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

Pass Among The Cottages. Ragged Urchins Waylaid Him,  The Girls And The

Old Women Put Their Heads Out Of The Doors And Gaped After Him,  While A

Group Of Children Who Were Grovelling On The Shore Cheered Him Lustily.

Wherever He Turned,  All Reeked Of Filth And Poverty.

As Torpander Could Get Nothing Out Of Anders Begmand,  Whom He Found

Huddled Up In a Corner Of The Room,  He Went Upstairs And Knocked At

Marianne'S Door. No One Said "Come In," And He Therefore Ventured To

Open The Door Slightly And Look Into The Room.

Poor Man! He Was So Appalled That He Could Scarcely Keep His Feet. There

She Lay,  His Own Beloved Marianne; Her Mouth Half Open,  And Moaning

Incessantly. Her Cheeks,  Which Were Sunken,  Were Of An Ashy White,  And

In The Dark Hollows Round Her Eyes Were Standing Small Drops Of

Perspiration. He Had No Idea That Her State Was So Hopeless; And This

Was The Time He Had Chosen For Making His Proposal! Marianne Lifted Her

Eyes. She Knew Him--Of That He Felt Assured,  For She Smiled Faintly With

Her Own Heavenly Smile; But He Could Not Help Remarking How Conspicuous

Her Teeth Appeared. She Could No Longer Speak,  But Her Large Eyes Moved

Several Times From Him To The Window,  And He Thought That She Was Asking

For Something. Torpander Went To The Window,  Which Was A New One Tom

Robson Had Had Made,  And Laid His Hand On The Fastening. She Smiled

Again,  And As He Opened The Window,  He Could See A Look Of Thankfulness

Pass Over Her Features. The Midday Sun,  Which Was Shining Over The Hill

At The Back Of The House And Falling Obliquely On The Window,  Threw A

Ray Of Light For A Short Distance Into The Room. Away In The Town The

Bells Were Tolling For A Funeral,  And Their Sound,  Which Was Re-Echoed

From The Hill,  Was Soft And Subdued In Its Tone.

Marianne Turned Towards The Light; Her Eyes Were Shining Brilliantly,

And A Delicate Shade Of Red Mantled Her Cheeks. Torpander Thought He Had

Never Seen Her Look So Lovely.

When Pastor Martens Entered The Room,  He Was As Much Struck By The

Appearance Of The Dying Woman As Torpander Had Been,  But In Quite A

Different Manner. It Was Impossible She Could Be So Near Death; And He

Could Not Help Feeling Annoyed With Martin,  Who Had Thus Exaggerated His

Sister'S Danger,  And Had Perhaps Been The Cause Of His Arriving Too Late

At Consul Garman'S Death-Bed. The Extraordinary Figure Dressed In The

Long Light-Brown Coat,  Which Kept Ever And Anon Bowing To Him,  Did Not

Tend To Calm His Feelings,  And It Is Possible That Something Of His

Annoyance Showed Itself In The Words Which He Now Addressed To Marianne.

The Clergyman Was Standing By The Bed In Such A Position As To Shield

The Light Of The Window From Marianne,  Who Was Gazing At Him With Her

Large Eyes. He Did Not Wish To Be Severe,  But It Was Well Known That The

Woman At Whose Death-Bed He Was Standing,  Was Fallen. At The Close Of

Such A Life,  It Was Only His Duty To Speak Of Sin And Its Bitter

Consequences. Marianne'S Eyes Began To Wander Uneasily As She Turned

Them,  Now On The Clergyman,  And Now On Torpander. At Length She Made An

Effort,  And Turned Her Face In The Other Direction.

The Pastor Did Not Intend To Finish His Discourse Without Holding Out A

Hope Of Reconciliation With God,  Even After Such A Life Of Sin; But

While He Continued Speaking About Repentance And Forgiveness,  The

Neighbour,  Who Had Been At Her Dinner,  Entered The Room.

The Woman Went To The Foot Of The Bed,  But When She Looked At Marianne'S

Face She Said Quietly,  "I Beg Your Pardon,  Sir,  But She Is Dead."

"Dead!" Said The Minister,  Rising Hastily From His Chair. "It Is Most

Extraordinary!" He Took Up His Hat,  Said Good-Bye,  And Left The Room.

The Woman Took Marianne'S Hands And Folded Them Decently Across Her

Breast; She Then Put Her Arms Under The Bedclothes And Straightened The

Legs,  So That The Corpse Should Not Stiffen With The Knees Bent. The

Mouth Was Slightly Open. She Shut It,  But The Chin Fell Again. Torpander

Could See What The Woman Was Looking For,  And Handed Her His Silk

Handkerchief. How Rejoiced He Was That He Had Not Used It! The Woman

Regarded The Handkerchief Suspiciously,  But When She Saw That It Was

Perfectly Clean,  She Folded It Neatly And Tied It Round Marianne'S Head.

Torpander Stood Gazing At The Little Weary Face,  Bound Round With His

Lovely Silk Handkerchief,  And He Felt At Length As If He Had Some Part

In Her. He Had Received Her Last Look,  Her Last Smile,  And As A Reward

She Had Accepted His First And Last Gift. After All,  His Courtship Had

Had The Best Ending He Could Possibly Have Hoped For. He Bent His Head,

And Wept Silently In abraham Lincoln'S Portrait.

Begmand Came Upstairs,  And Sat Gazing At The Body. Since The Fire He Had

Not Been Altogether Himself.

"Shall I Go To Zacharias The Carpenter,  And Order The Coffin?" Asked The

Woman. But As She Did Not Get Any Answer,  She Went Off And Ordered The

Coffin On Her Own Account. It Was Not To Be Any More Ornamental Than Was

Usual In The West End.

Meanwhile Pastor Martens Was Continuing His Journey. Marianne'S Death

Had Made A Most Disagreeable Impression Upon Him,  Which Probably Added

To His Former Ill Humour.

The Women,  Both Old And Young,  Were Again On The Look-Out For Him. A

Clergyman Was Not Often To Be Seen In West End. The Boys,  Who Had Found

A Dead Cat On The Shore,  And Which The Eldest Was Dragging After Him,

Came Marching Along Like Little Soldiers. Behind Them Followed A Tiny

Little Creature Not Higher Than One'S Knee,  With His Mother'S Wooden

Shoes On His Feet,  And Wearing A Paper Cap On His Head. The Whole Band

Was In High Spirits,  And Sang With A Ringing Voice A National Air,

According To The Comic Version Which Was In Use In West End:

     "Yes,  We Love Our Country;

       Yes,  Indeed We Do!

     He Who Dares Deny It,

       We Will Let Him Know!"

The Pastor Had To Pass The Children,  Whose Song Went Through His Head.

The Cat,  Of Which He Just Caught A Glimpse,  Was Half Putrid,  And Its

Skin Was Hanging In Rags. Parson Martens Pressed His Handkerchief To His

Mouth; He Was Afraid That The Unhealthy Atmosphere Would Be Injurious To

His Health.

He Hurried Out Of West End And Up To The House,  As Fast As His Cassock,

And Having To Pick His Way Among The Dirty Puddles,  Would Allow; But He

Came Too Late. The Consul Had Already Been Dead Half An Hour,  And So

Pastor Martens Turned And Went Back To The Town. It Was Very Hot Walking

In The Long Black Garment,  And Already Well Past Dinner-Time.

Madame Rasmussen Came Running To Meet Him. "My Dear Mr. Martens,  Dinner.

Why,  It'S Half-Past Two! Why,  How Exhausted You Look!"

"Let Us Rejoice,  Madame Rasmussen," Answered The Clergyman,  With A Bland

Smile,  "When We Are Thought Worthy To Endure Trials."

He Was Indeed A Heavenly Man,  Was The Pastor. How Pious And Amiable He

Looked As He Sat At Table! No One Could Ever Have Suspected That He Wore

A Wig.

Madame Rasmussen Sat Down To Embroider Some Cushions To Put In The

Window,  For The Chaplain Could Not Bear The Slightest Draught.

Consul Garman'S Death Caused A Great Sensation In The Town. The

Wonderful Escape Of The Ship Was Already Material Enough For Several

Weeks' Gossip; And Now There Came This Death,  With All Its Immediate

Circumstances And Possible Consequences. The Whole Town Was Fairly

Buzzing With Stories And Gossip.

The Business Men Gave Each Other A Knowing Wink. The Old Man At

Sandsgaard Had Been A Hard Nut To Crack,  But Now They Would Have More

Elbow-Room,  And Morten Was Not So Dangerous.

The Preparations For The Funeral Were On The Grandest Scale. The Body

Was To Be Taken From Sandsgaard And Laid In The Church,  Where Dean

Sparre Was To Deliver A Discourse,  While The Chaplain Was To Conduct The

Funeral Service At The Cemetery.

All The Different Guilds Were To Follow With Their Banners,  And The Town

Band Was Busy Practising Till Late At Night. A Regular Committee Of

Management Was Formed,  And There Was Almost As Much Stir As If It Was

The 17Th Of May.[B]

    [Footnote B: Anniversary Of The Declaration Of The

     Norwegian Independence In 1814.]

Jacob Worse Did Not Take Any Part In all This. He Truly Regretted The

Consul,  Who Had Always Been Almost Like A Father To Him.

Mrs. Worse Was More Annoyed Than Sorry. "It Was Too Bad,  It Was Really

Too Bad," She Grumbled,  "Of The Consul To Go And Die!" She Was Sure That

He Would Have Arranged The Match,  Such A Sensible Man As He Was; But Now

That There Were Nothing But A Lot Of Women In The House--For The

_Attache_ Was Little Better Than An Old Woman Himself--And So On,  And So

On,  Thought The Old Lady,  And She Wondered That Rachel,  Who Had Such A

Clever Father,  Had Not Inherited A Little More Sense.

Sandsgaard Was Silent And Desolate From Top To Bottom. The Body Lay

Upstairs In The Little Room On The North Side,  And White Curtains Were

Hanging In Front Of All The Windows Of The Second Story. Not A Sound Was

Heard,