Slaves of Love & Other Stories: 'No answer is an answer too''

By Knut Hamsun

Knud Pedersen was born in Lom in the Gudbrandsdal valley of Norway on the 4th of August, 1859 in what was then the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway. He was the fourth son of seven children born to poor parents who, when he was three, were invited to an uncle’s farm to work his land.

When he was nine he moved away from his family to help another uncle who ran a post office. Whilst with him he was beaten and starved which manifested in a series of chronic nervous difficulties. The treatment endured for six years until he managed to escape back to Lom.

For some time he now took any job that was available to him, including store clerk, peddler, shoemaker's apprentice, sheriff's assistant, elementary-school teacher and ropemaker's apprentice. At about the same time, with the wealth of these gained experiences, he began to explore his literary talents.

In 1877 he published his first book ‘The Enigmatic Man: A Love Story from Northern Norway’, others soon followed but real success only came in 1890 with ‘Hunger’, an influential work for later novelists with its internal monologue and bizarre logic. His work is often associated with Pantheism; where nature and mankind are unified in a strong and often mystical bond.

His work was so influential that in 1920 he was awarded the Novel Prize for Literature.

Shortly after this point his works became fewer and his interests darker. During World War II he became a fervent admirer of the Nazi’s, even meeting Hitler, even though German armies had overrun Norway. With the war’s end he was detained on charges of treason. His old age was apparently the primary reason given for Hamsun receiving only a fine. Other reasons also sought to excuse his abhorrent behaviour but it was clear that whilst he was loved for his literature he was detested for his politics and morals.

His literary canon includes more than 20 novels, a poetry collection, short stories, plays, a travelogue, other works of non-fiction and essays.

Knut Hamsun died on the 19th February 1952 in Grimstad. He was 92.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miniature Masterpieces
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781803549828

Book preview

Slaves of Love & Other Stories by Knut Hamsun

In a new translation

Knud Pedersen was born in Lom in the Gudbrandsdal valley of Norway on the 4th of August, 1859 in what was then the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway. He was the fourth son of seven children born to poor parents who, when he was three, were invited to an uncle’s farm to work his land.

When he was nine he moved away from his family to help another uncle who ran a post office. Whilst with him he was beaten and starved which manifested in a series of chronic nervous difficulties. The treatment endured for six years until he managed to escape back to Lom.

For some time he now took any job that was available to him, including store clerk, peddler, shoemaker's apprentice, sheriff's assistant, elementary-school teacher and ropemaker's apprentice. At about the same time, with the wealth of these gained experiences, he began to explore his literary talents.

In 1877 he published his first book ‘The Enigmatic Man: A Love Story from Northern Norway’, others soon followed but real success only came in 1890 with ‘Hunger’, an influential work for later novelists with its internal monologue and bizarre logic. His work is often associated with Pantheism; where nature and mankind are unified in a strong and often mystical bond.

His work was so influential that in 1920 he was awarded the Novel Prize for Literature.

Shortly after this point his works became fewer and his interests darker. During World War II he became a fervent admirer of the Nazi’s, even meeting Hitler, even though German armies had overrun Norway. With the war’s end he was detained on charges of treason. His old age was apparently the primary reason given for Hamsun receiving only a fine. Other reasons also sought to excuse his abhorrent behaviour but it was clear that whilst he was loved for his literature he was detested for his politics and morals.

His literary canon includes more than 20 novels, a poetry collection, short stories, plays, a travelogue, other works of non-fiction and essays.

Knut Hamsun died on the 19th February 1952 in Grimstad. He was 92.

Index of Contents

Slaves of Love

Son of the Sun

Zacchaeus

Across the Sea

An Arch Rascal

Father and Son

Slaves of Love

Written by me, written today, to lighten my heart. I lost my position at the café and my happy days.

A young gentleman in a grey suit came evening after evening with two friends and sat at one of my tables. So many gentlemen came and all had a kind word for me, except him. He was tall and slim, had soft black hair and blue eyes with which he occasionally grazed me, and a hint of beard on his upper lip.

Well, he might have had something against me at first. He came for a whole week without a break. I had got used to him and missed him when he stayed out one evening. I went all over the café looking for him; at last I found him sitting by one of the big pillars at the far end; he was sitting with a lady from the circus. She was wearing a yellow dress and long gloves that reached above her elbows. She was young and had beautiful dark eyes,―and my eyes were blue.

I stood by them for a moment and listened to what they were talking about: she was reproaching him, she was tired of him and told him to leave. I thought in my heart: Holy Virgin, why doesn't he go to me?

The next evening he came with his two friends and took a seat at my table again. I did not approach, as I usually did, but stood as if I had not noticed them. When he waved at me, I approached the table and said, You weren't here yesterday.

How wonderfully our waitress has grown, he said to his companions.

Beer? I asked.

Yes, he replied. And at a swift pace I fetched three Seidel.

A few days passed.

He gave me a card and said, Take these over to ...

I took the card before he had spoken and brought it to the yellow lady. On the way I read his name: Wladimierz F.

When I returned, he looked at me questioningly.

Yes, I took it there, I said.

And you didn't get an answer?

No.

He gave me a mark and said with a smile:

No answer is an answer too.

All evening he remained sitting staring over at the lady and her companions. At eleven o'clock he got up and went to her table. She received him coolly, but her two gentlemen became involved with him more closely and seemed to be teasing him. He stayed a few minutes, and when he came back I told him that beer had been poured into one pocket of his summer overcoat. He took it off, turned hastily and looked over for a moment at the circus lady's table. I dried his overcoat and he said to me with a smile, Thank you, slave girl!

As he put it back on, I helped him and surreptitiously stroked his back.

He sat down, absentmindedly. One of his friends ordered more beer, I took the seidel and wanted to take F.'s seidel too. But he said, No and put his hand on mine. At this touch, my arm suddenly sank down, he noticed it and immediately withdrew his hand.

In the evening I prayed for him twice on my knees in front of my bed. And I kissed my right hand, which he had touched, quite happily.

Once he gave me flowers, a lot of flowers. He bought them from the flower girl when he came in; they were fresh and red and almost all her stock. He left them on the table with him. None of his friends were there. As often as I had time, I stood behind a pillar and stared at him, and I thought to myself: Vladimierz F. is his name.

Perhaps an hour had passed. He kept looking at his watch. I asked him:

Are you expecting someone?

He looked at me as if absent-mindedly and suddenly said:

No, I'm not expecting anyone. What are you asking?

I only meant if you were expecting someone.

Come here, he replied. This is for you.

And he gave me the flowers.

I thanked him, but I couldn't immediately produce a word, I only whispered. A blood-red joy came over me; breathlessly I stood in front of the buffet where I was to get something.

What would you like? asked the Mamsell.

Yes, what do you think? I asked. I did not know myself.

What do I think? said the mistress. Are you crazy?

Guess who I got these flowers from.

The head waiter passed by. You're forgetting the beer for the gentleman with the stilted foot, I heard him say.

I got them from Vladimierz, I said and hurried away with the beer.

F. hadn't left yet. I thanked him again as he rose to leave. He paused and said:

I actually bought it for someone else.

Well. He might have bought them for someone else. But I got it. I got it, not the one he bought it for. And so I got to thank him for it too. Good night, Vladimierz.

The next morning it rained.

Should I wear my black or my green dress today? I thought. The green one, because that's the newest; so that's what I'll wear. I was very cheerful.

When I got to the bus stop, there was a lady standing in the rain waiting for the horse-drawn tram. She had no umbrella. I offered to stand under mine with her, but she declined gratefully. So I pulled down my umbrella too while I waited. Then the lady won't get wet alone, I thought to myself.

In the evening Vladimierz came into the café.

Thank you for the flowers, I said proudly.

What flowers? he asked. Oh, I see: do keep quiet about the flowers.

I wanted to thank you for them, I said.

He shrugged his shoulders and replied:

I don't love you, slave!

He didn't love me, no. I didn't expect him to and I wasn't disappointed. But I saw him every evening; he sat down