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

That Was The One Of Richard Garman. No Mortal Eye Had Ever Seen It. Some

Thought It Might Possibly Be In The Consul'S Own Red Book; Others

Thought That No Such Thing Existed. True It Was Undoubtedly,  That The

Chief Carried On Personally All The Correspondence With His Brother;

And,  Wonderful To Relate,  These Letters Were Never Copied. This Was Food

For Much Speculation Among The Clerks,  And At Last They Came To The

Conclusion That The Young Consul Did Not Wish Any One To Know In What

Relation Richard Garman Stood To The Firm.

One Thing Was Plain,  And Confirmed By Long Experience,  And That Was,

That The Consul Attached Great Importance To The Letters That Came From

His Brother. He Read Them Before The Rest Of The Post,  And If Any One

Happened To Come In When He Was Thus Engaged,  He Always Covered The

Correspondence With A Sheet Of Paper. One Of The Younger Clerks Once

Asserted That He Had Seen A Bill Of Exchange In One Of The Aforesaid

Letters,  But The Statement Found But Little Credence In The Office; For

It Was A Recognized Fact That Not One Single Paper Existed Which Bore

Richard Garman'S Signature. Another Story,  Which Was Even Less Worthy Of

Credit,  Was One Told By The Office Messenger,  Who Stated That One Day He

Had Brought A Letter From Bratvold,  And That As He Came In With The

Portfolio He Had Found The Young Consul Standing By The Key-Drawer,  With

A Letter In One Hand And Two Bills Of Exchange In The Other,  Quite Red

In The Face,  And Apparently Bent Double,  As If He Was On The Point Of

Choking. The Messenger Thought At First That It Was A Fit,  But It Was

Plain To The Meanest Understanding That There Was Not A Word Of Truth In

The Story,  For The Messenger Had The Audacity To Aver That He Had Heard

The Young Consul Give Vent To A Short But Unmistakable Laugh. There Was

Plainly A Misapprehension Somewhere; Every One Knew That The Young

Consul Was Unable To Laugh.

When Gabriel Had Shut The Door After Announcing His Uncle'S Arrival,  The

Consul Got Up And Went Off To The Key-Drawer,  From Whence He Took A

Gigantic Key,  To Which Was Attached A Wooden Label Black With Age. He

Then Brushed His Coat,  And,  After Adjusting His Chin In His Neckcloth

And Arranging His Scanty Locks,  Left The Office.

The House Was Large And Old Fashioned,  With Long Passages And Broad

Staircases. In The Western Wing Were The Offices,  Having A Separate

Entrance On The Side Towards The Sea. On The Southern Side,  And

Overlooking The Garden,  Were The Bedrooms Of The Family,  And The

Apartments Which Were Generally Used As Sitting-Rooms.

The Second Floor Consisted Entirely Of Reception-Rooms,  Which Were So

Arranged As To Have The Large Ballroom In The Middle,  With _Salons_ At

The Side. In One Of These Rooms The Family Generally Dined On Sunday,  Or

When They Had Guests,  And It Was The Small _Salon_ At The North-West

Corner,  Looking Over The Building-Yard And The Sea,  In Which The Dinner

Was Usually Served.

On The Third Floor,  Or,  More Correctly,  In The Garrets,  Was An Endless

Number Of Spare Rooms,  Whose Windows Looked Out Of The Quaint Dormers

Which Embellished The Roof.

The Furniture Was Mostly Of Mahogany,  Now Dark With Age,  While Chairs

And Sofas Were Covered With Horsehair. Against The Walls Stood Tall Dark

Presses,  And Mirrors With The Glass In Two Pieces,  And Having Their

Gilded Frames Adorned With Urns And Garlands. The Rooms Were Lit By

Old-Fashioned Chandeliers And Girandoles.

The Consul Met One Of The Servants In The Passage. "Has Mr. Garman

Arrived?"

"Yes,  Sir; And He Has Gone Upstairs,  To My Mistress," Answered The Girl.

When The Weather Was Warm,  Mrs. Garman Usually Preferred One Of The Airy

Rooms Upstairs. She Was A Very Fat Lady,  Who Lived In a Continual State

Of Strife With Dyspepsia. From Whatever Side You Looked At Her,  She

Presented A Succession Of Smoothly Rounded Curves Covered With Shining

Black Silk.

It Was Wonderful That Mrs. Garman Got So Stout; It Must Have Been,  As

She Herself Said,  "A Cross" She Had To Bear. She Seemed To Eat Very

Little At Her Meals,  And Could Not Control Her Astonishment At The

Appetites Of The Rest Of The Company. Only At Times,  When She Was Alone

In Her Room,  She Seemed To Have A Fancy For Some Little Delicacy,  And

Miss Cordsen Used To Bring Her A Little Bit Of Just What Happened To Be

Handy.

When The Consul Entered Her Room,  His Wife Was Sitting On The Sofa,

Engaged In conversation With Her Brother-In-Law.

"How Are You? How Are You,  Christian Frederick?" Said Richard,  Gaily.

"Here I Am Again!"

"You Are Welcome,  Richard. I Am Charmed To See You," Answered The

Consul,  Keeping His Hands Behind His Back.

Richard Seemed Quite Confused,  As He Generally Was When He Met His

Brother,  Who Sometimes Could Be As Gay And Cheerful As When They Were

Boys,  And At Others Would Put On His Business Manner,  And Be Cold,

Repellant,  And So Abominably Precise.

"Is Any One Coming To Dinner To-Day,  Caroline?" Asked Consul Garman.

"Pastor Martens Has Announced His Kind Intention Of Introducing The New

School Inspector To Us," Answered The Lady.

"Yes,  I Dare Say,  Another Of Your Parson Friends," Said The Consul,

Drily; "Then,  I'Ll Just Send The Coachman With The Carriage For Morten

And Fanny,  And Ask Them To Bring Some Young People With Them: They Might

Find Jacob Worse,  Perhaps."

"What For?" Answered The Lady,  In a Tone Which Showed An Inclination To

Dispute The Proposition.

"Because Neither Richard Nor I Care To Have Our Dinner With Nothing But

A Lot Of Parsons," Answered The Consul,  In a Tone Which Brought His Wife

To Her Senses. "And Will You Be So Kind As To Arrange With Miss Cordsen

About The Dinner?"

"Oh! The Dinner,  The Dinner!" Sighed Mrs. Garman,  As She Left The Room.

"I Cannot Understand How People Can Think So Much About Such Trifles."

Uncle Richard Followed His Sister-In-Law To The Door,  And When He Turned

Round After Making His Most Polite Bow,  He Saw His Brother Standing In

The Middle Of The Room,  With His Legs Far Apart,  And One Hand Behind His

Back. With The Other He Held Up The Monster Key Like An Eyeglass Before

His Eye,  And Through It He Regarded His Brother With A Knowing Look.

"Do You Know That?" Asked The Consul.

"_Mais Oui_!" Answered Richard,  In a Tone Which Showed His Delight At

Finding His Brother In a Mood Which Betokened A Visit To The

Wine-Cellar.

The Two Old Gentlemen Went Off Arm-In-Arm,  Until They Reached The Top Of

The Kitchen Stairs. At The Kitchen Door They Stopped,  And The Consul

Called For The Lights. A Commotion Was Heard Inside,  And In a Few

Seconds Miss Cordsen Appeared With Two Ancient Candlesticks.

Each Took His Own Light--They Never Made Any Mistake As To Which Was

Which--And Descended The Stairs Which Led To The Dark Cellar. They First

Arrived At A Large Outer Cellar,  Where It Was Comparatively Light,  In

Which Were Stored The Wines Which Were In Ordinary Use,  Such As St.

Julien,  Rhine Wine,  Graves,  And Brandy. This Was All Under The Charge Of

Miss Cordsen,  Who,  In accordance With The _Regime_ Which Had Come Down

From The Old Consul'S Time,  Produced The Different Wines According To

The Number And Importance Of The Guests. In The Darkest Corner Of The

Cellar There Was An Old Keyhole,  Only Known To The Consul,  But He Could

Find It In The Dark. All The Same,  Both Of Them Held Out Their Lights To

Look For It,  And The Young Consul Never Omitted To Remark Upon The

Clever Way In Which His Father Had Concealed The Secret Door.

The Key Turned Twice In The Lock With A Rusty Sound,  Which The Brothers

Could Distinguish From Any Other Sound In The World,  And An Atmosphere

Redolent Of Wine And Mould Met Them As They Entered. The Consul Shut The

Door,  And Said,  "There Now,  The World Will Have To Get On Without Us For

A Little While." The Inner Wine-Cellar Looked As If It Were Considerably

Older Than The House Itself,  And The Groined Roof Had A Resemblance To

The Cloister Of An Old Monastery. It Was So Low That Richard Had To Bend

His Head A Little,  And Even The Consul Felt Inclined To Stoop When He

Was Down There.

In The Old Bins Lay Bottles Of Different Shapes Covered With Dust And

Cobwebs,  And In The Recess Of What Had Been A Grated Window,  But Was Now

Walled Up On The Outside,  There Stood Two Old Long-Stemmed Dutch

Glasses,  While In One Corner There Lay A Large Wine-Cask. In Front Of

The Cask Was Placed An Empty Tub,  Between An Armchair Without A Back,

And From The Seat Of Which The Horsehair Was Protruding,  And An Ancient

Rocking-Horse That Had Lost Its Rockers.

The Brothers Put Down Their Lights On The Bottom Of The Tub,  And Took

Off Their Coats,  Which They Hung Each On Their Own Peg.

"Well,  What'S It To Be To-Day?" Said Christian Frederick,  Rubbing His

Hands.

"Port Wouldn'T Be Bad," Suggested Richard,  Examining The Bin.

"Port Wine Would Be First-Rate," Answered The Consul,  Holding Out His

Light. "But Look,  There'S A Row Of Bottles Lying In Here That We Have

Never Tried. I Should Like To Know What They Are."

"I Dare Say It Is Some Of My Grandmother'S Raspberry Vinegar," Suggested

Richard.

"Nonsense! Do You Suppose Father Would Have Hidden Away Raspberry

Vinegar In This Cellar?"

"Perhaps He Was As