gutenberg_id line_batch text id_batch analysis rephrasing 0 6709 117268 "feet, and gazed in utter bewilderment upon the scene before me. The aurora light was shining with unusual brilliancy, and disclosed everything--the sea, the shore, the athaleb, the jantannin, the promontory, all--more plainly and more luminously than before; but it was not any of these things that now excited my attention and rendered me dumb. I saw Almah standing there at a little distance, with despairing face, surrounded by a band of armed Kosekin; while immediately before me, regarding me with a keen glance and an air of triumph, was Layelah. Ataesmzori alonla,"" said she, with a sweet smile, giving me the usual salutation of the Kosekin. I was too bewildered to say a word, and stood mute as before, looking first at her and then at Almah. The sight of Almah a prisoner once more, surrounded by the Kosekin, excited me to madness. I seized my rifle, and raised it as if to take aim; but Almah, who understood the movement, cried to me: Put down your sepet-ram, Atam-or! you can do nothing for me. The Kosekin are too numerous."""" Sepet-ram!"" said Layelah; ""what do you mean by that? If your sepet-ram has any power, do not try to use it, Atam-or, or else I shall have to order my followers to give to Almah the blessing of death."""" At this my rifle was lowered: the whole truth flashed upon me, and I saw, too, the madness of resistance. I might kill one or two, but the rest would do as Layelah said, and I should speedily be disarmed. Well I knew how powerless were the thunders of my fire-arms to terrify these Kosekin; for the prospect of death would only rouse them to a mad enthusiasm, and they would all rush upon me as they would rush upon a jantannin--to slay and be slain. The odds were too great. A crowd of Europeans could be held in check far more easily than these death-loving Kosekin. The whole truth was thus plain: we were prisoners, and were at their mercy. Layelah showed no excitement or anger whatever. She looked and spoke in her usual gracious and amiable fashion, with a sweet smile on her face. We knew,"" said she, ""that you would be in distress in this desolate place, and that you would not know where to go from Magones; and so we have come, full of the most eager desire to relieve your wants. We have brought with us food and drink, and are ready to do everything for you that you may desire. We have had great trouble in finding you, and have coursed over the shores for vast distances, and far over the interior, but our athalebs found you at last by their scent. And we rejoice to have found you in time, and that you are both so well, for we have been afraid that you had been suffering. Nay, Atam-or, do not thank us; thanks are distasteful to the Kosekin: these brave followers of mine will all be amply rewarded for this, for they will all be made paupers; but as for myself, I want no higher reward than the delightful thought that I have saved you from suffering."""" The beautiful, smiling Layelah, who addressed me in this way with her sweet voice, was certainly not to be treated as an enemy. Against her a rifle could not be levelled; she would have looked at me with the same sweet smile, and that smile would have melted all my resolution. Nor could I even persist in my determination to remain. Remain! For what? For utter despair! And yet where else could we go? You do not know where lie the lands of the Orin,"" said Layelah. ""The athaleb does not know. You could not guide him if you did know. You are helpless on his back. The art of driving an athaleb is difficult, and cannot be learned without long and severe practice. My fear was that the athaleb might break away from you and return, leaving you to perish here. Had you tried to leave this place he would have brought" 83 "Summary: The narrator is in awe of the aurora light and sees Almah surrounded by armed Kosekin. Layelah confronts the narrator and informs them that they are now prisoners. Layelah offers to help them, but the narrator realizes resistance is futile. They accept their fate and Layelah expresses joy in finding them. Trope: Prisoner of war Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Despairing Genre: Adventure Intertextuality: Historical fiction Speech standard: Formal Literary form: Conversation Active character: Almah, Layelah Absolute place: Magones Fuzzy place: The shore, the promontory Diegetic time: A few minutes " Almah, who had gone to the stern of the boat, with one foot in it, was soon surrounded by armed Kosekin, and I could do nothing but watch her helplessly from my position on the beach. As they came within hearing distance, Layelah lifted her hand and cried: “Layelah! Layelah!” The name brought the girl back to where she could see me; then she broke out into a torrent of words which I did not understand, until she suddenly paused and turned toward me again, and I heard her say distinctly in our own tongue: “Oh, my lord, you are indeed a prisoner now, but you need not despair.” There was something in her voice that struck me, and I looked up at her in amazement. What she said next made my hair stand on end, for she continued: “When you left us you were once more my prisoner, and you have been so ever since. You may thank me for my protection, which has kept you alive until this time, when you are once more under my power. You will come ashore now, and come quietly. If you resist you will be killed, and I would not have your death upon my soul.” 1 6709 117269 "you back to the amir."""" To this I said nothing--partly because it was so true that I had no answer to make, and partly also out of deep mortification and dejection. My pride was wounded at being thus so easily baffled by a girl like Layelah, and all my grief was stirred by the sadness of Almah. In her eyes there seemed even now the look of one who sees death inevitable, and the glance she gave to me was like an eternal farewell. Almah now spoke, addressing herself to Layelah. Death,"" said she, in a voice of indescribable mournfulness, ""is better here than with you. We would rather die here than go back. Let us, I pray you, receive the blessing of death here. Let us be paupers and exiles, and die on Magones."""" Layelah heard this, and stood for a moment in deep thought. No one but a stranger,"" said she at length, ""would ask such a favor as that. Do you not know that what you ask is among the very highest honors of the Kosekin? Who am I that I can venture to grant such a request as that? Ask for anything in my power, and I will be glad to grant it. I have already arranged that you shall be separated from Atam-or; and that, surely, is a high privilege. I might consent to bind you hand and foot, after the manner of the more distinguished Asirin; you may also be blindfolded if you wish it. I might even promise, after we return to the amir, to keep you confined in utter darkness, with barely sufficient food to keep you alive until the time of the sacrifice; in short, there is no blessing known among the Kosekin that I will not give so long as it is in my power. And so, beloved Almah,"""" continued Layelah, """"you have every reason for happiness; you have all the highest blessings known among the Kosekin: separation from your lover, poverty, want, darkness; and, finally, the prospect of inevitable death ever before you as the crowning glory of your lot."""" These words seemed to the Kosekin the very excess of magnanimity, and involuntary murmurs of admiration escaped them; although it is just possible that they murmured at the greatness of the favor that was offered. But to me it sounded like fiendish mockery, and to Almah it sounded the same; for a groan escaped her, her fortitude gave way, she sank on her knees, buried her head in her hands, and wept. Almah,"" cried I, in a fury, ""we will not go back--we will not be separated! I will destroy all the athalebs, and we shall all perish here together. At least, you and I will not be separated."""" At this Almah started up. No, no,"" said she--""no; let us go back. Here we have nothing but death."""" But we have death also at the amir, and a more terrible one,"" said I. If you kill the athalebs,"" said Layelah, ""I will give Almah the blessing of death."""" At this I recoiled in horror, and my resolution again gave way. You have some mysterious power of conferring death,"" continued Layelah, """"with what Almah calls your sepet-ram; but do not kill the athalebs, for it will do you no good. Almah would then receive the blessing of death. My followers, these noble Kosekin, would rejoice in thus gaining exile and death on Magones. As for myself, it would be my highest happiness to be here alone with you. With you I should live for a few sweet joms, and with you I should die; so go on--kill the athalebs if you wish."""" Do not!"" cried Almah--""do not! There is no hope. We are their prisoners, and our only hope is in submission."""" Upon this all further thought of resistance left me, and I stood in silence, stolidly waiting for their action. As I looked around I noticed a movement near the jantannin, and saw several athalebs" 83 "Summary: The narrator is being asked to return to the amir, but they are hesitant and consider staying on Magones. Almah expresses her desire to die on Magones, but Layelah offers them various blessings if they return with her. The narrator becomes furious and considers destroying the athalebs, but Almah encourages submission. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Historical fiction Intertextuality: Religious text Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: The narrator, Layelah, Almah Absolute place: The amir Fuzzy place: Magones Diegetic time: A few minutes " En aquest instant un criat, que havia entrat per l'altra porta de la cambra sense haver estat vist, portant una llanterna, anunci el retorn dels amics. Els vasalls del meu amo anaven i venien: jo restava tot sol amb les dues dones. La primera que va entrar fou Layelah, seguida d'Almah. Molt nerviosa i esverada, però amb la seva habitual dignitat, va ordenar a Almah que abandonss el lloc on estava i es retirss al seu quarter. Aleshores, tornant-se cap a mi, em digu, amb una veu emocionada: -Ja no t'obri pas la porta de l'amir: ja no pots viure al meu camp! Torna amb els teus germans de Magones!... Que la nostra partida et faci perdre el poble!... Va fer una pausa, com si dubtss dir ms; desprs continu: -S'hi pot guanyar el pan i els diners... Per tu has de morir en la pobresa, entre els turmentats del desert... Benvolgut noms, que la nostra partida et faci perdre el poble! Almah, que havia sentit la paraula mort, exclam: -No, no, filla meva! Ja no ens deixaran marxar mai més! No! Aqu s el nostre sepulcre! I mirant-me amb ulls de fera, afeg: -Aqu s el nostre sepulcre! Jo mateix, tot tremolant d'emoci, vaig exclamar: -No! Mai no matars! Mai no podrs veure la mort, oh celastes! Vs resteu tranquilles! I us juro que mai no vindr ning aqu! Esclatarem totes tres a plorar. Llavors Layelah es refred, i em prengu una decisi: o restava al costat d'ella i tenia les dues dones, o partia amb elles i n'havia de renunciar una. Almenys, aix era com ho entenia jo aleshores. -Layelah- li vaig dir- , jo no torno a la cort de l'amir, ja que no hi ha manera de fer-vos anar amb mi: per restar amb vosaltres... s impossible! Estem perjudicades totes tres! Ah! Fill de la meva mare, escolta'm! La fadiga, la desesperaci, l'angnia de la mort ens han fet parlar com a furioses. Les nostres paraules han tingut un sentit diferent del que tenen ara. Abandona la vostra orgull, abandona-ho tot! Procura salvar-nos! Els pelegrins que varen dir-te que eren, en realitat s son els meus homes. Van ser enviats per l'anci, que els volia allunyar de Magones perqu sempre han tingut un mal geni. Ell mateix m'ho ha dit. Sobre el compte de l'antic, com l'anomenen, crec que us han contat falsedat. No coneixem ning que sigui tan bo com ell. Fins i tot ell mateix no voldria que jo fessis el que faig... I l'amic de l'antic, que em diuen Ismail, no és pas un infiel, sin el millor home de Magones. Fins i tot quan saqueja els mercats de la ciutat no roba res a ning! Vet aqu les veritats! Ara escolta'm! Vost inundegeu el camp d'oracions, fem-ne tant com vulgueu! 2 6709 117270 "there, which were devouring its flesh. I now went over to Almah and spoke with her. We were both full of despair. It seemed as though we might never meet again. We were to be separated now; but who could say whether we should be permitted to see each other after leaving this place? We had but little to say. I held her in my arms, regardless of the presence of others; and these, seeing our emotion, at once moved away, with the usual delicacy of the Kosekin, and followed Layelah to the jantannin to see about the athalebs. At last our interview was terminated. Layelah came and informed us that all was ready for our departure. We walked sadly to the place, and found the athalebs crouched to receive their riders. There were four beside ours. Layelah informed me that I was to go with her, and Almah was to go on another athaleb. I entreated her to let Almah go with me; but she declined, saying that our athaleb could only carry two, as he seemed fatigued, and it would not be safe to overload him for so long a flight. I told her that Almah and I could go together on the same athaleb; but she objected on the ground of my ignorance of driving. And so, remonstrances and objections being alike useless, I was compelled to yield to the arrangements that had been made. Almah mounted on another athaleb. I mounted with Layelah, and then the great monsters expanded their mighty wings, rose into the air, and soon were speeding over the waters. We went on in silence for some time. I was too despondent to say a word, and all my thoughts turned toward Almah, who was now separated from me--perhaps forever. The other athalebs went ahead, at long intervals apart, flying in a straight line, while ours was last. Layelah said nothing. She sat in front of me; her back was turned toward me; she held in her hands the reins, which hung quite loose at first, but after a while she drew them up, and seemed to be directing our course. For some time I did not notice anything in particular, for my eyes were fixed upon the athaleb immediately before us, upon which was seated the loved form of Almah, which I could easily recognize. But our athaleb flew slowly, and I noticed that we were falling behind. I said this to Layelah, but she only remarked that it was fatigued with its long journey. To this I objected that the others had made as long a journey, and insisted that she should draw nearer. This she at first refused to do; but at length, as I grew persistent, she complied, or pretended to do so. In spite of this, however, we again fell behind, and I noticed that this always happened when the reins were drawn tight. On making this discovery I suddenly seized both reins and let them trail loose, whereupon the athaleb at once showed a perceptible increase of speed, which proved that there was no fatigue in him whatever. This I said to Layelah. She acquiesced with a sweet smile, and taking the reins again, she sat around so as to face me, and said: You are very quick. It is no use to try to deceive you, Atam-or: I wish to fall behind."""" Why?"" To save you."" To save me?"" Yes. I can take you to the land of the Orin. Now is the time to escape from death. If you go back you must surely die; but now, if you will be guided by me, I can take you to the land of the Orin. There they all hate death, they love life, they live in the light. There you will find those who are like yourself; there you can love and be happy."""" But what of Almah?"" I asked. Layelah made a pretty gesture of despair. You are always talking of Almah,"" said she. ""What is Almah to you? She is cold, dull, sad! She never will speak. Let her go.""""" 83 "Summary: The narrator and Almah are separated, and the narrator is riding on an athaleb with Layelah. They notice that their athaleb is falling behind, but Layelah pretends not to notice. The narrator realizes that when Layelah tightens the reins, they fall behind, so he takes over and lets the reins go loose, which makes the athaleb fly faster. Layelah admits she was trying to separate them, but suggests they escape together to the land of the Orin. Layelah mentions Almah again, and the narrator expresses concern for her. Trope: Forbidden love Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Despairing Genre: Fantasy Intertextuality: Mythology Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: The narrator, Almah, Layelah Fuzzy place: Unnamed place by the waters Diegetic time: Some time has passed " Then the mother of Almah came near and spoke to me. “Farewell,” she said, “my son; you shall not see us again on earth.” And when I lifted my eyes, Almah was gone. Then I turned away with a heavy heart and followed the king. We had not gone far before we heard behind us a noise like thunder. It was caused by the coming of the great athaleb that bore the two women. When we saw them we all halted. The rider, Layelah, looked at us with her bright dark eyes, but did not speak. The other woman waved her hand to us and went on. Now we noticed that our own athaleb was lagging behind. Layelah rode up to it and laid her hand upon its neck. Then she glanced at us over her shoulder and laughed. Presently, however, we saw that our animal began to move more quickly, then faster still, until it gained upon the athaleb of Layelah. This increased her anger, for now she whipped the beast and drove it forward with all its might. But in spite of this our athaleb drew nearer and soon was almost abreast of it. Then Layelah pointed to the ground and cried out: “The waters! The waters!” We saw before us a little hollow where the sands were wet and green, and in the distance the mighty sea. “Look, Imran,” said Jansis, “she means to drown us in the sea.” “Stay you here, O Jansis,” I answered; “I will go alone to meet her.” So saying, I touched the sides of the athaleb with my heel, and we flew on. Layelah also spurred her beast, which responded and leaped forward as though it had been winged. A moment later we were side by side, and as we passed each other I said to Layelah: “Why do you thus drive your mount? Is it not swift enough?” “Swift indeed,” she answered, “but I wish it swifter.” “And yet when you tighten the reins it grows slower,” I said. “Yes, when I tighten the reins it grows slower,” she answered. “And when I slacken them it flies like the wind. Do you know why? Because it is an athaleb, and knows the thoughts of its rider.” “Ah!” I exclaimed, “and do you think to escape from me thus?” “Escape? Nay, I have no thought of that. I am going to take you back to the Orin with me.” “To the Orin! To the land of the Orins?” “Yes, to the Orins. You shall be my husband, and rule over my people, for I love you.” “But how can I go with you, Layelah? Think you that I would leave Almah and the land I love? 3 6709 117271 "Never!"" said I. ""Almah is worth more than all the world to me."" Layelah sighed. I can never, never, never,"" said she, ""get from you the least little bit of a kind word--even after all that I have done for you, and when you know that I would lie down and let you trample me under your feet if it gave you any pleasure."""" Oh, that is not the question at all,"" said I. ""You are asking me to leave Almah--to be false to her--and I cannot."""" Among the Kosekin,"" said Layelah, ""it is the highest happiness for lovers to give one another up."""" I am not one of the Kosekin,"" said I. ""I cannot let her go away--I cannot let her go back to the amir--to meet death alone. If she dies she shall see me by her side, ready to die with her."""" At this Layelah laughed merrily. Is it possible,"" said she, ""that you believe that? Do you not know that if Almah goes back alone she will not die?"""" What do you mean?"" Why, she can only die when you are in her company. She has lived for years among us, and we have waited for someone to appear whom she might love, so that we might give them both the blessing of death. If that one should leave her, Almah could not receive the blessing. She would be compelled to live longer, until some other lover should appear. Now, by going with me to the land of the Orin, you will save Almah's life--and as for Almah, why, she will be happy--and dear papa is quite willing to marry her. You must see, therefore, dear Atam-or, that my plan is the very best that can be thought of for all of us, and above all for Almah."""" This, however, was intolerable; and I could not consent to desert Almah, even if by doing so I should save her life. My own nature revolted from it. Still it was not a thing which I could dismiss on the instant. The safety of Almah's life, indeed, required consideration; but then the thought came of her wonder at my desertion. Would she not think me false? Would not the thought of my falsity be worse than death? No,"" said I, ""I will not leave her--not even to save her life. Even among us there are things worse than death. Almah would rather die by the sacrificial knife than linger on with a broken heart."""" Oh no,"" said Layelah, sweetly; ""she will rejoice that you are safe. Do you not see that while you are together death is inevitable, but if you separate you may both live and be happy?"""" But she will think me dead,"" said I, as a new idea occurred. ""She will think that some accident has befallen me."""" Oh no, she won't,"" said Layelah; ""she will think that you have gone off with me."""" Then that will be worse, and I would rather die, and have her die with me, than live and have her think me false."""" You are very, very obstinate,"" said Layelah, sweetly. I made no reply. During this conversation I had been too intent upon Layelah's words to notice the athalebs before me; but now as I looked up I saw that we had fallen far behind, and that Layelah had headed our athaleb in a new direction. Upon this I once more snatched the reins from her, and tried to return to our former course. This, however, I was utterly unable to do. Layelah laughed. You will have to let me guide our course,"" said she. ""You can do nothing. The athaleb will now go in a straight line to the land of the Orin."""" Upon this I started up in wild excitement. Never, never, never!"" I cried, in a fury. ""I will not; I will destroy this athaleb and perish in the water!""""" 83 "Summary: The narrator refuses to leave Almah, despite Layelah's offers to save her life. Trope: Forbidden love Narrative arc: Tension and conflict Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Dramatic, intense Genre: Romance Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: The narrator, Layelah Quoted character: Almah Time setting: Unclear Diegetic time: A few minutes " If I do not know it now, at least I feel that it must come. Nay, I almost wish that it were here, for this suspense is worse than anything else. It was all over in a moment or two, for Layelah did not wait to hear what answer I would give her. She turned upon her heel and walked away without another word. As soon as she had gone Almah sprang up from her couch. “Now,” she cried, with flashing eyes, “I will go with you.” “Almah!” I exclaimed, “you must not, you cannot do such a thing. You forget yourself. What would your people say? Think of the disgrace you would bring upon yourself and them. No, no; it is out of the question.” “It is no more out of the question,” she answered, “than it was before. Have we not proved that we love each other? Am I not worthy of a better fate than that which awaits me here? If I am not, who can be? And if you love me as you say you do, how can you refuse to take me with you when you go?” “But think of the misery you would cause to all of us. The shame, the scandal! My father—” “Your father shall forgive me if he is wise,” she answered. “He will have much to forgive himself if he is not. But what are these things compared with our great love? What do they matter, so that we are together? Will you sacrifice that for the opinions of others? Is your love so weak?” “No, Almah, it is not; but I see difficulties enough before us already, and I am afraid to add more to them. Besides, I tell you frankly that I believe you do not understand the situation. If you come with us you may find that your love is not returned. You may find yourself bound to a man whom you hate, and yet you will not be able to leave him, for you will be his slave. That is what you may have to face, and I cannot help you if you do.” She shuddered and put her hands to her head as though my words had struck her like a blow. Then she fell back again upon her couch. For a minute or two she sat there without speaking, while tears ran down her cheeks. At last she raised herself up, and looked at me with shining eyes. “You have spoken the truth, Hakim,” she said, “but it matters nothing. I will go with you even though I die for it. I cannot live here any longer. This dreadful silence is too much for me. I want to speak, to breathe freely. Let me go with you, and I will serve you and obey you always. I will do anything that you ask of me; only let me go with you.” “Almah,” I answered, “this is madness. Do not talk of going with me until you have thought the matter well over. 4 6709 117272 "As I said this I raised my rifle. What are you going to do?"" cried Layelah, in accents of fear. Turn back,"" I cried, ""or I will kill this athaleb!"" Upon this Layelah dropped the reins, stood up, and looked at me with a smile. Oh, Atam-or,"" said she, ""what a thing to ask! How can I go back now, when we have started for the land of the Orin?"""" We shall never reach the land of the Orin,"" I cried; ""we shall perish in the sea!"""" Oh no,"" said Layelah; ""you cannot kill the athaleb. You are no more than an insect; your rod is a weak thing, and will break on his iron frame."""" It was evident that Layelah had not the slightest idea of the powers of my rifle. There was no hesitation on my part. I took aim with the rifle. At that moment I was desperate. I thought of nothing but the swift flight of the athaleb, which was bearing me away forever from Almah. I could not endure that thought, and still less could I endure the thought that she should believe me false. It was therefore in a wild passion of rage and despair that I levelled my rifle, taking aim as well as I could at what seemed a vital part under the wing. The motion of the wing rendered this difficult, however, and I hesitated a moment, so as to make sure. All this time Layelah stood looking at me with a smile on her rosy lips and a merry twinkle in her eyes--evidently regarding my words as empty threats and my act as a vain pretence, and utterly unprepared for what was to follow. Suddenly I fired both barrels in quick succession. The reports rang out in thunder over the sea. The athaleb gave a wild, appalling shriek, and fell straight down into the water, fluttering vainly with one wing, while the other hung down useless. A shriek of horror burst from Layelah. She started back, and fell from her standing-place into the waves beneath. The next instant we were all in the water together--the athaleb writhing and lashing the water into foam, while I involuntarily clung to his coarse mane, and expected death every moment. But death did not come; for the athaleb did not sink, but floated with his back out of the water, the right pinion being sunk underneath and useless, and the left struggling vainly with the sea. But after a time he folded up the left wing and drew it close in to his side, and propelled himself with his long hind-legs. His right wing was broken, but he did not seem to have suffered any other injury. Suddenly I heard a cry behind me: Atam-or! oh, Atam-or!"" I looked around and saw Layelah. She was swimming in the water, and seemed exhausted. In the agitation of the past few moments I had lost sight of her, and had thought that she was drowned; but now the sight of her roused me from my stupor and brought me back to myself. She was swimming, yet her strokes were weak and her face was full of despair. In an instant I had flung off my coat, rolled up the rifle and pistol in its folds, and sprung into the water. A few strokes brought me to Layelah. A moment more and I should have been too late. I held her head out of water, told her not to struggle, and then struck out to go back. It would have been impossible for me to do this, encumbered with such a load, had I not fortunately perceived the floating wing of the athaleb close beside me. This I seized, and by means of it drew myself with Layelah alongside; after which I succeeded in putting her on the back of the animal, and soon followed myself. The terror of the rifle had overwhelmed her, and the suddenness of the catastrophe had almost killed her. She had struggled in the water for a long time, and had called to me in vain. Now she was quite exhausted, and lay in my arms trembling and sobbing. I spoke to her" 83 "Summary: The protagonist threatens to shoot an athaleb if Layelah doesn't turn back, but she refuses. He shoots the athaleb and it falls into the water, causing Layelah to fall in as well. The protagonist saves Layelah and they ride on the injured athaleb. Trope: Hero saving damsel in distress Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Dramatic, intense Genre: Adventure Intertextuality: Adventure novel Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Action sequence Active character: Atam-or, Layelah Quoted character: None Quoted work: None Time setting: Nonspecific Absolute time: Nonspecific Fuzzy time: Nonspecific Absolute place: Nonspecific Fuzzy place: The sea Diegetic time: A few minutes " I would shoot the athaleb at your feet, and you would be drowned in the sea!” “Do so,” she answered calmly. “It will not save you from my vengeance.” “Listen,” I said sternly; “if you will not turn back, then I shall be obliged to shoot the poor beast, and you will certainly perish. But first listen to me. You can have no thought of any harm coming to me, since you wish to marry me. If you love me as you say, think of my safety, and of your own, for if I die so will you. Now, Layelah, answer me—will you come?” She turned her beautiful face towards me with a look of scorn. “If I refused would you still hold back from shooting the athaleb?” “Yes, Layelah, I swear it.” “You lie! Your heart is strong, but your courage is weak. Wait, Atam-or, till we reach the island; there, when you are far from me, you will find time to repent of your cowardice.” Then I saw that she was determined, and knew that I must do what she had dared to suggest, namely, kill the athaleb. I placed the rifle to my shoulder, and drew a bead upon the monster which lay bellowing furiously in the water just beneath us. “One moment, Layelah,” I said, “the poor brute is suffering too much already. I will give him an instant’s mercy.” “Shoot now!” she cried, “shoot or you will never dare to show your face in Egypt again. Shoot, coward, shoot!” “Very well,” I answered, and fired. The shot passed through his neck right between the jaws, and he gave one terrific shudder, and fell into the water, dead. Layelah uttered a scream of grief, and fell forward on her knees, covering her face with her hands. For one moment I stood paralysed by horror at the deed I had done, then a sudden thought flashed across my mind, and I caught her round the waist before she could spring overboard. As I did so the athaleb rolled over, causing the boat to heel until its gunwale almost touched the water, and Layelah sank down beside me. Quick as lightning I stooped, snatched up the oars and rowed like mad for the shore, which was scarcely a hundred yards away. It seemed ages before we reached it, but at last the bow grated against the sand, and I sprang out and dragged Layelah after me. Her hair was wet, and some drops of water were trickling down her cheeks, but otherwise she seemed uninjured. “Now tell me,” I said sternly, “did you expect to drown yourself?” She raised her eyes to mine, and replied: “No; but I felt that I was cursed by the gods because I loved you, and that you also were cursed because you loved me.” 5 6709 117273 "encouragingly, and wrapped her in my coat, and rubbed her hands and feet, until at last she began to recover. Then she wept quietly for a long time; then the weeping fit passed away. She looked up with a smile, and in her face there was unutterable gratitude. Atam-or,"" said she, ""I never loved death like the rest of the Kosekin; but now--but now--I feel that death with you would be sweet."""" Then tears came to her eyes, and I found tears coming to my own, so that I had to stoop down and kiss away the tears of Layelah. As I did so she twined both her arms around my neck, held me close to her, and sighed. Oh, Atam-or, death with you is sweet! And now you cannot reproach me-- You have done this yourself, with your terrible power; and you have saved my life to let me die with you. You do not hate me, then, Atam-or, do you? Just speak once to a poor little girl, and say that you do not hate her!"""" All this was very pitiable. What man that had a heart in his breast could listen unmoved to words like these, or look without emotion upon one so beautiful, so gentle, and so tender? It was no longer Layelah in triumph with whom I had to do, but Layelah in distress: the light banter, the teasing, mocking smile, the kindling eye, the ready laugh--all were gone. There was nothing now but mournful tenderness--the timid appeal of one who dreaded a repulse, the glance of deep affection, the abandonment of love. I held Layelah in my arms, and I thought of nothing now but words of consolation for her. Life seemed over; death seemed inevitable; and there, on the back of the athaleb, we floated on the waters and waited for our doom. CHAPTER XXV FALLING, LIKE ICARUS, INTO THE SEA The aurora light, which had flamed brightly, was now extinct, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, where we floated on the back of the monster. He swam, forcing himself onward with his hind-legs, with one broad wing folded up close. Had both been folded up the athaleb could have swum rapidly; but the broken wing lay expanded over the water, tossing with the waves, so that our progress was but slight. Had it not been for this, the athaleb's own instinct might have served to guide him toward some shore which we might have hoped to reach before life was extinct; but as it was, all thought of reaching any shore was out of the question, and there arose before us only the prospect of death--a death, too, which must be lingering and painful and cruel. Thus amid the darkness we floated, and the waves dashed around us, and the athaleb never ceased to struggle in the water, trying to force his way onward. It seemed sweet at that moment to have Layelah with me, for what could have been more horrible than loneliness amid those black waters? and Layelah's mind was made up to meet death with joy, so that her mood conveyed itself to me. And I thought that since death was inevitable it were better to meet it thus, and in this way end my life--not amid the horrors of the sacrifice and the Mista Kosek, but in a way which seemed natural to a seafaring man like myself, and with which I had long familiarized my thoughts. For I had fallen upon a world and among people which were all alien and unintelligible to me; and to live on would only open the way to new and worse calamities. There was peace also in the thought that my death would snatch the prospect of death from Almah. She would now be safe. It was only when we were together as lovers that death threatened her; but now since I was removed she could resume her former life, and she might remember me only as an episode in that life. That she would remember me I felt sure, and that she would weep for me and mourn after me was undeniable; but time as it passed would surely alleviate that grief, and Almah would live and be happy." 83 "Summary: The narrator comforts and consoles Layelah after she becomes ill, expressing his affection for her. They are on the back of an animal called an athaleb, floating on the water, and facing certain death. Trope: Love in a hopeless situation Narrative arc: Suspense and anticipation Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Adventure/ Romance Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: The narrator, Layelah Fuzzy place: The back of the athaleb, floating on the water Diegetic time: A few hours " I cannot tell what pain it is to see one whom we love in this extremity. I took her hand, and kneeling down beside her, I told her of my grief, and that the only thing that could console me was that I should be left alone to die on the back of this accursed animal, while she would still be living at least she might live. “Oh! do not say that,” she said; “you forget that I am dying too; no one can save me now.” “Yes, Layelah, yes, you may yet be saved, for you are young, and strong, and brave. But look at me, poor miserable creature that I am; I am your father’s slave, and have been condemned to die as one. I am weak and feeble, and no one cares about me. If I am killed, they will bury me, and there will be an end of me. You are dearer to me than all the world; if you are taken from me I shall die of grief, and that will be the end of me too. But, Layelah, do not talk of dying, for you are not going to die; you must get well again, and come back to your father’s house, and you must let me stay with you always, for you know that I love you. 6 6709 117274 "Perhaps she might yet regain her native land and rejoin her loved kindred, whom she would tell of the stranger from an unknown shore who had loved her, and through whose death she had gained her life. Such were the thoughts that filled my mind as I floated over the black water with darkness all around, as I held Layelah in my arms, with my coat wrapped around her, and murmured in her ear tender words of consolation and sympathy. A long, long time had passed--but how long I know not--when suddenly Layelah gave a cry, and started up on her knees, with her head bent forward listening intently. I too listened, and I could distinctly hear the sound of breakers. It was evident that we were approaching some shore; and, from what I remembered of the shore of Magones, such a shore meant death, and death alone. We stood up and tried to peer through the gloom. At length we saw a whole line of breakers, and beyond all was black. We waited anxiously in that position, and drew steadily nearer. It was evident that the athaleb was desirous of reaching that shore, and we could do nothing but await the result. But the athaleb had his wits about him, and swam along on a line with the breakers for some distance, until at length an opening appeared, into which he directed his course. Passing through this we reached still water, which seemed like a lagoon surrounded by a coral reef. The athaleb swam on farther, and at length we saw before us an island with a broad, sandy beach, beyond which was the shadowy outline of a forest. Here the monster landed, and dragged himself wearily upon the sand, where he spread his vast bulk out, and lay panting heavily. We dismounted--I first, so as to assist Layelah; and then it seemed as if death were postponed for a time, since we had reached this place where the rich and rank vegetation spoke of nothing but vigorous life. Fortune had indeed dealt strangely with me. I had fled with Almah, and with her had reached one desolate shore, and now I found myself with Layelah upon another shore, desolate also, but not a savage wilderness. This lonely island, ringed with the black ocean waters, was the abode of a life of its own, and there was nothing here to crush the soul into a horror of despair like that which was caused by the tremendous scenes on Magones. In an instant Layelah revived from her gloom. She looked around, clapped her little hands, laughed aloud, and danced for joy. Oh, Atam-or,"" she cried, ""see--see the trees, see the grass, the bushes! This is a land of wonder. As for food, you can call it down from the sky with your sepet-ram, or we can find it on the rocks. Oh, Atam-or! life is better than death, and we can live here, and we can be happy. This shall be better to us than the lands of the Orin, for we shall be alone, and we shall be all in all to one another."""" I could not help laughing, and I said: Layelah, this is not the language of the Kosekin. You should at once go to the other side of this island, and sit down and wait for death."""" Never,"" said Layelah; ""you are mine, Atam-or, and I never will leave you. If you wish me to die for you, I will gladly lay down my life; but I will not leave you. I love you, Atam-or; and now, whether it be life or death, it is all the same so long as I have you."""" Our submersion in the sea and our long exposure afterward had chilled both of us, but Layelah felt it most. She was shivering in her wet clothes in spite of my coat which I insisted on her wearing, and I determined, if possible, to kindle a fire. Fortunately my powder was dry, for I had thrown off my flask with my coat before jumping into the sea, and thus I had the means of creating fire. I rubbed wet powder over my handkerchief, and then gathered some dried sticks and moss. After this I found some dead trees, the boughs of which were dry and brittle, and in the exercise I soon grew warm, and had the" 83 "Summary: The protagonist and Layelah are floating on the black water, thinking about their future. They hear the sound of breakers and approach an island with a sandy beach and forest. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Hopeful Genre: Adventure Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Description of a place Active character: The protagonist, Layelah Fuzzy time: A long, long time had passed Absolute place: Magones, the island Fuzzy place: Black water, island Diegetic time: An extended period of time " The black water lay in heavy swells that rose and fell with a soft, sibilant whisper. A long, long time had passed since the canoe had vanished from sight, and now the roar of the breakers grew distinct on the stillness of the air. At last they could see the tops of the trees waving against the sky, and, presently, the outline of the island loomed up against the stars. It was low-lying, perhaps no more than twenty feet above the sea, and its sandy beach swept back between the woods and the shore for a distance of some hundreds of feet. There was no sign of life to be seen, but as they neared the shore Layelah pointed out several small buildings among the trees. The boat grounded gently upon the sand, and together the two leaped ashore. After his first moment of surprise at the warmth of the water, Torel had shed his coat, and now he stripped off his trousers and boots. He saw that Layelah was doing the same, and both plunged into the surf and waded ashore. When they reached the beach they stood and looked about them. They were alone; nothing moved or stirred within sight. Layelah shivered, and her teeth chattered a little. Torel put his arm about her and she nestled close against him. A few steps inland from the beach was a little wooden house, built on piles, like the others, and sheltered by a roof of palm-leaves. On one side of it was a tiny garden, in which were growing bananas and yams, and from the other side ran a path through the woods. In the doorway of the house was a man, who stood regarding them curiously. His appearance was totally unlike that of any of the people whom they had hitherto seen. He was very tall, with a fair complexion and light hair, and he wore a suit of khaki linen. As they drew near he addressed them in Spanish. “Who are you?” he asked. “How came you here?” “We are friends,” answered Torel; “we come from Magones.” The man frowned. “Magones!” he exclaimed. “What do you know of Magones?” “I have lived there,” said Layelah; “I am a girl from Magones.” “And I, too, am a Spaniard,” added Torel. The man continued to regard them suspiciously. “Are you sure that you are not pirates?” he demanded. “Yes, we are quite sure of that,” laughed Layelah. The man smiled. “My name is Roldan,” he said. “I am a member of the North American Consular Service, and my duty brings me to this place.” “Then you can help us,” said Torel. “We want to go to San Juan. Do you think that we could get passage here?” “It is scarcely likely,” replied Roldan. “This is an isolated settlement, and our boats seldom leave the island. But you will find the people here friendly. 7 6709 117275 "satisfaction of seeing a great heap of fagots accumulating. I fired my pistol into the handkerchief, which, being saturated with powder, caught the fire, and this I blew into a flame among the dried moss. A bright fire now sprang up and blazed high in the air; while I, in order to have an ample supply of fuel, continued to gather it for a long time. At length, as I came back, I saw Layelah lying on the sand in front of the fire, sound asleep. I was glad of this, for she was weary, and had seemed so weak and tremulous that I had felt anxious; so now I arranged my coat over her carefully, and then sat down for a time to think over this new turn which my fortune had taken. This island was certainly very unlike Magones, yet I had no surety but that it might be equally destitute of food. This was the first question, and I could not think of sleep until I had found out more about the place. The aurora light, which constantly brightens and lessens in this strange world, was now shining gloriously, and I set forth to explore the island. The beach was of fine sand all the way. The water was smooth, and shut in on every side by an outer reef against which the sea-waves broke incessantly. As I walked I soon perceived what the island was; for I had often seen such places before in the South Pacific. It was, in fact, a coral islet, with a reef of rocks encircling it on every side. The vegetation, however, was unlike anything in the world beyond; for it consisted of many varieties of tree-ferns, that looked like palms, and giant grasses, and bamboo. The island was but small, and the entire circuit was not over a mile. I saw nothing that looked like food, nor did it seem likely that in so small a place there could be enough sustenance for us. Our only hope would be from the sea, yet even here I could see no signs of any sort of shell-fish. On the whole the prospect was discouraging, and I returned to the starting-point with a feeling of dejection; but this feeling did not trouble me much at that time: my chief thought was of rest, and I flung myself down on the sand and fell asleep. I was awakened by a cry from Layelah. Starting up, I saw her standing and looking into the sky. She was intensely excited. As soon as she saw me she rushed toward me and burst into tears, while I, full of wonder, could only stare upward. Oh!"" cried Layelah, ""they've turned back--they've found us! We shall have to leave our dear, lovely island. Oh, Atam-or, I shall lose you now; for never, never, never again will you have one thought of love for your poor Layelah!"""" With these words she clung sobbing to me. For my part I do not remember what I said to soothe her, for the sight above was so amazing that it took up all my attention. The aurora shone bright, and in the sky I saw two vast objects wheeling and circling, as if about to descend. I recognized them at once as athalebs; but as their backs were hid from view by their immense wings, I could not make out whether they were wanderers about to alight of their own accord, or guided here by riders--perhaps by the Kosekin from whom we had been parted. This much at least I remember. I said to Layelah that these athalebs were wild ones, which had come here because they saw or scented our wounded one; but Layelah shook her head with mournful meaning. Oh no,"" said she; ""Almah has come back for you. This fire-light has guided them. If you had not made the fire they never, never, never could have found us; but now all is lost."""" There was no time for conversation or discussion. The athalebs drew swiftly nearer and nearer, descending in long circuits, until at length they touched the ground not far away on the wide sandy beach. Then we saw people on their backs, and among them was Almah. We hurried toward them, and Almah rushed into my arms, to the great disgust of Layelah, for she was close beside me and saw it all. She" 83 "Summary: The protagonist is on an island and discovers that it is a coral islet. He explores the island but finds no food. He falls asleep and is woken up by Layelah who is upset because she thinks they have been found. They see two giant birds called athalebs approaching, and Almah, whom Layelah is upset to see him embrace. Trope: Lost in the wilderness Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Mysterious Genre: Adventure Intertextuality: Travelogue Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Description of the protagonist's actions and thoughts Active character: Protagonist, Layelah, Almah Fuzzy place: Island Diegetic time: A few hours " It was a coral islet, and about two hundred feet in diameter. On one side it rose to a height of thirty or forty feet above the sea, but on the other it shelved gradually down to the water's edge. The top was covered with a thick growth of underbrush and small trees, all laden with fruit and flowers. At first I thought that there must be fresh water here, for there were several tiny rivulets trickling down from the higher portion of the island, and as the sun was very hot they must have come from some underground source. After leaving Layelah I started off through the grove in search of water. It was easy walking, for the ground was level, and after going about fifty yards I came to the bank of a little stream, which, by the way, was not more than six inches wide and an inch deep. Here I stopped and listened attentively, but could hear nothing to indicate that it contained anything but pure water. So I laid myself flat on my stomach and crept cautiously along until I had reached a spot where the stream disappeared among the roots of a tree, and here I found another very simple solution of the problem. For between the tree roots lay several dozen dead fish, while at the entrance to a hole in the bank just below them I saw a number of big crabs busily engaged in eating the unfortunate creatures. 8 6709 117276 "gave an exclamation of grief and despair, and hurried away. From Almah I learned that our disappearance had caused alarm; that two of the athalebs had come back in search of us; that they had been to Magones, and had searched over the seas, and were just about giving us up as lost, when the fire-light had attracted their attention and drawn them here. I said nothing at that time about the cause of our disappearance, but merely remarked that the athaleb had fallen into the sea and swam here. This was sufficient. They had to remain here for some time longer to rest their athalebs. At length we prepared to depart. Our wounded athaleb was left behind to take care of himself. I was taken with Almah, and Layelah went on the other. We were thus separated; and so we set forth upon our return, and at length arrived at the amir. CHAPTER XXVI GRIMM'S LAW AGAIN Dinner was now announced, and Oxenden laid the manuscript aside; whereupon they adjourned to the cabin, where they proceeded to discuss both the repast and the manuscript. Well,"" said Featherstone, ""More's story seems to be approaching a crisis. What do you think of it now, Melick? Do you still think it a sensational novel?"""" Partly so,"" said Melick; ""but it would be nearer the mark to call it a satirical romance."""" Why not a scientific romance?"" Because there's precious little science in it, but a good deal of quiet satire."""" Satire on what?"" asked Featherstone. ""I'll be hanged if I can see it."""" Oh, well,"" said Melick, ""on things in general. The satire is directed against the restlessness of humanity; its impulses, feelings, hopes, and fears--all that men do and feel and suffer. It mocks us by exhibiting a new race of men, animated by passions and impulses which are directly the opposite of ours, and yet no nearer happiness than we are. It shows us a world where our evil is made a good, and our good an evil; there all that we consider a blessing is had in abundance--prolonged and perpetual sunlight, riches, power, fame--and yet these things are despised, and the people, turning away from them, imagine that they can find happiness in poverty, darkness, death, and unrequited love. The writer thus mocks at all our dearest passions and strongest desires; and his general aim is to show that the mere search for happiness per se is a vulgar thing, and must always result in utter nothingness. The writer also teaches the great lesson that the happiness of man consists not in external surroundings, but in the internal feelings, and that heaven itself is not a place, but a state. It is the old lesson which Milton extorted from Satan: 'What matter where, if I be still the same--' Or again: 'The mind is its own place, and of itself Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven--'"""" That's good too,"" cried Oxenden. ""That reminds me of the German commentators who find in the Agamemnon of AEschylus or the OEdipus of Sophocles or the Hamlet of Shakespeare motives and purposes of which the authors could never have dreamed, and give us a metaphysical, beer-and-tobacco, High-Dutch Clytemnestra or Antigone or Lady Macbeth. No, my boy, More was a simple sailor, and had no idea of satirizing anything."""" How, then, do you account for the perpetual undercurrent of meaning and innuendo that may be found in every line?"""" I deny that there is anything of the sort,"" said Oxenden. ""It is a plain narrative of facts; but the facts are themselves such that they" 83 "Summary: The narrator and their companions have disappeared, but they are found by two athalebs who bring them back. They prepare to depart, leaving behind a wounded athaleb, and eventually return to the amir. Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Serious Genre: Adventure novel Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Narrative Active character: Narrator, Almah, Layelah, athalebs Fuzzy place: Magones, the sea " Les athalebs avaient disparu, emmenant avec eux le narrateur et ses compagnes. Mais bientot les deux athalebs qui resterent retombres sur la plage, eurent le temps de comprendre ce qui s'etait passe, et ils revinrent chercher leurs camarades. Ils revinrent a toute bride, ramenerent leurs amis dans leur village des Magones, et Almah et Layelah furent bientot reines de l'ile. Deux jours apres, nous partimes enfin pour regagner la cote. Ce fut encore une fois un long voyage que nous eumes a faire, car il fallut passer de l'autre cote du continent pour arriver dans la mer Egee. Nous traversames aussi quelques autres lies plus petites, dont aucune n'avait d'habitants. Enfin nous descendimes vers le sud et arrivames a Athenes, ou nous retrouvames l'amir qui se trouvait occupe a terminer ses preparations de depart. Cependant le navire etait endommage par sa premiere sortie, et l'amir fut oblige de le vendre pour en prendre un autre. Cette vente nous causa quelque peine, car nous avions grand'peine fait payer son acquerir. Mais nous ne pouvions rien y faire, et nous nous contenteres de bruler nos papiers et de quitter la Grece. L'amir, toujours preoccupe de revenir chez lui, avait fait connaissance a Athenes avec un marchand Armenien, qui etait venu l'inviter a venir avec lui passer une annee dans le Levant, puis en Afrique, et le prochain hiver a Constantinople. L'Armenien, homme riche et de tres-bonnes moeurs, convainquit l'amir de suivre son conseil; et comme il commencait a gagner de l'argent, il put acheter un beau vaisseau tout neuf, dans lequel nous appareillames bientot pour la derniere fois. Je crois bien que jamais nous n'eumes un pareil voyage a faire: toutes les lies de la Mediterranee etaient franchies, et nous naviguames sur la cote africaine jusqu'a la ville de Tripoli, ou notre capitaine s'arreta pour renouveler ses approvisionnements. Lorsque nous fumes sortis de la mer Eglyptienne, et que l'amir eut depasse la pointe de Barbarie, il continua sa route vers l'ouest, et passa devant l'ile de Malte et la Sicile. Apris les iles Ioniennes, nous rejoignimes l'Italie, et montames le rivage de la Toscane. La, l'amir ayant rencontre un jeune Grec qui s'etait embarque avec lui depuis la Grece, il lui demanda ou on pourrait rencontrer une caravane qui allat a Constantinople. Le jeune homme lui dit que la plus prochaine partieait d'une petite ville nommee Pistoia, et qu'elle etait composee de trois cents personnes qui allaient au grand bazar pour vendre des marchandises. Nous descendimes alors le cours du fleuve Arno, et arrivames a Pistoia, ou l'amir acheta des marchandises pour doubler sa cargaison. Il me fit meme acheter une belle robe de soie brodee d'or, et un manteau de velours noir, et je fus obligede vendre mes habits arabes, que j'avais portes depuis mon arrivee a la Turquie. Nous partimes ensuite pour la grande ville d'Ancone, ou nous demeurames quinze jours a faire le commerce de nos marchandises. 9 6709 117277 "give a new coloring to the facts of our own life. They are in such profound antithesis to European ways that we consider them as being written merely to indicate that difference. It is like the Germania of Tacitus, which many critics still hold to be a satire on Roman ways, while as a matter of fact it is simply a narrative of German manners and customs."""" I hope,"" cried Melick, ""that you do not mean to compare this awful rot and rubbish to the Germania of Tacitus?"""" By no means,"" said Oxenden; ""I merely asserted that in one respect they were analogous. You forced on the allusion to the Germania by calling this 'rot and rubbish' a satirical romance."""" Oh, well,"" said Melick, ""I only referred to the intention of the writer. His plan is one thing and his execution quite another. His plan is not bad, but he fails utterly in his execution. The style is detestable. If he had written in the style of a plain seaman, and told a simple unvarnished tale, it would have been all right. In order to carry out properly such a plan as this the writer should take Defoe as his model, or, still better, Dean Swift. Gulliver's Travels and Robinson Crusoe show what can be done in this way, and form a standard by which all other attempts must be judged. But this writer is tawdry; he has the worst vices of the sensational school--he shows everywhere marks of haste, gross carelessness, and universal feebleness. When he gets hold of a good fancy, he lacks the patience that is necessary in order to work it up in an effective way. He is a gross plagiarist, and over and over again violates in the most glaring manner all the ordinary proprieties of style. What can be more absurd, for instance, than the language which he puts into the mouth of Layelah? Not content with making her talk like a sentimental boarding-school, bread-and-butter English miss, he actually forgets himself so far as to put in her mouth a threadbare joke, which everyone has heard since childhood."""" What is that?"" Oh, that silly speech about the athaleb swallowing its victuals whole."""" What's the matter with that?"" asked Oxenden. ""It's merely a chance resemblance. In translating her words into English they fell by accident into that shape. No one but you would find fault with them. Would it have been better if he had translated her words into the scientific phraseology which the doctor made use of with regard to the ichthyosaurus? He might have made it this way: 'Does it bite?' 'No; it swallows its food without mastication.' Would that have been better? Besides, it's all very well to talk of imitating Defoe and Swift; but suppose he couldn't do it?"""" Then he shouldn't have written the book."" In that case how could his father have heard about his adventures?"" His father!"" exclaimed Melick. ""Do you mean to say that you still accept all this as bona fide?"""" Do you mean to say,"" retorted Oxenden, ""that you still have any doubt about the authenticity of this remarkable manuscript?"""" At this each looked at the other; Melick elevated his eyebrows, and Oxenden shrugged his shoulders, but each seemed unable to find words to express his amazement at the other's stupidity, and so they took refuge in silence. What do you understand by this athaleb, doctor?"" asked Featherstone. The athaleb?"" said the doctor. ""Why, it is clearly the pterodactyl."" By-the-bye,"" interrupted Oxenden, ""do please take notice of that name. It affords another exemplification of 'Grimm's Law.' The Hebrew word is 'ataleph,' and means bat. The Kosekin word is 'athaleb.' Here you see the thin letter of Hebrew represented by the aspirated letter of the Kosekin language, while the aspirated Hebrew is represented by" 83 "Summary: The text discusses the comparison between a book and the Germania of Tacitus, as well as the execution and style of the author. The characters debate the authenticity of the manuscript. Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Scholarly Genre: Literary criticism Intertextuality: Academic article Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Conversation Active character: Melick, Oxenden Quoted work: Germania of Tacitus, Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe Diegetic time: A few minutes " The book seemed to him like the Germania of Tacitus, it was so full of learning; and as he could not understand a word of it, he thought it must be true. But Oxenden said that the whole thing was a lie from beginning to end, and that if Melick had read a few pages further he would find out that the story was about a man who lived long before there was any such place as York Factory, or even Canada, or New France at all. And then he turned over the leaves, and found that the printing was very slovenly and careless, and that the spelling was quite different from what it is now; and that in one place there were three words printed on one line, and in another place six words on two lines, and in another place five words on one line, which was bad writing for an author who wanted to make people think his book was written by Sir Francis Drake or Captain Kidd or somebody of that sort. And then Oxenden took up the manuscript, and asked Melick where he got it, and whether he had ever seen the author, and how he knew that the things in the book really happened. Melick said he didn't remember where he got it; but it was before he went to sea, so it couldn't have been at the ship-chandler's or at the captain's tailor's. He did not know the author, but he had spoken to him once in a tavern. He said he was a sailor, and had travelled all over the world, and had lived with cannibals and savages, and had been shipwrecked, and had walked about the country all alone. Melick said he was sure that was true; for when he asked him why he wrote the book, he said he did it to let people know how ungrateful they were, because he had risked his life to make their country rich, and had never received any thanks for it. This was just like a seaman, Oxenden said; for he remembered having met a man once who told him that he had been through everything that Gulliver had gone through, except being the size of a mouse, and being six feet high, and living among the Houyhnhnms; and he also remembered having met a man who said he had been shipwrecked, and had been forty years in the woods with only Robinson Crusoe for company. So now he suspected this man of having made up his book out of these stories, and perhaps some others; and then he looked at the handwriting on the paper, and found that the writing was quite unlike that of either Melick or the author; and then he said it was plain that the book had been written by somebody else, and that it had been done to cheat them; and then he said that Melick had better take it away again, and try to get his money back; and then Melick said he thought he would do that. 10 6709 117278 "the Kosekin medial."""" Too true,"" exclaimed Melick, in a tone of deep conviction; ""and now, Oxenden, won't you sing us a song?"""" Nonsense,"" said Featherstone; ""let the doctor tell us about the athaleb."""" Well,"" resumed the doctor, ""as I was saying, it must be undoubtedly the pterodactyl. It is a most extraordinary animal, and is a species of flying lizard, although differing from the lizard in many respects. It has the head and neck of a bird, the trunk and tail of an ordinary mammal, the jaws and teeth of a reptile, and the wings of a bat. Owen describes one whose sweep of wings exceeded twenty feet, and many have been found of every gradation of size down to that of a bat. There is no reason why they should not be as large as More says; and I for my part do not suspect him of exaggeration. Some have supposed that a late, lingering individual may have suggested the idea of the fabulous dragon--an idea which seems to be in the minds of nearly all the human race, for in the early records of many nations we find the destruction of dragons assigned to their gods and heroes. The figure of the pterodactyl represents pretty closely that which is given to the dragons. It is not impossible that they may have existed into the period which we call prehistoric, and that monsters far larger than any which we have yet discovered may have lingered until the time when man began to increase upon the earth, to spread over its surface, and to carve upon wood and stone representations of the most striking objects around him. When the living pterodactyls had disappeared the memory of them was preserved; some new features were added, and the imagination went so far as to endow them with the power of belching forth smoke and flames. Thus the dragon idea pervaded the minds of men, and instead of a natural animal it became a fabulous one. The fingers of the forelegs were of the ordinary dimensions, and terminated with crooked nails, and these were probably used to suspend themselves from trees. When in repose it rested on its hind legs like a bird, and held its neck curving behind, so that its enormous head should not disturb its equilibrium. The size and form of the feet, of the leg, and of the thigh prove that they could hold themselves erect with firmness, their wings folded, and move about in this way like birds, just as More describes them as doing. Like birds they could also perch on trees, and could crawl like bats and lizards along the rocks and cliffs. Some think that they were covered with scales, but I am of the opinion that they had a horny hide, with a ridge of hair running down their backs--in which opinion I am sustained by More's account. The smaller kinds were undoubtedly insectivorous, but the larger ones must have been carnivorous, and probably fed largely on fish."""" Well, at any rate,"" said Melick, gravely, ""this athaleb solves the difficult question as to how the Troglodytes emigrated to the South Pole."""" How?"" asked the doctor. Why, they must have gone there on athalebs! Your friends the pterodactyls probably lingered longest among the Troglodytes, who, seeing that they were rapidly dying out, concluded to depart to another and a better world. One beauty of this theory is that it cannot possibly be disproved; another is that it satisfies all the requirements of the case; a third is that it accounts for the disappearance of the pterodactyls in our world, and their appearance at the South Pole; and there are forty or fifty other facts, all included in this theory, which I have not time just now to enumerate, but will try to do so after we have finished reading the manuscript. I will only add that the athaleb must be regarded as another link which binds the Kosekin to the Semitic race.""""" 83 "Summary: The characters discuss the pterodactyl and its connection to the Troglodytes. Narrative arc: Informative Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Scholarly Genre: Non-fiction, scientific discussion Intertextuality: Scientific article Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Active character: Melick, Oxenden, Featherstone, the doctor Quoted work: ""the Kosekin medial,"" ""the pterodactyl,"" ""the dragon idea Diegetic time: A few minutes " "Melick (who had been looking at the pterodactyl for some time) said that in his opinion its existence had always been known to the Kosekin, and was a matter of tradition with them. It must have been so,"" he added; ""for it is very hard to believe that such an animal as this could exist without being discovered, even by these people."" The Troglodytes are very reserved,"" said Oxenden; ""and no doubt they have their own reasons for keeping out of sight. The doctor nodded assent, but did not speak. Featherstone, who was standing near him, leaned over, and put his hand on his arm. """"Doctor,"""" he said, """"I have a question to ask you privately about this pterodactyl."""" Certainly,"" said the doctor, looking up, and smiling. """"You think you can account for the singular features of the creature?"""" Yes, I do,"" replied Featherstone. ""I have no doubt that there is a strong connection between the Troglodytes and this animal."""" And what makes you think so?"" Because,"" replied Featherstone, ""the Kosekin medial represents the dragon idea, and this is really a dragon."""" I see,"" said the doctor. ""But what proof is there of any connection between the Troglodytes and the pterodactyl?"""" Well,"" said Featherstone, ""we know now that the Troglodytes have lived in this neighbourhood from time immemorial. We also know that the pterodactyl is of enormous age; and therefore it seems reasonable to suppose that the Troglodytes and the pterodactyl may have existed here together. Then, again, we see that the pterodactyl has the head of a bird, and the body of a reptile, and the doctor had shown us that the Kosekin ideal of a perfect man represented both a bird and a reptile. So, if the Troglodyte mind were capable of conceiving such a creature, it would naturally represent itself under the form of such an animal. Therefore, when the pterodactyl came into existence, perhaps millions of years ago, it would be immediately recognised by the Troglodytes as being one of themselves. They would regard it as one of their lost brethren, or perhaps as one of their gods; and then they would try to preserve it, and keep it apart from other animals, because it was their own kindred. And thus it would come to pass that this animal, which might otherwise have been exterminated by the larger carnivora, would be preserved by the Troglodytes for many ages. In fact, the Troglodytes would be its natural protectors."""" It is a very ingenious theory,"" said the doctor; ""but it does not altogether satisfy me. The Kosekin don't seem to know anything about the pterodactyl, and it looks as though the Troglodytes were afraid of it."""" " 11 6709 117279 "Another link?"" said Oxenden. ""That I already have; and it is one that carries conviction with it."""" All your arguments invariably do, my dear fellow."" What is it?"" asked the doctor. The Kosekin alphabet,"" said Oxenden. I can't see how you can make anything out of that,"" said the doctor. Very well, I can easily explain,"" replied Oxenden. ""In the first place we must take the old Hebrew alphabet. I will write down the letters in their order first."""" Saying this he hastily jotted down some letters on a piece of paper, and showed to the doctor the following: Labials. Palatals. Linguals. A B C (or G) D E F Ch (or H) Dh (or Th) I Liquids, L M N O P K T That,"" said he, ""is substantially the order of the old Hebrew alphabet."""" But,"" said the doctor, ""the Kosekin alphabet differs in its order altogether from that."""" That very difference can be shown to be all the stronger proof of a connection between them,"""" said Oxenden. I should like to know how."" The fact is,"" said Oxenden, ""these letters are represented differently in the two languages in exact accordance with Grimm's Law."""" By Jove!"" cried Featherstone, ""Grimm's Law again!"" According to that law,"" continued Oxenden, ""the letters of the alphabet ought to change their order. Now let us leave out the vowels and linguals, and deal only with the mutes. First, we have in the Hebrew alphabet the medials B, G, and D. Very well; in the Kosekin we have standing first the thin letters, or tenues, according to Grimm's Law, namely, P, K, T. Next we have in the Hebrew the aspirates F, Ch, Dh. In the Kosekin alphabet we have corresponding to them the medials B, G, D. Next we have in the Hebrew the tenues, or thin letters P, K, T. In the Kosekin we have the corresponding aspirates F, Ch, Th. The vowels, liquids, and sibilants need not be regarded just here, for the proof from the mutes is sufficient to satisfy any reasonable man."""" Well,"" said Melick, ""I for one am thoroughly satisfied, and don't need another single word. The fact is, I never knew before the all-sufficient nature of Grimm's Law. Why, it can unlock any mystery! When I get home I must buy one--a tame one, if possible--and keep him with me always. It is more useful to a literary man than to any other. It is said that with a knowledge of Grimm's Law a man may wander through the world from Iceland to Ceylon, and converse pleasantly in all the Indo-European languages. More must have had Grimm's Law stowed away somewhere about him; and that's the reason why he escaped the icebergs, the volcanoes, the cannibals, the subterranean channel monster, and arrived at last safe and sound in the land of the Kosekin. What I want is Grimm's Law--a nice tidy one, well trained, in good working order, and kind in harness; and the moment I get one I intend to go to the land of the Kosekin myself."""" CHAPTER XXVII OXENDEN PREACHES A SERMON Magones,"" said the doctor, ""is clearly a volcanic island, and, taken in connection with the other volcanoes around, shows how active must be the subterranean fires at the South Pole. It seems probable to me that the numerous caves of the Kosekin were originally fissures in the mountains, formed by convulsions of nature; and also that the places excavated by man must consist of soft volcanic rock, such as" 83 "Summary: Oxenden discusses the connection between the Kosekin alphabet and the old Hebrew alphabet using Grimm's Law. Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Scholarly Genre: Non-fiction, linguistic analysis Intertextuality: Linguistic analysis Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Oxenden, doctor, Featherstone, Melick " "The doctor bowed, and said with a smile : "" Then I am afraid you will find it rather hard work ; for you have not been long enough among us to understand the Kosekin alphabet."" Oxenden then went on to explain that the three languages of Thule had each its own peculiar alphabet, which had never yet been studied. The letters were very few in number, and, so far as he was aware, contained only about twenty sounds. He mentioned this, because, from what he had learned in his brief studies, he was inclined to believe that there might be some connection between them and the old Hebrew alphabet, although he did not pretend to know any Hebrew himself. What was most remarkable, however, in their characters, was the arrangement of the vowels ; they occupied distinct places in the series, and not, like those of our own alphabet, spaces left between the consonants. In fact, according to his theory, the vowel points in Hebrew were originally independent characters. On this point, the doctor expressed great surprise, and said that Grimm's Law might apply even here. 2 1 8 THE AUK OF THE NORTHLAND. ""What ! "" cried Featherstone, "" do you mean to say that the old Hebrews used vowels ? "" Why not ? "" replied Oxenden, "" They were certainly familiar with the idea of accent, and it is not impossible that this may have been expressed by the vowel-points. At all events, the arrangement of the vowels in the Kosekin alphabet corresponds with that in the order of sounds. But this is not all,"""" he added, as if struck with a sudden thought ; "" I don't think I ever told you that I found another kind of writing at the place where these characters were discovered. It was more or less like runes ; but whether the same people made both, or if the latter were merely an inscription on an old sword or something of the kind, I cannot tell. If these people did use runic characters, then I am certain the two alphabets must be connected. There are many things in the runic system which resemble the present arrangement of the sounds ; and, unless I am much mistaken, it would not be difficult to give each character a phonetic value."" This was interesting news to the doctor, who now began to wish he had stayed to explore the country with his young friend. But he had no sooner made up his mind to go back than the Scotchman came hurrying along the road, to ask if he was not going to spend the night in the village. The doctor hastened to explain that he was obliged to return immediately, and take care of his family, but he hoped to come again soon. The next day he wrote a letter to Oxenden, asking him to send his notes on the subject of runic characters, and he requested Melick to forward the letter as quickly as possible. " 12 6709 117280 "pumice-stone, or rather tufa, easily worked, and remaining permanently in any shape into which it may be fashioned. As to Magones, it seems another Iceland; for there are the same wild and hideous desolation, the same impassable wildernesses, and the same universal scenes of ruin, lighted up by the baleful and tremendous volcanic fires."""" But what of that little island on which they landed?"" asked Featherstone. """"That, surely, was not volcanic."""" No,"" said the doctor; ""that must have been a coral island."" By-the-bye, is it really true,"" asked Featherstone, ""that these coral islands are the work of little insects?"""" Well, they may be called insects,"" replied the doctor; ""they are living zoophytes of most minute dimensions, which, however, compensate for their smallness of size by their inconceivable numbers. Small as these are they have accomplished infinitely more than all that ever was done by the ichthyosaurus, the plesiosaurus, the pterodactyl, and the whole tribe of monsters that once filled the earth. Immense districts and whole mountains have been built up by these minute creatures. They have been at work for ages, and are still at work. It is principally in the South Seas that their labors are carried on. Near the Maldive Islands they have formed a mass whose volume is equal to the Alps. Around New Caledonia they have built a barrier of reefs four hundred miles in length, and another along the northeast coast of Australia a thousand miles in length. In the Pacific Ocean, islands, reefs, and islets innumerable have been constructed by them, which extend for an immense distance. The coral islands are called 'atolls.' They are nearly always circular, with a depression in the centre. They are originally made ring-shaped, but the action of the ocean serves to throw fragments of rock into the inner depression, which thus fills up; firm land appears; the rock crumbles into soil; the winds and birds and currents bring seeds here, and soon the new island is covered with verdure. These little creatures have played a part in the past quite as important as in the present. All Germany rests upon a bank of coral; and they seem to have been most active during the Oolitic Period."""" How do the creatures act?"" asked Featherstone. Nobody knows,"" replied the doctor. A silence now followed, which was at last broken by Oxenden. After all,"" said he, ""these monsters and marvels of nature form the least interesting feature in the land of the Kosekin. To me the people themselves are the chief subject of interest. Where did they get that strange, all-pervading love of death, which is as strong in them as love of life is in us?"""" Why, they got it from the imagination of the writer of the manuscript,"""" interrupted Melick. Yes, it's easy to answer it from your point of view; yet from my point of view it is more difficult. I sometimes think that it may be the strong spirituality of the Semitic race, carried out under exceptionally favorable circumstances to the ultimate results; for the Semitic race more than all others thought little of this life, and turned their affections to the life that lives beyond this. The Kosekin may thus have had a spiritual development of their own, which ended in this. Yet there may be another reason for it, and I sometimes think that the Kosekin may be nearer to the truth than we are. We have by nature a strong love of life--it is our dominant feeling--but yet there is in the minds of all men a deep underlying conviction of the vanity of life, and the worthlessness. In all ages and among all races the best, the purest, and the wisest have taught this truth--that human life is not a blessing; that the evil predominates over the good; and that our best hope is to gain a spirit of acquiescence with its inevitable" 83 "Summary: The text discusses various geological formations and creatures, as well as the concept of love of death among the Kosekin people. Narrative arc: Informative Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Scholarly Genre: Non-fiction, scientific essay Intertextuality: Scientific article Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Active character: Doctor, Featherstone, Oxenden, Melick Time setting: Contemporary time period Diegetic time: Unclear Fuzzy place: Iceland, Magones, coral island " "The Kosekin island was built up of coral, but the Doctor pointed out to us that the sea-weeds and other vegetable growths which covered the sides of the steep banks would protect the coral from the action of the waves, and thus enable it to live and grow. Iceland is a land of fire, but there are also great tracts of it which have been formed by volcanic eruptions in the sea, and raised above the surface of the water. The Magones told us that they had been pushed up from the bottom of the ocean during a great convulsion about 3000 years ago, and that their shores were still honey-combed with subterranean caverns and arches, some of which had been occupied as habitations by their ancestors. They showed us many things which had been brought up from the deep seas, including an enormous shell-fish, which Featherstone said was a species of nautilus. We saw large quantities of coal lying about the place, and the Doctor explained that this too was derived from the sea. He said he believed the whole of the present coal formation on land had once been deposited at the bottom of the ocean. I must confess that all this talk about coal, and volcanoes, and shells, and the like made my head ache dreadfully, though Featherstone and Oxenden seemed to follow it very readily; so I am afraid I did not understand half of what the Doctor said. Perhaps you may be able to tell me more about these things when you come back, for I expect you will know something about them, won't you? But what I can't understand is why the Kosekin people seem to love death so much. You remember how every day our party of twenty-two increased by two or three new members, and yet we always kept nearly the same number. Melick says they take a kind of pride in increasing their population in that way, and do not allow the number to decrease. There is one man who is a sort of doctor among them called Nu-ma. He is a very queer fellow, and looks as if he knew everything. One day he asked Melick what the word """"love"""" meant in our language. Melick told him it meant affection, and a desire to benefit another person, and to bring happiness into his life. Then Nu-ma asked him what the word """"death"""" meant. Melick replied, of course, that it signified the end of life, and the dissolution of the body. Nu-ma then said: """"You white men love death, then?"""" And when Melick said he didn't know what he meant, Nu-ma laughed and answered, """"Yes, yes; you love death, because you go about seeking it everywhere, and you take great pleasure in bringing it about."""" " 13 6709 117281 "ills. All philosophy and all religions teach us this one solemn truth, that in this life the evil surpasses the good. It has always been so. Suffering has been the lot of all living things, from the giant of the primeval swamps down to the smallest zoophyte. It is far more so with man. Some favored classes in every age may furnish forth a few individuals who may perhaps lead lives of self-indulgence and luxury; but to the mass of mankind life has ever been, and must ever be, a prolonged scene of labor intermingled with suffering. The great Indian religions, whether Brahmanic or Buddhistic, teach as their cardinal doctrine that life is an evil. Buddhism is more pronounced in this, for it teaches more emphatically than even the Kosekin that the chief end of man is to get rid of the curse of life and gain the bliss of Nirvana, or annihilation. True, it does not take so practical a form as among the Kosekin, yet it is believed by one-third of the human race as the foundation of the religion in which they live and die. We need not go to the Kosekin, however, for such maxims as these. The intelligent Hindoos, the Chinese, the Japanese, with many other nations, all cling firmly to this belief. Sakyamoum Gautama Buddha, the son and heir of a mighty monarch, penetrated with the conviction of the misery of life, left his throne, embraced a life of voluntary poverty, want, and misery, so that he might find his way to a better state--the end before him being this, that he might ultimately escape from the curse of existence. He lived till old age, gained innumerable followers, and left to them as a solemn legacy the maxim that not to exist is better than to exist; that death is better than life. Since his day millions of his followers have upheld his principles and lived his life. Even among the joyous Greeks we find this feeling at times bursting forth it comes when we least expect it, and not even a Kosekin poet could express this view more forcibly than Sophocles in the OEdipus at Colonus: 'Not to be born surpasses every lot; And the next best lot by far, when one is born Is to go back whence he came as soon as possible; For while youth is present bringing vain follies, What woes does it not have, what ills does it not bear-- Murders, factions, strife, war, envy, But the extreme of misery is attained by loathsome old age-- Old age, strengthless, unsociable, friendless, Where all evils upon evils dwell together.'"""" I'll give you the words of a later poet,"" said Melick, ""who takes a different view of the case. I think I'll sing them, with your permission."""" Melick swallowed a glass of wine and then sang the following: 'They may rail at this life: from the hour I began it I found it a life full of kindness and bliss, And until they can show me some happier planet, More social and bright, I'll content me with this. As long as the world has such lips and such eyes As before me this moment enraptured I see, They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies, But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.' What a pity it is,"" continued Melick, ""that the writer of this manuscript had not the philological, theological, sociological, geological, palaeological, ontological, ornithological, and all the other logical attainments of yourself and the doctor! He could then have given us a complete view of the nature of the Kosekin, morally and physically; he could have treated of the geology of the soil, the ethnology of the people, and could have unfolded before us a full and comprehensive view of their philosophy and religion, and could have crammed his manuscript with statistics. I wonder why he didn't do it" 83 "Summary: The text discusses the belief that life is filled with suffering and the desire to escape existence. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Scholarly Genre: Philosophical essay Intertextuality: Religious texts, philosophical writings Speech standard: Formal Literary form: Monologue Literary movement: Enlightenment Diegetic time: Unknown " The belief that life is full of suffering, and therefore ought to be escaped from as speedily as possible, has been the doctrine of many religious sects, and even of some philosophers; though it is not perhaps the general opinion. The more common notion is, that we are here for the purpose of being happy, and that happiness consists in pleasure and the absence of pain. But in reality, whether we regard human life from a sensual or from a rational point of view, there can be no reason for wishing to live. From the former point of view, which may be called the sensual, the only pleasures worth desiring appear to be those of the imagination and the intellect. And if these are really pleasures, they cannot be supposed to end with this life: for we certainly know that they exist after death, and have never found any reason to suppose that existence should cease when they begin. In this way, the pleasures of the mind afford no argument for holding existence to be desirable on the whole. Nor is there any such argument to be drawn from the pleasures of sense. The pleasures of sense do not continue for any long time, and as they occur only at intervals, separated by longer or shorter periods of pain or ennui, the aggregate balance of pleasure through life must be against us, unless we suppose that the pleasures arising from anticipation count for something. But if these also terminate at death, it appears that the only pleasure we can reasonably hope for is that which arises from the gratification of certain bodily appetites, such as thirst and hunger: the gratification of other desires, such as those of love, of ambition, and of curiosity, not being necessary to our existence, and having no object but the pleasure attendant on their gratification. Thus it would seem that the only pleasures which we can affirm to be real goods are those which arise from the mere excitement of the organs of taste, hearing, &c., and those which consist in the relief of natural sensations of pain, hunger, &c. Now it is obvious that all these pleasures are very far from making existence desirable. No one will pretend that the pleasures of the table, however exquisite, can compensate in degree and quality for the deprivation of everything that is valued by civilized man in life. There are some persons who, under the influence of intense bodily pain, find relief in the stimulation of the senses, and obtain an agreeable variety in their sufferings, by changing from one kind of sensation to another. A man in a high fever, for example, often finds relief from the intensity of the pain caused by heat, by eating ice, though the contact of the ice with his skin gives him acute pain, and he knows that he is destroying his constitution by such excesses. But he is not aware that he is doing harm to himself, and is unable to foresee the consequences of his actions. 14 6709 117282 "even as it was. It must have been a strong temptation."""" More,"" said Oxenden, with deep impressiveness, ""was a simple-minded though somewhat emotional sailor, and merely wrote in the hope that his story might one day meet the eyes of his father. I certainly should like to find some more accurate statements about the science, philosophy, and religion of the Kosekin; yet, after all, such things could not be expected."""" Why not?"" said Melick; ""it was easy enough for him."" How?"" asked Oxenden. Why, he had only to step into the British Museum, and in a couple of hours he could have crammed up on all those points in science, philosophy, ethnology, and theology, about which you are so anxious to know."""" Well,"" said Featherstone, ""suppose we continue our reading? I believe it is my turn now. I sha'n't be able to hold out so long as you did, Oxenden, but I'll do what I can."""" Saying this, Featherstone took the manuscript and went on to read. CHAPTER XXVIII IN PRISON It was with hearts full of the gloomiest forebodings that we returned to the amir, and these we soon found to be fully justified. The athalebs descended at that point from which they had risen--namely, on the terrace immediately in front of the cavern where they had been confined. We then dismounted, and Layelah with the Kosekin guards accompanied us to our former chambers. There she left us, saying that a communication would be sent to us. We were now left to our own conjectures. I wonder what they will do to us?"" said I. It is impossible to tell,"" said Almah. I suppose,"" said I, ""they will punish us in some way; but then punishment among the Kosekin is what seems honor and reward to me. Perhaps they will spare our lives, for that in their eyes ought to be the severest punishment and the deepest disgrace imaginable."""" Almah sighed. The Kosekin do not always act in this matter as one would suppose,"" said she. """"It is quite likely that they may dread our escaping, and may conclude to sacrifice us at once."""" On the next jom I had a visit from the Kohen Gadol. He informed me that the paupers had held a Council of State, in which they had made a special examination of our late flight. He and Layelah had both been examined, as well as the Kosekin who had gone after us; but Layelah's testimony was by far the most important. The Council of State gathered from Layelah's report that we had fled to Magones for the especial purpose of gaining the most blessed of deaths; that she pursued us in the interest of the state; and that we on her arrival had generously surrendered our own selfish desires, and had at once returned. We learned that much gratification was felt by the council, and also expressed, at Layelah's account and at our action. First, at our eager love of death, which was so natural in their eyes; secondly, at the skill which we had shown in selecting Magones; and finally, at our generosity in giving up so readily the blessed prospect of exile and want and death, so as to come back to the amir. Had we been Kosekin our acts would have been natural enough; but, being foreigners, it was considered more admirable in us, and it seemed to show that we were equal to the Kosekin themselves. It was felt, however, that in our eager rush after death we had been somewhat selfish; but as this probably arose from our ignorance of the law, it might be overlooked. On the whole it was decided that we ought to be rewarded, and that, too, with the greatest benefits that the Kosekin" 83 "Summary: The characters discuss the possibility of finding more information about the Kosekin and read a manuscript. They then return to the amir, where they receive a visit from the Kohen Gadol. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Multiple characters speaking in dialogue Tone: Serious Genre: Historical novel Intertextuality: Historical fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Conversation Active character: Oxenden, Melick, Featherstone, Layelah Quoted work: British Museum Fuzzy place: Terrace, chambers Diegetic time: A few hours " "If you are prepared to take the risk, let us go at once and search the terrace for any further traces of them."""" I am ready,"" answered Oxenden, rising. ""I do not believe that we shall find anything; still it may be as well to make sure."""" So saying, they left the chamber and descended the steps together to the terrace, where they made a careful examination of all its recesses, but without success. It was evident that if there were any other tablets or fragments they had been removed long since by the Arabs. When they had finished their fruitless task, Oxenden returned with Melick to the chambers, while Featherstone remained on guard at the entrance. They entered the second chamber, and passing through the narrow door to the left found themselves in the secret room where the last tablet had been discovered. In the middle of the floor lay a mass of broken fragments, which appeared to have been roughly thrown together by the Arabs, when they searched for treasures which they expected to find there. Amongst these fragments Layelah picked up a small piece of marble about six inches square, with some writing upon it, which she handed to Oxenden. On examining it he saw that the characters were written in the same style as those of the other tablets, but in a more modern hand. He read them through carefully, then looked up with an exclamation of surprise. What is it?"" asked Layelah. ""What does it say?"""" The inscription is from a book, but the name of the book and the title of the writer are given, also the date of the work, and the date of the death of Solomon, thus proving that the author must have lived within two hundred years after the destruction of the Temple."""" What is the name of the book?"" asked Layelah eagerly. A manuscript of Josephus,"" answered Oxenden; ""the British Museum possesses a copy of it; doubtless this is one of the missing leaves."""" But what can it tell us that will help us to find the Kosekin?"" Nothing probably, except that it proves the existence of such a people during the early centuries after the fall of Jerusalem; but it may perhaps throw light on the origin of the Jews. Read it, Layelah; you can understand Hebrew better than I can."""" She took the fragment and read the inscription aloud: """"'The following particulars relating to the Kosekin are taken from the book of 'Josephus, entitled Antiquities of the Jews,' published in the year 1178 A.D., being the thirty-sixth year of the reign of Henry II, King of England, and the twelfth year of the reign of Amalric, King of Jerusalem, and the twenty-second year of the Captivity. That the Kosekin, who came from Egypt, were with Jacob in Mesopotamia, and went down into Egypt with him, and dwelt in Goshen, and that Moses sent twelve men into Egypt to buy corn, and that all the Kosekin were called out of Egypt, and went into the wilderness, and that they came with Joshua to Canaan, and dwelt in Galilee, and afterwards went down into Egypt again because of the famine. And when the Kosekin came back to Judea, Reuben and Gad and half the tribe of Manasseh went up with them, and dwelt in Gilead beyond Jordan, and joined themselves unto the Kosekin, and fought against the Hagarites and smote them. " 15 6709 117283 "could bestow. What these benefits were the Kohen Gadol could not say; and thus we were left, as before, in the greatest possible anxiety. We still dreaded the worst. The highest honors of these men might well awaken apprehension; for they thought that the chief blessings were poverty and darkness and death. Layelah next came to see me. She was as amiable as ever, and showed no resentment at all. She gave me an account of what had happened at the Council of State, which was the same as what I had heard from the Kohen Gadol. I asked her why she had made such a report of us. To conciliate their good-will,"" said Layelah. ""For if they thought that you had really fled from death from a love of life, they would have felt such contempt for you that serious harm might have happened."""" Yes,"" said I; ""but among the Kosekin what you call harm would probably have been just what I want. I should like to be viewed with contempt, and considered unworthy of death and the Mista Kosek, and other such honors."""" Oh yes,"" said Layelah; ""but that doesn't follow; for you see the paupers love death so intensely that they long to bestow it on all; and if they knew that you were afraid of it, they would be tempted to bestow it upon you immediately, just to show you how delightful a thing it is. And that was the very thing that I was trying to guard against."""" Well,"" said I, ""and what is the result? Do you know what their decision is?"""" Yes,"" said Layelah. What is it?"" I asked, eagerly. Layelah hesitated. What is it?"" I cried again, full of impatience. I'm afraid it will not sound very pleasant to you,"" said Layelah, but at any rate your life is spared for the present. They have decided to give you what they call the greatest possible honors and distinctions."""" Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly. For my part these words sounded ominous, and were full of the darkest meaning. Tell me all,"" I said; ""don't keep me in suspense."" Well,"" said Layelah, ""I'm afraid you will think it hard; but I must tell you. I will tell it, therefore, as briefly and formally as possible. First, then, they have decreed the blessing of separation. You and Almah must now be parted, since this is regarded as the highest bliss of lovers. Secondly, they have decreed the blessing of poverty. All these luxuries will be taken away, and you will be raised to an equality in this respect with the great paupers. Thirdly, you are to have the blessing of darkness. You are to be removed from this troublesome and vexatious light, which here is regarded as a curse, and henceforth live without it. Fourthly, the next decree is the high reward of imprisonment. You are to be delivered from the evils of liberty, and shut up in a dark cavern, from which it will be impossible to escape or to communicate with anyone outside. Fifthly, you are to associate with the greatest of the paupers, the class that is the most honored and influential. You will be present at all their highest councils, and will have the privilege of perpetual intercourse with those reverend men. They will tell you of the joys of poverty, the happiness of darkness, and the bliss of death."""" Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly. Is there anything more?"" I gasped." 83 "Summary: The protagonist is being told about the decisions made by a group of people, including Layelah, who have determined his fate. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Serious Genre: Fictional novel Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Conversation Active character: The protagonist, Layelah Fuzzy place: Unnamed location Diegetic time: A few minutes " "Ja, ja,"" svarade jag och sg honom djupt i augo. Men n nu fort fr att du skall veta huru vi hittat p lssningen av den svrja frgngen som du stllde oss. Vi visste sig att det inte var mktigt att gripa dig om halsen och dragit upp dig vid benen, ty det skulle blivit en stor sorg fr alla. Och d framstod Layelah och beframt att det till sist brjade med henne. Frst tog hon tv ilfoden och lste deras tecken: sedan tog hon tre fngarna och lste deras tecken; slutligen tog hon fem fingrarna och lste deras tecken. Hennes ansikte mnsktes och blev djrt tyst och allvarligt. Sedan hrde vi huru hon sa: Nu har de talat. Jag har lyssnat och fattat frst ett, andra och tredje ordet. Vartenda ord gick in i mitt hjerta och jag fick se rtt genom den smningens klinga. Denna har ingen annan set. Det finns bara en enda mrkelse, som kan rdda den stackars pojken. Den mrska de vill ha mig till, men jag slar af frn dem. Om det blir en strid och jag d. S vl fr han kunna komma hit. Om han kommer efter tio, tolv eller tjugu r, det saknar ingenting. Jag ska vnta honom hela mina dagar och njta dessa i hans tnktecken."""" Det var allt hon sade. Och vi kysste varandra och lade oss ned att sova. Nsta morgon brjade Layelah gunga i sin koja. Hon hade beslutat sig fr att aldrig mer lta tag i ngot, s länge hon levde, och sga, att det var en sjlfvmrdare, som hade kommit till henne och knuffat henne bort frn ngot. Jag kunde inte sova, utan reste mig upp och gick ut. Jag vilade mig ned p en sten och kastade grnsskareskott i luften. Jag tnkte p mina vänner och p mig sjlv och var mycket ledsen. Jag ville inte vara ledsen, men det hjlpade inte. Jag fick ngonting tristt och tungt i magen och ville hem. Jag var redo att g tillbaka, nnu innan jag hade hunnit halvvgen. Jag satte mig ner p marken, nr jag hade kommit fram till Lekos hus. Jag ville vnta p att den bleve lugnare inom mig. Men i stllet fr att bli lugnare, blev jag verkligen mer upprymd och svettig. Jag gick in i vallen, fastnade i en av grenarna och krampaktigt grep mig samman fr att undfly. Jag kunde inte fly, ty mina lrmor hade vant mig att inte fly, utan jag skulle strida till sista andedrn. Jag ville gra allting snabbt och bort, jag ville gra ngot mot standaren, jag ville gra ngot mot mina vänner, jag ville gra ngot mot mig sjlv, jag ville gra ngot, jag ville gra ngot, jag ville gra ngot! Det gick inte, ty mina ftter var fastspta och jag kunde inte rra mig. S ljtte jag helt pltsligt: * * * * * En dnghund kom rusande fram ifrn den andra sidan dalen. Han sprang hastigt emot mig och jag sprang ifrn honom. Jag rann upp p berget och han efter, vi rann ned i dalen och han efter, vi rann ut p heden och han efter, vi kommo till stenbrcket och jag sprang in och han efter. " 16 6709 117284 "No,"" said she. ""Is not that enough? Some were in favor of bestowing immediate death, but they were outvoted by the others. You surely cannot regret that."""" Layelah's words sounded like the words of a mocking demon. Yet she did not wish to distress me; she had merely stated my sentence in formal language, without any attempt to soften its tremendous import. As for me, I was overwhelmed with despair. There was but one thought in my mind--it was not of myself, but of Almah. And Almah?"" I cried. Almah,"" said Layelah--""she will have the same; you are both included in the same sentence."""" At this a groan burst from me. Horror overwhelmed me. I threw myself down upon the floor and covered my face with my hands. All was lost! Our fate--Almah's fate--was darkness, imprisonment, and death. Could anything be imagined that might mitigate such woes as these? Could anything be conceived of as more horrible? Yes; there remained something more, and this was announced by Layelah. Finally,"" said she, ""it has been decreed that you shall not only have the blessing of death, but that you shall have the rare honor of belonging to the chosen few who are reserved for the Mista Kosek. Thus far this had not been granted. It was esteemed too high an honor for strangers; but now, by an exercise of unparalleled liberality, the Grand Council of Paupers have added this, as the last and best, to the high honors and rewards which they have decreed for you and Almah."""" To this I had nothing to say; I was stupefied with horror. To such words what answer could be made? At that moment I could think of nothing but this tremendous sentence--this infliction of appalling woes under the miserable name of blessings! I could not think of Layelah; nor did I try to conjecture what her motives might be in thus coming to me as the messenger of evil. I could not find space amid my despair for speculations as to her own part in this, or stop to consider whether she was acting the part of a mere messenger, or was influenced by resentment or revenge. All this was far away from my thoughts; for all my mind was filled with the dread sentence of the Council of Paupers and the baleful prospect of the woes that awaited us. On the next jom I saw Almah. She had already learned the awful tidings. She met me with a face of despair; for there was no longer any hope, and all that remained for us was a last farewell. After this we parted, and each of us was taken to our respective prison. I was taken along dark passages until I came to a cavern with a low, dark portal. Upon entering I found the darkness deeper than usual, and there was only one solitary lamp, which diffused but a feeble ray through the gloom. The size of the place could not be made out. I saw here a group of human beings, and by the feeble ray of the lamp I perceived that they were wan and thin and emaciated, with scant clothing, all in rags, squalor, misery, and dirt; with coarse hair matted together, and long nails and shaggy beards. They reminded me in their personal appearance of the cannibals of the outer shore. These hideous beings all gathered around me, blinking at me with their bleary eyes and grinning with their abominable faces, and then each one embraced me. The filth, squalor, and unutterable foulness of these wretches all combined to fill my soul with loathing, and the inconceivable horror of that embrace wellnigh overwhelmed me. Yet, after all, it was surpassed by the horror of the thought that Almah might be at that very moment undergoing the same experience; and for her such a thing must be worse than for me. I retreated as far as possible from them, deep into the thick darkness, and sat down. No convicted felon at the last hour of life, no prisoner in the dungeons of the Inquisition, ever could have" 83 "Summary: The protagonist receives a devastating sentence from Layelah and learns that he and Almah will be sent to the Mista Kosek. He is then taken to a dark and filthy prison where he is embraced by emaciated and repulsive beings. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Gothic fiction Speech standard: Formal Literary form: Description of a place Active character: Layelah, Almah Absolute time: Not mentioned Fuzzy time: Not mentioned Absolute place: Not mentioned Fuzzy place: Cavern with a low, dark portal Diegetic time: A few hours " She had said so much, and the remainder was written in characters on a parchment which I could not read. It was a devastating sentence, and she had spoken it with a triumphant smile that showed her white teeth gleaming through her lips of ruby red. “What is it?” asked Almah. “The judgment of death,” answered Layelah, and her eyes were fixed on me with terrible meaning. Then she threw down the parchment and left the cavern. After a moment’s silence Almah burst into tears. “Now we must go,” said Layelah, returning. “You are to go to the Mista Kosek to-night.” I looked at Almah, but she gave no sign of understanding. “To the prison of the Djinn?” I asked. “No,” answered Layelah, “the Mista Kosek is another place.” And she pointed to the low dark portal of the cavern beyond the inner entrance. We passed through and descended a long flight of rough-hewn steps hewn out of the living rock. A little light came in through the opening above us, but below it grew darker and darker, until at last we reached the bottom of the shaft, where a large cavern opened before us. The air here was heavy and damp, and for a moment I was blinded by a sudden glare of light from hundreds of torches which hung along the walls and ceiling. When my sight cleared I saw that we were in a vast hall or chamber hewn out of the solid rock, and filled with thousands of men of every race and colour of the human family, standing close together in a dimly-lit mass of bodies. They were all clad in rags, and their faces bore the stamp of vice and crime, as well as the traces of disease and premature old age. Some were lying on the ground asleep, some sitting motionless, gazing blankly before them; others wandered aimlessly up and down, while the voices of many rose in song or merriment. The scene was one of indescribable filth, disorder and misery; for these men were prisoners condemned to an eternal imprisonment in this subterranean hell. As we entered the hall they drew back, and formed a lane through which we walked, saluting us with looks of wonder and greeting. When we reached the centre of the hall, a great door was thrown open, and we passed through into a second chamber, where a young man stood waiting for us. This he told us was the Mista Kosek, the chief officer of the prison, and he led the way to his palace, which was situated at the further end of the hall. Here we found supper ready, and when we had eaten Layelah bade us good-bye. She would return in the morning to conduct us to our home,” she said; “but now you must rest for a few hours.” With these words she kissed Almah and me, and vanished. 17 6709 117285 "suffered more mental agony than I did at that moment. The blessings, the awful blessings of the Kosekin were descending upon my miserable head--separation from Almah, squalor and dirt, imprisonment, the society of these filthy creatures, darkness, the shadow of death, and beyond all the tremendous horrors of the Mista Kosek! I do not know how the time passed, for at first I was almost stupefied with despair; nor could I ever grow reconciled to the society of these wretches, scarce human, who were with me. Some food was offered me--filthy stuff, which I refused. My refusal excited warm commendation; but I was warned against starving myself, as that was against the law. In my despair I thought of my pistol and rifle, which I still kept with me--of using these against my jailors, and bursting forth; but this wild impulse soon passed away, for its utter hopelessness was manifest. My only hope, if hope it was, lay in waiting, and it was not impossible that I might see Almah again, if only once. Joms passed away, I know not how. The Chief Pauper, who is the greatest man in the land of the Kosekin, made several attempts to converse with me, and was evidently very condescending and magnanimous in his own eyes; but I did not meet his advances graciously--he was too abhorrent. He was a hideous wretch, with eyes nearly closed and bleary, thick, matted hair, and fiendish expression--in short, a devil incarnate in rags and squalor. But as the joms passed I found it difficult to repel my associates. They were always inflicting their society upon me, and thrusting on me nasty little acts of kindness. The Chief Pauper was more persistent than all, with his chatter and his disgusting civilities. He was evidently glad to get hold of a fresh subject for his talkative genius; he was a very garrulous cannibal, and perhaps my being a foreigner made me more interesting in his eyes. The chief topic of his discourse was death. He hated life, loved death, longed for it in all its forms, whether arising from disease or from violence. He was an amateur in corpses, and had a larger experience in dead bodies than any other man in the nation. I could not help asking him once why he did not kill himself, and be done with it. That,"" said he, ""is not allowed. The temptation to kill one's self is one of the strongest that human nature can experience, but it is one that we must struggle against, of course, for it is against all law. The greatest blessing must not be seized. It must be given by nature or man. Those who violate the blessed mystery of death are infamous."""" He assured me that he had all his life cultivated the loftiest feelings of love to others. His greatest happiness consisted in doing good to others, especially in killing them. The blessing of death, being the greatest of all blessings, was the one which he loved best to bestow upon others; and the more he loved his fellow-creatures the more he wished to give them this blessing. """"You,"""" said he, """"are particularly dear to me, and I should rather give to you the blessing of death than to any other human being. I love you, Atam-or, and I long to kill you at this moment."""" You had better not try it,"" said I, grimly. He shook his head despondingly. Oh no,"" said he; ""it is against the law. I must not do it till the time comes."""" Do you kill many?"" I asked. It is my pleasing and glorious office,"" he replied, ""to kill more than any other; for, you must know, I am the Sar Tabakin"""" (chief of the executioners). The Chief Pauper's love of death had grown to be an all-absorbing passion. He longed to give death to all. As with us there are certain" 83 "Summary: The protagonist is in despair and being forced to live with the Kosekin, a group of filthy creatures. He is approached by the Chief Pauper who talks about his love for death and killing others. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Adventure Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Active character: Protagonist, Chief Pauper Time setting: Contemporary Diegetic time: Some time has passed " I was sick of life, and I was ready to give up my existence to a higher power that would take care of me. I said all this to the Chief Pauper, for such was his title. He had been born in the Kosekin, and had grown up with the rest. But he was not like them. They were filthy, but he was clean; they were savage, but he was gentle; they were ignorant, but he was intelligent; they were uneducated, but he was well-informed; they were degraded, but he had kept his manhood intact. “You are a civilized man,” I said, after we had talked together for some time, “living among savages.” “Yes,” he answered, “but these people are more to me than any others on earth. I love them because they are my own people—my brothers, my sisters, my parents. They are the only friends I have, for I hate all other men. The Kosekin are my family.” “But why do you live with them?” I asked. “Because I love them. I could not live without them.” “But you must be miserable living with such creatures!” “No; they are not so bad as you think. Their vices are their virtues; their crimes are their religion; their sufferings are their delights. They are happy, and that is enough for me.” “Then what do you want? Why did you come to talk to me?” “Because I want you to stay here.” “Stay here! What do you mean? Do you want me to live with these wretches?” “Yes. You can live here if you like.” “Never! Never!” I cried. “Yes,” he repeated, speaking very slowly and distinctly, “you will have to live with us—you will have to live with the Kosekin—if you wish to escape death.” “What do you mean?” “You will have to marry one of the women.” “Marry one of the women! What do you mean?” “That is the only way you can escape from the Kosekin; that is the only way you can avoid death.” “I will never marry one of those loathsome creatures! They are not human beings—they are brutes!” “No matter,” he answered calmly, “they are the women of your choice. You chose one of them, and now you must take her as your wife. If you do not, you must die.” I looked at him for a few moments in silence. He smiled and waited. I turned away, unable to speak or move. The horror of the situation overcame me. To remain here was impossible—to go back seemed equally so. There was no escape—I was shut in on every side by the horrors of death. 18 6709 117286 "philanthropists who have a mania for doing good, so here the pauper class had a mania for doing what they considered good in this way. The Chief Pauper was a sort of Kosekin Howard or Peabody, and was regarded by all with boundless reverence. To me, however, he was an object of never-ending hate, abhorrence, and loathing; and, added to this, was the thought that there might be here some equally hideous female--someone like the nightmare hag of the outer sea--a torment and a horror to Almah. CHAPTER XXIX THE CEREMONY OF SEPARATION Separated from Almah, surrounded by foul fiends, in darkness and the shadow of death, with the baleful prospect of the Mista Kosek, it was mine to endure the bitterest anguish and despair; and in me these feelings were all the worse from the thought that Almah was in a similar state, and was enduring equal woes. All that I suffered in my present condition she too was suffering--and from this there was no possibility of escape. Perhaps her surroundings were even worse, and her sufferings keener; for who could tell what these people might inflict in their strange and perverted impulses? Many joms passed, and there was only one thing that sustained me--the hope of seeing Almah yet again, though it were but for a moment. That hope, however, was but faint. There was no escape. The gate was barred without and within. I was surrounded by miscreants, who formed the chief class in the state and the ruling order. The Chief Pauper was the highest magistrate in the land, from whose opinion there was no appeal, and the other paupers here formed the Kosekin senate. Here, in imprisonment and darkness, they formed a secret tribunal and controlled everything. They were objects of envy to all. All looked forward to this position as the highest object of human ambition, and the friends and relatives of those here rejoiced in their honor. Their powers were not executive, but deliberative. To the Meleks and Athons was left the exercise of authority, but their acts were always in subordination to the will of the paupers. I have everything that heart can wish,"" said the Chief Pauper to me once. """"Look at me, Atam-or, and see me as I stand here: I have poverty, squalor, cold, perpetual darkness, the privilege of killing others, the near prospect of death, and the certainty of the Mista Kosek--all these I have, and yet, Atam-or, after all, I am not happy."""" To this strange speech I had nothing to say. Yes,"" continued the Chief Pauper, in a pensive tone, ""for twenty seasons I have reigned as chief of the Kosekin in this place. My cavern is the coldest, squalidest, and darkest in the land. My raiment is the coarsest rags. I have separated from all my friends. I have had much sickness. I have the closest captivity. Death, darkness, poverty, want, all that men most live and long for, are mine to satiety; and yet, as I look back and count the joms of my life to see in how many I have known happiness, I find that in all they amount to just seven! Oh, Atam-or, what a comment is this on the vanity of human life!"""" To this I had no answer ready; but by way of saying something, I offered to kill him on the spot. Nay, nay, Atam-or,"" said he, with a melancholy smile, ""do not tempt me. Leave me to struggle with temptations by myself, and do not seek to make me falter in my duty. Yes, Atam-or, you behold in me a melancholy example of the folly of ambition; for I often think, as I look down from my lofty eminence, that after all it is as well to remain content in the humble sphere in which we are placed at birth; for perhaps, if the truth were known, there is quite as much real happiness among the rich and splendid--among the Athons and Meleks."""" On this occasion I took advantage of the Chief Pauper's softer mood to pour forth an earnest entreaty for him to save Almah's life, or at" 83 "Summary: The narrator expresses their intense hatred for the Chief Pauper and their despair at being separated from Almah. The Chief Pauper reflects on their own position and suggests that there may be more happiness in remaining content with one's station in life. Narrative arc: Reflective, introspective Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic, despondent Genre: Historical novel Speech standard: Formal, literary Literary form: Stream of consciousness Active character: The narrator, the Chief Pauper Quoted character: Almah Fuzzy place: The Mista Kosek Diegetic time: Many joms (joms are unspecified units of time " "I am the Chief Pauper of the Mista Kosek; and in my heart I hate him!"""" I will die, if need be,"" he said to himself; ""but never shall he know that he has been feared by Almah! It is not for nothing that I have lived so long as a slave."""" And his misery was so great that he felt he must tell some one of it; so he went to the Chief Pauper, and told him. The old man listened gravely, but when he had finished he only shook his head, and sighed heavily. """"Alas! alas!"""" he murmured, ""he cannot understand; he knows not what happiness is. He hath too much; he is sick of pleasure; but thou hast naught; thou art poor; thou shalt be content with thy lot. Thou art now the owner of the Mista Kosek: thou hast no more reason to complain of thy lot than hath the Chief Pauper. To-morrow thou wilt rule over many slaves, and thou wilt have the Princess Almah to love thee; and yet thou wouldst change places with me? Ah, thou art young; thou knowest not what true happiness is. One may be very miserable at the top of the hill, and yet be very happy at the bottom."""" And then the Chief Pauper told his own story, and how he had come to the throne. As he spoke he drew nearer and nearer to the fire, till at last he sat almost within its glowing heat; and his eyes looked dimmer and dimmer through their tears, and his frame shook with age, and his voice grew fainter and fainter, and his words died away in silence, and he fell asleep. When he awoke he found himself lying on his couch beside the fire, and close around him were all the people of the Mista Kosek, who had come to see what ailed him. They made a space for the boy, and he came forward trembling, for he had heard the story of the Chief Pauper, and knew that his own life depended on the judgment of the people. But he need not have feared, for there was not a face among them that did not smile upon him kindly; and the Chief Pauper stood up and put his hand on his shoulder. """"Peace! peace! my friends,"""" he said; """"the boy is now your King; and whether you will or no, you must obey him. You are well off here; why should you wish to change your position? Are you not fed, and clothed, and sheltered; and are you not happy? What more can you desire? Why not be content with your station? " 19 6709 117287 "least to mitigate her miseries. Alas! he was inexorable. It was like an appeal of some mad prisoner to some gentle-hearted governor in Christendom, entreating him to put some fellow-prisoner to death, or at least to make his confinement more severe. The Chief Pauper stared at me in horror. You are a strange being, Atam-or,"" said he, gently. ""Sometimes I think you mad. I can only say that such a request is horrible to me beyond all words. Such degradation and cruelty to the gentle and virtuous Almah is outrageous and forever impossible; no, we will not deprive her of a single one of those blessings which she now enjoys."""" I turned away in despair. At length one jom the Chief Pauper came to me with a smile and said, Atam-or, let me congratulate you on this joyous occasion."" What do you mean?"" I asked. You are to have your ceremony of separation."" Separation!"" I repeated. Yes,"" said he. ""Almah has given notice to us. She has announced her intention of giving you up, and separating from you. With us the woman always gives the announcement in such cases. We have fixed the ceremony for the third jom from this, and I hope you will not think it too soon."""" This strange intelligence moved me greatly. I did not like the idea of a ceremony of separation; but behind this there rose the prospect of seeing Almah, and I felt convinced that she had devised this as a mode of holding communication with me, or at least of seeing me again. The thought of Layelah was the only thing that interfered with this belief, for it might be her doings after all; yet the fact remained that I was to see Almah, and in this I rejoiced with exceeding great joy. The appointed jom came. A procession was formed of the paupers. The chief did not go, as he never left the cavern except on the great sacrifices and Mista Koseks. The door was opened, and I accompanied the procession. On our way all was dark, and after traversing many passages we came at length to the door of a cavern as gloomy as the one I had left. On entering this I found all dark and drear; and a little distance before me there was a light burning, around which was gathered a group of hags hideous beyond all expression. But these I scarcely noticed; for there amid them, all pale and wan, with her face now lighted up with joyous and eager expectation, I saw my darling--my Almah! I caught her in my arms, and for a few moments neither of us spoke a word. She sobbed upon my breast, but I knew that the tears which she shed were tears of joy. Nor was our joy checked by the thought that it was to be so short-lived. It was enough at that moment that we saw one another--enough that we were in one another's arms; and so we mingled our tears, and shared one common rapture. And sweet it was--sweet beyond all expression--the sweetest moment in all my life; for it had come in the midst of the drear desolation of my heart and the black despair. It was like a flash of lightning in the intense darkness, short and sudden indeed, yet still intense while it lasted, and in an instant filling all with its glow. I did this,"" murmured Almah, ""to see you and to save you."" Save me!"" I repeated. Yes,"" said she. ""I have seen Layelah. She told me that there is this chance and this one only to save you. I determined to try it. I cannot bear to think of you at the sacrifice--and for love of me meeting your death--for I would die to save you, Atam-or."""" I pressed her closer in my arms. Oh, Almah,"" said I, ""I would die to save you! and if this ceremony will save you I will go through with it, and accept my fate whatever it may be.""""" 83 "Summary: The protagonist is desperate for Almah's help, but she surprises him with the news that she wants to separate from him. Trope: Forbidden love Narrative arc: Dramatic tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Active character: Atam-or, Chief Pauper, Almah Fuzzy time: Third jom Fuzzy place: Caverns Diegetic time: A few minutes " "The poor fellow had been in such a state of nervous prostration that he was unable to move from the spot where Almah had left him; and, in fact, his last action had been an effort. Now he leaped up with a cry of alarm, which brought Atam-or and the Chief Pauper in quick response. The latter saw at once that all was not well, and after having told Atam-or to remain outside the caverns, hurried into the chamber alone. He found the Prince lying upon the floor in a state of collapse, and the first thing he did was to fetch a glass of water. This revived him somewhat, but it was plain that he could not be moved until he should have regained some strength. The Chief Pauper sat down beside him, and asked what was wrong. I am lost,"" said the Prince, ""unless Almah can help me. She has come back, but she refuses to do so."""" What is this? Almah here?"" Yes, Almah is here, but she insists on going away."" When the Chief Pauper heard this he hid his face with both hands, and for a time made no answer. Then he raised them and looked the Prince full in the face. """"Almah says that she wishes to separate from you,"""" he said. """"She says that her life is in danger as long as she remains here, and that she must go away."""" " 20 6709 117288 "We were now interrupted. The women--the hags of horror--the shriek-like ones, as I may call them, or the fiend-like, the female fiends, the foul ones--they were all around us; and one there was who looked so exactly like the nightmare hag of the outer sea that I felt sure she must be the same, who by some strange chance had come here. Such, indeed, is quite likely, for there may have been a pass over the mountains to the land of the Kosekin; and those savage cannibals may all have been honored Kosekin exiles, dwelling in poverty, want, woe, and darkness, all of which may have been allotted to them as a reward for eminent virtues. And so here she was, the nightmare hag, and I saw that she recognized me. A circle was now formed around us, and the light stood in the middle. The nightmare hag also stood within the circle on the other side of the light opposite us. The beams of the lamp flickered through the darkness, faintly illuminating the faces of the horrible creatures around, who, foul and repulsive as harpies, seemed like unclean beasts, ready to make us their prey. Their glances seemed to menace death; their blear eyes rested upon us with a horrid eager hunger. My worst fears at that moment seemed realized; for I saw that Almah's associates were worse than mine, and her fate had been more bitter. And I wondered how it had been possible for her to live among such associates; or, even though she had lived thus far, whether it would be possible for her to endure it longer. And now there arose a melancholy chant from the old hags around--a dreadful strain, that sounded like a funeral dirge, sung in shrill, discordant voices, led by the nightmare hag, who as she sang waved in her hand a kind of club. All the time I held Almah in my arms, regardless of those around us, thinking only of her from whom I must soon again be separated, and whom I must leave in this drear abode to meet her fearful fate alone. The chant continued for some time, and as long as it continued it was sweet to me; for it prolonged the meeting with Almah, and postponed by so much our separation. At length the chant ceased. The nightmare hag looked fixedly at us, and spoke these words: You have embraced for the last time. Henceforth there is no more sorrow in your love. You may be happy now in being forever disunited, and in knowing the bliss of eternal separation. As darkness is better than light, as death is better than life, so may you find separation better than union."""" She now gave a blow with her club at the lamp, which broke it to atoms and extinguished the flame. She continued: As the baleful light is succeeded by the blessed darkness, so may you find the light of union followed by the blessed darkness of separation."""" And now in the deep darkness we stood clasped in one another's arms; while around us, from the horrible circle of hags, there arose another chant as harsh and discordant as the previous one, but which, nevertheless, like that, served at least to keep us together a little longer. For this reason it sounded sweeter than the sweetest music; and therefore, when at last the hideous noise ended, I felt a pang of grief, for I knew that I must now give up Almah forever. I was right. The ceremony was over. We had to part, and we parted with tears of despair. I was led away, and as I went I heard Almah's sobs. I broke away, and tried to return for one more embrace; but in the darkness I could not find her, and could only hear her sobs at a greater distance, which showed that she too was being led away. I called after her, Farewell, Almah!"" Her reply came back broken with sobs." 83 "Summary: The narrator is interrupted by a group of women who form a circle around him and Almah. The nightmare hag speaks to them, ending with a chant that prolongs their time together but also leads to their inevitable separation. Trope: Forbidden love, separation Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Gothic fiction Intertextuality: Mythology Speech standard: Poetic Literary form: Dialogue Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Narrator, Almah, nightmare hag Fuzzy place: Unnamed location Diegetic time: A significant amount of time " "But my happiness was not to last for long, for the women had now formed a circle around us; and when they heard what I had said to Almah, and saw her face lighted up with joy, they became jealous. There was one of them who wore a black veil, and who, by her ghastly appearance, reminded me of the nightmare hag who had brought me here. She took off her veil, and said: """"I am your nightmare, whom you so often have seen in your sleep. You shall never leave this land until the hour of departure comes. But hear what you have to do."""" Then she began to chant in a voice which sounded like the hiss of a snake. The first part of the chant was a lamentation over the lover who has lost his beloved, and over the beloved who is separated from the lover, and over the two together, who can no longer be happy. It was very mournful to hear, and lasted a long time; but it went on getting shorter and shorter, till at last it only sounded like this: """"Thou art mine! Thou art mine!"""" Then all the women joined in, and repeated the same words again and again. When they had said them twenty times, they stopped chanting, and looked at one another with laughing faces; then they bent towards each other and kissed. They also kissed Almah and me. All their anger seemed to have vanished, and they looked at us more kindly than before. They said that the * * * * * " 21 6709 117289 "Farewell forever, Atam-or!"" I was once more led away, and again traversed the dark passages, and again came back to my den, which now seemed dark with the blackness of despair. On my return I was formally and solemnly congratulated by all the paupers. I should not have received their congratulations had I not expected that there would be something more. I expected that something would be said about the result of this act of separation; for Almah had believed that it would be the means of saving my life, and I believed that it would be the means of saving her life, and for this reason each of us had performed our part; although, of course, the joy of meeting with one another would of itself have been sufficient, and more than sufficient, to make that ceremony an object of desire. I thought, therefore, that some statement might now be made to the effect that by means of this ceremony my status among the Kosekin would be changed, and that both I and Almah, being no longer lovers, would be no longer fit for the sacrifice. To my intense disappointment, however, nothing whatever was said that had the remotest reference to this. On the following jom I determined to ask the Chief Pauper himself directly; and accordingly, after a brief preamble, I put the question point-blank: Will our ceremony of separation make any difference as to our sacrifice?"""" What?"" he asked, with a puzzled expression. I repeated the question. I don't understand,"" said he, still looking puzzled. Upon this I once more repeated it. How can that be?"" said he at length; ""how can the ceremony of separation have any effect upon your sacrifice? The ceremony of separation stands by itself as the sign and symbol of an additional blessing. This new happiness of separation is a great favor, and will make you the object of new envy and admiration; for few have been so fortunate as you in all the history of the Kosekin. But you are the favorite of the Kosekin now, and there is nothing that they will not do for you."""" But we were separate before,"" said I, indignantly. That is true,"" said he, ""in point of fact; but this ceremony makes your separation a legal thing, and gives it the solemn sanction of law and of religion. Among the Kosekin one cannot be considered as a separate man until the ceremony of separation has been publicly performed."""" I understood,"" said I, ""that we were chosen to suffer the sacrifice together because we were lovers, and now since you do not any longer regard us as lovers, why do you sacrifice us?"""" At this question the Chief Pauper looked at me with one of those hungry glances of his, which showed how he thirsted for my blood, and he smiled the smile of an evil fiend. Why do we sacrifice you, Atam-or?"" he replied. ""Why, because we honor you both, and love you both so dearly that we are eager to give you the greatest of all blessings, and to deny you nothing that is in our power to bestow."""" Do you mean to sacrifice both of us?"" I gasped. Of course."" What! Almah too?"" Certainly. Why should we be so cruel to the dear child as to deprive her of so great a boon?"""" At this I groaned aloud and turned away in despair. Many joms now passed away. I grew more and more melancholy and desperate. I thought sometimes of fighting my way out. My fire-arms" 83 "Summary: The narrator is separated from Almah after a ceremony, and hopes that their status will change. However, the Chief Pauper informs them that their sacrifice will still happen. Trope: Forbidden love Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Dystopian fiction Intertextuality: Religious text Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Conversation Active character: Atam-or, Almah, Chief Pauper Time setting: Unclear Diegetic time: Several joms " Atam-or remained, and Almah disappeared with the others. I was left alone with Atam-or. A fearful scene it was for me; I stood in a sort of trance until the ceremony ended, when the Chief Pauper advanced towards me, placed his hand upon my shoulder, and said: “Go now to the Temple of Ma, and there await our command.” As he spoke, he removed the red ribbon which encircled my arm. When this was done, I turned to go, but not before I had seen that Atam-or’s ribbon was removed likewise; when I looked again, she was no longer there. For a moment, all seemed dark before me; then a gleam of hope shone out from what appeared like an abyss of despair. Perhaps now that we were both free, we might yet be together! Oh, how vain are human hopes! For a few moments I remained in the temple; then I went forth, and made my way towards the river. As I passed the Palace, I saw Her standing near the gate; I went up to her, but she started back as if I were some loathsome creature. I asked her what was the matter, and she told me that my hair was now white, and that white hair was the sign of death and impurity in Amozon. 22 6709 117290 were now my chief consolation; for I had fully made up my mind not to die quietly like a slaughtered calf, but to strike a blow for life, and meet my death amid slain enemies. In this prospect I found some satisfaction, and death was robbed of some of its terrors. CHAPTER XXX THE DAY OF SACRIFICE At last the time came. It was the end of the dark season. Then, as the sun rises for its permanent course around the heavens, when the long day of six months begins, all in the land of the Kosekin is sorrow, and the last of the loved darkness is mourned over amid the most solemn ceremonies, and celebrated with the most imposing sacrifices. Then the most honored in all the land are publicly presented with the blessing of death, and allowed to depart this hated life, and go to the realms of that eternal darkness which they love so well. It is the greatest of sacrifices, and is followed by the greatest of feasts. Thus the busy season--the loved season of darkness--ends, and the long, hateful season of light begins, when the Kosekin lurk in caverns, and live in this way in the presence of what may be called artificial darkness. It was for us--for me and for Almah--the day of doom. Since the ceremony of separation I had not seen her; but my heart had been always with her. I did not even know whether she was alive or not, but believed that she must be; for I thought that if she had died I should have heard of it, as the Kosekin would have rejoiced greatly over such an event. For every death is to them an occasion of joy, and the death of one so distinguished and so beloved as Almah would have given rise to nothing less than a national festival. Of time I had but a poor reckoning; but, from the way in which the paupers kept account of their joms, I judged that about three months had elapsed since the ceremony of separation. The paupers were now all joyous with a hideous joy. The Chief Pauper was more abhorrent than ever. He had the blood-thirst strong upon him. He was on that jom to perform his horrible office of Sar Tabakin, and as he accosted me he smiled the smile of a demon, and congratulated me on my coming escape from life. To this I had no word of answer to make; but my hands held my rifle and pistol, and these I clutched with a firmer grasp as my last hour approached. The time of departure at length arrived. Soldiers of the Kosekin came, following the paupers, who went first, while the guards came after me. Thus we all emerged into the open air. There the broad terrace already mentioned spread out before my eyes, filled with thousands upon thousands of human beings. It seemed as though the entire population of the city was there, and so densely packed was this great crowd that it was only with great difficulty that a way was laid open for our passage. Above was the sky, where the stars were twinkling faintly. There was no longer the light of the aurora australis; the constellations glimmered but dimly, the moon was shining with but a feeble ray; for there far away over the icy crests of the lofty mountains I saw a long line of splendid effulgence, all golden and red--the light of the new dawn--the dawn of that long day which was now approaching. The sight of that dawning light gave me new life. It was like a sight of home--the blessed dawn, the sunlight of a bright day, the glorious daybreak lost for so long a time, but now at last returning. I feasted my eyes on the spectacle, I burst into tears of joy, and I felt as though I could gaze at it forever. But the sun as it travelled was rapidly coming into view; soon the dazzling glory of its rim would appear above the mountain crest, and the season of darkness would end. There was no time to wait, and the guards hurried me on. There in the midst of the square rose the pyramid. It was fully a 83 "Summary: The narrator is contemplating death and their desire to die fighting, as the season of darkness comes to an end. Trope: Battle between light and darkness Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Adventure Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Description of a place Active character: The narrator Absolute place: The pyramid Fuzzy place: The land of the Kosekin Diegetic time: Three months " They were to be free men or dead. “It was the last chance for my race, and it was a glorious one. There was nothing that I feared so much as death; but this was a death in battle with these fiends of darkness, and I should die fighting to save the few survivors from the land of the Kosekin. It was not death, it was life! But I knew in my heart that we should fall and the season of darkness would come upon us again. We had fought against the great strength of the Kosekin, and they would win in the end. “And then I thought of the Light that still shone through the darkened windows of my soul. And I thanked God for His love and goodness. And I prayed to Him that if it must be so that we should fall in the fight, He would take our souls and spirits away from this earth of sorrow and pain and trouble, and receive them into His Kingdom. “And when I had finished praying I felt stronger and better. For there is nothing like prayer for strengthening the soul, especially when one feels weak and miserable. “Three months had passed since I had left the pyramid. 23 6709 117291 "hundred feet in height, with a broad flat top. At the base I saw a great crowd of paupers. Through these we passed, and as we did so a horrible death-chant arose. We now went up the steps and reached the top. It was about sixty feet square, and upon it there was a quadrangle of stones set about three feet apart, about sixty in number, while in the midst was a larger stone. All of these were evidently intended for sacrificial purposes. Scarcely had I reached the top when I saw a procession ascend from the other side. First came some paupers, then some hags, and then, followed by other hags, I saw Almah. I was transfixed at the sight. A thrill passed through every nerve, and a wild impulse came to me to burst through the crowd, join her, and battle with them all for her life. But the crowd was too dense. I could only stand and look at her, and mark the paleness of her face and her mute despair. She saw me, waved her hand sadly, and gave a mournful smile. There we stood separated by the crowd, with our eyes fastened on each other, and all our hearts filled with one deep, intense yearning to fly to one another's side. And now there came up from below, louder and deeper, the awful death-chant. Time was pressing. The preparations were made. The Chief Pauper took his station by the central stone, and in his right hand he held a long, keen knife. Toward this stone I was led. The Chief Pauper then looked with his blear and blinking eyes to where the dawn was glowing over the mountain crest, and every moment increasing in brightness; and then, after a brief survey, he turned and whetted his knife on the sacrificial stone. After this he turned to me with his evil face, with the glare of a horrid death-hunger in his ravenous eyes, and pointed to the stone. I stood without motion. He repeated the gesture and said, """"Lie down here."""" I will not,"" said I. But it is on this stone,"" said he, ""that you are to get the blessing of death."""" I'll die first!"" said I, fiercely, and I raised my rifle. The Chief Pauper was puzzled at this. The others looked on quietly, thinking it probably a debate about some punctilio. Suddenly he seemed struck with an idea. Yes, yes,"" said he. ""The woman first. It is better so."" Saying this he walked toward Almah, and said something to the hags. At this the chief of them--namely, the nightmare hag--led Almah to the nearest stone, and motioned to her to lie down. Almah prepared to obey, but paused a moment to throw at me one last glance and wave her hand as a last farewell. Then without a word she laid herself down upon the stone. At this a thrill of fury rushed through all my being, rousing me from my stupor, impelling me to action, filling my brain with madness. The nightmare hag had already raised her long keen knife in the air. Another moment and the blow would have fallen. But my rifle was at my shoulder; my aim was deadly. The report rang out like thunder. A wild, piercing yell followed, and when the smoke cleared away the nightmare hag lay dead at the foot of the altar. I was already there, having burst through the astonished crowd, and Almah was in my arms; and holding her thus for a moment, I put myself in front of her and stood at bay, with my only thought that of defending her to the last and selling my life as dearly as possible. The result was amazing. After the report there was for some moments a deep silence, which was followed by a wild, abrupt outcry from half a million people--the roar of indistinguishable words bursting forth from the lips of all that throng, whose accumulated volume arose in one vast thunder-clap of sound, pealing forth, echoing along the terraced streets, and rolling" 83 "Summary: The protagonist witnesses a sacrifice and saves the person they care about. Trope: Hero saving the damsel in distress Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Adventure Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Action scene Active character: Protagonist, Almah, Chief Pauper Fuzzy place: Top of a pyramid Diegetic time: A few minutes " He had seen the sacrifice, and he also had borne witness to its fruits. He was determined that Almah should not be the victim of a second attempt. He held her tightly by the hand, and she looked up at him with a smile that made his heart leap. But they were on the top of a pyramid and surrounded by enemies. The Chief Pauper was coming towards them from the entrance of the temple. In his hand he held the staff which the old priest had taken from him in the morning. It was a sign of authority and of power. There was no doubt in the minds of the people that their leader had come back again. They would obey him. The sacrifice was only half completed, but it could be resumed. If Almah fell into his hands there was nothing for her but death; and so, without thinking much about it, Jack drew her close to him and stood ready to defend her to the last. As the Chief Pauper approached them he saw that resistance was useless. He stopped and called out: “The God wants her! I command you to surrender!” And then he added, with a sneer: “It is more than I expected of you.” Jack knew that if he made any further resistance his object would be frustrated and Almah's life would be forfeited. There was no way of escape except by flight. If they could reach the edge of the pyramid and gain the outer wall they might perhaps succeed in eluding pursuit. So he turned away and began to make his way rapidly across the terrace towards the farther side of the pyramid. 24 6709 117292 "on far away in endless reverberations. It was like the roar of mighty cataracts, like the sound of many waters; and at the voice of that vast multitude I shrank back for a moment. As I did so I looked down, and beheld a scene as appalling as the sound that had overawed me. In all that countless throng of human beings there was not one who was not in motion; and all were pressing forward toward the pyramid as to a common centre. On every side there was a multitudinous sea of upturned faces, extending as far as the eye could reach. All were in violent agitation, as though all were possessed by one common impulse which forced them toward me. At such a sight I thought of nothing else than that I was the object of their wrath, and that they were all with one common fury rushing toward me to wreak vengeance upon me and upon Almah for the slaughter of the nightmare hag. All this was the work of but a few moments. And now as I stood there holding Almah--appalled, despairing, yet resolute and calm--I became aware of a more imminent danger. On the top of the pyramid, at the report of the rifle, all had fallen down flat on their faces, and it was over them that I had rushed to Almah's side. But these now began to rise, and the hags took up the corpse of the dead, and the paupers swarmed around with cries of """"Mut! mut!"""" (dead! dead!) and exclamations of wonder. Then they all turned their foul and bleary eyes toward me, and stood as if transfixed with astonishment. At length there burst forth from the crowd one who sought to get at me. It was the Chief Pauper. He still held in his hand the long knife of sacrifice. He said not a word, but rushed straight at me, and as he came I saw murder in his look. I did not wait for him, but raising my rifle, discharged the second barrel full in his face. He fell down a shattered, blackened heap, dead. As the second report thundered out it drowned all other sounds, and was again followed by an awful silence. I looked around. Those on the pyramid--paupers and hags--had again flung themselves on their faces. On the square below the whole multitude were on their knees, with their heads bowed down low. The silence was more oppressive than before; it was appalling--it was tremendous! It seemed like the dread silence that precedes the more awful outburst of the hurricane when the storm is gathering up all its strength to burst with accumulated fury upon its doomed victim. But there was no time to be lost in staring, and that interval was occupied by me in hastily reloading my rifle. It was my last resource now; and if it availed not for defence it might at least serve to be used against ourselves. With this thought I handed the pistol to Almah, and hurriedly whispered to her that if I were killed, she could use it against herself. She took it in silence, but I read in her face her invincible resolve. The storm at last burst. The immense multitude rose to their feet, and with one common impulse came pressing on from every side toward the pyramid, apparently filled with the one universal desire of reaching me--a desire which was now all the more intense and vehement from these interruptions which had taken place. Why they had fallen on their knees, why the paupers on the pyramid were still prostrate, I could not tell; but I saw now the swarming multitude, and I felt that they were rolling in on every side--merciless, blood-thirsty, implacable--to tear me to pieces. Yet time passed and they did not reach me, for an obstacle was interposed. The pyramid had smooth sides. The stairways that led up to the summit were narrow, and did not admit of more than two at a time; yet, had the Kosekin been like other people, the summit of the pyramid would soon have been swarming with them; but as they were Kosekin, none came up to the top; for at the base of the pyramid, at the bottom of the steps, I saw a strange and incredible struggle. It was not, as with us, who should go up" 83 "Summary: The narrator is surrounded by a vast crowd of people who are all moving towards him with rage and violence. He defends himself with a rifle, killing one of the attackers, but realizes that he is now in even greater danger. Trope: Battle against overwhelming odds Narrative arc: Suspense, dramatic tension Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Intense, suspenseful Genre: Adventure fiction Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of action Active character: The narrator, Almah, Chief Pauper Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment Fuzzy place: Unnamed square Diegetic time: A few minutes " I was surrounded by a vast crowd of people, who were all moving towards me. I saw Almah in the distance, and Chief Pauper standing beside her. The latter was yelling at the top of his voice. As he advanced he threw away his spear, drew a long knife from beneath his tunic, and raised it above his head. The others followed his example. It was plain to see that they intended to kill us both. Even Almah had a knife in her hand; but she looked terrified rather than savage. I took off my coat, opened my umbrella, and held it like a shield before me, but I also felt for the rifle that lay behind me, and found it. It was loaded, as I always kept it. A moment later they were on me with a howl. The umbrella did not stop them much, though it saved me from the first rush. But I got the rifle out, turned about, and fired into their midst. One man fell, shot through the chest. The others recoiled for an instant, then closed in upon me again with redoubled fury, and I received a blow on the back of my head that stunned me for a moment. When I came to myself I was lying on the ground, while all around me danced and yelled the bloodthirsty cannibals. 25 6709 117293 "first, but who should go up last; each tried to make his neighbor go before him. All were eager to go, but the Kosekin self-denial, self-sacrifice, and love for the good of others made each one intensely desirous to make others go up. This resulted in a furious struggle, in which, as fast as anyone would be pushed up the steps a little way, he would jump down again and turn his efforts toward putting up others; and thus all the energies of the people were worn out in useless and unavailing efforts--in a struggle to which, from the very nature of the case, there could be no end. Now those on the pyramid began to rise, and soon all were on their feet. Cries burst forth from them. All were looking at us, but with nothing like hostility; it was rather like reverence and adoration, and these feelings were expressed unmistakably in their cries, among which I could plainly distinguish such words as these: """"Ap Ram!"""" Mosel anan wacosek!"" ""Sopet Mut!"" (The Father of Thunder! Ruler of Cloud and Darkness! Judge of Death!) These cries passed to those below. The struggle ceased. All stood and joined in the cry, which was taken up by those nearest, and soon passed among all those myriads, to be repeated with thunder echoes far and wide. At this it suddenly became plain to me that the danger of death had passed away; that these people no longer regarded me as a victim, but rather as some mighty being--some superior, perhaps supernatural power, who was to be almost worshipped. Hence these prostrations, these words, these cries, these looks. All these told me that the bitterness of death had passed away. At this discovery there was, for a moment, a feeling of aversion and horror within me at filling such a position; that I, a weak mortal, should dare to receive adoration like this; and I recoiled at the thought: yet this feeling soon passed; for life was at stake--not my own merely, but that of Almah; and I was ready now to go through anything if only I might save her: so, instead of shrinking from this new part, I eagerly seized upon it, and at once determined to take advantage of the popular superstition to the utmost. Far away over the crests of the mountains I saw the golden edge of the sun's disc, and the light flowed therefrom in broad effulgence, throwing out long rays of glory in a luminous flood over all the land. I pointed to the glorious orb, and cried to the paupers, and to all who were nearest, in a loud voice: I am Atam-or, the Man of Light! I come from the land of light! I am the Father of Thunder, of Cloud and Darkness; the Judge of Death!"""" At this the paupers all fell prostrate, and cried out to me to give them the blessing of death. I made no answer, but leading Almah to the edge of the pyramid, told her to fire the pistol. A million eyes were fixed on us. She held up the pistol and fired. Immediately after, I fired both barrels of the rifle; and as the reports rang out and the smoke cleared away, I heard a mighty murmur, and once more beheld all prostrate. Upon this I hurriedly loaded again, and waited for further revelations. All the time I could not help wondering at the effect produced by the rifle now, in comparison with the indifference with which it had been regarded at my first arrival in the country. I could not account for it, but supposed that the excitement of a great religious festival and the sudden death of the Chief Pauper and the Chief Hag had probably deeply impressed them. In the midst of these thoughts the whole multitude arose; and once more there came to my ears the universal uproar of innumerable cries, in the midst of which I could hear the words, """"Ap Ram!"""" """"Mosel anan wacosek!"""" """"Sopet Mut!"""" CHAPTER XXXI CONCLUSION In the midst of this the paupers and the hags talked earnestly" 83 "Summary: The protagonist is in a dangerous situation with a crowd of people who see him as a powerful figure. He takes advantage of their superstition to save himself and his companion. Trope: Hero saves the day Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Dramatic, intense Genre: Adventure Intertextuality: Religious texts Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of action and dialogue Active character: The protagonist, Almah Time setting: Contemporary Fuzzy place: Unnamed location with mountains in the background Diegetic time: A few minutes " Then there was a rush for the door and I heard Almah's voice calling to me: 'Come quickly, it is no place for us.' As I reached the threshold of the hut I saw that from the bottom to the top of the mountain-side every man, woman and child was running towards us. What had caused this sudden panic? It was plain enough to see when my eyes became accustomed to the glare of the firelight. In front of the hut stood a great stone on which lay what seemed like a heap of black rags. These were the garments of one who had been dead for some time; but on his face was the awful, frozen smile of life. The skin, too, was not that of an ordinary person, but looked like that of an ape or a baboon. Then I knew that it was the body of the unfortunate traveller whom we had seen riding on the back of the white horse. Now I understood everything; now I could fill in the blank spaces left by my ignorance. First of all, he had been seen by these natives in the forest, then he had passed their camp at night and they had followed him with the idea of robbery. Next, the horse must have thrown him and trodden on his skull so as to cause the frightful disfigurement of his face, and finally, overcome by hunger and exhaustion, he had died. His death had taken place just at the hour of the rising of the moon, that fatal hour of which the superstitions of the negroes tell such weird tales. Now if ever there was a chance of the spread of a rumour, it would be here and now, when the whole people were stirred up by fear and excitement. If that tale got abroad it might ruin our position among them, since it would seem to prove that a spirit of evil had been hunting them and causing their sufferings. We must get rid of the body somehow, and luckily the superstitious fears of the crowd furnished us with a means. They took us for magicians, and therefore they did not dare to touch us, lest they should bring down upon themselves the wrath of the gods. Drawing near, however, they began to call out to us: 'Save us! Save us!' and to fall upon their knees before us. I addressed them briefly in Arabic and told them that they need have no fear, for their troubles would shortly come to an end. This seemed to satisfy them, but still they would not stir from the spot. I thought for the moment, and then, pointing to the body which lay near the hut, I said: 'Tell me, O men, whose is this body?' 'It is the body of one of our brothers,' they answered. 'But how came it here?' 'That we know not,' they said; 'for lo, we found it yonder in the forest.' 'And wherefore does it wear the dress of one of your tribe?' 26 6709 117294 "together. Some of those who had been nearest in rank to the late Chief Pauper and Chief Hag were conspicuous in the debate. All looked at me and at Almah, and pointed toward the sun, which was wheeling along behind the distant mountain crest, showing a golden disc. Then they pointed to the dead bodies; and the hags took the Chief Hag, and the paupers the Chief Pauper, and laid them side by side on the central altar. After this a hag and a pauper advanced toward us, each carrying the sacrificial knife which had belonged to the deceased. The hag spoke first, addressing Almah, in accordance with the Kosekin custom, which requires women to take the precedence in many things. Take this,"" she said, ""O Almah, consort of Atam-or, and Co-ruler of Clouds and Darkness. Henceforth you shall be Judge of Death to the women of the Kosekin."""" She then handed Almah the sacrificial knife of the Chief Hag, which Almah took in silence. Then the pauper presented me with the sacrificial knife of the Chief Pauper, with the following words: Take this, O Atam-or, Father of Thunder and Ruler of Clouds and Darkness. Henceforth you shall be Judge of Death to the men of the Kosekin, and Sar Tabakin over the whole nation."""" I received the knife in silence, for I had nothing to say; but now Almah spoke, as was fitting for her to do, since with the Kosekin the women must take the precedence; and here it was expected that she should reply in behalf of both of us. So Almah, holding the sacrificial knife, stood looking at them, full of dignity, and spoke as follows: We will take this, O Kosekin, and we will reward you all. We will begin our reign over the Kosekin with memorable acts of mercy. These two great victims shall be enough for the Mista Kosek of this season. The victims designed for this sacrifice shall have to deny themselves the blessing of death, yet they shall be rewarded in other ways; and all the land from the highest to the lowest shall have reason to rejoice in our rule. To all you hags and paupers we grant the splendid and unparalleled boon of exile to Magones. There you can have all the suffering which heart can wish, and inevitable death. To all classes and ranks in the whole nation we promise to grant a diminution in their wealth by one-quarter. In the abundance of our mercy we are willing ourselves to bear the burden of all the offerings that may be necessary in order to accomplish this. All in the land may at once give up one-quarter of their whole wealth to us."""" At this the hags and paupers gave a horrible yell of applause. As rulers of Light and Darkness, we will henceforth govern the nation in the light as well as in the dark. We will sacrifice ourselves so far to the public good as to live in the light, and in open palaces. We will consent to undergo the pains of light and splendor, to endure all the evils of luxury, magnificence, and boundless wealth, for the good of the Kosekin nation. We will consent to forego the right of separation, and agree to live together, even though we love one another. Above all, we will refuse death and consent to live. Can any rulers do more than this for the good of their people?"""" Another outburst of applause followed. In three joms,"" continued Almah, ""all you hags and paupers shall be sent to exile and death on Magones. As for the rest of the Kosekin, hear our words. Tell them from us that the laborers shall all be elevated to the rank of paupers, the artisans shall be made laborers, the tradesmen artisans, the soldiers tradesmen, the Athons soldiers, the Kohens Athons, and the Meleks Kohens. There shall be no Meleks in all the land. We, in our love for the Kosekin, will henceforth be the only Meleks. Then all the misery of that low station will rest on us;" 83 "Summary: The narrator and Almah are being presented with sacrificial knives by the Kosekin people, who then declare their new rulership over the nation. Narrative arc: Declaration of rulership Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Formal, authoritative Genre: Fantasy Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Speech Active character: The narrator, Almah, Chief Hag, Chief Pauper Absolute place: Magones Fuzzy place: Unnamed location in the land of the Kosekin Diegetic time: A few days " "The new high priest, Chief Hag, and the old one, Chief Pauper, followed with a long train of magicians, priests, and acolytes. They brought with them three golden sacrificial knives, such as are used in the sacrifice of a king by the Kosekin when he becomes a god. These they presented to me and to Almah; and then, after a short speech, which I will not give here, they placed their hands on our heads and declared that we were now the ruling deities of the nation, and should remain so until we chose to abdicate our power. Thus,"" said the chief, ""we have fulfilled the prophecy of the stars, and you have become gods indeed, not merely by right of birth, but by reason of your own individual merit."""" The crowd cheered again, and I could see that it was very glad to have done with the rule of the great wizards who had been its masters for so many years. Then came the announcement of a festival for two days, at the end of which time there would be a grand ceremony at the temple, when I and Almah would be formally crowned. " 27 6709 117295 "and in our low estate as Meleks we shall govern this nation in love and self-denial. Tell them that we will forego the sacrifice and consent to live; that we will give up darkness and cavern gloom and live in light. Tell them to prepare for us the splendid palaces of the Meleks, for we will take the most sumptuous and magnificent of them all. Tell all the people to present their offerings. Tell them that we consent to have endless retinues of servants, soldiers, followers, and attendants. Tell them that with the advent of Almah and Atam-or a new era begins for the Kosekin, in which every man may be as poor as he likes, and riches shall be unknown in the land."""" These extraordinary words seemed to fill the paupers with rapture. Exclamations of joy burst from them; they prostrated themselves in an irrepressible impulse of grateful admiration, as though such promises could only come from superior beings. Then most of them hurried down to communicate to the people below the glorious intelligence. Soon it spread from mouth to mouth, and all the people were filled with the wildest excitement. For never before had such a thing been known, and never had such self-sacrifice been imagined or thought possible, as that the rulers of the Kosekin could consent to be rich when they might be paupers; to live together when they might be separate; to dwell in the light when they might lurk in the deepest cavern gloom; to remain in life when they might have the blessing of death. Selfishness, fear of death, love of riches, and love of luxury, these were all unintelligible to the Kosekin, as much as to us would be self-abnegation, contempt of death, voluntary poverty, and asceticism. But as with us self-denying rulers may make others rich and be popular for this, so here among the Kosekin a selfish ruler might be popular by making others poor. Hence the words of Almah, as they were made known, gave rise to the wildest excitement and enthusiasm, and the vast multitude poured forth their feelings in long shouts of rapturous applause. Amid this the bodies of the dead were carried down from the pyramid, and were taken to the Mista Kosek in a long and solemn procession, accompanied by the singing of wild and dismal chants. And now the sun, rolling along behind the icy mountain crest, rose higher and higher every moment, and the bright light of a long day began to illumine the world. There sparkled the sea, rising far away like a watery wall, with the horizon high up in the sky; there rose the circle of giant mountains, sweeping away till they were blended with the horizon; there rose the terraces of the amir, all glowing in the sunlight, with all its countless houses and cavern-openings and arching trees and pointing pyramids. Above was the canopy of heaven, no longer black, no longer studded with stars or glistening with the fitful shimmer of the aurora, but all radiant with the glorious sunlight, and disclosing all the splendors of the infinite blue. At that sight a thrill of joy passed through me. The long, long night at last was over; the darkness had passed away like some hideous dream; the day was here--the long day that was to know no shadow and no decline--when all this world should be illuminated by the ever-circling sun--a sun that would never set until his long course of many months should be fully run. My heart swelled with rapture, my eyes filled with tears. """"O Light!"""" I cried; """"O gleaming, golden Sunlight! O Light of Heaven!--light that brings life and hope to man!"""" And I could have fallen on my knees and worshipped that rising sun. But the light which was so glorious to us was painful and distressing to the Kosekin. On the top of the pyramid the paupers crouched, shading their eyes. The crowd below began to disperse in all directions, so as to betake themselves to their coverts and to the caverns, where they might live in the dark. Soon nearly all were gone except the paupers at the foot of the pyramid, who were awaiting our" 83 "Summary: The text describes a moment of transformation and sacrifice in a society called the Kosekin, where the rulers declare their willingness to live among the people and give up their power. Trope: Sacrifice, transformation Narrative arc: Dramatic tension, resolution Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Reverential, hopeful Genre: Science fiction, dystopian Intertextuality: Religious texts, mythology Speech standard: Poetic, elevated language Literary form: Description of a scene and dialogue Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Almah, Atam Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment during the day Fuzzy place: The pyramid, the Mista Kosek Diegetic time: A few hours " "No, no! La flor de la primera hora del dia... !esta bendita planta que ha dado a mi raza su nombre sagrado! Esta es la planta, ninos, que esta noche va a dar su savia y sus flores al cuerpo del rey. Cuidad de que no se marchite ni se estropee el fruto de la esperanza del Kosekin. Adios, ninos: las piedras me van a cerrar la boca. Adios para siempre. Volved a vuestros puestos; asi es mejor para todos."""" Almah bajaba despues de estas palabras al fondo de la piramide. Cuando hubo desaparecido y volviaron a cerrarse los postigos, Atam avanzo hacia el trono y dijo en alta voz: Yo soy el Rey de la Mista Kosek. He recibido la corona sobre mi cabeza, he probado la silla del poder y he saboreado la dulce victoria, pero ya estoy cansado, oh Kosekin, de ser mas fuerte que vosotros, porque os quiero como a si mismos. Asi lo quiso mi Dios, y ahora le agradezco el haberme hecho rey, aunque sea por un dia, pues esta es toda la felicidad que puedo desear: el saber que os amo, que me amais y que hemos vivido juntos durante una noche. Ahora voy a dejar la corona caer entre vosotros. Lleve cada cual su parte, y todas las partes sean iguales para todos. Que haya una igualdad perfecta entre nosotros. Aqui esta la corona: cedeme vuestra mano y yo os har el honrado don de ella."""" Atam extendio la corona con sus dos manos y dijo nuevamente: Quiero que dejemos juntos la corona y nos quedemos todos unidos. Tened la corona como una herencia comun: todo es vuestro, y todo es mio. Para que esto sea verdad, bended mi frente con vuestras manos. Deis gracias a Dios porque esta noche ha sido tan dichosa para todos. Os veo aqui reunidos y todos con la misma cara de felicidad. Dios lo ha querido as, y este es su regalo a los que aman. " 28 6709 117296 "commands, and a crowd of Meleks and Athons at a distance. At a gesture from me the few paupers near us descended and joined those below. Almah and I were alone on the top of the pyramid. I caught her in my arms in a rapture of joy. This revulsion from the lowest despair--from darkness and from death back to hope and light and life--was almost too much to endure. We both wept, but our tears were those of happiness. You will be all my own now,"" said I, ""and we can fly from this hateful land. We can be united--we can be married--here before we start--and you will not be cruel enough to refuse. You will consent, will you not, to be my wife before we fly from the Kosekin?"""" At this Almah's face became suffused with smiles and blushes. Her arms were about me, and she did not draw away, but looked up in sweet confusion and said, Why, as to that--I--I cannot be more your--your wife than I am."" What do you mean?"" I exclaimed, in wonder. ""My wife!"" Her eyes dropped again, and she whispered: The ceremony of separation is with the Kosekin the most sacred form of marriage. It is the religious form; the other is merely the civil form."""" This was unintelligible, nor did I try to understand it. It was enough to hear this from her own sweet lips; but it was a strange feeling, and I think I am the only man since Adam that ever was married without knowing it. As to flight,"" continued Almah, who had quite adopted the Kosekin fashion, which makes women take the lead--""""as to flight, we need not hurry. We are all-powerful now, and there is no more danger. We must wait until we send embassies to my people, and when they are ready to receive us, we will go. But now let us leave this, for our servants are waiting for us, and the light is distressing to them. Let us go to the nearest of our palaces and obtain rest and food."""" Here Featherstone stopped, yawned, and laid down the manuscript. That's enough for to-day,"" said he; ""I'm tired, and can't read any more. It's time for supper.""""" 83 "Summary: The protagonist and Almah are alone on top of a pyramid, expressing their happiness and discussing their future together. Narrative arc: Happy resolution Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Joyful Genre: Adventure/romance Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: The protagonist, Almah Fuzzy place: The top of a pyramid Diegetic time: A few minutes " Almah and I were alone on the top of the pyramid; we had fought our way to it, and conquered. What a wonderful night was that! The first time I had seen Almah since she left me at Luxor a year before, and now she was mine once more, for always, as I believed. I could not help but be happy, and I am afraid I made love very much like a schoolboy. But I don't mind confessing that Almah showed herself no less demonstrative, though her experience of life had been greater than mine. For a while I did not care to remember or speak of my experiences in the tomb of Thothmes III., nor did I dare to ask Almah how she had managed to escape from the hands of Sati. I felt that I should never be able to forgive myself for having left her in such danger. There were also certain things that we must do ere we left the place. First of all we must descend to the temple below, and there bury the jewels which we took from the treasure-chamber of the pyramid. Then we must find a means of opening the side chamber which contained the coffer of gold. This was not difficult, since we found the key of the door. When this was done, and the contents of the chest stowed away with those of the other chamber, I would have nothing more to fear from the vengeance of Sati or his followers, if indeed they ever returned to the ruined temple, which I doubted. We went down by the way that we had come up, Almah leading the way, I following with the light. As I looked at her back, so white and rounded against the gloom, I thought what a sweet burden it would be to carry in my arms through the darkness of life. It seemed impossible that any fate could ever part us again. In some mysterious manner, also, the nearness of death had drawn us together. Love has a strange fascination for people who are about to die, making them cling to each other as though their last moments were their only ones. As we descended the last steps of the passage I turned to look behind me, as though expecting to see the white-robed priests of Osiris gliding after us with uplifted knives. But there was nothing, save the flickering torchlight shining upon the walls of rock, and the breathless silence of the tomb. Still, when we came out into the great hall I felt safer, since we were nearer to the outer world. Almah led the way across the hall, and here we met with a disappointment, for instead of finding the entrance to the temple open, as we expected, we found it closed, and barred securely by a heavy timber. 29 676 139183 [Picture: Public domain book cover] THE BATTLE OF LIFE Part the First ONCE upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fierce battle was fought. It was fought upon a long summer day when the waving grass was green. Many a wild flower formed by the Almighty Hand to be a perfumed goblet for the dew, felt its enamelled cup filled high with blood that day, and shrinking dropped. Many an insect deriving its delicate colour from harmless leaves and herbs, was stained anew that day by dying men, and marked its frightened way with an unnatural track. The painted butterfly took blood into the air upon the edges of its wings. The stream ran red. The trodden ground became a quagmire, whence, from sullen pools collected in the prints of human feet and horses’ hoofs, the one prevailing hue still lowered and glimmered at the sun. Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the sights the moon beheld upon that field, when, coming up above the black line of distant rising-ground, softened and blurred at the edge by trees, she rose into the sky and looked upon the plain, strewn with upturned faces that had once at mothers’ breasts sought mothers’ eyes, or slumbered happily. Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the secrets whispered afterwards upon the tainted wind that blew across the scene of that day’s work and that night’s death and suffering! Many a lonely moon was bright upon the battle-ground, and many a star kept mournful watch upon it, and many a wind from every quarter of the earth blew over it, before the traces of the fight were worn away. They lurked and lingered for a long time, but survived in little things; for, Nature, far above the evil passions of men, soon recovered Her serenity, and smiled upon the guilty battle-ground as she had done before, when it was innocent. The larks sang high above it; the swallows skimmed and dipped and flitted to and fro; the shadows of the flying clouds pursued each other swiftly, over grass and corn and turnip-field and wood, and over roof and church-spire in the nestling town among the trees, away into the bright distance on the borders of the sky and earth, where the red sunsets faded. Crops were sown, and grew up, and were gathered in; the stream that had been crimsoned, turned a watermill; men whistled at the plough; gleaners and haymakers were seen in quiet groups at work; sheep and oxen pastured; boys whooped and called, in fields, to scare away the birds; smoke rose from cottage chimneys; sabbath bells rang peacefully; old people lived and died; the timid creatures of the field, the simple flowers of the bush and garden, grew and withered in their destined terms: and all upon the fierce and bloody battle-ground, where thousands upon thousands had been killed in the great fight. But, there were deep green patches in the growing corn at first, that people looked at awfully. Year after year they re-appeared; and it was known that underneath those fertile spots, heaps of men and horses lay buried, indiscriminately, enriching the ground. The husbandmen who ploughed those places, shrunk from the great worms abounding there; and the sheaves they yielded, were, for many a long year, called the Battle Sheaves, and set apart; and no one ever knew a Battle Sheaf to be among the last load at a Harvest Home. For a long time, every furrow that was 83 "Summary: The text describes a fierce battle that took place in England, and its aftermath on the field where it occurred. Trope: Battlefields as symbolic representations of conflict and death Narrative arc: Reflective and descriptive Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Historical fiction Intertextuality: Historical accounts of battles Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of a place Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Soldiers involved in the battle Time setting: Unclear, but likely in the past Diegetic time: Unclear, but likely a significant amount of time has passed " The battle had been fierce and long, for England is a land of heroes, and every Englishman will die in defence of his native soil. The ground was red with blood, the air was thick with dust and the stench of gunpowder; and yet there was beauty in that awful scene, for over all the sun shone brightly, and the clouds were white as snow. In the distance could be seen the green hills, and the blue sea; while on the field below lay the dead and the dying. Some, who had fallen from their horses, lay beneath the beasts which had trampled them to death; others lay stretched upon the earth, their faces upturned to the sky, their arms outstretched as if imploring mercy. Many were wounded, but still alive. Some moved feebly, trying to lift themselves from the ground, while others called piteously for help or water. But no one heeded them; they were left to perish where they had fallen. As I looked upon that awful scene, my heart grew sick within me, and I turned away. Then I went to the castle and gave orders that food and drink should be sent to those who were still alive on the field. 30 676 139184 turned, revealed some fragments of the fight. For a long time, there were wounded trees upon the battle-ground; and scraps of hacked and broken fence and wall, where deadly struggles had been made; and trampled parts where not a leaf or blade would grow. For a long time, no village girl would dress her hair or bosom with the sweetest flower from that field of death: and after many a year had come and gone, the berries growing there, were still believed to leave too deep a stain upon the hand that plucked them. The Seasons in their course, however, though they passed as lightly as the summer clouds themselves, obliterated, in the lapse of time, even these remains of the old conflict; and wore away such legendary traces of it as the neighbouring people carried in their minds, until they dwindled into old wives’ tales, dimly remembered round the winter fire, and waning every year. Where the wild flowers and berries had so long remained upon the stem untouched, gardens arose, and houses were built, and children played at battles on the turf. The wounded trees had long ago made Christmas logs, and blazed and roared away. The deep green patches were no greener now than the memory of those who lay in dust below. The ploughshare still turned up from time to time some rusty bits of metal, but it was hard to say what use they had ever served, and those who found them wondered and disputed. An old dinted corselet, and a helmet, had been hanging in the church so long, that the same weak half-blind old man who tried in vain to make them out above the whitewashed arch, had marvelled at them as a baby. If the host slain upon the field, could have been for a moment reanimated in the forms in which they fell, each upon the spot that was the bed of his untimely death, gashed and ghastly soldiers would have stared in, hundreds deep, at household door and window; and would have risen on the hearths of quiet homes; and would have been the garnered store of barns and granaries; and would have started up between the cradled infant and its nurse; and would have floated with the stream, and whirled round on the mill, and crowded the orchard, and burdened the meadow, and piled the rickyard high with dying men. So altered was the battle-ground, where thousands upon thousands had been killed in the great fight. Nowhere more altered, perhaps, about a hundred years ago, than in one little orchard attached to an old stone house with a honeysuckle porch; where, on a bright autumn morning, there were sounds of music and laughter, and where two girls danced merrily together on the grass, while some half-dozen peasant women standing on ladders, gathering the apples from the trees, stopped in their work to look down, and share their enjoyment. It was a pleasant, lively, natural scene; a beautiful day, a retired spot; and the two girls, quite unconstrained and careless, danced in the freedom and gaiety of their hearts. If there were no such thing as display in the world, my private opinion is, and I hope you agree with me, that we might get on a great deal better than we do, and might be infinitely more agreeable company than we are. It was charming to see how these girls danced. They had no spectators but the apple-pickers on the ladders. They were very glad to please them, but they danced to please themselves (or at least you would have supposed so); and you could no more help admiring, than they could help dancing. How they did dance! Not like opera-dancers. Not at all. And not like Madame Anybody’s finished pupils. Not the least. It was not quadrille dancing, nor minuet dancing, nor even country-dance dancing. It was neither in the old style, nor the new style, nor the French style, nor the English style: though it may have been, by accident, a trifle in the Spanish style, which is a free and joyous one, I am told, deriving a delightful air of off-hand inspiration, from the chirping little castanets. As they danced among the orchard trees, and down the groves of stems and back again, and twirled each other lightly round and round, the influence of 83 "Summary: The text describes the transformation of a battle-field over time, from a bloody and tragic place to a peaceful and vibrant orchard. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Reflective Genre: Historical fiction Speech standard: Standard literary Literary form: Description of a place Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Two girls, peasant women Time setting: Several years ago Fuzzy time: Several years ago Absolute place: Old stone house with a honeysuckle porch Fuzzy place: Battle-field, orchard Diegetic time: Several years " """""Aye, it was a terrible sight!"""" said one of the girls. """"It was all so red, and there were bodies lying here in every direction. I remember that we saw two or three men who had been killed by cannon-balls, for their heads were gone, and their brains were splattered out against the tree."""" The other girl nodded her head. """"We often used to come here after the battle, and bring some bread and fruit to give to the poor wounded soldiers. Some of them used to lie here for days before they were taken away; sometimes they died, too, without any one knowing it; but we always thought of them as if they were still alive, and kept up a fire on the hearth in case they should need warmth."""" It was years ago now,"""" said one of the peasant women, who had joined the group; """"the last time I came here with my mother she told me that this very spot was where Washington stood when he gave the order for the charge which won the battle."""" And is there no trace left of the battle now?"" asked the girl eagerly. None,"" said the woman, ""except that when there is a drought the bones are sometimes found among the roots of the trees."""" " 31 676 139185 their airy motion seemed to spread and spread, in the sun-lighted scene, like an expanding circle in the water. Their streaming hair and fluttering skirts, the elastic grass beneath their feet, the boughs that rustled in the morning air—the flashing leaves, the speckled shadows on the soft green ground—the balmy wind that swept along the landscape, glad to turn the distant windmill, cheerily—everything between the two girls, and the man and team at plough upon the ridge of land, where they showed against the sky as if they were the last things in the world—seemed dancing too. At last, the younger of the dancing sisters, out of breath, and laughing gaily, threw herself upon a bench to rest. The other leaned against a tree hard by. The music, a wandering harp and fiddle, left off with a flourish, as if it boasted of its freshness; though the truth is, it had gone at such a pace, and worked itself to such a pitch of competition with the dancing, that it never could have held on, half a minute longer. The apple-pickers on the ladders raised a hum and murmur of applause, and then, in keeping with the sound, bestirred themselves to work again like bees. The more actively, perhaps, because an elderly gentleman, who was no other than Doctor Jeddler himself—it was Doctor Jeddler’s house and orchard, you should know, and these were Doctor Jeddler’s daughters—came bustling out to see what was the matter, and who the deuce played music on his property, before breakfast. For he was a great philosopher, Doctor Jeddler, and not very musical. ‘Music and dancing _to-day_!’ said the Doctor, stopping short, and speaking to himself. ‘I thought they dreaded to-day. But it’s a world of contradictions. Why, Grace, why, Marion!’ he added, aloud, ‘is the world more mad than usual this morning?’ ‘Make some allowance for it, father, if it be,’ replied his younger daughter, Marion, going close to him, and looking into his face, ‘for it’s somebody’s birth-day.’ ‘Somebody’s birth-day, Puss!’ replied the Doctor. ‘Don’t you know it’s always somebody’s birth-day? Did you never hear how many new performers enter on this—ha! ha! ha!—it’s impossible to speak gravely of it—on this preposterous and ridiculous business called Life, every minute?’ ‘No, father!’ ‘No, not you, of course; you’re a woman—almost,’ said the Doctor. ‘By-the-by,’ and he looked into the pretty face, still close to his, ‘I suppose it’s _your_ birth-day.’ ‘No! Do you really, father?’ cried his pet daughter, pursing up her red lips to be kissed. ‘There! Take my love with it,’ said the Doctor, imprinting his upon them; ‘and many happy returns of the—the idea!—of the day. The notion of wishing happy returns in such a farce as this,’ said the Doctor to himself, ‘is good! Ha! ha! ha!’ Doctor Jeddler was, as I have said, a great philosopher, and the heart and mystery of his philosophy was, to look upon the world as a gigantic practical joke; as something too absurd to be considered seriously, by any rational man. His system of belief had been, in the beginning, part and parcel of the battle-ground on which he lived, as you shall presently understand. ‘Well! But how did you get the music?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Poultry-stealers, of course! Where did the minstrels come from?’ ‘Alfred sent the music,’ said his daughter Grace, adjusting a few simple flowers in her sister’s hair, with which, in her admiration of that youthful beauty, she had herself adorned it half-an-hour before, and which the dancing had disarranged. ‘Oh! Alfred sent the music, did he?’ returned the Doctor. ‘Yes. He met it coming out of the town as he was entering early. The men are travelling on foot, and rested there last night; and as it was 83 "Summary: Two girls and a man are dancing in a beautiful outdoor scene, while the Doctor Jeddler comes out to inquire about the music. The younger daughter reveals that Alfred sent the musicians. Trope: Dancing in nature Narrative arc: Light-hearted and playful Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Playful Genre: Historical fiction Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Description of a place and conversation Active character: The two girls, the man at plough, Doctor Jeddler Time setting: Unclear, possibly historical Fuzzy time: Morning Diegetic time: A few minutes " But this was only for a few minutes; for the Doctor Jeddler, hearing the music, came out with his hat in his hand, and leaning against the door-post, said, looking round at them: ‘Where is it coming from? Who’s playing?’ The two girls laughed merrily. ‘Come and see,’ said the younger one; and she ran back again into the shade. ‘Can’t you tell me?’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ll tell you directly,’ said the elder one, coming up to him. ‘It’s Alfred’s fiddler.’ ‘Alfred’s fiddler!’ repeated the Doctor. ‘Yes,’ said the young lady. ‘Why doesn’t he come home to breakfast?’ ‘He won’t be long,’ said the other sister, as she came running towards them, leading by the hand a young man who had been working at plough, and who, having thrown aside his cap and gloves, and loosened his collar, was already very much flushed in the face, but looked cheerful enough notwithstanding. ‘There!’ said the young lady, pausing to show her companion her new acquisition. ‘See what I’ve got. Isn’t he pretty! Don’t you think he’s very pretty?’ ‘I think he’s very handsome,’ said the girl. ‘Thank you,’ replied the young man, not without some appearance of embarrassment. ‘You’re welcome. But don’t mention it. And now I hope you’ll stay here to-day and see me play.’ ‘Don’t do that, sir,’ said the girl. ‘It isn’t right. She wants to make a lord of me.’ ‘A lord!’ cried the Doctor Jeddler. ‘Who says she wants to make a lord of you?’ ‘I do,’ said the girl. ‘That’s because you’re too sharp,’ returned the young man. ‘And besides,’ said the young lady, ‘I should like to see the woman who would make a lord of him if she could. He’s worth more than all the lords in England put together.’ ‘Well, well!’ said the Doctor, laughing heartily. ‘I begin to understand why you sent for Alfred so early this morning.’ ‘We couldn’t help it, father,’ said the young lady. ‘We couldn’t get him to stop, after he’d heard the music. He wouldn’t have stopped for anything.’ ‘Besides,’ said the other girl, ‘we told him we wanted to talk to him about the play, and he knows how fond he is of acting.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ said the Doctor. ‘And you may talk to him all day long, if he pleases. You might talk him into an idiot, he likes it so much.’ With which words the Doctor turned away, saying that there were letters to be written and despatches to be delivered in the town, and left the girls to their own devices. 32 676 139186 Marion’s birth-day, and he thought it would please her, he sent them on, with a pencilled note to me, saying that if I thought so too, they had come to serenade her.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ said the Doctor, carelessly, ‘he always takes your opinion.’ ‘And my opinion being favourable,’ said Grace, good-humouredly; and pausing for a moment to admire the pretty head she decorated, with her own thrown back; ‘and Marion being in high spirits, and beginning to dance, I joined her. And so we danced to Alfred’s music till we were out of breath. And we thought the music all the gayer for being sent by Alfred. Didn’t we, dear Marion?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know, Grace. How you tease me about Alfred.’ ‘Tease you by mentioning your lover?’ said her sister. ‘I am sure I don’t much care to have him mentioned,’ said the wilful beauty, stripping the petals from some flowers she held, and scattering them on the ground. ‘I am almost tired of hearing of him; and as to his being my lover—’ ‘Hush! Don’t speak lightly of a true heart, which is all your own, Marion,’ cried her sister, ‘even in jest. There is not a truer heart than Alfred’s in the world!’ ‘No-no,’ said Marion, raising her eyebrows with a pleasant air of careless consideration, ‘perhaps not. But I don’t know that there’s any great merit in that. I—I don’t want him to be so very true. I never asked him. If he expects that I— But, dear Grace, why need we talk of him at all, just now!’ It was agreeable to see the graceful figures of the blooming sisters, twined together, lingering among the trees, conversing thus, with earnestness opposed to lightness, yet, with love responding tenderly to love. And it was very curious indeed to see the younger sister’s eyes suffused with tears, and something fervently and deeply felt, breaking through the wilfulness of what she said, and striving with it painfully. The difference between them, in respect of age, could not exceed four years at most; but Grace, as often happens in such cases, when no mother watches over both (the Doctor’s wife was dead), seemed, in her gentle care of her young sister, and in the steadiness of her devotion to her, older than she was; and more removed, in course of nature, from all competition with her, or participation, otherwise than through her sympathy and true affection, in her wayward fancies, than their ages seemed to warrant. Great character of mother, that, even in this shadow and faint reflection of it, purifies the heart, and raises the exalted nature nearer to the angels! The Doctor’s reflections, as he looked after them, and heard the purport of their discourse, were limited at first to certain merry meditations on the folly of all loves and likings, and the idle imposition practised on themselves by young people, who believed for a moment, that there could be anything serious in such bubbles, and were always undeceived—always! But, the home-adorning, self-denying qualities of Grace, and her sweet temper, so gentle and retiring, yet including so much constancy and bravery of spirit, seemed all expressed to him in the contrast between her quiet household figure and that of his younger and more beautiful child; and he was sorry for her sake—sorry for them both—that life should be such a very ridiculous business as it was. The Doctor never dreamed of inquiring whether his children, or either of them, helped in any way to make the scheme a serious one. But then he was a Philosopher. A kind and generous man by nature, he had stumbled, by chance, over that common Philosopher’s stone (much more easily discovered than the object of the alchemist’s researches), which sometimes trips up kind and generous men, and has the fatal property of turning gold to dross and every precious thing to poor account. ‘Britain!’ cried the Doctor. ‘Britain! Holloa!’ 83 "Summary: Marion's sisters discuss Alfred and his music, while Marion expresses her dislike for talking about him. Grace defends Alfred and they continue their conversation. Narrative arc: Casual conversation with no specific narrative arch Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted and playful Genre: Family drama or coming-of-age story Speech standard: Conversational and informal Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Marion, Grace, Alfred Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy time: Unspecified moment in time Fuzzy place: Garden or outdoor location Diegetic time: A few hours " "And then you know how he had to go away,"" added Marion's second sister. And do you suppose that I should have come back if there had been any other choice?"" asked Alfred. """"I came because I wanted to."""" Well, you are a lucky fellow,"" said the third sister. """"If I had a lover like yours, I would never let him go out of my sight."""" A lover!"" cried Marion; ""is he your lover? Oh, no, certainly not. He is merely my friend."""" But after all what difference does it make?"" said Grace. ""You may be his friend in earnest now, and some day when you least expect it he will turn into a lover."""" I don't want him to turn into a lover,"" said Marion. Why not?"" Because I dislike lovers, especially this one."" But you might grow to like him,"" persisted Grace. How can I like him when he plays such dreadful music on that hateful violin of his?"""" But you can't tell what he will play next time,"" said Grace. It will be just as bad as ever,"" said Marion. Do you think so?"" asked Grace. Yes, indeed,"" said Marion. ""But after all, why do you talk about him so much? You must know that he is the last person in the world that I wish to hear discussed."""" " 33 676 139187 A small man, with an uncommonly sour and discontented face, emerged from the house, and returned to this call the unceremonious acknowledgment of ‘Now then!’ ‘Where’s the breakfast table?’ said the Doctor. ‘In the house,’ returned Britain. ‘Are you going to spread it out here, as you were told last night?’ said the Doctor. ‘Don’t you know that there are gentlemen coming? That there’s business to be done this morning, before the coach comes by? That this is a very particular occasion?’ ‘I couldn’t do anything, Dr. Jeddler, till the women had done getting in the apples, could I?’ said Britain, his voice rising with his reasoning, so that it was very loud at last. ‘Well, have they done now?’ replied the Doctor, looking at his watch, and clapping his hands. ‘Come! make haste! where’s Clemency?’ ‘Here am I, Mister,’ said a voice from one of the ladders, which a pair of clumsy feet descended briskly. ‘It’s all done now. Clear away, gals. Everything shall be ready for you in half a minute, Mister.’ With that she began to bustle about most vigorously; presenting, as she did so, an appearance sufficiently peculiar to justify a word of introduction. She was about thirty years old, and had a sufficiently plump and cheerful face, though it was twisted up into an odd expression of tightness that made it comical. But, the extraordinary homeliness of her gait and manner, would have superseded any face in the world. To say that she had two left legs, and somebody else’s arms, and that all four limbs seemed to be out of joint, and to start from perfectly wrong places when they were set in motion, is to offer the mildest outline of the reality. To say that she was perfectly content and satisfied with these arrangements, and regarded them as being no business of hers, and that she took her arms and legs as they came, and allowed them to dispose of themselves just as it happened, is to render faint justice to her equanimity. Her dress was a prodigious pair of self-willed shoes, that never wanted to go where her feet went; blue stockings; a printed gown of many colours, and the most hideous pattern procurable for money; and a white apron. She always wore short sleeves, and always had, by some accident, grazed elbows, in which she took so lively an interest, that she was continually trying to turn them round and get impossible views of them. In general, a little cap placed somewhere on her head; though it was rarely to be met with in the place usually occupied in other subjects, by that article of dress; but, from head to foot she was scrupulously clean, and maintained a kind of dislocated tidiness. Indeed, her laudable anxiety to be tidy and compact in her own conscience as well as in the public eye, gave rise to one of her most startling evolutions, which was to grasp herself sometimes by a sort of wooden handle (part of her clothing, and familiarly called a busk), and wrestle as it were with her garments, until they fell into a symmetrical arrangement. Such, in outward form and garb, was Clemency Newcome; who was supposed to have unconsciously originated a corruption of her own Christian name, from Clementina (but nobody knew, for the deaf old mother, a very phenomenon of age, whom she had supported almost from a child, was dead, and she had no other relation); who now busied herself in preparing the table, and who stood, at intervals, with her bare red arms crossed, rubbing her grazed elbows with opposite hands, and staring at it very composedly, until she suddenly remembered something else she wanted, and jogged off to fetch it. ‘Here are them two lawyers a-coming, Mister!’ said Clemency, in a tone of no very great good-will. ‘Ah!’ cried the Doctor, advancing to the gate to meet them. ‘Good morning, good morning! Grace, my dear! Marion! Here are Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs. Where’s Alfred!’ 83 "Summary: The Doctor and Britain have a conversation about preparing for guests, while Clemency Newcome, a peculiarly clumsy woman, helps with the preparations. Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, comedic Genre: Comedy Speech standard: Informal, colloquial Literary form: Conversation Active character: The Doctor, Britain, Clemency Newcome Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy place: The house, the garden Diegetic time: A few minutes " "What are you going to do with him?"" asked the Doctor. """"I am going to put him in the garden, and give him a little air."""" A little air!"" said Britain. ""It's time he had a little something else, if you ask me."" The Doctor smiled, and went away to his own room again. What did he mean by that? asked himself. Had the woman taken him for an old man, who might easily be deceived by a girl in white petticoats? If so, he was very much mistaken. He had not been deceived yet, and he doubted whether he would ever be deceived. In his mind he determined to put Miss Newcome to some severe tests, before he gave her the place which she wanted, and to have the young gentleman removed from the house altogether. For the present, however, he said nothing more on this subject, but told Britain to bring down the tea-things, while he proceeded to arrange the chairs for the refreshment of the guests. In the meantime Clemency Newcome arrived at the back-door, and gave herself up to the performance of those duties which were expected of her. She came into the house with one hand on each side of her apron, as though she were afraid of spilling some precious substance. And spill things she did; and break things too. Her first performance was worthy of the original Eve. Having filled the teapot from the kettle, she attempted to take it to the table. But the handle of the teapot being rather long, and she having no experience as yet in carrying hot vessels, she lost her balance, dropped the teapot upon the floor, and scattered the tea-leaves about the room. I'll go up-stairs,"" she said. ""I'm afraid I can't stay here. My legs are all out of joint."""" At this moment Britain appeared with the other necessaries for tea, and helped her to remove the fragments. The next thing she did was to spill milk over the cloth, and to overturn a cup, breaking it into three pieces. She then endeavoured to pick up the broken cup, and, finding it beyond her strength, called to Britain for assistance. It's all right,"" said Britain, putting up the broken bits in the cupboard, ""it's all right. We won't tell the Doctor of this."""" That comforted her, and she went on with her labours cheerfully, making no further mistakes till she brought in the sugar-basins. With these she almost filled the table-cloth. ""Have you got any more of 'em?"" asked Britain. ""There must be a dozen there already."" There are six more,"" said Clemency. ""But I'll bring them one at a time. Six is enough for anybody."""" This satisfied Britain, and he withdrew to the kitchen. When the sugar-basin was deposited on the table, and the tea-things arranged according to rule, Clemency looked round her with a face full of satisfaction. " 34 676 139188 ‘He’ll be back directly, father, no doubt,’ said Grace. ‘He had so much to do this morning in his preparations for departure, that he was up and out by daybreak. Good morning, gentlemen.’ ‘Ladies!’ said Mr. Snitchey, ‘for Self and Craggs,’ who bowed, ‘good morning! Miss,’ to Marion, ‘I kiss your hand.’ Which he did. ‘And I wish you’—which he might or might not, for he didn’t look, at first sight, like a gentleman troubled with many warm outpourings of soul, in behalf of other people, ‘a hundred happy returns of this auspicious day.’ ‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed the Doctor thoughtfully, with his hands in his pockets. ‘The great farce in a hundred acts!’ ‘You wouldn’t, I am sure,’ said Mr. Snitchey, standing a small professional blue bag against one leg of the table, ‘cut the great farce short for this actress, at all events, Doctor Jeddler.’ ‘No,’ returned the Doctor. ‘God forbid! May she live to laugh at it, as long as she _can_ laugh, and then say, with the French wit, “The farce is ended; draw the curtain.”’ ‘The French wit,’ said Mr. Snitchey, peeping sharply into his blue bag, ‘was wrong, Doctor Jeddler, and your philosophy is altogether wrong, depend upon it, as I have often told you. Nothing serious in life! What do you call law?’ ‘A joke,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Did you ever go to law?’ asked Mr. Snitchey, looking out of the blue bag. ‘Never,’ returned the Doctor. ‘If you ever do,’ said Mr. Snitchey, ‘perhaps you’ll alter that opinion.’ Craggs, who seemed to be represented by Snitchey, and to be conscious of little or no separate existence or personal individuality, offered a remark of his own in this place. It involved the only idea of which he did not stand seized and possessed in equal moieties with Snitchey; but, he had some partners in it among the wise men of the world. ‘It’s made a great deal too easy,’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘Law is?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Craggs, ‘everything is. Everything appears to me to be made too easy, now-a-days. It’s the vice of these times. If the world is a joke (I am not prepared to say it isn’t), it ought to be made a very difficult joke to crack. It ought to be as hard a struggle, sir, as possible. That’s the intention. But, it’s being made far too easy. We are oiling the gates of life. They ought to be rusty. We shall have them beginning to turn, soon, with a smooth sound. Whereas they ought to grate upon their hinges, sir.’ Mr. Craggs seemed positively to grate upon his own hinges, as he delivered this opinion; to which he communicated immense effect—being a cold, hard, dry, man, dressed in grey and white, like a flint; with small twinkles in his eyes, as if something struck sparks out of them. The three natural kingdoms, indeed, had each a fanciful representative among this brotherhood of disputants; for Snitchey was like a magpie or raven (only not so sleek), and the Doctor had a streaked face like a winter-pippin, with here and there a dimple to express the peckings of the birds, and a very little bit of pigtail behind that stood for the stalk. As the active figure of a handsome young man, dressed for a journey, and followed by a porter bearing several packages and baskets, entered the orchard at a brisk pace, and with an air of gaiety and hope that accorded well with the morning, these three drew together, like the brothers of the sister Fates, or like the Graces most effectually disguised, or like the three weird prophets on the heath, and greeted him. ‘Happy returns, Alf!’ said the Doctor, lightly. ‘A hundred happy returns of this auspicious day, Mr. Heathfield!’ said Snitchey, bowing low. ‘Returns!’ Craggs murmured in a deep voice, all alone. 83 "Summary: Grace and the Doctor are speaking with Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs about various topics, including law and life. A young man named Alf enters the orchard and is greeted by the others. Narrative arc: Conversation Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, philosophical Genre: Drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Grace, Doctor Jeddler, Mr. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs, Alf Fuzzy place: Orchard Diegetic time: A few minutes " Grace. And you would tell me, I know, that the law is always right? Doctor Jeddler. Right in its own way; and a very good way too, for life's sake: as far as it goes. Mr Snitchey. The law, sir, is only the means by which we endeavour to secure to each man the free exercise of his own will, within the limits of the common good. Doctor Jeddler. And how do you set about it, Sir John? Mr Snitchey. Why, sir, by taking away his will, altogether, at least so far as he can be persuaded. Doctor Jeddler. And then you make him as happy as a lord! Mr Snitchey. I am afraid not, sir. We are rather apt to leave him on the verge of misery. Doctor Jeddler. But suppose he does not want to be made happy, what then? Mr Snitchey. Then, sir, we force our happiness upon him, or go to jail. Doctor Jeddler. That's a pretty pass indeed! Well, Mr Craggs, who is this young gentleman who has thrown open the door for us? Is he a relation of yours? Mr Craggs. No, sir; he lives here. Doctor Jeddler. Lives here, does he? Well, Mr Snitchey, this is a beautiful place. Mr Snitchey. A charming one, sir. Doctor Jeddler. You don't come here often, I think? Mr Snitchey. Not very often, sir. Doctor Jeddler. You wouldn't like to live here, would you? Mr Snitchey. No, sir. Doctor Jeddler. Wouldn't like to give up town life? Mr Snitchey. I should find it rather dull, sir. Doctor Jeddler. And yet there are people who do live here all the year round, and never miss London or any other place. Mr Snitchey. There always were such people, sir. Doctor Jeddler. But they are quite contented with themselves, you know. Mr Snitchey. Yes, sir. Doctor Jeddler. They are satisfied with their condition, and are quite resigned to their fate. Mr Snitchey. Yes, sir. Doctor Jeddler. What would you say to that, Sir John? Mr Snitchey. I should say, sir, that the people you speak of, are singularly devoid of energy, ambition, and hope. I should say they were tame sheep, led to the slaughter, and thinking themselves blest in being so. Doctor Jeddler. Ha ha ha! So would I, Mr Snitchey. Mr Snitchey. It is a very comfortable character, sir. Doctor Jeddler. Comfortable enough, perhaps, until some storm comes on, and they are scattered by the wind, and lost in the rain and darkness. Mr Snitchey. Oh, the storm comes, sir, at last to all of us. Doctor Jeddler. But why bring it on before its time, and ruin these poor creatures who are happy now? 35 676 139189 ‘Why, what a battery!’ exclaimed Alfred, stopping short, ‘and one—two—three—all foreboders of no good, in the great sea before me. I am glad you are not the first I have met this morning: I should have taken it for a bad omen. But, Grace was the first—sweet, pleasant Grace—so I defy you all!’ ‘If you please, Mister, I was the first you know,’ said Clemency Newcome. ‘She was walking out here, before sunrise, you remember. I was in the house.’ ‘That’s true! Clemency was the first,’ said Alfred. ‘So I defy you with Clemency.’ ‘Ha, ha, ha,—for Self and Craggs,’ said Snitchey. ‘What a defiance!’ ‘Not so bad a one as it appears, may be,’ said Alfred, shaking hands heartily with the Doctor, and also with Snitchey and Craggs, and then looking round. ‘Where are the—Good Heavens!’ With a start, productive for the moment of a closer partnership between Jonathan Snitchey and Thomas Craggs than the subsisting articles of agreement in that wise contemplated, he hastily betook himself to where the sisters stood together, and—however, I needn’t more particularly explain his manner of saluting Marion first, and Grace afterwards, than by hinting that Mr. Craggs may possibly have considered it ‘too easy.’ Perhaps to change the subject, Dr. Jeddler made a hasty move towards the breakfast, and they all sat down at table. Grace presided; but so discreetly stationed herself, as to cut off her sister and Alfred from the rest of the company. Snitchey and Craggs sat at opposite corners, with the blue bag between them for safety; the Doctor took his usual position, opposite to Grace. Clemency hovered galvanically about the table, as waitress; and the melancholy Britain, at another and a smaller board, acted as Grand Carver of a round of beef and a ham. ‘Meat?’ said Britain, approaching Mr. Snitchey, with the carving knife and fork in his hands, and throwing the question at him like a missile. ‘Certainly,’ returned the lawyer. ‘Do _you_ want any?’ to Craggs. ‘Lean and well done,’ replied that gentleman. Having executed these orders, and moderately supplied the Doctor (he seemed to know that nobody else wanted anything to eat), he lingered as near the Firm as he decently could, watching with an austere eye their disposition of the viands, and but once relaxing the severe expression of his face. This was on the occasion of Mr. Craggs, whose teeth were not of the best, partially choking, when he cried out with great animation, ‘I thought he was gone!’ ‘Now, Alfred,’ said the Doctor, ‘for a word or two of business, while we are yet at breakfast.’ ‘While we are yet at breakfast,’ said Snitchey and Craggs, who seemed to have no present idea of leaving off. Although Alfred had not been breakfasting, and seemed to have quite enough business on his hands as it was, he respectfully answered: ‘If you please, sir.’ ‘If anything could be serious,’ the Doctor began, ‘in such a—’ ‘Farce as this, sir,’ hinted Alfred. ‘In such a farce as this,’ observed the Doctor, ‘it might be this recurrence, on the eve of separation, of a double birth-day, which is connected with many associations pleasant to us four, and with the recollection of a long and amicable intercourse. That’s not to the purpose.’ ‘Ah! yes, yes, Dr. Jeddler,’ said the young man. ‘It is to the purpose. Much to the purpose, as my heart bears witness this morning; and as yours does too, I know, if you would let it speak. I leave your house to-day; I cease to be your ward to-day; we part with tender relations stretching far behind us, that never can be exactly renewed, and with others dawning—yet before us,’ he looked down at Marion beside him, ‘fraught 83 "Summary: Alfred meets Clemency and they discuss who was the first person he met that morning. They sit down for breakfast, but the conversation turns to business. Narrative arc: Light-hearted conversation turns to business Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted Genre: Drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Not clear Active character: Alfred, Grace, Snitchey, Craggs, Marion, Doctor Jeddler, Clemency Newcome Fuzzy place: Unnamed location outside the house Diegetic time: A few minutes " It's very hard to say who was first, for I'm sure we both came in at once. And then there were so many people coming and going.' 'Yes,' said Grace, 'they have been very busy indeed.' 'There's a good deal of company,' observed Snitchey. 'Oh no,' said Craggs, 'there's only the family party, you know.' 'And the bride and bridgeman,' added Snitchey. 'I hope they'll get on well together,' said Doctor Jeddler. 'I think they will,' said Marion. 'So do I,' said Clemency Newcome, laughing; 'I'm sure I hope they may! But Doctor Jeddeler, here is breakfast ready for you. Do go in and take it away with you. I'm sure you are hungry.' So he did, and sat down to it. Alfred sat down too, and took up his knife and fork: but instead of beginning, looked up at Clemency with an odd smile, which seemed to say as plainly as if he spoke, ‘I am waiting for you.’ ‘No,’ returned Clemency, smiling too; ‘no. Thank you, sir. I am really not at all hungry this morning.’ ‘Then let us eat together,’ said Alfred, still looking up at her with that same odd smile. ‘Oh!’ cried Clemency, starting back. ‘That's what my father said, yesterday afternoon. But I thought you meant—’ ‘What?’ asked Alfred. ‘Why, that we should begin immediately,’ said Clemency. ‘Begin immediately!’ repeated Alfred, laughing heartily, and putting down his knife and fork. ‘To be sure,’ said Clemency. ‘Begin immediately after our marriage, I mean. That is what I understood from him.’ ‘But, good heavens!’ exclaimed Alfred, ‘what could we begin? We are already married.’ ‘Are we?’ said Clemency. ‘Yes!’ said Alfred, rising from his seat, and standing opposite to her. ‘Didn’t you know it?’ ‘I didn’t know anything about it,’ replied Clemency, looking more confused than ever. ‘I wish I had known that it was so easy,’ she said, after pausing a moment. ‘I’m afraid I should have thought myself a great deal better able to help my father, before I knew it was so easy.’ ‘You don't like being married, then?’ said Alfred. ‘Oh dear, no!’ said Clemency. ‘I don't like it at all!’ ‘Then why did you marry me?’ said Alfred. ‘Because papa said I must,’ replied Clemency. ‘But I'm not angry with you for doing it,’ said Alfred. ‘I'm very much obliged to you, mind, though you didn't give me any reason for thinking you did it willingly. But never mind. You shall give me one now.’ ‘For being your wife?’ said Clemency, looking timidly up in his face. ‘Yes,’ said Alfred, bending towards her. ‘If you like to try.’ ‘If you please, sir,’ said Clemency. 36 676 139190 with such considerations as I must not trust myself to speak of now. Come, come!’ he added, rallying his spirits and the Doctor at once, ‘there’s a serious grain in this large foolish dust-heap, Doctor. Let us allow to-day, that there is One.’ ‘To-day!’ cried the Doctor. ‘Hear him! Ha, ha, ha! Of all days in the foolish year. Why, on this day, the great battle was fought on this ground. On this ground where we now sit, where I saw my two girls dance this morning, where the fruit has just been gathered for our eating from these trees, the roots of which are struck in Men, not earth,—so many lives were lost, that within my recollection, generations afterwards, a churchyard full of bones, and dust of bones, and chips of cloven skulls, has been dug up from underneath our feet here. Yet not a hundred people in that battle knew for what they fought, or why; not a hundred of the inconsiderate rejoicers in the victory, why they rejoiced. Not half a hundred people were the better for the gain or loss. Not half-a-dozen men agree to this hour on the cause or merits; and nobody, in short, ever knew anything distinct about it, but the mourners of the slain. Serious, too!’ said the Doctor, laughing. ‘Such a system!’ ‘But, all this seems to me,’ said Alfred, ‘to be very serious.’ ‘Serious!’ cried the Doctor. ‘If you allowed such things to be serious, you must go mad, or die, or climb up to the top of a mountain, and turn hermit.’ ‘Besides—so long ago,’ said Alfred. ‘Long ago!’ returned the Doctor. ‘Do you know what the world has been doing, ever since? Do you know what else it has been doing? _I_ don’t!’ ‘It has gone to law a little,’ observed Mr. Snitchey, stirring his tea. ‘Although the way out has been always made too easy,’ said his partner. ‘And you’ll excuse my saying, Doctor,’ pursued Mr. Snitchey, ‘having been already put a thousand times in possession of my opinion, in the course of our discussions, that, in its having gone to law, and in its legal system altogether, I do observe a serious side—now, really, a something tangible, and with a purpose and intention in it—’ Clemency Newcome made an angular tumble against the table, occasioning a sounding clatter among the cups and saucers. ‘Heyday! what’s the matter there?’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘It’s this evil-inclined blue bag,’ said Clemency, ‘always tripping up somebody!’ ‘With a purpose and intention in it, I was saying,’ resumed Snitchey, ‘that commands respect. Life a farce, Dr. Jeddler? With law in it?’ The Doctor laughed, and looked at Alfred. ‘Granted, if you please, that war is foolish,’ said Snitchey. ‘There we agree. For example. Here’s a smiling country,’ pointing it out with his fork, ‘once overrun by soldiers—trespassers every man of ’em—and laid waste by fire and sword. He, he, he! The idea of any man exposing himself, voluntarily, to fire and sword! Stupid, wasteful, positively ridiculous; you laugh at your fellow-creatures, you know, when you think of it! But take this smiling country as it stands. Think of the laws appertaining to real property; to the bequest and devise of real property; to the mortgage and redemption of real property; to leasehold, freehold, and copyhold estate; think,’ said Mr. Snitchey, with such great emotion that he actually smacked his lips, ‘of the complicated laws relating to title and proof of title, with all the contradictory precedents and numerous acts of parliament connected with them; think of the infinite number of ingenious and interminable chancery suits, to which this pleasant prospect may give rise; and acknowledge, Dr. Jeddler, that there is a green spot in the scheme about us! I believe,’ said Mr. Snitchey, looking at his partner, ‘that I speak for Self and Craggs?’ Mr. Craggs having signified assent, Mr. Snitchey, somewhat freshened by his recent eloquence, observed that he would take a little more beef and another cup of tea. 83 "Summary: The Doctor and Mr. Snitchey discuss the seriousness of various events and systems, while Alfred expresses concern about something from long ago. Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Humorous Genre: Comedy Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: The Doctor, Mr. Snitchey, Alfred Time setting: Contemporary Diegetic time: Unknown " “Hear, hear!—that’s the way to talk!” says the Doctor. “You’ll be a public man yet. And what are we to do with Mr. Boffin?” “Let him go on doing his duty,” says the Doctor. “What else?” “Oh dear me, yes!” says the Doctor. “And what are we to do with Alfred? What is Alfred going to do?” says Mr. Snitchey, looking at him over his spectacles. “Ought I to tell you?” asks Alfred. “I hardly know,” says Alfred. “Oh, you may tell us,” says the Doctor. “We shall only laugh at it, or cry at it, or something of that sort.” “Well then,” says Alfred, “it happened so long ago that I can’t even remember how it happened; but I remember perfectly well that I went in for the parish system one day, and I came out for it the next morning. Only think of that!” “How very odd!” says the Doctor. “It struck me as being very odd at the time,” returns Alfred, “but I couldn’t find any explanation of it, except that I felt more comfortable when I was against it than when I was for it, and that’s all there is to be said about it. But if you want to know the truth, I have no doubt I was under some influence of my own, at the time, which didn’t allow me to see things as they really were.” “I thought so,” says the Doctor. “And I’ve been thinking ever since that it might be a family failing,” says Alfred, “and that I might get into trouble one of these days through it.” “Well, well, perhaps you may,” says the Doctor. “But now, look here,” he adds, putting on his spectacles again, “you know the news that’s been going about?” “About the lions?” says Alfred. “No; about the danger from fire,” replies the Doctor. “They’re quite safe,” says Alfred. “So much the better,” replies the Doctor. “But that’s not the point. The question is, Are they safe, or aren’t they safe? Now I come to think of it, I believe they would be found out of their cages, every blessed one of them, before they could be got back, by a general rush at them, and a shout of ‘Fire!’” “I hope you don’t mean to imply,” says Alfred, “that there’s danger from fire in the house?” “I beg your pardon,” returns the Doctor, with great calmness. “I’m sure I implied nothing of the sort. We must hope for the best, and prepare for the worst; and therefore we must set aside any such idea as an impossibility.” “Do you mean to say,” returns Alfred, “that you really think there’s any risk of fire?” “I beg your pardon again,” says the Doctor. “I don’t say so. I never speak without considering what I say, sir. I merely meant to imply that if fire did break out, we should all behave with propriety and decorum, and conduct ourselves as becomes people of sense and discretion, and not like sheep.” “Perhaps you had better have stopped there,” suggests Alfred. “I am glad to hear it,” says the Doctor. “For I certainly should not have known what to have done next. You might have frightened the ladies. 37 676 139191 ‘I don’t stand up for life in general,’ he added, rubbing his hands and chuckling, ‘it’s full of folly; full of something worse. Professions of trust, and confidence, and unselfishness, and all that! Bah, bah, bah! We see what they’re worth. But, you mustn’t laugh at life; you’ve got a game to play; a very serious game indeed! Everybody’s playing against you, you know, and you’re playing against them. Oh! it’s a very interesting thing. There are deep moves upon the board. You must only laugh, Dr. Jeddler, when you win—and then not much. He, he, he! And then not much,’ repeated Snitchey, rolling his head and winking his eye, as if he would have added, ‘you may do this instead!’ ‘Well, Alfred!’ cried the Doctor, ‘what do you say now?’ ‘I say, sir,’ replied Alfred, ‘that the greatest favour you could do me, and yourself too, I am inclined to think, would be to try sometimes to forget this battle-field and others like it in that broader battle-field of Life, on which the sun looks every day.’ ‘Really, I’m afraid that wouldn’t soften his opinions, Mr. Alfred,’ said Snitchey. ‘The combatants are very eager and very bitter in that same battle of Life. There’s a great deal of cutting and slashing, and firing into people’s heads from behind. There is terrible treading down, and trampling on. It is rather a bad business.’ ‘I believe, Mr. Snitchey,’ said Alfred, ‘there are quiet victories and struggles, great sacrifices of self, and noble acts of heroism, in it—even in many of its apparent lightnesses and contradictions—not the less difficult to achieve, because they have no earthly chronicle or audience—done every day in nooks and corners, and in little households, and in men’s and women’s hearts—any one of which might reconcile the sternest man to such a world, and fill him with belief and hope in it, though two-fourths of its people were at war, and another fourth at law; and that’s a bold word.’ Both the sisters listened keenly. ‘Well, well!’ said the Doctor, ‘I am too old to be converted, even by my friend Snitchey here, or my good spinster sister, Martha Jeddler; who had what she calls her domestic trials ages ago, and has led a sympathising life with all sorts of people ever since; and who is so much of your opinion (only she’s less reasonable and more obstinate, being a woman), that we can’t agree, and seldom meet. I was born upon this battle-field. I began, as a boy, to have my thoughts directed to the real history of a battle-field. Sixty years have gone over my head, and I have never seen the Christian world, including Heaven knows how many loving mothers and good enough girls like mine here, anything but mad for a battle-field. The same contradictions prevail in everything. One must either laugh or cry at such stupendous inconsistencies; and I prefer to laugh.’ Britain, who had been paying the profoundest and most melancholy attention to each speaker in his turn, seemed suddenly to decide in favour of the same preference, if a deep sepulchral sound that escaped him might be construed into a demonstration of risibility. His face, however, was so perfectly unaffected by it, both before and afterwards, that although one or two of the breakfast party looked round as being startled by a mysterious noise, nobody connected the offender with it. Except his partner in attendance, Clemency Newcome; who rousing him with one of those favourite joints, her elbows, inquired, in a reproachful whisper, what he laughed at. ‘Not you!’ said Britain. ‘Who then?’ ‘Humanity,’ said Britain. ‘That’s the joke!’ ‘What between master and them lawyers, he’s getting more and more addle-headed every day!’ cried Clemency, giving him a lunge with the other elbow, as a mental stimulant. ‘Do you know where you are? Do you want to get warning?’ ‘I don’t know anything,’ said Britain, with a leaden eye and an immovable 83 "Summary: The text is a conversation between characters discussing life and the battle-field. Narrative arc: Philosophical discussion Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Serious and philosophical Genre: Philosophical fiction Intertextuality: Philosophical essay Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Realism Active character: Dr. Jeddler, Alfred, Snitchey Time setting: Contemporary period Diegetic time: Sixty years " “Life,” said Dr. Jeddler, “is the most beautiful and mysterious thing in the world; a very mystery of mysteries! A pretty child is a wonderful spectacle indeed, Alfred; but it is not half so wonderful as a pretty woman.” “A young man who has a pretty wife would think that was the most wonderful spectacle in the world,” said Snitchey, “if he had nothing else to go upon, perhaps.” “A young man should have something else to go upon, my friend,” returned Dr. Jeddler, smiling, “or his head will turn. But come! What are we talking about? Let us go home again, and leave this place of death and darkness. So!” And the Doctor rang the bell. They were just going away when a soldier came running up, with his cap off, and made an apology for disturbing them: but there were some officers here, who wished particularly to see one of the gentlemen. It appeared that they were on their way to London, and were known to some of the staff-officers. After an exchange of compliments, which lasted some little time, the Doctor said: “Gentlemen, you find me near this dreadful field of slaughter. You know how long I have been here; if you stay here longer than I have stayed, your services will be more useful than mine.” “True enough,” replied the senior officer. “We shall probably spend the night here.” “You will take refreshment, I hope?” said the Doctor. “Certainly; if you’ll honour us by sharing it. We have kept our troops from plundering the houses here, and we’ll beg some wine from one of them to drink to-night. Your good friends the soldiers are always grateful for such things.” The Doctor nodded his approval of the spirit shown by the army, and said: “I’ve got a capital dinner prepared at home for Mr. and Miss Carmichael, whom you saw just now; and you will honour me if you’ll accept my invitation to partake of it too. I’ve got no servant, you see, except this poor fellow (who had fallen asleep again); and you must excuse my housekeeping, which may not be quite equal to that of a general’s quarters.” “So much the better,” replied the officer. “There’s nothing like homely living. We’ll all sup with you. My name’s General Carver, sir.” “Dr. Jeddler,” said the Doctor. “Pleased to meet you. My men are coming off duty now, and will be marching soon towards London. Will you walk round the field with me, while we are waiting for them?” The Doctor readily assented; and the two went into the dark some distance before the rest followed. “Now, Doctor,” said the General, “we have heard what your opinion is as to the business of these times, and we are curious to hear yours on another subject. 38 676 139192 visage. ‘I don’t care for anything. I don’t make out anything. I don’t believe anything. And I don’t want anything.’ Although this forlorn summary of his general condition may have been overcharged in an access of despondency, Benjamin Britain—sometimes called Little Britain, to distinguish him from Great; as we might say Young England, to express Old England with a decided difference—had defined his real state more accurately than might be supposed. For, serving as a sort of man Miles to the Doctor’s Friar Bacon, and listening day after day to innumerable orations addressed by the Doctor to various people, all tending to show that his very existence was at best a mistake and an absurdity, this unfortunate servitor had fallen, by degrees, into such an abyss of confused and contradictory suggestions from within and without, that Truth at the bottom of her well, was on the level surface as compared with Britain in the depths of his mystification. The only point he clearly comprehended, was, that the new element usually brought into these discussions by Snitchey and Craggs, never served to make them clearer, and always seemed to give the Doctor a species of advantage and confirmation. Therefore, he looked upon the Firm as one of the proximate causes of his state of mind, and held them in abhorrence accordingly. ‘But, this is not our business, Alfred,’ said the Doctor. ‘Ceasing to be my ward (as you have said) to-day; and leaving us full to the brim of such learning as the Grammar School down here was able to give you, and your studies in London could add to that, and such practical knowledge as a dull old country Doctor like myself could graft upon both; you are away, now, into the world. The first term of probation appointed by your poor father, being over, away you go now, your own master, to fulfil his second desire. And long before your three years’ tour among the foreign schools of medicine is finished, you’ll have forgotten us. Lord, you’ll forget us easily in six months!’ ‘If I do—But you know better; why should I speak to you!’ said Alfred, laughing. ‘I don’t know anything of the sort,’ returned the Doctor. ‘What do you say, Marion?’ Marion, trifling with her teacup, seemed to say—but she didn’t say it—that he was welcome to forget, if he could. Grace pressed the blooming face against her cheek, and smiled. ‘I haven’t been, I hope, a very unjust steward in the execution of my trust,’ pursued the Doctor; ‘but I am to be, at any rate, formally discharged, and released, and what not this morning; and here are our good friends Snitchey and Craggs, with a bagful of papers, and accounts, and documents, for the transfer of the balance of the trust fund to you (I wish it was a more difficult one to dispose of, Alfred, but you must get to be a great man and make it so), and other drolleries of that sort, which are to be signed, sealed, and delivered.’ ‘And duly witnessed as by law required,’ said Snitchey, pushing away his plate, and taking out the papers, which his partner proceeded to spread upon the table; ‘and Self and Craggs having been co-trustees with you, Doctor, in so far as the fund was concerned, we shall want your two servants to attest the signatures—can you read, Mrs. Newcome?’ ‘I an’t married, Mister,’ said Clemency. ‘Oh! I beg your pardon. I should think not,’ chuckled Snitchey, casting his eyes over her extraordinary figure. ‘You _can_ read?’ ‘A little,’ answered Clemency. ‘The marriage service, night and morning, eh?’ observed the lawyer, jocosely. ‘No,’ said Clemency. ‘Too hard. I only reads a thimble.’ ‘Read a thimble!’ echoed Snitchey. ‘What are you talking about, young woman?’ Clemency nodded. ‘And a nutmeg-grater.’ ‘Why, this is a lunatic! a subject for the Lord High Chancellor!’ said 83 "Summary: Benjamin Britain, a servant, is confused by the discussions he overhears between the Doctor and Snitchey and Craggs. He sees them as causing his own confusion and holds them in abhorrence. The Doctor discusses Alfred's upcoming departure and transfer of trust funds. Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Confused Genre: Fiction Speech standard: Informal Literary form: Conversation Active character: Benjamin Britain, the Doctor, Snitchey, Craggs Fuzzy place: Unnamed location where the characters are having a conversation Diegetic time: A few days " "What's the matter with him? Is he going to be ill?"" said Benjamin Britain, who was quite at sea already, and had been so ever since the Doctor had begun to talk to Snitchey and Craggs together. """"I'm sure I hope not; for if he is, his orders 'll have to come through me in course of time, and that wouldn't look well, would it?"""" Neither of the gentlemen replied to this, or to anything that Benjamin said, but looked on with a solemn countenance while he talked himself into such a whirlpool of confusion that he didn't know where he was, or whether he was head downwards or upwards. And when he had done talking, they told him they didn't know either. """"And what do you think of us for being here now,"""" said Benjamin Britain, """"and listening to you!"""" To which gentleman the Doctor replied, that it was not for him to say what they thought of themselves; but that he did think them very good fellows for having nothing to do with him, and holding him in abhorrence. As he said this, he shook his head, and nodded towards Snitchey and Craggs, as much as to say, 'You see what kind of fellows they are!' Benjamin Britain saw no more of them than he saw of the moon; and thinking it was an unpardonable piece of rudeness to leave him there, talking to himself, snuffed the candle, and went away. The Doctor, when he had dismissed his professional visitor, sat down again, and rang the bell once more. """"What's the matter with him now? Is he going to take to dancing?"""" said Alfred, who, with his hat upon the table and his legs over one side of it, was looking on with great gravity. """"He'll get into a regular round of things by-and-by, unless he takes care."""" He then gave him an account of the doctor's explanation of his own case, and added, """"I'm to go abroad, after all. Abroad! What a fine word it sounds! How often have I heard it from father's lips!"""" It seems to me rather a difficult place to live in, sometimes,"" said the Doctor, smiling. """"But I am afraid you must find it so."""" Well!"" returned Alfred, ""if I can only earn my bread there, what does it matter where I live, or how I live? A soldier's life is hard enough, and a soldier's pay is poor enough, to make any man contented with whatever happens. But the time will soon come, sir, when I shall have money of my own, and when you and I shall be able to make some plans together. You have trusted me with a large amount of property, which is now almost entirely my own; but it is tied up, and cannot be made available for any purpose until I am twenty-one. " 39 676 139193 Snitchey, staring at her. —‘If possessed of any property,’ stipulated Craggs. Grace, however, interposing, explained that each of the articles in question bore an engraved motto, and so formed the pocket library of Clemency Newcome, who was not much given to the study of books. ‘Oh, that’s it, is it, Miss Grace!’ said Snitchey. ‘Yes, yes. Ha, ha, ha! I thought our friend was an idiot. She looks uncommonly like it,’ he muttered, with a supercilious glance. ‘And what does the thimble say, Mrs. Newcome?’ ‘I an’t married, Mister,’ observed Clemency. ‘Well, Newcome. Will that do?’ said the lawyer. ‘What does the thimble say, Newcome?’ How Clemency, before replying to this question, held one pocket open, and looked down into its yawning depths for the thimble which wasn’t there,—and how she then held an opposite pocket open, and seeming to descry it, like a pearl of great price, at the bottom, cleared away such intervening obstacles as a handkerchief, an end of wax candle, a flushed apple, an orange, a lucky penny, a cramp bone, a padlock, a pair of scissors in a sheath more expressively describable as promising young shears, a handful or so of loose beads, several balls of cotton, a needle-case, a cabinet collection of curl-papers, and a biscuit, all of which articles she entrusted individually and separately to Britain to hold,—is of no consequence. Nor how, in her determination to grasp this pocket by the throat and keep it prisoner (for it had a tendency to swing, and twist itself round the nearest corner), she assumed and calmly maintained, an attitude apparently inconsistent with the human anatomy and the laws of gravity. It is enough that at last she triumphantly produced the thimble on her finger, and rattled the nutmeg-grater: the literature of both those trinkets being obviously in course of wearing out and wasting away, through excessive friction. ‘That’s the thimble, is it, young woman?’ said Mr. Snitchey, diverting himself at her expense. ‘And what does the thimble say?’ ‘It says,’ replied Clemency, reading slowly round as if it were a tower, ‘For-get and For-give.’ Snitchey and Craggs laughed heartily. ‘So new!’ said Snitchey. ‘So easy!’ said Craggs. ‘Such a knowledge of human nature in it!’ said Snitchey. ‘So applicable to the affairs of life!’ said Craggs. ‘And the nutmeg-grater?’ inquired the head of the Firm. ‘The grater says,’ returned Clemency, ‘Do as you—wold—be—done by.’ ‘Do, or you’ll be done brown, you mean,’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘I don’t understand,’ retorted Clemency, shaking her head vaguely. ‘I an’t no lawyer.’ ‘I am afraid that if she was, Doctor,’ said Mr. Snitchey, turning to him suddenly, as if to anticipate any effect that might otherwise be consequent on this retort, ‘she’d find it to be the golden rule of half her clients. They are serious enough in that—whimsical as your world is—and lay the blame on us afterwards. We, in our profession, are little else than mirrors after all, Mr. Alfred; but, we are generally consulted by angry and quarrelsome people who are not in their best looks, and it’s rather hard to quarrel with us if we reflect unpleasant aspects. I think,’ said Mr. Snitchey, ‘that I speak for Self and Craggs?’ ‘Decidedly,’ said Craggs. ‘And so, if Mr. Britain will oblige us with a mouthful of ink,’ said Mr. Snitchey, returning to the papers, ‘we’ll sign, seal, and deliver as soon as possible, or the coach will be coming past before we know where we are.’ If one might judge from his appearance, there was every probability of the coach coming past before Mr. Britain knew where _he_ was; for he stood in a state of abstraction, mentally balancing the Doctor against 83 "Summary: Snitchey questions Clemency about the engraved mottoes on her trinkets, she replies with quotes from them. Snitchey and Craggs find humor in her answers. Snitchey then turns to Doctor and discusses his profession. Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Humoristic Genre: Fiction Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Snitchey, Grace, Clemency, Mr. Britain, Mr. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs Fuzzy place: Unnamed location Diegetic time: A few minutes " "Then, she had a trinket or two engraved with mottoes on 'em, I believe. Snitchey now looked at these, and inquired what they meant. Grace replied, that she was too ignorant to know; but that the maker of the article had doubtless put what he thought would be appropriate. """"Well, ma'am,"""" said Snitchey, looking at one, """"I am sure he couldn't have done better than this. It's a verse out of the Bible. Read it, Mr. Craggs."""" Mr. Britain read, as follows: By me this shall be a sign unto thee, that thou shalt come no more into this place any more."""" Mr. Craggs laughed heartily. So did Snitchey. """"It's an odd motto for a watch-chain, isn't it?"""" said Snitchey. Clemency had no answer ready, and bit her lip, and looked at her brother-in-law. """"What else have we here?"""" said Snitchey, taking another trinket from the little table. There were five or six there; for Clemency had not been very sparing of herself in this respect, when she bought them. """"This is a very pretty one,"""" said Snitchey; and taking it in his hand, read the words engraved upon it: I AM NOT DEAD BUT SLEEPING."" Again Mr. Craggs laughed heartily, and again so did Snitchey. """"How d'ye like that, ma'am?"""" said Snitchey. ""And how d'ye take it? Not very comfortable, I think? And yet, ma'am,"""" said Snitchey, shaking his head over the trinket, """"it's a very pretty one! How do you account for it, Mr. Britain? What do you say to it?"""" Well!"" said Mr. Britain, after laughing again. ""I'll tell you what I think. This gentleman's idea (the person who engraved the thing) may have been that the lady to whom it belonged, would be buried under some such inscription; that it might be a hint to her, not to worry herself about that; and that when she woke up, she'd find all right."""" Snitchey shook his head, and said, """"You're always ingenious, Mr. Britain, are you?"" Snitchey then looked round the room, and asked if Doctor had left any directions behind him? Mr. Britain said No. Then, Sir,"" said Snitchey, ""let us hope he will leave none."""" This was a neat hit, which Snitchey delivered with a twinkle in his eye, and a laugh on his lips, and which went home to Mr. Britain's heart, for he knew that it was aimed at him. Doctor's profession was the next topic brought forward by Snitchey, who, having taken a seat near the fire, began to warm himself and to talk. He had heard of Doctor, he said, as being a doctor of some distinction and reputation; of late years, however, not very much in practice; supposed to be retired; living here in a very quiet way; and altogether a gentleman of very good character, but of rather singular habits. " 40 676 139194 the lawyers, and the lawyers against the Doctor, and their clients against both, and engaged in feeble attempts to make the thimble and nutmeg-grater (a new idea to him) square with anybody’s system of philosophy; and, in short, bewildering himself as much as ever his great namesake has done with theories and schools. But, Clemency, who was his good Genius—though he had the meanest possible opinion of her understanding, by reason of her seldom troubling herself with abstract speculations, and being always at hand to do the right thing at the right time—having produced the ink in a twinkling, tendered him the further service of recalling him to himself by the application of her elbows; with which gentle flappers she so jogged his memory, in a more literal construction of that phrase than usual, that he soon became quite fresh and brisk. How he laboured under an apprehension not uncommon to persons in his degree, to whom the use of pen and ink is an event, that he couldn’t append his name to a document, not of his own writing, without committing himself in some shadowy manner, or somehow signing away vague and enormous sums of money; and how he approached the deeds under protest, and by dint of the Doctor’s coercion, and insisted on pausing to look at them before writing (the cramped hand, to say nothing of the phraseology, being so much Chinese to him), and also on turning them round to see whether there was anything fraudulent underneath; and how, having signed his name, he became desolate as one who had parted with his property and rights; I want the time to tell. Also, how the blue bag containing his signature, afterwards had a mysterious interest for him, and he couldn’t leave it; also, how Clemency Newcome, in an ecstasy of laughter at the idea of her own importance and dignity, brooded over the whole table with her two elbows, like a spread eagle, and reposed her head upon her left arm as a preliminary to the formation of certain cabalistic characters, which required a deal of ink, and imaginary counterparts whereof she executed at the same time with her tongue. Also, how, having once tasted ink, she became thirsty in that regard, as tame tigers are said to be after tasting another sort of fluid, and wanted to sign everything, and put her name in all kinds of places. In brief, the Doctor was discharged of his trust and all its responsibilities; and Alfred, taking it on himself, was fairly started on the journey of life. ‘Britain!’ said the Doctor. ‘Run to the gate, and watch for the coach. Time flies, Alfred.’ ‘Yes, sir, yes,’ returned the young man, hurriedly. ‘Dear Grace! a moment! Marion—so young and beautiful, so winning and so much admired, dear to my heart as nothing else in life is—remember! I leave Marion to you!’ ‘She has always been a sacred charge to me, Alfred. She is doubly so, now. I will be faithful to my trust, believe me.’ ‘I do believe it, Grace. I know it well. Who could look upon your face, and hear your voice, and not know it! Ah, Grace! If I had your well-governed heart, and tranquil mind, how bravely I would leave this place to-day!’ ‘Would you?’ she answered with a quiet smile. ‘And yet, Grace—Sister, seems the natural word.’ ‘Use it!’ she said quickly. ‘I am glad to hear it. Call me nothing else.’ ‘And yet, sister, then,’ said Alfred, ‘Marion and I had better have your true and steadfast qualities serving us here, and making us both happier and better. I wouldn’t carry them away, to sustain myself, if I could!’ ‘Coach upon the hill-top!’ exclaimed Britain. ‘Time flies, Alfred,’ said the Doctor. Marion had stood apart, with her eyes fixed upon the ground; but, this warning being given, her young lover brought her tenderly to where her sister stood, and gave her into her embrace. 83 "Summary: The text follows the thoughts and actions of various characters, including lawyers, a doctor, and two sisters, as they prepare for a journey. Narrative arc: Preparation for a journey Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted Genre: Historical novel Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Dialogue Literary movement: Not clear Active character: Lawyers, Doctor, Clemency Newcome, Alfred, Grace, Marion, Britain Fuzzy place: Unnamed locations such as a table, a gate Diegetic time: A few minutes " "Then the lawyers were called in and told of their dismissal. The doctor looked at the two, and thought he should have liked to keep them all three. He had seen many a case where one of the members was a very useful man to him, and gave him his opinion out of court with great frankness and freedom. If you'll give me a hand, gentlemen,"" said the doctor, ""I've got a little job for you."" A call from the gate brought Mr. Newcome running to the table. Here's another for you, sir,"" the doctor said. There were not wanting some tears on both sides; but Clemency would not let Alfred stand by her, though she made him come round to her afterwards and thank him kindly. I'm sure, sir, you are very good to us,"" Grace said. ""My sister is grateful to you too, sir."" Oh, yes, oh, yes,"" Marion said, bursting out into a fit of laughing. ""And we hope we shall see you often."" I hope so,"" said the doctor. ""I am going to take your brother down the river presently."""" My sister will be very glad to go too,"" said Grace. ""She has not been away from home since she was born."""" Very well,"" said Britain. ""If you like to go, I shall be pleased to have you."""" Marion cried out again, as if this invitation amused her exceedingly. It was clear that she had no mind to go, and it was equally clear that she would. All this while Britain had been talking to the doctor, with whom he walked out of the room when the latter dismissed the women. """"I think I must leave you, my dear sir,"""" Britain said. """"You must give yourself a holiday; you must travel; you must enjoy yourself for a time. Your health requires it."""" I can do nothing without you,"" said the doctor. ""I must wait for your orders, sir."""" Orders! And what kind of orders?"" said Britain. ""What are you thinking of? You shall go when you please. You shall go where you please. Your business is, to take care of yourself; to attend to your health; to live in the country, and in the open air. What does the doctor recommend?"""" said Britain, smiling blandly. """"The doctor recommends sunshine and exercise."""" Then why not follow his advice?"" said the doctor. ""Why not take your patient to the seaside? Why not put him on board your own boat? Why not take him to some pleasant place near the water, where he may bathe and sail, and have the fresh sea-breeze always blowing over him?"""" I think you are right,"" said Britain. ""It would be an excellent plan. I believe I could manage to get off for a week or two. Let me consult Miss Newcome about it. " 41 676 139195 ‘I have been telling Grace, dear Marion,’ he said, ‘that you are her charge; my precious trust at parting. And when I come back and reclaim you, dearest, and the bright prospect of our married life lies stretched before us, it shall be one of our chief pleasures to consult how we can make Grace happy; how we can anticipate her wishes; how we can show our gratitude and love to her; how we can return her something of the debt she will have heaped upon us.’ The younger sister had one hand in his; the other rested on her sister’s neck. She looked into that sister’s eyes, so calm, serene, and cheerful, with a gaze in which affection, admiration, sorrow, wonder, almost veneration, were blended. She looked into that sister’s face, as if it were the face of some bright angel. Calm, serene, and cheerful, the face looked back on her and on her lover. ‘And when the time comes, as it must one day,’ said Alfred,—‘I wonder it has never come yet, but Grace knows best, for Grace is always right—when _she_ will want a friend to open her whole heart to, and to be to her something of what she has been to us—then, Marion, how faithful we will prove, and what delight to us to know that she, our dear good sister, loves and is loved again, as we would have her!’ Still the younger sister looked into her eyes, and turned not—even towards him. And still those honest eyes looked back, so calm, serene, and cheerful, on herself and on her lover. ‘And when all that is past, and we are old, and living (as we must!) together—close together—talking often of old times,’ said Alfred—‘these shall be our favourite times among them—this day most of all; and, telling each other what we thought and felt, and hoped and feared at parting; and how we couldn’t bear to say good bye—’ ‘Coach coming through the wood!’ cried Britain. ‘Yes! I am ready—and how we met again, so happily in spite of all; we’ll make this day the happiest in all the year, and keep it as a treble birth-day. Shall we, dear?’ ‘Yes!’ interposed the elder sister, eagerly, and with a radiant smile. ‘Yes! Alfred, don’t linger. There’s no time. Say good bye to Marion. And Heaven be with you!’ He pressed the younger sister to his heart. Released from his embrace, she again clung to her sister; and her eyes, with the same blended look, again sought those so calm, serene, and cheerful. ‘Farewell, my boy!’ said the Doctor. ‘To talk about any serious correspondence or serious affections, and engagements and so forth, in such a—ha ha ha!—you know what I mean—why that, of course, would be sheer nonsense. All I can say is, that if you and Marion should continue in the same foolish minds, I shall not object to have you for a son-in-law one of these days.’ ‘Over the bridge!’ cried Britain. ‘Let it come!’ said Alfred, wringing the Doctor’s hand stoutly. ‘Think of me sometimes, my old friend and guardian, as seriously as you can! Adieu, Mr. Snitchey! Farewell, Mr. Craggs!’ ‘Coming down the road!’ cried Britain. ‘A kiss of Clemency Newcome for long acquaintance’ sake! Shake hands, Britain! Marion, dearest heart, good bye! Sister Grace! remember!’ The quiet household figure, and the face so beautiful in its serenity, were turned towards him in reply; but Marion’s look and attitude remained unchanged. The coach was at the gate. There was a bustle with the luggage. The coach drove away. Marion never moved. ‘He waves his hat to you, my love,’ said Grace. ‘Your chosen husband, darling. Look!’ The younger sister raised her head, and, for a moment, turned it. Then, turning back again, and fully meeting, for the first time, those calm eyes, fell sobbing on her neck. 83 "Summary: Alfred and Marion are saying goodbye to Grace before Alfred leaves, expressing their love and gratitude towards her. Alfred also mentions his hopes for the future and their plans to make Grace happy. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Emotional farewell Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Affectionate, sentimental Genre: Romance Intertextuality: Love letter Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Alfred, Marion, Grace Time setting: Contemporary period Diegetic time: A few minutes " 'Then you must not forget that you are coming back to us.' 'To you, or for you?' said Alfred. Marion coloured up to her forehead, and Grace was so much pleased with the answer as well as the question, that she had not strength to say anything more for some time; but at last she said, 'I hope you will stay here a little longer, Mr Brand.' 'So do I,' said Alfred; 'but you know how it is: we are now settling ourselves down comfortably, and this is the time when one's friends desert one. You are going away from me, and Miss M'Leod is going away from you; and who will there be left here for me to go home to? I shall be quite lonely without you both.' As he spoke he put his arm round each of their waists, and drew them close to him; and then they all three looked into each other's eyes, and felt that they were dearer to one another than they could have been before. 'And yet,' said Grace, 'when you go away from me, I shall have the pleasure of knowing that I am doing something which will make you happy. It will be almost like having you still with me.' 'But I shall miss you, my dear girl, dreadfully.' 'And I shall miss you too; but in your absence, perhaps you will think of me sometimes, and fancy yourself coming back to me again. I would rather that you should come back to me alone than with any woman on earth; because you will then see me just as you left me, and you will know that I have been faithful to you.' Alfred pressed her hand, and looked down upon her, and then turned to Marion, and said, 'Come, Miss M'Leod, I'll take you back now.' 'Stay a moment,' said Grace; 'I want to speak to Mr Brand alone. Will you please wait for me in the hall?' 'Yes, dear,' said Marion; and then she left them together, and went downstairs to meet the Major, who was waiting for her at the hall-door. When they were alone, Grace took hold of Alfred's arm, and led him towards the little summer-house, and when they reached it, she made him sit down with her on the seat beside him, and then she leaned her head on his shoulder, and laid her hand upon his breast. 'Grace,' said he, 'what is it that you want to say to me?' 'You know what it is, Alfred. We are parting to-day for ever, and I want to tell you once more that you are everything to me. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for all your kindness to me, and how fond I am of you; but, if I could do anything to show it, I would do anything in the world for you. 42 676 139196 ‘Oh, Grace. God bless you! But I cannot bear to see it, Grace! It breaks my heart.’ Part the Second SNITCHEY AND CRAGGS had a snug little office on the old Battle Ground, where they drove a snug little business, and fought a great many small pitched battles for a great many contending parties. Though it could hardly be said of these conflicts that they were running fights—for in truth they generally proceeded at a snail’s pace—the part the Firm had in them came so far within the general denomination, that now they took a shot at this Plaintiff, and now aimed a chop at that Defendant, now made a heavy charge at an estate in Chancery, and now had some light skirmishing among an irregular body of small debtors, just as the occasion served, and the enemy happened to present himself. The Gazette was an important and profitable feature in some of their fields, as in fields of greater renown; and in most of the Actions wherein they showed their generalship, it was afterwards observed by the combatants that they had had great difficulty in making each other out, or in knowing with any degree of distinctness what they were about, in consequence of the vast amount of smoke by which they were surrounded. The offices of Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs stood convenient, with an open door down two smooth steps, in the market-place; so that any angry farmer inclining towards hot water, might tumble into it at once. Their special council-chamber and hall of conference was an old back-room up-stairs, with a low dark ceiling, which seemed to be knitting its brows gloomily in the consideration of tangled points of law. It was furnished with some high-backed leathern chairs, garnished with great goggle-eyed brass nails, of which, every here and there, two or three had fallen out—or had been picked out, perhaps, by the wandering thumbs and forefingers of bewildered clients. There was a framed print of a great judge in it, every curl in whose dreadful wig had made a man’s hair stand on end. Bales of papers filled the dusty closets, shelves, and tables; and round the wainscot there were tiers of boxes, padlocked and fireproof, with people’s names painted outside, which anxious visitors felt themselves, by a cruel enchantment, obliged to spell backwards and forwards, and to make anagrams of, while they sat, seeming to listen to Snitchey and Craggs, without comprehending one word of what they said. Snitchey and Craggs had each, in private life as in professional existence, a partner of his own. Snitchey and Craggs were the best friends in the world, and had a real confidence in one another; but Mrs. Snitchey, by a dispensation not uncommon in the affairs of life, was on principle suspicious of Mr. Craggs; and Mrs. Craggs was on principle suspicious of Mr. Snitchey. ‘Your Snitcheys indeed,’ the latter lady would observe, sometimes, to Mr. Craggs; using that imaginative plural as if in disparagement of an objectionable pair of pantaloons, or other articles not possessed of a singular number; ‘I don’t see what you want with your Snitcheys, for my part. You trust a great deal too much to your Snitcheys, _I_ think, and I hope you may never find my words come true.’ While Mrs. Snitchey would observe to Mr. Snitchey, of Craggs, ‘that if ever he was led away by man he was led away by that man, and that if ever she read a double purpose in a mortal eye, she read that purpose in Craggs’s eye.’ Notwithstanding this, however, they were all very good friends in general: and Mrs. Snitchey and Mrs. Craggs maintained a close bond of alliance against ‘the office,’ which they both considered the Blue chamber, and common enemy, full of dangerous (because unknown) machinations. In this office, nevertheless, Snitchey and Craggs made honey for their several hives. Here, sometimes, they would linger, of a fine evening, at the window of their council-chamber overlooking the old battle-ground, and wonder (but that was generally at assize time, when much business had made them sentimental) at the folly of mankind, who couldn’t always be at 83 "Summary: Snitchey and Craggs run a law firm in the town of Battle Ground, where they engage in various legal battles. Their offices are cluttered and dusty, and they have a tense relationship with their partners' wives. Narrative arc: No clear narrative arch Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious and somber Genre: Legal fiction Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of a place Active character: Snitchey, Craggs Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment Fuzzy place: Old Battle Ground, market-place, back-room upstairs Diegetic time: An extended period of time " The firm of Snitchey and Craggs had their offices in the old Battle Ground, close to the church. They were a pair of hard-headed gentlemen who made a living by legal battles; and if they fought for peace in their profession, it was only that they might have more leisure to fight for war in their business. Their little house looked like themselves, and itself resembled a fortress rather than an abode of peace and law. It was a black box of a place, with a dark lantern in the roof, and three pairs of double shutters to each window, which you could pull down like portcullises when the battle raged too hot. The windows of the street were all right enough, but the back-room upstairs was a gloomy chamber; always full of dust and cobwebs, and spiders, and dead flies and beetles on the wall, and dirty shadows on the floor: there being no light in this apartment save what came through the street-door from the opposite window. The two attorneys sat here, on days when business was slack, like spiders over their web. There were other chambers, likewise dark, in which lay dusty boxes, and heaps of papers, long out of date and use, and likely to continue so, or else contain some long-lost title-deeds that nobody wanted, and that took refuge there until they rotted. In those days there was nothing new in this business of Snitchey and Craggs; for they were the same Snitchey and Craggs whose names appear in the records of the town as having been partners at the time of Queen Elizabeth. Their house was known among the people of Battle Ground as “Snitchey’s Castle,” though not in any very complimentary sense; because the partners were supposed to be hard, cold-hearted men, who thought it no sin to make money out of sorrow, who kept their faces screwed up into that grim smile in all their moods, who were always busy, and would be always found out if anybody else were idle, and who never did anything for anybody without getting paid for it. They were seldom seen outside their own doors, except upon Sundays, when they walked together to church, still keeping step, and looking solemn; and when they got into church they both went and sat down, side by side, in the same pew; and when they prayed, they prayed in concert, and said the Lord’s Prayer quite through, almost before the clerk had begun it. Besides these great qualities and virtues, they were supposed to have a set of wives whom they loathed and despised, and who loathed and despised them. These ladies lived in a little row of houses close by, and were never seen abroad except upon Sunday evenings, when they came forth, singly, to call upon one another; and then it was observed that they were never very cordial in their greetings. 43 676 139197 peace with one another and go to law comfortably. Here, days, and weeks, and months, and years, passed over them: their calendar, the gradually diminishing number of brass nails in the leathern chairs, and the increasing bulk of papers on the tables. Here, nearly three years’ flight had thinned the one and swelled the other, since the breakfast in the orchard; when they sat together in consultation at night. Not alone; but, with a man of thirty, or about that time of life, negligently dressed, and somewhat haggard in the face, but well-made, well-attired, and well-looking, who sat in the armchair of state, with one hand in his breast, and the other in his dishevelled hair, pondering moodily. Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs sat opposite each other at a neighbouring desk. One of the fireproof boxes, unpadlocked and opened, was upon it; a part of its contents lay strewn upon the table, and the rest was then in course of passing through the hands of Mr. Snitchey; who brought it to the candle, document by document; looked at every paper singly, as he produced it; shook his head, and handed it to Mr. Craggs; who looked it over also, shook his head, and laid it down. Sometimes, they would stop, and shaking their heads in concert, look towards the abstracted client. And the name on the box being Michael Warden, Esquire, we may conclude from these premises that the name and the box were both his, and that the affairs of Michael Warden, Esquire, were in a bad way. ‘That’s all,’ said Mr. Snitchey, turning up the last paper. ‘Really there’s no other resource. No other resource.’ ‘All lost, spent, wasted, pawned, borrowed, and sold, eh?’ said the client, looking up. ‘All,’ returned Mr. Snitchey. ‘Nothing else to be done, you say?’ ‘Nothing at all.’ The client bit his nails, and pondered again. ‘And I am not even personally safe in England? You hold to that, do you?’ ‘In no part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland,’ replied Mr. Snitchey. ‘A mere prodigal son with no father to go back to, no swine to keep, and no husks to share with them? Eh?’ pursued the client, rocking one leg over the other, and searching the ground with his eyes. Mr. Snitchey coughed, as if to deprecate the being supposed to participate in any figurative illustration of a legal position. Mr. Craggs, as if to express that it was a partnership view of the subject, also coughed. ‘Ruined at thirty!’ said the client. ‘Humph!’ ‘Not ruined, Mr. Warden,’ returned Snitchey. ‘Not so bad as that. You have done a good deal towards it, I must say, but you are not ruined. A little nursing—’ ‘A little Devil,’ said the client. ‘Mr. Craggs,’ said Snitchey, ‘will you oblige me with a pinch of snuff? Thank you, sir.’ As the imperturbable lawyer applied it to his nose with great apparent relish and a perfect absorption of his attention in the proceeding, the client gradually broke into a smile, and, looking up, said: ‘You talk of nursing. How long nursing?’ ‘How long nursing?’ repeated Snitchey, dusting the snuff from his fingers, and making a slow calculation in his mind. ‘For your involved estate, sir? In good hands? S. and C.’s, say? Six or seven years.’ ‘To starve for six or seven years!’ said the client with a fretful laugh, and an impatient change of his position. ‘To starve for six or seven years, Mr. Warden,’ said Snitchey, ‘would be very uncommon indeed. You might get another estate by showing yourself, the while. But, we don’t think you could do it—speaking for Self and 83 "Summary: Two lawyers, Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs, are discussing the financial situation of their client, Michael Warden, who is in serious debt. Narrative arc: Consultation and discussion of the client's financial situation Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious, somber Genre: Legal fiction Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Messrs. Snitchey, Craggs, Michael Warden Fuzzy place: The lawyers' office Diegetic time: Three years " "It is a very gratifying circumstance, sir,"" pursued Mr. Snitchey, ""that Michael Warden has never been known to make any other Will than that of the Will of Providence; and that he has always felt himself to be the debtor, and not the creditor, in the matter of Life."""" Mr. Craggs looks upon it as one of his strongest points,"" said Mr. Snitchey, turning over the papers. """"Mr. Craggs says he considers it one of the strongest points in his case; and I am inclined to agree with Mr. Craggs. But it appears from these accounts that we have had for three years past, which are strictly attended to by Mr. Craggs, that Mr. Warden's property, though not reduced, is much diminished?"""" Yes,"" said Mr. Craggs, ""it is; and so Mr. Warden tells me. He says he don't know what to do with the money. It goes away, like the chaff before the wind."""" A singular idea!"" said Mr. Snitchey. ""I should have thought it would have gone the other way."""" That's just what I say,"" returned Mr. Craggs; ""but there it goes. And he gets into more debt every year."""" Yes,"" said Mr. Snitchey, shaking his head, and shutting the ledger with a bang; ""and that's a very remarkable circumstance too!"""" The door opened softly, and a little old man looked in at it. Good-day, John Tofflamme,"" said Mr. Snitchey. ""Walk in, friend Tofflamme."" There was a chair for him near the fire; and when he had put on his spectacles and taken off his hat, he sat down and twisted his thumbs together, as if they were some kind of small cords with which he expected to deal in, or perhaps play tricks with, all the rest of the afternoon. Why, to be sure,"" said Mr. Snitchey, looking over his spectacles, """"we might do something for Mr. Warden, even now, if we were disposed to be liberal."""" Mr. Craggs nodded assent. How much?"" said Tofflamme. Oh, a few thousands perhaps,"" replied Mr. Snitchey; ""but we can't afford to be liberal with our clients' money, you know. We must take care of their interests first. What's your opinion, Mr. Craggs?"""" Mr. Craggs said, without hesitation, that he was of the same opinion. No doubt,"" said Mr. Snitchey, rubbing his hands, ""no doubt at all; and therefore we shall have to consider how much we can afford to take off the present demand. Now, Tofflamme, what's your opinion about that?"""" The little old man screwed his thumbs again, and seemed to turn them round and round between himself and Mr. " 44 676 139198 Craggs—and consequently don’t advise it.’ ‘What _do_ you advise?’ ‘Nursing, I say,’ repeated Snitchey. ‘Some few years of nursing by Self and Craggs would bring it round. But to enable us to make terms, and hold terms, and you to keep terms, you must go away; you must live abroad. As to starvation, we could ensure you some hundreds a-year to starve upon, even in the beginning—I dare say, Mr. Warden.’ ‘Hundreds,’ said the client. ‘And I have spent thousands!’ ‘That,’ retorted Mr. Snitchey, putting the papers slowly back into the cast-iron box, ‘there is no doubt about. No doubt a—bout,’ he repeated to himself, as he thoughtfully pursued his occupation. The lawyer very likely knew _his_ man; at any rate his dry, shrewd, whimsical manner, had a favourable influence on the client’s moody state, and disposed him to be more free and unreserved. Or, perhaps the client knew _his_ man, and had elicited such encouragement as he had received, to render some purpose he was about to disclose the more defensible in appearance. Gradually raising his head, he sat looking at his immovable adviser with a smile, which presently broke into a laugh. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘my iron-headed friend—’ Mr. Snitchey pointed out his partner. ‘Self and—excuse me—Craggs.’ ‘I beg Mr. Craggs’s pardon,’ said the client. ‘After all, my iron-headed friends,’ he leaned forward in his chair, and dropped his voice a little, ‘you don’t know half my ruin yet.’ Mr. Snitchey stopped and stared at him. Mr. Craggs also stared. ‘I am not only deep in debt,’ said the client, ‘but I am deep in—’ ‘Not in love!’ cried Snitchey. ‘Yes!’ said the client, falling back in his chair, and surveying the Firm with his hands in his pockets. ‘Deep in love.’ ‘And not with an heiress, sir?’ said Snitchey. ‘Not with an heiress.’ ‘Nor a rich lady?’ ‘Nor a rich lady that I know of—except in beauty and merit.’ ‘A single lady, I trust?’ said Mr. Snitchey, with great expression. ‘Certainly.’ ‘It’s not one of Dr. Jeddler’s daughters?’ said Snitchey, suddenly squaring his elbows on his knees, and advancing his face at least a yard. ‘Yes!’ returned the client. ‘Not his younger daughter?’ said Snitchey. ‘Yes!’ returned the client. ‘Mr. Craggs,’ said Snitchey, much relieved, ‘will you oblige me with another pinch of snuff? Thank you! I am happy to say it don’t signify, Mr. Warden; she’s engaged, sir, she’s bespoke. My partner can corroborate me. We know the fact.’ ‘We know the fact,’ repeated Craggs. ‘Why, so do I perhaps,’ returned the client quietly. ‘What of that! Are you men of the world, and did you never hear of a woman changing her mind?’ ‘There certainly have been actions for breach,’ said Mr. Snitchey, ‘brought against both spinsters and widows, but, in the majority of cases—’ ‘Cases!’ interposed the client, impatiently. ‘Don’t talk to me of cases. The general precedent is in a much larger volume than any of your law books. Besides, do you think I have lived six weeks in the Doctor’s house for nothing?’ ‘I think, sir,’ observed Mr. Snitchey, gravely addressing himself to his partner, ‘that of all the scrapes Mr. Warden’s horses have brought him into at one time and another—and they have been pretty numerous, and pretty expensive, as none know better than himself, and you, and I—the worst scrape may turn out to be, if he talks in this way, this having ever been left by one of them at the Doctor’s garden wall, with three 83 "Summary: A client discusses his financial troubles and reveals that he is in love with one of Dr. Jeddler's daughters. Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Serious Genre: Drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Craggs, Snitchey, the client Quoted character: Dr. Jeddler, Mr. Warden Fuzzy place: The client's office Diegetic time: Several years " It's a very long way to look back, and see the mistakes one has made. I've been so long in the dark, that when I get into the light again, it's hard to know which road I went from.' 'He has had many causes of trial, sir,' said Snitchey, looking at Craggs. 'He has been very unfortunate,' said Craggs, returning the compliment. 'He is a gentleman who has suffered much from losses,' said Snitchey, edging him on. 'And has had some heavy reverses,' pursued Craggs. 'His income has been greatly diminished,' suggested Snitchey. 'By the failure of some houses he was connected with,' hinted Craggs. 'And his property is now,' concluded Snitchey, 'almost gone.' The client laid down his pen, and taking his hat off, shook his head as if to dismiss the subject. 'Don't let us talk about that, gentlemen,' he said. 'I have been brought here to-day by another consideration.' He stopped for an instant, and then said hurriedly: 'The fact is, Mr. Snitchey, I am in love!' A sudden start of recognition shot through the two lawyers as they looked at each other. 'In love!' said Snitchey. 'That's something you don't often hear from any of your clients, I fancy,' said Craggs. 'Not often from me, perhaps,' returned the other, colouring; 'but yet not so very seldom either. It doesn't follow because a man comes here to obtain redress for wrongs done to him, or to secure his property, or to enforce his rights, or to prove his title, or to dispute the will of a relation who has died possessed of all his money, or to call somebody else to account for doing so, that he is always what you call a bad character. He may be a very respectable man, a man who has had cause to bring a suit, a man who has made mistakes, but who is none the worse for that. Now, I am such a man.' 'Pray believe me,' said the visitor, after a short pause, 'that nothing could make me more happy than to be thought so. My name is Edward Carstone.' The lawyers instantly recognised the name of Little Livermore's 'Friend of the People.' They were very well acquainted with the facts of his case, and the nature of his quarrel with Mr. Jeddler. But, though there were reasons for believing him to be a young man of no great depth of mind, they had never heard anything to impugn his character, and they were quite prepared to set that down (as it might easily have happened) to the vindictiveness of Dr. Jeddler and Mr. Warden, both of whom were known to them. 'Mr. Snitchey,' said Carstone, 'I am sure you are aware of my present position towards Dr. Jeddler?' 'Perfectly,' replied Snitchey. 'Then I need not tell you that we must not expect to find you coming here, as a matter of course, in any business where Dr. Jeddler is concerned.' 45 676 139199 broken ribs, a snapped collar-bone, and the Lord knows how many bruises. We didn’t think so much of it, at the time when we knew he was going on well under the Doctor’s hands and roof; but it looks bad now, sir. Bad? It looks very bad. Doctor Jeddler too—our client, Mr. Craggs.’ ‘Mr. Alfred Heathfield too—a sort of client, Mr. Snitchey,’ said Craggs. ‘Mr. Michael Warden too, a kind of client,’ said the careless visitor, ‘and no bad one either: having played the fool for ten or twelve years. However, Mr. Michael Warden has sown his wild oats now—there’s their crop, in that box; and he means to repent and be wise. And in proof of it, Mr. Michael Warden means, if he can, to marry Marion, the Doctor’s lovely daughter, and to carry her away with him.’ ‘Really, Mr. Craggs,’ Snitchey began. ‘Really, Mr. Snitchey, and Mr. Craggs, partners both,’ said the client, interrupting him; ‘you know your duty to your clients, and you know well enough, I am sure, that it is no part of it to interfere in a mere love affair, which I am obliged to confide to you. I am not going to carry the young lady off, without her own consent. There’s nothing illegal in it. I never was Mr. Heathfield’s bosom friend. I violate no confidence of his. I love where he loves, and I mean to win where he would win, if I can.’ ‘He can’t, Mr. Craggs,’ said Snitchey, evidently anxious and discomfited. ‘He can’t do it, sir. She dotes on Mr. Alfred.’ ‘Does she?’ returned the client. ‘Mr. Craggs, she dotes on him, sir,’ persisted Snitchey. ‘I didn’t live six weeks, some few months ago, in the Doctor’s house for nothing; and I doubted that soon,’ observed the client. ‘She would have doted on him, if her sister could have brought it about; but I watched them. Marion avoided his name, avoided the subject: shrunk from the least allusion to it, with evident distress.’ ‘Why should she, Mr. Craggs, you know? Why should she, sir?’ inquired Snitchey. ‘I don’t know why she should, though there are many likely reasons,’ said the client, smiling at the attention and perplexity expressed in Mr. Snitchey’s shining eye, and at his cautious way of carrying on the conversation, and making himself informed upon the subject; ‘but I know she does. She was very young when she made the engagement—if it may be called one, I am not even sure of that—and has repented of it, perhaps. Perhaps—it seems a foppish thing to say, but upon my soul I don’t mean it in that light—she may have fallen in love with me, as I have fallen in love with her.’ ‘He, he! Mr. Alfred, her old playfellow too, you remember, Mr. Craggs,’ said Snitchey, with a disconcerted laugh; ‘knew her almost from a baby!’ ‘Which makes it the more probable that she may be tired of his idea,’ calmly pursued the client, ‘and not indisposed to exchange it for the newer one of another lover, who presents himself (or is presented by his horse) under romantic circumstances; has the not unfavourable reputation—with a country girl—of having lived thoughtlessly and gaily, without doing much harm to anybody; and who, for his youth and figure, and so forth—this may seem foppish again, but upon my soul I don’t mean it in that light—might perhaps pass muster in a crowd with Mr. Alfred himself.’ There was no gainsaying the last clause, certainly; and Mr. Snitchey, glancing at him, thought so. There was something naturally graceful and pleasant in the very carelessness of his air. It seemed to suggest, of his comely face and well-knit figure, that they might be greatly better if he chose: and that, once roused and made earnest (but he never had been earnest yet), he could be full of fire and purpose. ‘A dangerous sort of libertine,’ thought the shrewd lawyer, ‘to seem to catch the spark he wants, from a young lady’s eyes.’ ‘Now, observe, Snitchey,’ he continued, rising and taking him by the 83 "Summary: The client is confiding in the lawyers about his plans to marry Marion, despite her love for Mr. Alfred. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Dramatic tension Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Serious Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Client, Doctor Jeddler, Mr. Alfred Heathfield, Mr. Michael Warden, Marion Diegetic time: Some months " 'No, not that. It is his love for you which I fear.' 'For me! Is he in love with me?' said Marion, turning pale and then bright red. 'He was in love with you when he left us some months ago; and he is in love with you now.' 'And if he were married to you?' asked the client, anxiously. 'I am sure he would be very happy,' replied Marion. 'So I thought,' said Doctor Jeddler; 'but I wonder whether he would make my sister as happy as she deserves to be? There's the point!' 'Perhaps he might,' said Marion, blushing more deeply still. 'And perhaps he wouldn't,' said Doctor Jeddler, shaking his head. 'I wish it was all settled between you two, once for all. But it can't be done in a moment, I suppose! You'll see him in half an hour or so. Tell him this. Say you don't know what to do, nor what to say; but you like him, and you trust him; and you think he understands you better than any one else does; and that if he can only take time and patience with you, and try to wait and bear with you in your dullness, he may yet teach you to be something better. That's right. Now I have done.' He rang the bell and sent Mr. Alfred Heathfield up to see her. They had just finished breakfast when Michael Warden came into the room where the Doctor sat. He looked rather downcast and subdued. 'How are you this morning, Mr. Warden?' said Doctor Jeddler. 'Not quite so well as last night,' returned Warden; 'though I am very glad to find you are still in good spirits.' 'Why not?' said the Doctor. 'Do you imagine that because I've been talking seriously to you, I'm serious too?' 'I don't know,' said Warden. 'What did you talk about?' 'My plans, of course. We've got a great deal to settle before we part.' 'In what light do you regard our separation?' asked Warden, looking at him gravely. 'In the light of perfect folly,' returned the Doctor. 'You're a fool to marry Miss Yule, and she's a greater fool to marry you.' 'But she will marry me,' said Warden. 'If she has sense enough to see that you're wrong, and won't give way to her temper,' replied the Doctor. 'I hope so,' said Michael Warden, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. 'Don't hope so,' rejoined the Doctor, speaking a little impatiently, 'for your own sake. She's better than you are; and if you ever separate from her, you will leave her happier than you found her. 46 676 139200 button, ‘and Craggs,’ taking him by the button also, and placing one partner on either side of him, so that neither might evade him. ‘I don’t ask you for any advice. You are right to keep quite aloof from all parties in such a matter, which is not one in which grave men like you could interfere, on any side. I am briefly going to review in half-a-dozen words, my position and intention, and then I shall leave it to you to do the best for me, in money matters, that you can: seeing, that, if I run away with the Doctor’s beautiful daughter (as I hope to do, and to become another man under her bright influence), it will be, for the moment, more chargeable than running away alone. But I shall soon make all that up in an altered life.’ ‘I think it will be better not to hear this, Mr. Craggs?’ said Snitchey, looking at him across the client. ‘_I_ think not,’ said Craggs.—Both listened attentively. ‘Well! You needn’t hear it,’ replied their client. ‘I’ll mention it, however. I don’t mean to ask the Doctor’s consent, because he wouldn’t give it me. But I mean to do the Doctor no wrong or harm, because (besides there being nothing serious in such trifles, as he says) I hope to rescue his child, my Marion, from what I see—I _know_—she dreads, and contemplates with misery: that is, the return of this old lover. If anything in the world is true, it is true that she dreads his return. Nobody is injured so far. I am so harried and worried here just now, that I lead the life of a flying-fish. I skulk about in the dark, I am shut out of my own house, and warned off my own grounds; but, that house, and those grounds, and many an acre besides, will come back to me one day, as you know and say; and Marion will probably be richer—on your showing, who are never sanguine—ten years hence as my wife, than as the wife of Alfred Heathfield, whose return she dreads (remember that), and in whom or in any man, my passion is not surpassed. Who is injured yet? It is a fair case throughout. My right is as good as his, if she decide in my favour; and I will try my right by her alone. You will like to know no more after this, and I will tell you no more. Now you know my purpose, and wants. When must I leave here?’ ‘In a week,’ said Snitchey. ‘Mr. Craggs?’ ‘In something less, I should say,’ responded Craggs. ‘In a month,’ said the client, after attentively watching the two faces. ‘This day month. To-day is Thursday. Succeed or fail, on this day month I go.’ ‘It’s too long a delay,’ said Snitchey; ‘much too long. But let it be so. I thought he’d have stipulated for three,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Are you going? Good night, sir!’ ‘Good night!’ returned the client, shaking hands with the Firm. ‘You’ll live to see me making a good use of riches yet. Henceforth the star of my destiny is, Marion!’ ‘Take care of the stairs, sir,’ replied Snitchey; ‘for she don’t shine there. Good night!’ ‘Good night!’ So they both stood at the stair-head with a pair of office-candles, watching him down. When he had gone away, they stood looking at each other. ‘What do you think of all this, Mr. Craggs?’ said Snitchey. Mr. Craggs shook his head. ‘It was our opinion, on the day when that release was executed, that there was something curious in the parting of that pair; I recollect,’ said Snitchey. ‘It was,’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘Perhaps he deceives himself altogether,’ pursued Mr. Snitchey, locking up the fireproof box, and putting it away; ‘or, if he don’t, a little bit of fickleness and perfidy is not a miracle, Mr. Craggs. And yet I thought that pretty face was very true. I thought,’ said Mr. Snitchey, 83 "Summary: A man is planning to run away with the Doctor's daughter, despite her fears of an old lover returning. Narrative arc: Tension and conflict Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious Genre: Drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: The client, Snitchey, Craggs Fuzzy place: Unnamed office Diegetic time: One month " 'I have been thinking of it for some time,' said the client. 'I have been looking out for a man of your description. I wish you would take this case into your hands.' Snitchey and Craggs looked at one another with intense surprise, while the gentleman in the travelling-cap nodded his head again to show that he meant what he said. 'You see?' said the gentleman in the travelling-cap; 'no difficulties about it. In a month from next Monday night (the first Monday being too soon), I shall be a free man, and I am going to make a change. The Doctor's daughter is fond of me, as I thought she would be when I saw her; but she has got that other young fellow always staring in at the window, like a bird upon a perch; and I don't like it, I must say. What do you think I mean to do? Go away for a year or so, and when I come back he'll be gone perhaps, and then we'll get on better.' 'I hope,' said Snitchey, after a pause, 'that you may find yourself quite right in that expectation.' 'Quite right!' said the gentleman in the travelling-cap. 'Only let me go off for a year, and he'll be off himself, I'll bet you half a guinea.' 'It would be very desirable for all parties,' said Craggs, 'if such could be the result.' 'If it can, it will,' returned the gentleman in the travelling-cap. 'And now look here! This is how I'd like to have it managed. I'm a great hand at business myself, and I know something of the world. You're two gentlemen who are in good practice, and I suppose take pretty much your own way with people. Now, give me fair play, and let me have my own way in the family; and when I come back, why, there'll be no need to speak of any settlement. Do you understand?' 'We understand,' said Snitchey, opening his note-book; 'we are prepared to enter into an engagement upon such terms.' 'And no nonsense with me!' said the gentleman in the travelling-cap, growing quite warm: 'because I won't bear with it, if I like the lady, and I like the lady, and I know that she likes me. And if you two don't keep your word, depend upon it I'll know how to pay you out when I come back! But you're gentlemen, and I'm a gentleman too; so we'll make nothing of that.' With which agreeable assurance, delivered in the tone of a man who means to have his own way, and has it too, the visitor buttoned his coat, and took his hat. 'Now, Mr Snitchey,' said he, 'as to this month's rent. Here's money enough to pay that, and plenty over.' 'No, no,' returned Snitchey; 'nothing of that kind, thank you. We don't take money for our professional services.' 'Very well!' said the gentleman in the travelling-cap. 'Come, then. 47 676 139201 putting on his great-coat (for the weather was very cold), drawing on his gloves, and snuffing out one candle, ‘that I had even seen her character becoming stronger and more resolved of late. More like her sister’s.’ ‘Mrs. Craggs was of the same opinion,’ returned Craggs. ‘I’d really give a trifle to-night,’ observed Mr. Snitchey, who was a good-natured man, ‘if I could believe that Mr. Warden was reckoning without his host; but, light-headed, capricious, and unballasted as he is, he knows something of the world and its people (he ought to, for he has bought what he does know, dear enough); and I can’t quite think that. We had better not interfere: we can do nothing, Mr. Craggs, but keep quiet.’ ‘Nothing,’ returned Craggs. ‘Our friend the Doctor makes light of such things,’ said Mr. Snitchey, shaking his head. ‘I hope he mayn’t stand in need of his philosophy. Our friend Alfred talks of the battle of life,’ he shook his head again, ‘I hope he mayn’t be cut down early in the day. Have you got your hat, Mr. Craggs? I am going to put the other candle out.’ Mr. Craggs replying in the affirmative, Mr. Snitchey suited the action to the word, and they groped their way out of the council-chamber, now dark as the subject, or the law in general. * * * * * My story passes to a quiet little study, where, on that same night, the sisters and the hale old Doctor sat by a cheerful fireside. Grace was working at her needle. Marion read aloud from a book before her. The Doctor, in his dressing-gown and slippers, with his feet spread out upon the warm rug, leaned back in his easy-chair, and listened to the book, and looked upon his daughters. They were very beautiful to look upon. Two better faces for a fireside, never made a fireside bright and sacred. Something of the difference between them had been softened down in three years’ time; and enthroned upon the clear brow of the younger sister, looking through her eyes, and thrilling in her voice, was the same earnest nature that her own motherless youth had ripened in the elder sister long ago. But she still appeared at once the lovelier and weaker of the two; still seemed to rest her head upon her sister’s breast, and put her trust in her, and look into her eyes for counsel and reliance. Those loving eyes, so calm, serene, and cheerful, as of old. ‘“And being in her own home,”’ read Marion, from the book; ‘“her home made exquisitely dear by these remembrances, she now began to know that the great trial of her heart must soon come on, and could not be delayed. O Home, our comforter and friend when others fall away, to part with whom, at any step between the cradle and the grave”’— ‘Marion, my love!’ said Grace. ‘Why, Puss!’ exclaimed her father, ‘what’s the matter?’ She put her hand upon the hand her sister stretched towards her, and read on; her voice still faltering and trembling, though she made an effort to command it when thus interrupted. ‘“To part with whom, at any step between the cradle and the grave, is always sorrowful. O Home, so true to us, so often slighted in return, be lenient to them that turn away from thee, and do not haunt their erring footsteps too reproachfully! Let no kind looks, no well-remembered smiles, be seen upon thy phantom face. Let no ray of affection, welcome, gentleness, forbearance, cordiality, shine from thy white head. Let no old loving word, or tone, rise up in judgment against thy deserter; but if thou canst look harshly and severely, do, in mercy to the Penitent!”’ ‘Dear Marion, read no more to-night,’ said Grace for she was weeping. ‘I cannot,’ she replied, and closed the book. ‘The words seem all on fire!’ The Doctor was amused at this; and laughed as he patted her on the head. ‘What! overcome by a story-book!’ said Doctor Jeddler. ‘Print and paper! 83 "Summary: Two characters, Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs, discuss their concerns about a man named Mr. Warden. They decide not to interfere and leave the room. The story then shifts to a quiet study where two sisters and their father, Doctor Jeddler, are sitting by the fire. Grace is working on her needlework, Marion is reading aloud from a book, and Doctor Jeddler listens and admires his daughters. Marion reads a passage from a book that upsets Grace and she asks Marion to stop reading. The passage discusses the importance of home and the sadness of parting with it. Narrative arc: Reflective Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Mr. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs, Doctor Jeddler, Grace, Marion Time setting: Contemporary Diegetic time: Three years " Mr. Snitchey said it would be a difficult case; Mr. Craggs said it would be a very difficult case indeed; and both gentlemen shook their heads, and wondered what was to be done with the world. Mr. Warden had never been ill before; but he was seventy years of age; and besides being very much attached to him, they were sorry for him. Not on his account, but their own; for in their hearts of hearts they felt that there was something coming. After looking at each other for some minutes, Mr. Snitchey said, “It is a very difficult case. I wish we could trust our neighbour Craggs!” Mr. Craggs said he wished he could trust his neighbour Snitchey. It was impossible,” said Mr. Snitchey. “I have known him twenty years,” said Mr. Craggs. “And you have known me fifteen,” returned Mr. Snitchey. “And yet not one word of confidence has ever passed between us.” “No,” said Mr. Craggs, “nor one word of suspicion either.” This was very true; for neither of them trusted anybody, or even liked anybody, except themselves. And therefore they shook hands again, and said good night. CHAPTER II. A QUIET STUDY. The house was quite still when Doctor Jeddler left it, after having talked half an hour in the kitchen with the old servant, who had nursed him from infancy, and whom he loved and honoured as he would have loved a mother. The doctor had a quiet study of his own, opening out of the hall; and this, when he had gone upstairs, was the first room into which Grace’s hand led Marion. It was a little parlour of a room: hardly large enough for more than one bookcase of three shelves, one easy-chair, one desk, and one table; but the one window was so full of flowers (though it was winter-time), and the walls were so bright with pictures, and the fire so clear upon the hearth, and the curtains so soft and fresh before the open folding-doors, that it looked like any fairy bower. There was a small round table by the chair, covered with scraps of coloured stuffs and pieces of work; and there, bending over these, sat the elder sister, sewing with great earnestness. The doctor, leaning back in his easy-chair before the fire, was talking to the younger, who stood with her eyes fixed on him, and her hair upon her neck, while she turned the leaves of a book. “What a beautiful head you have, Marion!” said the doctor, breaking off in his speech, and glancing up at the dark hair. “Yes,” replied the other; “but not so pretty as your Grace’s, papa. Who is the author of that picture?” “Of that picture!” said the doctor, looking at the book. “Oh! That! 48 676 139202 Well, well, it’s all one. It’s as rational to make a serious matter of print and paper as of anything else. But, dry your eyes, love, dry your eyes. I dare say the heroine has got home again long ago, and made it up all round—and if she hasn’t, a real home is only four walls; and a fictitious one, mere rags and ink. What’s the matter now?’ ‘It’s only me, Mister,’ said Clemency, putting in her head at the door. ‘And what’s the matter with _you_?’ said the Doctor. ‘Oh, bless you, nothing an’t the matter with me,’ returned Clemency—and truly too, to judge from her well-soaped face, in which there gleamed as usual the very soul of good-humour, which, ungainly as she was, made her quite engaging. Abrasions on the elbows are not generally understood, it is true, to range within that class of personal charms called beauty-spots. But, it is better, going through the world, to have the arms chafed in that narrow passage, than the temper: and Clemency’s was sound and whole as any beauty’s in the land. ‘Nothing an’t the matter with me,’ said Clemency, entering, ‘but—come a little closer, Mister.’ The Doctor, in some astonishment, complied with this invitation. ‘You said I wasn’t to give you one before them, you know,’ said Clemency. A novice in the family might have supposed, from her extraordinary ogling as she said it, as well as from a singular rapture or ecstasy which pervaded her elbows, as if she were embracing herself, that ‘one,’ in its most favourable interpretation, meant a chaste salute. Indeed the Doctor himself seemed alarmed, for the moment; but quickly regained his composure, as Clemency, having had recourse to both her pockets—beginning with the right one, going away to the wrong one, and afterwards coming back to the right one again—produced a letter from the Post-office. ‘Britain was riding by on a errand,’ she chuckled, handing it to the Doctor, ‘and see the mail come in, and waited for it. There’s A. H. in the corner. Mr. Alfred’s on his journey home, I bet. We shall have a wedding in the house—there was two spoons in my saucer this morning. Oh Luck, how slow he opens it!’ All this she delivered, by way of soliloquy, gradually rising higher and higher on tiptoe, in her impatience to hear the news, and making a corkscrew of her apron, and a bottle of her mouth. At last, arriving at a climax of suspense, and seeing the Doctor still engaged in the perusal of the letter, she came down flat upon the soles of her feet again, and cast her apron, as a veil, over her head, in a mute despair, and inability to bear it any longer. ‘Here! Girls!’ cried the Doctor. ‘I can’t help it: I never could keep a secret in my life. There are not many secrets, indeed, worth being kept in such a—well! never mind that. Alfred’s coming home, my dears, directly.’ ‘Directly!’ exclaimed Marion. ‘What! The story-book is soon forgotten!’ said the Doctor, pinching her cheek. ‘I thought the news would dry those tears. Yes. “Let it be a surprise,” he says, here. But I can’t let it be a surprise. He must have a welcome.’ ‘Directly!’ repeated Marion. ‘Why, perhaps not what your impatience calls “directly,”’ returned the doctor; ‘but pretty soon too. Let us see. Let us see. To-day is Thursday, is it not? Then he promises to be here, this day month.’ ‘This day month!’ repeated Marion, softly. ‘A gay day and a holiday for us,’ said the cheerful voice of her sister Grace, kissing her in congratulation. ‘Long looked forward to, dearest, and come at last.’ She answered with a smile; a mournful smile, but full of sisterly affection. As she looked in her sister’s face, and listened to the quiet music of her voice, picturing the happiness of this return, her own face glowed with hope and joy. 83 "Summary: The text is about a woman named Clemency who delivers a letter to the Doctor, which contains news of Alfred's return home. The Doctor tells Marion that Alfred will be back in a month. Narrative arc: Joyful anticipation Enunciation: Multiple characters speaking in dialogue Tone: Light-hearted and joyful Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Conversational and informal Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Clemency, the Doctor, Marion, Grace Time setting: Contemporary Diegetic time: A few minutes " Clemency sat down on the arm of the sofa by his chair, and clasped her hands over her face. “Oh, Doctor,” she said, “it’s good news! it’s good news!” The Doctor looked at her in silence for a moment; then he got up, and walked away to the window. “You had better go and show your letter to Marion,” he said, when he came back again; “she will be delighted.” “Yes, I’ll take it to her, directly,” answered Clemency, rising. “But, may I say one word before I go?” she asked. “Yes, child.” “I can’t help feeling rather frightened about Alfred.” “Why so?” “Because I have been thinking that perhaps he might not like to hear us all talking about him as if he was just coming back from the seaside or something of that sort, you know; and I am afraid that he might feel hurt, if we didn’t tell him at once what our thoughts really are about him, you know.” “Exactly,” replied the Doctor, gravely, “you are quite right; and you shall be the person who shall tell him.” “Me, sir!” exclaimed Clemency, opening her eyes wide with astonishment. “Yes, you. You shall tell him that we have forgiven him, and that he is always welcome here, and that we shall never think any more of what has happened; but that we wish he would leave off being so proud, and making himself unhappy for no reason whatever, because he is exactly as good as any other man living, and a deal better than many.” “Ah, Doctor!” cried Clemency, wiping her eyes, “that is just what I wanted to hear you say to him!” “Well, then,” said the Doctor, “there’s your letter. Go and show it to Marion; and after that, come back here, and we will talk over this matter together.” Chapter 3 When Clemency went up to Marion’s room, she found Grace sitting there, trying to get on with her sewing, while Marion lay on the sofa looking very pale and ill. “What is it, Clem?” she said, starting up, as soon as she saw Clemency; “has anything happened?” “Yes,” answered Clemency, taking the letter out of her pocket, “the Doctor has got a letter from Alfred, and he says that Alfred is coming home in a month, and that everything is going to be all right.” “Dear, dear Alfred!” cried Marion, springing up in her turn, and putting both her arms round Clemency’s neck; “oh, Clem, how glad I am!” “I thought you’d be pleased,” said Clemency, laughing through her tears. “And, oh, Marion,” she added, in great excitement, “do you remember what I told you about the Doctor? Well, it’s quite true; I’ve heard it all from his own lips, and you mustn’t ever call yourself names any more, or look miserable because you’re not cleverer than you are, because he says you’re ‘just as good as any other man living,’ and ‘a deal better than many.’” 49 676 139203 And with a something else; a something shining more and more through all the rest of its expression; for which I have no name. It was not exultation, triumph, proud enthusiasm. They are not so calmly shown. It was not love and gratitude alone, though love and gratitude were part of it. It emanated from no sordid thought, for sordid thoughts do not light up the brow, and hover on the lips, and move the spirit like a fluttered light, until the sympathetic figure trembles. Dr. Jeddler, in spite of his system of philosophy—which he was continually contradicting and denying in practice, but more famous philosophers have done that—could not help having as much interest in the return of his old ward and pupil as if it had been a serious event. So he sat himself down in his easy-chair again, stretched out his slippered feet once more upon the rug, read the letter over and over a great many times, and talked it over more times still. ‘Ah! The day was,’ said the Doctor, looking at the fire, ‘when you and he, Grace, used to trot about arm-in-arm, in his holiday time, like a couple of walking dolls. You remember?’ ‘I remember,’ she answered, with her pleasant laugh, and plying her needle busily. ‘This day month, indeed!’ mused the Doctor. ‘That hardly seems a twelve month ago. And where was my little Marion then!’ ‘Never far from her sister,’ said Marion, cheerily, ‘however little. Grace was everything to me, even when she was a young child herself.’ ‘True, Puss, true,’ returned the Doctor. ‘She was a staid little woman, was Grace, and a wise housekeeper, and a busy, quiet, pleasant body; bearing with our humours and anticipating our wishes, and always ready to forget her own, even in those times. I never knew you positive or obstinate, Grace, my darling, even then, on any subject but one.’ ‘I am afraid I have changed sadly for the worse, since,’ laughed Grace, still busy at her work. ‘What was that one, father?’ ‘Alfred, of course,’ said the Doctor. ‘Nothing would serve you but you must be called Alfred’s wife; so we called you Alfred’s wife; and you liked it better, I believe (odd as it seems now), than being called a Duchess, if we could have made you one.’ ‘Indeed?’ said Grace, placidly. ‘Why, don’t you remember?’ inquired the Doctor. ‘I think I remember something of it,’ she returned, ‘but not much. It’s so long ago.’ And as she sat at work, she hummed the burden of an old song, which the Doctor liked. ‘Alfred will find a real wife soon,’ she said, breaking off; ‘and that will be a happy time indeed for all of us. My three years’ trust is nearly at an end, Marion. It has been a very easy one. I shall tell Alfred, when I give you back to him, that you have loved him dearly all the time, and that he has never once needed my good services. May I tell him so, love?’ ‘Tell him, dear Grace,’ replied Marion, ‘that there never was a trust so generously, nobly, steadfastly discharged; and that I have loved _you_, all the time, dearer and dearer every day; and O! how dearly now!’ ‘Nay,’ said her cheerful sister, returning her embrace, ‘I can scarcely tell him that; we will leave my deserts to Alfred’s imagination. It will be liberal enough, dear Marion; like your own.’ With that, she resumed the work she had for a moment laid down, when her sister spoke so fervently: and with it the old song the Doctor liked to hear. And the Doctor, still reposing in his easy-chair, with his slippered feet stretched out before him on the rug, listened to the tune, and beat time on his knee with Alfred’s letter, and looked at his two daughters, and thought that among the many trifles of the trifling world, these trifles were agreeable enough. Clemency Newcome, in the meantime, having accomplished her mission and lingered in the room until she had made herself a party to the news, 83 "Summary: Dr. Jeddler and his daughters, Grace and Marion, discuss the return of an old ward and pupil named Alfred. Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, nostalgic Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Dr. Jeddler, Grace, Marion Quoted character: Alfred Diegetic time: Several years " GRACE. You don't know whether he's coming alone? DR. JEDDLER (looking round). I'm sure he is, for there's no one else in sight! MARION. But suppose he should bring somebody with him whom you don't expect, and who isn't expected by anybody else? Who would it be? GRACE. Why, Alfred! MARION. Yes, Alfred; to be sure. Of course it must be Alfred! I never thought of Alfred. If you remember, papa, you once said to us that Alfred might come back some day after all. GRACE. And so he may. Do you recollect, papa, what a wonderful way Alfred had of putting his hair up behind, and of twisting the ends of his moustache over his lip? And how he always used to wear a blue coat, and a white waistcoat, and a bright red cravat? And how he used to stand on tiptoe when he walked? And how he was always good-humoured? And how he could dance the polka like an angel? DR. JEDDLER. And how he was always in debt, and always making love to every girl in the country round, and always getting into scrapes of one kind or another, and always talking about himself, and always running away from me to London! Ah! but he was a capital fellow too, in spite of all that. He was a favorite of Fortune's: a born fellow. What a host of recollections he would call up! How we would talk over the old times together, and how we would laugh! Oh! what an old friend he was, Grace! And what a fine fellow he was, Marion! MARION. And what a lucky chance it would be for us if he were really coming back now! GRACE. Of course he will come back now. 50 676 139204 descended to the kitchen, where her coadjutor, Mr. Britain, was regaling after supper, surrounded by such a plentiful collection of bright pot-lids, well-scoured saucepans, burnished dinner-covers, gleaming kettles, and other tokens of her industrious habits, arranged upon the walls and shelves, that he sat as in the centre of a hall of mirrors. The majority did not give forth very flattering portraits of him, certainly; nor were they by any means unanimous in their reflections; as some made him very long-faced, others very broad-faced, some tolerably well-looking, others vastly ill-looking, according to their several manners of reflecting: which were as various, in respect of one fact, as those of so many kinds of men. But they all agreed that in the midst of them sat, quite at his ease, an individual with a pipe in his mouth, and a jug of beer at his elbow, who nodded condescendingly to Clemency, when she stationed herself at the same table. ‘Well, Clemmy,’ said Britain, ‘how are you by this time, and what’s the news?’ Clemency told him the news, which he received very graciously. A gracious change had come over Benjamin from head to foot. He was much broader, much redder, much more cheerful, and much jollier in all respects. It seemed as if his face had been tied up in a knot before, and was now untwisted and smoothed out. ‘There’ll be another job for Snitchey and Craggs, I suppose,’ he observed, puffing slowly at his pipe. ‘More witnessing for you and me, perhaps, Clemmy!’ ‘Lor!’ replied his fair companion, with her favourite twist of her favourite joints. ‘I wish it was me, Britain!’ ‘Wish what was you?’ ‘A-going to be married,’ said Clemency. Benjamin took his pipe out of his mouth and laughed heartily. ‘Yes! you’re a likely subject for that!’ he said. ‘Poor Clem!’ Clemency for her part laughed as heartily as he, and seemed as much amused by the idea. ‘Yes,’ she assented, ‘I’m a likely subject for that; an’t I?’ ‘_You’ll_ never be married, you know,’ said Mr. Britain, resuming his pipe. ‘Don’t you think I ever shall though?’ said Clemency, in perfect good faith. Mr. Britain shook his head. ‘Not a chance of it!’ ‘Only think!’ said Clemency. ‘Well!—I suppose you mean to, Britain, one of these days; don’t you?’ A question so abrupt, upon a subject so momentous, required consideration. After blowing out a great cloud of smoke, and looking at it with his head now on this side and now on that, as if it were actually the question, and he were surveying it in various aspects, Mr. Britain replied that he wasn’t altogether clear about it, but—ye-es—he thought he might come to that at last. ‘I wish her joy, whoever she may be!’ cried Clemency. ‘Oh she’ll have that,’ said Benjamin, ‘safe enough.’ ‘But she wouldn’t have led quite such a joyful life as she will lead, and wouldn’t have had quite such a sociable sort of husband as she will have,’ said Clemency, spreading herself half over the table, and staring retrospectively at the candle, ‘if it hadn’t been for—not that I went to do it, for it was accidental, I am sure—if it hadn’t been for me; now would she, Britain?’ ‘Certainly not,’ returned Mr. Britain, by this time in that high state of appreciation of his pipe, when a man can open his mouth but a very little way for speaking purposes; and sitting luxuriously immovable in his chair, can afford to turn only his eyes towards a companion, and that very passively and gravely. ‘Oh! I’m greatly beholden to you, you know, Clem.’ ‘Lor, how nice that is to think of!’ said Clemency. 83 "Summary: Clemency and Mr. Britain discuss the possibility of Clemency getting married, with Mr. Britain expressing doubt that it will happen. Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, humorous Genre: Fiction, dialogue Speech standard: Informal Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency, Mr. Britain Fuzzy place: The kitchen Diegetic time: A few minutes " said Clemency, as she began to lay the cloth. “I thought you would be glad to see me; but what makes you look so grave? Are you not pleased with your new mistress?” “Oh, yes! Miss Florence is very nice,” said Mr. Britain, dropping his voice as he entered the kitchen. He had been a footman in one of the noblemen’s houses in London, and was apt to slip into the language and manners of that exalted sphere when he felt himself among people who were not familiar with them. “It is rather hard work for her, though, at first, I think,” he continued. “She has only one maid of all work, and that is not enough for a house like this. We shall have to get some more servants.” “What a pity!” exclaimed Clemency, pouring out the tea; “just as we were getting quite comfortable without any!” “Well, it can’t be helped; there is no saying how long Miss Florence will stop here. She may get married, and then—” “But if she does, I hope she won’t leave us, Mr. Britain,” said Clemency, laughing; “for I am sure I should never marry if I knew I must leave you.” “No, I suppose not,” said Mr. Britain, looking rather shocked at the idea of Clemency marrying anybody; “but I don’t believe she will. She does not seem to be the sort of young lady that would care for men much.” “She is too clever, perhaps,” said Clemency, helping herself to bread and butter. “Yes, she is awfully clever,” said Mr. Britain, sitting down to his cup of tea; “she told me last night that she had found a secret way up from the garden into the library. I could not find it; but she showed me how to open a little door in the bookcase by pressing on a particular piece of wainscotting. I didn’t tell her I couldn’t find the way up, because I thought perhaps she might show it to me some day, and let me go up behind her back, and peep about the rooms.” “How horrid!” said Clemency, smiling. “Oh, no! It would be great fun,” said Mr. Britain. “I should go round and surprise her every now and then; or I might hide somewhere, and jump out upon her suddenly. Oh, I’d make her heart jump, I know!” “You are a naughty boy, Mr. Britain!” said Clemency. “I’m not a boy; I’m twenty-two,” said Mr. Britain. “I’m seventeen,” said Clemency. “Never mind that. I’m just as old as you are. Now, do you think Miss Florence will get married?” “What makes you ask?” said Clemency, laughing again. “You said yourself she wasn’t likely.” “Because she talks about it,” said Mr. Britain. “And besides, she said something yesterday which made me think she would rather have somebody else than old Mr. 51 676 139205 At the same time, bringing her thoughts as well as her sight to bear upon the candle-grease, and becoming abruptly reminiscent of its healing qualities as a balsam, she anointed her left elbow with a plentiful application of that remedy. ‘You see I’ve made a good many investigations of one sort and another in my time,’ pursued Mr. Britain, with the profundity of a sage, ‘having been always of an inquiring turn of mind; and I’ve read a good many books about the general Rights of things and Wrongs of things, for I went into the literary line myself, when I began life.’ ‘Did you though!’ cried the admiring Clemency. ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Britain: ‘I was hid for the best part of two years behind a bookstall, ready to fly out if anybody pocketed a volume; and after that, I was light porter to a stay and mantua maker, in which capacity I was employed to carry about, in oilskin baskets, nothing but deceptions—which soured my spirits and disturbed my confidence in human nature; and after that, I heard a world of discussions in this house, which soured my spirits fresh; and my opinion after all is, that, as a safe and comfortable sweetener of the same, and as a pleasant guide through life, there’s nothing like a nutmeg-grater.’ Clemency was about to offer a suggestion, but he stopped her by anticipating it. ‘Com-bined,’ he added gravely, ‘with a thimble.’ ‘Do as you wold, you know, and cetrer, eh!’ observed Clemency, folding her arms comfortably in her delight at this avowal, and patting her elbows. ‘Such a short cut, an’t it?’ ‘I’m not sure,’ said Mr. Britain, ‘that it’s what would be considered good philosophy. I’ve my doubts about that; but it wears well, and saves a quantity of snarling, which the genuine article don’t always.’ ‘See how you used to go on once, yourself, you know!’ said Clemency. ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Britain. ‘But the most extraordinary thing, Clemmy, is that I should live to be brought round, through you. That’s the strange part of it. Through you! Why, I suppose you haven’t so much as half an idea in your head.’ Clemency, without taking the least offence, shook it, and laughed and hugged herself, and said, ‘No, she didn’t suppose she had.’ ‘I’m pretty sure of it,’ said Mr. Britain. ‘Oh! I dare say you’re right,’ said Clemency. ‘I don’t pretend to none. I don’t want any.’ Benjamin took his pipe from his lips, and laughed till the tears ran down his face. ‘What a natural you are, Clemmy!’ he said, shaking his head, with an infinite relish of the joke, and wiping his eyes. Clemency, without the smallest inclination to dispute it, did the like, and laughed as heartily as he. ‘I can’t help liking you,’ said Mr. Britain; ‘you’re a regular good creature in your way, so shake hands, Clem. Whatever happens, I’ll always take notice of you, and be a friend to you.’ ‘Will you?’ returned Clemency. ‘Well! that’s very good of you.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Britain, giving her his pipe to knock the ashes out of it; ‘I’ll stand by you. Hark! That’s a curious noise!’ ‘Noise!’ repeated Clemency. ‘A footstep outside. Somebody dropping from the wall, it sounded like,’ said Britain. ‘Are they all abed up-stairs?’ ‘Yes, all abed by this time,’ she replied. ‘Didn’t you hear anything?’ ‘No.’ They both listened, but heard nothing. ‘I tell you what,’ said Benjamin, taking down a lantern. ‘I’ll have a look round, before I go to bed myself, for satisfaction’s sake. Undo the door while I light this, Clemmy.’ Clemency complied briskly; but observed as she did so, that he would only 83 "Summary: Mr. Britain discusses his past experiences and his belief in the healing properties of candle-grease. He then offers to be a friend to Clemency. Narrative arc: Light-hearted and humorous Enunciation: Dialogue between Mr. Britain and Clemency Tone: Light-hearted, humorous Genre: Fictional dialogue Intertextuality: Everyday conversation Speech standard: Informal, colloquial Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mr. Britain, Clemency Fuzzy place: Unnamed location where Mr. Britain and Clemency are speaking Diegetic time: A few hours " “I thought it would be rather fun to meet you,” said Mr. Britain, “after reading the book; and I was so disappointed that I didn’t have a chance to speak to you at your brother’s.” “I’m very glad you came,” said Clemency, “for I should have been afraid to go in again without you. You see, I am not used to parties, and I don’t know how to behave.” “Neither do I,” said Mr. Britain, “and that’s the reason I’ve enjoyed this party so much. We’re just as bad as each other, and we can both learn together. Now tell me what it feels like to have the chills.” “O dear! It’s dreadful,” said Clemency, shivering violently, “but if you will excuse me, I think I must go home.” Mr. Britain laughed outright. “Don’t let’s talk about it,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll have some more of that delicious cake. I never tasted anything like it before. What did you put in it?” “Just sugar and cinnamon,” said Clemency, “and it is a great secret how I got it baked so nice.” “I wouldn’t mind learning that secret, for my mother always burns her cakes. Do you like to cook?” “No, indeed!” cried Clemency. “I hate to help in the kitchen, but I love to bake little things in the oven.” “Why, so do I!” exclaimed Mr. Britain, “and I had an idea of making a profession of it when I grow up. I’m sure I’d be a great success, for I know all about pastry already, and I could make splendid ginger-bread and cookies and doughnuts and custards and”—“Oh, I’m afraid you would get tired of it,” interrupted Clemency; “for I find it tiresome work, after awhile, and it is such hard work, too!” Mr. Britain looked soberly into the fire, and shook his head. “It’s too bad,” he sighed, “but I suppose I shall have to give up my idea. I wonder what profession I ought to choose.” “I can’t advise you,” said Clemency, “but father says people ought to follow the business they like best.” “I’m sure I don’t like any business,” said Mr. Britain. “Do you?” “No; I hate work of every kind,” said Clemency. “Well, then, we are first-rate friends, for we agree in everything,” said Mr. Britain. “Let us shake hands on it.” So they shook hands solemnly, and sat down again by the fire, which now burned low and red, casting a flickering light over the darkened room. The shadows grew deeper in the corners, while in the hall the clock struck nine, and then Mr. Britain spoke. “Clemency,” he said, “may I ask you a favor?” “Yes,” said Clemency, “what is it?” “Will you allow me to be your friend?” 52 676 139206 have his walk for his pains, that it was all his fancy, and so forth. Mr. Britain said ‘very likely;’ but sallied out, nevertheless, armed with the poker, and casting the light of the lantern far and near in all directions. ‘It’s as quiet as a churchyard,’ said Clemency, looking after him; ‘and almost as ghostly too!’ Glancing back into the kitchen, she cried fearfully, as a light figure stole into her view, ‘What’s that!’ ‘Hush!’ said Marion in an agitated whisper. ‘You have always loved me, have you not!’ ‘Loved you, child! You may be sure I have.’ ‘I am sure. And I may trust you, may I not? There is no one else just now, in whom I _can_ trust.’ ‘Yes,’ said Clemency, with all her heart. ‘There is some one out there,’ pointing to the door, ‘whom I must see, and speak with, to-night. Michael Warden, for God’s sake retire! Not now!’ Clemency started with surprise and trouble as, following the direction of the speaker’s eyes, she saw a dark figure standing in the doorway. ‘In another moment you may be discovered,’ said Marion. ‘Not now! Wait, if you can, in some concealment. I will come presently.’ He waved his hand to her, and was gone. ‘Don’t go to bed. Wait here for me!’ said Marion, hurriedly. ‘I have been seeking to speak to you for an hour past. Oh, be true to me!’ Eagerly seizing her bewildered hand, and pressing it with both her own to her breast—an action more expressive, in its passion of entreaty, than the most eloquent appeal in words,—Marion withdrew; as the light of the returning lantern flashed into the room. ‘All still and peaceable. Nobody there. Fancy, I suppose,’ said Mr. Britain, as he locked and barred the door. ‘One of the effects of having a lively imagination. Halloa! Why, what’s the matter?’ Clemency, who could not conceal the effects of her surprise and concern, was sitting in a chair: pale, and trembling from head to foot. ‘Matter!’ she repeated, chafing her hands and elbows, nervously, and looking anywhere but at him. ‘That’s good in you, Britain, that is! After going and frightening one out of one’s life with noises and lanterns, and I don’t know what all. Matter! Oh, yes!’ ‘If you’re frightened out of your life by a lantern, Clemmy,’ said Mr. Britain, composedly blowing it out and hanging it up again, ‘that apparition’s very soon got rid of. But you’re as bold as brass in general,’ he said, stopping to observe her; ‘and were, after the noise and the lantern too. What have you taken into your head? Not an idea, eh?’ But, as Clemency bade him good night very much after her usual fashion, and began to bustle about with a show of going to bed herself immediately, Little Britain, after giving utterance to the original remark that it was impossible to account for a woman’s whims, bade her good night in return, and taking up his candle strolled drowsily away to bed. When all was quiet, Marion returned. ‘Open the door,’ she said; ‘and stand there close beside me, while I speak to him, outside.’ Timid as her manner was, it still evinced a resolute and settled purpose, such as Clemency could not resist. She softly unbarred the door: but before turning the key, looked round on the young creature waiting to issue forth when she should open it. The face was not averted or cast down, but looking full upon her, in its pride of youth and beauty. Some simple sense of the slightness of the barrier that interposed itself between the happy home and honoured love of the fair girl, and what might be the desolation of that home, and 83 "Summary: Mr. Britain goes on a walk with a lantern, Clemency is frightened by a figure at the door, Marion asks her to wait and speak with someone outside. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Suspenseful Genre: Mystery Speech standard: Informal Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mr. Britain, Clemency, Marion Fuzzy place: Unnamed kitchen, doorway Diegetic time: A few minutes " He took a lantern and went out, without waiting to put on his hat. When Mr. Britain was gone, Clemency began to cry again; but after a while she wiped her eyes and tried to be cheerful. She put the kettle on to boil, and spread the cloth on the table. Presently Marion came into the kitchen with a flushed face and shining hair. “Oh,” she cried, “Clemency, darling, you must wait just a moment! There’s someone to speak to you at the door. I don’t know who it is, only he says he knows you.” “Why, that’s Mr. Britain,” said Clemency. “No, it isn’t,” said Marion. “It isn’t any one we know, and he says he’ll come in if you’ll only wait for him. Oh, do go out and talk to him, Clemency! I’m sure he won’t hurt you, and I want to set the table.” So Clemency took her shawl and went to the doorway. The night had grown very dark. As she stepped over the threshold, the wind caught at her shawl and tossed it about her ears. She reached up and fastened it closer under her chin. Then she looked down the path, holding the lantern high. On the other side of the gate stood a tall figure, wrapped in a long coat with a hood over its head. “Who are you?” she asked, “and what do you want?” “I have come from your father,” said the voice. “Yes, I know,” said Clemency. “But why did he send you? Why didn’t he come himself?” “Your father thought it best that I should come,” said the voice. “He said it would not be safe for him to come tonight.” Clemency felt a sudden chill run through her. “Safe!” she said. “What do you mean by ‘safe’?” “Your father told me to tell you,” said the voice, “that he has received information that you are in danger. He bids me warn you to keep indoors until he can come to you.” “Danger!” said Clemency. “Who will harm me? What danger can there be here?” But she remembered the figure crouching under the window, and the strange sounds she had heard last night. “Perhaps you had better come in,” she said, and as she spoke she saw the face of the figure peering up at her through the bars of the gate. It was a pale, smooth-shaven face, with big black eyes. She felt suddenly sick and faint. “You may come in,” she said, “but please don’t frighten me!” And she turned and ran back to the house, leaving the gate open behind her. CHAPTER XXIII THE VANISHING FIGURE Marion came running out to meet her, crying, “Where’s the man?” “There he is!” said Clemency, pointing toward the gate. “Oh, what a queer-looking fellow! Has he given you any message?” “Only that my father sent him to tell me to stay inside until he could come himself.” “Did he say anything else?” “Yes, he said something very dreadful, about some one being in danger. 53 676 139207 shipwreck of its dearest treasure, smote so keenly on the tender heart of Clemency, and so filled it to overflowing with sorrow and compassion, that, bursting into tears, she threw her arms round Marion’s neck. ‘It’s little that I know, my dear,’ cried Clemency, ‘very little; but I know that this should not be. Think of what you do!’ ‘I have thought of it many times,’ said Marion, gently. ‘Once more,’ urged Clemency. ‘Till to-morrow.’ Marion shook her head. ‘For Mr. Alfred’s sake,’ said Clemency, with homely earnestness. ‘Him that you used to love so dearly, once!’ She hid her face, upon the instant, in her hands, repeating ‘Once!’ as if it rent her heart. ‘Let me go out,’ said Clemency, soothing her. ‘I’ll tell him what you like. Don’t cross the door-step to-night. I’m sure no good will come of it. Oh, it was an unhappy day when Mr. Warden was ever brought here! Think of your good father, darling—of your sister.’ ‘I have,’ said Marion, hastily raising her head. ‘You don’t know what I do. I _must_ speak to him. You are the best and truest friend in all the world for what you have said to me, but I must take this step. Will you go with me, Clemency,’ she kissed her on her friendly face, ‘or shall I go alone?’ Sorrowing and wondering, Clemency turned the key, and opened the door. Into the dark and doubtful night that lay beyond the threshold, Marion passed quickly, holding by her hand. In the dark night he joined her, and they spoke together earnestly and long; and the hand that held so fast by Clemency’s, now trembled, now turned deadly cold, now clasped and closed on hers, in the strong feeling of the speech it emphasised unconsciously. When they returned, he followed to the door, and pausing there a moment, seized the other hand, and pressed it to his lips. Then, stealthily withdrew. The door was barred and locked again, and once again she stood beneath her father’s roof. Not bowed down by the secret that she brought there, though so young; but, with that same expression on her face for which I had no name before, and shining through her tears. Again she thanked and thanked her humble friend, and trusted to her, as she said, with confidence, implicitly. Her chamber safely reached, she fell upon her knees; and with her secret weighing on her heart, could pray! Could rise up from her prayers, so tranquil and serene, and bending over her fond sister in her slumber, look upon her face and smile—though sadly: murmuring as she kissed her forehead, how that Grace had been a mother to her, ever, and she loved her as a child! Could draw the passive arm about her neck when lying down to rest—it seemed to cling there, of its own will, protectingly and tenderly even in sleep—and breathe upon the parted lips, God bless her! Could sink into a peaceful sleep, herself; but for one dream, in which she cried out, in her innocent and touching voice, that she was quite alone, and they had all forgotten her. A month soon passes, even at its tardiest pace. The month appointed to elapse between that night and the return, was quick of foot, and went by, like a vapour. The day arrived. A raging winter day, that shook the old house, sometimes, as if it shivered in the blast. A day to make home doubly home. To give the chimney-corner new delights. To shed a ruddier glow upon the faces gathered round the hearth, and draw each fireside group into a closer and more social league, against the roaring elements without. Such a wild winter day as best prepares the way for shut-out night; for curtained rooms, and cheerful looks; for music, laughter, dancing, light, and jovial entertainment! All these the Doctor had in store to welcome Alfred back. They knew that he could not arrive till night; and they would make the night air ring, 83 "Summary: Clemency tries to convince Marion not to take a certain action, but Marion insists. They leave together and have a conversation with someone else. They return and Marion thanks Clemency for her support. Marion prays and sleeps peacefully, but has a dream about feeling alone. A month passes quickly and the day arrives, which is cold and stormy. Narrative arc: Emotional tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency, Marion Fuzzy time: Winter day Fuzzy place: The Doctor's house Diegetic time: A month " Clemency endeavoured to persuade her that it was not necessary, but that all would be well yet. “It must be done,” said Marion; “I see no other way out of the difficulty.” The Doctor and his wife went to bed; Clemency, with some reluctance, left her sister alone with the old servant; and shortly after, followed them up stairs. She had scarcely closed her eye-lids, when she heard a light footstep on the stair-case, and in another moment, Marion stood by her bedside, her eyes full of tears. “My dear sister!” she exclaimed, as she threw herself upon her neck, “how can I ever thank you for all your kindness? God knows what I have gone through to-day. But I feel relieved now; it is over. Good night!” And again embracing her sister, she withdrew. It was long before Clemency could get to sleep. When she did so, she dreamed that she was standing by the little window in her chamber, looking out into the winter evening. All at once she saw Marion, who had been playing upon the piano in the next room, come towards her, and go away again. Presently she came back, and seemed to be calling to her from the window; but Clemency could not hear what she said, or understand her gestures. In vain she called to her, and beckoned to her to return, Marion only smiled, and pointed to the garden without. Then she saw the snow begin to fall heavily, and, looking down, perceived that she was standing on a rock, which was fast being covered by the increasing depth of the snow. She tried to cry out, but no sound escaped her lips. At last, Marion, who still continued to smile, waved her handkerchief, and, as Clemency watched her, she saw the dark figure gradually fade away, and vanish. When Clemency awoke, it was broad daylight, and the cold grey light of an early winter morning streamed in through the small window. She rose, dressed herself hastily, and went down stairs. A few moments afterwards, Marion joined her in the parlour. “Good morning, my dear sister,” she said. “I slept like a child; but I am afraid I shall pay for it in the course of the day.” “Have you told me all about it?” asked Clemency. “Yes, I have.” “And what did he say?” “He said that he would think over what I had told him, and let me know his decision to-morrow.” “You were very wrong to ask him, Marion. He will never consent. You will find so when it is too late to withdraw your request.” “Do not speak of it any more, Clemency; there is no use in talking about it. It has been decided, and cannot be altered.” They parted for the day, each feeling the melancholy influence of the approaching event. 54 676 139208 he said, as he approached. All his old friends should congregate about him. He should not miss a face that he had known and liked. No! They should every one be there! So, guests were bidden, and musicians were engaged, and tables spread, and floors prepared for active feet, and bountiful provision made, of every hospitable kind. Because it was the Christmas season, and his eyes were all unused to English holly and its sturdy green, the dancing-room was garlanded and hung with it; and the red berries gleamed an English welcome to him, peeping from among the leaves. It was a busy day for all of them: a busier day for none of them than Grace, who noiselessly presided everywhere, and was the cheerful mind of all the preparations. Many a time that day (as well as many a time within the fleeting month preceding it), did Clemency glance anxiously, and almost fearfully, at Marion. She saw her paler, perhaps, than usual; but there was a sweet composure on her face that made it lovelier than ever. At night when she was dressed, and wore upon her head a wreath that Grace had proudly twined about it—its mimic flowers were Alfred’s favourites, as Grace remembered when she chose them—that old expression, pensive, almost sorrowful, and yet so spiritual, high, and stirring, sat again upon her brow, enhanced a hundred-fold. ‘The next wreath I adjust on this fair head, will be a marriage wreath,’ said Grace; ‘or I am no true prophet, dear.’ Her sister smiled, and held her in her arms. ‘A moment, Grace. Don’t leave me yet. Are you sure that I want nothing more?’ Her care was not for that. It was her sister’s face she thought of, and her eyes were fixed upon it, tenderly. ‘My art,’ said Grace, ‘can go no farther, dear girl; nor your beauty. I never saw you look so beautiful as now.’ ‘I never was so happy,’ she returned. ‘Ay, but there is a greater happiness in store. In such another home, as cheerful and as bright as this looks now,’ said Grace, ‘Alfred and his young wife will soon be living.’ She smiled again. ‘It is a happy home, Grace, in your fancy. I can see it in your eyes. I know it _will_ be happy, dear. How glad I am to know it.’ ‘Well,’ cried the Doctor, bustling in. ‘Here we are, all ready for Alfred, eh? He can’t be here until pretty late—an hour or so before midnight—so there’ll be plenty of time for making merry before he comes. He’ll not find us with the ice unbroken. Pile up the fire here, Britain! Let it shine upon the holly till it winks again. It’s a world of nonsense, Puss; true lovers and all the rest of it—all nonsense; but we’ll be nonsensical with the rest of ’em, and give our true lover a mad welcome. Upon my word!’ said the old Doctor, looking at his daughters proudly, ‘I’m not clear to-night, among other absurdities, but that I’m the father of two handsome girls.’ ‘All that one of them has ever done, or may do—may do, dearest father—to cause you pain or grief, forgive her,’ said Marion, ‘forgive her now, when her heart is full. Say that you forgive her. That you will forgive her. That she shall always share your love, and—,’ and the rest was not said, for her face was hidden on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Tut, tut, tut,’ said the Doctor gently. ‘Forgive! What have I to forgive? Heyday, if our true lovers come back to flurry us like this, we must hold ’em at a distance; we must send expresses out to stop ’em short upon the road, and bring ’em on a mile or two a day, until we’re properly prepared to meet ’em. Kiss me, Puss. Forgive! Why, what a silly child you are! If you had vexed and crossed me fifty times a day, instead of not at all, I’d forgive you everything, but such a supplication. Kiss me again, Puss. There! Prospective and retrospective—a clear score between 83 "Summary: A man prepares a festive gathering, while his daughter Grace takes care of the preparations. The daughter Marion is pale and pensive, but there is a sweetness in her face. The doctor expresses love for his daughters and forgives them for any pain they may have caused him. Narrative arc: Preparation for a festive gathering Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Joyful, hopeful Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of events leading up to a gathering Active character: The man preparing the gathering, Grace, Marion, the doctor Time setting: Christmas season Diegetic time: One day " "He ordered a grand supper, and made all the children promise that they should come to it. He engaged an orchestra of college men to play for them, and he meant to go through with every other thing that could be done to make the evening a jolly one. Grace took care of all these things as well as her father. She was so full of life and spirits that everything seemed easy for her; but Marion looked pale and pensive, though there was a sweet smile on her face, which seemed to have been painted there by some painter who had learned to love her. The doctor sat in his library with his book, and every now and then his eyes fell on the picture of the two girls, and they shone with delight. I used to think my little women were very beautiful,"" he said to himself; ""but I did not know how beautiful till I saw them in this light. They are my angels!"""" Then he thought of what he was about to do, and he felt a moment's shame at having tried to punish them. But he forgave himself immediately, and himself and all the world, and went back to his reading. """"They will forgive me for this; they must forgive me for this."""" And then he put down his book and began to think of all the pain they had caused him, and he wished that they might never give him more. " 55 676 139209 us. Pile up the fire here! Would you freeze the people on this bleak December night! Let us be light, and warm, and merry, or I’ll not forgive some of you!’ So gaily the old Doctor carried it! And the fire was piled up, and the lights were bright, and company arrived, and a murmuring of lively tongues began, and already there was a pleasant air of cheerful excitement stirring through all the house. More and more company came flocking in. Bright eyes sparkled upon Marion; smiling lips gave her joy of his return; sage mothers fanned themselves, and hoped she mightn’t be too youthful and inconstant for the quiet round of home; impetuous fathers fell into disgrace for too much exaltation of her beauty; daughters envied her; sons envied him; innumerable pairs of lovers profited by the occasion; all were interested, animated, and expectant. Mr. and Mrs. Craggs came arm in arm, but Mrs. Snitchey came alone. ‘Why, what’s become of _him_?’ inquired the Doctor. The feather of a Bird of Paradise in Mrs. Snitchey’s turban, trembled as if the Bird of Paradise were alive again, when she said that doubtless Mr. Craggs knew. _She_ was never told. ‘That nasty office,’ said Mrs. Craggs. ‘I wish it was burnt down,’ said Mrs. Snitchey. ‘He’s—he’s—there’s a little matter of business that keeps my partner rather late,’ said Mr. Craggs, looking uneasily about him. ‘Oh-h! Business. Don’t tell me!’ said Mrs. Snitchey. ‘_We_ know what business means,’ said Mrs. Craggs. But their not knowing what it meant, was perhaps the reason why Mrs. Snitchey’s Bird of Paradise feather quivered so portentously, and why all the pendant bits on Mrs. Craggs’s ear-rings shook like little bells. ‘I wonder _you_ could come away, Mr. Craggs,’ said his wife. ‘Mr. Craggs is fortunate, I’m sure!’ said Mrs. Snitchey. ‘That office so engrosses ’em,’ said Mrs. Craggs. ‘A person with an office has no business to be married at all,’ said Mrs. Snitchey. Then, Mrs. Snitchey said, within herself, that that look of hers had pierced to Craggs’s soul, and he knew it; and Mrs. Craggs observed to Craggs, that ‘his Snitcheys’ were deceiving him behind his back, and he would find it out when it was too late. Still, Mr. Craggs, without much heeding these remarks, looked uneasily about until his eye rested on Grace, to whom he immediately presented himself. ‘Good evening, ma’am,’ said Craggs. ‘You look charmingly. Your—Miss—your sister, Miss Marion, is she—’ ‘Oh, she’s quite well, Mr. Craggs.’ ‘Yes—I—is she here?’ asked Craggs. ‘Here! Don’t you see her yonder? Going to dance?’ said Grace. Mr. Craggs put on his spectacles to see the better; looked at her through them, for some time; coughed; and put them, with an air of satisfaction, in their sheath again, and in his pocket. Now the music struck up, and the dance commenced. The bright fire crackled and sparkled, rose and fell, as though it joined the dance itself, in right good fellowship. Sometimes, it roared as if it would make music too. Sometimes, it flashed and beamed as if it were the eye of the old room: it winked too, sometimes, like a knowing patriarch, upon the youthful whisperers in corners. Sometimes, it sported with the holly-boughs; and, shining on the leaves by fits and starts, made them look as if they were in the cold winter night again, and fluttering in the wind. Sometimes its genial humour grew obstreperous, and passed all bounds; and then it cast into the room, among the twinkling feet, with a loud burst, a shower of harmless little sparks, and in its exultation leaped and bounded, like a mad thing, up the broad old chimney. 83 "Summary: A group of people gather for a party, with various interactions and conversations taking place. Narrative arc: Light-hearted and festive Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted and cheerful Genre: Holiday fiction Speech standard: Informal and colloquial Literary form: Description of a party scene Active character: Doctor, Marion, Mr. and Mrs. Craggs, Mrs. Snitchey, Grace, Mr. Craggs Time setting: Present day Fuzzy time: December night Fuzzy place: Unnamed house Diegetic time: A few hours " Doctor and Marion to the rescue! The Doctor drew his chair a little nearer to the fire, and warmed his hands before it; but Marion was too busy with her needle to be at leisure for so idle an occupation as warming her feet. ‘I’m sure,’ said Mrs. Snitchey, glancing round the room in a dignified manner, ‘we have the very prettiest of parties!’ ‘And the company is most select,’ said Mr. Snitchey, looking about him with the same air; ‘the very best society.’ ‘As I told my dear when we were talking about it yesterday, Sally,’ said Craggs, who had been playing at cribbage with his wife all day, and still held her hand in his, ‘I said, “Sally,” I said, “what’s the use of asking more than a dozen people to a party?” “Why, because,” I said, “it looks dull if you don’t.” And it does,’ said Craggs, nodding his head with great wisdom. Grace sat beside him on the sofa, and said nothing. But she did not know how much better that was for her than if she had talked a great deal; for she was quiet and composed now, but would have been quite beside herself if she had spoken. ‘You’re quite right, William,’ said Mrs. Craggs. ‘We’ve got just the right number, haven’t we?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘It’s a pleasant thing to see a good fire and a good blaze here, sir,’ said Doctor; ‘but it’s a nicer thing to feel one somewhere else, and to know it’s going to keep somebody cheerful, and healthy, and warm. If you could give me your leave to go back again, gentlemen, this minute—’ ‘No such nonsense!’ cried Snitchey. ‘Don’t talk of such nonsense! You are our guest for the night, sir.’ ‘But you forget,’ said the Doctor, smiling, ‘that I am afraid I can’t stay to dinner.’ ‘My dear fellow!’ said both the lawyers at once. ‘Don’t think of it,’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘We mustn’t hear of any such thing. Why, you must dine with us, man alive!’ ‘And sup with us too,’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘And sleep with us,’ added Mrs. Snitchey. ‘What a snug party!’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘The more the merrier!’ said Mrs. Snitchey. ‘A capital idea!’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘Quite a capital idea!’ It was quite a capital idea, certainly, to have a capital party; and Doctor and Marion, yielding to its attractions, made themselves happy in the midst of them. 56 676 139210 Another dance was near its close, when Mr. Snitchey touched his partner, who was looking on, upon the arm. Mr. Craggs started, as if his familiar had been a spectre. ‘Is he gone?’ he asked. ‘Hush! He has been with me,’ said Snitchey, ‘for three hours and more. He went over everything. He looked into all our arrangements for him, and was very particular indeed. He—Humph!’ The dance was finished. Marion passed close before him, as he spoke. She did not observe him, or his partner; but, looked over her shoulder towards her sister in the distance, as she slowly made her way into the crowd, and passed out of their view. ‘You see! All safe and well,’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘He didn’t recur to that subject, I suppose?’ ‘Not a word.’ ‘And is he really gone? Is he safe away?’ ‘He keeps to his word. He drops down the river with the tide in that shell of a boat of his, and so goes out to sea on this dark night!—a dare-devil he is—before the wind. There’s no such lonely road anywhere else. That’s one thing. The tide flows, he says, an hour before midnight—about this time. I’m glad it’s over.’ Mr. Snitchey wiped his forehead, which looked hot and anxious. ‘What do you think,’ said Mr. Craggs, ‘about—’ ‘Hush!’ replied his cautious partner, looking straight before him. ‘I understand you. Don’t mention names, and don’t let us, seem to be talking secrets. I don’t know what to think; and to tell you the truth, I don’t care now. It’s a great relief. His self-love deceived him, I suppose. Perhaps the young lady coquetted a little. The evidence would seem to point that way. Alfred not arrived?’ ‘Not yet,’ said Mr. Craggs. ‘Expected every minute.’ ‘Good.’ Mr. Snitchey wiped his forehead again. ‘It’s a great relief. I haven’t been so nervous since we’ve been in partnership. I intend to spend the evening now, Mr. Craggs.’ Mrs. Craggs and Mrs. Snitchey joined them as he announced this intention. The Bird of Paradise was in a state of extreme vibration, and the little bells were ringing quite audibly. ‘It has been the theme of general comment, Mr. Snitchey,’ said Mrs. Snitchey. ‘I hope the office is satisfied.’ ‘Satisfied with what, my dear?’ asked Mr. Snitchey. ‘With the exposure of a defenceless woman to ridicule and remark,’ returned his wife. ‘That is quite in the way of the office, _that_ is.’ ‘I really, myself,’ said Mrs. Craggs, ‘have been so long accustomed to connect the office with everything opposed to domesticity, that I am glad to know it as the avowed enemy of my peace. There is something honest in that, at all events.’ ‘My dear,’ urged Mr. Craggs, ‘your good opinion is invaluable, but _I_ never avowed that the office was the enemy of your peace.’ ‘No,’ said Mrs. Craggs, ringing a perfect peal upon the little bells. ‘Not you, indeed. You wouldn’t be worthy of the office, if you had the candour to.’ ‘As to my having been away to-night, my dear,’ said Mr. Snitchey, giving her his arm, ‘the deprivation has been mine, I’m sure; but, as Mr. Craggs knows—’ Mrs. Snitchey cut this reference very short by hitching her husband to a distance, and asking him to look at that man. To do her the favour to look at him! ‘At which man, my dear?’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘Your chosen companion; _I_’m no companion to you, Mr. Snitchey.’ ‘Yes, yes, you are, my dear,’ he interposed. ‘No, no, I’m not,’ said Mrs. Snitchey with a majestic smile. ‘I know my station. Will you look at your chosen companion, Mr. Snitchey; at your 83 "Summary: Mr. Snitchey and Mr. Craggs discuss a man who has left with Marion, and they express relief that it is over. They also discuss their thoughts on another person and mention Alfred's arrival. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted, slightly humorous Genre: Fictional dialogue Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mr. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs Quoted character: Marion, Alfred Diegetic time: Three hours " Mr. Snitchey said, ‘My dear Mr Craggs, a little while ago I was on the point of being covered with confusion in the presence of the whole room.’ Mr Craggs said, ‘I am not at all surprised to hear it.’ Mr Snitchey said, ‘I had reason to know that the young lady whom we were talking of as “Miss’—Mr Craggs said, ‘Precisely.’ Mr Snitchey said, ‘Had gone away with him. And when she came back alone, and I thought I saw her face turn pale as I spoke to her, I expected to be exposed; but no. Mr Craggs,’ said Mr Snitchey, ‘she is a good girl!’ Mr Craggs assented with his head. ‘It is very agreeable to have that establishment in the office, Snitchey,’ said Mr Craggs. ‘You are quite right, my dear fellow. It’s capital. If everybody were like that young woman, we should be able to recommend a general increase of wages next half-year, without the slightest scruple. Now then! The man has gone off, and taken her, and married her, and carried her off into foreign parts, and that’s an end of him! Three hours since he went out of the door, and three years hence, or three thousand years hence, it’s all one to me! Thank Heaven it’s over!’ Mr Craggs laughed heartily. ‘Amen,’ said Mr Craggs. Mr Snitchey chuckled again, and puffed a great deal. Then he said, ‘What a singular-looking customer that was, who called here this morning!’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr Craggs. ‘The strangest figure I ever set eyes on.’ ‘Well,’ observed Mr Snitchey, after looking hard at the fire for some minutes, ‘if you could only see what I see!’ Mr Craggs looked so fixedly at Mr Snitchey, that Mr Snitchey became alarmed, lest he might have anticipated something which he was about to disclose. He put his hand to his waistcoat, and said, ‘Now, mind! Don’t tell me anything I don’t know yet. Have you heard from Alfred?’ ‘Not yet,’ replied Mr Craggs. ‘Dear me!’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘That’s unfortunate. Now then! What did I see? The figure of a man who would be better if he were thinner, but whose face and figure are known to us both?’ ‘Certainly,’ said Mr Craggs. ‘And what did I see in his face and figure?’ asked Mr Snitchey. ‘An immense amount of misery and wretchedness, and suffering,’ said Mr Craggs. ‘Very true,’ replied Mr Snitchey, nodding his head with great satisfaction. ‘And why was he miserable and wretched and suffering?’ ‘Why, because he was a most uncommon sort of man,’ said Mr Craggs. ‘He was a most uncommon sort of man, and was quite out of the common course of things.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘He was born to do good, but he didn’t like it.’ 57 676 139211 referee, at the keeper of your secrets, at the man you trust; at your other self, in short?’ The habitual association of Self with Craggs, occasioned Mr. Snitchey to look in that direction. ‘If you can look that man in the eye this night,’ said Mrs. Snitchey, ‘and not know that you are deluded, practised upon, made the victim of his arts, and bent down prostrate to his will by some unaccountable fascination which it is impossible to explain and against which no warning of mine is of the least avail, all I can say is—I pity you!’ At the very same moment Mrs. Craggs was oracular on the cross subject. Was it possible, she said, that Craggs could so blind himself to his Snitcheys, as not to feel his true position? Did he mean to say that he had seen his Snitcheys come into that room, and didn’t plainly see that there was reservation, cunning, treachery, in the man? Would he tell her that his very action, when he wiped his forehead and looked so stealthily about him, didn’t show that there was something weighing on the conscience of his precious Snitcheys (if he had a conscience), that wouldn’t bear the light? Did anybody but his Snitcheys come to festive entertainments like a burglar?—which, by the way, was hardly a clear illustration of the case, as he had walked in very mildly at the door. And would he still assert to her at noon-day (it being nearly midnight), that his Snitcheys were to be justified through thick and thin, against all facts, and reason, and experience? Neither Snitchey nor Craggs openly attempted to stem the current which had thus set in, but, both were content to be carried gently along it, until its force abated. This happened at about the same time as a general movement for a country dance; when Mr. Snitchey proposed himself as a partner to Mrs. Craggs, and Mr. Craggs gallantly offered himself to Mrs. Snitchey; and after some such slight evasions as ‘why don’t you ask somebody else?’ and ‘you’ll be glad, I know, if I decline,’ and ‘I wonder you can dance out of the office’ (but this jocosely now), each lady graciously accepted, and took her place. It was an old custom among them, indeed, to do so, and to pair off, in like manner, at dinners and suppers; for they were excellent friends, and on a footing of easy familiarity. Perhaps the false Craggs and the wicked Snitchey were a recognised fiction with the two wives, as Doe and Roe, incessantly running up and down bailiwicks, were with the two husbands: or, perhaps the ladies had instituted, and taken upon themselves, these two shares in the business, rather than be left out of it altogether. But, certain it is, that each wife went as gravely and steadily to work in her vocation as her husband did in his, and would have considered it almost impossible for the Firm to maintain a successful and respectable existence, without her laudable exertions. But, now, the Bird of Paradise was seen to flutter down the middle; and the little bells began to bounce and jingle in poussette; and the Doctor’s rosy face spun round and round, like an expressive pegtop highly varnished; and breathless Mr. Craggs began to doubt already, whether country dancing had been made ‘too easy,’ like the rest of life; and Mr. Snitchey, with his nimble cuts and capers, footed it for Self and Craggs, and half-a-dozen more. Now, too, the fire took fresh courage, favoured by the lively wind the dance awakened, and burnt clear and high. It was the Genius of the room, and present everywhere. It shone in people’s eyes, it sparkled in the jewels on the snowy necks of girls, it twinkled at their ears as if it whispered to them slyly, it flashed about their waists, it flickered on the ground and made it rosy for their feet, it bloomed upon the ceiling that its glow might set off their bright faces, and it kindled up a general illumination in Mrs. Craggs’s little belfry. Now, too, the lively air that fanned it, grew less gentle as the music quickened and the dance proceeded with new spirit; and a breeze arose 83 "Summary: The text explores the relationships between Mr. Snitchey, Mrs. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs, and Mrs. Craggs through their interactions at a festive event. Trope: The power of friendship and partnership Narrative arc: Light-hearted and playful Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Playful and light-hearted Genre: Fictional prose Intertextuality: Conversational dialogue Speech standard: Informal and conversational Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Mr. Snitchey, Mrs. Snitchey, Mr. Craggs, Mrs. Craggs Fuzzy place: Unnamed festive event location Diegetic time: A few hours " Snitchey, as he surveyed the board, to his partner. ‘A very small drop of soup.’ ‘Yes, my dear,’ returned Mr. Snitchey; ‘only a very small drop.’ ‘And not a great quantity of fish.’ ‘No,’ assented Mrs. Snitchey, with her spectacles on her nose; ‘not a great quantity of fish.’ ‘But I should like to know what you mean by a whole lobster for one person, Mr Craggs?’ ‘For me, my love?’ said Mr Craggs. ‘I can’t help that,’ returned his partner, still looking over the glasses at the board. ‘It’s too much for one person.’ ‘Oh!’ said Mr Craggs, considering a little; ‘then I’ll give you half of it.’ ‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Mrs Snitchey. And then they both laughed. ‘Mr Snitchey, you are a comical man,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘Am I though, Mrs Craggs?’ returned Mr Snitchey. ‘I am very happy to hear it.’ ‘I have heard that before,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘In the office,’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘Very true,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘And I never contradicted it,’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘Dear me, no!’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘Why should you?’ ‘Why indeed, Mrs Craggs!’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘You’re quite right there, Mrs Craggs. You always were a sharp woman. So here’s your health, Mrs Craggs.’ ‘Mr Snitchey, you are a comical man!’ ‘Thank you, Mrs Craggs! Thank you very much, Mrs Craggs!’ cried Mr Snitchey, laughing heartily. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘That’s all right enough, Mr Snitchey. But I must say I don’t think Mr Craggs is so funny as you are.’ ‘Mr Craggs isn’t trying to be funny, my dear,’ said Mr Snitchey. ‘Exactly, Mr Snitchey!’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘That’s just it, Mr Snitchey! He’s a good, quiet, respectable man, and doesn’t want to make himself ridiculous. Do you, Mr Craggs?’ ‘Do I, Mrs Craggs?’ said Mr Craggs. ‘No, Mr Craggs, I’m sure you don’t,’ replied Mrs Craggs, with great complacency. ‘Because if he did,’ said Mrs Snitchey, ‘he would do it better than anybody else in the world. Wouldn’t he, Mr Snitchey?’ ‘He certainly would, my dear,’ replied Mr Snitchey, giving his partner another glance: ‘certainly would.’ ‘Which shows how sensible he is,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘It does indeed, Mrs Craggs,’ replied Mrs Snitchey, shaking her head. ‘Don’t talk about him like that, please,’ said Mrs Craggs. ‘I won’t, Mrs Craggs. 58 676 139212 that made the leaves and berries dance upon the wall, as they had often done upon the trees; and the breeze rustled in the room as if an invisible company of fairies, treading in the foot-steps of the good substantial revellers, were whirling after them. Now, too, no feature of the Doctor’s face could be distinguished as he spun and spun; and now there seemed a dozen Birds of Paradise in fitful flight; and now there were a thousand little bells at work; and now a fleet of flying skirts was ruffled by a little tempest, when the music gave in, and the dance was over. Hot and breathless as the Doctor was, it only made him the more impatient for Alfred’s coming. ‘Anything been seen, Britain? Anything been heard?’ ‘Too dark to see far, sir. Too much noise inside the house to hear.’ ‘That’s right! The gayer welcome for him. How goes the time?’ ‘Just twelve, sir. He can’t be long, sir.’ ‘Stir up the fire, and throw another log upon it,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let him see his welcome blazing out upon the night—good boy!—as he comes along!’ He saw it—Yes! From the chaise he caught the light, as he turned the corner by the old church. He knew the room from which it shone. He saw the wintry branches of the old trees between the light and him. He knew that one of those trees rustled musically in the summer time at the window of Marion’s chamber. The tears were in his eyes. His heart throbbed so violently that he could hardly bear his happiness. How often he had thought of this time—pictured it under all circumstances—feared that it might never come—yearned, and wearied for it—far away! Again the light! Distinct and ruddy; kindled, he knew, to give him welcome, and to speed him home. He beckoned with his hand, and waved his hat, and cheered out, loud, as if the light were they, and they could see and hear him, as he dashed towards them through the mud and mire, triumphantly. Stop! He knew the Doctor, and understood what he had done. He would not let it be a surprise to them. But he could make it one, yet, by going forward on foot. If the orchard-gate were open, he could enter there; if not, the wall was easily climbed, as he knew of old; and he would be among them in an instant. He dismounted from the chaise, and telling the driver—even that was not easy in his agitation—to remain behind for a few minutes, and then to follow slowly, ran on with exceeding swiftness, tried the gate, scaled the wall, jumped down on the other side, and stood panting in the old orchard. There was a frosty rime upon the trees, which, in the faint light of the clouded moon, hung upon the smaller branches like dead garlands. Withered leaves crackled and snapped beneath his feet, as he crept softly on towards the house. The desolation of a winter night sat brooding on the earth, and in the sky. But, the red light came cheerily towards him from the windows; figures passed and repassed there; and the hum and murmur of voices greeted his ear sweetly. Listening for hers: attempting, as he crept on, to detach it from the rest, and half believing that he heard it: he had nearly reached the door, when it was abruptly opened, and a figure coming out encountered his. It instantly recoiled with a half-suppressed cry. ‘Clemency,’ he said, ‘don’t you know me?’ ‘Don’t come in!’ she answered, pushing him back. ‘Go away. Don’t ask me why. Don’t come in.’ ‘What is the matter?’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know. I—I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!’ There was a sudden tumult in the house. She put her hands upon her ears. A wild scream, such as no hands could shut out, was heard; and 83 "Summary: The Doctor is eagerly waiting for Alfred to arrive, and when he sees the light from the house, he becomes emotional. He decides to sneak up to the house and encounters Clemency who warns him not to come in. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Eager, emotional Genre: Historical fiction Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of a scene Active character: The Doctor, Alfred, Clemency Time setting: Unclear, possibly historical Fuzzy time: Winter night Diegetic time: Unclear " But the Doctor had waited, and waited eagerly, till his patience was worn threadbare; till he began to be afraid that Alfred would not come at all. When the first faint light of a winter night began to creep over the moor, and it seemed as if Alfred must surely appear before long, the Doctor was sitting in his arm-chair by the fire with the clock on the mantelpiece looking blankly at him, and the timepiece on the table ticking away merrily, but giving him no encouragement to hope. As the light grew stronger, the Doctor got up and went to the window. It was still too cloudy to see anything plainly on the moor, but he could make out that the day was breaking. The pale gray of the sky was beginning to grow paler still; the black shadows were disappearing one by one from the dark heathery waste without, and the white stones of the house stood out more distinctly against the gray ground. At this sight the Doctor's heart leaped within him, and he returned with an eager step to the fireplace. He had no sooner taken his seat again than the sound of wheels was heard, approaching rapidly along the road which led to the house. A thrill passed through him like the thrill of a galvanic battery when the batteries are brought together. 59 676 139213 Grace—distraction in her looks and manner—rushed out at the door. ‘Grace!’ He caught her in his arms. ‘What is it! Is she dead!’ She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his face, and fell down at his feet. A crowd of figures came about them from the house. Among them was her father, with a paper in his hand. ‘What is it!’ cried Alfred, grasping his hair with his hands, and looking in an agony from face to face, as he bent upon his knee beside the insensible girl. ‘Will no one look at me? Will no one speak to me? Does no one know me? Is there no voice among you all, to tell me what it is!’ There was a murmur among them. ‘She is gone.’ ‘Gone!’ he echoed. ‘Fled, my dear Alfred!’ said the Doctor, in a broken voice, and with his hands before his face. ‘Gone from her home and us. To-night! She writes that she has made her innocent and blameless choice—entreats that we will forgive her—prays that we will not forget her—and is gone.’ ‘With whom? Where?’ He started up, as if to follow in pursuit; but, when they gave way to let him pass, looked wildly round upon them, staggered back, and sunk down in his former attitude, clasping one of Grace’s cold hands in his own. There was a hurried running to and fro, confusion, noise, disorder, and no purpose. Some proceeded to disperse themselves about the roads, and some took horse, and some got lights, and some conversed together, urging that there was no trace or track to follow. Some approached him kindly, with the view of offering consolation; some admonished him that Grace must be removed into the house, and that he prevented it. He never heard them, and he never moved. The snow fell fast and thick. He looked up for a moment in the air, and thought that those white ashes strewn upon his hopes and misery, were suited to them well. He looked round on the whitening ground, and thought how Marion’s foot-prints would be hushed and covered up, as soon as made, and even that remembrance of her blotted out. But he never felt the weather and he never stirred. Part the Third THE world had grown six years older since that night of the return. It was a warm autumn afternoon, and there had been heavy rain. The sun burst suddenly from among the clouds; and the old battle-ground, sparkling brilliantly and cheerfully at sight of it in one green place, flashed a responsive welcome there, which spread along the country side as if a joyful beacon had been lighted up, and answered from a thousand stations. How beautiful the landscape kindling in the light, and that luxuriant influence passing on like a celestial presence, brightening everything! The wood, a sombre mass before, revealed its varied tints of yellow, green, brown, red: its different forms of trees, with raindrops glittering on their leaves and twinkling as they fell. The verdant meadow-land, bright and glowing, seemed as if it had been blind, a minute since, and now had found a sense of sight wherewith to look up at the shining sky. Corn-fields, hedge-rows, fences, homesteads, and clustered roofs, the steeple of the church, the stream, the water-mill, all sprang out of the gloomy darkness smiling. Birds sang sweetly, flowers raised their drooping heads, fresh scents arose from the invigorated ground; the blue expanse above extended and diffused itself; already the sun’s slanting rays pierced mortally the sullen bank of cloud that lingered in its flight; and a rainbow, spirit of all the colours that adorned the earth and sky, spanned the whole arch with its triumphant glory. At such a time, one little roadside Inn, snugly sheltered behind a great elm-tree with a rare seat for idlers encircling its capacious bole, addressed a cheerful front towards the traveller, as a house of 83 "Summary: Grace faints and when Alfred asks what is wrong, they tell him that she has left with someone. He remains motionless as the world continues to change. Trope: Tragic love story Narrative arc: Tragic tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Grace, Alfred, Doctor Fuzzy place: House, roads Diegetic time: Six years " But when Alfred, who was standing in the hall, saw her white face and eyes that looked more like a corpse's than her own, he started back with a cry; and then she fell into his arms, and fainted away. When she came to herself again, she had been carried upstairs by Alfred and the Doctor together, and laid on her bed. And when she saw Alfred standing beside her, and asked him what had happened, he said, 'I am afraid you have left me, Grace, as I feared you would.' 'Left you?' said she. 'What do you mean? Have I not been here all day?' 'Not now,' he said, holding both her hands tightly between his own. 'You were here this morning; but you are gone now.' She shook her head in a bewildered manner, and said no more; but a great terror of heart came upon her, which increased when the Doctor went out of the room, leaving them alone together. But Alfred was firm; for he knew now that it was useless to disguise matters from her any longer; and he took her hand, and told her all about the strange man who had called at the house that morning, and how they had gone off together. 'And now I know why you were always so cold to me, Grace,' said he. 'It was because your heart belonged to another man. 60 676 139214 entertainment ought, and tempted him with many mute but significant assurances of a comfortable welcome. The ruddy sign-board perched up in the tree, with its golden letters winking in the sun, ogled the passer-by, from among the green leaves, like a jolly face, and promised good cheer. The horse-trough, full of clear fresh water, and the ground below it sprinkled with droppings of fragrant hay, made every horse that passed, prick up his ears. The crimson curtains in the lower rooms, and the pure white hangings in the little bed-chambers above, beckoned, Come in! with every breath of air. Upon the bright green shutters, there were golden legends about beer and ale, and neat wines, and good beds; and an affecting picture of a brown jug frothing over at the top. Upon the window-sills were flowering plants in bright red pots, which made a lively show against the white front of the house; and in the darkness of the doorway there were streaks of light, which glanced off from the surfaces of bottles and tankards. On the door-step, appeared a proper figure of a landlord, too; for, though he was a short man, he was round and broad, and stood with his hands in his pockets, and his legs just wide enough apart to express a mind at rest upon the subject of the cellar, and an easy confidence—too calm and virtuous to become a swagger—in the general resources of the Inn. The superabundant moisture, trickling from everything after the late rain, set him off well. Nothing near him was thirsty. Certain top-heavy dahlias, looking over the palings of his neat well-ordered garden, had swilled as much as they could carry—perhaps a trifle more—and may have been the worse for liquor; but the sweet-briar, roses, wall-flowers, the plants at the windows, and the leaves on the old tree, were in the beaming state of moderate company that had taken no more than was wholesome for them, and had served to develop their best qualities. Sprinkling dewy drops about them on the ground, they seemed profuse of innocent and sparkling mirth, that did good where it lighted, softening neglected corners which the steady rain could seldom reach, and hurting nothing. This village Inn had assumed, on being established, an uncommon sign. It was called The Nutmeg-Grater. And underneath that household word, was inscribed, up in the tree, on the same flaming board, and in the like golden characters, By Benjamin Britain. At a second glance, and on a more minute examination of his face, you might have known that it was no other than Benjamin Britain himself who stood in the doorway—reasonably changed by time, but for the better; a very comfortable host indeed. ‘Mrs. B.,’ said Mr. Britain, looking down the road, ‘is rather late. It’s tea-time.’ As there was no Mrs. Britain coming, he strolled leisurely out into the road and looked up at the house, very much to his satisfaction. ‘It’s just the sort of house,’ said Benjamin, ‘I should wish to stop at, if I didn’t keep it.’ Then, he strolled towards the garden-paling, and took a look at the dahlias. They looked over at him, with a helpless drowsy hanging of their heads: which bobbed again, as the heavy drops of wet dripped off them. ‘You must be looked after,’ said Benjamin. ‘Memorandum, not to forget to tell her so. She’s a long time coming!’ Mr. Britain’s better half seemed to be by so very much his better half, that his own moiety of himself was utterly cast away and helpless without her. ‘She hadn’t much to do, I think,’ said Ben. ‘There were a few little matters of business after market, but not many. Oh! here we are at last!’ A chaise-cart, driven by a boy, came clattering along the road: and seated in it, in a chair, with a large well-saturated umbrella spread out 83 "Summary: The text describes the exterior of a village inn called The Nutmeg-Grater, emphasizing its pleasant appearance and welcoming atmosphere. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Descriptive, positive Genre: Descriptive prose Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Description of a place Active character: Benjamin Britain Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment Fuzzy place: The village inn Diegetic time: A few hours " "All that was visible of the interior, however, at first glance, appeared to be a long narrow room with a bar extending across one end of it. This, when you entered, proved to be no more than the hall; for beyond it lay a comfortable and spacious kitchen, with a blazing fire on the hearth, and another bar running along one side of it, whereon stood pewter pots, basins, mugs, plates, &c., of all sizes; while a third bar, as I afterwards found, led from this apartment into a neat little parlour behind it. At the door of the house sat a little urchin, who had been sent out to catch a cat which was playing about among the stones in front of the porch. The poor creature, not daring to venture nearer, kept hopping backwards and forwards, now and then making a dash at the mischievous quadruped, but always in vain. It was a bright frosty day, just such a day as is delightful to the heart of an old man. Benjamin Britain was standing in the sunshine by the garden wall, looking on at the child's attempts to catch the cat; and I could not help observing what a contrast there was between the placid expression of his countenance, and the gloomy brow and harsh features of the rest of the family. As soon as he saw me, he advanced towards the gate, saying— ""I hope you will do us the favour, sir, to step in and partake of a glass of grog, or whatever may happen to be going. It's my pleasure to welcome any gentleman as calls here."" ""With all my heart,"" said I, following him into the house. The inn was very pleasantly situated in a retired corner of the village, surrounded by a small garden, and backed by a grove of trees, through the branches of which the church spire was seen rising above the houses. The exterior of the building was of red brick, with a slated roof, and a wooden portico supported by square pillars, on each side of the door-way, which were painted white, and ornamented with some rude carvings in the form of fruit and flowers. The windows, likewise, were painted white, and the whole had a look of neatness and respectability which distinguished it conspicuously from the other houses in the neighbourhood. The ground floor was covered with gravel, and, on each side of the door-way, stood two stone steps leading to the entrance. The door itself was of oak, and, like the rest of the external furniture, painted white. On entering, I found myself in a small passage, with a door on each side, and a flight of stairs at the end leading to the upper rooms. " 61 676 139215 to dry behind her, was the plump figure of a matronly woman, with her bare arms folded across a basket which she carried on her knee, several other baskets and parcels lying crowded around her, and a certain bright good nature in her face and contented awkwardness in her manner, as she jogged to and fro with the motion of her carriage, which smacked of old times, even in the distance. Upon her nearer approach, this relish of by-gone days was not diminished; and when the cart stopped at the Nutmeg-Grater door, a pair of shoes, alighting from it, slipped nimbly through Mr. Britain’s open arms, and came down with a substantial weight upon the pathway, which shoes could hardly have belonged to any one but Clemency Newcome. In fact they did belong to her, and she stood in them, and a rosy comfortable-looking soul she was: with as much soap on her glossy face as in times of yore, but with whole elbows now, that had grown quite dimpled in her improved condition. ‘You’re late, Clemmy!’ said Mr. Britain. ‘Why, you see, Ben, I’ve had a deal to do!’ she replied, looking busily after the safe removal into the house of all the packages and baskets: ‘eight, nine, ten—where’s eleven? Oh! my basket’s eleven! It’s all right. Put the horse up, Harry, and if he coughs again give him a warm mash to-night. Eight, nine, ten. Why, where’s eleven? Oh I forgot, it’s all right. How’s the children, Ben?’ ‘Hearty, Clemmy, hearty.’ ‘Bless their precious faces!’ said Mrs. Britain, unbonneting her own round countenance (for she and her husband were by this time in the bar), and smoothing her hair with her open hands. ‘Give us a kiss, old man!’ Mr. Britain promptly complied. ‘I think,’ said Mrs. Britain, applying herself to her pockets and drawing forth an immense bulk of thin books and crumpled papers: a very kennel of dogs’-ears: ‘I’ve done everything. Bills all settled—turnips sold—brewer’s account looked into and paid—’bacco pipes ordered—seventeen pound four, paid into the Bank—Doctor Heathfield’s charge for little Clem—you’ll guess what that is—Doctor Heathfield won’t take nothing again, Ben.’ ‘I thought he wouldn’t,’ returned Ben. ‘No. He says whatever family you was to have, Ben, he’d never put you to the cost of a halfpenny. Not if you was to have twenty.’ Mr. Britain’s face assumed a serious expression, and he looked hard at the wall. ‘An’t it kind of him?’ said Clemency. ‘Very,’ returned Mr. Britain. ‘It’s the sort of kindness that I wouldn’t presume upon, on any account.’ ‘No,’ retorted Clemency. ‘Of course not. Then there’s the pony—he fetched eight pound two; and that an’t bad, is it?’ ‘It’s very good,’ said Ben. ‘I’m glad you’re pleased!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘I thought you would be; and I think that’s all, and so no more at present from yours and cetrer, C. Britain. Ha ha ha! There! Take all the papers, and lock ’em up. Oh! Wait a minute. Here’s a printed bill to stick on the wall. Wet from the printer’s. How nice it smells!’ ‘What’s this?’ said Ben, looking over the document. ‘I don’t know,’ replied his wife. ‘I haven’t read a word of it.’ ‘“To be sold by Auction,”’ read the host of the Nutmeg-Grater, ‘“unless previously disposed of by private contract.”’ ‘They always put that,’ said Clemency. ‘Yes, but they don’t always put this,’ he returned. ‘Look here, “Mansion,” &c.—“offices,” &c., “shrubberies,” &c., “ring fence,” &c. “Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs,” &c., “ornamental portion of the unencumbered freehold property of Michael Warden, Esquire, intending to continue to reside abroad”!’ 83 "Summary: Clemency Newcome arrives at the Nutmeg-Grater with a basket of goods, and has a conversation with Mr. Britain about her day and the children. They discuss various financial matters and Clemency gives Ben a bill to stick on the wall. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted, contented Genre: Realistic fiction Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency Newcome, Mr. Britain Quoted character: Doctor Heathfield, Michael Warden Time setting: Contemporary period Diegetic time: A few hours " Clemency Newcome arrived at the Nutmeg-Grater with a basket of goods under her arm, and a little parcel of food for the children. She was dressed in her plainest frock, and her hat had a very humble appearance. There were some people at play in the street when she came to the door; and they stopped as she entered, and looked after her with admiring glances. “Why, the Doctor’s daughter has come back,” they said. “She’ll be married to Michael Warden before long.” “What are you going to do with that basket, Clem?” Mr. Britain asked, when he opened the door to her. “I’m going to make tea for the children,” she answered. “I can’t think how you got home so early; I have only been gone two hours.” “Well, no, not quite two; I left him about ten minutes ago. He had just got into a quiet sleep. Poor fellow! he has a hard time of it. He is such a good old gentleman, isn’t he, Mr. Britain? I wish everybody would love me as he loves me.” “He is a good old gentleman, and if everybody loved you as he does, you’d get on better than you do, Miss Newcome.” “Oh, I’m sure I do; but people don’t understand me, poor things!” “No; nobody understands you, or perhaps any one else either. What were you doing with Doctor Heathfield all day?” “A great many things. He took me to see the Jeweller; and then we went to see Michael Warden, and afterwards to the horses; and last of all we went to look at the water-works.” “And where did you get all this money?” “Doctor Heathfield gave it me; he said he wanted me to buy the children something for their tea.” “It will be all spent on yourself, Clem; that’s the way with you. I never saw anything like it in my life.” “Don’t say that, Mr. Britain; it’s too cruel, you know.” “But it’s true, isn’t it? When you go out you’ve always got your pockets full of coppers for yourself, and nothing for the children. Why didn’t you bring them a pennyworth of oranges, or something of that sort, instead of half-a-crown?” “Because I thought that would be better. They’ll have plenty of good things to eat now.” “Yes; and you’ll have plenty of new clothes, and hats, and bonnets, and ribbons, and what not, before very long. You’re as bad as the doctor himself; you waste everything you touch. Oh, by the bye, Ben, there’s a bill for you.” “Where is it?” “On the table. It’s a bill for the bread and milk. It’s from the baker’s round the corner.” “Mr. Britain, who is the man that came in here just now?” “Michael Warden.” “Is he coming again?” “He says he is; but I told him you wouldn’t like it.” “Didn’t you tell him what I said about him?” “No, I didn’t; I knew you’d want to tell him yourself.” 62 676 139216 ‘Intending to continue to reside abroad!’ repeated Clemency. ‘Here it is,’ said Britain. ‘Look!’ ‘And it was only this very day that I heard it whispered at the old house, that better and plainer news had been half promised of her, soon!’ said Clemency, shaking her head sorrowfully, and patting her elbows as if the recollection of old times unconsciously awakened her old habits. ‘Dear, dear, dear! There’ll be heavy hearts, Ben, yonder.’ Mr. Britain heaved a sigh, and shook his head, and said he couldn’t make it out: he had left off trying long ago. With that remark, he applied himself to putting up the bill just inside the bar window. Clemency, after meditating in silence for a few moments, roused herself, cleared her thoughtful brow, and bustled off to look after the children. Though the host of the Nutmeg-Grater had a lively regard for his good-wife, it was of the old patronising kind, and she amused him mightily. Nothing would have astonished him so much, as to have known for certain from any third party, that it was she who managed the whole house, and made him, by her plain straightforward thrift, good-humour, honesty, and industry, a thriving man. So easy it is, in any degree of life (as the world very often finds it), to take those cheerful natures that never assert their merit, at their own modest valuation; and to conceive a flippant liking of people for their outward oddities and eccentricities, whose innate worth, if we would look so far, might make us blush in the comparison! It was comfortable to Mr. Britain, to think of his own condescension in having married Clemency. She was a perpetual testimony to him of the goodness of his heart, and the kindness of his disposition; and he felt that her being an excellent wife was an illustration of the old precept that virtue is its own reward. He had finished wafering up the bill, and had locked the vouchers for her day’s proceedings in the cupboard—chuckling all the time, over her capacity for business—when, returning with the news that the two Master Britains were playing in the coach-house under the superintendence of one Betsey, and that little Clem was sleeping ‘like a picture,’ she sat down to tea, which had awaited her arrival, on a little table. It was a very neat little bar, with the usual display of bottles and glasses; a sedate clock, right to the minute (it was half-past five); everything in its place, and everything furbished and polished up to the very utmost. ‘It’s the first time I’ve sat down quietly to-day, I declare,’ said Mrs. Britain, taking a long breath, as if she had sat down for the night; but getting up again immediately to hand her husband his tea, and cut him his bread-and-butter; ‘how that bill does set me thinking of old times!’ ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Britain, handling his saucer like an oyster, and disposing of its contents on the same principle. ‘That same Mr. Michael Warden,’ said Clemency, shaking her head at the notice of sale, ‘lost me my old place.’ ‘And got you your husband,’ said Mr. Britain. ‘Well! So he did,’ retorted Clemency, ‘and many thanks to him.’ ‘Man’s the creature of habit,’ said Mr. Britain, surveying her, over his saucer. ‘I had somehow got used to you, Clem; and I found I shouldn’t be able to get on without you. So we went and got made man and wife. Ha! ha! We! Who’d have thought it!’ ‘Who indeed!’ cried Clemency. ‘It was very good of you, Ben.’ ‘No, no, no,’ replied Mr. Britain, with an air of self-denial. ‘Nothing worth mentioning.’ ‘Oh yes it was, Ben,’ said his wife, with great simplicity; ‘I’m sure I think so, and am very much obliged to you. Ah!’ looking again at the bill; ‘when she was known to be gone, and out of reach, dear girl, I couldn’t help telling—for her sake quite as much as theirs—what I knew, could I?’ ‘You told it, anyhow,’ observed her husband. 83 "Summary: Mr. Britain and Clemency discuss a woman who had been rumored to be returning, but now it has been discovered that she intends to stay abroad. They also talk about their own past and the events that led to their marriage. Narrative arc: Conversational Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, conversational Genre: Domestic fiction Speech standard: Informal, everyday language Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Mr. Britain, Clemency Quoted character: Michael Warden Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy time: Today, this very day Absolute place: The Nutmeg-Grater inn Fuzzy place: The old house, the bar window, the coach-house Diegetic time: A few minutes " said Mr. Britain, standing up in his shirt-sleeves and looking out of the bar window. “I hope you’ll pardon my being so particular; but it’s a good rule to make people show their credentials before they enter the old house.” “And Michael Warden?” said Clemency, looking round her at the room with its high-backed chairs and broad oak table. “Michael Warden has been gone these three years,” replied Mr. Britain; “and I have no wish that he should ever come back again.” “Ah!” said Clemency, “so you never heard that she was coming back after all?” “Coming back! No, I never heard that; and I’m glad I didn’t, for I shouldn’t have let her in on any account. She has lived abroad all this time, hasn’t she? And now it appears she means to stop there.” “Yes,” said Clemency, laughing; “we were all quite deceived. That’s what makes me laugh so when I think of it. We thought she would be here today; and now we find she will never be here at all.” “She’ll not be here today, that’s certain,” said Mr. Britain, drawing up a chair for Clemency, and sitting down himself. “Where’s your baggage?” “In the coach-house. But you mustn’t look at it until I have put on my bonnet; for if I am to keep my character of a young lady returning from a foreign tour, I must insist upon preserving the proprieties.” “You are rather a young lady than anything else,” said Mr. Britain. “But you shall wear your bonnet by-and-by, and then we will go over your luggage together, and settle how you’re to be accommodated.” He went downstairs, and Clemency walked leisurely to the window to look at the pretty garden which had once been tended by her mother’s hand, and which had now run wild, like everything else in the old house. How different from the present state of things would it all have been, if Mr. Britain had not married her mother! What an excellent husband he had proved! So far as his own interests were concerned, the marriage had been most advantageous to him; for he had gained a wife who possessed all the virtues and none of the vices of her sex; and besides this, he had obtained possession of a great deal of property, which had been left in trust by her father to his wife’s use during her life, and to her husband’s after her decease. As to Clemency, she had been brought up in comfort, and even in luxury, and she had received more education than many young ladies of her rank could boast of possessing. On the other hand, Mr. Britain had lost his bachelor freedom, and had incurred heavy responsibilities, which no prudent man will lightly contract without some strong motive to induce him to do so. 63 676 139217 ‘And Dr. Jeddler,’ pursued Clemency, putting down her tea-cup, and looking thoughtfully at the bill, ‘in his grief and passion turned me out of house and home! I never have been so glad of anything in all my life, as that I didn’t say an angry word to him, and hadn’t any angry feeling towards him, even then; for he repented that truly, afterwards. How often he has sat in this room, and told me over and over again he was sorry for it!—the last time, only yesterday, when you were out. How often he has sat in this room, and talked to me, hour after hour, about one thing and another, in which he made believe to be interested!—but only for the sake of the days that are gone by, and because he knows she used to like me, Ben!’ ‘Why, how did you ever come to catch a glimpse of that, Clem?’ asked her husband: astonished that she should have a distinct perception of a truth which had only dimly suggested itself to his inquiring mind. ‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said Clemency, blowing her tea, to cool it. ‘Bless you, I couldn’t tell you, if you was to offer me a reward of a hundred pound.’ He might have pursued this metaphysical subject but for her catching a glimpse of a substantial fact behind him, in the shape of a gentleman attired in mourning, and cloaked and booted like a rider on horseback, who stood at the bar-door. He seemed attentive to their conversation, and not at all impatient to interrupt it. Clemency hastily rose at this sight. Mr. Britain also rose and saluted the guest. ‘Will you please to walk up-stairs, sir? There’s a very nice room up-stairs, sir.’ ‘Thank you,’ said the stranger, looking earnestly at Mr. Britain’s wife. ‘May I come in here?’ ‘Oh, surely, if you like, sir,’ returned Clemency, admitting him. ‘What would you please to want, sir?’ The bill had caught his eye, and he was reading it. ‘Excellent property that, sir,’ observed Mr. Britain. He made no answer; but, turning round, when he had finished reading, looked at Clemency with the same observant curiosity as before. ‘You were asking me,’—he said, still looking at her,—‘What you would please to take, sir,’ answered Clemency, stealing a glance at him in return. ‘If you will let me have a draught of ale,’ he said, moving to a table by the window, ‘and will let me have it here, without being any interruption to your meal, I shall be much obliged to you.’ He sat down as he spoke, without any further parley, and looked out at the prospect. He was an easy, well-knit figure of a man in the prime of life. His face, much browned by the sun, was shaded by a quantity of dark hair; and he wore a moustache. His beer being set before him, he filled out a glass, and drank, good-humouredly, to the house; adding, as he put the tumbler down again: ‘It’s a new house, is it not?’ ‘Not particularly new, sir,’ replied Mr. Britain. ‘Between five and six years old,’ said Clemency; speaking very distinctly. ‘I think I heard you mention Dr. Jeddler’s name, as I came in,’ inquired the stranger. ‘That bill reminds me of him; for I happen to know something of that story, by hearsay, and through certain connexions of mine.—Is the old man living?’ ‘Yes, he’s living, sir,’ said Clemency. ‘Much changed?’ ‘Since when, sir?’ returned Clemency, with remarkable emphasis and expression. ‘Since his daughter—went away.’ ‘Yes! he’s greatly changed since then,’ said Clemency. ‘He’s grey and old, and hasn’t the same way with him at all; but, I think he’s happy now. He has taken on with his sister since then, and goes to see her 83 "Summary: Clemency reflects on her relationship with Dr. Jeddler and his regret for turning her out of house and home. A stranger enters the room and interacts with Clemency. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Conversational Genre: Drama Speech standard: Informal Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency, Dr. Jeddler, Ben, Stranger Time setting: Contemporary Fuzzy time: Yesterday Absolute place: Bar-door Fuzzy place: House Diegetic time: A few days " Clemency. But he was very sorry yesterday, Ben; as sorry as he could be when he thought how little he deserved to be so, for having turned me out of house and home. Stranger. Very just! (He goes towards the door.) Clemency. No, no, sir; that's a mistake; this is the way. (She opens another door, and shows him through.) Stranger. Will you leave your brother? I'm going to see him first. Clemency. If you please, sir. Stranger. Thank'ee. (As she comes back, he stops her.) You are not afraid of meeting him here, I hope? Clemency. Not a bit, sir. Stranger. Eh? Stranger. What did you say, young woman? Clemency. Not a bit, sir. Stranger. Well then, good morning, miss. (They cross each other, and go into their respective rooms.) 64 676 139218 very often. That did him good, directly. At first, he was sadly broken down; and it was enough to make one’s heart bleed, to see him wandering about, railing at the world; but a great change for the better came over him after a year or two, and then he began to like to talk about his lost daughter, and to praise her, ay and the world too! and was never tired of saying, with the tears in his poor eyes, how beautiful and good she was. He had forgiven her then. That was about the same time as Miss Grace’s marriage. Britain, you remember?’ Mr. Britain remembered very well. ‘The sister is married then,’ returned the stranger. He paused for some time before he asked, ‘To whom?’ Clemency narrowly escaped oversetting the tea-board, in her emotion at this question. ‘Did _you_ never hear?’ she said. ‘I should like to hear,’ he replied, as he filled his glass again, and raised it to his lips. ‘Ah! It would be a long story, if it was properly told,’ said Clemency, resting her chin on the palm of her left hand, and supporting that elbow on her right hand, as she shook her head, and looked back through the intervening years, as if she were looking at a fire. ‘It would be a long story, I am sure.’ ‘But told as a short one,’ suggested the stranger. Told as a short one,’ repeated Clemency in the same thoughtful tone, and without any apparent reference to him, or consciousness of having auditors, ‘what would there be to tell? That they grieved together, and remembered her together, like a person dead; that they were so tender of her, never would reproach her, called her back to one another as she used to be, and found excuses for her! Every one knows that. I’m sure I do. No one better,’ added Clemency, wiping her eyes with her hand. ‘And so,’ suggested the stranger. ‘And so,’ said Clemency, taking him up mechanically, and without any change in her attitude or manner, ‘they at last were married. They were married on her birth-day—it comes round again to-morrow—very quiet, very humble like, but very happy. Mr. Alfred said, one night when they were walking in the orchard, “Grace, shall our wedding-day be Marion’s birth-day?” And it was.’ ‘And they have lived happily together?’ said the stranger. ‘Ay,’ said Clemency. ‘No two people ever more so. They have had no sorrow but this.’ She raised her head as with a sudden attention to the circumstances under which she was recalling these events, and looked quickly at the stranger. Seeing that his face was turned toward the window, and that he seemed intent upon the prospect, she made some eager signs to her husband, and pointed to the bill, and moved her mouth as if she were repeating with great energy, one word or phrase to him over and over again. As she uttered no sound, and as her dumb motions like most of her gestures were of a very extraordinary kind, this unintelligible conduct reduced Mr. Britain to the confines of despair. He stared at the table, at the stranger, at the spoons, at his wife—followed her pantomime with looks of deep amazement and perplexity—asked in the same language, was it property in danger, was it he in danger, was it she—answered her signals with other signals expressive of the deepest distress and confusion—followed the motions of her lips—guessed half aloud ‘milk and water,’ ‘monthly warning,’ ‘mice and walnuts’—and couldn’t approach her meaning. Clemency gave it up at last, as a hopeless attempt; and moving her chair by very slow degrees a little nearer to the stranger, sat with her eyes apparently cast down but glancing sharply at him now and then, waiting until he should ask some other question. She had not to wait long; for he said, presently: ‘And what is the after history of the young lady who went away? They 83 "Summary: A conversation between two characters about a daughter who left and was later married. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Emotional, sentimental Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: The stranger, Clemency, Mr. Britain Fuzzy time: After a year or two Fuzzy place: The orchard Diegetic time: Several years " He was so struck with her, that he could hardly believe his eyes; and, in the confusion of his feelings, wanted to know whether this was the same young lady who had left them after a year or two. “It is indeed,” said Clemency; “and you may well ask the question, for she has changed sadly. She would not have known me again, I am sure, but for the silver brooch.” “And what has made the change?” asked the stranger. “I can tell you that,” said Mr. Britain; “for my part I am sorry to say that I always foretold it would be so. The girl was too beautiful and too sensible to stay long at home; and I never doubted but what she would be married soon or late.” “You are quite mistaken there, father,” said Clemency, “for she went away because she was resolved to live as other people do, and to have no husband at all.” “Well, but what has happened now?” said Mr. Britain. “She has got one at last, to be sure,” said Clemency. “Yes,” said the stranger, “she is married; and the good fortune which you predicted has come at last.” “Who is her husband?” asked Mr. Britain. “Why, her husband is myself, if you please,” replied the stranger. “Impossible!” said Mr. Britain; “you cannot be the person.” “But I am,” answered the stranger. “How came this to pass, then?” asked Mr. Britain. “That’s a secret between herself and me,” said the stranger. “But where did you meet with her? How did it happen?” “That’s another secret,” said the stranger. “And when shall we see her?” “To-morrow, perhaps,” said the stranger. “Oh! let us go now, father,” cried Clemency; “let us go into the orchard.” “There is no occasion to hurry ourselves,” said the stranger. “We have plenty of time before us yet.” “But I want to see her directly,” said Clemency. “Why don’t you ask your father to go with you?” “No, thank you, father,” said the stranger. “I’ll stay here awhile.” “Well, then, I will go alone,” said Clemency, and ran out of the room. “Well, friend,” said Mr. Britain, “and what may your name be?” “My name is Thomas Britain,” said the stranger. “Thomas Britain!” repeated the old man, “and do you tell me that your name is Thomas Britain?” “Yes,” replied the stranger, “and you may well wonder that my name should be the same as yours.” “Stay, stay a moment,” said Mr. Britain, taking up the candle and going towards the door. “What are you about now?” asked the stranger. “I am going to look at the brooch,” said Mr. Britain; “I must find out whether it is real or false.” “What signifies that to you?” said the stranger. “Nothing at all,” said Mr. Britain; “but still I must see it, that’s all.” 65 676 139219 know it, I suppose?’ Clemency shook her head. ‘I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘that Doctor Jeddler is thought to know more of it than he tells. Miss Grace has had letters from her sister, saying that she was well and happy, and made much happier by her being married to Mr. Alfred: and has written letters back. But there’s a mystery about her life and fortunes, altogether, which nothing has cleared up to this hour, and which—’ She faltered here, and stopped. ‘And which’—repeated the stranger. ‘Which only one other person, I believe, could explain,’ said Clemency, drawing her breath quickly. ‘Who may that be?’ asked the stranger. ‘Mr. Michael Warden!’ answered Clemency, almost in a shriek: at once conveying to her husband what she would have had him understand before, and letting Michael Warden know that he was recognised. ‘You remember me, sir?’ said Clemency, trembling with emotion; ‘I saw just now you did! You remember me, that night in the garden. I was with her!’ ‘Yes. You were,’ he said. ‘Yes, sir,’ returned Clemency. ‘Yes, to be sure. This is my husband, if you please. Ben, my dear Ben, run to Miss Grace—run to Mr. Alfred—run somewhere, Ben! Bring somebody here, directly!’ ‘Stay!’ said Michael Warden, quietly interposing himself between the door and Britain. ‘What would you do?’ ‘Let them know that you are here, sir,’ answered Clemency, clapping her hands in sheer agitation. ‘Let them know that they may hear of her, from your own lips; let them know that she is not quite lost to them, but that she will come home again yet, to bless her father and her loving sister—even her old servant, even me,’ she struck herself upon the breast with both hands, ‘with a sight of her sweet face. Run, Ben, run!’ And still she pressed him on towards the door, and still Mr. Warden stood before it, with his hand stretched out, not angrily, but sorrowfully. ‘Or perhaps,’ said Clemency, running past her husband, and catching in her emotion at Mr. Warden’s cloak, ‘perhaps she’s here now; perhaps she’s close by. I think from your manner she is. Let me see her, sir, if you please. I waited on her when she was a little child. I saw her grow to be the pride of all this place. I knew her when she was Mr. Alfred’s promised wife. I tried to warn her when you tempted her away. I know what her old home was when she was like the soul of it, and how it changed when she was gone and lost. Let me speak to her, if you please!’ He gazed at her with compassion, not unmixed with wonder: but, he made no gesture of assent. ‘I don’t think she _can_ know,’ pursued Clemency, ‘how truly they forgive her; how they love her; what joy it would be to them, to see her once more. She may be timorous of going home. Perhaps if she sees me, it may give her new heart. Only tell me truly, Mr. Warden, is she with you?’ ‘She is not,’ he answered, shaking his head. This answer, and his manner, and his black dress, and his coming back so quietly, and his announced intention of continuing to live abroad, explained it all. Marion was dead. He didn’t contradict her; yes, she was dead! Clemency sat down, hid her face upon the table, and cried. At that moment, a grey-headed old gentleman came running in: quite out of breath, and panting so much that his voice was scarcely to be recognised as the voice of Mr. Snitchey. ‘Good Heaven, Mr. Warden!’ said the lawyer, taking him aside, ‘what wind has blown—’ He was so blown himself, that he couldn’t get on any further until after a pause, when he added, feebly, ‘you here?’ ‘An ill-wind, I am afraid,’ he answered. ‘If you could have heard what has just passed—how I have been besought and entreated to perform 83 "Summary: Clemency reveals to Michael Warden that he is the only person who can explain a mystery surrounding Miss Grace's life and fortunes. He informs her that Miss Grace is dead. Narrative arc: Emotional revelation Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Tragic Genre: Drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency, Michael Warden Time setting: Contemporary Fuzzy place: Unnamed location Diegetic time: A few minutes " Clemency. So you are the only person who can explain this dreadful mystery of Miss Grace's life and fortunes? Michael Warden. Yes. Clemency (looking at him curiously). And you have kept it from us all these years! Why? Michael Warden. I could not tell. It was a secret. The terms of the trust were a secret. I knew them, but no one else did. And so long as no one knew, I kept silent. Now that it is known to you, I must tell you more. I am afraid you will never forgive me. Clemency. Never forgive you for what? Michael Warden. For what I am going to say next. Clemency. Oh, speak out! What do I care? You can tell me nothing about her that would change my feeling for her. Michael Warden. She is dead. [Clemency turns very pale.] Ah, you see! Well, now you know everything! [He turns away in silence.] Clemency (after a pause). You don't mean it! Is it true? Michael Warden. It is true. She has been dead these eight years. She died in Paris of typhoid fever; she had caught it in the streets there. [Clemency sits down on the sofa and covers her face with her hands.] Michael Warden. She was buried in the English Cemetery in Montmartre. Clemency (in a stifled voice). Oh, how awful! how dreadful! 66 676 139220 impossibilities—what confusion and affliction I carry with me!’ ‘I can guess it all. But why did you ever come here, my good sir?’ retorted Snitchey. ‘Come! How should I know who kept the house? When I sent my servant on to you, I strolled in here because the place was new to me; and I had a natural curiosity in everything new and old, in these old scenes; and it was outside the town. I wanted to communicate with you, first, before appearing there. I wanted to know what people would say to me. I see by your manner that you can tell me. If it were not for your confounded caution, I should have been possessed of everything long ago.’ ‘Our caution!’ returned the lawyer, ‘speaking for Self and Craggs—deceased,’ here Mr. Snitchey, glancing at his hat-band, shook his head, ‘how can you reasonably blame us, Mr. Warden? It was understood between us that the subject was never to be renewed, and that it wasn’t a subject on which grave and sober men like us (I made a note of your observations at the time) could interfere. Our caution too! When Mr. Craggs, sir, went down to his respected grave in the full belief—’ ‘I had given a solemn promise of silence until I should return, whenever that might be,’ interrupted Mr. Warden; ‘and I have kept it.’ ‘Well, sir, and I repeat it,’ returned Mr. Snitchey, ‘we were bound to silence too. We were bound to silence in our duty towards ourselves, and in our duty towards a variety of clients, you among them, who were as close as wax. It was not our place to make inquiries of you on such a delicate subject. I had my suspicions, sir; but, it is not six months since I have known the truth, and been assured that you lost her.’ ‘By whom?’ inquired his client. ‘By Doctor Jeddler himself, sir, who at last reposed that confidence in me voluntarily. He, and only he, has known the whole truth, years and years.’ ‘And you know it?’ said his client. ‘I do, sir!’ replied Snitchey; ‘and I have also reason to know that it will be broken to her sister to-morrow evening. They have given her that promise. In the meantime, perhaps you’ll give me the honour of your company at my house; being unexpected at your own. But, not to run the chance of any more such difficulties as you have had here, in case you should be recognised—though you’re a good deal changed; I think I might have passed you myself, Mr. Warden—we had better dine here, and walk on in the evening. It’s a very good place to dine at, Mr. Warden: your own property, by-the-bye. Self and Craggs (deceased) took a chop here sometimes, and had it very comfortably served. Mr. Craggs, sir,’ said Snitchey, shutting his eyes tight for an instant, and opening them again, ‘was struck off the roll of life too soon.’ ‘Heaven forgive me for not condoling with you,’ returned Michael Warden, passing his hand across his forehead, ‘but I’m like a man in a dream at present. I seem to want my wits. Mr. Craggs—yes—I am very sorry we have lost Mr. Craggs.’ But he looked at Clemency as he said it, and seemed to sympathise with Ben, consoling her. ‘Mr. Craggs, sir,’ observed Snitchey, ‘didn’t find life, I regret to say, as easy to have and to hold as his theory made it out, or he would have been among us now. It’s a great loss to me. He was my right arm, my right leg, my right ear, my right eye, was Mr. Craggs. I am paralytic without him. He bequeathed his share of the business to Mrs. Craggs, her executors, administrators, and assigns. His name remains in the Firm to this hour. I try, in a childish sort of a way, to make believe, sometimes, he’s alive. You may observe that I speak for Self and Craggs—deceased, sir—deceased,’ said the tender-hearted attorney, waving his pocket-handkerchief. Michael Warden, who had still been observant of Clemency, turned to Mr. Snitchey when he ceased to speak, and whispered in his ear. ‘Ah, poor thing!’ said Snitchey, shaking his head. ‘Yes. She was always 83 "Summary: The protagonist, Mr. Warden, expresses his confusion and seeks advice from Snitchey about a secret he has been keeping. Narrative arc: Exposition Enunciation: Dialog Tone: Serious Genre: Drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mr. Warden, Snitchey Time setting: Contemporary period Absolute place: Snitchey's house Diegetic time: A few months " snitchey, I can't make it out. But there, I am a dull fellow. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow morning. Good night.' 'Mr. Warden!' said Snitchey, as the Doctor was going away. 'Yes?' said Mr. Warden, turning back again. 'I wish to God you had told me all this when it first came to your knowledge,' returned Snitchey. 'It might have saved a world of heartache and anxiety. It may still do so.' 'I think not,' answered the Doctor. 'You are right or wrong, I cannot say; but I am bound in honour to keep my own counsel on some points connected with this affair, and must go on doing so until I receive fresh instructions from those who know what they are about better than I do. It's a fine secret to keep, is it not? A pretty state of things! But there, good night.' 'Good night, sir,' said Snitchey, shaking hands with him, 'and Heaven direct us both!' With this parting benediction, the Doctor walked off, leaving Snitchey standing at his parlour door, looking after him with an anxious face. And Snitchey was no easy man to move; for he had long been in the habit of putting hard questions to people, and was quite accustomed to their answers. When Mr. Snitchey had turned into his house, and got his shoes off, and was leaning back in his arm-chair, thinking over his friend the Doctor's strange case, and trying to find out how it would affect the law-suit (which would be coming on in another month), he fell fast asleep. He lay like that a long while; for Mr. Snitchey was a light sleeper, and very easily roused up; and he was awakened by the rain beating against the window, and by the wind whistling round the chimneys and slating. He got up, and put a little fire on the hearth, and looked at the clock: which was just striking two. Then he took down a little book from a shelf, and read a chapter out of it; then replaced it on its shelf, and sat down before the fire, thinking of the Doctor's story, and waiting for the dawn. They were heavy hours to Snitchey. He could not shake off the thought that something very dreadful was going to happen to his old friend. At last, indeed, his patience was exhausted, and he rose to go to bed; but immediately dropped down on his knees before the fire, and prayed for the Doctor's safety with such fervour, that he raised himself up again, half frightened by his own earnestness. 'No sleep tonight,' said Snitchey, buttoning his coat, and looking about the room as if he expected to see somebody there; 'but I shall sleep to-morrow, maybe. Good night, good night!' 67 676 139221 very faithful to Marion. She was always very fond of her. Pretty Marion! Poor Marion! Cheer up, Mistress—you are married now, you know, Clemency.’ Clemency only sighed, and shook her head. ‘Well, well! Wait till to-morrow,’ said the lawyer, kindly. ‘To-morrow can’t bring back’ the dead to life, Mister,’ said Clemency, sobbing. ‘No. It can’t do that, or it would bring back Mr. Craggs, deceased,’ returned the lawyer. ‘But it may bring some soothing circumstances; it may bring some comfort. Wait till to-morrow!’ So Clemency, shaking his proffered hand, said she would; and Britain, who had been terribly cast down at sight of his despondent wife (which was like the business hanging its head), said that was right; and Mr. Snitchey and Michael Warden went up-stairs; and there they were soon engaged in a conversation so cautiously conducted, that no murmur of it was audible above the clatter of plates and dishes, the hissing of the frying-pan, the bubbling of saucepans, the low monotonous waltzing of the jack—with a dreadful click every now and then as if it had met with some mortal accident to its head, in a fit of giddiness—and all the other preparations in the kitchen for their dinner. * * * * * To-morrow was a bright and peaceful day; and nowhere were the autumn tints more beautifully seen, than from the quiet orchard of the Doctor’s house. The snows of many winter nights had melted from that ground, the withered leaves of many summer times had rustled there, since she had fled. The honey-suckle porch was green again, the trees cast bountiful and changing shadows on the grass, the landscape was as tranquil and serene as it had ever been; but where was she! Not there. Not there. She would have been a stranger sight in her old home now, even than that home had been at first, without her. But, a lady sat in the familiar place, from whose heart she had never passed away; in whose true memory she lived, unchanging, youthful, radiant with all promise and all hope; in whose affection—and it was a mother’s now, there was a cherished little daughter playing by her side—she had no rival, no successor; upon whose gentle lips her name was trembling then. The spirit of the lost girl looked out of those eyes. Those eyes of Grace, her sister, sitting with her husband in the orchard, on their wedding-day, and his and Marion’s birth-day. He had not become a great man; he had not grown rich; he had not forgotten the scenes and friends of his youth; he had not fulfilled any one of the Doctor’s old predictions. But, in his useful, patient, unknown visiting of poor men’s homes; and in his watching of sick beds; and in his daily knowledge of the gentleness and goodness flowering the by-paths of this world, not to be trodden down beneath the heavy foot of poverty, but springing up, elastic, in its track, and making its way beautiful; he had better learned and proved, in each succeeding year, the truth of his old faith. The manner of his life, though quiet and remote, had shown him how often men still entertained angels, unawares, as in the olden time; and how the most unlikely forms—even some that were mean and ugly to the view, and poorly clad—became irradiated by the couch of sorrow, want, and pain, and changed to ministering spirits with a glory round their heads. He lived to better purpose on the altered battle-ground, perhaps, than if he had contended restlessly in more ambitious lists; and he was happy with his wife, dear Grace. And Marion. Had _he_ forgotten her? ‘The time has flown, dear Grace,’ he said, ‘since then;’ they had been talking of that night; ‘and yet it seems a long long while ago. We count by changes and events within us. Not by years.’ ‘Yet we have years to count by, too, since Marion was with us,’ returned 83 "Summary: The text is about a woman named Clemency who is mourning the death of her husband, Mr. Craggs, and awaiting the arrival of her new husband. She is comforted by the lawyer and her brother-in-law, Britain. The next day, they celebrate their wedding with a peaceful day in the orchard. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Clemency, lawyer, Britain, Grace, Doctor Fuzzy place: The Doctor's house, orchard Diegetic time: A few days " The Doctor's house, for instance, was in the middle of a garden, and Clemency could hear the sound of hens clucking and cackling under the window. It was a dismal morning, with a chilly drizzle of rain, which did not make the first day of widowhood any more cheerful than it would have been on a fine one. The lawyer, who had come from the town to pay his respects to her, offered to read Mr. Craggs's will; but she begged him to defer that ceremony till another time, as it would only bring back too vividly the memory of her loss. She knew well enough what the will contained; it left all her husband's property to herself, and no one else had anything to expect from him in this world. The lawyer went away, and she was sitting alone with Britain when the door opened, and a stranger entered the room. He was a tall man, dressed in deep mourning, with a dark face, and thick dark eyebrows, which made him look stern and forbidding. 'Good-morning, Miss Dobbs,' said he; 'my name is Stanning, and I am your brother-in-law.' He spoke in a gruff voice, without offering her his hand or attempting any sort of civility. 'I have just landed at Gravesend,' he continued; 'and, having nothing particular to do till my luggage comes, I thought I might as well walk over and pay my respects to you.' He sat down opposite to her, and began whistling very quietly to himself. 'You are very welcome,' said Britain, in his pleasant voice, which at once put Mr. Stanning in his place. 'Miss Dobbs has just lost her husband, sir,' said he; 'perhaps you had better wait till this afternoon.' 'Perhaps I had,' replied Stanning, coolly; 'but I don't care much about waiting; so I'll stay now if you like. You can tell me all about the funeral.' With which words he relapsed into silence again, and took up the paper which lay before him. 'I beg you won't talk of that unhappy affair to-day,' said Clemency; 'it makes it seem all the more real.' 'So it does,' said Stanning; 'that's why I talked about it; it's always better to be realistic in these cases. My father says so, and he knows more about them than most people.' 'Your father is a clergyman, I suppose?' said Clemency. 'No; he's a doctor,' said Stanning, with an air of disgust. 'What made you go into the army instead?' 'Because I didn't want to be a doctor,' said Stanning, abruptly. And after this conversation they lapsed into silence again, broken only by Stanning's whistling and Britain's coughing, while Clemency sat with her face turned towards the window and her eyes fixed on the dim landscape without. At last the clock struck twelve, and Grace came in to help her to dress. 68 676 139222 Grace. ‘Six times, dear husband, counting to-night as one, we have sat here on her birth-day, and spoken together of that happy return, so eagerly expected and so long deferred. Ah when will it be! When will it be!’ Her husband attentively observed her, as the tears collected in her eyes; and drawing nearer, said: ‘But, Marion told you, in that farewell letter which she left for you upon your table, love, and which you read so often, that years must pass away before it _could_ be. Did she not?’ She took a letter from her breast, and kissed it, and said ‘Yes.’ ‘That through these intervening years, however happy she might be, she would look forward to the time when you would meet again, and all would be made clear; and that she prayed you, trustfully and hopefully to do the same. The letter runs so, does it not, my dear?’ ‘Yes, Alfred.’ ‘And every other letter she has written since?’ ‘Except the last—some months ago—in which she spoke of you, and what you then knew, and what I was to learn to-night.’ He looked towards the sun, then fast declining, and said that the appointed time was sunset. ‘Alfred!’ said Grace, laying her hand upon his shoulder earnestly, ‘there is something in this letter—this old letter, which you say I read so often—that I have never told you. But, to-night, dear husband, with that sunset drawing near, and all our life seeming to soften and become hushed with the departing day, I cannot keep it secret.’ ‘What is it, love?’ ‘When Marion went away, she wrote me, here, that you had once left her a sacred trust to me, and that now she left you, Alfred, such a trust in my hands: praying and beseeching me, as I loved her, and as I loved you, not to reject the affection she believed (she knew, she said) you would transfer to me when the new wound was healed, but to encourage and return it.’ ‘—And make me a proud, and happy man again, Grace. Did she say so?’ ‘She meant, to make myself so blest and honoured in your love,’ was his wife’s answer, as he held her in his arms. ‘Hear me, my dear!’ he said.—‘No. Hear me so!’—and as he spoke, he gently laid the head she had raised, again upon his shoulder. ‘I know why I have never heard this passage in the letter, until now. I know why no trace of it ever showed itself in any word or look of yours at that time. I know why Grace, although so true a friend to me, was hard to win to be my wife. And knowing it, my own! I know the priceless value of the heart I gird within my arms, and thank GOD for the rich possession!’ She wept, but not for sorrow, as he pressed her to his heart. After a brief space, he looked down at the child, who was sitting at their feet playing with a little basket of flowers, and bade her look how golden and how red the sun was. ‘Alfred,’ said Grace, raising her head quickly at these words. ‘The sun is going down. You have not forgotten what I am to know before it sets.’ ‘You are to know the truth of Marion’s history, my love,’ he answered. ‘All the truth,’ she said, imploringly. ‘Nothing veiled from me, any more. That was the promise. Was it not?’ ‘It was,’ he answered. ‘Before the sun went down on Marion’s birth-day. And you see it, Alfred? It is sinking fast.’ He put his arm about her waist, and, looking steadily into her eyes, rejoined: ‘That truth is not reserved so long for me to tell, dear Grace. It is to come from other lips.’ ‘From other lips!’ she faintly echoed. ‘Yes. I know your constant heart, I know how brave you are, I know that 83 "Summary: Grace and her husband, Alfred, discuss their hopes for a reunion with their friend Marion, who has been away for years. Grace reveals that Marion left them both with a trust, and Alfred expresses his love and gratitude towards Grace. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Emotional and reflective Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Emotional, hopeful Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Conversation Active character: Grace, Alfred Quoted work: Marion's letter Fuzzy time: Sunset Fuzzy place: Unnamed location Diegetic time: Years " "But there is hope for that, and the sunset over the bay shall never again be so sad as this to me. Oh, Alfred, how I have suffered!"""" And she threw herself into his arms. For a long time they could not speak. At length he said: """"I see it all now. You loved her better than you did me; and when she went away your heart went with her."""" No, Alfred,"" she cried. ""You are wrong; my heart has always been here with you."" But why, then, Grace?"" he asked. ""Why did you let me go on believing the worst of you? Why did you not tell me before what Marion's letter really meant?"""" It was because I feared that if I told you you would go away from me altogether. But now that you know, you will stay?"""" There was an infinite appeal in her voice, which went straight to his heart. He took her hands and held them close between his own. """"Oh, Grace,"""" he cried, """"if I ever doubted you before, it was only because I did not know what love really meant. Now that I do know, I am ready to sacrifice anything for you. I am sorry for what I said about Marion; and I will give her up to you as soon as ever you choose. Only let me have you to myself for a little while longer."""" But what is this I hear about her leaving us both something?"" she asked. Yes, she left us each something,"" he replied. ""She left you five thousand dollars, and she left me the same amount."""" The thought of Marion's generosity came to him like a flash of light after darkness; and as he spoke he felt himself lifted out of the depths into which he had fallen. He saw everything in a new aspect; and the fact that Marion had remembered him thus at last touched him very nearly. Five thousand dollars!"" cried Grace. ""And she never told me of it! But how did she say we were to take it?"""" She said that each of us should invest it as seemed best, and draw the interest together every year, and divide it equally between us,"""" replied Alfred. """"That seems rather odd, doesn't it? But then, Marion was always an odd girl."""" Yes,"" said Grace, ""and yet it is just like her. That is exactly what she would do. She knows how poor we are, and she wants to help us. How glad I am that she gave it all to Alfred!"""" she added, as she drew closer to him. It is hers as much as mine,"" said Alfred. ""I want you to have half of it, Grace."""" No, no, Alfred,"" she cried, ""she gave it to you, and it is yours. How good she is to think of us like this!"""" Yes,"" said Alfred, ""and now I am doubly grateful to her, for it was through her that I learned to love you more."""" " 69 676 139223 to you a word of preparation is enough. You have said, truly, that the time is come. It is. Tell me that you have present fortitude to bear a trial—a surprise—a shock: and the messenger is waiting at the gate.’ ‘What messenger?’ she said. ‘And what intelligence does he bring?’ ‘I am pledged,’ he answered her, preserving his steady look, ‘to say no more. Do you think you understand me?’ ‘I am afraid to think,’ she said. There was that emotion in his face, despite its steady gaze, which frightened her. Again she hid her own face on his shoulder, trembling, and entreated him to pause—a moment. ‘Courage, my wife! When you have firmness to receive the messenger, the messenger is waiting at the gate. The sun is setting on Marion’s birth-day. Courage, courage, Grace!’ She raised her head, and, looking at him, told him she was ready. As she stood, and looked upon him going away, her face was so like Marion’s as it had been in her later days at home, that it was wonderful to see. He took the child with him. She called her back—she bore the lost girl’s name—and pressed her to her bosom. The little creature, being released again, sped after him, and Grace was left alone. She knew not what she dreaded, or what hoped; but remained there, motionless, looking at the porch by which they had disappeared. Ah! what was that, emerging from its shadow; standing on its threshold! That figure, with its white garments rustling in the evening air; its head laid down upon her father’s breast, and pressed against it to his loving heart! O God! was it a vision that came bursting from the old man’s arms, and with a cry, and with a waving of its hands, and with a wild precipitation of itself upon her in its boundless love, sank down in her embrace! ‘Oh, Marion, Marion! Oh, my sister! Oh, my heart’s dear love! Oh, joy and happiness unutterable, so to meet again!’ It was no dream, no phantom conjured up by hope and fear, but Marion, sweet Marion! So beautiful, so happy, so unalloyed by care and trial, so elevated and exalted in her loveliness, that as the setting sun shone brightly on her upturned face, she might have been a spirit visiting the earth upon some healing mission. Clinging to her sister, who had dropped upon a seat and bent down over her—and smiling through her tears—and kneeling, close before her, with both arms twining round her, and never turning for an instant from her face—and with the glory of the setting sun upon her brow, and with the soft tranquillity of evening gathering around them—Marion at length broke silence; her voice, so calm, low, clear, and pleasant, well-tuned to the time. ‘When this was my dear home, Grace, as it will be now again—’ ‘Stay, my sweet love! A moment! O Marion, to hear you speak again.’ She could not bear the voice she loved so well, at first. ‘When this was my dear home, Grace, as it will be now again, I loved him from my soul. I loved him most devotedly. I would have died for him, though I was so young. I never slighted his affection in my secret breast for one brief instant. It was far beyond all price to me. Although it is so long ago, and past, and gone, and everything is wholly changed, I could not bear to think that you, who love so well, should think I did not truly love him once. I never loved him better, Grace, than when he left this very scene upon this very day. I never loved him better, dear one, than I did that night when I left here.’ Her sister, bending over her, could look into her face, and hold her fast. ‘But he had gained, unconsciously,’ said Marion, with a gentle smile, ‘another heart, before I knew that I had one to give him. That heart—yours, my sister!—was so yielded up, in all its other tenderness, to me; was so devoted, and so noble; that it plucked its love away, and 83 "Summary: A woman is preparing to face a messenger who will bring news, while another character reveals that she has reunited with her long-lost sister. Trope: Reunion of long-lost family members Narrative arc: Emotional reunion Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Emotional, joyful Genre: Romance Intertextuality: Family reunion scene Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Dialogue Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: The woman, the man, Marion Time setting: Contemporary Diegetic time: Several years " "This was the moment for which she had been preparing, and with a steadfast eye she waited for the messenger who should bring to her the news she so much desired. But he came not yet; and whilst the clock on the mantle-piece pointed to the hour of two, she sat musing by the window, thinking of him who, like herself, was waiting anxiously for tidings from the other side of the water. As she leaned towards the glass to arrange her hair, which, from want of exercise, drooped sadly over her shoulders, she started at seeing in its place the face of her brother, who stood smiling at her. Marion! Marion!"" she exclaimed, ""what is this? Where have you come from?"" From Paris, my sister,"" replied he, advancing into the room with an air of mingled pride and sorrow. ""I am returned again from the war."""" You are wounded, Marion!"" said she, throwing herself upon his neck. Wounded! yes, but not mortally,"" he answered. ""Come, do not look so sad; it was worth while to risk a wound for such a prize as this."" And he pressed her closer to his heart. For a few moments they were silent. He held her thus, gazing upon her with tears of joy in his eyes. It seemed long since she had felt that dear embrace, and now, as she sat upon his knee, her cheek resting on his shoulder, all her former happiness seemed restored. And yet there was a shade of sadness on her brow which even Marion could not dispel. What is it, Lina?"" said he, taking her hand and holding it to his lips. ""Have I come too soon for you? Tell me, love; tell me your thoughts, and let me share them with you."""" No,"" said she, ""you have not come too soon for me; yet you have come to ask me what I cannot give you; you have come to claim that which I dare not yield you; you have come to ask me to be your wife."""" She paused, and drew back from his arms, as if to see how he would receive the blow. He gave no answer; but his eyes, as they met hers, told her plainly how her words had affected him. Then, like one reeling from a shock, he sunk back in his chair. His lip quivered, and his whole frame shook with agony. He made an effort to speak, but no words came forth; his throat was choked with sobs. My God! Lina,"" said he, at length, ""is this true? Is this your last farewell to me?"""" Yes, Marion,"" said she, weeping with him. ""You know that nothing can change my mind; you know that I never can be yours."""" And yet,"" rejoined he, raising his head, ""your father, your mother, your brother, all entreat you to listen to me. All implore you to forget the past, and to begin life anew."""" " 70 676 139224 kept its secret from all eyes but mine—Ah! what other eyes were quickened by such tenderness and gratitude!—and was content to sacrifice itself to me. But, I knew something of its depths. I knew the struggle it had made. I knew its high, inestimable worth to him, and his appreciation of it, let him love me as he would. I knew the debt I owed it. I had its great example every day before me. What you had done for me, I knew that I could do, Grace, if I would, for you. I never laid my head down on my pillow, but I prayed with tears to do it. I never laid my head down on my pillow, but I thought of Alfred’s own words on the day of his departure, and how truly he had said (for I knew that, knowing you) that there were victories gained every day, in struggling hearts, to which these fields of battle were nothing. Thinking more and more upon the great endurance cheerfully sustained, and never known or cared for, that there must be, every day and hour, in that great strife of which he spoke, my trial seemed to grow light and easy. And He who knows our hearts, my dearest, at this moment, and who knows there is no drop of bitterness or grief—of anything but unmixed happiness—in mine, enabled me to make the resolution that I never would be Alfred’s wife. That he should be my brother, and your husband, if the course I took could bring that happy end to pass; but that I never would (Grace, I then loved him dearly, dearly!) be his wife!’ ‘O Marion! O Marion!’ ‘I had tried to seem indifferent to him;’ and she pressed her sister’s face against her own; ‘but that was hard, and you were always his true advocate. I had tried to tell you of my resolution, but you would never hear me; you would never understand me. The time was drawing near for his return. I felt that I must act, before the daily intercourse between us was renewed. I knew that one great pang, undergone at that time, would save a lengthened agony to all of us. I knew that if I went away then, that end must follow which _has_ followed, and which has made us both so happy, Grace! I wrote to good Aunt Martha, for a refuge in her house: I did not then tell her all, but something of my story, and she freely promised it. While I was contesting that step with myself, and with my love of you, and home, Mr. Warden, brought here by an accident, became, for some time, our companion.’ ‘I have sometimes feared of late years, that this might have been,’ exclaimed her sister; and her countenance was ashy-pale. ‘You never loved him—and you married him in your self-sacrifice to me!’ ‘He was then,’ said Marion, drawing her sister closer to her, ‘on the eve of going secretly away for a long time. He wrote to me, after leaving here; told me what his condition and prospects really were; and offered me his hand. He told me he had seen I was not happy in the prospect of Alfred’s return. I believe he thought my heart had no part in that contract; perhaps thought I might have loved him once, and did not then; perhaps thought that when I tried to seem indifferent, I tried to hide indifference—I cannot tell. But I wished that you should feel me wholly lost to Alfred—hopeless to him—dead. Do you understand me, love?’ Her sister looked into her face, attentively. She seemed in doubt. ‘I saw Mr. Warden, and confided in his honour; charged him with my secret, on the eve of his and my departure. He kept it. Do you understand me, dear?’ Grace looked confusedly upon her. She scarcely seemed to hear. ‘My love, my sister!’ said Marion, ‘recall your thoughts a moment; listen to me. Do not look so strangely on me. There are countries, dearest, where those who would abjure a misplaced passion, or would strive, against some cherished feeling of their hearts and conquer it, retire into a hopeless solitude, and close the world against themselves and worldly loves and hopes for ever. When women do so, they assume that name which is so dear to you and me, and call each other Sisters. But, there may be sisters, Grace, who, in the broad world out of doors, and 83 "Summary: The narrator reveals to their sister that they have chosen not to marry Alfred and instead focus on helping their sister marry him instead. Trope: Sacrifice for love Narrative arc: Reflective, introspective Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Serious, reflective Genre: Romance Intertextuality: Personal letter or diary entry Speech standard: Standard English Literary form: Stream of consciousness Literary movement: Realism Active character: Marion, Alfred, Mr. Warden Fuzzy place: Unnamed locations such as a pillow, bed, home Diegetic time: Some time has passed " "As I lay on my pillow, with my head on his shoulder, and his arm around me, he told me of his old plans, and how he had given them up; and then he said, """"My darling Marion, you have never asked me to tell you whether I love you or not, but it is time you should know. I do; as long as I live I shall love you."""" And then, dear Alfred, I lifted up my face to him, for I could not speak, and he kissed me again and again; and that was the very happiest moment of my life, till he said, """"But I must leave you now."""" And so he did go away; and I went to bed without saying anything to any one, because I knew it would only make everybody more unhappy than they were before. Well, next morning mamma came into my room, and began by asking me what I thought about Alfred. My answer was, """"I think Alfred is a noble creature."""" Then she wanted to know if I had told him I would marry him when I could. No,"" I said, ""I didn't feel at liberty to do that."" Why not?"" she said. Because Mr. Warden has done so much for him that Alfred may be quite sure of being able to support a wife in his own way; and it will be a better thing for him to marry some one who wants to be married, and who can help him to settle down quietly in his new career. But I don't want to marry Alfred, for many reasons which I need not mention; but chiefly because I am afraid I shall not like married life. So I shall give up everything to you, and help you to get him if you really wish it."""" Well, mamma was very much surprised at this, and began talking to me about my duty, and so on; but she soon saw that I was determined, and ended by telling me that she hoped I was right, and that I should make Alfred happy by giving him up to her. So I suppose things will come right after all. Now, dearest Freda, you must tell me all your plans, and then we will talk about mine. Dear Freda, write a long letter, and tell me everything. Your loving sister, MARION. XXXIV. FREDERIC MURRAY TO HIS SISTER, MARION MURRAY. DEAR MARION, It is no use trying to write you a sensible letter about your affair, for I cannot see clearly through it yet. The first thing I find out is, that you are going to make a great sacrifice. You are willing to let Alfred marry your sister, though you love him yourself, and prefer him to any other man you know. That is certainly noble of you. " 71 676 139225 underneath its free sky, and in its crowded places, and among its busy life, and trying to assist and cheer it and to do some good,—learn the same lesson; and who, with hearts still fresh and young, and open to all happiness and means of happiness, can say the battle is long past, the victory long won. And such a one am I! You understand me now?’ Still she looked fixedly upon her, and made no reply. ‘Oh Grace, dear Grace,’ said Marion, clinging yet more tenderly and fondly to that breast from which she had been so long exiled, ‘if you were not a happy wife and mother—if I had no little namesake here—if Alfred, my kind brother, were not your own fond husband—from whence could I derive the ecstasy I feel to-night! But, as I left here, so I have returned. My heart has known no other love, my hand has never been bestowed apart from it. I am still your maiden sister, unmarried, unbetrothed: your own loving old Marion, in whose affection you exist alone and have no partner, Grace!’ She understood her now. Her face relaxed: sobs came to her relief; and falling on her neck, she wept and wept, and fondled her as if she were a child again. When they were more composed, they found that the Doctor, and his sister good Aunt Martha, were standing near at hand, with Alfred. ‘This is a weary day for me,’ said good Aunt Martha, smiling through her tears, as she embraced her nieces; ‘for I lose my dear companion in making you all happy; and what can you give me, in return for my Marion?’ ‘A converted brother,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s something, to be sure,’ retorted Aunt Martha, ‘in such a farce as—’ ‘No, pray don’t,’ said the doctor penitently. ‘Well, I won’t,’ replied Aunt Martha. ‘But, I consider myself ill used. I don’t know what’s to become of me without my Marion, after we have lived together half-a-dozen years.’ ‘You must come and live here, I suppose,’ replied the Doctor. ‘We shan’t quarrel now, Martha.’ ‘Or you must get married, Aunt,’ said Alfred. ‘Indeed,’ returned the old lady, ‘I think it might be a good speculation if I were to set my cap at Michael Warden, who, I hear, is come home much the better for his absence in all respects. But as I knew him when he was a boy, and I was not a very young woman then, perhaps he mightn’t respond. So I’ll make up my mind to go and live with Marion, when she marries, and until then (it will not be very long, I dare say) to live alone. What do _you_ say, Brother?’ ‘I’ve a great mind to say it’s a ridiculous world altogether, and there’s nothing serious in it,’ observed the poor old Doctor. ‘You might take twenty affidavits of it if you chose, Anthony,’ said his sister; ‘but nobody would believe you with such eyes as those.’ ‘It’s a world full of hearts,’ said the Doctor, hugging his youngest daughter, and bending across her to hug Grace—for he couldn’t separate the sisters; ‘and a serious world, with all its folly—even with mine, which was enough to have swamped the whole globe; and it is a world on which the sun never rises, but it looks upon a thousand bloodless battles that are some set-off against the miseries and wickedness of Battle-Fields; and it is a world we need be careful how we libel, Heaven forgive us, for it is a world of sacred mysteries, and its Creator only knows what lies beneath the surface of His lightest image!’ * * * * * You would not be the better pleased with my rude pen, if it dissected and laid open to your view the transports of this family, long severed and now reunited. Therefore, I will not follow the poor Doctor through his humbled recollection of the sorrow he had had, when Marion was lost to him; nor, will I tell how serious he had found that world to be, in which some love, deep-anchored, is the portion of all human creatures; nor, how 83 "Summary: The narrator reflects on their own life and expresses their happiness and love for their family. Trope: Family reunion, love of family Narrative arc: Reflective and introspective Enunciation: First-person narrative Tone: Sentimental, emotional Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Conversational, informal Literary form: Stream of consciousness Active character: Marion, Grace, Doctor, Alfred, Aunt Martha Fuzzy place: Unnamed places such as a crowded city or home Diegetic time: An extended period of time " But I had lived through all that, and learned to love and trust myself, and not care any longer for what people might say or think of me. And now Marion was here, and we were going home together! Then came the day when we said good-bye to Grace and Doctor, and bade them come to us whenever they could get away from the crowded city where their work lay. But they knew how hard it would be to leave Marion in her new happiness, and both seemed content to let the time go by before making another visit. We did not return by the same route; Alfred wanted to show Marion some of the country towns along the way, so we spent three days traveling northward, and then struck across toward the lake shore. It was late afternoon when we reached Aunt Martha's, but she had been expecting us, and supper was almost ready. She looked very much surprised when she saw Marion, but she greeted her warmly, and Marion answered with equal cordiality. They had never met before, but Marion felt at once that this aunt must be very nice if she was like her sister. After supper, when we sat around the fire talking, Alfred explained about Marion coming with us, and Aunt Martha nodded approvingly. 72 676 139226 such a trifle as the absence of one little unit in the great absurd account, had stricken him to the ground. Nor, how, in compassion for his distress, his sister had, long ago, revealed the truth to him by slow degrees, and brought him to the knowledge of the heart of his self-banished daughter, and to that daughter’s side. Nor, how Alfred Heathfield had been told the truth, too, in the course of that then current year; and Marion had seen him, and had promised him, as her brother, that on her birth-day, in the evening, Grace should know it from her lips at last. ‘I beg your pardon, Doctor,’ said Mr. Snitchey, looking into the orchard, ‘but have I liberty to come in?’ Without waiting for permission, he came straight to Marion, and kissed her hand, quite joyfully. ‘If Mr. Craggs had been alive, my dear Miss Marion,’ said Mr. Snitchey, ‘he would have had great interest in this occasion. It might have suggested to him, Mr. Alfred, that our life is not too easy perhaps: that, taken altogether, it will bear any little smoothing we can give it; but Mr. Craggs was a man who could endure to be convinced, sir. He was always open to conviction. If he were open to conviction, now, I—this is weakness. Mrs. Snitchey, my dear,’—at his summons that lady appeared from behind the door, ‘you are among old friends.’ Mrs. Snitchey having delivered her congratulations, took her husband aside. ‘One moment, Mr. Snitchey,’ said that lady. ‘It is not in my nature to rake up the ashes of the departed.’ ‘No, my dear,’ returned her husband. ‘Mr. Craggs is—’ ‘Yes, my dear, he is deceased,’ said Snitchey. ‘But I ask you if you recollect,’ pursued his wife, ‘that evening of the ball? I only ask you that. If you do; and if your memory has not entirely failed you, Mr. Snitchey; and if you are not absolutely in your dotage; I ask you to connect this time with that—to remember how I begged and prayed you, on my knees—’ ‘Upon your knees, my dear?’ said Mr. Snitchey. ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Snitchey, confidently, ‘and you know it—to beware of that man—to observe his eye—and now to tell me whether I was right, and whether at that moment he knew secrets which he didn’t choose to tell.’ ‘Mrs. Snitchey,’ returned her husband, in her ear, ‘Madam. Did you ever observe anything in _my_ eye?’ ‘No,’ said Mrs. Snitchey, sharply. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ ‘Because, Madam, that night,’ he continued, twitching her by the sleeve, ‘it happens that we both knew secrets which we didn’t choose to tell, and both knew just the same professionally. And so the less you say about such things the better, Mrs. Snitchey; and take this as a warning to have wiser and more charitable eyes another time. Miss Marion, I brought a friend of yours along with me. Here! Mistress!’ Poor Clemency, with her apron to her eyes, came slowly in, escorted by her husband; the latter doleful with the presentiment, that if she abandoned herself to grief, the Nutmeg-Grater was done for. ‘Now, Mistress,’ said the lawyer, checking Marion as she ran towards her, and interposing himself between them, ‘what’s the matter with _you_?’ ‘The matter!’ cried poor Clemency.—When, looking up in wonder, and in indignant remonstrance, and in the added emotion of a great roar from Mr. Britain, and seeing that sweet face so well remembered close before her, she stared, sobbed, laughed, cried, screamed, embraced her, held her fast, released her, fell on Mr. Snitchey and embraced him (much to Mrs. Snitchey’s indignation), fell on the Doctor and embraced him, fell on Mr. Britain and embraced him, and concluded by embracing herself, throwing her apron over her head, and going into hysterics behind it. A stranger had come into the orchard, after Mr. Snitchey, and had 83 "Summary: The text involves a conversation between several characters discussing the revelation of a secret and the reunion of family members. Trope: Reunion of family members Narrative arc: Emotional reunion Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Heartwarming Genre: Family drama Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Marion, Mr. Snitchey, Mrs. Snitchey, Alfred Heathfield, Clemency, husband Fuzzy time: Evening on a birth-day Absolute place: Orchard Fuzzy place: Orchard Diegetic time: Several years " I had a secret, Mr. Snitchey; and I've been dying to tell it for these seven years. This is the evening on which it was to be revealed: and now I have told it before, and that's more than I could have done then! Come in, Alfred Heathfield, come in!” “Come in, you dear girl,” said Mr. Snitchey. “And what's the matter with your husband?” cried Mrs. Snitchey, when he appeared looking very pale indeed. “You ought to know better, my good man, than to let her work you up into such a state of nerves, as to make you look like the ghost of yourself. Sit down and take a glass of wine, or brandy-and-water, or something.” “It's all right, Bella,” said Mr. Snitchey, soothing her. “He'll be all right presently. Let him alone, child, let him alone!” “Bella,” said Mr. Snitchey, quietly but decidedly, “let him alone!” “Yes, my dear,” answered Mrs. Snitchey, smiling on her partner, but in a resigned and subdued condition; “only it's so seldom one sees him look like this, that one can't help being anxious about him. It's only every seven years, you know.” “There's no danger, my love,” returned Mr. Snitchey, nodding his head approvingly at the little table where she had set herself to work upon a bottle, glasses, and decanters. “None whatever. He's got a family secret, and has been trying to keep it from us; and when he couldn't do it any longer, went off half mad. But there's nothing the matter with him now. Nothing at all!” “Nothing at all!” repeated Mrs. Snitchey, watching them through her eye-glass. “What did I tell you, Alfred? What did I say?” “Well!” said Clemency, after a pause, “and who's here? Husband, dear!” “Clemency!” “Nurse, dear!” “Father, dearest!” cried Marion, rushing forward. The old man caught her to his heart, and shed tears upon her neck; but it was not until after several minutes, and when he had composed himself a little, that he said in a broken voice, “My child, I am ashamed to show my face to-day.” “Never, never, papa!” said Marion. “Oh yes, yes!” cried the old man, turning to his daughter-in-law. “I never thought to live to see the day when I should be glad to hide myself from your kind eyes; but if I had known it, I would have borne anything rather than that sight!” “What sight?” asked Alfred. “Why, the sight of my own home again,” said the old man, “and of you, and of her, and of your mother too, and of my son, who is your husband. 73 676 139227 remained apart, near the gate, without being observed by any of the group; for they had little spare attention to bestow, and that had been monopolised by the ecstasies of Clemency. He did not appear to wish to be observed, but stood alone, with downcast eyes; and there was an air of dejection about him (though he was a gentleman of a gallant appearance) which the general happiness rendered more remarkable. None but the quick eyes of Aunt Martha, however, remarked him at all; but, almost as soon as she espied him, she was in conversation with him. Presently, going to where Marion stood with Grace and her little namesake, she whispered something in Marion’s ear, at which she started, and appeared surprised; but soon recovering from her confusion, she timidly approached the stranger, in Aunt Martha’s company, and engaged in conversation with him too. ‘Mr. Britain,’ said the lawyer, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out a legal-looking document, while this was going on, ‘I congratulate you. You are now the whole and sole proprietor of that freehold tenement, at present occupied and held by yourself as a licensed tavern, or house of public entertainment, and commonly called or known by the sign of the Nutmeg-Grater. Your wife lost one house, through my client Mr. Michael Warden; and now gains another. I shall have the pleasure of canvassing you for the county, one of these fine mornings.’ ‘Would it make any difference in the vote if the sign was altered, sir?’ asked Britain. ‘Not in the least,’ replied the lawyer. ‘Then,’ said Mr. Britain, handing him back the conveyance, ‘just clap in the words, “and Thimble,” will you be so good; and I’ll have the two mottoes painted up in the parlour instead of my wife’s portrait.’ ‘And let me,’ said a voice behind them; it was the stranger’s—Michael Warden’s; ‘let me claim the benefit of those inscriptions. Mr. Heathfield and Dr. Jeddler, I might have deeply wronged you both. That I did not, is no virtue of my own. I will not say that I am six years wiser than I was, or better. But I have known, at any rate, that term of self-reproach. I can urge no reason why you should deal gently with me. I abused the hospitality of this house; and learnt by my own demerits, with a shame I never have forgotten, yet with some profit too, I would fain hope, from one,’ he glanced at Marion, ‘to whom I made my humble supplication for forgiveness, when I knew her merit and my deep unworthiness. In a few days I shall quit this place for ever. I entreat your pardon. Do as you would be done by! Forget and Forgive!’ * * * * * TIME—from whom I had the latter portion of this story, and with whom I have the pleasure of a personal acquaintance of some five-and-thirty years’ duration—informed me, leaning easily upon his scythe, that Michael Warden never went away again, and never sold his house, but opened it afresh, maintained a golden means of hospitality, and had a wife, the pride and honour of that countryside, whose name was Marion. But, as I have observed that Time confuses facts occasionally, I hardly know what weight to give to his authority. 83 "Summary: A man named Michael Warden approaches a group of people, including Marion and Aunt Martha, and has a conversation with them about a house he owns. Narrative arc: Resolution Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted, humorous Genre: Historical novel Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: Michael Warden, Marion, Aunt Martha Fuzzy place: The Nutmeg-Grater tavern Diegetic time: A few days " "Then Michael Warden, who was on his way to the Nutmeg-Grater tavern, saw her. He had been spending a couple of days in Hartford, where he had business. As soon as he caught sight of Marion he went up to her and Aunt Martha, and spoke to them. So that's the old place,"" said he, ""is it? I haven't seen it since I was a boy. I remember it well enough."""" Don't you know me?"" asked Marion. Know you! Why, yes; to be sure I do. How are you, Miss Talcott? Ain't you going to introduce me to your friend here?"""" This is my aunt,"" said Marion; ""Miss Martha, this is Mr. Warden. Do you remember him?"""" Yes, indeed!"" said Aunt Martha, holding out her hand cordially, """"I am very glad to see you again. We have heard a great deal about you from Marion, and we have often thought what a good-for-nothing scamp you must be."""" Well, now,"" said Michael, ""you're not far wrong there; but as for being a scamp, that's all right, too, only I'm an honest scamp, Miss Martha."""" That's the worst kind,"" said Marion. Well, now,"" said Michael, ""I've come down here to-day to look at this old house. I own it now, you know; bought it off your brother James last week."""" Did you!"" exclaimed Aunt Martha; ""why, how in the world did you come to do such a thing?"""" It was simply because I wanted to get rid of some money,"" said Michael. ""What in thunder should I want with an old tumble-down hulk like this?"""" Oh, but you mustn't call it tumble-down,"" said Marion, ""for it isn't at all so bad as that. In fact, it looks quite nice now that the garden fence has been painted."""" I suppose you were the one who painted the fence?"" said Michael. No; that was done by a colored man who lives near us. He does all our painting."""" Then the colored man can paint pretty well,"" said Michael. You see, I'm afraid it won't stay painted long,"" said Marion, ""for it is likely to get pounded off again before many weeks. The boys have already been whittling off bits here and there."""" Well, now, I wonder if you'd let me have the key of the front door,"" said Michael. ""I want to go in and take a look around inside."""" Oh, certainly!"" said Marion; ""the key is in the little box under the bench over there. You'll find it fastened to a piece of string."""" Thanks,"" said Michael; ""but you don't happen to have a bit of paper and pencil, do you? I might as well leave a note for your father telling him who I am."""" " 74 6765 107258 "MOGENS AND OTHER STORIES (1882) By Jens Peter Jacobsen (1847-1885) Translated from the Danish By Anna Grabow (1921) CONTENTS INTRODUCTION MOGENS THE PLAGUE AT BERGAMO THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROSES MRS. FONSS INTRODUCTION In the decade from 1870 to 1880 a new spirit was stirring in the intellectual and literary world of Denmark. George Brandes was delivering his lectures on the _Main Currents of Nineteenth Century Literature_; from Norway came the deeply probing questionings of the granitic Ibsen; from across the North Sea from England echoes of the evolutionary theory and Darwinism. It was a time of controversy and bitterness, of a conflict joined between the old and the new, both going to extremes, in which nearly every one had a share. How many of the works of that period are already out-worn, and how old-fashioned the theories that were then so violently defended and attacked! Too much logic, too much contention for its own sake, one might say, and too little art. This was the period when Jens Peter Jacobsen began to write, but he stood aside from the conflict, content to be merely artist, a creator of beauty and a seeker after truth, eager to bring into the realm of literature """"the eternal laws of nature, its glories, its riddles, its miracles,"""" as he once put it. That is why his work has retained its living colors until to-day, without the least trace of fading. There is in his work something of the passion for form and style that one finds in Flaubert and Pater, but where they are often hard, percussive, like a piano, he is soft and strong and intimate like a" 83 "Summary: Introduction to the book ""Mogens and Other Stories"" by Jens Peter Jacobsen, discussing the literary climate in Denmark during the 1870-1880 period. Narrative arc: No specific narrative arch mentioned Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Scholarly Genre: Literary criticism Intertextuality: Literary criticism, scholarly articles Speech standard: Literary Literary form: Introduction to a collection of short stories Literary movement: Realism Time setting: Late 19th century Absolute time: 1870-1880 Fuzzy time: Nonspecific Diegetic time: No specific duration mentioned Absolute place: Denmark, England Fuzzy place: Denmark, Norway " "Mogens and Other Stories by Jens Peter Jacobsen Translated by Charles Whitley With an Introduction by George Brandes New York E. P. Dutton & Company London Chapman & Hall, Ltd. 1911 CONTENTS I. INTRODUCTION II. MOGENS III. A PROPHET IV. THE FINEST MAN IN THE WORLD V. THE DREAM OF AN OLD MAN VI. THE SIEGE AT ORFIR VII. THE LITTLE GIRL WITH THE RED SHOES VIII. THE OX AND THE DONKEY IX. THE BOAT OF LONGING X. THE WOODEN SOUL XI. THE CROWN PRINCE XII. THE UNCLE'S VISIT XIII. THE VILLAGE PRIEST XIV. THE END INTRODUCTION I. The literary climate in Denmark during the seventies of the last century was altogether exhilarating. The intellectual atmosphere seemed to have become exceptionally pure and transparent, so that one could not only look far ahead, but also back into the past without meeting any clouds on the horizon. The great pioneers of Realism had passed away; their work remained, and we were able to enjoy it with fresh appreciation after the labours of a younger generation had opened up new fields for literature. At the same time the future seemed to be illuminated by rays from the most distant stars, while a sense of lightness and joyousness prevailed everywhere. The writer who, more than any other, expressed this feeling was Jacobsen, the author of Mogens. He belonged to the younger generation; his first novel appeared in 1872, when he was thirty-one years old. But his books did not receive much attention at home until later. This is not surprising. In England Jacobsen has been called a Danish Hardy, and there is something in common between the two writers, though in many respects they are very different. They both belong to the transitional period between Romanticism and Realism, and their works show traces of both these schools. But whereas Hardy gave himself up entirely to Realism, and became famous as a realist before he was known as a poet, Jacobsen always remained a poet in spite of his realism. His strength lay in his power of description rather than in his talent for narration. His best works are short stories, which possess, like all good poetry, a touch of the eternal. Although Jacobsen never received much recognition in his own country, his reputation soon spread beyond its narrow limits. When he died in 1885 he had already made several friends in England, among them William Morris, who translated his ""Niels Lyhne"" into English in 1890. He was particularly esteemed in Norway. There is no reason why he should not be better known in America. As a poet he ranks high among the Danish lyricists of the nineteenth century. The three volumes of his verse, ""Digte,"" published in 1870, 1875, and 1886, contain many beautiful lyrics. " 75 6765 107259 "violin on which he plays his reading of life. Such analogies, however, have little significance, except that they indicate a unique and powerful artistic personality. Jacobsen is more than a mere stylist. The art of writers who are too consciously that is a sort of decorative representation of life, a formal composition, not a plastic composition. One element particularly characteristic of Jacobsen is his accuracy of observation and minuteness of detail welded with a deep and intimate understanding of the human heart. His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as under a scientist's microscope, rather they are built up living cell by living cell out of the author's experience and imagination. He shows how they are conditioned and modified by their physical being, their inheritance and environment, Through each of his senses he lets impressions from without pour into him. He harmonizes them with a passionate desire for beauty into marvelously plastic figures and moods. A style which grows thus organically from within is style out of richness; the other is style out of poverty. In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real value must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all those things which try to keep one from existing in one's own way. That is the fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen's work. It is in Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely tender Mrs. Fonss. They are types of the kind he has described in the following passage: Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there are who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter blood, that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their perceptions. The gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots of their heart, the while the others merely grasp them with coarse hands."""" He himself was one of these, and in this passage his own art and personality is described better than could be done in thousands of words of commentary. Jens Peter Jacobsen was born in the little town of Thisted in Jutland, on April 7, 1847. In 1868 he matriculated at the University of Copenhagen, where he displayed a remarkable talent for science, winning the gold medal of the university with a dissertation on Seaweeds. He definitely chose science as a career, and was among the first in Scandinavia to recognize the importance of Darwin. He translated the Origin of Species and Descent of Man into Danish. In 1872 while collecting plants he contracted tuberculosis, and as a consequence, was compelled to give up his scientific career. This was not as great a sacrifice, as it may seem, for he had long been undecided whether to choose science or literature as his life work. The remainder of his short life--he died April 30, 1885--was one of passionate devotion to literature and a constant struggle with ill health. The greater part of this period was spent in his native town of Thisted, but an advance royalty from his publisher enabled him to visit the South of Europe. His journey was interrupted at Florence by a severe hemorrhage. He lived simply, unobtrusively, bravely. His method of work was slow and laborious. He shunned the literary circles of the capital with their countless intrusions and interruptions, because he knew that the time allotted him to do his work was short. """"When life has sentenced you to suffer,"""" he has written in Niels Lyhne, """"the sentence is neither a fancy nor a threat, but you are dragged to the rack, and you are tortured, and there is no marvelous rescue at the last moment,"""" and in this book there" 83 "Summary: The text discusses the artistic personality and style of Jens Peter Jacobsen, focusing on his accuracy of observation, understanding of the human heart, and his belief in the struggle against external forces. Narrative arc: Character analysis and description Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Scholarly Genre: Literary criticism Intertextuality: Literary criticism or analysis Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Essay or critical analysis Literary movement: Realism Active character: Jens Peter Jacobsen Quoted work: Origin of Species and Descent of Man Time setting: Late 19th century Absolute time: April 7, 1847 - April 30, 1885 Absolute place: Thisted, Jutland Fuzzy place: Thisted " "Den samme naturlige og umiddelbare, saare rigtigste Tro paa det kunstneriske Talent er ogsaa en god Tegn paa den store Kunstners Personlighed. For Jens Peter Jacobsen har denne Tro altid varet en selvforskylden Sandhed; og denne Selvforskyldenhed var dermed til at gi ham en usyrlig Tro paa sig selv, som han i sin Kritik og i sine Erindringer stadig har vist med en saa beundringsvaerdig Uforfalskthed. Men om hans Personlighed er det her ikke Tale om; men hans Stil, den fremtrdende Egenskab ved hans Kunst, hvad man kan kalde hans karakteristiske Naade. Og den er ogsaa, jeg tror, ikke ulig den Personlighedsnaade, hvis Forhold til ham vi netop har snakket om: den ganske naturlige, ganske uhistoriske Tro paa sit eget Talent. Denne egentlige Stil, denne egentlige Vilkrlighed for ham, er den trofasteste Opmrkning af Livets Mindste, og den aldrig svigtende Sindsro. Hvor han ser, har han ogsaa seet, og hvor han forst, har han ogsaa forst faat; han er ikke en Avlet, men en Langsom, overgaaende Observant; hans Egen Skildring er altid sand, og hans Afskygninger af andre Personers Karakter er alltid tydelige, faste, menneskelige Profiler, som alle har et virkelig Indhold og er gjennemtraeft med Levende Blod. Hans Sandhed er aldrig ubetydelig, og hans Fornemmelse for det tragiske er ganske naer, og han kan dog skilles fra de Sympatielle, som gaar over paa at taale sine Figurers Skjebne, mens han holder sig tilbake og forkaster dem ud til Lommet. Han har ikke Ord for at forklare deres Lidelse eller Vildfarelse; han viser dem kun som de er, og lader dem staa' ved siden af hinanden, uden at haabe sig ind i deres Tilstand. Det er saaledes livligere og mere levende end at synge dem den Traete, der stemmer over dem. Hans Forstaanelse for det humaane er meget dybt; han kender godt Hjertet og det interne Liv; men han elsker ikke at danse; og det er hans Ungdoms Taalmodighed, der er hans Kraft, hans Foresigtighet, hans Uforanderlighed, der er hans Mod. Han er forvissede om den store Kamp, der gaelder, om den store Kamp, som hver enkelt af os maatte fa med de ydre Krafter, og hans Tro paa den hele Kamp er hans Tro paa sig selv. Og saaledes forekommer det mig, at dette er hans egentlige Stil, hans egentlige Kunstneriske Begavelse, og det er den, som er mest utvirkelig, mest uutviklet i hans forste Roman """"Fru Marie"""". Men hans senere Bger er ogsaa fuldstndigvis paa Prsten, som er min Forfrstning om den, hvordan han vil blive en Dag. * * * * * Foruden sin Rhetorik har Darwin ogsaa en teoretisk Bok, """"Origin of Species"""" (1859), og en lidet kendte men vidunderlige bog """"Descent of Man"""" (1871), der er hans Hovedværk, der giver Anledning til at tale om ham. Den sidste beskriver Menneskets Oprindelse, og den er meget riktig og meget videnomrig, men den er overflodig lang og har for meget av """"The Expression of the Emotions"""". " 76 6765 107260 "is also a corollary, """"It is on the healthy in you you must live, it is the healthy that becomes great."""" The realization of the former has given, perhaps, a subdued tone to his canvasses; the recognition of the other has kept out of them weakness or self-pity. Under the encouragement of George Brandes his novel Marie Grubbe was begun in 1873, and published in 1876. His other novel Niels Lyhne appeared in 1880. Excluding his early scientific works, these two books together with a collection of short stories, Mogens and Other Tales, published in 1882, and a posthumous volume of poems, constitute Jacobsen's literary testament. The present volume contains Mogens, the story with which he made his literary debut, and other characteristic stories. The physical measure of Jacobsen's accomplishment was not great, but it was an important milestone in northern literature. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that in so far as Scandinavia is concerned he created a new method of literary approach and a new artistic prose. There is scarcely a writer in these countries, since 1880, with any pretension toward literary expression who has not directly or indirectly come under Jacobsen's influence. O. F. THEIS. MOGENS SUMMER it was; in the middle of the day; in a corner of the enclosure. Immediately in front of it stood an old oaktree, of whose trunk one might say, that it agonized in despair because of the lack of harmony between its fresh yellowish foliage and its black and gnarled branches; they resembled most of all grossly misdrawn old gothic arabesques. Behind the oak was a luxuriant thicket of hazel with dark sheenless leaves, which were so dense, that neither trunk nor branches could be seen. Above the hazel rose two straight, joyous maple-trees with gayly indented leaves, red stems and long dangling clusters of green fruit. Behind the maples came the forest--a green evenly rounded slope, where birds went out and in as elves in a grasshill. All this you could see if you came wandering along the path through the fields beyond the fence. If, however, you were lying in the shadow of the oak with your back against the trunk and looking the other way--and there was a some one, who did that--then you would see first your own legs, then a little spot of short, vigorous grass, next a large cluster of dark nettles, then the hedge of thorn with the big, white convolvulus, the stile, a little of the ryefield outside, finally the councilor's flagpole on the hill, and then the sky. It was stifling hot, the air was quivering with heat, and then it was very quiet; the leaves were hanging from the trees as if asleep. Nothing moved except the lady-birds and the nettles and a few withered leaves that lay on the grass and rolled themselves up with sudden little jerks as if they were shrinking from the sunbeams. And then the man underneath the oak; he lay there gasping for air and with a melancholy look stared helplessly towards the sky. He tried to hum a tune, but gave it up; whistled, then gave that up too; turned round, turned round again and let his eyes rest upon an old mole-hill, that had become quite gray in the drought. Suddenly a small dark spot appeared upon the light-gray mold, another, three, four, many, still more, the entire mole-hill suddenly was quite dark-gray. The air was filled with nothing but long, dark streaks, the leaves nodded and swayed and there rose a murmur which turned into a hissing--rain was pouring down. Everything gleamed, sparkled, spluttered. Leaves, branches, trunks, everything shone with moisture; every little drop that fell on earth, on grass, on the fence, on whatever it was, broke and scattered in a thousand delicate pearls. Little drops hung for a while and became big drops, trickled down elsewhere, joined with other drops, formed small rivulets, disappeared into tiny furrows, ran into big holes and" 83 "Summary: The text describes a summer day and the character's thoughts while lying under an oak tree. Trope: Nature as a symbol of beauty and tranquility Narrative arc: Descriptive, no clear narrative arch Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Literary fiction Intertextuality: Description of nature Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Description of a place Literary movement: Naturalism Active character: The man lying under the oak tree Fuzzy time: Summer Fuzzy place: The enclosure, the thicket, the forest Diegetic time: A few hours " "Men dagene blev varmere, saa blev han liggende mere og mer under den gamle eik. Her i det smaa indhegningen var solen ikke saa rdt og skinnende som paa de aabne marker, hvor vandet stod blaa i vore fiskegroede; og naesten hele sommeren sad han her og strodte op ad traeftaernenes rynkede bark og sov og dromte om de gamle dage med hustru og borgere, der nu endtelys kom til at lete sig frem omhoj i traeet og hviske omkring ham og berolige ham, naar han blev urolig av det sus, der gik over hans hojde. En gang havde en mand fra byen fundet ham og spurgt, hvad han gjorde her. -Jeg holder en gudstjeneste, sagde han bare. Og han stod stille med sin svede kind ret op mod solen og lojede og sang om forstarlig klokke; da var manden rejst uden at sige mere. Saa blev man vaaren efter sin maanedag ved at sidde under eiken; og den dag havde han faaet et nytteligt indblik, da han stred ud paa marken og saa en gammel mand, der tog sig af en stor haard. Den mand laengtes ham, han var jo da nykommen og mangler hjemme, men den dag havde han nogenlunde faaet oversat ordene """"hjemme"""" og """"at langt ta'r"""", og saa gik han langsomt hen til ham, som om han vilde tale med ham. -Det er godt, du har den haard, sagde han. -Ja, det er godt nok, sagde manden og smilte; og han lavede paany en tomt flaskebjeer. Nu satte manden sig ned og gned ansigtet, og han talte med sin halvt drevne stemme: -Det er dog godt, det er godt, jeg har den haard; min kone og mine born skal have noget at tage sig til. Men farerne var mange paa vejen, og solen gav saa varmt lys over jorden, og de yngste born kunde ikke faa vej med alle de utallige heste og kameler, der bar saa tungt mellem sig af alting, hvad de kendte til; og mor var hvert ojeblik synder, saa hun selv ikke vidste, hvor hun gik og boede. Saa kom der et barn, som begyndte at grebe hende, og hun kastede det bort og lod sit eget fatte loftet med en stor sten og kastede sig selv ned over det og skreg af smerte, mens hun krammede den traette i sine arme. Da fik den anden mor taget det og vendt det over mod sig, og den kunde ikke holde det og kastede det bort og slog sig selv over brystet og kastede sig selv bort over stenen og begyndte at skrike. Det var dem, der fik troet, de kunde bringe hendes born saa langt; og det var faaet dem til at slaa livet ud af hende, saa hun slap at se det. Nu vilde han helst have elsket hende, og han ville have sagt hende gode ord, men det var det sidste, han huskede. Og han vidste ikke, hvorfor han var saa trist, naar han saa om sig paa den store verden med alt det lykkeglade menneske. " 77 6765 107261 "out of small ones, sailed away laden with dust, chips of wood and ragged bits of foliage, caused them to run aground, set them afloat, whirled them round and again caused them to ground. Leaves, which had been separated since they were in the bud, were reunited by the flood; moss, that had almost vanished in the dryness, expanded and became soft, crinkly, green and juicy; and gray lichens which nearly had turned to snuff, spread their delicate ends, puffed up like brocade and with a sheen like that of silk. The convolvuluses let their white crowns be filled to the brim, drank healths to each other, and emptied the water over the heads of the nettles. The fat black wood-snails crawled forward on their stomachs with a will, and looked approvingly towards the sky. And the man? The man was standing bareheaded in the midst of the downpour, letting the drops revel in his hair and brows, eyes, nose, mouth; he snapped his fingers at the rain, lifted a foot now and again as if he were about to dance, shook his head sometimes, when there was too much water in the hair, and sang at the top of his voice without knowing what he was singing, so pre-occupied was he with the rain: Had I, oh had I a grandson, trala, And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold, Then very likely had I had a daughter, trala, And house and home and meadows untold. Had I, oh had I a daughter dear, trala, And house and home and meadows untold, Then very like had I had a sweetheart, trala. And a chest with heaps and heaps of gold. There he stood and sang in the rain, but yonder between the dark hazelbushes the head of a little girl was peeping out. A long end of her shawl of red silk had become entangled in a branch which projected a little beyond the others, and from time to time a small hand went forward and tugged at the end, but this had no other result, further than to produce a little shower of rain from the branch and its neighbors. The rest of the shawl lay close round the little girl's head and hid half of the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned abruptly and became lost among the leaves, but reappeared in a big rosette of folds underneath the girl's chin. The face of the little girl looked very astonished, she was just about to laugh; the smile already hovered in the eyes. Suddenly he, who stood there singing in the midst of the downpour, took a few steps to the side, saw the red shawl, the face, the big brown eyes, the astonished little open mouth; instantly his position became awkward, in surprise he looked down himself; but in the same moment a small cry was heard, the projecting branch swayed violently, the red end of the shawl disappeared in a flash, the girl's face disappeared, and there was a rustling and rustling further and further away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. He did not know why, he did not think at all. The gay mood, which the rainstorm had called forth, welled up in him again, and he ran after the face of the little girl. It did not enter his head that it was a person he pursued. To him it was only the face of a little girl. He ran, it rustled to the right, it rustled to the left, it rustled in front, it rustled behind, he rustled, she rustled, and all these sounds and the running itself excited him, and he cried: """"Where are you? Say cuckoo!"""" Nobody answered. When he heard his own voice, he felt just a little uneasy, but he continued running; then a thought came to him, only a single one, and he murmured as he kept on running: """"What am I going to say to her? What am I going to say to her?"""" He was approaching a big bush, there she had hid herself, he could just see a corner of her skirt. """"What am I going to say to her? What am I going to say to her?"""" he kept on murmuring while he ran. He was quite near the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still murmuring the same, came out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped abruptly and burst out laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces," 83 "Summary: A man is standing in the rain, singing and enjoying himself. A little girl's red shawl gets caught on a branch, but she quickly disappears. The man chases after her, feeling excited but unsure of what to say when he catches her. Trope: Chasing after someone you like Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Playful Genre: Fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Description of action and dialogue Active character: The man, the little girl Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy place: Field, hazelbushes Diegetic time: A few minutes " "Het regende nu niet meer zo hard, maar hij was toch doorweekt. Hij begon te zingen, en dat deed hij nog het meest als hij alleen in de tuin stond. Zijn stem klonk diep en zacht en melodieus; zijn gelaat werd dan rood van innige vreugde; hij stond met zijn armen over elkaar, en keek voor zich uit naar de hemel, en het scheen alsof er een glimlach om zijn lippen speelde. Het was een echte zangstem, ook al wist hij eigenlijk geen noot. Dat werd hem dikwijls gezegd, en toen 's avonds bij het eten riep moeder: """"Schaapje, zing eens!"""" dan ging hij tegenover haar staan, en zong het liedje, dat ze allemaal heel mooi vonden. En altijd eindigde het liedje met: Hoort gij mijn blijde stem? Dan zult g mij kennen."" Eens in den herfst kwam de kleine Elze op den veldweg. Ze droeg een rooden sjaal om haar schouders geslagen, en had een groen boek onder den arm. Ze had een vaasje bloemen in haar hand, en liep langzaam naar huis. Het was half donker, en ze had geen lantaarn bij zich. Ze kon het ook wel goed zien, want er hing een maan, en de weg was goed verlicht. En ook zag ze alles zoo duidelijk. Ze zag het boschje van hazelaars aan den wegkant; ze zag de gele heesters langs de heg; ze zag de weilanden, waar de witten koeien grazen. Toen kwam ze bij het boschje, en wilde er even tusschen de takken door kijken, of het daar nog net zo' kinderachtig uitzag als anders. Daar bleef ze plotseling staan, want haar sjaal was vastgezogen door een van de takken. Ze trok een beetje, maar de sjaal bleef hangen. Ze probeerde door naar beneden te klimmen, maar dat lukte niet. Ze had een groot gevoel van ongerustheid, en vooral van kou. Ze riep een paar malen om hulp, en draaide zich om, toen ze niemand zag komen. Haar oogen vielen op de groote boom, die in het midden van het veld stond. Toen zag ze den Heintje, die daar rechtop stond. Hij zag er zoo vroolijk uit; hij had zijn hoed afgedaan, en de regen drupte over zijn gladde voorhoofd. En hij zong! Hij zong, dat het weer zooveel beter werd. Ze was zoo bang geworden, dat ze hem eigenlijk niet durfde roepen, en hij zag haar niet. Ze begon nu te huilen; ze mocht immers niet om hulp roepen, en zij was zoo bang. Ze wist niet wat ze doen moest. Ze strekte haar arm uit, en riep: """"Heintje!"""" Maar hij zag haar niet. Ze begon te schreeuwen: """"Heintje, help mij toch!"""" Maar hij luisterde niet, want hij zong nog steeds. Ze begon te springen, en riep nu eerst ""Heintje!"" en daarna: """"Help, help!"""" Toen klapten de takken van den boom om haar heen, en ze viel op de grond. Toen sprong Heintje plotseling op haar toe, en vroeg: """"Wat is er, lieve kleine meid?"""" " 78 6765 107262 then burst out laughing loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the way along the hedge. It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going on apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were spots of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on this tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the birch looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost bare and the roan-tree was wonderful with its heavy scarlet cluster of berries. And the sky was so blue, so blue, and the wood seemed so much bigger, one could look so far between the trunks. And then of course one could not help thinking that soon all this would be of the past. Wood, field, sky, open air, and everything soon would have to give way to the time of the lamps, the carpets, and the hyacinths. For this reason the councilor from Cape Trafalgar and his daughter were walking down to the lake, while their carriage stopped at the bailiff's. The councilor was a friend of nature, nature was something quite special, nature was one of the finest ornaments of existence. The councilor patronized nature, he defended it against the artificial; gardens were nothing but nature spoiled; but gardens laid out in elaborate style were nature turned crazy. There was no style in nature, providence had wisely made nature natural, nothing but natural. Nature was that which was unrestrained, that which was unspoiled. But with the fall of man civilization had come upon mankind; now civilization had become a necessity; but it would have been better, if it had not been thus. The state of nature was something quite different, quite different. The councilor himself would have had no objection to maintaining himself by going about in a coat of lamb-skin and shooting hares and snipes and golden plovers and grouse and haunches of venison and wild boars. No, the state of nature really was like a gem, a perfect gem. The councilor and his daughter walked down to the lake. For some time already it had glimmered between the trees, but now when they turned the corner where the big poplar stood, it lay quite open before them. There it lay with large spaces of water clear as a mirror, with jagged tongues of gray-blue rippled water, with streaks that were smooth and streaks that were rippled, and the sunlight rested on the smooth places and quivered in the ripples. It captured one's eye and drew it across its surface, carried it along the shores, past slowly rounded curves, past abruptly broken lines, and made it swing around the green tongues of land; then it let go of one's glance and disappeared in large bays, but it carried along the thought--Oh, to sail! Would it be possible to hire boats here? No, there were none, said a little fellow, who lived in the white country-house near by, and stood at the shore skipping stones over the surface of the water. Were there really no boats at all? Yes, of course, there were some; there was the miller's, but it could not be had; the miller would not permit it. Niels, the miller's son, had nearly gotten a spanking when he had let it out the other day. It was useless to think about it; but then there was the gentleman, who lived with Nicolai, the forest-warden. He had a fine boat, one which was black at the top and red at the bottom, and he lent it to each and every one. The councilor and his daughter went up to Nicolai's, the forest-warden. At a short distance from the house they met a little girl. She was Nicolai's, and they told her to run in and ask if they might see the gentleman. She ran as if her life depended on it, ran with both arms and legs, until she reached the door; there she placed one leg on the high doorstep, fastened her garter, and then rushed into the house. She reappeared immediately afterwards with two doors ajar behind her and called long before she reached the threshold, that the gentleman would 83 "Summary: A councilor and his daughter walk through a beautiful autumn landscape, admiring nature along the way. They come across a lake and want to rent a boat, but find that it is not possible. Narrative arc: Descriptive Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Descriptive, nostalgic Genre: Fiction, descriptive prose Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Description of a place Active character: Councilor, daughter Fuzzy place: The lake Diegetic time: A few hours " "Ein Herbst, der so herrlich angefangen hatte, konnte nicht schlecht endigen. Der Rat und seine Tochter schritten nun, ihre Arme in dem Mantel verborgen haltend, durch dieses schnste Stck des frhern Lebens. Es ist wunderbar"", sagte der Vater, ""wieso sich hier die Natur so ganz anders prsentiert als dort."""" Da haben wir den Wald"", sagte die Tocher, ""der Meer ist weit hinter uns, da unten liegt das Dorf, davor das Feld, dahinter die Berge, weiter hinten die Berge noch einmal, dann kommen wieder die Huser, dann das Feld, dann der Wald."""" Und wie ihr denken knntet"", fuhr der Vater fort, ""so war es auch hier alles schon mal anders, das Haus hat ein andres gesehen, der Garten, dieser Weg, diese Berge, der See, das Land, die Luft, die Menschen, alles ist schon einmal anders gewesen und wird noch einmal anders werden; nur was jetzt ist, das gibt es niemals wieder, und deshalb mu man froh sein, wenn man auch diesmal nichts verpasst hat."""" So kamen sie an den See, vor welchem sie stehen blieben und der sie sehr an das weite Meer erinnerte. Was ich mir doch wnsche"", sagte der Rat, ""wre, da wir irgendwo ein Boot leihen knnten und einen Tag lang drauf herumschwimmen wrden, denn seit wir hier sind, hab' ich keine Hand mehr gebraucht, nur gefahren auf dem Kutschbock oder mit der Gerte gezappt!"""" O doch, Vater!"" sagte die Tochter, ""die Reise nach Berlin und wieder zurck hat doch noch mehr als drei Stunden in der Kutsche gedauert, und da haben wir beide gehalten und geschaut, und dann waren wir ja drei Tage in der Stadt!"""" Das stimmt freilich, aber es geht doch ziemlich viel hinein, wenn man nur aus einem Fenster sieht, und von dem See herum zu fahren ist ganz etwas anderes, das ist eine Reise, die man miteinander macht. Nun, lassen wir's, wir mssen wohl die Leute aus dem Dorfe fragen, ob sie ein Boot haben und ob wir es leihen knnen."""" Aber nicht allein in ein Boot"", rief die Tochter, ""mit Nahrungsmittel und Decken, und dann haben wir auch ein paar Fische, da machen wir's uns bequem!"""" Damit ging sie voran, und der Vater folgte ihr den Pfad entlang, der sich sogleich unter die Bume hinunterwand, ohne da man ihn wieder sehen konnte, denn da der Boden so stark geneigt war, war der See nicht sichtbar. Als sie einige Zeit gegangen waren, standen sie am Ufer, und der Rat blickte ber das Wasser, das mit allerlei kleinen Inseln bedeckt war und so aussah, als wre es nicht sehr tief. Das ist doch gar nicht zum Schwimmen"", sagte er, ""es sieht eher so aus, als ob man darin sinken knnte, und ich glaube, ein Boot wre noch ntzlicher, um ins Dorf hinein zu gehen und zu fragen, ob sie eins haben und leihen wollen!"""" Die Tochter lachte ber diesen Vorfall und ging ihm voraus, bis sie bald darauf wieder zurckkam und ihm das Gasthaus zeigte, in welchem sie wohnten. " 79 6765 107263 "be there in a moment; then she sat down on the doorstep, leaned against the wall, and peered at the strangers from underneath one of her arms. The gentleman came, and proved to be a tall strongly-built man of some twenty years. The councilor's daughter was a little startled, when she recognized in him the man, who had sung during the rainstorm. But he looked so strange and absentminded; quite obviously he had just been reading a book, one could tell that from the expression in his eyes, from his hair, from the abstracted way in which he managed his hands. The councilor's daughter dropped him an exuberant courtesy and said Cuckoo,"" and laughed. Cuckoo?"" asked the councilor. Why, it was the little girl's face! The man went quite crimson, and tried to say something when the councilor came with a question about the boat. Yes, it was at his service. But who was going to do the rowing? Why, he of course, said the girl, and paid no attention to what her father said about it; it was immaterial whether it was a bother to the gentleman, for sometimes he himself did not mind at all troubling other people. Then they went down to the boat, and on the way explained things to the councilor. They stepped into the boat, and were already a good ways out, before the girl had settled herself comfortably and found time to talk. I suppose it was something very learned you were reading,"" she said, when I came and called cuckoo and fetched you out sailing?"" Rowing, you mean. Something learned! It was the 'History of Sir Peter with the Silver Key and the Beautiful Magelone.'"""" Who is that by?"" By no one in particular. Books of that sort never are. 'Vigoleis with the Golden Wheel' isn't by anybody either, neither is 'Bryde, the Hunter.'"""" I have never heard of those titles before."" Please move a little to the side, otherwise we will list.--Oh no, that is quite likely, they aren't fine books at all; they are the sort you buy from old women at fairs."""" That seems strange. Do you always read books of that kind?"" Always? I don't read many books in the course of a year, and the kind I really like the best are those that have Indians in them."""" But poetry? Oehlenschlager, Schiller, and the others?"" Oh, of course I know them; we had a whole bookcase full of them at home, and Miss Holm--my mother's companion--read them aloud after lunch and in the evenings; but I can't say that I cared for them; I don't like verse."""" Don't like verse? You said had, isn't your mother living any more?"" No, neither is my father."" He said this with a rather sullen, hostile tone, and the conversation halted for a time and made it possible to hear clearly the many little sounds created by the movement of the boat through the water. The girl broke the silence: Do you like paintings?"" Altar-pieces? Oh, I don't know."" Yes, or other pictures, landscapes for instance?"" Do people paint those too? Of course they do, I know that very well."" You are laughing at me?"" I? Oh yes, one of us is doing that"" But aren't you a student?"" Student? Why should I be? No, I am nothing."" But you must be something. You must do something?"" But why?"" Why, because--everybody does something!"" Are you doing something?"" Oh well, but you are not a lady."" No, heaven be praised.""" 83 "Summary: A councilor's daughter encounters a man she had seen earlier, and they discuss books, poetry, paintings, and their own personal circumstances. Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Light-hearted, playful Genre: Literary fiction Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation Active character: The councilor's daughter, the gentleman Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy place: Unnamed location by a boat Diegetic time: A few minutes " The councilor's daughter had followed her with a glance, and now she had come forward with an air of polite curiosity. 'I beg your pardon,' said the gentleman; 'I am afraid I must have been in your way.' 'Oh, no,' replied the councilor's daughter, 'not at all. But if you were standing there waiting for your boat?' 'No, not precisely,' he replied. And then as she asked him where he was going, he told her that he had just come from a visit to the celebrated picture-gallery at Ritterbach, and was on his way home. 'And did you find anything there that pleased you particularly?' 'Yes, quite a number of pictures,' he answered; 'but the one that most attracted my attention was the portrait of a young girl by Holbein. She was painted when she was about fifteen years old, and I thought she was very pretty.' 'Yes,' said the councilor's daughter, 'it is considered a very fine painting, although it is rather severe.' The gentleman laughed heartily. 'You are quite right,' he said; 'the face is indeed rather severe, but it has a great charm for me.' The councilor's daughter looked at him curiously. 'Are you fond of Holbein?' she asked. 'Yes, very much so,' he replied. 'Do you like historical subjects?' Yes, very much,' said the gentleman; 'and those too which deal with the history of our own country.' 'But do you think,' asked the councilor's daughter, 'that you can always be sure of knowing whether a historical picture is really true to fact? 'Perhaps not always,' he answered, 'but still I believe that the artist who is really serious in his work will generally try to avoid making mistakes.' 'And how would you know,' continued the councilor's daughter, 'whether he had made mistakes or not?' 'By reading books,' he replied, 'and by studying original sources.' 'Is that why you go to the library so often?' asked the councilor's daughter. 'I have nothing else to do,' he answered, smiling. 'Have you not some occupation?' 'I used to have one once,' he said. 'But what is it now?' 'Nothing,' he replied. 'You mean you are out of work?' 'No, I should not say that,' he answered. 'Then perhaps you are ill?' 'Not exactly that either,' he replied. 'Then you are looking for work?' 'Yes, that is true enough.' 'Why don't you get it?' asked the councilor's daughter, 'if you are willing to work?' 'Don't ask me that,' he said. 'Isn't there something you want to earn money for?' 'No,' he answered. 'Do you live alone?' 'Yes, entirely alone.' 'That seems very lonely,' said the councilor's daughter. 'It is, indeed,' he replied. 'But surely you must have friends?' 'No,' he answered, shaking his head. 'That must be very dull.' 'Yes, indeed,' he said. 'But it must be nice to go visiting now and then.' 'Yes, very nice,' he answered, with a smile. ' 80 6765 107264 "Thank you."" He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the face and asked: What do you mean by that?--No, don't be angry with me; I will tell you something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it. You think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father was a fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I daresay he did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because mother and I were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the things they teach in the schools, and don't care about them now either. Oh, you ought to have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee lady. When I was no older than thirteen I could carry her down into the garden. She was so light; in recent years I would often carry her on my arm through the whole garden and park. I can still see her in her black gowns with the many wide laces...."""" He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested, that they had better see about getting home again; so back they went. Tell me,"" said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased a little. """"Do you often go to town?"""" I have never been there."" Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?"" I don't always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my mother's death, but the coming winter I shall go to town to study arithmetic."""" Mathematics?"" No, timber,"" he said laughingly, ""but that is something you don't understand. I'll tell you, when I am of age I shall buy a sloop and sail to Norway, and then I shall have to know how to figure on account of the customs and clearance."""" Would you really like that?"" Oh, it, is magnificent on the sea, there is such a feeling of being alive in sailing--here we are at the landing-stage!"""" He came alongside; the councilor and his daughter stepped ashore after having made him promise to come and see them at Cape Trafalgar. Then they returned to the bailiff's, while he again rowed out on the lake. At the poplar they could still hear the sounds of the oars. Listen, Camilla,"" said the councilor, who had been out to lock the outer door, """"tell me,"""" he said, extinguishing his hand-lamp with the bit of his key, """"was the rose they had at the Carlsens a Pompadour or Maintenon?"""" Cendrillon,"" the daughter answered. That's right, so it was,--well, I suppose we had better see that we get to bed now; good night, little girl, good night, and sleep well."""" When Camilla had entered her room, she pulled up the blind, leaned her brow against the cool pane, and hummed Elizabeth's song from """"The Fairy-hill."""" At sunset a light breeze had begun to blow and a few tiny, white clouds, illumined by the moon, were driven towards Camilla. For a long while she stood regarding them; her eye followed them from a far distance, and she sang louder and louder as they drew nearer, kept silent a few seconds while they disappeared above her, then sought others, and followed them too. With a little sigh she pulled down the blind. She went to the dressing table, rested her elbows against her clasped hands and regarded her own picture in the mirror without really seeing it. She was thinking of a tall young man, who carried a very delicate, tiny, blackdressed lady in his arms; she was thinking of a tall man, who steered his small ship in between cliffs and rocks in a devastating gale. She heard a whole conversation over again. She blushed: Eugene Carlson might have thought that you were paying court to him! With a" 83 "Summary: A man and a girl go for a boat ride, the man reveals that he has never been to town but plans to study arithmetic in the future. They part ways and the girl reflects on her encounter with the man. Trope: The mysterious stranger Narrative arc: Reflective, no clear narrative arch Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Literary fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Literary movement: Not clear Active character: Man, Girl Time setting: Contemporary Fuzzy place: Lake, landing-stage, bailiff's house Diegetic time: A few hours " "Das Ding ist ja nicht da,"" sagte der Mann. Er stand wieder auf und warf einen Kameraden, der mit einem Strohkorb um den Arm herumgestiegen kam, das Segel zu. Der andere machte ein paar Stiche in den Boden, so tat er es gern, und befestigte das Segel, dann zog er sich noch einmal an der Oberflche des Sees hinauf und fhrte das Kanu am Ufer entlang zur Landungsstelle zurck. Die junge Frau stieg aus, ihr Mantel rauschte leise. """"Wollen Sie uns begleiten?"""" sagte sie. """"Es ist schon nahezu dunkel."""" Er schttelte den Kopf und trat einige Schritte zurck, als wenn er von dem Anbieten erschreckt worden wre. """"Nein, ich danke Ihnen sehr viel! Ich mu erst noch hier bleiben, dort bei der Htte, wo die Leute sind!"""" Das Kind war bis an die Wasserlinie getreten, die Trgerin hielt ihm ihre Hand hin. Als es in das Boot gesprungen war, legte der Fremde seinen Hut ab und hielt ihm die Hand hin. """"Ich danke Ihnen, da Sie mich heute besucht haben!"""" sagte er. """"Und ich habe wohl gesagt, da ich Sie auch noch einmal sehen werde!"""" """"Ebenso,"""" sagte das Kind und streckte ihm seine kleine Hand hin. Dann sahen beide noch eine Weile ins Wasser hinein, das die Sonne jetzt wie ein Spiegel glatt liegen hatte, aber bald waren sie schon auer Sicht. Als die beiden auf dem Pfad angekommen waren, sagte die junge Frau: """"Woher wuten die Leute, da Sie kommen werden?"""" """"Da wir Ihnen doch schon gestern geschrieben hatten!"""" sagte der Mann. """"Sie konnten uns doch wohl nicht vergessen haben!"""" """"Aber niemand hat mir etwas gegeben, was ich Ihnen geben knnte!"""" sagte die Frau. """"Ich habe kein Geld mehr bei mir!"""" Der Mann lachte. """"So brauchen Sie's uns auch nicht zu geben! Aber sonst, welchen Beruf haben Sie denn?"""" """"Ich bin Lehrerin,"""" sagte die Frau. """"Ich unterrichte in der Schule bei der Pastorin."""" """"Aha! Und studieren Sie noch weiter?"""" """"Ja, ich versuche es!"""" sagte die Frau. """"Wenn ich morgen Nachmittag in der Stadt bin, so hole ich mir ein Buch! Es wird aber nur sein, was ich schon kenne! Ich kann auch nichts anderes lesen!"""" Da sah sie den Fremden pltzlich scharf an und fragte: """"Was meinen Sie damit, Herr, ich sollte mich weiterbilden wollen?"""" """"Nun ja,"""" sagte der Mann, """"ich dachte nur, da es vielleicht gut fr Sie sei, wenn Sie sich weiterbildeten! Wenn man sich doch immer fortbilden knne!"""" """"Sie meinen wohl,"""" sagte die Frau, """"da ich kein Mensch bin?"""" """"Aber nein! Nein! Natürlich nicht! Was meinen Sie denn? Haben Sie sich jemals gefragt, ob Sie ein Mensch sind?"""" """"Natürlich habe ich!"""" sagte die Frau. """"Glauben Sie, ich knne mir das alles antun, wenn ich keine Menschen wrde?"""" """"Aber das sind doch alles nur Geschichten!"""" sagte der Mann. """"Natürlich sind Sie ein Mensch! Das hab' ich doch gleich gedacht! Es ist blo eine Art Spa, um sich vorzuspiele, als ob man kein Mensch wre! Nur haben Sie wohl auch nie daran gedacht, warum man sich so vorspieelt?"""" """"Weil wir es doch alle tun!"""" sagte die Frau. """"Warum tun wir es denn?"""" " 81 6765 107265 "little jealous association of ideas she continued: No one would ever run after Clara in a wood in the rainstorm, she would never have invited a stranger--literally asked him--to sail with her. """"Lady to her fingertips,"""" Carlson had said of Clara; that really was a reprimand for you, you peasant-girl Camilla! Then she undressed with affected slowness, went to bed, took a small elegantly bound book from the bookshelf near by and opened the first page. She read through a short hand-written poem with a tired, bitter expression on her face, then let the book drop to the floor and burst into tears; afterwards she tenderly picked it up again, put it back in its place and blew out the candle; lay there for a little while gazing disconsolately at the moonlit blind, and finally went to sleep. A few days later the """"rainman"""" started on his way to Cape Trafalgar. He met a peasant driving a load of rye straw, and received permission to ride with him. Then he lay down on his back in the straw and gazed at the cloudless sky. The first couple of miles he let his thoughts come and go as they listed, besides there wasn't much variety in them. Most of them would come and ask him how a human being possibly could be so wonderfully beautiful, and they marveled that it really could be an entertaining occupation for several days to recall the features of a face, its changes of expression and coloring, the small movements of a head and a pair of hands, and the varying inflections in a voice. But then the peasant pointed with his whip towards the slate-roof about a mile away and said that the councilor lived over there, and the good Mogens rose from the straw and stared anxiously towards the roof. He had a strange feeling of oppression and tried to make himself believe that nobody was at home, but tenaciously came back to the conception that there was a large party, and he could not free himself from that idea, even though he counted how many cows """"Country-joy"""" had on the meadow and how many heaps of gravel he could see along the road. At last the peasant stopped near a small path leading down to the country-house, and Mogens slid down from the cart and began to brush away the bits of straw while the cart slowly creaked away over the gravel on the road. He approached the garden-gate step by step, saw a red shawl disappear behind the balcony windows, a small deserted white sewing-basket on the edge of the balcony, and the back of a still moving empty rocking-chair. He entered the garden, with his eyes fixed intently on the balcony, heard the councilor say good-day, turned his head toward the sound, and saw him standing there nodding, his arms full of empty flowerpots. They spoke of this and that, and the councilor began to explain, as one might put it, that the old specific distinction between the various kinds of trees had been abolished by grafting, and that for his part he did not like this at all. Then Camilla slowly approached wearing a brilliant glaring blue shawl. Her arms were entirely wrapped up in the shawl, and she greeted him with a slight inclination of the head and a faint welcome. The councilor left with his flower-pots, Camilla stood looking over her shoulders towards the balcony; Mogens looked at her. How had he been since the other day? Thank you, nothing especial had been the matter with him. Done much rowing? Why, yes, as usual, perhaps not quite as much. She turned her head towards him, looked coldly at him, inclined her head to one side and asked with half-closed eyes and a faint smile whether it was the beautiful Magelone who had engrossed his time. He did not know what she meant, but he imagined it was. Then they stood for a while and said nothing. Camilla took a few steps towards a corner, where a bench and a garden-chair stood. She sat down on the bench and asked him, after she was seated, looking at the chair, to be seated; he must be very tired after his long walk. He sat down in the chair. Did he believe anything would come of the projected royal alliance? Perhaps, he was completely indifferent? Of course, he had no interest in the royal house. Naturally he hated aristocracy? There were very few" 83 "Summary: A woman named Clara reflects on her social status and the contrast between herself and the protagonist, Camilla. The protagonist meets a man who is infatuated with her, but she is indifferent towards him. Trope: Love triangle Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Bitter Genre: Literary fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Stream of consciousness Literary movement: Realism Active character: Clara, Camilla, Mogens (the ""rainman Time setting: Contemporary period Diegetic time: A few days " "Men det var ikke tilfredsstillende. Hun fik en idé om, hvor meget krig og slagtrop det kostede at vre rigtig fra det fineste Blod. Clara syntes jo også, hendes Socialstilling var stor, men hun vidste jo ikke, hvad den egentlig var. Mogens, som nu højtidel kaldte sig """"den Regnmand"""", var derhjemme, da Camilla kom hjem. Han havde set hende med Bøffelkysset i Købstædets Døre, og han ventede paa hende ved Vinduet. Det gik dog ikke godt. Camilla sagde kun: """"Goddag!"""" Og forsvandt ind i Stuen. Hun stod der lidt bleg og blev ved at tænke paa det, han havde sagt. Det var meget let at tale om Stridigheder, naar man selv havde vundet dem. Hvorfor havde hun ikke svaret ham? Hun vilde have gjort det, hvis han havde været hende ligemeget interessant. Men det var han jo bare helt intet. Det var et lille Under, at han havde noget at sige. Nu gik hun over til sin Skrivebord og skrev et Brev til Laura. * * * * * For Tredie Gang holdt Mogens af Vejen og ventede paa hende. Da hun kom, sagde han: -Hvorfor har De ikke svaret mig? -Jeg tror De er digtet ud, svarede hun. Og hun gik forbi ham ind i Stuen. Det var en urolig Dag for hende. At Mogens kom, den Dag hun først mødte den nye Mand, det fik hende at synes paa det gamle. At der var nogle andre Mænd end Aage, det var kun et Ojeblik, hun havde glemt det. Men nu kom det pludselig tilbage i hele sin Kraft, denne Erindring. En stor Larm udenfor bragte hende op af Soverumsdugen. Hun satte sig halvt op i Sengen og lyttede. Det var Mogens, der snakkede og lo. Han fortalte vel noget nyt om den store Kampe med Folkene i Byens Krækkeskole, der aldrig lagde An på at høre paa hans Talenter. Hvorfor de sad der og spiste Frukt for sig, mens han skulle gå udenfor med Regnen paa sit Hoved. Og hvordan han brugte alle sine Kritikere som Etiketter. Når han talte om de der, blev han saa kedelig, sagde han, og saa tog han alle de Etiketter ned fra Døren. Nu sprang han ind i Kokkenet og begyndte at gryde mad, og hun fik Øjnene fylt af Tårer. Hun skreg og sank sammen i Sengen, som om hun var helt bange. Kun en time senere var hun paa Gulvet igen og skrev et Brev til Aage. Det var den største Lykke for hende, at hun stadig havde hans Adresse. " 82 6765 107266 "young men who did not believe that democracy was, heaven only knew what. Probably he was one of those who attributed not the slightest political importance to the family alliances of the royal house? Perhaps he was mistaken. It had been seen.... She stopped suddenly, surprised that Mogens who had at first been somewhat taken aback at all this information, now looked quite pleased. He wasn't to sit there, and laugh at her! She turned quite red. Are you very much interested in politics?"" she asked timidly. Not in the least."" But why do you let me sit here talking politics eternally?"" Oh, you say everything so charmingly, that it does not matter what you are talking about."""" That really is no compliment."" It certainly is,"" he assured her eagerly, for it seemed to him she looked quite hurt. Camilla burst out laughing, jumped up, and ran to meet her father, took his arm, and walked back with him to the puzzled Mogens. When dinner was through and they had drunk their coffee up on the balcony, the councilor suggested a walk. So the three of them went along the small way across the main road, and along a narrow path with stubble of rye on both sides, across the stile, and into the woods. There was the oak and everything else; there even were still convolvuluses on the hedge. Camilla asked Mogens to fetch some for her. He tore them all off, and came back with both hands full. Thank you, I don't want so many,"" she said, selected a few and let the rest fall to the ground. """"Then I wish I had let them be,"""" Mogens said earnestly. Camilla bent down and began to gather them up. She had expected him to help her and looked up at him in surprise, but he stood there quite calm and looked down at her. Now as she had begun, she had to go on, and gathered up they were; but she certainly did not talk to Mogens for a long while. She did not even look to the side where he was. But somehow or other they must have become reconciled, for when on their way back they reached the oak again, Camilla went underneath it and looked up into its crown. She tripped from one side to the other, gesticulated with her hands and sang, and Mogens had to stand near the hazelbushes to see what sort of a figure he had cut. Suddenly Camilla ran towards him, but Mogens lost his cue, and forgot both to shriek and to run away, and then Camilla laughingly declared that she was very dissatisfied with herself and that she would not have had the boldness to remain standing there, when such a horrible creature--and she pointed towards herself--came rushing towards her. But Mogens declared that he was very well satisfied with himself. When towards sunset he was going home the councilor and Camilla accompanied him a little way. And as they were going home she said to her father that perhaps they ought to invite that lonesome young man rather frequently during the month, while it was still possible to stay in the country. He knew no one here about, and the councilor said """"yes,"""" and smiled at being thought so guileless, but Camilla walked along and looked so gentle and serious, that one would not doubt but that she was the very personification of benevolence itself. The autumn weather remained so mild that the councilor stayed on at Cape Trafalgar for another whole month, and the effect of the benevolence was that Mogens came twice the first week and about every day the third. It was one of the last days of fair weather. It had rained early in the morning and had remained overclouded far down into the forenoon; but now the sun had come forth. Its rays were so strong and warm, that the garden-paths, the lawns and the branches of the trees were enveloped in a fine filmy mist. The councilor walked about cutting asters. Mogens and Camilla were in a corner of the garden" 83 "Summary: A young man and a woman named Camilla have a conversation about politics, then they go on a walk in the woods. They return to the garden and spend time together. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted Genre: Romance Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation and description of actions Active character: Young man, Camilla, councilor Fuzzy place: Woods, garden Diegetic time: Several days " Il giovane, che non era pi cos sfrontato da prendere la mano della signora senza essere invitato a farlo, dopo averla baciata alla francese e salutandola col nome di Camilla si ritir al suo posto. Sono sicuro di aver fatto una figura ben terribile nella pubblica adunanza, ma se voi non mi aveste mandato il vostro consiglio io avrei rischiato di fare ancora peggio. E poi la vostra lettera mi ha dato un po' di fiducia. Fiducia! esclam la donna, strappando ai libri gli occhi pieni di meraviglia; e perch?... Perch vi ho veduto in faccia l'antica amicizia per me, per i miei parenti, per tutto quello che vi caro; ed allora ho creduto che qualche cosa di buono potesse ancora nascere dal mio partito preso. Io son convinto che voi non abbiate voluto ingannarmi, e solo vi sono grato del bene che volevate farmi. Che sarebbe stato quel bene? chiese la donna con ironia. Vi pareva possibile che io fossi tanto insensato da non capire che intendevate dire? Egli pure avrebbe dovuto esser molto insensato!... Invece no: egli sapeva benissimo che quella parola era stata solamente una protesta d'amore; e ora, riconoscente dell'esser stato salvato dalla sciocchezza, mi mostra in viso la stessa gioja che prova chi si vede liberare dalle catene. Ahi, ahi! esclam la fanciulla colla voce soffocata dal pianto; io non ho mai udito nulla di pi tenero, di pi commovente... e non lo credevo possibile a voi.... Se non fosse stato che quella giornata egli ebbe a passarla nel parlamento, l'abituale indifferenza, l'impassibilit delle sue facolt intellettuali non gli avrebbero permesso di produrre tali effetti sulle sue emozioni fisiche. Cos per contrasto egli riacquistava a poco a poco l'equilibrio interno; e verso sera, quando fu giunto in carrozza davanti al cancello del giardino, aveva ripreso anche l'aria regale che era sua abituale. Appena entrato nel gran viale disse alle due persone che erano con lui: Andate a casa e venite domani mattina alle dieci. Poi scese da solo e and ognuno per la sua via; ma lasci il cappello a un angolo del portone e rimase alcun tempo immobile, respirando l'aria fresca e profumata. Finalmente, pentito di non avere messo in tasca la chiave della porta secondaria, torn indietro per riaverla e tornasse in carrozza. La signora Veronica si trov sola col consigliere, seduto sulla panca, che guardava fiso le foglie cadute sugli scalini. Ella s'avvicin a lui e gli chiese sorridendo: Non ne avete ricavato nulla da questo discorso? Che cosa volete dire? Non sapete quanti bei pensieri nascono sotto gli alberi? Certo, rispose l'uomo, ma se le parole sono pi belle dei fiori, esse saranno sempre pi rare. E mi sembra di non averne dette molte oggi. Eh! ella replicava, le donne sono pazze per le parole e tutte vorrebbero sposarsi in chiesa. Ma noi, che ci hanno visto crescere sotto gli alberi, sapremo apprezzare meglio i frutti degli alberi che quelli delle chiese. Il consigliere si lev dal suo posto e seguendo la donna per le scale, le disse, ridendo: 83 6765 107267 "to take down some late winter apples. He stood on a table with a basket on his arm, she stood on a chair holding out a big white apron by the corners. Well, and what happened then?"" she called impatiently to Mogens, who had interrupted the fairy-tale he was telling in order to reach an apple which hung high up. Then,"" he continued, ""the peasant began to run three times round himself and to sing: 'To Babylon, to Babylon, with an iron ring through my head.' Then he and his calf, his great-grandmother, and his black rooster flew away. They flew across oceans as broad as Arup Vejle, over mountains as high as the church at Jannerup, over Himmerland and through the Holstein lands even to the end of the world. There the kobold sat and ate breakfast; he had just finished when they came. 'You ought to be a little more god-fearing, little father,' said the peasant, 'otherwise it might happen that you might miss the kingdom of heaven.'"""" Well, he would gladly be god-fearing."" 'Then you must say grace after meals,' said the peasant...."" No, I won't go on with the story,"" said Mogens impatiently. Very well, then don't,"" said Camilla, and looked at him in surprise. I might as well say it at once,"" continued Mogens, ""I want to ask you something, but you mustn't laugh at me."""" Camilla jumped down from the chair. Tell me--no, I want to tell you something myself--here is the table and there is the hedge, if you won't be my bride, I'll leap with the basket over the hedge and stay away. One!"""" Camilla glanced furtively at him, and noticed that the smile had vanished from his face. Two!"" He was quite pale with emotion. Yes,"" she whispered, and let go the ends of her apron so that the apples rolled toward all corners of the world and then she ran. But she did not run away from Mogens. Three,"" said she, when he reached her, but he kissed her nevertheless. The councilor was interrupted among his asters, but the district-judge's son was too irreproachable a blending of nature and civilization for the councilor to raise objections. ***** It was late winter; the large heavy cover of snow, the result of a whole week's uninterrupted blowing, was in the process of rapidly melting away. The air was full of sunlight and reflection from the white snow, which in large, shining drops dripped down past the windows. Within the room all forms and colors had awakened, all lines and contours had come to life. Whatever was flat extended, whatever was bent curved, whatever was inclined slid, and whatever was broken refracted the more. All kinds of green tones mingled on the flower-table, from the softest dark-green to the sharpest yellow-green. Reddish brown tones flooded in flames across the surface of the mahogany table, and gold gleamed and sparkled from the knick-knacks, from the frames and moldings, but on the carpet all the colors broke and mingled in a joyous, shimmering confusion. Camilla sat at the window and sewed, and she and the Graces on the mantle were quite enveloped in a reddish light from the red curtains Mogens walked slowly up and down the room, and passed every moment in and out of slanting beams of light of pale rainbow-colored dust. He was in talkative mood. Yes,"" he said, ""they are a curious kind of people, these with whom you associate. There isn't a thing between heaven and earth which they cannot dispose of in the turn of a hand. This is common, and that is noble; this is the most stupid thing that has been done since the creation of the world, and that is the wisest; this is so ugly, so" 83 "Summary: A young boy tells a fairy tale to a girl named Camilla, who then asks him something important. They kiss and the text ends with a description of the winter season. Trope: Fairy tale Narrative arc: Romantic tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Playful Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mogens, Camilla Fuzzy place: Unnamed farm Diegetic time: Some time has passed " Der unge kunde ikke holde ud, og han begyndte at fortelle et eventyr. Det var om en ung og smuk prinsesse, som sad i sit selskabskammer med sin far til den store jomfruelige bal; hun vilde ikke drikke af de vinen, der blev serveret hende, men fik at vide, at man havde taget blomsten af hendes favnakors, saa hun rejste sig og sprang ud ad vinduet. Hun faldt ned i en mose, hvor to dvrginge boede, og de tog hende med hjem til huset. Den ene af dem gik og spillede flge med hende hver aften, mens den anden stod ved brndevognen og lftede sin hat og rakte hende sit lommetrs for, hvad hun nskede. Til sidst gav hun ham det gamle favnakors med den blomst, og han pludrede op og blev konge over et rigt land, saa de levede lykkeligt til resten af livet. Men paa det tidspunkt, hvor fortlleren kom ind paa sin historie, havde Camilla truffet ham et par gange med sine store, naturlige og mrkelige jne og sagde: Hvad er det, du vilde spnde mig? Mogens svarede: Nej, jeg skal ikke spnde dig, bare vr' mine ord ind i dit hoved og se, om du kan huske dem. Saa fortalte han videre, men da han kom til sluttet, lod han pludselig sin tale falde bort og sagde med halvt forvirret, halvt underlig stemme: Du har noget meget vigtigt at spnde mig nu! Det tog nogen tid, fr hun havde fundet sin stemme igen, og hun rystede fast paa hovedet og sagde: Nej, jeg har intet at spnde dig, jeg har ingenting at spnde dig. Nu blev hun tavs, og hun holdt endnu fast paa at ryge sin cigar, hun satte sig helt op i stolen og stirrede ham ret direkte ind i jnene. Og Mogens blev ogsaa stille, han tog hende fat i skuldrene og sagde med lav stemme: Er du ked af mig? Hun tnkte: Ja, det er jeg jo, det er jeg vel nok, og hun rejste sig og slog armene om hans hals. Det gik frem og tilbage, de kyssede hinanden, de kyssede hinanden i lange strimlinger, og det var den bedste og mest behagelige fornemmelse, hun nogensinde havde kendt. De blev ved paa stedet, hvor de var stanset, hun satte sig ned igen, og han stod over hende og kyssede hendes pande, hendes jne, hendes halvlukkede mund. Paa den tid var det kommet af sig selv, at de begge samlede deres sko sammen og tog dem paa, de gik hen til dren og lagde dem udenfor, inden de lukkede efter sig. Saa gik de hen til vinduet og satte sig ved siden af hinanden, mens de stirrede ud. Der var koldt og klart, solen gik ned bag hvide hje bjerge, der stod i silhuet mod himlen, og de gule snefnug gled ned ad siderne og blev sivede stive skygger paa den gra grusvej, der gik hen mod kirken. Der var ikke nogen mennesker mere at se, der hang kun en tyk rgenest af damp fra de hus, der stod skovlede langt ude i markerne. 84 6765 107268 "ugly, and that is so beautiful it cannot be described. They agree so absolutely about all this, that it seems as if they had some sort of a table or something like that by which they figured things out, for they always get the same result, no matter what it may be. How alike they are to each other, these people! Every one of them knows the same things and talks about the same things, and all of them have the same words and the same opinions."""" You don't mean to say,"" Camilla protested, ""that Carlsen and Ronholt have the same opinions."""" Yes, they are the finest of all, they belong to different parties! Their fundamental principles are as different as night and day. No, they are not. They are in such agreement that it is a perfect joy. Perhaps there may be some little point about which they don't agree; perhaps, it is merely a misunderstanding. But heaven help me, if it isn't pure comedy to listen to them. It is as if they had prearranged to do everything possible not to agree. They begin by talking in a loud voice, and immediately talk themselves into a passion. Then one of them in his passion says something which he doesn't mean, and then the other one says the direct opposite which he doesn't mean either, and then the one attacks that which the other doesn't mean, and the other that which the first one didn't mean, and the game is on."""" But what have they done to you?"" They annoy me, these fellows. If you look into their faces it is just as if you had it under seal that nothing especial is ever going to happen in the world in the future."""" Camilla laid down her sewing, went over and took hold of the corners of his coat collar and looked roguishly and questioningly at him. I cannot bear Carlsen,"" he said angrily, and tossed his head. Well, and then."" And then you are very, very sweet,"" he murmured with a comic tenderness. And then?"" And then,"" he burst out, ""he looks at you and listens to you and talks to you in a way I don't like. He is to quit that, for you are mine and not his. Aren't you? You are not his, not his in any way. You are mine, you have bonded yourself to me as the doctor did to the devil; you are mine, body and soul, skin and bones, till all eternity."""" She nodded a little frightened, looked trustfully at him; her eyes filled with tears, then she pressed close to him and he put his arms around her, bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. The same evening Mogens went to the station with the councilor who had received a sudden order in reference to an official tour which he was to make. On this account Camilla was to go to her aunt's the next morning and stay there until he returned. When Mogens had seen his future father-in-law off, he went home, thinking of the fact that he now would not see Camilla for several days. He turned into the street where she lived. It was long and narrow and little frequented. A cart rumbled away at the furthest end; in this direction, too, there was the sound of footsteps, which grew fainter and fainter. At the moment he heard nothing but the barking of a dog within the building behind him. He looked up at the house in which Camilla lived; as usual the ground-floor was dark. The white-washed panes received only a little restless life from the flickering gleam of the lantern of the house next door. On the second story the windows were open and from one of them a whole heap of planks protruded beyond the window-frame. Camilla's window was dark, dark also was everything above, except that in one of the attic windows there shimmered a white-golden gleam from the moon. Above the house the clouds were driving in a wild flight. In the houses on both sides the windows were lighted. The dark house made Mogens sad. It stood there so forlorn and" 83 "Summary: The text describes the similarity between two people and their conversations, as well as Mogens's feelings towards Camilla and his visit to her house. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Humorous Genre: Fiction Speech standard: Conversational Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Camilla, Carlsen, Ronholt, Mogens Fuzzy place: The street where Camilla lives Diegetic time: A few days " Det er saa meget, at deres hoveder er enlige ligesaa. Hun har det godt med sig selv og bliver aldrig kedelig. Hun kan faa mig til at le mere end nogen anden i verden. For hun har et rigt skjorteknivsmile over hele ansigtet, som siger: 'Ja, her har jeg nu mit lille liv, og jeg skal forlade det med at kysse paa kinderne.' Og hun smiler bare saa glad og gavmild med sine store, blaa jomfru-oen, som om hun sagde: 'Vi skal se om vi ikke kan lade os vaere gode venner.' Hun behandler mig som en mand, jeg ved ikke hvad hun synes om mig, men hun holder af mig, hun er altid glad for mig og siger: 'Og du var jo saa flink at komme hjem i nat, min Carlsen, det var da forfjamsk at vente paa dig.' Og hun smiler og lyver. Men det er det bedste og det mest retfærdige, man kan sige om hende. Det er hendes uskyldighed. Ja, hun er saa godmodig, den gamle, at hun maatte have rodet sit hoved igennem en stor traeline og slaaet stearinlysestagerne ud, og satte sig ind paa vognen for at fange mig. For da jeg kom forbi og sa' hende sidde der, blev jeg fuldstændig forvirret. Og hun spurgte: 'Hvor skulle jeg kunne vide, at det var dig? Jeg havde netop talt om dig, da jeg horte din trille kommer. Men du er jo skikkelig forandret. Har du snuppet noget afgjorelt?' Hun ved ikke, at jeg er gift. Hun troede nok, jeg skulde faa ansvaret for det. Men jeg tog det ikke ondt, hun vidste vel ikke, at hun skulde undskylde. Og hun saa forvirret ud og lod som om hun skulde traeffe mig overalt. Og jeg svarede: 'Ja, jeg har kunnet finde ud af det lidt af gangen.' Og hun spurgte: 'Er du saa glad?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Og hun spurgte: 'Er du saa sikker paa hende?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Og hun spurgte: 'Tror du, hun er glad for dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Jo.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun elsker dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Saa spurgte hun: 'Siger hun, hun vil lave et hus for dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Jo.' Og hun spurgte: 'Hvad siger hun om dit forlovelsesarbejde?' Og jeg svarede: 'At det er godt.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo hos dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Jo.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil leve sammen med dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Jo.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo sammen med dig for evigt?' Og jeg svarede: 'Jo.' Og hun spurgte: 'Hvad siger hun om din mor?' Og jeg svarede: 'At hun er god.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo hos dig og mor?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Og hun spurgte: 'Hvad siger hun om dit arbejde?' Og jeg svarede: 'At jeg skal ha' det bedste.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo hos dig og arbejde sammen med dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo hos dig og more sig med dig?' Og jeg svarede: 'Ja.' Og hun spurgte: 'Siger hun, hun vil bo hos dig og kobe med dig?' 85 6765 107269 "disconsolate; the open windows rattled on their hinges; water ran monotonously droning down the rainpipe; now and then a little water fell with a hollow dull thud at some spot which he could not see; the wind swept heavily through the street. The dark, dark house! Tears came into Mogen's eyes, an oppressive weight lay on his chest, and he was seized by a strange dark sensation that he had to reproach himself for something concerning Camilla. Then he had to think of his mother, and he felt a great desire of laying his head on her lap and weeping his fill. For a long while he stood thus with his hand pressed against his breast until a wagon went through the street at a sharp pace; he followed it and went home. He had to stand for a long time and rattle the front door before it would open, then he ran humming up the stairs, and when he had entered the room he threw himself down on the sofa with one of Smollett's novels in his hand, and read and laughed till after midnight. At last it grew too cold in the room, he leaped up and went stamping up and down to drive away the chill. He stopped at the window. The sky in one corner was so bright, that the snow-covered roofs faded into it. In another corner several long-drawn clouds drifted by, and the atmosphere beneath them had a curious reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered unsteadily, a red smoking fog. He tore open the window, fire had broken out in the direction of the councilor's. Down the stairs, down the street as fast as he could; down a cross-street, through a side-street, and then straight ahead. As yet he could not see anything, but as he turned round the corner he saw the red glow of fire. About a score of people clattered singly down the street. As they ran past each other, they asked where the fire was. The answer was """"The sugar-refinery."""" Mogens kept on running as quickly as before, but much easier at heart. Still a few streets, there were more and more people, and they were talking now of the soap-factory. It lay directly opposite the councilor's. Mogens ran on as if possessed. There was only a single slanting cross-street left. It was quite filled with people: well-dressed men, ragged old women who stood talking in a slow, whining tone, yelling apprentices, over-dressed girls who whispered to each other, corner-loafers who stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked jokes, surprised drunkards and drunkards who quarreled, helpless policemen, and carriages that would go neither forwards nor backwards. Mogens forced his way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner; the sparks were slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there were showers of sparks, the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the factory was burning, the councilor's house was burning and the house next door also. There was nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries, curses, tiles that rattled down, blows of axes, wood that splintered, window-panes that jingled, jets of water that hissed, spluttered, and splashed, and amid all this the regular dull sob-like throb of the engines. Furniture, bedding, black helmets, ladders, shining buttons, illuminated faces, wheels, ropes, tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens rushed into their midst, over, under it all, forward to the house. The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled out of the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled and crackled. There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a rolling and crashing, and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and flames issued in torment out of all the openings of the house. And then the flames began to play and crackle with redoubled strength and redoubled clearness. It was the middle part of the ceiling of the first floor that fell. Mogens with both hands seized a large scaling-ladder which leaned against the part of the factory which was not yet in flames. For a moment he held it vertically, but then it slipped away from him and fell over toward the councilor's house where it broke in a window-frame on the second story. Mogens ran up the ladder, and in through the opening." 83 "Summary: The protagonist, Mogens, goes home after a day of reading and laughing, but is then distracted by a fire in the direction of the councilor's house. Narrative arc: Suspense Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Dramatic Genre: Fiction Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Description of action Literary movement: Realism Active character: Mogens Time setting: Contemporary period Diegetic time: Several hours " "Det var sknt, at Mogens kom hjem og slog sig ned i sin lune lunge. Han havde en ganske stor Lunge paa sin Pengekasse; den tog han ud hver Aften, og da han satte sig til Rette, lagde han dem alle sammen oven paa det tykke Kp af Bger, som han bar. Saa kunde han vre stolt, og smilende kunde han se op over sit Hoved og tnke: """"Du har jo taget din Righed fra Dem."""" - Og der havde han sin store Lunge med alle Pengene, som det var et Skat. Nu sad han lidt og laa paa sine Ben med de spredte Fingre og lukkede Dren og sagde til sig selv: """"Saa blev det en god Dag i hvert Fald!"""" Og han tnkte om den gode Vinden, som vilde have ham ind i Byen, og han tnkte om, hvad han havde set og hrt for Resten af Dagen, og han tnkte om, hvad han skulle sge efter. Det var alt, hvad han havde at tnke om, og saa blev det meget stille i hans Hjerte, ligesaa stille som det var i Gaden udenfor. Der nede ved den nederste Jerngrind hulkede den ene efter den anden af de syge Piger. De maatte le og grde, naar de var alene, og de gjorde det, saa man horte det nede fra Gulvet ind under Dren. Og Mogens sad i sit Vrelse og kunde tnke: Ja, nu er jeg blevet fr. Men han tnkte ikke mere om at blive fr. Det var mere, end han drmte om. Og han tnkte om, hvad han havde set og hrt for Resten af Dagen, og han tnkte om, hvad han skulle sge efter. Det var alt, hvad han havde at tnke om, og saa blev det meget stille i hans Hjerte, ligesaa stille som det var i Gaden udenfor. - Og pludselig hrte han et Brndebonner. Han rejste sig hurtigt op og kikrede ud ad Vinduet. Hvorledes? Saasom en Lynet blinker, fik han nogen Tid til at se, hvor Brndebonnerne kom fra. Og naar de var fordrevne, lod han sig falden og begyndte at le. - Der brndte, nr han ledest, men han huskede ikke, hvorfr det brndte. Han vidste kun, at der brndte, og at han fik Lyst til at le. Og saa blev det stille igen, og han sad lidt og tnkte: Jeg skal se mig efter. Og han gik hen og tog sin Hat og tog sin Lnge med sig og gik ud paa Gangen. - Og da han kom ud, stod der et Par Mennesker paa Gangen og kikkede ind ad Dren til den nederste Jerngrind. Mogens gik hen til dem og sagde: Er der nogen, der grder inde der? - Nej, sagde en af dem, der er brndt. - Herre Gud, sagde Mogens. Hvad har der brndt? - Konditoriet brnder, sagde den anden Mand. - Og herre Gud, sagde Mogens, hvem brnder det? - Det er Rdsmandens Hus, der brnder, sagde den anden Mand. - Jo, det maa vaere det, sagde Mogens. " 86 6765 107270 "At first he had to close his eyes on account of the pungent wood-smoke, and the heavy suffocating fumes which rose from the charred wood that the water had reached took his breath away. He was in the dining-room. The living-room was a huge glowing abyss; the flames from the lower part of the house, now and then, almost reached up to the ceiling; the few boards that had remained hanging when the floor fell burned in brilliant yellowish-white flames; shadows and the gleam of flames flooded over the walls; the wall-paper here and there curled up, caught fire, and flew in flaming tatters down into the abyss; eager yellow flames licked their way up on the loosened moldings and picture-frames. Mogens crept over the ruins and fragments of the fallen wall towards the edge of the abyss, from which cold and hot blasts of air alternately struck his face; on the other side so much of the wall had fallen, that he could look into Camilla's room, while the part that hid the councilor's office still stood. It grew hotter and hotter; the skin of his face became taut, and he noticed, that his hair was crinkling. Something heavy glided past his shoulder and remained lying on his back and pressed him down to the floor; it was the girder which slowly had slipped out of place. He could not move, breathing became more and more difficult, his temples throbbed violently; to his left a jet of water splashed against the wall of the dining-room, and the wish rose in him, that the cold, cold drops, which scattered in all directions might fall on him. Then he heard a moan on the other side of the abyss, and he saw something white stir on the floor in Camilla's room. It was she. She lay on her knees, and while her hips were swaying, held her hands pressed against each side of her head. She rose slowly, and came towards the edge of the abyss. She stood straight upright, her arms hung limply down, and the head went to and fro limply on the neck. Very, very slowly the upper part of her body fell forward, her long, beautiful hair swept the floor; a short violent flash of flame, and it was gone, the next moment she plunged down into the flames. Mogens uttered a moaning sound, short, deep and powerful, like the roar of a wild beast, and at the same time made a violent movement, as if to get away from the abyss. It was impossible on account of the girder. His hands groped over the fragments of wall, then they stiffened as it were in a mighty clasp over the debris, and he began to strike his forehead against the wreckage with a regular beat, and moaned: """"Lord God, Lord God, Lord God."""" Thus he lay. In the course of a little while, he noticed that there was something standing beside him and touching him. It was a fireman who had thrown the girder aside, and was about to carry him out of the house. With a strong feeling of annoyance, Mogens noticed that he was lifted up and led away. The man carried him to the opening, and then Mogens had a clear perception that a wrong was being committed against him, and that the man who was carrying him had designs on his life. He tore himself out of his arms, seized a lathe that lay on the floor, struck the man over the head with it so that he staggered backward; he himself issued from the opening and ran erect down the ladder, holding the lathe above his head. Through the tumult, the smoke, the crowd of people, through empty streets, across desolate squares, out into the fields. Deep snow everywhere, at a little distance a black spot, it was a gravel-heap, that jutted out above the snow. He struck at it with the lathe, struck again and again, continued to strike at it; he wished to strike it dead, so that it might disappear; he wanted to run far away, and ran round about the heap and struck at it as if possessed. It would not, would not disappear; he hurled the lathe far away and flung himself upon the black heap to give it the finishing stroke. He got his hands full of small stones, it was gravel, it was a black heap of gravel. Why was he out here in the field burrowing in a black gravel-heap?--He smelled the smoke, the flames flashed round him, he saw Camilla sink down into them," 83 "Summary: The protagonist witnesses the destruction of his house by fire and sees his lover, Camilla, perish in the flames. He becomes possessed and runs through the field, eventually realizing he is burying himself in a gravel-heap. Trope: Tragic love story Narrative arc: Tragic Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Tragedy Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Stream of consciousness Active character: Mogens, Camilla Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment during the fire Fuzzy place: Unnamed field Diegetic time: A few minutes " Mogens blev ved at se, han blev ved at kikke ind gennem Lunde; det brændte saa vildt, at han knapt kunde holde sig oppe. Det var det sidste, han husker af sit liv: den store mur af ild, der stod og brændte i højen, og de hvide spiraler, der strømmede op i luften, og den unge pige med hvidt ansigt, som blev trukket ned ad rørene fra loftet og faldt ned, et lille flammende lig mellem de sorte træer. Og så fik han et slag i panden og blev vasket hen over sin egen væg, hans ben blev grebet under ham, og han blev slæbt ud til markerne. Mogens blev ved at løbe, uden at være klar over hvorhen. Han løb over græsset, over frosne klude, med de jnede fødder, han løb og løb og løb, mens det brændte og gnug og brændte om ham. Han løb, fordi han ikke vidste hvorhen. Han løb over markerne, over skovene, over veje og gader, løb gennem Byens grusade, løb gennem Huset, løb over Hovedtorvet, løb over Fjordvejen, løb ned ad Købmagergade, løb over Istedgade, løb over Langgade, løb over Bredegade, løb over Kalvehavegade, løb over Studsgade, løb over Vejlbygade, løb over Helligkorsgade, løb over Øvre Strandgade, løb over Nørre Allégade, løb over Kongevejen, løb over Hindsgavlvej, løb over Grønjordsvej, løb over Dybbølvej, løb over Fredericia, løb over Aalborg, løb over Aarhus, løb over Randers, løb over Skanderborg, løb over Silkeborg, løb over Grenaa, løb over Århus, løb over Viborg, løb over Holstebro, løb over Struer, løb over Harboøre, løb over Thisted, løb over Nykøbing, løb over Randrup, løb over Helsingør, løb over Snekkersten, løb over Gilleleje, løb over Hornbæk, løb over Gudhjem, løb over Bornholm, løb over Gotland, løb over Rügen, løb over Wolin, løb over Stettin, løb over Greifswald, løb over Berlin, løb over Potsdam, løb over Brandenburg, løb over Dresden, løb over Leipzig, løb over Zwickau, løb over Chemnitz, løb over Dresdens Højhed, løb over Prag, løb over Wien, løb over Linz, løb over Salzburg, løb over Innsbruck, løb over Milano, løb over Roma, løb over Neapel, løb over Palermo, løb over Tunis, løb over Tripoli, løb over Bengasi, løb over Alexandria, løb over Suez, løb over Jomkis Bugt, løb over Aden, løb over Bombay, løb over Madras, løb over Calcutta, løb over Dhaka, løb over Rangoon, løb over Singapore, løb over Batavia, løb over Makassar, løb over Manila, løb over Guam, løb over Midway, løb over Honolulu, løb over San Francisco, løb over Los Angeles, løb over Tijuana, løb over Ciudad Juárez, løb over Chihuahua, løb over Monterrey, løb over Saltillo, løb over San Miguel de Tucumán, løb over Santiago del Estero, løb over Córdoba, løb over Rosario, løb over Buenos Aires, løb over Montevideo, løb over Rio Grande do Sul, løb over Porto Alegre, løb over Florianópolis, løb over Vitória, løb over Belém, løb over Macapá, løb over Paramaribo, løb over Cayenne, løb over Georgetown, løb over Demerara, løb over Bartica, løb over Manaus, løb over Iquitos, løb over Leticia, løb over Puerto Leguízamo, løb over Florencia, løb over Pasto, løb over Cali, løb over Bogotá, løb over Tunja, løb over Bucaramanga, løb over Cúcuta, løb over Maracaibo, løb over Barquisimeto, løb over Valencia, løb over Caracas, løb over Puerto Cabello, løb over Barcelona, løb over La Guaira, løb over Coro, løb over Maracay, løb over Carora, løb over El Tocuyo, løb over Mérida, løb over Santo Domingo, løb over Mayagüez, løb over Ponce, løb over Punta Cana, løb over Samaná, løb over Cienfuegos, løb over Trinidad, løb over Sancti Spíritus, løb over Santa Clara, løb over Camagüey, løb over Las Tunas, løb over Holguín, løb over Santiago de Cuba, løb over Bayamo, løb over Guantánamo, løb over Manzanillo, løb over Baracoa, løb over Havana, løb over Miami, løb over New York, løb over Philadelphia, løb over Washington, løb over Baltimore, løb over Richmond, løb over Norfolk, løb over Portsmouth, løb over Boston, løb over Portsmouth, løb over Liverpool, løb over Dublin, løb over Cork, løb over Waterford, løb over Wexford, løb over New Ross, løb over Arklow, løb over Dublin, løb over Galway, løb over Ballina, løb over Killala, løb over Coleraine, løb over Limavady, løb over Londonderry, løb over Strabane, løb over Omagh, løb over Armagh, løb over Monaghan, løb over Dundalk, løb over Belfast, løb over Bangor, løb over Holywood, løb over Larne, løb over Carrickfergus, løb over Newtownards, løb over Portaferry, løb over Strangford, løb over Downpatrick, løb over Kilmore, løb over Ballynahinch, løb over Newcastle, løb over Benone, løb over Magilligan, løb over Dungiven, løb over Cookstown, løb over Enniskillen, løb over Clones, løb over Monaghan, løb over Ardee, løb over Drogheda, løb over Mellifont, løb over Balbriggan, løb over Rush, løb over Skerries, løb over Baldoyle, løb over Howth, løb over Sutton, løb over Donaghmede, løb over Booterstown, løb over Blackrock, løb over Sandycove, løb over Dun Laoghaire, løb over Dalkey, løb over Killiney, løb over Glenageary, løb over Cabinteely, løb over Foxrock, løb over Stillorgan, løb over Cherrywood, løb over Bray, løb over Kilcoole, løb over Delgany, løb over Greystones, løb over Kilquade, løb over Arklow, løb over Rathdrum, løb over Avoca, løb over Aughrim, løb over Rathnew, løb over Ashford, løb over Tinahely, løb over Castlebridge, løb over Wexford, løb over Gorey, løb over Courtown, løb over Rathangan, løb over Ferns, løb over Taghmon, løb over Bannow, løb over Wellington Bridge, løb over Bridgetown, løb over Forth, løb over Kilmuckridge, løb over Rathroe, løb over Castledockrell, løb over Bree, løb over Fethard-on-Sea, løb over Coolgreany, løb over Rosslare, løb over Passage East, løb over Carrick-on-Suir, løb over Cahir, løb over Golden, løb over Thurles, løb over Templemore, løb over Borrisokane, løb over Portumna, løb over Athenry, løb over Oranmore, løb over Clarinbridge, løb over Carnmore, løb over Galway, løb over Moycullen, løb over Oughterard, løb over Headford, løb over Claregalway, løb over Tuam, løb over Ballyhaunis, løb over Castlebar, løb over Westport, løb over Newport, løb over Mulranny, løb over Achill Sound, løb over Crossmolina, løb over Ballina, løb over Swinemünde, løb over Pillau, løb over Memel, løb over Königsberg, løb over Eydtkuhnen, løb over Vilna, løb over Grodno, løb over Lublin, løb over Łódź, løb over Radom, løb over Kielce, løb over Västerås, løb over Eskilstuna, løb over Örebro, løb over Karlskoga, løb over Uppsala, løb over Gävle, løb over Sundsvall, løb over Örnsköldsvik, løb over Härnösand, løb over Sollefteå, løb over Umeå, løb over Lycksele, løb over Jokkmokk, løb over Kiruna, løb over Narvik, løb over Bodø, løb over Trondheim, løb over Ålesund, løb over Bergen, løb over Stavanger, løb over Kristiansand, løb over Hirtshals, løb over Esbjerg, løb over Odense, løb over København, løb over Landskrona, løb over Ystad, løb over Kalmar, løb over Karlskrona, løb over Visby, løb over Ronneby, løb over Karlshamn, løb over Simrishamn, løb over Ystad, løb over Helsingborg, løb over Malmö, løb over Trelleborg, løb over Rødby, løb over Gedser, løb over Fallsterbo, løb over Ystad, løb over Svendborg, løb over Faaborg, løb over Otterup, løb over Bogense, løb over Horsens, løb over Juelsminde, løb over Herning, løb over Silkeborg, løb over Randers, løb over Grenaa, løb over Ryomgård, løb over Aarhus, løb over Haslev, løb over Fakse, løb over Sorø, løb over Slagelse, løb over Ringsted, løb over Kalundborg, løb over Nykøbing, løb over Korinth, løb over Patra, løb over Kreta, løb over Rhodos, løb over Kypros, løb over Tyrkiet, løb over Istanbul, løb over Bagdad, løb over Teheran, løb over Kabul, løb over Kathmandu, løb over Katmandu, løb over Darjeeling, løb over Siliguri, løb over Phuntsholing, løb over Thimphu, løb over Paro, løb over Trongsa, løb over Jakar, løb over Wangdue, løb over Punakha, løb over Bhutan, løb over Nepal, løb over Indien, løb over Pakistan, løb over Afghanistan, løb over Iran, løb over Irak, løb over Tyrkiet, løb over Syrien, løb over Libanon, løb over Israel, løb over Egypten, løb over Sudan, løb over Etiopien, løb over Somalia, løb over Djibouti, løb over Eritrea, løb over Kenya, løb over Tanzania, løb over Malawi, løb over Zambia, løb over Zimbabwe, løb over Botswana, løb over Namibia, løb over Angola, løb over DR Congo, løb over Uganda, løb over Rwanda, løb over Burundi, løb over Kenya, løb over Somalia, løb over Jemen, løb over Bahrain, løb over Qatar, løb over Saudi-Arabien, løb over Kuwait, løb over Irak, løb over Iran, løb over Turkmenistan, løb over Usbekistan, løb over Tadsjikistan, løb over Kirgisistan, løb over Kasakhstan, løb over Mongoliet, løb over Rusland, løb over Japan, løb over Korea, løb over Taiwan, løb over Filippinerne, løb over Indonesien, løb over Malaysia, løb over Thailand, løb over Laos, løb over Vietnam, løb over Kambodscha, løb over Kina, løb over Tibet, løb over Himachal Pradesh, løb over Uttaranchal, løb over Uttarakhand, løb over Kashmir, løb over Punjab, løb over Delhi, løb over Haryana, løb over Rajasthan, løb over Gujarat, løb over Maharashtra, løb over Karnataka, løb over Goa, løb over Andhra Pradesh, løb over Tamil Nadu, løb over Kerala, løb over Lakshadweep, løb over Sri Lanka, løb over Burma, løb over Malaya, løb over Sumatra, løb over Java, løb over Bali, løb over Nusa Penida, løb over Lombok, løb over Sumbawa, løb over Flores, løb over Timor, løb over Suva, løb over Levuka, løb over Rotuma, løb over Samoa, løb over Fiji, løb over Tonga, løb over Wallis og Futuna, løb over Vanuatu, løb over Efate, løb over Tanna, løb over Erromango, løb over Aniwa, løb over Futuna, løb over Futuna, løb over Alofi, løb over Niue, løb over Nuku'alofa, løb over Atuona, løb over Moorea, løb over Tahiti, løb over Bora Bora, løb over Raiatea, løb over Huahine, løb over Tautira, løb over Maupiti, løb over Tupai, løb over Mitiaro, løb over Mauke, løb over Rarotonga, løb over Aitutaki, løb over Atiu, løb over Mangaia, løb over Mipihao, løb over Takutea, løb over Pukapuka, løb over Penrhyn, løb over Manihiki, løb over Palmerston, løb over Pukapuka, løb over Rakahanga, løb over Nassau, løb over Freeport, løb over Rum Cay, løb over San Salvador, løb over Long Island, løb over Governor's Harbour, løb over Rock Sound, løb over Clarence Town, løb over Cockburn Town, løb over Matthew Town, løb over Mangrove Cay, løb over South Riding Point, løb over Marsh Harbour, løb over Treasure Cay, løb over Green Turtle Cay, løb over Hope Town, løb over Sandy Point, løb over Man-O-War, løb over Deep Water Cay, løb over Abaco Islands, løb over Great Exuma, løb over George Town, løb over Lee Stocking Island, løb over Little Exuma, løb over North Riding Point, løb over Allen's Cay, løb over Staniel Cay, løb over Norman's Cay, løb over Eleuthera, løb over Spanish Wells, løb over Governors Harbour, løb over Dunmore Town, løb over Rock Sound, løb over Windermere, løb over Guana Cay, løb over Cave Cay, løb over Berry Islands, løb over Bimini, løb over Cat Island, løb over New Bight, løb over Arthur's Town, løb over Crooked Island, løb over Duncan Town, løb over Acklins, løb over Mayaguana, løb over Ragged Island, løb over San Salvador, løb over Plana Cays, løb over Inagua, løb over South Bimini, løb over San Andrés, løb over Providencia, løb over Isla de los Muertos, løb over Santa Catalina, løb over Jamaica, løb over Islas del Rosario, løb over Isla Grande, løb over Isla del Rey, løb over Isla de Coiba, løb over Islas Secas, løb over Isla de Cañas, løb over Panama, løb over Costa Rica, løb over Nicaragua, løb over Honduras, løb over El Salvador, løb over Guatemala, løb over Belize, løb over Mexico, løb over Texas, løb over Louisiana, løb over Mississippi, løb over Alabama, løb over Florida, løb over Bahamas, løb over Turks og Caicosøerne, løb over Dominica, løb over Saint Kitts og Nevis, løb over Anguilla, løb over Saint Martin, lø 87 6765 107271 "he cried out aloud and rushed wildly across the field. He could not rid himself of the sight of the flames, he held his eyes shut: Flames, flames! He threw himself on the ground and pressed his face down into the snow: Flames! He leaped up, ran backward, ran forward, turned aside: Flames everywhere! He rushed further across the snow, past houses, past trees, past a terror-struck face, that stared out through a window-pane, round stacks of grain and through farm-yards, where dogs howled and tore at their chains. He ran round the front wing of a building and stood suddenly before a brightly, restlessly lighted window. The light did him good, the flames yielded to it; he went to the window and looked in. It was a brew-room, a girl stood at the hearth and stirred the kettle. The light which she held in her hand had a slightly reddish sheen on account of the dense fumes. Another girl was sitting down, plucking poultry, and a third was singeing it over a blazing straw-fire. When the flames grew weaker, new straw was put on, and they flared up again; then they again became weaker and still weaker; they went out. Mogens angrily broke a pane with his elbow, and slowly walked away. The girls inside screamed. Then he ran again for a long time with a low moaning. Scattered flashes of memory of happy days came to him, and when they had passed the darkness was twice as black. He could not bear to think of what had happened. It was impossible for it to have happened. He threw himself down on his knees and raised his hands toward heaven, the while he pleaded that that which had happened might be as though it had not occurred. For a long time he dragged himself along on his knees with his eyes steadfastly fixed on the sky, as if afraid it might slip away from him to escape his pleas, provided he did not keep it incessantly in his eye. Then pictures of his happy time came floating toward him, more and more in mist-like ranks. There were also pictures that rose in a sudden glamor round about him, and others flitted by so indefinite, so distant, that they were gone before he really knew what they were. He sat silently in the snow, overcome by light and color, by light and happiness, and the dark fear which he had had at first that something would come and extinguish all this had gone. It was very still round about him, a great peace was within him, the pictures had disappeared, but happiness was here. A deep silence! There was not a sound, but sounds were in the air. And there came laughter and song and low words came and light and footsteps and dull sobbing of the beats of the pumps. Moaning he ran away, ran long and far, came to the lake, followed the shore, until he stumbled over the root of a tree, and then he was so tired that he remained lying. With a soft clucking sound the water ran over the small stones; spasmodically there was a soft soughing among the barren limbs; now and then a crow cawed above the lake; and morning threw its sharp bluish gleam over forest and sea, over the snow, and over the pallid face. At sunrise he was found by the ranger from the neighboring forest, and carried up to the forester Nicolai; there he lay for weeks and days between life and death. ***** About the time when Mogens was being carried up to Nicolai's, a crowd collected around a carriage at the end of the street where the councilor lived. The driver could not understand why the policeman wanted to prevent him from carrying out his legitimate order, and on that account they had an argument. It was the carriage which was to take Camilla to her aunt's. ***** No, since poor Camilla lost her life in that dreadful manner, we have not seen anything of him!"""" Yes, it is curious, how much may lie hidden in a person. No one would have suspected anything, so quiet and shy, almost awkward. Isn't it so? You did not suspect anything?""""" 83 "Summary: The protagonist, Mogens, is haunted by the image of flames and runs through a snowy field in fear. He encounters various scenes and people before finding peace at a brew-room window. He then continues to run and eventually collapses near a lake. He is found by the ranger and taken to Nicolai's for weeks. Meanwhile, Camilla is being taken away in a carriage by her aunt after losing her life. Narrative arc: Tragic tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Psychological fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Stream of consciousness Literary movement: Naturalism Active character: Mogens, girls in the brew-room Quoted character: Ranger from the neighboring forest, Nicolai, policeman, driver Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moments Fuzzy place: Snowy field, farm-yards, houses, trees Diegetic time: Weeks and days " Han gik i blinde og holdt sin hovedtop af det vindflote sne. Langsomt vandredes hans tanker tilbage til flammerne, til det store, hvide lune over de røde flammebrande; han blev ved at se dem, og pludselig vandrede han hurtigere frem, foran sig stod et stort, sort udsigtstårn, som han kastede sig ind i, og da han kom ud igen, var han i den samme bre skov, hvor han havde set flammerne. Der blev varmere om ham, han begyndte at svettede, hans trætte ben blev slvne under ham, og han faldt halvt over den snedravede jord. Han blev ved at se flammerne, mens han svede og kæmpede med sine tunge lemmer, der ikke vilde lyde ham. Pludselig blev der frer i luften, nogle piger dukkede op, og han var i et brygervindue, der var fyldt med gaslys. Pigerne sad og lejre, og en af dem tog fat i hans pandekagebukke og sagde: -Du har dog ikke haft noget godt budskab? -Nej, nej, jeg er bare her... -Ja ja, du kan sidde her et øjeblik, men tag dig sammen, vi skal jo ikke have dig vrset igennem husene paa det her. Han sad lidt, mens pigerne fnisede og spurgte, hvorfor han kom paa det her maalet. Saa fik han at vide, at han var ved at dø, at han var i livsfare, og da han saa paa dem, saa naadestille og alvorlige, begyndte han at græde. De hjalp ham op, og han gik videre, mens han tnkte paa sit liv, og hvad han hadde gjort og ville gjort, og om han nogensinde maatte få den frihed, han lange efter. Men han blev mere og mere trt, og hans ben svælvede og fornød ikke krafter nok til, at han kom hjem, og han faldt ned mellem to træer, satte sig tilbagene mod dem og sad der. -Er du ikke ved at sove? Der var en ranger fra naboskovene, der kom hen til ham. -Nej, sagde Mogens. -Og hvem er det, der tager dit hoved? -Jeg ved ikke, sagde Mogens, og rangeren lagde fat i ham og spurgede: -Hvor er du fra? -Nicolais, sagde Mogens. -Saa lad os faa dig ind, sagde rangeren. Det var de første ord, Mogens talte med Nicolai, da han kom til bevidsthed. Han havde ligget i flere dage uden at vde noget, og han havde været med til at kyle sig selv ud i iskanten ved en af de gamle damme. Nu laa han i sit sengekammerseng og mrkedes meget af vande, og hans hals var stivnet af den kulde, han havde faat i sig. -Men hvorfor har I ikke lukket mig ind straks, sagde han, nr I vidste, at jeg var kommen hen imod vandet? -Vi tnkte, at du skulde fare ud igen, sagde Nicolai. Og vi var langtfra sikre paa, at du var kommet til anden side af dammen. For vi kendte dig ikke, og man kender ikke ens egne venner, naar de er uforstandige nok til at slaar sig ud i iskanten. Saa vidste vi ikke, om du var den gode eller den onde. 88 6765 107272 "About the sickness! How can you ask such a question! Oh, you mean--I did not quite understand you--you mean it was in the blood, something hereditary?--Oh, yes, I remember there was something like that, they took his father to Aarhus. Wasn't it so, Mr. Carlsen?"""" No! Yes, but it was to bury him, his first wife is buried there. No, what I was thinking of was the dreadful--yes, the dreadful life he has been leading the last two or two and a half years."""" Why no, really! I know nothing about that."" Well, you see, of course, it is of the things one doesn't like to talk about.... You understand, of course, consideration for those nearest. The councilor's family...."""" Yes, there is a certain amount of justice in what you say--but on the other hand--tell me quite frankly, isn't there at present a false, a sanctimonious striving to veil, to cover up the weaknesses of our fellow-men? As for myself I don't understand much about that sort of thing, but don't you think that truth or public morals, I don't mean this morality, but--morals, conditions, whatever you will, suffer under it?"""" Of course, and I am very glad to be able to agree so with you, and in this case... the fact simply is, that he has given himself to all sorts of excesses. He has lived in the most disreputable manner with the lowest dregs, people without honor, without conscience, without position, religion, or anything else, with loafers, mountebanks, drunkards, and--and to tell the truth with women of easy virtue."""" And this after having been engaged to Camilla, good heavens, and after having been down with brain-fever for three months!"""" Yes--and what tendencies doesn't this let us suspect, and who knows what his past may have been, what do you think?"""" Yes, and heaven knows how things really were with him during the time of their engagement? There always was something suspicious about him. That is my opinion. Pardon me, and you, too, Mr. Carlsen, pardon me, but you look at the whole affair in rather an abstract way, very abstractedly. By chance I have in my possession a very concrete report from a friend in Jutland, and can present the whole affair in all its details."""" Mr. Ronholt, you don't mean to...?"" To give details? Yes, that is what I intend. Mr. Carlsen, with the lady's permission. Thank you! He certainly did not live as one should live after a brain-fever. He knocked about from fair to fair with a couple of boon-companions, and, it is said, was somewhat mixed up with troupes of mountebanks, and especially with the women of the company. Perhaps it would be wisest if I ran upstairs, and got my friend's letter. Permit me. I'll be back in a moment."""" Don't you think, Mr. Carlsen, that Ronholt is in a particularly good humor to-day?"""" Yes, but you must not forget that he exhausted all his spleen on an article in the morning paper. Imagine, to dare to maintain--why, that is pure rebellion, contempt of law, for him...."""" You found the letter?"" Yes, I did. May I begin? Let me see, oh yes: 'Our mutual friend whom we met last year at Monsted, and whom, as you say, you knew in Copenhagen, has during the last months haunted the region hereabouts. He looks just as he used to, he is the same pale knight of the melancholy mien. He is the most ridiculous mixture of forced gayety and silent hopelessness, he is affected--ruthless and brutal toward himself and others. He is taciturn and a man of few words, and doesn't seem to be enjoying himself at all, though he does nothing but drink and lead a riotous life. It is as I have already said, as if he had a fixed idea that he received a personal insult from destiny. His associates here were especially a horse-dealer, called """"Mug-sexton,"""" because he does nothing but sing and" 83 "Summary: The text discusses the questionable behavior of a man and the consequences it has on his relationships with others. Enunciation: Multiple characters speaking in dialogue Tone: Serious, concerned Genre: Drama Intertextuality: Conversational dialogue Speech standard: Informal, everyday language Literary form: Conversation/dialogue Active character: Mr. Carlsen, Mr. Ronholt Diegetic time: A few years " Vil De tro at jeg glder det? Mr. CARLSEN (saerter) Det er jo saa uskjaere, at De ... MR. RONHOLT Jeg tror vel De kan forstaae at jeg vilde vaere lidt mere aaben og naevnede Endelig er den unge mand kommet ind i salen, og han synes at overholde et jeblik. MR. RONHOLT Og saa, om De nu ikke har fattet fejl av mig, saa vil jeg bare si at jeg til serlig denne gang har oplevet en hel del av det, som tydeligvis viser sig at vre uskjaert. Men jeg vilde nok medbringe en tapt sak for en dommer, naar jeg gjorde mit bedste for at bevise at jeg hadde set ham kysse min hustru. MR. CARLSEN (lidt overrasket ved hans bestemmelsesevne) Ja ja; ja! MR. RONHOLT Jeg skal si at jeg ogsaa er urolig for at der kan vaere mer end saa paa veie, og det nytter da ikke mere end at faa skilles fra hverandre; for jeg tror da umulig at han kan leve sammen med hende efterpaa. MR. CARLSEN Har De snakket med ham om det? MR. RONHOLT Nej, jeg tror han kjenner godt at jeg er varm for hende og misliker alle de der tingene. MR. CARLSEN Det maa vare meget tungt for ham at se sig saa satte og fast forbi. MR. RONHOLT Ah ja, det kan man ikke si det samme om Dem her, hvad? Der er det jo helt sikkert at De kommer saa langt, som De taenker. MR. CARLSEN Ja, vi kan vel si at jeg har kommet saa langt som jeg ville. Men Deres gamle ven har lovet mig at blande mig ikke mere ind i hans saelge, siden jeg vet at han kan faa af sted uten mig. MR. RONHOLT Saa han har faat sin kontrakt igjennem? MR. CARLSEN Ja, den er da aldrig blevet frisk igen etter det han gjorde. MR. RONHOLT (med et smil) Ja, det tror jeg ikke det har vært rigtig godt for hans forretning heller. MR. CARLSEN Det er jo ikke det jeg taler om. Men jeg tror han er ræd for at jeg skal begynde at snakke om det. MR. RONHOLT Jo, det kan vist være det. MR. CARLSEN (som taenker over det et jeblik) Ja, det er nok det. Men jeg tror det var bedst for ham at vi talte om noget andet. MR. RONHOLT Herregud, hvad han dog skaffet sig! 89 6765 107273 "drink all the time, and a disreputable, lanky, over-grown cross between a sailor and peddler, known and feared under the name of Peter Rudderless,"" to say nothing of the fair Abelone. She, however, recently has had to give way to a brunette, belonging to a troupe of mountebanks, which for some time has favored us with performances of feats of strength and rope-dancing. You have seen this kind of women with sharp, yellow, prematurely-aged faces, creatures that are shattered by brutality, poverty, and miserable vices, and who always over-dress in shabby velvet and dirty red. There you have his crew. I don't understand our friend's passion. It is true that his fiancee met with a horrible death, but that does not explain the matter. I must still tell you how he left us. We had a fair a few miles from here. He, """"Rudderless,"""" the horse-dealer, and the woman sat in a drinking-tent, dissipating until far into the night. At three o'clock or thereabouts they were at last ready to leave. They got on the wagon, and so far everything went all right; but then our mutual friend turns off from the main road and drives with them over fields and heath, as fast as the horses can go. The wagon is flung from one side to the other. Finally things get too wild for the horse-dealer and he yells that he wants to get down. After he has gotten off our mutual friend whips up the horses again, and drives straight at a large heather-covered hill. The woman becomes frightened and jumps off, and now up the hill they go and down on the other side at such a terrific pace that it is a miracle the wagon did not arrive at the bottom ahead of the horses. On the way up Peter had slipped from the wagon, and as thanks for the ride he threw his big clasp-knife at the head of the driver.'"""" The poor fellow, but this business of the woman is nasty."" Disgusting, madam, decidedly disgusting. Do you really think, Mr. Ronholt, that this description puts the man in a better light?"""" No, but in a surer one; you know in the darkness things often seem larger than they are."""" Can you think of anything worse?"" If not, then this is the worst, but you know one should never think the worst of people."""" Then you really mean, that the whole affair is not so bad, that there is something bold in it, something in a sense eminently plebeian, which pleases your liking for democracy."""" Don't you see, that in respect to his environment his conduct is quite aristocratic?"""" Aristocratic? No, that is lather paradoxical. If he is not a democrat, then I really don't know what he is."""" Well, there are still other designations."" ***** White alders, bluish lilac, red hawthorn, and radiant laburnum were in flower and gave forth their fragrance in front of the house. The windows were open and the blinds were drawn. Mogens leaned in over the sill and the blinds lay on his back. It was grateful to the eye after all the summer-sun on forest and water and in the air to look into the subdued, soft, quiet light of a room. A tall woman of opulent figure stood within, the back toward the window, and was putting flowers in a large vase. The waist of her pink morning-gown was gathered high up below, the bosom by a shining black leather-belt; on the floor behind her lay a snow-white dressing-jacket; her abundant, very blond hair was hanging in a bright-red net. You look rather pale after the celebration last night,"" was the first thing Mogens said. Good-morning,"" she replied and held out without turning around her hand with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the flowers. Laura turned the head half towards him, opened her hand slightly and let the flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then she again busied" 83 "Summary: The text describes the behavior of a man and his friends, as well as the actions of a woman. It ends with a scene in a house where Mogens interacts with a tall woman. Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious, critical Genre: Realistic fiction Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Description of events and dialogue Literary movement: Naturalism Active character: Peter Rudderless, horse-dealer, woman Time setting: Contemporary time period Diegetic time: Several hours " Den mand var en af de bedste Kjeldesagfyrster; han og hans Venner kendte at holde sig lidt i Kaer. Der kom dog nogen Tid efter en anden Mand, en Frustrvandrer, som havde nsten saa langt Burt med sit Hoved, som den jydske Frstinde har med sit. Han kogte sig en Pott Kaffe og begyndte saa at snakke med Peter Mandsmanden om Kaffebonernes Skade for Landet og det unge Folk, der ikke fik noget at spise, paa Grund af dem. -Og hvorfor er det ikke Bedre? sagde han til Peter Mandsmanden. Det er jo bare frdert ved Vexelhandlerne og Trkere og dem slige, der skaffer sig ind i Landet, saa faar de vor Kaffe for Billig og den unge folk ikke for meget for at lge sig ned og drikke. Det krder hele Krogen. Men hvorfor er det dog ikke Bedre, sagde Peter Rudderless. Fordi vi har vore Loven, som giver dem ret til at kbe alle de stlle fra Byerne ud paa Landsbyerne. Og hvad de ikke kan bruge her, slder de ud i Holland eller over Grnland. Saa faar vi ingen Bly, ingen Krambod og ingen Linned til vores Hus, men skal leje det af Landboerne, som har det alt, hvad man kan tnkke sig. Vi har vore Loven, som skynder os at komme til Undergangen! Og naar vi bliver gamle, sagde Manden og lagde sin Haand paa Peters Bryst, naar vi bliver gamle, da skal vi faa af med alle disse Fremmede og have Lov til at leve og dde i Fred og Ro, uden at nogen skaar i vor Port og kommer ind og tarer os af vore Penge. Hvorfor skal I dog ikke faa af med mig? sagde en gammel Kone, der sad hos ham og vilde hre alt. Ja, det skal De nok, sagde han, hvis De bare lader mig fole mig vel; jeg skal faa Dem utrolig godt med, og Dem skal jeg ikke bruge til andet end til at vente paa mig og kbe min Kaffe. Og saa skreg hun op og begyndte at haane ham, saa han blev rasende og tog et Blad og kastede det imod hende; men det gik gennem den halvt tomme Kaffepotte, hun havde i sine Kn. Hun sprang bagefter med det tomme, og der begyndte et helvetisk Raas, mens Kaffebonden lo ad dem begge to. -Ja, de er nogle gode Guder, sagde han og satte sig igen ved Kaffespanden. Nu kom en anden Mand ind, en stor, hojt ansigtet Mand med et sort Bart, som holdt sig hidsigt. Han satte sig og kaldte Kaffebonden. -Har du en Dukat, sagde han. -Du skal vaere saa god at kbe en lille Nisse til mig. -Jeg vil gerne ha'e en med en Stjerne paa Hovedet, sagde han. Det kan jeg ikke faa, sagde Kaffebonden. Du kan ikke faa den? Jeg har lige set den i det Store Hus. Kan du ikke faa den? Jeg har haft et Par af dem, da jeg var ung. Det er en Modegruppe, sagde han, og nu har den vaeret ude i to Aar. Den kan du ikke faa. Ja, det er ligemeget, sagde Manden. -Jeg tror, det vil kunne lade sig gre, hvis du kunde faa den. 90 6765 107274 "herself with the vase. Ill?"" asked Mogens. Tired."" I won't eat breakfast with you to-day."" No?"" We can't have dinner together either."" You are going fishing?"" No--Good-by!"" When are you coming back?"" I am not coming back."" What do you mean by that?"" she asked arranging her gown; she went to the window, and there sat down on the chair. I am tired of you. That's all."" Now you are spiteful, what's the matter with you? What have I done to you?"""" Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each other, I don't see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going my own way."""" Are you jealous?"" she asked very softly. Of one like you! I haven't lost my senses!"" But what is the meaning of all this?"" It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and your gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity nor your craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then why I should stay?"""" Laura wept. """"Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this? Oh, what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only to-day, Mogens. You dare not go away from me!"""" Those are lies, Laura, you don't even believe it yourself. It is not because you think such a terrible lot of me, that you are distressed now. You are only a little bit alarmed because of the change, you are frightened because of the slight disarrangement of your daily habits. I am thoroughly familiar with that, you are not the first one I have gotten tired of."""" Oh, stay with me only to-day, I won't torment you to stay a single hour longer. You really are dogs, you women! You haven't a trace of fine feelings in your body. If one gives you a kick, you come crawling back again."""" Yes, yes, that's what we do, but stay only for to-day--won't you--stay!"""" Stay, stay! No!"" You have never loved me, Mogens!"" No!"" Yes, you did; you loved me the day when there was such a violent wind, oh, that beautiful day down at the sea-shore, when we sat in the shelter of the boat."""" Stupid girl!"" If I only were a respectable girl with fine parents, and not such a one as I am, then you would stay with me; then you would not have the heart to be so hard--and I, who love you so!"""" Oh, don't bother about that."" No, I am like the dust beneath your feet, you care no more for me. Not one kind word, only hard words; contempt, that is good enough for me."""" The others are neither better nor worse than you. Good-by, Laura!"" He held out his hand to her, but she kept hers on her back and wailed: No, no, not good-by! not good-by!"" Mogens raised the blind, stepped back a couple of paces and let it fall down in front of the window. Laura quickly leaned down over the window-sill beneath it and begged: """"Come to me! come and give me your hand.""""" 83 "Summary: Mogens and Laura have a tense conversation where Mogens tells Laura he is tired of her and plans to leave. Laura pleads for him to stay, but he insists on leaving. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Tension and conflict between Mogens and Laura Enunciation: Dialogue Tone: Tense, argumentative Genre: Drama Speech standard: Standard speech Literary form: Conversation Active character: Mogens, Laura Fuzzy place: Laura's apartment Diegetic time: A few minutes " Nu vil jeg se, om den gamle gubbe kan finde sig i det. Mogens (sammenfaldende med Laura). Det er ham, der skal finde sig i det. Det er han, der har forlangt det. Han har jo aldrig brudt mig til at tage dig ind paa mit selskab. Men nu er det demmern nok. Jeg er trt af dig. (Hun ser op, frst som for at lse hans ansigt, saa som for at holde ham tilbage med et blik.) Nej. Nej, nej, nej, nej ... (Faldende tilbage i sofaen og formndende sin hovedtop ved gulvet.) Nej, nej, nej ... Mogens (saaber ikke paa hende og gr naar madrassen). Jeg har sovet her natten igennem. Og jeg maa sove her den næste nat. (Til Gerd.) Det skal vre godt for jer begge to, hvis I kan komme overens. Nu skulde vi gaa ned paa kontoret og faa ordnet alt det. Jeg skal skaffe pengene, jeg skal skaffe huset. (Han taenker, mens han aabner doren.) Nej; hvad mere skal jeg skaffe! (Med en rysten.) Nej, nej, nej, nej ... (Han staar og kigger ud i rummet, som om han vil trope sig paa noget, han har set eller hørt. Saa traeder han ud i vrelset, hojrer igen og ser hen over hendes hoved: ) Hvad mere skal jeg skaffe? Er der noget andet du omtager mig til at skaffe? Mogens (ved vinduet). Jeg skal min vagtseddel forbi kontoret. (Betrakteligt.) Saa jeg kan rejse fra byen. (Laura rejser sig.) Laura (nsten udenstemmelig). Rejsen? Ja ja ... (Paa en vis uvedursomhed.) Hvorfor ikke ... (Kvindelig smilende.) Kan man vel selv vaelge hvor man skal bo, ikke sandt? (Hun er ved at fare hen imod ham.) Mogens. Ja ja, det er vel bare en formalitet. (Gynger paa benene.) Saa jeg kan tage mine papirer. (Begynder at fare mod doren.) Laura (i samme raekke som han). Jeg tror da vel ikke, du vil forlade mig. Mogens. Forlad dig? Ja ja, det gør jeg vel. 91 6765 107275 "No."" When he had gone a short distance she cried plaintively: Good-by, Mogens!"" He turned towards the house with a slight greeting. Then he walked on: And a girl like that still believes in love!--no, she does not!"" ***** The evening wind blew from the ocean over the land, the strand-grass swung its pale spikes to and fro and raised its pointed leaves a little, the rushes bowed down, the water of the lake was darkened by thousands of tiny furrows, and the leaves of the water-lilies tugged restlessly at their stalks. Then the dark tops of the heather began to nod, and on the fields of sand the sorrel swayed unsteadily to and fro. Towards the land! The stalks of oats bowed downward, and the young clover trembled on the stubble-fields, and the wheat rose and fell in heavy billows; the roofs groaned, the mill creaked, its wings swung about, the smoke was driven back into the chimneys, and the window-panes became covered with moisture. There was a swishing of wind in the gable-windows, in the poplars of the manor-house; the wind whistled through tattered bushes on the green hill of Bredbjerg. Mogens lay up there, and gazed out over the dark earth. The moon was beginning to acquire radiance, and mists were drifting down on the meadow. Everything was very sad, all of life, all of life, empty behind him, dark before him. But such was life. Those who were happy were also blind. Through misfortune he had learned to see; everything was full of injustice and lies, the entire earth was a huge, rotting lie; faith, friendship, mercy, a lie it was, a lie was each and everything; but that which was called love, it was the hollowest of all hollow things, it was lust, flaming lust, glimmering lust, smoldering lust, but lust and nothing else. Why had he to know this? Why had he not been permitted to hold fast to his faith in all these gilded lies? Why was he compelled to see while the others remained blind? He had a right to blindness, he had believed in everything in which it was possible to believe. Down in the village the lights were being lit. Down there home stood beside home. My home! my home! And my childhood's belief in everything beautiful in the world.--And what if they were right, the others! If the world were full of beating hearts and the heavens full of a loving God! But why do I not know that, why do I know something different? And I do know something different, cutting, bitter, true... He rose; fields and meadows lay before him bathed in moonlight. He went down into the village, along the way past the garden of the manor-house; he went and looked over the stone-wall. Within on a grass-plot in the garden stood a silver poplar, the moonlight fell sharply on the quivering leaves; sometimes they showed their dark side, sometimes their white. He placed his elbows on the wall and stared at the tree; it looked as if the leaves were running in a fine rain down the limbs. He believed, that he was hearing the sound which the foliage produced. Suddenly the lovely voice of a woman became audible quite near by: Flower in dew! Flower in dew! Whisper to me thy dreams, thine own. Does in them lie the same strange air The same wonderful elfin air, As in mine own? Are they filled with whispers and sobbing and sighing Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying, Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing: In longing, In longing, I live.""""" 83 "Summary: A man reflects on love, life, and his own disillusionment with the world while walking through a stormy landscape. Narrative arc: Reflective Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Literary fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Stream of consciousness Literary movement: Symbolism Active character: Mogens Fuzzy time: Evening Absolute place: The manor-house, Bredbjerg Fuzzy place: The countryside Diegetic time: Several hours " Det viste man ikke; men en ung mand, der hadde hjertet blodt, kunde ikke si sig selv fra at elsker. Det var frst da han blev gammel og trtte og klappet sig p sin gamle, knudrede hage, som han begyndte at forste, hvorledes det stod til. For den glemte sagn om livets lykke var jo samtidig med de fortvivlede tanker om elendigheten af alting; den glansende billede av det formindskede virkelige liv skulde kontrasteres mod billedet af verden, som er kvalmelig og kedelig, ligesom det er uforstyrrelig og trofast i sit barnlige tillid til, at det kommer til at vre godt: et bud, som er uforskammet nok til at indbyde til fornyelse og tilgivelse. Saaledes gik Mogens igjen hen over hans jord, og hans egen usselhed gjorde ham ulykkelig, men han vidste endnu ikke, hvad der var grunden til det. Da han kom tilbage til herregården, var solen ved at synke ned bag mrkegrnne skyer, der lignede sølvet, og heden var sluttet sammen til tæpper. Landskabet blev mere og mere sort og fint, saa natten kom, og den fik alle farverne til at bli blå. Menneskene ved marken havde sat sig ind under hønselønnene for at vente p vinterens første frost. De lo og snakkede, mens de rodede med deres rør, og det var dejligt at se dem i denne lyseblå nat. Men da Mogens kom hjem, var han ensom og langt borte fra dem, og hans tanker gik langt ud over landskabet. Saaledes gik de hver aften p deres lange vei. Og da han en dag saa, at vinduet i hendes værelse var stået op, saa hun, der sidder ved sit skrivebord, skjult bag den store smalspunne, sorte gardin, der hang ned fra loftet, som en sky, der er faldet ned fra himlen. Der er ingen lys i rummet, kun to brede streger, der kommer ind gennem den halvt åbnede dør. Hun har lagt hovedet frem p skrivemaden og sover, og hendes hår er spredt ud over pladen. Han ser lnger og lnger og tror, at hun vil vågne, men hun sover videre og vender sig p sider. Han vil gerne tage hende i sine arme og kysse hende, men han kan ikke, og han kan ikke se hende heller. Og han går ud igen uden at vide, hvad det skal betyde. Et par timer senere, da han kommer hjem, har hun allerede været vekket af mørket. Hun er ved vinduet og ser ud over skovene, som er blå og sorte, med det skinnende silhuet af kirken imellem. Men hun ser ikke noget, intet, og hun er bange, for hun ved ikke, hvorledes hun skal begynde at leve. Og hun hører sin egen stemme, der hvisker hende til, at hun ikke vil kunne finde noget godt. For de er begge bange, og de begynder at forst, hvad de har mistet. Og nu vil det ikke længere hjælpe dem at lege og lade, som om det var sådan, de havde haft det hele tiden. 92 6765 107276 "Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he clearly heard the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed his head in his arms and wept. The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with a brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with everlasting alternations of darkness and light, according as the clouds drift past the sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage. Some of the graves had wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; a few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others wooden crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax wreaths, the greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about hunting for a sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all sides of the church. He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a book out of his pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every time when a cloud went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it were growing chilly, and he thought of getting up, but then the light came again and he remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the way, a greyhound and a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped and it seemed as if she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens she continued her walk diagonally across the cemetery out through the gate. Mogens rose and looked after her; she walked down on the main road, the dogs still played. Then he began reading the inscription on one of the graves; it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell across the grave and remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A tanned, young man stood there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other he held his gun. It isn't really half bad,"" he said, indicating the inscription. No,"" said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position. Tell me,"" continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking something, """"you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn't come near you. You go and drift about so alone, why haven't you looked in on us? And what in the world do you do to kill the time? For you haven't any business in the neighborhood, have you?"""" No, I am staying here for pleasure."" There isn't much of that here,"" the stranger exclaimed and laughed, don't you shoot? Wouldn't you like to come with me? Meanwhile I have to go down to the inn and get some small shot, and while you are getting ready, I can go over, and call down the blacksmith. Well! Will you join?"""" Yes, with pleasure."" Oh, by the way,--Thora! haven't you seen a girl?"" he jumped up on the embankment. Yes, there she is, she is my cousin, I can't introduce you to her, but come along, let us follow her; we made a wager, now you can he the judge. She was to be in the cemetery with the dogs and I was to pass with gun and game-bag, but was not to call or to whistle, and if the dogs nevertheless went with me she would lose; now we will see."""" After a little while they overtook the lady; the hunter looked straight ahead, but could not help smiling; Mogens bowed when they passed. The dogs looked in surprise after the hunter and growled a bit; then they looked up at the lady and barked, she wanted to pat them, but indifferently they walked away from her and barked after the hunter. Step by step they drew further and further away from her, squinted at her, and then suddenly darted off after the hunter. And when they reached him, they were quite out of control; they jumped up on him and rushed off in every direction and back again." 83 "Summary: Mogens is in a cemetery and sees a young girl walking with her dogs. A hunter approaches him and they engage in conversation. Trope: Meeting a stranger in a remote location Narrative arc: Light-hearted and humorous Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Light-hearted, playful Genre: Literary fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Conversation Literary movement: Realism Active character: Mogens, the hunter, the young girl Fuzzy place: Cemetery, manor garden Diegetic time: One day " Men det var ikke lngere tilbage til Kastaniebakken, og det svlgede Mogens i Sorgens Aar. Det blev saa meget sregere for ham, naar han kom ud paa Kirkegaarden. Han var jo den sidste af Fruentimmeret der; den unge Pige var vist faerdig med at gaa ind i Stuehuset. Men hun stod stadig ved Porten og talte med Kjolen over Hovedet; og hendes Hundebekken var lagt hen paa Jorden; dog skulde de snart vende om. Nu blev Mogens mere og mere galant; han gik saa laenge omkring ved en Grav, som han ikke kendte, og lod haardt Gagen se ned i Graven, mens han sagde: -Nu skal I ogsaa hore fra mig, Fruen og Herr'et! Jeg er saa fornjet med min Melankoli, at jeg kan lide at tale med dem selv. Jeg har aldrig malet nogen Trae, der har set saa smart ud som den har. Ja, nu vilde jeg kun have Herren og Fruen at vide, hvorfor de aldrig kommer ud til deres gamle Ven? Der har da vel ogsaa tidt et Par blomstrende Traeer vaeret under deres Vinduer! Mogens havde pludselig spredt Armene ud, og hans Stemme blev saa hvaen, at den jydske Trold var faldet i Tankefuldhed, idet han tog sig en Stund til at betragte den store, tomme Gaard, der laa bagved Porten. Nu gik den unge Pige og hendes Hunde hen imod ham. Hun tog sin Kofod af og hilste lidt kurtisansk. Hun vidste nok ikke, hvem han var. Men hun havde jo set ham i Kirken. Saa begyndte hun at tale med ham i det samme tonefald, som han var begyndt med; hun fik det rigtigt godt med ham, fordi han laa udenfor de vanlige Kredse. De gik hen gennem Kirkegaarden og ind ad Gangen, som var alt for smal til dem begge to. Hendes Hundebekken gled hen og skubbede mod hans Kn og saaledes fik han den sidste Chance til at fortale sig. Men han vendte bare sit Ansigt bort og raabte: -Ja, det er godt, at Frskovene er saa flotte i disse Dage; de vilde ellers vre saa triste. -Det er sandt nok, sagde hun. Og hun begyndte straks igen at tale om den franske Revolutionskirkegaares Lidelser; han sad jo der saa med Haanden paa Brystet og levet af Spidser og Bakker; ja, det var virkelig elendigt nok, og det gjorde hende saa ked af at tænke paa. -Og det er noget, sagde Mogens og satte Foden op paa en Brik, saa han kunde se hende bedre over paa Kinden. -Ja, det er virkelig elendigt nok, sagde hun. Og hun begyndte at tale om Skuespillerne; det var jo den slags Folk, der havde mest Lidenhed, naar de kom til at leve af deres Livs Kunst. -Ja, det er rigtigt nok, sagde Mogens og lo lidt, naar de kom ind ad Manorgaarden. -Hvorfor ler De? spurgte hun. -Fordi det er ikke andet end en lille Hyldest, sagde Mogens og stillede sig op i Posen og tog sig et par Gange en Haand for Brystet. 93 6765 107277 "You lose,"" he called out to her; she nodded smilingly, turned round and went on. They hunted till late in the afternoon. Mogens and William got along famously and Mogens had to promise that he would come to the manor-house in the evening. This he did, and later he came almost every day, but in spite of all the cordial invitations he continued living at the inn. Now came a restless period for Mogens. At first Thora's proximity brought back to life all his sad and gloomy memories. Often he had suddenly to begin a conversation with one of the others or leave, so that his emotion might not completely master him. She was not at all like Camilla, and yet he heard and saw only Camilla. Thora was small, delicate, and slender, roused easily to laughter, easily to tears, and easily to enthusiasm. If for a longer time she spoke seriously with some one, it was not like a drawing near, but rather as if she disappeared within her own self. If some one explained something to her or developed an idea, her face, her whole figure expressed the most intimate trust and now and again, perhaps, also expectancy. William and his little sister did not treat her quite like a comrade, but yet not like a stranger either. The uncle and the aunt, the farm-hands, the maid-servants, and the peasants of the neighborhood all paid court to her, but very carefully, and almost timidly. In respect to her they were almost like a wanderer in the forest, who sees close beside him one of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very clear eyes and light, captivating movements. He is enraptured by this tiny, living creature, he would so much like to have it come closer and closer, but he does not care to move, scarcely to take breath, lest it may be frightened and fly away. As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of peace and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and quiet sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla and of his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked back upon himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it was he who had thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which he told. On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and watched the sunset. William and his little sister were playing hide-and-seek around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate colors, hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them and looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked in comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real thought, but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and disappeared; it was as if it had been the eye that thought it. The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone down,"" said Thora. Oh--are they?"" Don't you know that elves love darkness?"" Mogens smiled. You don't believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to believe in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, and elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and three-legged horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to believe what I believe, she says is not God-fearing. Such things have nothing to do with people, but warnings and spirits are in the gospel, too. What do you say?"""" I, oh, I don't know--what do you really mean?"" You surely don't love nature?"" But, quite the contrary."" I don't mean nature, as you see it from benches placed where there is a fine view on hills up which they have built steps; where it is like a" 83 "Summary: Mogens is drawn to Thora, who is unlike his past love Camilla. He tells her about his past life and they spend time together. Trope: Love triangle Narrative arc: Romantic development Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Romantic Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Description of a place, conversation Active character: Mogens, Thora Quoted character: Camilla, William, little sister, uncle, aunt, farm-hands, maid-servants, peasants Fuzzy time: Late afternoon, evening Absolute place: The manor-house Fuzzy place: The garden, the height Diegetic time: Several days " Den frste Aften, da han var svt p Dnen, kunde han ikke finde Ro til at gr det med hende om Camilla og William. Men nste Dag, da de sad i havekanten under det blomstrende Lmmebaaer, fortalte han hende hele Historien om sin Forlovelse og sin Rn, og hun lyttede paa ham med saa dyb Opmrksomhed og Sorg og med en saa stille Retfrelighet, som greb hans Hjerte. Hun vidste ikke nok om Verden endog; men hvad hun kendte, gjorde hun saadan godt brug af. Saaledes kunde han aldrig have forstaaet den lille Kineseren, som vandrede gennem Staden og rakte sine Blekgule Haender frem for hver Mand, der kom ham i Mde. -Og du blev glad over at trffe William? spurgte hun. Ja, jo, sagde Mogens. Det var naturligvis da en stor Gladsel, sagde Thora. Og du fik mange Venskaber ogsaa? Ja, det kunde man kalde det, sagde Mogens og smilede. -Men det er ikke dem, jeg tnker paa nu. Det kan ikke vaere sdanet, sagde Thora, naar du har travlt med at tale om andet end dine Venner. Hun lo og lagde sin Haand paa hans Arm. De skulde jo gaa hen til hende en Dag og hilse paa hendes Forlder. Det vilde hun hellere gjre omvendt, sagde Mogens. Han ville helst faa se dem, idet mindst muligt. Og naar det kom til at vre, saa var det bedst, naar de snart var ude af verden. Et Par Dage efter begyndte Mogens at vise sig oftere paa Hojen. Thora blev ved at sidde hos Fru Almindeligst og hjalp hende med Arbejdet. Fru Almindeligst var meget velkommen overfor alle Gsterne, og det lader sig tro, at der var lngt fra alle Gsterne til at gaa mere naer den gamle Dame end det gjorde Thora. Hun holdt dog saa meget mere af det yngste Par end hun gjorde af de andre. Der var jo ikke nogen Ungdom paa Hojen, og Thora gjorde det dejligt, naar man havde Set hende en Gang. Hendes Barn var altid saa farlige og lunefulde og hendes Stemme var altid saa sjov. Hun kendte dem alle tre meget godt, og deres Forhold til hinanden svarede helt med Forholdet til hende selv. Saa kunde hun ikke forstaa, hvorfor de laa saa slvskue til hinanden. 94 6765 107278 "set scene, but nature every day, always."""" Just so! I can take joy in every leaf, every twig, every beam of light, every shadow. There isn't a hill so barren, nor a turf-pit so square, nor a road so monotonous, that I cannot for a moment fall in love with it."""" But what joy can you take in a tree or a bush, if you don't imagine that a living being dwells within it, that opens and closes the flowers and smooths the leaves? When you see a lake, a deep, clear lake, don't you love it for this reason, that you imagine creatures living deep, deep down below, that have their own joys and sorrows, that have their own strange life with strange yearnings? And what, for instance, is there beautiful about the green hill of Berdbjerg, if you don't imagine, that inside very tiny creatures swarm and buzz, and sigh when the sun rises, but begin to dance and play with their beautiful treasure-troves, as soon as evening comes."""" How wonderfully beautiful that is! And you see that?"" But you?"" Yes, I can't explain it, but there is something in the color, in the movements, and in the shapes, and then in the life which lives in them; in the sap which rises in trees and flowers, in the sun and rain that make them grow, in the sand which blows together in hills, and in the showers of rain that furrow and fissure the hillsides. Oh, I cannot understand this at all, when I am to explain it."""" And that is enough for you?"" Oh, more than enough sometimes--much too much! And when shape and color and movement are so lovely and so fleeting and a strange world lies behind all this and lives and rejoices and desires and can express all this in voice and song, then you feel so lonely, that you cannot come closer to this world, and life grows lusterless and burdensome."""" No, no, you must not think of your fiancee in that way."" Oh, I am not thinking of her."" William and his sister came up to them, and together they went into the house. ***** On a morning several days later Mogens and Thora were walking in the garden. He was to look at the grape-vine nursery, where he had not yet been. It was a rather long, but not very high hothouse. The sun sparkled and played over the glass-roof. They entered, the air was warm and moist, and had a peculiar heavy aromatic odor as of earth that has just been turned. The beautiful incised leaves and the heavy dewy grapes were resplendent and luminous under the sunlight. They spread out beneath the glass-cover in a great green field of blessedness. Thora stood there and happily looked upward; Mogens was restless and stared now and then unhappily at her, and then up into the foliage. Listen,"" Thora said gayly, ""I think, I am now beginning to understand what you said the other day on the hill about form and color."""" And you understood nothing besides?"" Mogens asked softly and seriously. No,"" she whispered, looked quickly at him, dropped the glance, and grew red, """"not then."""" Not then,"" Mogens repeated softly and kneeled down before her, ""but now, Thora?"""" She bent down toward him, gave him one of her hands, and covered her eyes with the other and wept. Mogens pressed the hand against his breast, as he rose; she lifted her head, and he kissed her on the forehead. She looked up at him with radiant, moist eyes, smiled and whispered: """"Heaven be praised!"""" Mogens stayed another week. The arrangement was that the wedding was to take place in midsummer. Then he left, and winter came with dark days, long nights, and a snowstorm of letters. ***** All the windows of the manor-house were lighted, leaves and flowers were" 83 "Summary: The text discusses the beauty and joy that can be found in nature, specifically focusing on the author's love for trees, lakes, and hills. It also mentions a relationship between two characters named Mogens and Thora. Trope: Beauty in nature Narrative arc: Romantic Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Romantic, poetic Genre: Romance Speech standard: Poetic Literary form: Descriptive prose Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: Mogens, Thora Time setting: Unclear, but likely contemporary to when it was written Diegetic time: Several days " Der har vret min Sktelse, som har gjort ham til en Bk og mig til et Tr. Men det er ogs saa dejligt at vre tr, hvis man kan lide dem! For jeg kan lide dem saa godt: Trerne, der staa paa den hvide Mose i Hjulby og lyder af deres egen Stivhed; Trerne, der ved Vejen til Lindholm staar med deres lange Grene ud over Vinduet, og deres Krok bliver rde om Sommeren; de hvide Traeer ved Kirken, hvor Sneglen synger i deres Toppe og de vugges af den blaa Sommersol; disse gamle Traeer med deres grove, hvide Roter og deres Store, som faaer snefarvet under Snevinden; ja og disse unge Traeder, der ved Gaden sidder hojt op med deres Blad mod Himlens Skygger; og disse sorte Traeer, som staa foran de rde Hus i Valby og kun haer sig saa langsomt i deres Skov, mens de store Traeker, der staar i Vaernegaarden, kun kaster deres Skud hen over Vaernet. Ja, Mine, de sknner mig saa meget, disse Tr, disse mine venlige, hellige Traeer! Deres Skabning er saa behagelig: den ganske trkt Lft af deres Grene, saa harmonisk den virker! Og de staa saa flot i Sollys, deres Sorte, der er saa ligesom sort Maleriet paa et Guldvaerelse, saa farvestrkt, og saa himmelsk, naar Solen rammer dem og de visner af Skgen. Og naar Regnen falder, da er der saa stille omkring dem, det er som om de vilde bje til Bevarelse af alt, hvad der er levende. Ja, Mine, jeg kender dem alle, disse Traeer: Jeg kender dem efter deres Ansigt og efter deres Stemme! De er mine Venner, mine gode, gode Venner! Og jeg ved, hvor deres Rod stiger ned fra Jorden, jeg ved, hvor deres Rod stiger ned fra Himlens Hjrne. Og saa er der Vandet, Mine! Saa mange Sknninger af Vand! Saa mange, saa smukke og saa stille! Det runde og slanke Sjllandsgdin paa Vaernegrdens Torv, hvor Solen spejler sig, mens den rsner sine Straal ind gennem Fjeren. Og mit Vaerd, hvor du flyder! Du er min Vaerd, min glimrende Vaerd! Og denne Mylningsodde ved Hovedgrdsmarken, hvor der sidder en lille By med sin kirke, der ser ud over dit dybe, sorte Vand, som om den vilde bede for dig, den smukke, morkne Dyb! Og Aarhus Sogns Vand, hvor du kommer op mellem Marker og Plantager; du er saa stor og saa blodrød, med dine liljevige Strande! Og Horsens Sogns Vand, der er saa bred og stille, din lange Udl, med de gule, brune marker og den delte Kirke paa den halvtalende Bakke! 95 6765 107279 above every door, friends and acquaintances in a dense crowd stood on the large stone stairway, all looking out into the dusk.--Mogens had driven off with his bride. The carriage rumbled and rumbled. The closed windows rattled. Thora sat and looked out of one of them, at the ditch of the highway, at the smith's hill where primroses blossomed in spring, at Bertel Nielsen's huge elderberry bushes, at the mill and the miller's geese, and the hill of Dalum where not many years ago she and William slid down on sleighs, at the Dalum meadows, at the long, unnatural shadows of the horses that rushed over the gravel-heaps, over the turf-pits and rye-field. She sat there and wept very softly; from time to time when wiping the dew from the pane, she looked stealthily over towards Mogens. He sat bowed forward, his traveling-cloak was open, his hat lay and rocked on the front seat; his hands he held in front of his face. All the things he had to think of! It had almost robbed him of his courage. She had had to say good-by to all her relatives and friends and to an infinity of places, where memories lay ranged in strata, one above the other, right up to the sky, and all this so that she might go away with him. And was he the right sort of a man to place all one's trust in, he with his past of brutalities and debaucheries! It was not even certain that all this was merely his past. He had changed, it is true, and he found it difficult to understand what he himself had been. But one never can wholly escape from one's self, and what had been surely still was there. And now this innocent child had been given him to guard and protect. He had managed to get himself into the mire till over his head, and doubtless he would easily succeed in drawing her down into it too. No, no, it shall not be thus--no, she is to go on living her clear, bright girl's life in spite of him. And the carriage rattled and rattled. Darkness had set in, and here and there he saw through the thickly covered panes, lights in the houses and yards past which they drove. Thora slumbered. Toward morning they came to their new home, an estate that Mogens had bought. The horses steamed in the chill morning air; the sparrows twittered on the huge linden in the court, and the smoke rose slowly from the chimneys. Thora looked smiling and contented at all this after Mogens had helped her out of the carriage; but there was no other way about, she was sleepy and too tired to conceal it. Mogens took her to her room and then went into the garden, sat down on a bench, and imagined that he was watching the sunrise, but he nodded too violently to keep up the deception. About noon he and Thora met again, happy and refreshed. They had to look at things and express their surprise; they consulted and made decisions; they made the absurdest suggestions; and how Thora struggled to look wise and interested when the cows were introduced to her; and how difficult it was not to be all too unpractically enthusiastic over a small shaggy young dog; and how Mogens talked of drainage and the price of grain, while he stood there and in his heart wondered how Thora would look with red poppies in her hair! And in the evening, when they sat in their conservatory and the moon so clearly drew the outline of the windows on the floor, what a comedy they played, he on his part seriously representing to her that she should go to sleep, really go to sleep, since she must be tired, the while he continued to hold her hand in his; and she on her part, when she declared he was disagreeable and wanted to be rid of her, that he regretted having taken a wife. Then a reconciliation, of course, followed, and they laughed, and the hour grew late. Finally Thora went to her room, but Mogens remained sitting in the conservatory, miserable that she had gone. He drew black imaginings for himself, that she was dead and gone, and that he was sitting here all alone in the world and weeping over her, and then he really wept. At length he became angry at himself and stalked up and down the floor, and wanted to be sensible. There was a love, pure and noble, without any coarse, earthly passion; 83 "Summary: Mogens and Thora are driving away from their hometown and reflecting on their future together. Narrative arc: Reflective, introspective Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard Literary form: Stream of consciousness Active character: Mogens, Thora Fuzzy place: Highway, smith's hill, mill, Dalum meadows Diegetic time: Overnight " Det var ikke lykkeligt at sge paa hine, som nsten mangler rse og drage hjem over vejen. Nu var de forbi. -Naa, lille Thora, sagde Mogens, nu begynder det virkeligt liv. Hvor langt er det til Nysted? -Ja, det ved jeg ikke, svarede hun, men det er tyve km. fra Krogens. Hun vidste dog godt, hvor langt der var fra Krogens til Nysted. De havde haft mange aabne ord om det i Vinterbjerget, men da han spurgte, saa hun kun ud, som om hun ikke vilde svare ham, eller som om hun ikke visste det. Det var den saare stille nat, da de karetede bort ad hghasten. Mogens sad ved rattet, mens Thora slog sig ned i baggrunden. Der gik en halv time, inden hun rejste sig op og kom hen til ham. -Hun saa meget smertelig ud, skreg hun, og hendes ansigt var da ogsaa blevet gront. -Thora, hvad har du? -Ingenting! Hun satte sig igen. Men et par minutter efter rejste hun sig igen og klemmede sig ind ved siden af ham. Hun lagde hovedet mod hans bryst, og begyndte at gruble mod ham. -Du vil jo altid vre med mig, sagde hun; ja, det skal du love mig, jeg kan ikke leve uden dig. -Jo, Thora, jeg skal nok, sagde Mogens. Og hun trak sig bort til sin plads igen. Han havde ikke turdet se hende i ansigtet, mens hun lovet ham at lade sig kysse, for han vidste, at det ikke havde noget at g withi. Men han maatte le heriblandt, hvis hun snart fik at vide, hvordan det egentlig gik. Ud over den hvide solvarme hang en blodrød jordluft i luften, og i horisonten steg et rdt lys, der var ligemeget sols og ligemeget himmelblus. Denne jord og denne luft og disse farver havde han aldrig set i sit liv. De kredsede omkring ham, som om han selv var frembrudt af dem. Endnu en halvtime gik, inden han rejste sig op og hilste paa hine. Nu begyndte han at tage farten op lidt, og de kastede sig henover markene, som hvis de skulle flygte for noget. Der var stadig et par timer tilbage, inden solen steg over Horserden, og det gik dog, som om det kunde ske om et minut. Et par gange holdt han inde ved dren, og lo op til taget. -Hvor er du paa vej hen, Mogens? Hva' har du gjort? Er du blevet fri? Har du faaet din hustru? Eller hvad, hr'er? -Ja, nej, nej, ingen af delene endnu, sagde han, da de havde frt ham hen til fordre og spurgt om passet. Men han var jo ikke sgne paa at tale om det med dem. -Saa du ma'r det hente, sagde manden. -Og tak, sagde han, og tog det og gik ud igen. Saa kastede han sig ind i karet og tog avlskabene under armen. -Hm, hm, hvorfor ta'r du dem med, hvis du ej arbejder? -Det ved jeg ikke, sagde han. 96 6765 107280 "yes, there was, and if there was not, there was going to be one. Passion spoiled everything, and it was very ugly and unhuman. How he hated everything in human nature that was not tender and pure, fine and gentle! He had been subjugated, weighed down, tormented, by this ugly and powerful force; it had lain in his eyes and ears, it had poisoned all his thoughts. He went to his room. He intended to read and took a book; he read, but had not the slightest notion what--could anything have happened to her! No, how could it? But nevertheless he was afraid, possibly there might have--no, he could no longer stand it. He stole softly to her door; no, everything was still and peaceful. When he listened intently it seemed as if he could hear her breathing--how his heart throbbed, it seemed, he could hear it too. He went back to his room and his book. He closed his eyes; how vividly he saw her; he heard her voice, she bent down toward him and whispered--how he loved her, loved her, loved her! It was like a song within him; it seemed as if his thoughts took on rhythmic form, and how clearly he could see everything of which he thought! Still and silent she lay and slept, her arm beneath the neck, her hair loosened, her eyes were closed, she breathed very softly--the air trembled within, it was red like the reflection of roses. Like a clumsy faun, imitating the dance of the nymphs, so the bed-cover with its awkward folds outlined her delicate form. No, no, he did not want to think of her, not in that way, for nothing in all the world, no; and now it all came back again, it could not be kept away, but he would keep it away, away! And it came and went, came and went, until sleep seized him, and the night passed. ***** When the sun had set on the evening of the next day, they walked about together in the garden. Arm in arm they walked very slowly and very silently up one path and down the other, out of the fragrance of mignonettes through that of roses into that of jasmine. A few moths fluttered past them; out in the grain-field a wild duck called, otherwise most of the sounds came from Thora's silk dress. How silent we can be,"" exclaimed Thora. And how we can walk!"" Mogens continued, ""we must have walked about four miles by now."""" Then they walked again for a while and were silent. Of what are you thinking now?"" she asked. I am thinking of myself."" That's just what I am doing."" Are you also thinking of yourself?"" No, of yourself--of you, Mogens."" He drew her closer. They were going up to the conservatory. The door was open; it was very light in there, and the table with the snowy-white cloth, the silver dish with the dark red strawberries, the shining silver pot and the chandelier gave quite a festive impression. It is as in the fairy-tale, where Hansel and Gretel come to the cake-house out in the wood,"""" Thora said. Do you want to go in?"" Oh, you quite forget, that in there dwells a witch, who wants to put us unhappy little children into an oven and eat us. No, it is much better that we resist the sugar-panes and the pancake-roof, take each other by the hand, and go back into the dark, dark wood."""" They walked away from the conservatory. She leaned closely toward Mogens and continued: """"It may also be the palace of the Grand Turk and you are the Arab from the desert who wants to carry me off, and the guard is pursuing us; the curved sabers flash, and we run and run, but they have taken your horse, and then they take us along and put us into a big bag, and we are in it together and are drowned in the sea.--Let me see, or might it be...?""""" 83 "Summary: The protagonist is tormented by his own passions and fears for the well-being of a woman he loves. Trope: Forbidden love, internal struggle Narrative arc: Internal conflict Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Melancholic Genre: Romantic fiction Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Stream of consciousness Active character: Protagonist, Thora Fuzzy time: Nighttime Fuzzy place: Garden, conservatory Diegetic time: Two days " "Slike forvrete kjrlighetslidelsers og frygtes, ganske som han hadde opna hendes dør og skjøt en truende blikk frem mot hende i den lyseste stund av natten. Det var ikke nok at han skulle greie ut hva det egentlige ansvar var; det hele hans innerste vold og mod gjorde sin inverkan paa ham, og kuet hans stemme. Gjennem denne morgen hadde han tilbragt tiden med at se paa Thora fra lufta, der han blei sittende ved vinduet og hun strakte sig frem paa senen foran ham. Da de to dagene kom til aabning, saa han at hendes kjrlighet for ham var fullkommen, men at hendes livsforhold var uendret. Denne sandheden knuste ham: det var jo intet nyt av at hun elsket ham, naar hun aldrig kunde vaere hans? Hun var hans, hun var hans; men da det altid var slik at han maatte gi hende bort, hvorfor elsket han henne saa grynt? Og derefter fulgte den lange nat med alle dens klaedestrede, og bittrene av deres egen tro haanden hadde smurt over ham. Saaledes hadde han levet i to dager, og havde ikke sovet natten igjennem. Ved midnatstid den tredje dag gik han ut i haven. Det var en klar og skinnende nat, men han hrte intet. Han laa og speidte hen over tagene paa husene, som stod tomme og stille, og han tnkte paa de folk som sov indeni dem, mens han selv var utenpaa og ikke visste hvor han skulde ta. Pludselig begyndte han at vandre om i havegarden, langsomt og med hode og iver paa sine fodspor. Da han kom tilbake til palmetræet, saa han et slukket lys i konservatoriet. Det vilde vise sig at Thora var dukket ned her. Hans hjerte banket i brystet paa ham, og med de samme bevegelser som var farne gennem hans legeme, da han hadde stått med hendes dør aabnet, gled han inn i konservatoriet og gik hen til vinduet. Der stod hun, med armene liggende over bordet og hodet bøiet over dem. Han gav et skrik som bragte hende om paa flakken, og hun reiste seg med et rykk og vendte sig mot ham. Men da hun saa ham, vendte hun blikket bort, og nikkede bare til ham uden at si noe. Hun har ikke glemt mig"", mumlet han og satte sig. """"Derfor er hun glad, og jeg kan ikke faa lov til at gore hende ondt."""" Og han blev stående og stirret paa hende, mens hun fortsatte at sy. -Og slike tanker gjorde ham endnu mere elendig. Ja, hun elsket ham, og han ville ikke gjøre hende ondt; men hvordan kunde han leve, hvis han ikke kunde se hende eller snakke med hende eller ta hennes hnder eller kysse hendes ansigt? Og hun hadde fortalt ham, at de andre ogsaa hadde hjertet for hende, og at de kunde ha' godt av hende. Der var ingen vei ut af dette. De hadde spist middag sammen i dag, og hun hadde set ham med de samme jomfrulige og oskyldige jne, og hun hadde sagt de samme ord, som hun hadde sagt i de første dager; og han hadde inte kunnat finde noget at sige til hende, som kunde bringe en ende paa disse vanviddigheter. " 97 6765 107281 "Why might it not be, what it is?"" Well, it might be that, but it is not enough.... If you knew how I love you, but I am so unhappy--I don't know what it is--there is such a great distance between us--no--"""" She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately and pressed her burning cheek against his: I don't know how it is, but sometimes I almost wish that you beat me--I know it is childish, and that I am very happy, very happy, and yet I feel so unhappy!"""" She laid her head on his breast and wept, and then she began while her tears were still streaming, to sing, at first very gently, but then louder and louder: In longing In longing! live!"""" My own little wife!"" and he lifted her up in his arms and carried her in. In the morning he stood beside her bed. The light came faintly and subdued through the drawn blinds. It softened all the lines in the room and made all the colors seem sated and peaceful. It seemed to Mogens as if the air rose and fell with her bosom in gentle rarifications. Her head rested a little sidewise on the pillow, her hair fell over her white brow, one of her cheeks was a brighter red than the other, now and then there was a faint quivering in the calmly-arched eyelids, and the lines of her mouth undulated imperceptibly between unconscious seriousness and slumbering smiles. Mogens stood for a long time and looked at her, happy and quiet. The last shadow of his past had disappeared. Then he stole away softly and sat down in the living-room and waited for her in silence. He had sat there for a while, when he felt her head on his shoulder and her cheek against his. ***** They went out together into the freshness of the morning. The sunlight was jubilant above the earth, the dew sparkled, flowers that had awakened early gleamed, a lark sang high up beneath the sky, swallows flew swiftly through the air. He and she walked across the green field toward the hill with the ripening rye; they followed the footpath which led over there. She went ahead, very slowly and looked back over her shoulder toward him, and they talked and laughed. The further they descended the hill, the more the grain intervened, soon they could no longer be seen. THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by walls and gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain, exposed to all winds. One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a terrific speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across the plains to all four corners of the world. And the citizens in Old Bergamo set fire to the deserted town in order to purify the air, but it did no good. People began dying up there too, at first one a day, then five, then ten, then twenty, and when the plague had reached its height, a great many more. And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new town. There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted animal, hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green fields; for the peasants, into whose homes in many places the first fugitives had brought the plague, stoned every stranger they came across, drove him from their lands, or struck him down like a mad dog without mercy or pity, in justifiable self-defense, as they believed. The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day by day it grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became more voracious and more grasping. Terror grew to madness. What there had been of order" 83 "Summary: A couple expresses their love for each other, but the woman feels a sense of unhappiness. They spend the morning together before going outside into nature. Trope: Unrequited love, forbidden love Narrative arc: Romantic tension Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Romantic, passionate Genre: Romance Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Description of characters' actions and thoughts Literary movement: Romanticism Active character: The couple Time setting: Contemporary period Fuzzy place: Unnamed field, hill Diegetic time: A few hours " "Sie war noch nicht berzeugt, und er konnte sich nicht genug dazu sagen, da sie ihm jetzt doch wohl geglaubt habe; und als die beiden nun in das Zimmer zurckkehrten und sich einander wieder ansahen, da waren beide zufrieden. Das Frhstck wurde serviert, das junge Mdchen stand wieder auf demselben Fleck, wie sie ihn am Vorabend gehalten hatte, und der Mann setzte sich dicht neben sie. Sie aen langsam, und sobald einer von ihnen etwas aufgeessen hatte, nahm der andere das Stck von der Gabel, das er mit seinen Lippen gestreift hatte. Die Nacht vorher hatte sie gewut, da es so kommen wrde, und es war ihr doch immer wie eine Erleichterung, als es wirklich geschah. Als aber der Teller schon leer war und keines der Mdchlein mehr nachgebracht kam, sagte sie: """"Nun, ich mu mich jetzt um meine Kleider kmmern."""" Der Mann sa da und sah sie an. Sie lie ihre Hnde auf den Tisch legen und stand auf. Seine Augen hatten sich fester auf ihren Busen gerichtet, und sie merkte nur jetzt, da sie frhlich und offen dastand, da sie einen sehr hohen Haarschnitt trug und eine wei Bluse und einen schwarzen Rock, dessen Saum zerrissen und schwarz mit Blut beflekt war. Und dann fiel ihr auch noch ein, da sie keine Schuhe anhatte. Ihr Mann sah sie lange an, und sie war froh, da er ihr nichts merken sollte, wie sie erschrak, als er sich unvermutet erhob und sie in die Arme faßte. So stiegen sie die Leiter hinunter und gingen durch die Wohnungen des Berges, wo nur wenige Menschen waren, nach ihrem Haus. Es war ein kleines, niederes Gebude, das aus allen Seiten die ersten Sonnenstrahlen empfangen mochte. Sie gingen zur Tr herein, und als sie hineintraten, blieb der Mann auf der Schwelle stehen und sah die kleine Kammer an, in der sie wohnten. Dann trat er zu dem Bett, in dem sie schliefen, und sah daran herauf, wo sie gelegen hatte. Als er sah, wie klein sie war, wie weich und rein, fhlte er sich in seiner Brust ganz erstickt und ging in die freie Luft hinaus, wo der Morgenwind durch die Wipfel brauste. Als sie nach ihm rief, erklrte er ihr, da er noch heute hierbleiben wolle und sie morgen ins Tal bringen werde. Aber als sie dann im Freien waren, fhrte er sie an den Rand eines Feldes, wo der Boden noch feucht war, und machte sie nieder. Es war ein Gefhl groer Beruhigung, da sie jetzt endlich einmal auf dieser Weise mit ihm zusammen sein durfte, und als sie dann einander sahen und er sie in die Arme nahm, war sie ganz glcklich. Sie saen und saen da, bis der Tag erwacht war und die Sonne hochstand. Dann stand er auf und sagte: """"Nun komm, wir wollen hinauf auf den Berg und sehen nach den Krlen."""" So gingen sie zusammen den Hang hinauf, der steil war, und bald waren sie auf der Hohe, wo die Krlerei lag. Eine breite Zinne fhrte hinauf, und nach dem Ende waren noch einige Stufen. Da oben stand eine kleine Htte, hinter der die Krlen standen und von unten herauf mit Weinbeeren und Himbeeren gefltert wurden. Ein alter Mann sa unter einem Baum und beobachtete, ob alles gut ging. " 98 6765 107282 "and good government was as if the earth had swallowed it, and what was worst in human nature came in its stead. At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked together in harmony and concord. They took care that the corpses were duly and properly buried, and every day saw to it that big bonfires were lighted in squares and open places so that the healthful smoke might drift through the streets. Juniper and vinegar were distributed among the poor, and above all else, the people sought the churches early and late, alone and in processions. Every day they went with their prayers before God and every day when the sun was setting behind the mountains, all the churchbells called wailingly towards heaven from hundreds of swinging throats. Fasts were ordered and every day holy relics were set out on the altars. At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from the balcony of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns, they proclaimed the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town now and forever. But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped. And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that heaven either would not or could not help, they not only let their hands lie idly in the lap, saying, """"Let there come what may."""" Nay, it seemed, as if sin had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a wicked, open, raging plague, which hand in hand with the physical contagion sought to slay the soul as the other strove to destroy the body, so incredible were their deeds, so enormous their depravity! The air was filled with blasphemy and impiety, with the groans of the gluttons and the howling of drunkards. The wildest night hid not greater debauchery than was here committed in broad daylight. To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!""--It was as if they had set these words to music, and played on manifold instruments a never-ending hellish concert. Yea, if all sins had not already been invented, they would have been invented here, for there was no road they would not have followed in their wickedness. The most unnatural vices flourished among them, and even such rare sins as necromancy, magic, and exorcism were familiar to them, for there were many who hoped to obtain from the powers of evil the protection which heaven had not vouchsafed them. Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished from their minds; each one had thoughts only for himself. He who was sick was looked upon as a common foe, and if it happened that any one was unfortunate enough to fall down on the street, exhausted by the first fever-paroxysm of the plague, there was no door that opened to him, but with lance-pricks and the casting of stones they forced him to drag himself out of the way of those who were still healthy. And day by day the plague increased, the summer's sun blazed down upon the town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze stirred. From corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses that were only half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suffocating stench which mingled with the stagnant air of the streets and attracted swarms and clouds of ravens and crows until the walls and roofs were black with them. And round about the wall encircling the town sat strange, large, outlandish birds from far away with beaks eager for spoil and expectantly crooked claws; and they sat there and looked down with their tranquil greedy eyes as if only waiting for the unfortunate town to turn into one huge carrion-pit. It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when the watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in high places saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the streets of the new town between the smoke-blackened stone walls and the black ash-heaps of the wooden houses. A multitude of people! At least, six hundred or more, men and women, old and young, and they carried big black crosses between them and above their heads floated wide banners, red as fire and blood." 83 "Summary: The text describes the spread of plague in a town, highlighting the despair and depravity of the people affected by it. Trope: The spread of disease as a metaphor for moral decay Narrative arc: Descriptive, with a sense of impending doom Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Tragic Genre: Historical fiction Speech standard: Standard literary language Literary form: Description of events Literary movement: Gothic literature Active character: People in the town affected by the plague Fuzzy place: The town affected by the plague Diegetic time: Eleven weeks " Det blev saaledes fra Maaneden til Maaned, og fra Veek efter Veek, saa at det i den Tid, som de andre Taenkte paa at gaa tilbage til Huset, varede det i Tyve Dage; thi Aftens aabenbaare Foragt for Livet og Vildskab efter Haabløsheit gjorde dem saa uværdige, at de ikke havde Naade af at leve. Endt var der dog ingen, som straks greb til at taene sig Mad og Brændevin, naar Lidelsen kom: men da, naar de en Gang fik Kjendt, at der ikke var Hjælp at spore, begyndte de at vaagne op og indstille sig paa at drikke, saa at de skulde dø drukne i Alkoholen, og de, som dog endnu holdt sig ved, sad med jævnt Mod i Melankoli og ventede paa Døden, idet de spiste atskillig og tog sig Kjortel og Sko og alle deres Klæder af og lod dem ligge udenfor deres Dør. Og når de dog faldt, blev de liggende et Par Dage, hvorunder de blev tilsidesatte af alle, og intet gjordes for at faa dem borte, og de blev forladte for sig selv, at Rovdyrene kunde komme og spise dem. Saaledes begyndte Pesta gradvis at svigte Sted for Sted, og den, der nu stod over Byen, var saa vidtstrækkelig, at man kun fik at vide, hvem, som var død, naar man saa nogen, som kunde trække sit Lig ud ad Døren. Den elendeste Hængsel var til at finde overalt, og ingen var saa rask, at han kunde gaa rundt om Etagehuset, uden at haabe at faa Regn af Atterkalket, eller naesten af Lus, der faldt fra de, som hængte derover og stod paa Gavlene. Og saaledes, at selv Karolstadt, der altid var været saa fin, var nu rigtig snavset ud, saa at man ikke mere kunne se Byens Fornemme, hvad der også var til Skade for de fleste, som snart begyndte at lide under den uoverskuelige Trøsteløshed, at være alene, uden at have Nogen, til hvem de kunde tale om deres Tilstand. Der var ikke at høre et Ord; hverken Mennesker eller Kjøretøjer kom og gik, og det var utalrigt, hvad man kunde høre, hvis man stod inde paa Torvet: Gråd og Rysten, der kom af Hunger, og den Deamration over Forvirringen, og Bøflerne, der brølde og skreg i deres Kælder, og de Dødes Kroppers Støjen, som løb ud paa Gaden. Men det, der var mest forfærdelig, var den Ubarmhjertighed, som de Dødschele sammenbragtede i Overmagten over de Levende: for da de ikke længere kunde taene sig, hvordan de skulde forrette sig, begyndte de pludselig at blive råbende Vilde, og da de delte sig, strømmede de ud fra Huset, hvor de boede, og ind i den nærboende Bebyggelse og skreg og forfulgte dem, som ikke vilde give dem noget at spise, saa de kastede dem ned og satte Iben over dem og flåede dem og spiste dem saa godt de kunde. 99 6765 107283 They sing as they are moving onward and heartrending notes of despair rise up into the silent sultry air. Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge on their breast. A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer. For all the time they are drawing nearer. They press upward along the steep road, flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a throng of white faces; they carry scourges in their hands. On their red banners a rain of fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway from one side to the other in the crowd. From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the dust of the roadway, and of stale incense. They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but the tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet. Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and emerges into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired expression and half-closed lids. Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their scourges more firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-song. They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are hollow, their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have dark rings beneath their eyes. The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them with amazement--and uneasiness. Red dissipated faces stand contrasted with these pale white ones; dull glances exhausted by debauchery are lowered before these piercing, flaming eyes; mocking blasphemers stand open-mouthed before these hymns. And there is blood on their scourges. A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of these strangers. But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this impression. Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from Brescia among those who bore crosses, and immediately the whole mob through him became a laughingstock. Anyhow, it was something new, a distraction amid the everyday, and when the strangers marched toward the cathedral, everybody followed behind as they would have followed a band of jugglers or a tame bear. But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered; they felt so matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these people. They understood very well, that those shoemakers and tailors had come here to convert them, to pray for them, and to utter the words which they did not wish to hear. There were two lean, gray-haired philosophers who had elaborated impiety into a system; they incited the people, and out of the malice of their hearts stirred their passions, so that with each step as they neared the church the attitude of the crowd became more threatening and their cries of anger wilder. It would not have taken much to have made them lay violent hands on those unknown flagellants. Not a hundred steps from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was thrown open, and a whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of the other. They placed themselves at the head of the procession and led the way, singing and bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures--all except one who turned handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of the church-steps. This, of course, caused laughter, and so all entered peacefully into the sanctuary. It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from wax candles--across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so well and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright inscriptions had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And while their eyes half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the gently subdued light underneath the vaults or glided over the dim manifoldness of the 83 "Summary: A group of people wearing red badges and carrying scourges marches towards the old town, causing confusion and uneasiness among the people of Bergamo. The crowd becomes increasingly hostile towards the flagellants, but they are ultimately led into a church by a group of drunkards. Narrative arc: Conflict and tension between the flagellants and the crowd Enunciation: Third-person narrative Tone: Serious and somber Genre: Historical fiction Speech standard: Standard language Literary form: Description of a procession Active character: Flagellants, philosophers, drunkards Fuzzy time: Nonspecific moment Absolute place: Cathedral Fuzzy place: Old town, church " I flagellanti indossavano cappelli di pelle, e le loro vesti erano di un rosso acceso. Portavano dei candelabri e delle piccole croci, e avevano sul petto una targhetta rossa con queste parole: Cristo fu flagellato per noi! Sotto la loro guida camminavano i filosofi con i mantelli color di rosa, portando a spalla delle scale di legno coperte di cuoio, con in cima uno strumento da flagellare. Dietro questi, venivano altri che recavano delle scuri, piastre di ferro e catene. In mano tenevano delle corde o dei bastoni, ma tutti portavano sulle spalle dei vanghi pieni di sterco. Il primo gruppo era formato di donne, tutte vestite di nero; alcune di esse erano incinte, altre avevano bambini alle mammelle. Portavano davanti a s stesse piccole croci, e sul petto avevano una medaglia con l'immagine della Vergine Maria. Tutti, uomini e donne, i capelli sciolti, camminavano a piedi nudi, e nelle mani tenevano candele accese. E come giunti al vecchio paese, cominciavano ad entrare nella piazza della Cattedrale, essi diedero in un gran grido, come se fossero stati posseduti dallo spirito del profeta Elia. Allora dai due lati della porta, si avvicinarono ai muri delle case degli studenti, che si erano armati di bastoni. Per un momento si form un grande tumulto, poi, quando gli studenti compresero che non dovevano dar battaglia, tornarono nei loro alloggiamenti. Nonostante l'agitazione di quell'entrata solenne, il silenzio fu subito ristabilito. La gente di Bergamo, che aveva seguito con molta curiosit questo gruppo di fanatici, rimase ammutolita dalla sorpresa e dall'orrore. Un lungo sospiro usc da mille bocche. Ognuno aveva voglia di parlare, nessuno osava aprir bocca. Giunse anche l'arciprete e lo zoppo con la tunica verde, che condussero i due cardinali fino alla cattedra. Quando quest'ultimo vide la folla di persone radunate nella chiesa, fece un gesto con le mani come per dire: Che cosa vuoi? Ed egli rispose: Ho bisogno di un po' d'aria fresca, permette? Entrarono nel sacello, e l'arciprete disse: Quanto tempo vuole restare qui? Lasciate che dorma un'ora; poi io andr a cercare la popolazione di Bergamo, ed espor il mio pensiero sulla necessit dell'ordine e della disciplina. Poi andremo insieme a trovare Filippo Maria Visconti; vorrei parlare con lui. Ci saranno a Bergamo molti patrioti? Gli studenti sono cos forti come dice la vostra lettera? Sar molto difficile reprimere i disordini che si verificano ogni giorno.