Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Translated from the Norwegian of
by W.W. WORSTER
1917
The long, long road over the moors and up into the forest—who trod itinto being first of all? Man, a human being, the first that came here.There was no path before he came. Afterward, some beast or other,following the faint tracks over marsh and moorland, wearing themdeeper; after these again some Lapp gained scent of the path, and tookthat way from field to field, looking to his reindeer. Thus was madethe road through the great Almenning—the common tracts without anowner; no-man's-land.
The man comes, walking toward the north. He bears a sack, the firstsack, carrying food and some few implements. A strong, coarse fellow,with a red iron beard, and little scars on face and hands; sites ofold wounds—were they gained in toil or fight? Maybe the man has beenin prison, and is looking for a place to hide; or a philosopher,maybe, in search of peace. This or that, he comes; the figure of a manin this great solitude. He trudges on; bird and beast are silent allabout him; now and again he utters a word or two; speaking to himself."Eyah—well, well…."—so he speaks to himself. Here and there, wherethe moors give place to a kindlier spot, an open space in the midst ofthe forest, he lays down the sack and goes exploring; after a whilehe returns, heaves the sack to his shoulder again, and trudges on. Sothrough the day, noting time by the sun; night falls, and he throwshimself down on the heather, resting on one arm.
A few hours' rest, and he is on the move again: "Eyah,well…."—moving northward again, noting time by the sun; a meal ofbarley cakes and goats' milk cheese, a drink of water from the stream,and on again. This day too he journeys, for there are many kindlyspots in the woods to be explored. What is he seeking? A place, apatch of ground? An emigrant, maybe, from the homestead tracts; hekeeps his eyes alert, looking out; now and again he climbs to the topof a hill, looking out. The sun goes down once more.
He moves along the western side of a valley; wooded ground, with leafytrees among the spruce and pine, and grass beneath. Hours of this, andtwilight is falling, but his ear catches the faint purl of runningwater, and it heartens him like the voice of a living thing. He climbsthe slope, and sees the valley half in darkness below; beyond, the skyto the south. He lies down to rest.
The morning shows him a range of pasture and woodland. He moves down,and there is a green hillside; far below, a glimpse of the stream,and a hare bounding across. The man nods his head, as it wereapprovingly—the stream is not so broad but that a hare may cross itat a bound. A white grouse sitting close upon its nest starts up athis feet with an angry hiss, and he nods again: feathered game andfur—a good spot this. Heather, bilberry, and cloudberry cover theground; there are tiny ferns, and the seven-pointed star flowers ofthe winter-green. Here and there he stops to dig with an iron tool,and finds good mould, or peaty soil, manured with the rotted wood andfallen leaves of a thousand years. He nods, to say that he has foundhimself a place to stay and live: ay, he will stay here and live. Twodays he goes exploring th