Garman And Worse A Norwegian Novel - Alexander Lange Kielland (best way to read ebooks txt) 📗

That Makes You

Look So Pleased?"

 

"Discourse! Discourse!" Thought The Chaplain. He Had Never Prepared It.

It Was Well Indeed He Had Been Thus Reminded. However,  He Answered,  "If

Notwithstanding My--Or Perhaps I Ought To Say Our--Sorrow,  I Do Look

Rather More Cheerful Than I Ought Under The Circumstances,  I Only Do So

From Something Which Has Happened To Myself. It Is Purely On Personal

Grounds."

 

"And May I Venture To Ask What The Circumstances Are Which Make You Look

So Happy?" Asked Delphin,  Carelessly.

 

"Well,  It Ought Not Really To Be Told To Any One To-Day,  But I Think I

May Venture To Tell You," Said The Pastor,  In a Calm Voice. "I Have

Proposed To A Lady,  And Have Had The Good Fortune To Be Accepted."

 

Chapter 22 Pg 143

"Indeed? I Congratulate You!" Cried The Other Gaily. "I Think,  Too,  I

Can Guess Who It Is." His Thoughts Turned On Madam Rasmussen.

 

"Yes,  I Dare Say You Can," Answered Martens,  Quietly. "It Is Miss

Garman--Madeleine,  I Mean."

 

"It'S A Lie!" Shouted Delphin,  Grasping His Riding-Whip.

 

The Pastor Cautiously Took Two Or Three Steps Backwards On The Footpath,

Raised His Hat,  And Continued His Way.

 

But Delphin Rode Off Rapidly Down The Road,  And Away Past Sandsgaard,

Ever Faster And Faster,  Till His Steed Was Covered With Foam. He Had

Ridden Four Miles Without Noticing Where He Was Going. The Coast Became

Flat And Sandy,  The Patches Of Cultivation Ceased,  And The Open Sea Lay

Before Him. The Sun Shone On The Blue Expanse,  While Far Out Lay The

Mist Like A Wall,  As If Ready To Return Again At Night.

 

Delphin Put His Horse Up At A Farmhouse,  And Went On Foot Over The Sand.

The Vast And Peaceful Ocean Seemed To Attract Him. He Felt A Longing To

Be Alone With His Thoughts,  Longer,  Indeed,  Than Was His Usual Custom.

George Delphin Was Not Often Given To Serious Thought--His Nature Was

Too Frivolous And Unstable; But To-Day He Felt That There Must Be A

Reckoning,  And On The Very Verge Of The Sea He Threw Himself On The

Sand,  Which Was Now Warmed By The Afternoon Sun. At First His Thoughts

Surged Like The Billows Over Which He Gazed. He Was Furious With Pastor

Martens. Who Could Have Believed That He,  George Delphin,  Should Have

Suffered Himself To Be Supplanted By A Chaplain,  And,  More Than That,  A

Widower? And Madeleine! How Could She Have Accepted Him? And The More

His Thoughts Turned Upon Her,  The More He Felt How Truly He Loved Her.

 

How Different It Might Have Been! Yes,  Many Things Might Have Been

Different In His Life,  When He Came To Review It Fairly. His Thoughts

Then Fell Upon Jacob Worse,  Who Had Lately Quite Given Him Up. It Had

Often Happened To Delphin That People Did Not Remain Friends With Him

Long. It Was Only Fanny Who Did Not Give Him Up. He Made One More Effort

To Bring Up Her Image In His Thoughts,  In all Its Most Enchanting

Beauty,  But He Failed In The Effort. Madeleine Seemed To Overshadow

Everything. Then His Thoughts Reverted To Martens,  And His Agony

Returned. He Seemed No Longer To Have Any Aim In Life,  Which Had Been So

Utterly Wasted,  Useless And Desolate,  And He Began To Regard Himself

With Loathing,  Friendless As He Was,  And Thus Entangled In an Intrigue

With One For Whom He Had No Affection,  And Despised By Her Whose Love He

Really Longed For.

 

All This Time The Mist Was Stealing In Light Wreaths Over The Shore; It

Came Gliding Beyond The Line Of The Waves,  And On Over The Sand. It

Paused For An Instant At The Man Who Was Thus Lying In despair,  Then

Stole On Further,  And Finally Settled Behind The Sand-Hills. The Grey

Wall Of Mist Had Now Attained Such A Height That It Obscured The Evening

Sun,  So That The Landscape Became All At Once Cold And Grey,  Whilst The

Fog Went Scudding Along,  Denser And Denser Every Moment.

 

Delphin Stretched Himself On The Sand,  Wearied With His Long Ride And

His Bitter Thoughts. The Long White Breakers Came Curling Ever Nearer

And Nearer,  As They Broke On The Beach With Their Subdued And Monotonous

Roar.

Chapter 22 Pg 144

 

He Could Not But Think How Easy It Would Be To Have Done With The Life

Altogether,  Which Now Seemed To Him Of So Little Worth. He Had But To

Roll Himself Down The Sandy Slope,  And The Waves Would Take His Body

Into Their Embrace,  And,  After Rocking Him On Their Bosom,  Perhaps Bear

Him Far Away And Leave Him On A Distant Shore. But He Felt Full Well

That He Had Not The Courage; And As He Lay There,  Thus Pondering Over

His Past Life,  He Fell Into A Reverie,  While The Breakers Murmured Their

Monotonous Song,  And The Mist,  Which Was Borne Up On The Light Evening

Breeze,  Breathed Over Him Cold And Chill.

 

The Landscape Assumed A General Tone Of Grey. The Mist Stole On,  Still

More Close And Compact,  And The Form Of Him Who Lay By The Waves Became

More And More Indistinct. At Last He Was Gone; The Sea Raised Her Mantle

And Wiped Him Out,  While The Fog Drifted Inland Thick As A Wall,  And,

Reaching The First Dwellings,  Swept Round The Corners Of The Houses,  And

Sent Cold Gusts In at The Open Doors And Windows.

 

But Swifter Than The Mist,  Closer And Ever More Penetrating,  Swept The

Report Of The Chaplain'S Engagement Through The Town. It Crept In

Through Cracks And Keyholes,  Filled Houses From Cellar To Garret,  And

Stood So Thick In The Street That It Stopped The Traffic.

 

"Have You Heard The News? They Are Engaged? Guess! Where? Who? Miss

Garman; I Heard It An Hour Ago! Have You Heard The News? It'S The

Chaplain Who Is Engaged! Well,  I Am Surprised! They Might Have Waited

Till After The Funeral. Are You Sure? He Has Been At The Jeweller'S!

Have You Heard The News?"

 

Thus It Spread,  Buzz,  Buzz,  From House To House; And When At Length The

Weary Town Went To Its Bed,  There Was Certainly Not A Soul Who Had Not

Heard Of The Engagement From At Least Five Separate People. It Was A

Wonderful Time,  Rich In Important Events.

 

But Just As One Sometimes Sees A Little Brawling And Muddy Brook Flowing

Into A Clear Stream,  And Following Along In Its Course,  But Ever Keeping

Its Little Band Of Dirty Brown Water Separate From The Translucent

River,  Even So There Followed With The News Of The Great Event,  A Little

Whisper Of Uncomfortable Gossip. It Always Accompanied The Main Story,

Cropping Up Everywhere,  Whispered,  Muttered,  Doubted,  But Never

Contradicted; And This Little Bit Of Intelligence Was,  That Pastor

Martens Wore A Wig. It Was Scarcely Credible,  But It Was Undeniable;

Madame Rasmussen Herself Was The Authority.

Chapter 23 Pg 145

Like All Wise Rulers,  Who Feel That They Ought To Mark The Epoch Of

Their Arrival At Power With Certain Merciful Actions,  Morten Had Given

Permission To Per Karl To Drive The Hearse With The Old Blacks,  Which

Were,  However,  Condemned To Be Shot On The Following Day.

 

The Old Coachman Had Got Them Into "Funeral Trim," As He Said,  And For

Three Days Had Groomed Them Incessantly. The Last Night He Had Passed In

The Stable,  So That They Should Not Lie Down And Spoil Their Coats. They

Were Therefore Shining As They Never Shone Before,  When,  At Eleven

O'Clock On Saturday Morning,  They Drew Up With The Hearse At The Door.

 

There Are Three Kinds Of Hearses,  So That One Has The Option Of Driving

To The Churchyard Just As One Travels By Rail--In A First,  Second,  Or

Third Class Carriage. Unless,  Indeed,  One Manages To Quit Life In Such

An Abject State Of Poverty,  That One Has To Get One'S Self Carried On

Foot By One'S Friends. Consul Garman Drove First Class,  In a Carriage

Adorned With Angels' Heads And Silver Trappings. Per Karl Sat Under The

Black Canopy,  With Crape Round His Hat,  And Looking With Pride And

Sadness On His Old Blacks.

 

When The Coffin,  Which Was Adorned With Flowers And White Drapery,  Was

Carried Down From Upstairs,  Miss Cordsen Stood At The Foot Of The

Staircase,  With The Servants Assembled In a Group Behind Her. The Old

Lady Folded Her Hands On Her Breast,  And Bowed Low As They Bore Him

Past; She Then Went Up To Her Room,  And Locked The Door.

 

The Ladies Of The Family Followed In The Close Carriage With Uncle

Richard,  So As To Be Present At The Ceremony In The Church. Morten And

Gabriel Were In The Open Carriage. The Whole Staff Of Workmen Belonging

To The Firm,  And Many Of The Townspeople Who Were Not Contented With

Following From The Church To The Grave,  Joined The Procession On Foot

When The Hearse Set Itself In Motion. The Spring Sunshine Was Reflected

From The Silver Trappings And Angels' Heads,  And From The Sleek And

Well-Groomed Horses,  Who Were Going On Their Last Drive With A Step Full

Of Pride And Solemnity. It Happened Most Awkwardly That Marianne Had

Also To Be Buried That Day. Martin Had Tried His Best To Prevent The

_Contretemps_,  But The Answer Which He Had Received From The Authorities

Was,  That It Was Impossible To Make An Exception On His Account; That

The Present Arrangement Would Be Most Convenient For All Parties,  And

Particularly So,  Because It Would Save The Clergyman A Double Journey To

The Cemetery; Besides,  There Would Be Only The Simple Funeral Service,

And No Address Would Be Given.

 

Very Well,  Then; Since There Would Be No Address The Funeral Would Take

Place On Saturday,  Between Twelve And Two.

 

Outside Begmand'S Cottage A Group Of Young Seafaring Men Were

Assembling. There Were A Few Relations From The Town,  And Some Of

Marianne'S Acquaintances,  Such As Tom Robson,  Torpander,  And Woodlouse.

Anders Begmand Was Not There: No Amount Of Persuasion Could Prevent Him

From Following The Consul'S Funeral.

 

At Marianne'S Funeral There Was No Undertaker To Regulate The Pace Of

The Procession,  And The Young Sailors Stepped Out Briskly With The

Coffin. They Thus Managed To Arrive At The Town Just As The Consul'S