlers have been up to look at the
wonderful place, as many as can walk. Brede Olsen has been up, with
his samples of stone, and got nothing for his pains, seeing that the
mining expert was gone back to Sweden again. On Sundays, there was a
crowd of people coming up all the way from the village; ay, even Axel
Stroem, who had no time to throw away, turned off from his proper road
along the telegraph line to look at the place. Hardly a soul now but
has seen the mine and its wonders. And at last Inger herself, Inger
from Sellanraa, puts on her best, gold ring and all, and goes up to
the hills. What does she want there?
Nothing, does not even care to see how the work is done. Inger has
come to show herself, that is all. When she saw the other women going
up, she felt she must go too. A disfiguring scar on her upper lip, and
grown children of her own, has Inger, but she must go as the others
did. It irks her to think of the others, young women, ay ... but she
will try if she can't compete with them all the same. She has not
begun to grow stout as yet, but has still a good figure enough, tall
and natty enough; she can still look well. True, her colouring is
not what it used to be, and her skin is not comparable to a golden
peach--but they should see for all that; ay, they should say, after
all, she was good enough!
They greet her kindly as she could wish; the workmen know her, she has
given them many a drink of milk, and they show her over the mine, the
huts, the stables and kitchens, the cellars and storesheds; the bolder
men edge in close to her and take her lightly by the arm, but Inger
does not feel hurt at all, it does her good. And where there are
steps to go up or down, she lifts her skirts high, showing her legs a
trifle; but she manages it quietly, as if without a thought. Ay, she's
good enough, think the men to themselves.
Oh, but there is something touching about her, this woman getting on
in years; plain to see that a glance from one of these warm-blooded
menfolk came all unexpectedly to her; she was grateful for it, and
returned it; she was a woman like other women, and it thrilled her to
feel so. An honest woman she had been, but like enough 'twas for lack
of opportunity.
Getting on in years....
Gustaf came up. Left two girls from the village, and a comrade, just
to come. Gustaf knew what he was at, no doubt; he took Inger's hand
with more warmth, more pressure than was needed, and thanked her for
the last pleasant evening at Sellanraa, but he was careful not to
plague her with attention.
"Well, Gustaf, and when are you coming to help us with the building?"
says Inger, going red. And Gustaf says he will come sure enough before
long. His comrades hear it, and put in a word that they'll all be
coming down before long.
"Ho!" says Inger. "Aren't you going to stay on the mine, then, come
winter?"
The men answer cautiously, that it doesn't look like it, but can't be
sure. But Gustaf is bolder, and laughs and says, looks like they've
scraped out the bit of copper there was.
"You'll not say that in earnest surely?" says Inger. And the other men
put in that Gustaf had better be careful not to say any such thing.
But Gustaf was not going to be careful; he said a great deal more, and
as for Inger, 'twas strange how he managed to win her for himself, for
all that he never seemed to put himself forward that way. One of
the other lads played a concertina, but 'twas not like Gustaf's
mouth-organ; another lad again, and a smart fellow he was too, tried
to draw attention to himself by singing a song off by heart to the
music, but that was nothing either, for all that he had a fine rolling
voice. And a little while after, there was Gustaf, and if he hadn't
got Inger's gold ring on his little finger! And how had it come about,
when he never plagued nor pushed himself forward? Oh, he was forward
enough in his way, but quiet with it all, as Inger herself; they did
not talk of things, and she let him play with her hand as if without
noticing. Later on, when she sat in one of the huts drinking coffee,
there was a noise outside, high words between the men, and she knew it
was about herself, and it warmed her. A pleasant thing to hear, for
one no longer young, for a woman getting on in years.
And how did she come home from the hills that Sunday evening? Ho, well
enough, virtuous as she had come, no more and no less. There was a
crowd of men to see her home, the crowd of them that would not turn
back as long as Gustaf was there; would not leave her alone with him,
not if they knew it! Inger had never had such a gay time, not even in
the days when she had been out in the world.
"Hadn't Inger lost something?" they asked at last.
"Lost something? No."
"A gold ring, for instance?"
And at that Gustaf had to bring it out; he was one against all, a
whole army.
"Oh, 'twas a good thing you found it," said Inger, and made haste to
say good-bye to her escort. She drew nearer Sellanraa, saw the many
roofs of the buildings; it was her home that lay there. And she awoke
once more, came back to herself, like the clever wife she was, and
took a short cut through to the summer shed to look to the cattle. On
the way she passes by a place she knows; a little child had once lain
buried there; she had patted down the earth with her hands, set up a
tiny cross--oh, but it was long ago. Now, she was wondering if those
girls had finished their milking in good time....
The work at the mine goes on, but there are whisperings of something
wrong, the yield is not as good as it had promised. The mining expert,
who had gone back home, came out again with another expert to help
him; they went about blasting and boring and examining all the ground.
What was wrong? The copper is fine enough, nothing wrong with that,
but thin, and no real depth in it; getting thicker to the southward,
lying deep and fine just where the company's holding reached its
limit--and beyond that was _Almenning_, the property of the State.
Well, the first purchasers had perhaps not thought so much of the
thing, anyway. It was a family affair, some relatives who had bought
the place as a speculation; they had not troubled to secure the whole
range, all the miles to the next valley, no; they had but taken over
a patch of ground from Isak Sellanraa and Geissler, and then sold it
again.
And what was to be done now? The leading men, with the experts and the
foremen, know well enough; they must start negotiations with the State
at once. So they send a messenger off at full speed to Sweden, with
letters and plans and charts, and ride away themselves down to the
Lensmand below, to get the rights of the fjeld south of the water. And
here their difficulties begin; the law stands in their way; they are
foreigners, and cannot be purchasers in their own right. They knew all
about that, and had made arrangements. But the southern side of the
fjeld was sold already--and that they did not know. "Sold?"