THE AMERICAN-SCANDINA VI AN REVIEW 
479 
they did not crave revenge; but they seemed to breathe into my soul 
a choking sensation of helplessness. 
Then suddenly the thought pierced my conscience that I would, 
beyond all question, become insane, if I did not tear myself away and 
put those eyes out of existence. In feverish haste I seized a stick and 
struck the bird, so it rolled down the hillside. Yet I was not satisfied 
with that . I struck at it, till the dirt flew, struck at it, trod it down, 
stamped upon it, as long as a feather was to be seen! Then I grabbed 
my gun and bolted down hill. 
But I found that I was in error if I thought myself rid of that 
pair of eyes. For a long time they would appear again and again, 
hovering near me, terrifying me whether awake or sleeping. 
And one thing is certain, that I never fired another shot from my 
gun. 
III. 
It was five years later. I had come to Christiania and was occu¬ 
pied with the declension of mens a and such things. 
One day it came about that I had an errand up Heegdehaugen. 
It was drizzling, a slow, steady rain, with a fog that lay over the city, 
clammy, cold, and heavy, saturated with coal smoke and other filth, 
so it was difficult to breathe. 
On the pavements people stepped carefully past each other in 
the slush, and only some careless schoolboy with rattling knapsack 
would tramp along so that the mud splashed up on his boots. Out in 
the street all was one mass of mud, snow, and water, which spattered 
and clung to the horses’ hoofs and the wagon wheels. 
Beyond the cab stand I caught sight of a heavy load of bricks. It 
did not* budge. The wheels had stuck fast in the mire. The driver 
looked like a Vaterland bully. He was so drunk that he staggered. 
The horse was lean and brown. It tugged with all its might, poor 
creature! A grayish white foam rolled off its sides, and under the 
collar there were bloodstains showing. One could see how it strained 
every muscle for each time it pulled and jerked, now straight ahead, 
then from one side to the other, while the man shouted and swore and 
used the lash, all in the same breath. 
Then it seemed as if the horse gave up completely. It stood a 
while with drooping head, groaning and breathing heavily, trembling 
and shrinking as the lash whistled through the air. Suddenly it threw 
itself violently backward and then forward with such force that you 
might have expected every joint and limb to be broken. It kicked 
and lunged, tugged and pulled. But nothing helped the wagon 
would not move. Then one of the forefeet slipped, and the horse 
stumbled down into the mud. It lay there without so much as making 
an attempt to rise, in spite of the driver’s redoubled screams and blows. 
