章节正文
married. It was there that they had had an
amicable quarrel over that bronzestatue of
Faust which she had found beautiful, while he,
with a rudeness which seemed now quite
incomprehensible, had insisted that it was not.
And when he had failed to convince her, she had
given him her hand in token of reconciliation--
and Edith had a wonderful way of giving her
hand, which made any one feel that it was a
peculiar privilege to press it--and they had
walked out arm in arm into the animated, gas-
lighted streets, with a delicious sense of
snugness and security, being all the more closely
united for their quarrel. Here, farther up the
avenue, they had once been to a party, and he
had danced for the first time in his life with
Edith. Here was Delmonico's, where they had
had such fascinating luncheons together; where
she had got a stain on her dress, and he had
been forced to observe that her dress was then
not really a part of herself, since it was a thing
that could not be stained. Her dress had
always seemed to him as something absolute and
final, exalted above criticism, incapable of
improvement.
As I have said, Halfdan walked briskly up the
avenue, and it was something after eleven when
he reached the house which he sought. The
great cloud-bank in the north had then begun
to expand and stretched its long misty arms
eastward and westward over the heavens. The
windows on the ground-floor were dark, but the
sleeping apartments in the upper stories were
lighted. In Edith's room the inside shutters
were closed, but one of the windows was a little
down at the top. And as he stood gazing
with tremulous happiness up to that window,
a stanza from Heine which he and Edith had
often read together, came into his head. It
was the story of the youth who goes to the
Madonna at Kevlar and brings her as a votive
offering a heart of wax, that she may heal him
of his love and his sorrow.
"I bring this waxen image,
The image of my heart,
Heal thou my bitter sorrow,
And cure my deadly smart!"[4]
[4] Translation, from "Exotics. By J. F. C. & C. L."
Then came the thought that for him, too, as
for the poor youth of Cologne, there was healing
only in death. And still in this moment he
was so near Edith, should see her perhaps, and
the joy at this was stronger than all else,
stronger even than death. So he sat down
beside the steps of the mansion opposite, where
there was some shelter from the wind, and
waited patiently till Edith should close her win-
dow. He was cold, perhaps, but, if so, he hardly
knew it, for the near joy of seeing her throbbed
warmly in his veins. Ah, there--the blinds
were thrown open; Edith, in all the lithe
magnificence of her wonderful form, stood out clear
and beautiful against the light within; she
pushed up the lower window in order to reach
the upper one, and for a moment leaned out
over the sill. Once more her wondrous profile
traced itself in strong relief against the outer
gloom. There came a cry from the street below,
a feebleinvoluntary one, but still distinctly
audible. Edith peered anxiously out into the
darkness, but the darkness had grown denser
and she could see nothing. The window was
fastened, the shutters closed, and the broad
pathway of light which she had flung out upon
the night had vanished.
Halfdan closed his eyes trying to retain the
happy vision. Yes, there she stood still, and
there was a heavenly smile upon her lips--ugh,
he shivered--the snow swept in a wild whirl up
the street. He wrapped his plaid more closely
about him, and strained his eyes to catch one
more glimpse of the beloved Edith. Ah, yes;
there she was again; she came nearer and
nearer, and she touched his cheek, gently, warily
smiling all the while with a strange wistful smile
which was surely not Edith's. There, she bent
over him,--touched him again,--how cold her
hands were; the touch chilled him to the heart.
The snow had now begun to fall in large scattered
flakes, whirling fitfully through the air,
following every chance gust of wind, but still
falling, falling, and covering the earth with its
white, death-like shroud.
But surely--there was Edith again,--how
wonderful!--in a long snow-white robe, grave
and gracious, still with the wistful smile on her
lips. See, she beckons to him with her hand,
and he rises to follow, but something heavy
clings to his feet and he cannot stir from the
spot. He tries to cry for help, but he cannot,--
can only stretch out his hands to her, and feel
very unhappy that he cannot follow her. But
now she pauses in her flight, turns about, and
he sees that she wears a myrtlegarland in her
hair like a bride. She comes toward him, her
countenance all radiant with love and happiness,
and she stoops down over him and speaks:
"Come; they are waiting for us. I will follow
thee in life and in death, wherever thou
goest. Come," repeats Edith, "they have long
been waiting. They are all here."
And he imagines he knows who they all are,
although he has never heard of them, nor can
he recall their names.
"But--but," he stammers, "I--I--am a foreigner "
It appeared then that for some reason this
was an insurmountable objection. And Edith's
happiness dies out of her beautiful face, and she
turns away weeping.
"Edith, beloved!"
Then she is once more at his side.
"Thou art no more a foreigner to me, beloved.
Whatever thou art, I am."
And she presses her lips to his--it was the
sweetest kiss of his life--the kiss of death.
The next morning, as Edith, after having put
the last touch to her toilet, threw the shutters
open, a great glare of sun-smitten snow burst
upon her and for a moment blinded her eyes.
On the sidewalk opposite, half a dozen men
with snow-shovels in their hands and a couple
of policeman had congregated, and, judging by
their manner, were discussing some object of
interest. Presently they were joined by her
father, who had just finished his breakfast and
was on his way to the office. Now he stooped
down and gazed at something half concealed in
the snow, then suddenly started back, and as
she caught a glimpse of his face, she saw that
it was ghastly white. A terrible foreboding
seized her. She threw a shawl about her shoulders
and rushed down-stairs. In the hall she was
met by her father, who was just entering,
followed by four men, carrying something between
them. She well knew what it was. She would
fain have turned away, but she could not:
grasping her father's arm and pressing it hard,
she gazed with blank, frightened eyes at the
white face, the lines of which Death had so
strangely emphasized. The snow-flakes which
hung in his hair had touched him with their
sudden age, as if to bridge the gulf between youth
and death. And still he was beautiful--the
clear brow, the peaceful, happy indolence, the
frozen smile which death had perpetuated.
Smiling, he had departed from the earth which
had no place for him, and smiling entered the
realm where, among the many mansions, there is, perhaps,
also one for a gentle, simple-hearted enthusiast.
THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST.
THERE was an ancient feud between
the families; and Bjarne Blakstad was
not the man to make it up, neither was
Hedin Ullern. So they looked askance
at each other whenever they met on the
highway, and the one took care not to cross the
other's path. But on Sundays, when the church-
bells called the parishioners together, they could
not very well avoid seeing each other on the
church-yard; and then, one day, many years
ago, when the sermon had happened to touch
Bjarne's heart, he had nodded to Hedin and
said: "Fine weather to-day;" and Hedin had
returned the nod and answered: "True is that."
"Now I have done my duty before God and
men," thought Bjarne, "and it is his turn to
take the next step." "The fellow is proud,"
said Hedin to himself, "and he wants to show
off his generosity. But I know the wolf by his
skin, even if he has learned to bleat like
a ewe-lamb."
What the feud really was about, they had
both nearly forgotten. All they knew was
that some thirty years ago there had been a
quarrel between the pastor and the parish about
the right of carrying arms to the church. And
then Bjarne's father had been the spokesman of
the parish, while Hedin's grandsire had been a
staunch defender of the pastor. There was a
rumor, too, that they had had a fierce encounter
somewhere in the woods, and that the one had
stabbed the other with a knife; but whether that
was really true, no one could tell.
Bjarne was tall and grave, like the weather-
beaten fir-trees in his mast-forest. He had a
large clean-shaven face, narrow lips, and small
fierce eyes. He seldom laughed, and when he
did, his laugh seemed even fiercer than his
frown. He wore his hair long, as his fathers
had done, and dressed in the styles of two
centuries ago; his breeches were clasped with large
amicable quarrel over that bronzestatue of
Faust which she had found beautiful, while he,
with a rudeness which seemed now quite
incomprehensible, had insisted that it was not.
And when he had failed to convince her, she had
given him her hand in token of reconciliation--
and Edith had a wonderful way of giving her
hand, which made any one feel that it was a
peculiar privilege to press it--and they had
walked out arm in arm into the animated, gas-
lighted streets, with a delicious sense of
snugness and security, being all the more closely
united for their quarrel. Here, farther up the
avenue, they had once been to a party, and he
had danced for the first time in his life with
Edith. Here was Delmonico's, where they had
had such fascinating luncheons together; where
she had got a stain on her dress, and he had
been forced to observe that her dress was then
not really a part of herself, since it was a thing
that could not be stained. Her dress had
always seemed to him as something absolute and
final, exalted above criticism, incapable of
improvement.
As I have said, Halfdan walked briskly up the
avenue, and it was something after eleven when
he reached the house which he sought. The
great cloud-bank in the north had then begun
to expand and stretched its long misty arms
eastward and westward over the heavens. The
windows on the ground-floor were dark, but the
sleeping apartments in the upper stories were
lighted. In Edith's room the inside shutters
were closed, but one of the windows was a little
down at the top. And as he stood gazing
with tremulous happiness up to that window,
a stanza from Heine which he and Edith had
often read together, came into his head. It
was the story of the youth who goes to the
Madonna at Kevlar and brings her as a votive
offering a heart of wax, that she may heal him
of his love and his sorrow.
"I bring this waxen image,
The image of my heart,
Heal thou my bitter sorrow,
And cure my deadly smart!"[4]
[4] Translation, from "Exotics. By J. F. C. & C. L."
Then came the thought that for him, too, as
for the poor youth of Cologne, there was healing
only in death. And still in this moment he
was so near Edith, should see her perhaps, and
the joy at this was stronger than all else,
stronger even than death. So he sat down
beside the steps of the mansion opposite, where
there was some shelter from the wind, and
waited patiently till Edith should close her win-
dow. He was cold, perhaps, but, if so, he hardly
knew it, for the near joy of seeing her throbbed
warmly in his veins. Ah, there--the blinds
were thrown open; Edith, in all the lithe
magnificence of her wonderful form, stood out clear
and beautiful against the light within; she
pushed up the lower window in order to reach
the upper one, and for a moment leaned out
over the sill. Once more her wondrous profile
traced itself in strong relief against the outer
gloom. There came a cry from the street below,
a feebleinvoluntary one, but still distinctly
audible. Edith peered anxiously out into the
darkness, but the darkness had grown denser
and she could see nothing. The window was
fastened, the shutters closed, and the broad
pathway of light which she had flung out upon
the night had vanished.
Halfdan closed his eyes trying to retain the
happy vision. Yes, there she stood still, and
there was a heavenly smile upon her lips--ugh,
he shivered--the snow swept in a wild whirl up
the street. He wrapped his plaid more closely
about him, and strained his eyes to catch one
more glimpse of the beloved Edith. Ah, yes;
there she was again; she came nearer and
nearer, and she touched his cheek, gently, warily
smiling all the while with a strange wistful smile
which was surely not Edith's. There, she bent
over him,--touched him again,--how cold her
hands were; the touch chilled him to the heart.
The snow had now begun to fall in large scattered
flakes, whirling fitfully through the air,
following every chance gust of wind, but still
falling, falling, and covering the earth with its
white, death-like shroud.
But surely--there was Edith again,--how
wonderful!--in a long snow-white robe, grave
and gracious, still with the wistful smile on her
lips. See, she beckons to him with her hand,
and he rises to follow, but something heavy
clings to his feet and he cannot stir from the
spot. He tries to cry for help, but he cannot,--
can only stretch out his hands to her, and feel
very unhappy that he cannot follow her. But
now she pauses in her flight, turns about, and
he sees that she wears a myrtlegarland in her
hair like a bride. She comes toward him, her
countenance all radiant with love and happiness,
and she stoops down over him and speaks:
"Come; they are waiting for us. I will follow
thee in life and in death, wherever thou
goest. Come," repeats Edith, "they have long
been waiting. They are all here."
And he imagines he knows who they all are,
although he has never heard of them, nor can
he recall their names.
"But--but," he stammers, "I--I--am a foreigner "
It appeared then that for some reason this
was an insurmountable objection. And Edith's
happiness dies out of her beautiful face, and she
turns away weeping.
"Edith, beloved!"
Then she is once more at his side.
"Thou art no more a foreigner to me, beloved.
Whatever thou art, I am."
And she presses her lips to his--it was the
sweetest kiss of his life--the kiss of death.
The next morning, as Edith, after having put
the last touch to her toilet, threw the shutters
open, a great glare of sun-smitten snow burst
upon her and for a moment blinded her eyes.
On the sidewalk opposite, half a dozen men
with snow-shovels in their hands and a couple
of policeman had congregated, and, judging by
their manner, were discussing some object of
interest. Presently they were joined by her
father, who had just finished his breakfast and
was on his way to the office. Now he stooped
down and gazed at something half concealed in
the snow, then suddenly started back, and as
she caught a glimpse of his face, she saw that
it was ghastly white. A terrible foreboding
seized her. She threw a shawl about her shoulders
and rushed down-stairs. In the hall she was
met by her father, who was just entering,
followed by four men, carrying something between
them. She well knew what it was. She would
fain have turned away, but she could not:
grasping her father's arm and pressing it hard,
she gazed with blank, frightened eyes at the
white face, the lines of which Death had so
strangely emphasized. The snow-flakes which
hung in his hair had touched him with their
sudden age, as if to bridge the gulf between youth
and death. And still he was beautiful--the
clear brow, the peaceful, happy indolence, the
frozen smile which death had perpetuated.
Smiling, he had departed from the earth which
had no place for him, and smiling entered the
realm where, among the many mansions, there is, perhaps,
also one for a gentle, simple-hearted enthusiast.
THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST.
THERE was an ancient feud between
the families; and Bjarne Blakstad was
not the man to make it up, neither was
Hedin Ullern. So they looked askance
at each other whenever they met on the
highway, and the one took care not to cross the
other's path. But on Sundays, when the church-
bells called the parishioners together, they could
not very well avoid seeing each other on the
church-yard; and then, one day, many years
ago, when the sermon had happened to touch
Bjarne's heart, he had nodded to Hedin and
said: "Fine weather to-day;" and Hedin had
returned the nod and answered: "True is that."
"Now I have done my duty before God and
men," thought Bjarne, "and it is his turn to
take the next step." "The fellow is proud,"
said Hedin to himself, "and he wants to show
off his generosity. But I know the wolf by his
skin, even if he has learned to bleat like
a ewe-lamb."
What the feud really was about, they had
both nearly forgotten. All they knew was
that some thirty years ago there had been a
quarrel between the pastor and the parish about
the right of carrying arms to the church. And
then Bjarne's father had been the spokesman of
the parish, while Hedin's grandsire had been a
staunch defender of the pastor. There was a
rumor, too, that they had had a fierce encounter
somewhere in the woods, and that the one had
stabbed the other with a knife; but whether that
was really true, no one could tell.
Bjarne was tall and grave, like the weather-
beaten fir-trees in his mast-forest. He had a
large clean-shaven face, narrow lips, and small
fierce eyes. He seldom laughed, and when he
did, his laugh seemed even fiercer than his
frown. He wore his hair long, as his fathers
had done, and dressed in the styles of two
centuries ago; his breeches were clasped with large
- statue [´stætʃu:]
n.塑像，雕像 (初中英语单词) - convince [kən´vins] vt.使确信；使认识错误 (初中英语单词)
- privilege [´privilidʒ] n.特权 vt.给....特权 (初中英语单词)
- delicious [di´liʃəs] a.美味的，可口的 (初中英语单词)
- security [si´kjuəriti] n.安全；证券；抵押品 (初中英语单词)
- fascinating [´fæsineitiŋ] a.迷人，使神魂颠倒的 (初中英语单词)
- absolute [´æbsəlu:t] a.绝对的 n.绝对 (初中英语单词)
- criticism [´kritisizəm] n.批评；评论(文) (初中英语单词)
- stanza [´stænzə] n.(诗的)节 (初中英语单词)
- deadly [´dedli] a.致命的 ad.死一般地 (初中英语单词)
- relief [ri´li:f] n.救济；援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- retain [ri´tein] vt.保持；保留；留住 (初中英语单词)
- vision [´viʒən] n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- beloved [bi´lʌvd] a.为....所爱的 n.爱人 (初中英语单词)
- gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
- gracious [´greiʃəs] a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词)
- unhappy [ʌn´hæpi] a.不幸的；不快乐的 (初中英语单词)
- flight [flait] n.逃走；飞行；班机 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- wherever [weər´evə] conj.无论在哪里 (初中英语单词)
- foreigner [´fɔrinə] n.外国人 (初中英语单词)
- objection [əb´dʒekʃən] n.反对；异议；缺点 (初中英语单词)
- policeman [pə´li:smən] n.警察 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- whenever [wen´evə] conj.&ad.无论何时 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- bronze [brɔnz] n.青铜(器) (高中英语单词)
- expand [ik´spænd] vt.张开；膨胀；扩大 (高中英语单词)
- westward [´westwəd] a.向西的 n.西方；西部 (高中英语单词)
- translation [træns´leiʃən, trænz-] n.翻译；译文；译本 (高中英语单词)
- mansion [´mænʃən] n.大厦；宅第；官邸 (高中英语单词)
- patiently [´peiʃəntli] ad.有耐心地；坚韧地 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- anxiously [´æŋkʃəsli] ad.挂念地；渴望地 (高中英语单词)
- heavenly [´hevənli] a.天的，天空的 (高中英语单词)
- garland [´gɑ:lənd] n.花环 vt.给带花环 (高中英语单词)
- radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
- toilet [´tɔilit] n.梳妆(台)；卫生间 (高中英语单词)
- sidewalk [´saidwɔ:k] n.人行道 (高中英语单词)
- ghastly [´gɑ:stli] a.苍白的；可怕的 (高中英语单词)
- sermon [´sə:mən] n.说教；训诫；讲道 (高中英语单词)
- generosity [,dʒenə´rɔsiti] n.慷慨；慷慨的行为 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- pastor [´pɑ:stə] n.牧师 (高中英语单词)
- parish [´pæriʃ] n.教区(的全体居民) (高中英语单词)
- incapable [in´keipəbəl] a.无能力的；不能的 (英语四级单词)
- briskly [´briskli] ad.轻快地；活泼地 (英语四级单词)
- cologne [kə´ləun] n.科隆香水 (英语四级单词)
- wondrous [´wʌndrəs] a.极好的 ad.惊人地 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- defender [di´fendə] n.保卫者；辩护者 (英语四级单词)
- breeches [´britʃiz] n.裤子；马裤 (英语四级单词)
- animated [´ænimeitid] a.栩栩如生的；活跃的 (英语六级单词)
- tremulous [´tremjuləs] a.发抖的；震颤的 (英语六级单词)
- involuntary [in´vɔləntəri] a.无意识的；非自愿的 (英语六级单词)
- myrtle [´mə:tl] n.桃金娘科 (英语六级单词)
- departed [di´pɑ:tid] a.已往的；已故的 (英语六级单词)
- spokesman [´spəuksmən] n.发言人 (英语六级单词)
- grandsire [´grændsaiə] n.老人；祖先 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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