(Opening Pages)

It was during the time when I wandered through Kristiania, hungry...

I awoke in my attic room. A clock struck six; dawn was just breaking. Footsteps were already echoing up and down the staircase. The wall beside the door was papered with old issues of the *Morgenbladet*. From my bed I could read a notice from the Director of Taxes. A little farther to the left, in large, bold letters, the baker Fabian Olsen advertised his fresh bread.

The moment I opened my eyes, my first thought was whether another day of misery awaited me.

Life had been especially hard on me lately. One by one, the few possessions I owned had found their way to the pawnshop. My nerves were worn to the limit. At times I would lie in bed the entire day, overcome by fever and dizziness. Every now and then, if fortune smiled on me and one of my articles was accepted by a newspaper, I earned five kroner.

The daylight grew steadily brighter. I began reading the advertisements covering the walls. One of them, printed in tiny, cramped letters that were difficult to decipher, read:

**"Funerals – Miss Andersen, first door on the right."**

That mournful advertisement held my attention for quite some time. A little later I heard the clock upstairs strike eight. I got up and dressed.

I opened the window. Before me lay a vacant lot where a clothesline had been stretched from one end to the other. Beyond it stood the remains of a blacksmith's workshop that had recently burned down and was now being cleared away by laborers.

I leaned against the window and looked up. Soon it would be broad daylight. It was autumn—the season when everything begins to cool, to change color, to fade away.

The voices from the street drew me outside. The empty room, with its sagging, creaking floorboards, seemed like a great, dilapidated coffin. The lock barely worked, and there was no stove. At night I used to tuck my socks beneath the quilt so they would be dry by morning. Whenever the wind blew hard and the downstairs door was left open, strange whistles rose through the floorboards, and the newspapers covering the walls were often torn by the draft.

Yet there was one thing I loved in that room: a little red rocking chair. Every evening I would sink into it, half asleep, letting my thoughts and memories slowly fall into place.

I got up and searched the little basket beside my bed, hoping there might still be something left to eat. There was nothing. I went back to the window.

*"My God,"* I thought, *"is it really worth going on with this endless search for work?"*

So far my persistence had earned me nothing but empty promises and blunt refusals. I lived on hope alone, convincing myself each morning that something would change, only to begin the same fruitless round once again. One disappointment followed another until I had almost lost heart.

Had I not even applied for a position as a bookkeeper? It was already too late, and besides, I could never have produced the fifty-kroner security deposit they required. There was always some obstacle in my way.

I even tried to join the fire brigade. There must have been fifty applicants. We all stood there with our chests puffed out, trying to look as strong as possible. An inspector examined us one by one, feeling our arms and asking a few questions. When he came to me, he shook his head.

*"Impossible,"* he said. *"You wear glasses."*

A few days later I returned. This time I had left my glasses at home. I stood as straight as I could, my brows drawn together, trying to give myself the sharp, determined look of a man ready for anything. But the inspector walked past me smiling. He had recognized me.

Worst of all was the condition of my clothes. They were so worn that I was ashamed to present myself anywhere. Poverty had become my constant companion. I did not even own a comb to tidy my hair, nor a single book to comfort me during the long hours of despair.

I had spent the whole summer in the cemeteries and the Royal Gardens. There I wandered about, lost in thought, sat on benches, and wrote my articles. I filled page after page. Strange ideas came to me without end, and my restless mind flashed with images and inspirations.

Yet the misery in which I lived gradually clouded my judgment. I often chose subjects that no longer interested the newspapers, and my manuscripts were rejected. Still, how much labor had gone into them! Whenever I finished one article, I immediately began another, refusing to let the editors' rejections discourage me. I kept telling myself that sooner or later my turn would come.

And every now and then, fortune did smile on me. A newspaper would accept one of my pieces, and I would earn five whole kroner for an afternoon's work.

I stepped away from the window and walked over to the chair that served as my washstand. I picked up my trousers. The fabric had faded badly from wear. I dampened the worn patches, hoping to restore a little of their color and make them look less shabby.

I slipped a pencil and a few sheets of paper into my pocket and left the room. I crept quietly down the stairs. My rent had been overdue for several days, and I did not have a single coin with which to pay it.

It was nine o'clock.

The air was alive with voices, the rumble of carts and carriages, the footsteps of passersby, and the sharp cracks of coachmen's whips. Altogether it formed a strange morning symphony that somehow revived my spirits.

I had not gone out merely for a walk. What use was fresh air to my lungs? I felt as strong as Hercules. I fancied I could stop a whole carriage with nothing but my shoulder.

I was almost cheerful. The day was beautiful, and the lively atmosphere of the city swept me along. I amused myself by watching the people I passed and reading the posters plastered on the walls. I allowed myself to be captivated by countless little things—those insignificant details that crossed my path only to disappear again.

If only I had something to eat on such a splendid morning!

The brightness of the day stirred something deep within me, and I felt as though life itself were overflowing inside me.