By KNUT HAMSUN - ----- 3. CENTS –4 - - - - - | - - - - - . - | - - º | | | | - J. - - - - * --> - -- Six times a week. Entered as second-class matter at the Subscription. No sº. May 2 goo New York, N. Y. Post office, April 4, tºo ºro a year - º SLAVES OF LOVE ** By KNUT HAMSUN Office of ſºublication: Rooms 2128–29-30-31, Park Row Building SLAVES OF LOVE. Written by my hand, written to-day to relieve my heart. I have lost my position in the café, and my happy days. A young man in a gray suit came every evening, and sat down at one of my tables with two friends. Many men came, and each had a kind word for me, except him. He was tall and slender, and had soft black hair, and blue eyes with which he occasionally glanced toward me, and a suspicion of a moustache. Well, he probably did not like me at first. He came every night for a week, without intermission. I had grown accustomed to him, and missed him when he remained away one evening. I went through the whole café, and looked around for him; at last I found him near one of the great pil- lars at the other end of the room; he was seated by a lady be- longing to the circus. She wore a yellow dress, and long gloves which reached above her elbows. She was young, and had beautiful dark eyes, and my eyes are blue. I stopped a moment near them, and listened to what they said; she was reproaching him, was tired of him, and told him to go. I thought in my heart: Heavens, why does he not come to me? The next evening he came with his two friends, and again sat down at my table. I did not go toward him, as I usually did, but pretended that I had not noticed him. When he 3 4. SLAVES OF LOVE beckoned to me, I went to the table, and said: “You were not here yesterday.” “How changed our waitress is!” he said to his comrades. ** Beer?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered, and I flew and brought the three mugs. - A few days passed. He handed me a card, and said: “Take it to . . .” I took the card before he had finished speaking, and arried it to the yellow lady. On the way I read his name— Wladimierz F. When I came back, he looked at me questioningly. “Yes, I took it to her,” I said. “And you got no answer?” ** No.” He gave me a mark, and said, smilingly: “No answer is sometimes an answer.’’ He sat there the whole evening, and gazed over at the lady and her companion. About eleven o’clock he got up and went over to her table. She received him coolly, but the two gen- tlemen with her were somewhat more communicative, and ap- peared to jeer at him. He remained a few minutes, and, when he came back, I told him that some beer had been spilled into the pocket of his summer overcoat. He took it off, turned around quickly, and glanced for a moment over to- ward the table where the lady from the circus sat. I dried his overcoat for him, and he smiled, and said to me: 1 * > - ** Thanks, slave SLAVES OF LOVE - 5 When he put it on again, I helped him, and secretly stroked his back. He sat down absent-mindedly. One of his friends ordered more beer. I took the mug, and was going to take F.’s mug as well. But he said: “No,” and laid his hand on mine. At his touch my arm suddenly sank. He noticed it, and im- mediately took his hand away. That evening I prayed twice for him on my knees by my bedside. And quite happy I kissed my right hand, which he had touched. Once he gave me flowers, a lot of flowers. He bought them of the flower girl as he came in. They were fresh and red, and almost her whole stock. He placed them on the table by him. Neither of his friends was there. As often as I had the time, I stood behind a pillar and gazed at him, and I thought to myself: His name is Wladimierz F. About an hour had passed. He looked at the clock con- stantly. I asked: “Do you expect some one?” He looked at me as if unconscious, and then said, suddenly: “No, I am not expecting any one. What did you say?” ‘‘I only thought that perhaps you expected some one.” “Come here,” he answered, “these are for you.” And he gave me the flowers. I thanked him, but I could not speak out loud at first; I only - whispered. A deep joy overcame me. Breathless, I stood in front of the buffet, where I had gone to get something. 6 SLAVES OF LOVE “What do you want?” demanded the young woman in charge. “Well, what do you think?” I asked. I myself did not know what I wanted. - “What do I think?'" said the young woman. “Are you crazy?” “Only guess who gave me these flowers.” The head waiter passed by. “You are forgetting the beer for the gentleman with the wooden leg,” I heard him say. ‘‘ Wladimierz gave them to me,” I said, and hurried away with the beer. F. had not yet gone. I thanked him again when he got up to go. He seemed startled, and said: “I really bought them for some one else.” Well. Perhaps he had bought them for some one else. But I got them. I got them, not she, for whom he had bought them. And therefore I might be permitted to thank him for them. “ Good-night, Wladimierz.” The next day it rained. “Shall I put on my black or my green dress?” I reflected. “The green one, for it is the newest; therefore I will wear it.” I was very gay. When I reached the place where the horse-car stops, a lady was standing, waiting in the rain. She had no umbrella. I offered to share mine with her, but she declined with thanks. I put my umbrella down, while I was waiting. For then at least the lady will not get wet alone, I thought to myself. In the evening Wladimierz came to the café. SLAVES OF LOVE 7 “Thank you for the flowers,” I said, proudly. “What flowers?” he asked. “Oh, yes;–I wish you would keep still about those flowers.” “I wanted to express my gratitude,” I said. He shrugged his shoulders, and answered: “I do not love you, slave.” He did not love me—no. I had not even expected it, and was not disappointed. But I saw him every evening; he sat down at my table, and I brought him beer. Till we meet again, Wladimierz: * The next evening he was very late. He asked: “Are you rich, slave?” ‘‘No, unfortunately,” I replied, “I am only a poor girl.” Then he looked at me, and said, smilingly: “You misunderstand me. I need some money until to-morrow.” “I have some money,” I returned. “I have a great deal of money. I have one hundred and thirty marks at home.” ** At home? Not here?” I answered: “Wait a quarter of an hour, and come with me after we close.” He waited a quarter of an hour, and went along with me. “Only a hundred marks,” he said. He walked by my side the whole way, and would not permit me to go in front or behind him. ‘‘I only have a little room,” I said, as we stopped at the door of my house. “I will not go up,” he replied. “I will wait here.” 8 SLAVES OF LOVE He waited. When I came down again, he counted the money, and said: “There is more than a hundred marks here. I will give you ten marks as a fee. Yes, yes, I insist on giving you ten marks as a fee.” He handed me the money, wished me good-night, and went. I saw him stop at the corner, and give a mark to the old lame beggar-woman. The next evening he regretted that he could not pay me back the money. I thanked him because he could not do it. He acknowledged frankly that he had squandered it. “What do you say to that, slave?” said he, smiling. “You know: the yellow lady?” “Why do you call our waitress slave?” asked one of his friends. “You are more of a slave than she is.” “Beer?” I demanded, and interrupted them. Soon after, the yellow lady entered. F. got up and bowed. She passed him by, and sat down at an empty table, but tipped up two chairs against it. F. went over to her immediately, moved one of the chairs, and sat down in it. After a couple of minutes he got up again, and said in a very loud voice: “All right, then; I will go. And I will never come back again.” “Thank you,” she replied. My feet were winged with joy. I ran to the buffet, and said something. I probably said that he would never come back to her again. The head-waiter passed by. He reproved me sharply, but it did not matter to me. When the place was SLAVES OF LOVE 9 closed at eleven o’clock, F. accompanied me to my house - door. “Five of the ten marks I gave you yesterday,” he said. I wanted to give him the whole amount, and he took it, but, in spite of my objections, he gave me back half of it as a fee. “I am so happy to-night,” I said. “If I might venture to ask you to come up with me! . . . But I have only a small room.” “I will not go up,” he replied. He went away. He passed the old beggar-woman again, but forgot to give her anything, although she made a courtesy. I ran toward her, and gave her a little money, and said: “It is from the gentleman who just passed by, from the gentleman in the gray suit.” “From the gentleman in the gray suit?” asked the woman. “From the one with the black hair, Wladimierz.” “Are you his wife?” I answered: “ No. I am his slave. ” Then he blamed himself several evenings in succession, be- cause he could not give me back my money. I begged him not to hurt me so. He said it so loud that every one could hear, and several people laughed at him. “I am a rogue and a scamp,” he said. “I borrowed money from you, and cannot return it. For fifty marks, I would let my right hand be cut off.” It pained me to hear him talk so, and I reflected how I could get money for him. But I was not able to do it. 10 SLAVES OF LOVE Another time he said to me: “If you should happen to ask me how I am, then . . . The yellow lady and the circus have left town. I have forgotten her. I do not think about her any more.” “And yet you wrote her another letter to-day,” said one of his friends. “That was the last,” Wladimierz replied. I bought a rose of the flower-girl, and stuck it into his left button-hole. I felt his breath on my hands as I did it, and it was almost impossible for me to fasten the pin. “Thank you,” he said. I demanded three marks which were due me from the cashier, and gave it to him. That was nothing. “Thank you,” he said again. I was happy for the whole evening, until Wladimierz sud- denly said: “With the three marks I will start on a journey, to be gone a week. When I come back, you shall have your money again.” He saw my emotion, and added: “It is you alone : -- whom I love,” and seized my hand. I was quite dismayed to think that he was going away and would not say where, although I asked him. Everything, all the customers, danced around me; I could not stand it any longer, and grasped both his hands beseechingly. “I will come back to you in a week,” he said, and got up. I heard the head-waiter say to me: “You will leave us in a fortnight.” As far as I am concerned, I thought to myself, what does it SLAVES OF LOVE 11 matter? Wladimierz will come back to me in a week! And I wanted to thank him for it; I turned round, but he was al- ready gone. A week later, when I went home, I found a letter from him. He wrote despairingly; he said that he had followed the yel- low lady; that he never would be able to pay me back my money, never; that his courage was quite broken by want. Then he railed at himself for being a vile creature, and signed himself: “ The slave of the yellow lady.” I mourned day and night, and could do nothing else. A week later I lost my position, and was obliged to look for a new one. During the day I applied at other cafés and hotels; I rang the door-bells of private houses also, and offered my services. But I did not have any luck. Late in the evening I bought all the newspapers at a very low rate, and read the announcements carefully when I reached home. Perhaps, I thought, I can save Wladimierz and myself . . . Last evening I saw his name in a paper and read about him. Immediately afterwards I went out, walked through many streets, and returned home only this morning. Perhaps I slept somewhere, or sat down on some steps, being able to go no farther; but I am not sure about it now. I have read it again to-day, but yesterday, in the evening, when I came home, I read it for the first time. I wrung my hands; then I sat down on a chair. After a while I sat down on the floor and leaned against the chair. I struck the floor with my open hand while I reflected. Perhaps I did not reflect at all, 12 SLAVES OF LOVE but my head whirled, and I was not conscious. Then I prob- ably got up and went out. At the street corner—I remember this quite distinctly—I gave the old beggar-woman a gros- chen, and said: “It is from the gentleman in the gray suit. You know him!” “Perhaps you are engaged to him?” she asked. I answered: ‘‘No, I am his widow.” And I wandered around the streets until this morning. And now I have read it once again: “Wladimierz F. was his name.’’