eloquence of a Hamlet today?" "Are you through now, Tonio Kröger?" "No. But I will say no more." "Nor do you need to.--Do you expect an answer?" "Have you any?" "I should think I had.--I have listened closely to you, Tonio, from beginning to end, and I will give you the answer which fits everything you have said this afternoon, and which is the solution of the problem that has disquieted you so. Well, then! The solution is this, that you, just as you sit there, are simply an ordinary man." "Am I?" he asked, collapsing a little. "That is a cruel blow, isn't it? It must be. And therefore I will soften my sentence a little, for I can do so. You are an ordinary man astray, Tonio Kröger,--an erring commoner." --Silence. Then he stood up resolutely and reached for hat and cane. "I thank you, Lisaveta Ivanovna; now I can go home in peace. _I am finished._" V Toward autumn Tonio Kröger said to Lisaveta Ivanovna, "Yes, I am going away now, Lisaveta; I must take an airing, and I am going off, going to take to the open." "Well, how is it, Little Father, will it be your royal pleasure to return to Italy?" "Good gracious, go on with your Italy, Lisaveta! Italy is indifferent to me to the point of contempt. It is a long time since I imagined I belonged there. Art, eh? Velvety blue sky, fiery wine, and sweet sensuality ... In short, I don't like it. I resign. The whole _bellezza_ makes me nervous. Nor I don't like all these frightfully lively human beings down there with their black animal eyes. None of the Romance peoples have any conscience in their eyes.... No, now I am going up to Denmark for a while." "To Denmark?" "Yes. And I promise myself benefit from it. Chance kept me from ever going there, close as I was to the boundary all through my youth, and yet I have always known and loved the place. I suppose I must have this affection for the north from my father, for my mother was really fonder of the _bellezza_, that is, provided she didn't find everything utterly immaterial. But take the books that are written up there, those deep, pure, humorous books, Lisaveta--to me there is nothing like them and I love them. Take the Scandinavian meals, those incomparable meals that you can only stand in a strong salt air (I don't know whether I can stand them at all any more), and that I'm a little familiar with from my own home, for that's just the way we eat at home. Or just simply take the names, the personal names that adorn the people up there, and that we also had in large numbers at home, take a name like Ingeborg,--a harp-chord of the most immaculate poesy. And then the sea--they have the Baltic up there! ... In short, I am going up there, Lisaveta. I wish to see the Baltic again, hear these names again, read those books on the spot; and I wish to stand on the terrace of Kronborg, where the ghost appeared to Hamlet and brought distress and death upon the poor, noble young man ..."