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

Chapter 23 Pg 146

Remains Were Being Carried Into The Church. Now,  It Would Scarcely Do

For Them To Go Through The Town Along The Road Leading To The Cemetery,

Which Was Strewn With Green Leaves,  And With Lilac And Laburnum

Blossoms,  For Mr. Garman. There Was,  Therefore,  Nothing For It But To

Wait Until The Service Was Over. It Was Hot Work Carrying A Coffin,

Dressed In Sunday Clothes,  And They Therefore Put Down Their Burden On

The Steps Of A Cottage Hard By,  Whilst Several Of Them Took Off Their

Jackets In Order To Get A Bit Cooler.

 

On The Opposite Side Of The Street There Was A Small Beerhouse. There

Were Several Of Them To Whom A Pint Of Beer Would Have Been Very

Grateful,  And Who Had The Money In Their Pockets To Pay For It; But

Perhaps It Would Hardly Do.

 

The Sailors Stood Talking Together,  And Turning Their Quids In Their

Mouths; Dry In The Throat Were They,  And Opposite Was The Open Door Of

The Beerhouse,  With Jugs And Bottles On The Counter. It Looked So Cool

And Moist In There,  And The Street Was Perfectly Empty,  For All The

World Was Crowding To The Cemetery. At Length One Slunk Across The

Street And Sneaked In; Two More Followed. It Seemed But Too Probable

That All The Bearers Would Give Way To The Same Temptation; So Tom

Robson Went Over To The Group,  And,  Putting A Five-Kroner Note Into The

Hand Of The Eldest,  Said,  "There! You Can Drink That,  But On Condition

That Only Two Go In at A Time."

 

The Stipulation Was Agreed To Without A Murmur,  And They Took Their

Turns In The Most Orderly Way. A Great Many Pints Of Beer Go To A

Five-Kroner Note. Martin And Tom Robson Resolutely Turned Their Backs On

The Temptation. Woodlouse Resisted It For A Long Time,  But In The End He

Was Obliged To Give Way. Torpander Was Sitting On A Stone At The Corner

Of The Cottage,  Gazing At The Coffin. His Silk Handkerchief Had,  In

Accordance With His Earnest Request,  Been Allowed To Follow Marianne To

The Grave; And On The Lid Of The Coffin,  Over Her Heart,  Lay A Garland

Which Had Cost Him Three Kroner. This Was The Only Adornment The Coffin

Possessed,  For Most Of The Flowers From The West End Had Been Bought By

The Townspeople For The Consul'S Funeral. Marianne Would Otherwise Have

Had Plenty.

 

At Length The People Began To Stream Out Of The Church; Those Who Were

With Marianne Had To Wait Till The Main Procession Arrived At The

Cemetery. The Seamen Then,  After Moistening Their Palms In The Usual

Way,  Went On With Their Burden With Renewed Vigour. There Was No Change

From The Five-Kroner Note.

 

No One Could Remember To Have Seen So Long A Funeral Procession As That

Which Followed The Young Consul. It Reached Almost From The Church Door,

To The Gate Of The Cemetery,  Which Lay In a Distant Part Of The Town. As

They Began To Move Slowly Along The Road,  A Whole Crowd Of Hats Came

Into View,  Hats Of All Kinds And Shapes. There Was Morten'S New Hat

Fresh From Paris,  And The Well-Known Broad Brim Of Dean Sparre. There

Were Hats Of The Old Chimney-Pot Shape,  With Scarcely Any Brim At All,

While Others Had Brims Which Hung Over Almost Like The Roof Of A Swiss

Cottage. Some Hats Had A Red Tinge When They Came Into The Glare Of The

Sunshine,  While Others Were Brushed As Smooth As Velvet. Twenty Years'

Changing Fashions Were Blended Together Like A Packet Of "Mixed Drops."

Only Old Anders Was Still Constant To His Cap,  Which Was Covered With

Pitch As Usual. A Crowd Of Boys And Children Followed On Both Sides Of

The Road,  And The Cemetery,  Which Lay On The Slope Of The Hill,  Was

Chapter 23 Pg 147

Already Thronged At The Part Near The Garmans' Tomb.

 

At The Entrance Of The Churchyard Were Planted Two Large Flag-Staves

Decorated With Wreaths; The Flags,  Which Were At Half-Mast,  Hung Down To

The Ground,  Waving Gently In The Light Breeze. The Town Band Was Now

Allowed A Moment'S Rest. The Whole Way From The Church It Had Played

Incessantly An Indescribable Air; And It Was Only In The Evening,  When

An Account Appeared In The Papers,  That The Air Was Recognized As

Chopin'S Funeral March.

 

The Precentor,  With His Choristers,  "Satan'S Clerks," As He Used To Call

Them When He Was Annoyed,  Begun To Intone A Psalm. The Coffin Was Lifted

From The Hearse,  And Carried Through The Cemetery,  By The Principal

Merchants Of The Town.

 

It Was A Magnificent Spectacle,  As The Long Funeral Procession,  With

Here And There A Uniform,  And Its Many Flower-Decorated Banners,  Moved

Majestically Along Through The Seething Crowd Of Women And Children,

Which Stood Closely Packed On And Among The Graves On Both Sides Of The

Path.

 

The Funeral Party Now Assembled Round The Grave,  Into Which The Coffin

Was Lowered. The Merchants Who Had Carried It Looked Relieved When He

Was Laid To Rest; He Had Been An Equally Heavy Burden To Them Both In

Death And In Life. The Singing Ceased,  And A Silence Ensued,  As The

Clergyman Ascended The Little Heap Of Earth Which Had Been Thrown Up At

The Side Of The Grave.

 

During The Latter Part Of The Preparation Of His Discourse,  The Chaplain

Had Felt Keenly In What A Difficult Position He Was Placed In Regard To

The Deceased. Since His Engagement With Madeleine,  His First Duty Was To

Be Strictly Impartial,  And Not To Allow Himself To Be Led Into Any

Flattering Expressions,  Which Would Be Quite Out Of Place From The Lips

Of One Who Had,  In Point Of Fact,  Become One Of The Family.

 

The Dean Had,  In His Discourse In The Church,  Dwelt Entirely On The

Merits Of The Deceased,  As A Fellow-Citizen And As A Good Man Of

Business,  Who Had,  Almost Like A Father,  Found Daily Bread For Hundreds,

And Who Had Shed Happiness And Prosperity All Around Him. The Chaplain

Began His Address As Follows:--

 

"My Sorrowing Friends,  When We Look Into This Grave--Six Feet Long And

Six Feet Deep,  When We Look At This Dark Coffin,  When We Think Of This

Body Which Is Going To Decay,  We Naturally,  My Dear Friends,  Say To

Ourselves,  'Here Lies A Man Of Riches,  Of Great Riches.' But Let Us

Search The Depths Of Our Own Hearts. For Where Is Now The Glitter Of

That Wealth Which Dazzles The Eyes Of So Many? Where Is Now The

Influence Which To Us,  Short-Sighted Mortals,  Appears To Attach To

Earthly Prosperity? Here In This Dark Tomb,  Six Feet Long And Six Feet

Deep,  It Is Buried From Our Sight.

 

"Oh,  My Friends! Let Us Learn The Lesson Which Is Taught By This Silent

Tomb. Here All Is Finished,  Here Is The End Of All Inequality,  Which Is,

After All,  But The Result Of Sin. Here,  In The Calm Peace Of The

Chapter 23 Pg 148

Churchyard,  They Rest Side By Side,  Rich And Poor,  High And Low,  All

Alike Before The Majesty Of Death. All That Is Perishable On Earth Is

Swept Aside Like A Used Garment. Six Feet Of Earth,  That Is All; It Is

The Same For Each One Of Us."

 

The Gentle Spring Breeze Breathed On The Silk Banners Of The Various

Guilds,  Lifting The Heavy Folds Out From The Staff,  And Making A Glad

Rustle In The Silk. And The Same Breeze Also Carried The Words Over The

Cemetery,  To The Old Crones Who Were Sitting On The Tombstones,  And The

Girls And Women Who Were Grouped Along The Slope. Yes,  Even To The Far

Distant Edge Of The Cemetery Did The Wind Bear The Eloquent Discourse,

So That The Words Could Be Distinctly Heard At The Grave In Which

Marianne Was About To Be Laid. And Those Words About Equality And The

Evanescence Of Worldly Wealth,  Were Indeed Words Of Comfort For The

Poor,  As Well As For The Rich. But Those Who Stood By Marianne'S Grave

Scarcely Listened To Them--Not Even Torpander,  Who Stood Gazing Intently

At His Solitary Wreath,  Which Lay On The Simple Coffin.

 

Woodlouse Was Guiltless Of Inattention,  For He Could Not Hear; But

Instead,  He Made His Observations And Gave Vent To His Philosophical

Reflections As Was His Wont.

 

There Lay,  In The Gravelly Heap Which Had Been Thrown Up From The Grave,

A Few Bones And Skulls. The Story Was,  That That Part Of The Churchyard,

Which Was Especially Devoted To The Poor,  Had Been A Burying-Place At

Some Former Period,  And The Graves Which Had Not Been Paid For For

Twenty Years Were,  After The Lapse Of That Time,  Again Made Use Of,

According To The Rule And Custom Of The Church. It Was Thus No Unusual

Thing To Find Coffins While A New Grave Was Being Dug,  Which Fell To

Pieces Under The Spade. The Bodies Had Been Packed Closely,  And Often

Several Had Been Placed In The Same Grave.

 

It Was,  However,  A Scandal That The Bones Should Be Allowed To Lie Out

In The Light Of Day,  Until The New Corpse Came To Be Buried. Abraham The

Sexton Had His Orders,  To Take Such Bones At Once To The House Which Was

Appointed For Them,  And Which Was A Mere Shed In One Corner Of The

Cemetery,  Where It Was Left To Each Skull To Discover The Bones

Belonging To It As Best It Might. But When Any Of The Officials Found

Fault With Abraham For His Neglect,  He Would Stand Leaning On His Spade,

And Cocking His Red Nose Knowingly On One Side,  Would Answer With A

Smile,  "Well,  You See,  What Are We To Do? The Poor Are Just As Much

Trouble In death As They Are In Life. They Never Will Die Like

Respectable People,  One By One,  Now And Again; But They All Die At The

Same Time,  You See,  And Then Come Out Here And Want To Get Buried.

Particularly All Through The Winter,  When The Ground Is Hard,  And Then

In The Early Spring,  What Are We To Do? It Is Really Too Bad. Yes,  At

Those Seasons They Bring Such Shoals Of Children--Ah,  Preserve Us From

The Children!--Yes,  And Grown-Up People Too,  For That Matter; And They

All Want Graves Just At The Wrong Time Of Year! They Always Choose The

Wrong Time! It Would Not Be So Bad If One Could Only Skimp The

Measurements A Bit; But,  You See,  No One Is So Particular As The Poor

About The Measurements. Six Feet Long And Six Feet Deep--They Will Have

It,  Never An Inch Less. And So,  You See,  It Is Not Always So Easy To Get

These Bones Out Of Sight In Time For One Of These Pauper