Garman And Worse A Norwegian Novel by Alexander Lange Kielland (best ereader for pdf and epub txt) 📕

Drudgery Of Household Duties! Their Intellect Was Wasted,  And Their

Strength Exhausted For Nothing. It Was Quite Easy To Talk So Glibly Of

Purity In a State Of Society Where Man Was To Know Everything And Have A

Right To Everything,  While Woman Was To Be Debarred From All

Intellectual Knowledge.

At The First Pause In The Conversation,  Aalbom Came To The Front As

Woman'S Champion,  And The Magistrate And Martens Joined Him. The

Conversation Now Waxed Warmer,  And Delphin Wandered Off To Madeleine,

Leaving Worse Struggling Alone Against The Arguments Which Both Sides

Brought To Bear On Him. The Disputants Became Heated And Excited,  And

All Went On Talking At Once,  Without Giving Time For The Others To

Finish Their Sentences.

The _Attache_ Stood With His Hands Behind His Back,  Regarding With

Apprehension The Storm He Had Raised,  And Which Was Now Out Of His Power

To Quell.

Mr. Johnsen Made Several Attempts To Join In The Conversation,  Which

Had,  However,  Become So Warm That No One Could Be Got To Listen To His

Measured And Carefully Worded Remarks. Rachel Followed The Arguments

With The Greatest Interest,  But She Could Not Help Feeling Annoyed. She

Was Annoyed When The Others Said Anything Stupid,  And Even Still More So

When She Was Obliged To Confess That Worse Was In The Right. Everything

Seemed To Irritate Her. She Could Not Bear To Hear These Men Discussing

Her And Her Position As If She Were Some Strange Animal,  And Without

Ever Having The Grace To Ask Her Opinion. The Conversation Had Now Gone

Far Beyond Woman'S Position,  Although Jacob Worse Tried In Vain To Keep

Them To The Point. Off They Went Through Recent Literature,  Foreign

Politics,  Home Politics,  Ever With Increasing Earnestness,  And With The

Same Division Of Parties. Latterly The Pastor Had Come More To The

Front. Aalbom'S Voice Began To Fail Him,  And The Magistrate Was Unable

Any Longer To Get Beyond The Beginning Of His Sentences,  And Could Do

Little Else Than Point To His Decorations And Say,  "For God And The

King!" And Before They Knew Where They Were,  They Found Themselves On

The Subject Of Modern Scepticism.

Jacob Worse Protested Against This Digression; But Martens,  Whose Voice

Was Just As Calm As When He Began,  Maintained That This Lay At The

Bottom Of The Whole Question,  And That Modern Unbelief Formed,  As It

Were,  A Background To All The Questions They Had Been Discussing,  And

That All The Arguments That Were Adduced From A "Certain Point Of View"

Had Their Roots In This Very Principle.

The Magistrate And Aalbom Were Agreed On This Point,  But Jacob Worse,

With A Pale Face And Excited Gestures,  Began,  "Gentlemen--!"

The Consul Here Made A Sign To Miss Cordsen,  Who Opened The Doors Into

The Dining-Room,  From Whence The Bright Light Shone Suddenly Into The

Room. The Disputants Only Now Remarked That It Had Become Quite Dark As

They Were Talking. The Company Then Adjourned To The Dining-Room,

Thankful Enough To Have A Little Breathing-Time,  But The Voices Still

Retained Traces Of The Excitement.

"Where Did You Get Those Splendid Lobsters,  Mother?" Asked Morten,  Who

Had Suddenly Turned Up,  No One Knew From Whence. He Never Missed His

Meals.

"Uncle Richard Brought Them," Answered Mrs. Garman. "I Think He Has A

Fisherman At Bratvold,  Who Always Brings Him The Finest Lobsters That

Are To Be Got." She Had Taken Care To Help Herself To Some Of The Coral,

Which Looked Most Appetizing In Its Contrast To The White Meat.

Madeleine Got Almost As Red As The Lobster,  And Bent Down Over Her

Teacup. Per,  And Everything Connected With Her Old Home,  Now Seemed So

Distant,  That When She Thought Upon Her Original Intention Of Making An

Open Confession,  The Idea Seemed Mere Folly. She Was Indeed Thankful

That None Of Those Around Her Guessed How Near She Had Been To Such An

Absurd Engagement.

The Two Brothers,  When They Were Going To Bed That Evening,  Had A Chat

Over The Events Of The Day. Richard'S Room Opened Into The Consul'S,  And

Notwithstanding That His Habit Of Smoking Cigarettes Was An Abomination

To His Brother,  The Door Between The Rooms Always Remained Open At

Night. Each Had His Own Particular Method Of Undressing. The Consul Took

Off Each Garment In due Order,  Folded It Up,  And Laid It In Its

Appointed Place. Richard,  On The Other Hand,  Tore Off His Things And

Threw Them About Anyhow. He Then Wrapped Himself In His Dressing-Gown,

And Sat Down And Smoked Till His Brother Was Ready.

"He Is The Very Devil,  That Worse!" Said The _Attache_,  Leaning Back In

The Armchair; "But It Does Me Good To Hear Any One Speak Out His Mind So

Plainly."

"He Is Too Violent; He Forgets Conventionalities."

"It Is Possible To Have Too Much Conventionality. It Is Well For Young

People To Air Their Views; It Does Them Good."

"What Nonsense You Are Talking,  Dick!" Cried The Consul,  Entering His

Brother'S Room. "What The Deuce Would Become Of The World If Youngsters

Were Allowed To Jabber Like That On Every Possible Occasion?"

But Uncle Richard Was Not Nervous When They Were _Tete-A-Tete_. He Got

Slowly Up From His Chair,  And Let His Dressing-Gown Slip Off His

Shoulders; And The Two Brothers Now Stood Opposite Each Other,  In Very

Different _Deshabille_. The Young Consul Was In His Night-Shirt,  And A

Pair Of Flannel Drawers Tied At The Knees With Broad Tape. His Thin Legs

Were Thrust Into Long Grey Stockings,  Which Miss Cordsen Alone Knew How

To Knit. Richard Had A Pair Of Turkish Slippers,  Thread Stockings,  Which

Fitted Closely To His Well-Formed Leg,  And A Shirt Of Fine Material

Stiffly Starched,  In Which He Always Slept. There Were None Of His

Brother'S Failings Which The Consul Disliked More Than This.

"I Tell You What,  Christian Frederick," Said Uncle Richard,  As He Laid

His Hand On His Brother'S Shoulder,  "I Don'T Say That Young People Will

Do The World A Great Deal Of Good By Making A Noise,  But I Am Quite

Certain That None Of Us Have Done It Much Good By Holding Our Tongue."

"What Do You Mean? Nonsense,  Richard!" Said The Consul,  Contemptuously,

As He Turned Back Into His Room.

They Both Got Into Bed And Put Out Their Lights.

"Good Night,  Christian Frederick."

"Good Night," Answered The Consul,  Rather Drily; But Just As Uncle

Richard Was On The Point Of Falling Asleep,  He Heard His Brother Say--

"Dick,  Dick! Are You Asleep?"

"No,  Not Quite," Answered The Other,  Sitting Up In bed.

"Well,  Then,  Perhaps There Was Something In What You Said Just Now. Good

Night."

"Good Night," Said The _Attache_,  Lying Down With A Smile On His Face. A

Few Minutes After The Two Old Gentlemen Were Snoring Peacefully In

Unison.

Gustaf Torpander Was Still Consumed By His Silent Passion. Every Penny

He Could Save He Devoted Either To Heightening His Personal Attractions

Or To Treating Marianne'S Brother; For Hitherto He Had Never Had The

Courage To Offer Her Any Presents Personally. The Circuitous Course He

Was Thus Driven To Follow In His Courtship,  Was Not Altogether Agreeable

To The Swede,  And The Drinking Bouts At Begmand'S Cottage,  In Which He

Was Obliged To Take Part In Order To Get A Glimpse Of His Sweetheart,  He

Found Particularly Distasteful.

At First Marianne Was Greatly Annoyed By The Attentions Of The

Journeyman Printer. From Her Earliest Childhood,  The Knowledge Of Her

Exceptional Beauty Had Made Her Careful To Be On Her Guard Against Any

Advances From The Other Sex; But Since Her Misfortune,  She Had Come To

Regard Every Attention As A Kind Of Persecution. But Her Shyness Was

Generally Received With An Incredulous Smile Or A Coarse Joke. What

Shocked Her Most Was,  That Men Seemed No Longer To Believe That She

Really Meant To Shun Them In earnest,  And She Was Therefore Quite

Nervous If Any Of Them Approached Her. When,  However,  She Saw That

Torpander Did Not Presume On His Acquaintance,  And Preserved His Polite

And Even Respectful Manner,  She Became At Last Used To His Society,  And

Had Even A Kind Of Sympathetic Feeling For Him. For Tom Robson She Had

Always An Unconquerable Aversion. It Is True That She Saw Tom Only From

His Worst Side,  When He Was Drinking. In The Morning,  When Robson Was

Sober,  There Was Something Of The Gentleman About Him. He Was Always

Neatly Dressed In a Blue Serge Suit,  Coloured Shirt,  And In dry Weather

Wore Canvas Shoes. It Was A Great Pleasure For The Young Consul To Go

His Morning Round In The Ship-Yard With Mr. Robson. The Work Went On

Bravely,  And The Ship Bid Fair To Be Both Handsome And Well Built. Mr.

Garman Knew Tom'S Weakness As Well As Any One,  But As Long As He

Attended To His Work He Was Free To Use His Leisure As He Liked. The

Firm Had Always Worked On The Principle That The Less The Workpeople

Were Interfered With The Better. They Worked All The Better For It,  And

Gave Far Less Trouble Generally.

"I Think She Ought To Be Ready Next Spring," Said The Consul One Day In

The Beginning Of July.

"In About Eight Or Nine Months,  If The Winter Is Not Too Wet," Answered

Tom.

"I Should Be Very Pleased If We Could Manage To Launch Her On The 15Th

Of May," Said The Consul,  In a Low Tone; "But You Must Not Mention The

Day To Any One; You Understand,  Mr. Robson?"

"All Right,  Sir," Answered Tom.

Tom Did Not Betray The Day,  Even To His Friend Master Gabriel; He Only

Said It Was To Be Some Time In The Spring,  And With That Gabriel Had To

Be Content: