Elämän taistelu 💥 – Charles Dickensin mestariteos! 📚
Welcome to Charles Dickens’s ‘The Battle of Life’. In this story, we follow the journey of a young man, David Copperfield, towards adulthood, full of painful but also hopeful experiences. Dickens describes the hard battles of life and the struggles of the individual in the cross-waves of dreams and reality. We join David’s journey as he encounters life’s joys and sorrows, love and betrayal, friendship and enmity, and all these themes open up profound reflections on human suffering and endurance. Chapter 1. Once upon a time, in famous England, no matter when or where, a deadly battle was fought. It was a long summer day and the waving grass was green. Many a self-grown flower, which the Creator had intended to be a fragrant recipient of the dew, felt that day its glazed cup filled to the brim with blood and bowed to the ground in horror. Many insects, which had taken their delicate color from innocent plants and their leaves, now took on a different color from the dying men, and left unnatural marks behind them as they flew in fear. The flashing fly stained the edges of its wings with blood. The river flowed reddish, and the scorched earth became a cesspool, for blood pooled in the tracks of men and horses, which reddened and shone everywhere in the sunlight. It was best that we should not know what the moon saw on this battlefield when it rose from the black edge of the sky, which here and there appeared evenly behind a tree or a stump, and when it then rose to the sky and looked down on the field where the dead lay with their faces upward. Once upon a time these had gazed upon their mother’s eyes or dozed happily on their mother’s breasts. It is better that we should not know the secrets that the poisoned wind whispered afterwards as it blew over the scene of today’s destruction, this night’s suffering and horror. Many times the lonely moon illuminated this battlefield, many times the stars watched over it sadly, and many times the wind blew over it from whatever direction, before the traces of this battle had time to fade away. True, they gradually disappeared and faded, but at least they still remained in small private relationships, for nature, which is far superior to human passions, soon became calm again and smiled on the criminal battlefield as before when it was innocent. The loons chirped above it. The shadows of the flying clouds chased each other swiftly over the grass, the cornfields, the turnip fields, the forest, the houses of the nearby town, and the church steeples, toward the clear horizon where heaven and earth meet and where the evening glow disappears. The caterpillars were laid, they grew, and they were harvested. The river, which had once flowed reddish, now used the mill. The men worked with the plow and the scythe in peaceful labors; the sheep and cattle were grazing; the children ran, shouting , between the fields, to chase away the birds; smoke billowed into the air from the chimneys of the cottages; the church bells announced the Sabbath rest; the old people lived out their time and died; the peaceful animals of the field, as well as the flowers in the bushes and on the ground, developed to maturity and died in their appointed time; and all this happened on that rough, bloody field where thousands had fallen in the great battle. But in the beginning there were black-green spots on the growing grain, which everyone looked at with horror. Every year such spots appeared on the grain, and it was known that under these fertile places there were masses of people and horses buried, and this made the land fertile. When plowing, large worms would always appear there, which terrified the farmer. And the sheaves that were gathered from there were long afterwards called war sheaves and were placed separately. It never happened that a war sheaf was seen last in the load at a festival of life. Long afterwards, when plowing, the remains of war would always appear . Where the fighting had raged most fiercely, in those places one would find mutilated trees, the remains of broken and destroyed ramparts and outer fortifications, and places so scarred that they could not be no sapling or sapling could take root in them. For a long time no girl in the neighborhood wanted to pick a single flower from this field of death to adorn her hair or breast. And although many, many years had passed since the day of the battle, it was still believed that the berries that grew there would make the picker’s hand much redder than ordinary berries. Although the seasons still hurried as quickly as the summer clouds, they gradually wore away the remnants of the old war and evaporated from the minds of the inhabitants of the area the memories of it, which still remained in the stories. But at last these stories began to be considered only as old wives’ tales, which became more and more unclear as the years passed by when they were told by the winter light . Where the flowers and berries that had grown of themselves had been allowed to lie in peace on their stems for ages, gardens were now made and houses were built, around which children played with soldiers. The mutilated trees had long since been burned in the early morning. The green spots had disappeared from the grain, as had the memory of what had caused them. True, rusty pieces of metal still sometimes appeared when ploughing , but it was difficult to say what they had once been used for. And those who happened to find them always found them strange and guessed one thing and another about them. The old, curly breastplate and helmet had hung so long in the whitewashed vault of the church that the frail, half-blind old man said they had hung there when he was a child. If the men who died on this field had suddenly risen, each from the same place where untimely death had overtaken him, hundreds of pale, mutilated soldiers would have peered in through the windows and doors of the dwellings; They would have risen from the stoves of peaceful homes, they would have filled barns and granaries , they would have risen from the cradle of a nurse who was rocking her, they would have gone down the river in droves, they would have spun in the mill wheel, the garden would have been filled with them, the meadows would have been trampled and the haystacks would have been strewn with dying men. So changed was the battlefield now, where thousands of soldiers fell in the great battle. But nowhere would it have been more changed about a hundred years ago than in the small garden, next to which stood an old stone building and in front of it a colonnade painted red. On a bright autumn morning, music and laughter could be heard from this garden, and two girls were dancing happily on the grass there. Half a dozen peasant women, who were standing on ladders and picking apples from the trees, paused from their work to look at the girls and their joy. Their dance was charming, lively, and natural. The day was beautiful, and the place itself was different; and the girls danced lightly and cheerfully, with all their heart’s desire and joy. If there were no such thing as the desire to please in the world, I think, and you will think the same, that we should be much happier ourselves, and much better at entertaining others than we do now. It was charming to see these girls dancing. There was no one else to see their dance but the women who stood on the ladders picking apples from the trees. It was delightful for them to be able to please the apple pickers, but they danced for their own amusement, at least it seemed; and as little as they could not help dancing, you could not have helped admiring them. And what was their dance like? It was not like the operatic girls’. Not at all. And not like the dance of Mrs. X’s able-bodied pupils either. Not at all. It was not a quadrille, or a minuet, or even a face-dance. It was neither old nor modern, neither French nor English, but rather some kind of Spanish dance , for it is so light and cheerful, and there is a charming, temporary excitement about the crunch of little chestnuts. As they danced under the fruit trees Up and down the sandy paths, gently circling each other, the effect of their lively movements seemed to spread all around this sunlit stage, as if a circle of water were widening in still water. Their flowing hair, their flowing dresses, the bouncing grass under their feet, the branches of the trees rustling in the morning breeze, the fluttering leaves and their speckled shadows on the green ground, the sweet wind that blew over the landscape and, as if for fun, turned the blades of the windmill in the village—everything in sight, up to the crest of the high ridge, where a man was plowing with an ox and seemed against the clouds to be at the very edge of the world, all seemed to dance in the manner of these girls. At last the younger of the dancing sisters, out of breath and laughing, threw herself on a bench to rest. The other leaned against the tree beside him. The music, which was a harp and a violin, ended with a drawl, as if boasting of its power, though it really tried to end at the same time as the dance, so that it would not continue for more than half a minute. The apple pickers on the ladders announced their preference, and began to resume their interrupted work, with a quiet shuffling. And they began more diligently than usual, for an old gentleman, who was none other than Dr. Jeddler himself—this was Dr. Jeddler’s house and garden, and the girls his daughters—came out in a hurry to see what was the matter, and who the devil was making such a noise in his garden before the break. Dr. Jeddler was a great philosopher, and not really a music lover. Music and dancing to-day! he said, but then stopped and said to himself: I thought this day would be celebrated. But the world is full of contradictions, and then he added in a higher voice: “Why are we more foolish than usual today? Don’t worry about it, father, even if we are,” replied the younger daughter Marion, throwing herself on his chest and looking into his eyes, “for today is someone’s birthday. ” Someone’s birthday, my daughter, answered the doctor. “Don’t you know that there is always someone’s birthday? Haven’t you heard that every minute new fighters enter this — ha! ha! ha! — it is impossible to speak seriously about it — this strange and ridiculous battlefield called life? Not my father. No, what about you, who are almost a woman,” said the doctor. “But anyway,” he continued, looking at his daughter’s beautiful face, which was still close to his, “I think it is your birthday today. Don’t you! Do you really think so, father?” replied his favorite daughter, pursed her red lips for her father to kiss. Well, here is my love, said the doctor, pressing his lips to his daughter’s, and may this momentous day always return happily. In such an after-dinner as this, he then said to himself, it is fitting to wish the birthday man a happy return. Ha! ha! ha! Doctor Jeddler was, as has been said, a great philosopher. The essence and secret of his philosophy was that the world was to be regarded as an immense playground, a kind of impossibility which no rational man could explore. His system of belief had been born from the very battlefield on which he lived, as we shall presently see. Good! But who were your players? Chicken thieves, of course. Where did those fiddlers get here? Alfred sent them here, replied his daughter Grace, who was just pinning flowers in her sister’s hair. Admiring Marion’s youthful beauty, he had put them on Marion’s head half an hour earlier, but they had come apart while she was dancing. Alfred only sent the musicians! said the doctor. Yes, he met them on the road, going into town early this morning . They were walking and had been in town all night. And since today was Marion’s birthday and Alfred thought he would do so Marion was in a good mood, so he sent them here, writing me a note in pencil that they would come and serenade Marion if I would agree. Oh, so, said the doctor indifferently, “he always asks your opinion! I wasn’t against it,” continued Grace cheerfully, after a moment’s silence, during which, with her head tilted back, she glanced at her sister’s flower-adorned hair. Marion, being in a good mood, began to dance, and I began to dance with her. We danced to the music that Alfred had played until we were out of breath. And we thought the music was so beautiful when it was Alfred’s. Isn’t that right, Marion? Oh, I don’t know!” replied Marion. “You always pull Alfred for me! Is it pulling when I mention your lover’s name!” said the sister. “But I don’t want to hear him mentioned,” replied the stubborn beauty, tearing the petals from the few flowers she had in her hand and dropping them to the ground. “I can’t bear to hear him spoken of any more, nor that he is my lover. Come now! Don’t speak so of him, who has a heart that is true to you, and is entirely yours,” said her sister, “don’t speak so in jest. You have no more faithful mistress in the world than Alfred. ” “No, no,” said Marion, raising her eyebrows and thinking with an indifferent air, “perhaps there is none.” But what excellent merit does it have for him then? I don’t want him to be so faithful at all… I never asked him to be. If perhaps he wants me… But, dear Grace, what need do we have to talk about him now? It was charming to see these beautiful sisters walking hand in hand in the park and making such a speech, in which seriousness opposed frivolity, but love nevertheless responded to the words of love. And it was strange to see tears welling up in the eyes of the younger sister, and a deep, burning emotion suppressing the obstinacy of her speech , as if waging a painful struggle with it . There could not have been more than four years between their ages. But, as is often the case in such cases, when both lack a mother’s care—the doctor’s wife having died— Grace took such tender care of her sister that one would have thought her older than she was. Although their natural inclinations differed more than their ages seemed willing to admit, Grace could not but sympathize with her sister’s childish fancies. Oh, the noble duty of a mother, when even such a shadowy and dim reflection of it purifies the heart and elevates refined human nature closer to the angels! As the doctor looked at them and listened to what they were saying, he began at first, with a light heart, to think only of the madness of all love, all voluptuousness, and the useless compulsion that comes to young people when they believe for a moment that something like a soapbox is a fact, even though they are always disappointed. But Grace’s economic ability, self-denial, gentle nature, and modesty, in which, however, there was much strength of mind and courage, and by which qualities she, as a modest economic person, distinguished herself from her more beautiful sister, stood out clearly before the doctor’s eyes. The doctor felt sorry for Grace, he felt sorry for both his daughters that life was such a ridiculous farce as it was. It never occurred to the doctor to inquire whether either of his daughters, or either of them, tried to conceive of life in any way as a fact. But was he a philosopher? A man of good and noble nature, he had happened to stumble upon the common philosopher’s stone, which is not so much a subject of ignorance as the object of alchemy. That stone often deceives good and noble men, and is of such a pernicious quality that it turns gold into dross and renders all that is of value worthless. Britain! cried the doctor, hear Britain! A little man, very surly and discontented in appearance, came out of the room and answered the doctor in an indecent manner: What then? Where is the breakfast table? asked the doctor. Inside, replied Britain. Aren’t you going to set it out here, as I told you last night? said the doctor. You know that there are guests coming, that there is a lot of work to be done here this morning, before the stagecoach comes, and that this is a very excellent opportunity. I can’t do anything until the women bring the apples from the trees, replied Britain, raising his voice with every word, so that it became too high. Well, they are already bringing them, said the doctor, looking at his watch and then clapping his hands. Clemency, come down quickly! Yes! replied the woman from the ladder and hurried down. The job is done. Hurry up, girls! Everything will be ready in half a minute. At once he began to work hard, and as he was very ridiculous in appearance, it is worth while to describe him a little more closely. He was about thirty years old. His face was plump and funny, although the fact that it was strangely tense made it ridiculous. But still, the great awkwardness that appeared in his whole bearing and demeanor was more monstrous than any monstrous face in the world. To say that he had both his feet on the same side and strange hands, and that these four limbs did not seem to be in any kind of union with each other or in the right places on the body, is to give a clear description of the reality. To say that he was perfectly content and pleased with this arrangement of his limbs, and considered it a thing that did not move him at all, and used his hands and feet as he pleased, giving them a completely arbitrary turn, is only to speak the truth about his pleasantness. She wore a pair of stubborn giant shoes that rarely kept track of where her feet wanted to take them, blue stockings, a multicolored cardoon dress, the uglier designs of which money cannot buy, and a white apron. She always wore short sleeves, so that her elbows were bare and by chance they became sore. Her elbows seemed to amuse her greatly, for she was always trying to look at them by twisting her arms. She often wore a little cap on her head, but rarely in the way that others wore such a headgear. Nevertheless, she was exceptionally clean from head to toe, and seemed to want to be pretty in a way. Her commendable desire to remain pleasant and modest in the eyes of herself and others was the reason for her strange habit of constantly tugging the placket of her corset and then her dress until it fell into the position she liked. Such was the appearance of Clemency Newcome, who was thought to have unwittingly forged her Christian name after Clementia; but it was not certain, for her deaf old mother, who had been a very peculiar old woman, and whom she had supported from her childhood, was no longer alive, and had no other relatives. She now set the table eagerly. Sometimes she would stand with her brown arms folded, her elbows sharp with nails, and look at the preparations with a calm eye; sometimes, suddenly remembering what she had forgotten, she would hasten to fetch it. The two lawyers are coming, master! said Clemency, in a voice that did not indicate great benevolence. Aha! answered the doctor, going to meet them at the gate. Good morning, good morning! Grace my maid! Marion! Here are Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs. Where is Alfred? He will be back soon, answered Grace. He had so much to do this morning in preparing for his journey that he was up at daybreak… Good morning, gentlemen. My miss! said Mr. Snitchey, I may say to you on my own behalf and on behalf of Craggs, he bowed good morning. My miss, continued he then, turning to Marion, let me kiss your hand, and did so at once. I hope we may spend this strange day a hundred times more, though it was uncertain whether these words came from his heart, for he did not seem to have much sympathy for others. Ha, ha, ha! laughed the doctor philosophically, his hands in his pockets. To spend this great farce in six acts. But at least you would not wish this great farce to be shorter for the sake of the pleasant actress in it, I am sure, said Snitchey, laying his blue briefcase, which contained documents, against the table leg. No, not at all, answered the doctor. Let him live to laugh at it as long as he can, and then say, as the French proverb says: ‘The farce is over, the curtain is down.’ That French slang, said Mr. Snitchey, beginning to examine the contents of his blue portfolio, is wrong, and your philosophy is wrong too, believe me. I have said so many times. Nothing is certain in life! What is law then? A joke, replied the doctor. Have you ever been in legal matters? would ask Snitchey, raising his eyes from his portfolio. Never! replied the doctor. That is it; if you had been, you would probably have had a different idea of the law. Craggs, whom Snitchey seemed to represent entirely, and who had not the slightest desire to speak or act according to his own ideas, nevertheless ventured to make one self-evident remark. That was the only idea in which he had managed to free himself from Snitchey’s sway, or in which he did not have exactly the same idea as Snitchey. But there are many wise men in the world who have his opinion on this subject. It is made too easy, said Mr. Craggs. A lawyer? asked the doctor. Yes, replied Mr. Craggs, and anything but easy. Everything seems easy to me these days, and that is the great fault of the times. If the life of the world is a game which I do not intend to oppose, it must at least be regarded as a game which is difficult to explain. It must be regarded as the most severe struggle. That is what I mean. But now it is really made too easy. The hinges of the gates of life are greased, when they should be rusty, and soon we shall probably get so far that when the gates are opened they make no sound, when they should creak. Mr. Craggs seemed indeed to be creaking on his own hinges, as he uttered this thought, which made the more impression on others because he was a cold, dry, and thin man, dressed in grey and blue clothes, and so looking like flint. In his head shone a pair of small eyes, which seemed to sparkle. The three kingdoms of nature each had their representatives in these dreamy, quarrelsome gentlemen; for Snitchey was like a magpie or a raven, though not quite so smooth, and the doctor’s face was wrinkled like an apple in winter, full of pits that marked the marks of the bird’s beak in the apple, and on the nape of his neck a little tuft of hair that matched the shape of the apple. Now a handsome young man in a traveling suit came briskly into the garden. His face was radiant with joy and hope, as the beautiful morning seemed to do. He had a man with him who carried baskets and parcels. Our three new quarrelsome gentlemen stood side by side, like brothers of the sisters of fortune, or like three fair maidens in the most unknown disguise, or like three prophets of the moor, and greeted the newcomer. Welcome back, Alf, said the doctor cheerfully. “I hope you have a hundred times to celebrate this strange day again,” said Snitchey, bowing slightly. ” Again,” said Craggs in his gravelly voice, when Snitchey had finished saying that. “What now, what a battery!” said Alfred, stopping. “One, two, three… which are by no means good omens on the great sea before me. It is delightful, however, that I am not the first to meet you this day.” morning; for then I should think it a bad omen. But Grace, gentle, pleasant Grace, I met first, so I need not fear you at all. If you remember right, Mr. Alfred, you met me first , said Clemency. Grace had gone out before daybreak , and I was in. That was so; I met Clemency first, Alfred admitted; but with Clemency as my ally I need not fear you either. Ha, ha, ha! for me and Craggs, said Snitchey. What a dare! Perhaps not so bad as you think, replied Alfred, shaking hands with the doctor, and Snitchey and Craggs, after which he began to look around. But where have they gone to? He hurried to both sisters, and it is almost unnecessary to explain how he greeted Marion first and then Grace. We only remark that such a greeting might have been too easy for Mr. Craggs. Probably to divert the attention of the others from them, Dr. Jeddler hurried to the breakfast table, around which everyone immediately appeared. Grace assumed the role of hostess, and chose a place for herself that separated her sister and Alfred from the rest of the company. Snitchey and Craggs sat opposite them, with a blue briefcase between them for safety; and the doctor sat, as usual, opposite Grace. Clemency strolled mechanically around the table, doing service to the diners, and the gloomy Britain was at another smaller table as butler, practicing his skill in carving a large piece of beef and a ham of pork. Meat? exclaimed Britain, who, with a meat knife in one hand and a fork in the other , approached Mr. Snitchey, and asked him the same question. Surely! replied the lawyer. Do you want it too? he then asked Craggs. Of that, be sure, was the answer. Having given these meat and the doctor also as necessary, he did not ask the others if they wanted it, he approached the lawyers as close as decency permitted and watched with stern eyes as the meat slipped from them. However , his face darkened when Mr. Craggs, whose teeth were not of the best quality, was choking on a piece of meat and suddenly exclaimed: I thought he was gone! Well, Alfred, said the doctor, now talk a few words about business while we are talking here. So talk while we are talking, said Snitchey and Craggs, who did not yet seem to have any desire to leave the table. Although Alfred had been sitting at the table without eating anything and had important business at hand, he nevertheless replied respectfully: As you please. “It is certain, if anything,” began the doctor, “in such a farce as this,” continued Alfred. “It is certain, if anything, in such a farce as this,” continued the doctor, “that the moment of separation should fall precisely on this very second birthday. The four of us have many amusing incidents associated with this day, and the memory of our long and friendly association. But that is not really the point. Yes, yes,” replied the young man, “it is true, it is true, very true. That is what my heart says to me this morning, and yours would say to you, I am sure, if you would let it speak. I am leaving your house to-day; I am no longer under your protection. We are breaking the tender ties which have been formed between us over a long period of time, and which can never be formed in the same way again. Other ties are, it is true, about to be formed as he said this, when he looked at Marion, who was sitting beside him; but their tying up is nevertheless so closely connected with the most important matters that I do not think I can speak of them now. You see now, he then added, making fun of his own thoughts and the doctor, that there is stability at least in this great, ridiculous heap of dust. Let us admit it today. Today! said the doctor. Listen to the boy. Ha, ha, ha! Why is this the most fitting of all days in the mad year, this day on which the great battle was fought on this spot? On this spot where we now sit, where I saw my daughter dancing this morning, where fruit was just taken for us to eat from trees whose roots draw their nourishment from human bodies and not from the earth—ha, so many men fell on this spot that a whole cemetery might have been filled with those bones, that bone-soil, and those fragments of crushed skulls, which, as far as I can remember, have been dug up from under our feet for generations after the fight. And yet there were not a hundred men in that fight who knew what they were fighting for and for; not a hundred men in the jubilation who knew what they were rejoicing for. Fifty had no more advantage than a loss in victory. There have not been five men to this day who have had the same opinion of the causes and consequences of this fight; and no one has known anything clearly about it except those who mourned the fallen. Stability, then! said the doctor, laughing. What a system! But it all seems very stable to me, replied Alfred. Stable, said the doctor. If you see anything stable in such matters, you must either go mad or die or climb to the top of a mountain and live there as a hermit. But when so long a time has passed, said Alfred. A long time! replied the doctor. Do you know what the world has done since then? Do you know what it did before that? I don’t know at all. It’s a bit of justice, remarked Snitchey, stirring his teacup. Although justice has been made too easy, added his companion. But pardon my remark, Doctor, continued Snitchey, especially as you have often come to feel during this conversation that in my opinion the world has a very serious side to its legal system and its entire system of law, which is therefore worth talking about, when there is respect in it… Clemency Newcome happened to push the table so that the plates and platters rattled. What now! What now? said the Doctor. That blue bag, damned, when it is on your feet and makes you stumble, replied Clemency. When it has a respectable purpose, Snitchey continued his interrupted speech. Is life a farce because we have laws?
The Doctor laughed and looked at Alfred. I admit, if you will, that war is madness, stopped Snitchey. In that we agree; for here, for example, we have a smiling landscape, he pointed to it with a fork, where the soldier’s bandits once rioted, destroying everything with sword and fire. Hee hee hee! The very idea of any one voluntarily exposing himself to the dangers of fire and sword is madness, madness, and very ridiculous! You cannot help laughing at your fellow-men when you think of them. But now look at this smiling landscape as it is. Think of the laws we have of property, of purchase and acquisition , of lease, of gift, and of taxes. Think, continued Mr. Snitchey, with such enthusiasm and delight that his mouth almost imitated, of the complicated laws we have of the claim and its proof, with all their contradictory precedents and innumerable parliamentary decisions that go with them . Think of what a multitude of clever and conflicting forms of litigation there are for all the innumerable disputes to which such a system of law necessarily gives rise—and you must admit that there is at least a little bit of hatred in the wilderness around us. “I dare to claim it,” said Mr. Snitchey, looking at his companion, “I dare to claim it both for myself and for Craggs. ” Mr. Craggs having given his assent to this, Mr. Snitchey, who seemed to have been given a new appetite by his eloquence, announced that he wanted some more roast and a cup of tea. I don’t want to defend life at all, he added then , rubbing his hands with laughter, it’s full of madness, full of worse than madness. What are the assurances of preference, confidence and disinterestedness, bah, bah, bah!… We’ll see what they’re worth. But don’t laugh at life. You’ve got a game to play, and a very solid game. Everyone plays against you, as you know, and you play against everyone. Oh, how amusing it is… but you, Dr. Jeddler, can only laugh when you win, though you mustn’t do it too much… hee hee hee! Not too much, repeated Snitchey, nodding his head again and winking , as if to add: Do it this way rather. Well, Alfred! said the doctor, what do you say now? The greatest kindness, replied Alfred, that you can show me and yourself, I think, is to try for once to forget the battlefield of life with all that goes with it, and to remember the great field of life on which the sun shines every day . It would hardly, I think, change his mind, said Snitchey, for the combatants on the battlefield of life are equally furious and cruel. They beat and beat each other and shoot each other from behind. The loss of men and destruction there is absolutely appalling, so that field is no better than this one. I think, replied Alfred, that many a fight and victory, many a great talent and display of valor are secret, and often appear even in what seems insignificant, even the opposite of talent and valor, and are not the easier to describe because no one is there to see it and knows how to describe it. But such things are every day in nooks and crannies, in the most insignificant circles, in the hearts of men and women, and every such expression can reconcile the most discontented world and fill it with faith and hope, even if three-fourths of the world’s population were at war and one-fourth were in court. The world is not so bad as it is said to be. Both sisters listened attentively to his words. “Very well, very well!” said the doctor. “I shall not be translated at this age again, neither my friend Snitchey, nor my unmarried sister, the good-natured Martha Jeddler, who some time ago was in family troubles, as she called them, but who has since lived a sympathetic life, in short, with all sorts of people.” Yet she is so much like you in her opinions , except that she is a woman, and so weaker in mind and more obstinate than you, that I can never agree with her, and therefore I seldom wish to see her. I was born on this battlefield; I began to think of the stories that were told of it when I was a child. Sixty years have now rolled past me, but I have not yet seen anything in all Christendom, where there are, God knows, how many loving mothers and hopeful girls, like my daughter, that has been in harmony with each other . Such things are everywhere. One must either laugh or weep at these strange contrasts, and I rather laugh. Britain, who had been eyeing every speaker with great and melancholy accuracy , now seems to have quickly united with the doctor’s opinion, if the deep, subterranean voice that came from him may be taken as an expression of laughter. His face, however, was perfectly still, both before and after, for though a couple of the breakfast guests looked round at the mysterious sound, they could not possibly have perceived it coming from him. But his companion in the service, Clemency Newcome, knew it. For, nudging him aside with her favourite member, Clemency asked him quietly and reproachfully what he was laughing at. I didn’t laugh at you! Britain growled. Well, what then? Mankind, replied Britain. It’s so ridiculous. “Oh, come on! He’s getting more and more foolish every day!” said Clemency, propping him up with one elbow, as if to clear his thoughts. “Don’t you know where you are? Do you need a correction?” “I don’t know anything,” replied Britain, his expression calm and his expression unchanging. “I don’t care about anything! I don’t try to explain anything; I don’t believe anything and I don’t need anything.” Although this sad description of his condition may have been greatly exaggerated on the whole, Benjamin Britain—who was sometimes also called Little Britain, as a distinction from Great Britain, as Young England, as a distinction from Old England—presented his condition here more truthfully than one might have supposed. Having served as the doctor’s assistant in the operation on the sick, and having heard the doctor explain to his visitors every day that their existence, even in the best state of things, was nothing but error and impossibility, this unfortunate servant had gradually, through internal and external influences, sunk into such a gulf of confused and contradictory opinions that the truth in him had risen from its source to the very surface when he was in deep meditation. The only thing he clearly perceived was that the new material with which Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs usually spiced up these discussions was not at all his own to make them more intelligible, and their material always seemed to give the doctor a kind of advantage or victory. Therefore, these lawyers were to him, as it were, one of the main causes of his such state of mind, and he therefore did not look upon them with any favor. But this is none of our business, Alfred, said the doctor. Since now, as you yourself said, you cease to be my ward and are leaving us with such abundant knowledge as the elementary school here could have given you, and your own studies in London could have accumulated, and an old, dull-headed country doctor like me could have instilled in you in practical terms, you are now going out into the world. After the first probationary period, which I, by your father’s order, was your guardian, you will hasten, like a self-willed man, to follow his second order. Long before the three years that you are to spend in medical schools in foreign countries are over, you will forget us altogether. Yes, you could easily forget us in six months. If I did that—but you know better—I would no longer deserve to have you talk to me, replied Alfred, laughing. I know nothing, replied the doctor. But what do you say , Marion? Marion, who was playing with her teacup, seemed to want to say, though she could not get it out, that she might forget them if she could. Grace pressed her cheerful face against her sister’s cheek and laughed. “I don’t think I have been a false, dishonest steward of my duties, ” continued the doctor, “but the necessity of the matter requires that I should now be regularly released from it and be discharged. That is why our good friends Snitchey and Craggs came here with a briefcase full of papers, bills, and documents, to leave the remainder of the funds entrusted to me ; I wish there were more of them than there are, but I hope you, as you are about to be a man, will be able to accumulate them and other trifles for yourself, which you must have legally signed and sealed.” And legally attested, added Snitchey, pushing aside his plate and taking out of his briefcase the papers which his companion began to spread out on the table. As Craggs and I have been the doctor’s assistants in all that has concerned the management of the estate, we must take both of the doctor’s servants as witnesses to the signatures here. Can you write, Mrs. Newcome? I have not been married, my dear sir, replied Clemency. Ah, excuse me… I should have thought so myself. “Notice,” said Snitchey, laughing, and looking at him. ” Can you read? A little,” replied Clemency. ” Perhaps the Bride, Morning and Evening Prayers?” continued the lawyer, jokingly. “No,” said Clemency, “they are difficult. I only read the thimble. Do you read the thimble?” interrupted Snitchey. “What do you mean by that?” “And the nutmeg,” added Clemency, nodding her head. ” Yes, he is out of his mind!” “To be left to the Lord Chancellor,” said Snitchey, looking at him. “Yes, if he has the means,” remarked Craggs. Now Grace interposed, and explained that the articles in question were both inscribed, and that was why Clemency Newcome had paperbacks in them. He is not very disposed to read ordinary books. “Ah; that explains it,” said Snitchey; “now I understand.” ” I thought our friend was funny, for that’s what she looks like,” said Snitchey, with a smug air. “Well, what’s written on that thimble, Mrs. Newcome? I haven’t been married, I told you so,” replied Clemency. “Very well, then, be unmarried,” said the lawyer. ” But what’s in the thimble? ” It is not worth telling how Clemency, without answering this, immediately spread her pocket open and looked into its gaping depths, seeking the thimble, which, however, was not there—and how she then looked in the same way into her other pocket and emptied it quite empty. There was a handkerchief, the end of a wax candle, an apple, an orange, a copper coin, an iron pin, an egg lock, scissors in their case, a handful of colored glass beads, a few balls of thread, a pin gun, hair curling papers , and a loaf of bread, all of which she entrusted to Britain until she could have her pockets checked. And how in his excitement he took hold of his pocket by the neck, to keep it straight, for it was a great circle to twist and wrap itself around everything it met with; and assumed a posture that was not at all in harmony with the constitution of man, nor with the laws of weight. Suffice it to say that he finally found a thimble, and triumphantly showed it off with a musket, on which the writing was almost worn off, and therefore very illegible. Oh, there is a thimble, said Mr. Snitchey, wishing to make fun of him. Well, what is there to say with a thimble? It says, replied Clemency, reading the writing around it leisurely, as if it had gone round the tower, forget and forgive. Snitchey and Craggs laughed. And so novel, said Snitchey. And so easy, said Craggs. What a deep knowledge of human nature is there! said Snitchey. And how fitting it is for the relations of life! remarked Craggs. Well, what is there in a nutmeg, then? asked Snitchey afterwards. Treat others as you would have others treat you, replied Clemency. Treat others as your enemies, perhaps, said Snitchey. I don’t understand, replied Clemency, shaking her head doubtfully. I am no lawyer. I think, said Snitchey, turning quickly to the doctor, as if to confuse the effect which Clemency’s answer had on him, that if he were a lawyer he would find that a hearty advice to most of his clients at least. They are very impudent sometimes—so strange is the world—and yet they always accuse us of being so. Do you think, Mr. Alfred, that in our office we can compare ourselves almost to mirrors, and when we often have to deal with wicked and quarrelsome consulters, whose appearance is very disagreeable, it is wrong to blame us if we cannot look at them with pleasure. That is my opinion, and I think Craggs’s too. Quite so, admitted Craggs. Now, if Mr. Britain would be so good as to bring us some writing ink, said Mr. Snitchey, turning again to his papers; we may sign these and affix our seal to them, which having been done, we will give them all out of our possession at once; otherwise the post-coach will come and leave us before we know it. If one may judge anything from the appearance of another, the stagecoach might have passed by without Mr. Britain knowing it at all, for he stood there, lost in thought, comparing himself the doctor with these lawyers, and the lawyers with the doctors, and their clients with both of them, and making feeble attempts to bring the thimble and the nutmeg, these two ideas, so new to him, into conformity with either philosophical system. In short, he entangled himself far more with scientific doctrines and systems than his great namesake ever did. But Clemency, who was his good angel,—though he did not suspect it at all, for Clemency seldom troubled herself with demonstrations, but was always on hand at the right time to do what had to be done—immediately brought him some writing ink, and again did him the good work of rousing him to consciousness with her elbows, which means of awakening so refreshed his memory, that he immediately became quite cheerful and cheerful. It would take too long to tell how impossible it was for Britain to get rid of the belief, common to all his kind, who seldom need pen and ink, that to put his name under a document written by another would lead to suspicious quarrels, and was almost the same as promising large sums of money; and how he protested against it, and did not begin to put his name under it, until the doctor asked him, and he was allowed to read through the writing under which he was to put his name, which was in such an illegible handwriting, and without any mention of the harmony of the words, that it was to him like Chinese; and how he then turned the paper over and over to see that there was no fraud in it, and finally wrote his name on it, but was quite disconsolate on account of it, as if he had lost his property or his rights. And how the blue portfolio, with his name written on it, then began to so mysteriously engage his mind that he could not possibly forget it, and how Clemency Newcome, thinking of her own importance and value, suddenly became delighted and threw herself on the table with her arms spread out like an eagle with its wings spread, and laid her head on her left arm. All this was a preparation for the making of mysterious pictures, which took up a whole lot of ink. Of these pictures he at the same time took a sort of mental impressions with his tongue, and having thus acquired a taste for ink, began to crave it as tigers are said to crave some other kind of liquid, and to be always wanting to sign and put his name wherever he happened to be. In short , the doctor was freed from his patronage, and from all the responsibility that came with it; and Alfred, who now took charge of his own property, was ready to set out on the journey of life. Britain, said the doctor, go to the gate and watch for the carriage. Time will tell, Alfred! It will, answered the young man quickly. “Dear Grace! a word!… Remember Marion, who is so young and beautiful, so pleasant and delightful, and dearer to my heart than anything in the world— she I entrust to your care! Her care has always been sacred to me. Now it will be even more sacred. I will faithfully keep an eye on her; trust me. I believe you, Grace. I know you will do it, and who could look into your face, hear your voice, and yet doubt your words? Ah, dear Grace, if I had your heart, which has so much power over itself, and your calm mind, how bravely I would then leave this place! Indeed!” answered Grace, smiling gently. And yet Grace—no, sister I must call you. Call me that! said Grace quickly. “I am very pleased to hear you call me that, so don’t call me anything else. And yet, my sister,” continued Alfred, “Marion and I have better that your pure and steadfast qualities be of use to us in this matter; they will make us both happier and better. If I could, I would not take them away from Marion’s support to keep me upright! The carriage is already on the road! cried Britain. Time is running out, Alfred, reminded the doctor. Marion stood a little way off, looking at the ground, but her young lover, on hearing the news, carried her to her sister, who closed her in her arms. As I am going away, I have asked Grace to look after you in my absence, my dear Marion, who is my most precious possession. And when I return, my dear, and the way to our marriage is then open, it must become our most earnest care to try to make her life happy, to try to comply with all that we know she wants, to show her our love and gratitude, and to repay her for the abundant kindness she is willing to show us. Marion had one hand in hers, the other on Grace’s neck. She looked into her sister’s eyes so calmly, so clearly, so lovingly, that in her glance there seemed to be mingled liking, admiration, sorrow, infatuation, and almost adoration. Her sister’s face was to her like the face of a good angel. She also looked calmly and lovingly at both her and her beloved. When the time comes, and it must come, Alfred continued, though I am surprised that it has not already come; but Grace knows best, for she is always right—when she needs a friend to whom we can open our whole hearts, and who would be to her the same as she has been to us—then we want to be her loyal friends, and then we feel the joy of knowing that she, our good and dear sister, loves us and enjoys from us such tender love as we grant her. The younger sister’s eyes were still fixed on the elder sister. She never once turned them towards Alfred. And still Grace looked calmly, cheerfully, and lovingly now and then at her, now and then at her favorite. And when all this is over and we are old, when we must live together, to be able to talk of the times gone by, said Alfred, these times will be very precious to us, and above all this day. Then we will tell each other what we thought and felt at the moment of separation, what we hoped and feared, and that neither of us had the strength to say goodbye… The carriage appears from the forest, cried Britain. Well, I am ready… and how we met after each other, so happy in spite of everything… we will consider this day the most blessed in the whole year and celebrate it as a triple birthday. Isn’t that right, my dear? Exactly, answered the elder sister, briskly and with shining eyes. But don’t delay now, Alfred… the time is at hand! Say goodbye to Marion and God be with you! She pressed the younger sister to her chest… but she had hardly thrown her from her arms when she fell again on her sister’s neck, looking into her eyes, which were as calm, clear and gentle as before. Goodbye, my son! said the doctor. To speak of correspondence, of serious feelings, of associations, and such things… ha, ha, ha… you know what I mean… as here, would be truly ridiculous folly. I will only mention that if you and Marion still had the same insane inclination, you would be my son-in-law when the time came. Now it is over the bridge, cried Britain. Let it pass, said Alfred, pressing the doctor’s hand earnestly. Think of me sometime, as earnestly as you can, my old friend and guardian. Good-bye, Mr. Snitchey! Good-bye, Mr. Craggs! Now it is up the road! cried Britain. One kiss, Clemency Newcome, for old acquaintance… hold out Give me your hand, Britain… Marion, darling of my heart, farewell! Sister Grace, remember now! The carriage was at the gate… The travelling baggage was hurriedly carried into it… Alfred set off in the carriage, but Marion did not move so much. He points to you with his hat, sister, said Grace. Your future husband. Look! Marion raised her eyes and looked in that direction for a moment. Then she resumed her former position. And looking now for the first time steadily into her sister’s face, she sank sobbing into her arms. Dear Grace, God bless you! But I cannot see this! It breaks my heart! Chapter 2. Snitchey and Craggs had a small, pretty office on the old battlefield. There they conducted their small, pretty business, and fought small, organized battles in groups for the numerous visitors. Although in these battles the infantry did not rush forward, because in reality they moved forward at a snail’s pace, yet these Union lawyers took a great part in them, sometimes receiving shots while carrying , sometimes giving blows while opposing, sometimes making a fierce attack on the bill of exchange, and sometimes having a little skirmish with the disorderly crowd of debtors, as the occasion sometimes offered and the enemy happened to appear. The newspaper was a very important and useful ally in their camp, as well as in more important camps, and in almost every battle in which they showed their ability as a military leader, it was always difficult, as the combatants said afterwards, to come to a conclusion and know with certainty where one was, because there was so much smoke around. The office of Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs, whose door was usually at the back, and which led to a couple of steps leading down, was so near the market-place that any angry peasant who wanted to be steamed could easily rush in. Their peculiar consulting and reception-room was an old, dark, and low-lying hut, the roof of which was blackened, and which seemed to frown grimly as it heard disputed legal matters. It was furnished with a few high-framed leather chairs. Around the edges of these were a row of large-headed brass pots, which had fallen off here and there , either of their own accord, or perhaps by the furious picking at them with their thumb and forefinger. There was also a framed portrait of some distinguished judge, so formidable in appearance that the slightest movement in his hair was enough to make the hair on the spectator’s head stand on end. There were bundles of paper in dusty cupboards, on shelves, and on tables; along the walls stood rows of small chests, fireproof, and fitted with egg-locks, each with a name on the lid. The distressed clients kept turning these names over and over in their minds, as if compelled by a cruel spell, trying to make sense of them, as they sat and seemed to listen to Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs, though they could not understand a single word of what they were saying. Snitchey and Craggs had a partner in their private life, as well as in their business. Snitchey and Craggs were the best of friends, and trusted each other perfectly; but Mrs. Snitchey, from a remarkable reluctance, which is not uncommon in married life, had made it a principle to suspect Mr. Craggs; and Mrs. Craggs, for the same reason, suspected Mr. Snitchey. Your Snitcheys, he was often wont to say to Mr. Craggs, using this cleverly invented plural in a contemptuous sense , as if he were referring to a pair of trousers, or other such things as have no singular in their names. I really cannot understand what you want with your Snitcheys. You trust your Snitcheys altogether too much, I say, and I only hope you will never find my words true. In the same way, Mrs. Snitchey always said to Mr. Snitcheys about Craggs that he was the one who had cheated her, if ever anyone had, and that in Craggs’s eyes, if ever anyone had, there was a hint of ill-will. Nevertheless, the liaison officers were very good friends on the whole, and Mrs. Snitchey had made an alliance with Mrs. Craggs against the office, which they both regarded with disgust, as if it were a common enemy that was carrying on a dangerous conspiracy. But from this office Snitchey and Craggs nevertheless sucked honey into their nests. There they would often sit by the window of their conference room on a beautiful evening, when they would look at the old battlefield; they did so on the whole only during court hours, for the multitude of disputes made them emotional at that time and they wondered at the folly of people, when they could not live in peace and in harmony bring each other to justice. Days, weeks, months, and years passed there , which can only be noticed by the gradual decrease of the brass plates on the leather chairs and the increase of the piles of papers on the tables. The time of nearly three years, which had elapsed since breakfast in the garden, when they had conversed together in the evening, had diminished the former and increased the latter. They were not alone, but had with them a man of about thirty or thereabouts, whose appearance was careless and whose face was somewhat stern, but who was otherwise of a handsome figure, well dressed, and good-looking. He sat in the best armchair, with one hand on his breast and the other in his fluffy hair. Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs sat opposite each other at the adjoining table. One of the fire-proof chests was open; some of its contents already scattered on the table and the remains Mr. Snitchey took further from the chest, always turning towards the candle and looking at each paper separately, which he did every now and then shaking his head and giving each paper to Mr. Craggs. The latter also looked at them, shaking his head, and then put them out of his hand. From time to time they stopped and, shaking their heads together, looked thoughtfully at the client. As the name Michael Warden esquire was on the lid of the chest , it can be concluded that the name and the chest were the same man, and that Michael Warden’s affairs could not be in good standing. That is all, said Snitchey, having taken the last paper from the chest. Is everything spent, wasted, lost, pawned and given away? asked the client, rolling his eyes. Everything, answered Snitchey. And do you say that nothing more can be done? Nothing. The client bit his candle and began to think again. And do you think I have no safety in all England? Not in any part of the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland, replied Snitchey. I am quite lost, and have no father to go to—nothing left, for myself or anyone else! continued the client, throwing one leg over the other and looking at the floor. Mr. Snitchey jolted to get away from explaining the state of his affairs, and Mr. Craggs jolted too, to show that he had the same thought in that respect. A loser at thirty years of age! said the client. Hm! Not a loser, replied Snitchey. You have not got that far yet, You are indeed on the verge of a loser, I must admit, but you are not quite a loser yet. When you manage wisely— I will belittle that! snapped the client. Mr. Craggs, said Snitchey, please give me a pinch of snuff!—Thank you, sir! As the lawyer, who had been calm now, with a look of great satisfaction and his whole attention fixed on the matter, took a snuff under his nose, the client suddenly began to laugh, and, rolling his eyes, said: ” You mentioned treatment. How long would treatment be necessary? Long treatment?” said Snitchey, shaking the remains of the snuff from his fingers and thinking the matter over carefully. Your disputed affairs, sir… even in good hands… like Snitchey and Craggs… might require six, seven years. I should starve for six, seven years!” said the client. laughing bitterly and impatiently raising himself to another position. To starve for six or seven years, replied Snitchey, would be very unusual indeed. But you could get yourself another fortune, if you could show yourself for money during that time… although I don’t think you can do it… I say this for myself and Craggs… and I don’t advise you to do it. What do you advise me to do then? To let your affairs be managed, as I said before, replied Snitchey. When I and Craggs have managed them for a few years, everything will be in order again. And that you may not disturb us in making and keeping the terms, you must go abroad and be there all the time. And that you may not have to starve there , we can provide you with a few hundred a year as a pension, even now at the beginning – that’s for sure. A few hundred! replied the client, although I have lost thousands! “I believe so,” replied Snitchey, quietly putting the papers back into the iron chest… I have no doubt of that, he told himself, thoughtfully continuing the same action. The lawyer very probably knew his client. At least his dry, mischievous, and peculiar manner made a good impression on the client, for he became more open-hearted and frank. And the client must also have known his lawyer, and deliberately wooed the advice he received from him, in order to make the point he was about to make appear more innocent. He sat and looked at his motionless adviser, raising his head with a quiet smile, and suddenly began to laugh. “How is it, my stubborn friend,” said he. Mr. Snitchey pointed to his partner, saying: “Excuse me, there are two of us, me and Craggs.” “Excuse me, Mr. Craggs,” replied the client, bowing and lowering his voice a little; “how is it, my stubborn friends, that you do not yet know the half of my loss? ” Mr. Snitchey was astonished, and stared at him; so did Mr. Craggs. “I am not only in debt,” continued the client, “but also… You are not in love, are you?” said Snitchey. “I am not,” replied the client, throwing himself back into the chair, where he had been looking at the liaisons with his hands in his pockets. “I am completely in love. You are not in love with any heiress, are you, sir? No, not with any heiress. Nor with a rich woman, anyway? No, not to my knowledge, but with a sweet beauty. But at least with an unmarried one?” said Mr. Snitchey, raising his voice. ” Of course. It is not either of Dr. Jeddler’s daughters, is it?” said Snitchey, quickly putting his elbows on his knees and supporting his head with his hands, his neck about a cubit long. I wonder! replied the client. Mr. Craggs, said Snitchey very briskly, may I have another pinch of snuff? Thank you! I am glad to be able to say that your intention is useless. She is already disbarred, she is engaged. This brother of mine will prove it too. We know the matter. Yes, we know the matter, said Craggs. I know it too, replied the client calmly, but what of it? Have you, who know so much about the world, never heard of women changing their minds? Of course, there have been trials for breach of promise, replied Mr. Snitchey, both against girls and widows, but in most such cases… Cases! snarled the client impatiently. Don’t talk to me about cases. General examples would make much larger volumes than your law books. And do you think, besides, that I have been in the doctor’s room for six weeks in vain? I think, remarked Mr. Snitchey, very gravely, turning to his companion, that of all the quarrels into which his horses have led Mr. Warden on one occasion and another—and they have been very numerous, and at an expense that no one can imagine— no one knows better than he, you and I—the worst trouble will follow, however, if he continues to hold this opinion , that one of his horses threw him against the wall of the doctor’s garden, and broke three ribs, and broke his shoulder, and how many bruises he must have received. When we heard that he was beginning to get better under the doctor’s care and under cover, we thought no more of the matter. But now he seems to be in a bad way. Bad! Seems very bad. Besides, Dr. Jeddler is a client of ours too. Mr. Alfred Heathfield is also a client in a way, added Mr. Craggs. And Mr. Michael Warden is a client of sorts, too, said the indifferent visitor, and he is not a bad client at all. He has been a fool for ten or twelve years; but now Michael Warden has stopped sowing the waste oats, the harvest of which is in that trunk. He intends to get well and become wise. And in proof of that, Mr. Michael Warden intends to marry Marion, the doctor’s lovely daughter, and take her with him, if he can. Indeed, Mr. Craggs, began Snitchey. Indeed, Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs, the partners, must know, interrupted the client, how duty requires them to behave towards their clients. It forbids them to meddle in the ill-fated affairs of love, when one of their clients sees fit to entrust them with them. I do not mean to take the young lady against her will, and therefore there is nothing unlawful in my intention. I have never been a friend of Mr. Heathfield, nor did I even know him; therefore I will not violate his confidence in me. I only love what he loves, and I will try to get it as well as he does, if I can. He cannot, said Snitchey, with evident uneasiness and astonishment. He cannot do it, sir. Marion is in love with Alfred. It is only, replied the client. She is in love with Alfred, continued Snitchey. It was not for nothing that I was in the doctor’s room for six weeks a few months ago , and then I came to know the quality of that love. She would have loved Alfred if her sister had been allowed to prevail, but I made her sister’s words empty. Marion dreads the name of Alfred, dreads him himself, and shows quite a visible repugnance if she sees any hint of her association with Alfred. Why should she do that, do you understand, Mr. Craggs? said Snitchey. Why he does so I cannot understand, though many plausible reasons might be put forward, said the client, laughing at the attentiveness and astonishment which appeared in Mr. Snitchey’s sparkling eyes, and the caution which he displayed as he conducted the conversation and tried to get the point across. But that is so. He was too young to enter into that association, if , I fear, it is worth calling it an association, and has perhaps regretted his bargain afterwards. It is also possible—though it may seem like a boast, but I do not mean to boast, be assured of that—that he has fallen in love with me, as I have fallen in love with him. Hi, hi! Mr. Alfred was his playmate, too, you remember, Mr. Craggs, said Snitchey, laughing heartily; they have known each other since childhood. All the more reason to believe, continued the client calmly, that she is tired of Alfred and would gladly exchange him for another lover who presents himself or whose horse has presented him in very romantic relationships; a lover who is generally known to have lived happily and cheerfully in her time – that is nothing harmful in a country girl at least – without harming anyone in any way and who is also not, in terms of her age or looks, etc. – but this may again seem like a compliment, although it is not the least bit so, I can assure you – not at all inferior to Alfred himself. This last conclusion could not be resisted in any way. It Mr. Snitchey also noticed, as he glanced at his client as quickly as possible. In all that was careless about him, there was much that was natural and pleasant, there was something that seemed to say that this pretty face, this pretty frame, he could make look even better if he wanted to, and that when he woke up to think about something that had never happened before, he could follow the most beautiful intentions. He is a very dangerous fool, thought the intelligent lawyer, because he seems to get whatever sparks he wants from the eyes of a young girl. Do you see, Mr. Snitchey, continued the client, placing himself between the two liaison men and taking hold of them both by the buttons to prevent them from escaping, that I do not ask you for any advice. But you do right not to touch upon a matter which is of such a nature that it is not fitting for serious men like you to interfere in it from either side. I will only state my condition and my intentions in a few words, and then ask you to do what you can in my financial affairs. I find that if I were to run away with the doctor’s beautiful daughter, as I intend to do, and become another man under her gentle influence, it would be more reprehensible under the present circumstances than if I were to run away alone. But as my conduct now changes, I shall immediately put everything straight again. I think it would be best not to question him any further, Mr. Craggs, said Mr. Snitchey, looking over his client to his companion. I think so too, said Craggs; but they both listened attentively to the client. So be it! You need not listen to me, replied the client, but I cannot help speaking of the matter. I do not intend to ask the doctor’s consent to it, for I know he would not give it; but I have no intention of doing him any harm or annoyance, but apart from the fact that there is nothing solid in such a frivolous matter, as he says, I would only like to free his daughter, my own Marion, from what I myself see and know, namely, that she fears and considers her greatest misfortune to see her lover again. It is true, if anything, that she fears Alfred’s coming. That being so, I do no wrong to anyone. At present I am harassed and chased everywhere here, that I am almost like a flying fish; I creep about in the dark, I am shut out of my own house, and I dare not even walk on my own land. But that house, that land, and many barrels of oil besides , will again, as you yourself have assured me, be mine, so that Marion, according to your own considerations, which are never exaggerated, will in ten years be much richer as my wife than as Alfred Heathfield’s wife. Besides, she dreads this man, you see, and I do not love him either, if I may say so in relation to a man. Who will be wronged then? The matter is quite straightforward and uncomplicated. My right is as important as Alfred’s, if Marion ever decides to agree with me; and I will let him do as he pleases in the matter. You will not bear to hear any more of this, and I will not speak to you any more. Tell me now, since you know my intentions and my condition… when is the best time for me to leave? In a week at the latest, but how, Mr. Craggs? said Mr. Snitchey? I would advise you to leave a little sooner, said Craggs. Well, in a month, then, answered the client, after first glancing attentively at the liaison officers. In a month from this day. Today is Thursday. Whether it goes well or ill, in a month from this day I shall set out. That is a long delay, said Mr. Snitchey, it is too long. But so be it. Ah, if you didn’t take three months , he said to himself. But you’re going to leave now! Good night, sir! Good night, the client said, shaking the liaison man’s hand. If “You live, and you will see me use my means more wisely. From now on, Marion will be my lucky star! Go carefully out of the crabs, sir,” reminded Snitchey, “for she is not shining there. Good night! Good night!” The liaison officers came now, each with a candle in his hand, to show him the light in the crabs, and after he had gone they stood looking at each other. What do you think of all this, Mr. Craggs?” asked Mr. Snitchey. Mr. Craggs shook his head. On the day the guardianship ceased, the couple in love , as we recall, did not say goodbye to each other quite as they should have, but how?” said Mr. Snitchey. ” They did not,” replied Mr. Craggs. ” But perhaps he will be disappointed,” continued Mr. Snitchey, locking the fire-proof chest and moving it to its place. But if there is any truth to the matter, then a little fickleness and deceit is not surprising. Yet her pretty face seemed to me very sincere. I also thought I noticed, added Mr. Snitchey, putting on his coat for it was cold outside, pulling on his mittens and extinguishing another candle, that her character had lately become firmer and more decisive, more like her sister’s . Mrs. Craggs noticed the same, said Mr. Craggs. I would sooner take anything to pay for it this evening, said Mr. Snitchey, who was a kind-hearted man, than believe that Mr. Warden had made those deals without the master’s knowledge. Although he is thoughtless, capricious, and light on his feet, he knows the world and its inhabitants to some extent, but that is no wonder, for he has paid dearly for what he knows, and I am not at all sure of it. However, it is best for us not to interfere. We can do nothing but keep quiet. We cannot do anything else, replied Craggs. Our friend the doctor finds such things easy, continued Mr. Snitchey, nodding his head, he does not need his philosophy in them , I think. Our friend Alfred always talks about the struggle of life, he nodded his head again as he said this, but it would be well if he did not give in to it too soon. Have you got your hat, Mr. Craggs, I will put out this candle too. Having received an affirmative answer from Mr. Craggs, Mr. Snitchey made an act to follow the words, after which they groped out of the council chamber, which was now as dark as the matter in question, or as the law in general. Our story now passes to the little, quiet reading-room, where the two sisters and the old doctor sat that same evening by the cheerful fireside. Grace was sewing. Marion was reading aloud from the book which was open before her. The doctor, in his nightgown and slippers, sat in his armchair with his feet stretched out on the warm blanket, and, glancing at his daughters, listened to the reading. They were beautiful to see. Never were more pleasant faces at the stove making it dear and amusing. The difference between these sisters had faded a little in the course of three years , for now the younger sister’s brow was visible, her eyes were reflected, and her voice was heard, that same gentle firmness which her motherless youth had long since brought to maturity in the elder sister. But she still seemed more delicate and sweet; she seemed always to lean her head against her sister’s breast, to trust her sister, and to look into her eyes when she needed advice and support—into her pleasant eyes, which were always as calm, as clear, as gentle as before. And now, being at home, reading from Marion’s book, in that home which through her memories had become inexpressibly dear to her, she soon began to perceive that the great trial of her heart was at hand, and that it could not be postponed any longer. Home, our comforter and our friend, when all else fails; parting from it is bitter at every step from the cradle to the grave. My dear Marion, said Grace. What now, my girl! said the doctor, what has come over you? Marion put her hand in her sister’s, which she held out to her, and continued to read. Her voice was tearful and trembling, though she tried to steady it. Parting from it is bitter at every step, from the cradle to the grave… Oh home! who are so faithful to us, though often you receive only contempt as your reward. Be pitiful to those who abandon you, and do not pursue them with harsh rebukes on their wandering steps. Show no tender glances, no familiar smiles in the image of yourself you place before their imaginations. Show them no sign of gentleness, hospitality, tenderness, forgiveness, or cordiality. Let no loving word or heart-wrenching sound from the past echo condemningly in the ears of your rejecter—but be stern and fearful, if you can, and thus make the penitent repentant in your pardon! My dear Marion, read no more to-night, said Grace, for Marion was weeping. I could not read any longer, she answered, and closed the book. The words are all as if possessed by fire. The doctor seemed amused by this, for he laughed and patted Marion on the head. What is it that a history book can possess in that way? said Dr. Jeddler. Ink and paper!… But everything may be the same in that case. To make a solid thing out of ink and paper is as sensible as to make it out of anything else. But now wipe your eyes, my angel, wipe your eyes. I dare say that the heroine you read about has long since returned to her home and made amends for it—if she hasn’t, then that’s a big deal, for a substantial home is nothing more than four walls and nothing more than the traces of a pen dipped in ink. But what is it again? It’s me, answered Clemency, putting her head in at the door. Well, what have you got? asked the doctor. What have I got, replied Clemency—and there was no doubt in his words , as he looked at her round face, which, as usual, was filled with the greatest satisfaction, making her strangely formed face almost pleasing. True, the rough elbows were not such as could be considered a sign of beauty; but it is better, in the course of life, to hurt elbows than to be unkind, and Clemency was so healthy and lively by nature that in that respect she was a match for any beauty in the world. “What have I got,” said Clemency, “but… come a little closer, master! ” The doctor complied with her request, somewhat surprised. ” You said I wouldn’t give you anything in their presence, remember?” said Clemency. A stranger to the doctor’s family would have thought that Clemency, when she said this, blinked her eyes strangely and wobbled and turned her elbows strangely, wanted to embrace herself and meant by the word some kind of outward show of her liking. The doctor himself seemed suddenly surprised, but calmed down as soon as Clemency, after first searching both her pockets, began to search her right pocket and then her left again, but immediately returned to her right and took from there a letter that had come in the post. Britain was away on business, she said with a laugh, handing the doctor a letter, and at that moment the postman brought it. It has the seal AH Mr Alfred is on his way home, I’d bet on that… and we’ll be married soon, for I had two spoons in my pocket this morning. And how slowly he opens it! This he said to himself, rising higher and higher on his tiptoes, and impatient at not getting the news on the spot, he twisted his apron like a corkscrew and pouted. bottle-shaped. At last, when her expectation reached its highest point and she saw the doctor reading the letter quite calmly, she dropped to her feet and, silent from despair and as if unable to restrain her curiosity any longer, threw her apron over her face like a blindfold . Listen, girls! said the doctor. I cannot help but announce it. I have never been able to keep a secret in my life, unless they are of the kind that would be worth keeping in such a… but it doesn’t matter what kind… Yes, Alfred will be home soon. How soon? Marion asked. What! Will the history book now be forgotten? said the doctor, pinching his cheek. I did think that such news would dry your tears. Of course, he asks me to keep his arrival a secret from you, but I don’t want it to happen to you without thinking. We must prepare to receive him. How soon will he come, Marion asked again. Perhaps not as soon as you would like in your impatience, but he will come soon. Wait… today is Thursday, isn’t it? He promises to arrive here a month from now. A month from now, Marion said quietly. The day he arrives will be a joy and a celebration for us, said her sister Grace in her gentle voice and embraced Marion congratulatingly, What we have waited so long for in hope will finally come true. Marion smiled in response, but she smiled sadly, although her heart was indeed full of tenderness for her sister. And when she looked into her sister’s face and heard her describe in her even, harmonious voice how happy Alfred’s arrival would make them, hope and joy began to shine from her face too. And something other than hope and joy. There was something in them that soon confused all other expressions, but for which I still don’t know any name. It was not delight, nor joy, nor enthusiasm, for those expressions of feeling never occur in silence. Nor was it love, nor gratitude alone, though love and gratitude were in it. It was not affected by any impure thought, for impure thoughts cannot brighten the brow, cannot linger on the lips, nor make the mind burn like a candle, until the face begins, as it were, to glow with joyful emotion. Although Dr. Jeddler was very fond of his philosophical system, which he nevertheless constantly opposed in his conduct— but so have greater philosophers than he—he was nevertheless as glad to learn of the return of his former patron as if something solid were about to happen. He sat down again in his comfortable chair, stretched out his slippered feet on the felt coverlet, read Alfred’s letter from time to time, and talked about him all the time. Those times, he said, looking into the fire, when he and Grace always, in his idle moments, would run around hand in hand, like a pair of living dolls. Do you still remember that, Grace? Yes, I do, replied Grace, laughing sweetly; but moving her eye-pin more quickly than usual. Yes, a month from now, said the doctor to himself. It seems to me as if only a year had passed since you played like that. And where was my little Marion then? Always with her sister, little as she was, answered Marion cheerfully. Grace was my everything, though she herself was still a child. True, my daughter, quite true, admitted the doctor. My Grace was even then already a little understanding woman and a clever housekeeper; she was such an industrious, quiet, and agreeable creature, always ready to put up with our wiles and do as she knew we would, without regard to her own whims. “I don’t remember my good Grace ever being stubborn or self-willed about anything but one thing. I think I’ve gotten a lot worse since then,” said Grace, laughing, but not stopping her work. “But what was that thing then?” “It was about Alfred, of course,” replied the doctor. “You were not at all pleased if you were not called Alfred’s wife; that’s why we always called you Alfred’s wife, and I think you liked it better, though it may sound strange, than if you had been called a duchess and could have been made one. ” “Indeed,” said Grace calmly. “What, don’t you remember it yourself?” asked the doctor. ” Yes, I think I remember something like that,” replied Grace, though very dimly. “It’s been so long.” Then, still continuing her work, she began to sing softly a song that the doctor loved. “Alfred will soon have a real wife,” she said, interrupting her song, “and it will surely be a happy event for us all. Then my three years of guardianship will end, Marion; it has been very easy. I want to tell Alfred, when I give you to him again, that you have loved him faithfully all the time, and that he would not have needed my help.” May I tell him so, Marion? Tell him, my dear Grace, replied Marion, that no one has ever performed his patronage so generously and faithfully as you; that I have loved you all the time, more and more tenderly and tenderly every day; and ah! I love you now with all my heart! No, replied Grace cheerfully, I cannot tell him so. Let Alfred’s imagination determine my merit. He will think it great, as you do, dear Marion. Having said this, she resumed her work, which had been interrupted for a moment while her sister was speaking, and sang that song which the doctor had been so fond of. The doctor listened to it, leaning back in his soft chair, with his feet on the rug, tapping Alfred’s letter to the beat against his knee, and glancing at his daughter. He thought that, although everything in the insignificant world is vain, such vanity is nevertheless very pleasant. Having attended to her business, and lingered in the chamber until she had learned the news, Clemency Newcome went again into the kitchen, where her fellow-servant, Mr. Britain, was sitting after his supper, surrounded by a great number of bright pan-covers, newly-scrubbed soup-pots, polished pewter dishes, gleaming coffee-pots, and other such evidences of his industry and order , all arranged on shelves round the wall, that Britain was, as it were, a mirror in a storeroom. But in most of these shining objects his image was by no means pleasing or flattering, nor did it agree with his form. For in some he was long-faced, in others somewhat broad-faced, in some again horribly ugly, according as each reflected it, so that the images of the same object were all different in appearance, as if each were of a different person. But they all had one thing in common, that they all represented a man sitting in a comfortable position, with a pipe in his mouth and a mug of beer before him, and who nodded his head quite carelessly to Clemency when she came and sat down at the same table. Well, Clemency, said Britain; how are you, and what’s the news? Clemency told her what she knew, and she listened to it with great condescension. Benjamin had changed from head to toe. He was much fatter, much rosier, much happier , and more cheerful in every way than before. It looked as if his face had been in bud until now and was just bursting into bloom. That, I suppose, is what Snitchey and Craggs get for a temporary income, he said, drawing long puffs from his pipe. And perhaps some papers for us to prove. Ah! replied his plump table-mate, turning his favourite members as usual, “if only I were in that state!” In what state? About to be married, replied Clemency. Benjamin took the pipe from his teeth and began to laugh heartily. ” Yes, you look just as if you were about to be married, said Britain. Poor Clemency! Clemency, for her part, laughed at her own whim. I have a very good idea, said she. You will never marry, you are sure of that, assured Benjamin, taking up his pipe again. Do you think I have no hope then? said Clemency, still as cheerful. Not a little. And you, continued Clemency; are you going to marry very soon? So sudden a question on so important a matter required time for reflection. After blowing a thick puff of smoke from his mouth, and glancing at it from one shoulder and the other, as if it were a question to be considered from all sides, Mr. Benjamin replied that he had not yet made up his mind on the matter, but that he thought it would turn out that way some day. I wish the woman happiness, whoever she may be! said Clemency. Oh, that will be so, of course, replied Britain. But her life would not have been nearly so happy as it is now, and she would not have gotten nearly so worthy a husband as she does now, said Clemency, taking up half the table and looking at the candle, if I had not been there; though I started the matter by chance, yet she must thank me for it, do n’t you think? Quite so, replied Mr. Britain, who was just now drawing smoke from his pipe with alacrity, and was consequently in a state where one very scarcely wants to open one’s mouth and let words come, and also, when one is leaning back in a comfortable chair, one cannot but turn one’s eyes towards the person who is speaking to her, and that too very slowly and steadily. And… I am also very much indebted to you for that, as you know, Clem! Oh, what beautiful ideas he has! said Clemency. And now, as he happened to turn both his thoughts and his eyes to the candle, it suddenly occurred to him that tallow was good for sores, wherefore he immediately anointed his left elbow with this wholesome ointment. As you know, I have made many inquiries in my time in one respect and another, continued Britain, as profoundly as a scholar at least, for my mind has always been inclined to inquiries, and I have read a great many books in which what is right and what is wrong is set forth, also in particular relations, for I entered the literary profession early, that is to say, at the very beginning of my life. That is all you have been doing! exclaimed Clemency in astonishment. I am, replied Britain, for I had my bed behind a bookshelf for nearly two years , and it always annoyed me when anyone took a book from it. Then I became an errand boy for a ladies’ tailor, or corset maker, when I had to carry around nothing but dogs in oilskin boots. It greatly embittered my mind, and troubled my confidence in human nature. Then I came to this house, and the constant conversations I heard here made a still more deplorable impression on my mind, and ever since I have been convinced that there is no kinder and better comforter, no sweeter and more reliable guide in the journey of life than a nutmeg. Clemency was about to reply in the negative, but Britain noticed it and added very solemnly: “ Together with a thimble. Treat others as you would have them, etc.” said Clemency, and, delighted by this confession, folded her arms and began to rub her elbows. It is a short and clear sentence, but what? I am not quite sure, said Mr. Britain, whether it can be called good philosophy. But, be that as it may, it is good. It frees us from much of the philosophizing that true philosophy does not always do. “You know how you always behaved,” said Clemency. “Yes,” replied Mr. Britain, “and the most remarkable thing of all is that it was through you that I should have been converted. It is very strange… Through you, who, I think, never has a half.” “an idea in your head.” Without feeling the least offended, Clemency shook her head, and with folded arms, laughing, replied that she herself did not believe she had any idea. I am quite sure of it, said Mr. Britain. ” You are right,” admitted Clemency. “I do not wish to make others believe I have an idea when I have none; but I do not need one. ” Benjamin took his pipe from his teeth and laughed till his eyes watered. “What a child of nature you are, Clemmy!” said he, shaking his head, and looking very pleased at these words, wiped the water from his eyes. Clemency, who had not the least desire to speak against him, followed his example and laughed with him. “But still I cannot help liking you,” said Britain; “you are good in your way, and always the same. Put your hand on it, Clem. Come what may, I will always share your fate and be your friend.
Do you really?” said Clemency, That is very nice of you. I will do so, said Britain, handing him his pipe, that he might knock the reindeer out of it, I will always be by your side. Listen, what is there outside! There is someone there. It seemed as if he had jumped down from the wall, said Britain. Has everyone upstairs gone to bed yet? Everyone is already asleep by this time, answered Clemency. Don’t you hear anything? No! They both listened, but nothing was heard. Let it be, said Britain, taking the lantern from the wall. I want to go out and see what is there before I go to bed. Unlock the door , I will light the lantern. Clemency complied with his request, but said, however, that it was in vain that she bothered herself to go out and imagined in her mind that someone was there. Mr. Britain admitted that Clemency might be right, but went out anyway, armed with a cane, letting the light of the lantern shine on all the branches, near and far. Everything is as quiet as a churchyard there, said Clemency, looking out after her, and almost as creepy. But as she turned back from the door into the kitchen, there was a thin creature opposite her. She was terribly frightened and screamed: “What is this? Be quiet!” replied Marion quickly and in a whisper. Clemency has always liked me, but how? Isn’t she? Is there any doubt about it yet? Not at all. On the contrary, I am quite convinced of it, and therefore I can trust you. There is no one else here that I can trust now. Yes, you can trust me!” replied Clemency from the sincerity of our hearts. There is someone outside, Marion continued, pointing to the door, whom I must meet this evening… Michael Warden… for God’s sake don’t come in! Not now! Clemency started with astonishment and fear, seeing the black human being at the door. You may come out any minute, said Marion, not now… Go hide… I will come out at once. The stranger beckoned with his hand and disappeared. Don’t go to bed, Clemency… wait for me here! Marion continued in his haste. I have been trying for an hour to get an opportunity to speak to you. Don’t let me down! After squeezing Clemency’s trembling hand and pressing it to her heart—an act that more clearly expressed the most earnest request than the most beautiful words could have—Marion withdrew from the kitchen to the parlor, when Britain returned and the light from her lantern began to shine into the kitchen. “All is quiet and peaceful, there is no one there,” said Britain, locking and bolting the door. What I thought I heard was only a strong imagination. Now what is it again?” Clemency, who could not conceal her sudden astonishment and excitement, sat on a chair, pale and trembling from head to toe. “What is it?” replied Clemency, rubbing her elbows with trembling hands and looking away, but not at him. “You still ask what is it, though you yourself are making a noise and frightening me with your lantern.” “To death… that’s it and nothing else. You’ll get over this fear, if it scares you to death,” replied Britain, blowing out the candle very calmly from the lantern and putting the lantern on the wall. “But you’re not a timid person by any means,” he continued, then stopping for a moment to look at her, and you weren’t scared now either, when you first heard the clank and saw the lantern light. What’s got into your head now? You don’t think so! But when Clemency said good night to him in almost her usual way, and began to curl up around her, as if she were going to sleep, Mr. Britain said good night to her in the same way, having first made the strange remark that it was impossible to get to the bottom of all women’s schemes; after which he lit a candle and went to his room to sleep. After he had gone, Marion came into the kitchen. Open the door, she said, don’t leave me while I go out to talk to her. Shy as he was in appearance, he showed in his demeanor a firm and unwavering determination, which Clemency had no power to resist. He quietly drew the bolt from the door, but before he turned it, he looked at Marion, as if expecting a new command whether he should do it or not. Marion did not turn her face away from him, nor cast her eyes down, but looked up at him boldly in the full bloom of her youth and beauty. A sudden sense of how little difference there was now between a happy home and the pure love of a beautiful girl, whom everyone respected, and what sorrow was coming to that home and the ruin of its dearest treasure, seized upon the heart of so tender-hearted Clemency, and filled it with such anguish and pity, that she could not restrain her tears, and she threw herself upon Marion’s neck. “I know very little, my child,” said Clemency, “very little… but I know that this ought not to happen. Think what you are doing! I have thought enough already,” replied Marion gently. “But think again,” pleaded Clemency, “at least until to-morrow! ” Marion shook her head. ” For Mr. Alfred’s sake,” continued Clemency with unfeigned seriousness; “for his sake, whom you loved so dearly? ” Marion covered her face with her hands, and said the word “loved,” as if it had touched her heart. “Let me go out,” said Clemency, in an amusing manner, “I will explain to him how it is. Do not cross this threshold to-night… I know for sure that nothing good will come of it. The day Mr. Warden was brought into this house was a day of misfortune. Remember your father well, my child… and your sister! I will,” replied Marion, raising her head quickly. You do not know my affairs… you cannot know them. I must speak to him! All that you have told me here proves that you are my best and most faithful friend in the whole world; but I must go and speak to him now. Will you come with me, Clemency”—he kissed Clemency’s kind face as he said this —or must I go alone? With sorrow and astonishment, Clemency turned the key and opened the door. Holding Clemency’s hand, Marion stepped quickly out into the eerie darkness of the night that met them just beyond the threshold. In such darkness Warden met her, and they talked long and earnestly together. The hand that held Clemency’s hand firmly now trembled, now became lifeless cold, now pressed Clemency’s hand even more tightly—always according to the feelings aroused by the turns of the conversation. When they went back to the kitchen, Warden followed her to the door. They stopped for a moment, when Warden took her other hand and pressed it to his lips. Then he went on his way. Clemency locked and bolted the door again, and Marion was with her father again. under the roof. Although she was so young, this secret, which she now had with her, could not discourage her mind, but the same expression, for which I knew no name, was now on her face and in her eyes. Once and again she thanked her kind friend and assured her of her unlimited trust. When she reached her room, she fell on her knees, and although this secret weighed on her heart, she could still pray! She could rise from praying, calmed and comforted, and bend over her beloved sister, who lay asleep. She could look at her sister’s gentle face, she could smile, though sadly, and kiss her forehead, which she would do if she agreed to herself that Grace had always been like a mother to her, and she had always loved Grace as a child loved her mother. He can put his sister’s motionless arm around his neck, when he has gone to rest—when it is there, as if waiting for him, to be tenderly protected even when he lies down—and, pressing his mouth to hers , he can whisper: God bless you! He can sleep peacefully himself afterwards , and his sleep is not disturbed except by one painful dream, in which he moans in an innocent and charming voice that he is all alone and forgotten by everyone. A month is not a long time, although it passes slowly. The month that has passed since that night until the expected arrival passed quickly and disappeared like a dream. The appointed day came. It was a stormy winter day, when gusts of wind sometimes shook the old building so that it trembled. It was the kind of day that makes home much dearer than it usually is; which gives a new pleasantness to the cheerful white of the fireplace, and seems to create a brighter brown on the faces of those sitting by it, and makes them more closely and sociably join together against the raging elements outside. It was just the kind of dreary winter day that puts fun in homes, that teaches us to value rooms with bay windows, cheerful faces, music, laughter, dancing, joking, and a jolly pastime. All this the doctor had arranged for Alfred’s arrival. He knew that Alfred would not be expected until night, and therefore a call must be given with notes, as he said, in the night air to welcome him. His old friends must gather around him. None of his acquaintances, whose company he had loved, must be absent, but they must all be there to receive Alfred! The guests were invited, the musicians hired, the tables laid, the obstacles removed from the dancers’ path from the floor, and all sorts of handsome preparations made. As it was Christmas time, and Alfred’s eyes had not seen English festivity in fresh greenery for a long time, the ballroom was decorated with Christmas trees, from whose branches red berries sparkled to welcome him. They all had much to do that day, but none so much as Grace, who quietly directed everything and was the organizing spirit in every preparation. For a month Clemency had been eyeing Marion with uneasiness and almost trembling, but she did so especially on this day. Marion was perhaps paler than usual, but there was a gentle calm in her face that made her even more lovable than she otherwise was. In the evening, when she was dressed and had on her head a wreath that Grace had deliberately made of Alfred’s favorite flowers, her face, which was thoughtful and almost sad, but still very lively and noble, showed that old expression many times more clearly. The wreath with which I have adorned you only once will be a bridal wreath, said Grace, if she is not a very bad fortuneteller. Her sister smiled and held her close in her arms. A moment, Grace! Don’t leave me yet! Are you sure I don’t need anything else? She was not concerned about her clothes. She thought of her sister’s face and looked at it tenderly. My skill, Grace replied, does not extend further, and you cannot be more beautifully adorned. I have never seen you so beautiful as you are to-night. I have never been so happy, she replied. And yet a greater happiness awaits you in another home, as cheerful and beautiful as this one, said Grace. Alfred will live there with his young wife. Marion smiled again. You imagine it happy in your mind. I see it in your eyes… I know it will be happy; and that knowledge pleases me. Well, said the doctor, who immediately pushed you in, here we are now. Everything is probably ready for Alfred’s arrival. He cannot arrive here until very late, an hour before midnight or thereabouts , so we have a good time to amuse ourselves before he does. It is not right to let him meet us in the icy rooms. Make a better fire in the hearth, Britain! Let it shine at our feast until our feast is over. We live in a world of follies, my girl; faithful favorites, like everything else, are mere folly… but we want to be fools too, and give our faithful lover a mad reception… Indeed, continued the old doctor, looking proudly at his daughters… I am not entirely sure of any of the many follies of this evening, except that I am the father of two beautiful girls. Forgive, dear father, all that either of them has done or will do to you to cause you sorrow and grief, prayed Marion. Forgive her now, while her heart is full… Say that you forgive her… that you will forgive her and that she may always be a partaker of your love, and… she did not say all that was on her mind; she pressed her face against her father’s chest. What do you say, my girl? replied the doctor tenderly. Forgive me? What have I to forgive? If the coming of our faithful lovers is such a cause of uneasiness to us, it would be better if they did not come at all. A messenger must be sent to stop them on the road, and to make sure that they do not travel more than a mile or two a day, until we are ready to receive them . Give me a kiss now, my girl! Forgive me! What is it? You have never angered your father, nor been disobedient; but if you had done it fifty times every day, I would forgive you everything, except this strange request. One more kiss, my girl! There you are! Now we are clear about the past and the future. Fix that white! You do not want to freeze people on this cold December night! Everyone must be warm, cheerful , and cheerful; otherwise I will not forgive any of you! The old doctor was so cheerful to-night! Coal was also put in the hearth , candles were burning cheerfully, guests arrived, a lively bustle arose, and the fresh air of cheerful joy began to enliven the whole room. The guests increased more and more. They came one after another. Joyful eyes shone upon Marion; with laughing lips they wished her good luck on the arrival of Alfred. Understanding mothers fluttered their fans with trembling, and wished her seriousness and ability for the quiet work of a housewife. Lively fathers fell into the disfavor of their wives, when they admired Marion’s beauty too much. The daughters envied her; the sons envied Alfred. Several lovers took advantage of the occasion. It was all a mere expression of sympathy, liveliness, and expectation. Mr. and Mrs. Craggs arrived here hand in hand, but Mrs. Snitchey came alone. What now, where is she? would ask the doctor. The bird-of-paradise feather in Mrs. Snitchey’s turban trembled, as if it were still attached to a living bird-of-paradise, as she replied that she did not know, but that Mr. Craggs must know. That damned office, said Mrs. Craggs. It ought to be put on the fire, added Mrs. Snitchey. He is—he is—we had some little business that kept my partner up late into the evening, said Mr. Craggs, looking around uneasily. Yes, business! Don’t say anything about it, said Mrs. Snitchey. We know what your business is, said Mrs. Craggs. But it must have been their ignorance of it that made the bird-of-paradise feather in Mrs. Snitchey’s headdress tremble like that, and that all the indirect additions in Mrs. Craggs’s earrings jingle like little reindeer bells. Strange that you should come here on business! said Mrs. Craggs to her husband. Mr. Craggs is always happier! said Mrs. Snitchey. A man who has an office ought never to be married, said Mrs. Snitchey. Then Mrs. Craggs said to herself that Mrs. Craggs had just pierced Mr. Craggs’s heart with that look, and that he knew it. Mrs. Craggs whispered to her husband that his Snitcheys always teased him when he turned his back, and that he had only noticed it once, but it was too late. Not paying much attention to these reminders, Mr. Craggs still looked around restlessly, until his eyes finally fell on Grace, whereupon he went straight to her. Good evening, miss, said Craggs. How beautiful you look this evening! Is your sister, Miss Marion… Yes, she is very well. No, I meant to ask if she is here? said Craggs. Here? Can’t you see her? She is just about to dance there, replied Grace. In order to see better, Mr. Craggs put his glass eyes on his nose and looked at Marion through them for a moment. Then he would huff and, looking satisfied, put them back in his pocket, after first putting them in the case.
Now the music began to play and the dance began. The white flame in the hearth of the stove crackled and banged, rising and falling, as if it had also taken part in the dance. Sometimes it made an uninterrupted sound, as if trying to play too. Sometimes it radiated and burned, as if it were the eye of this old room. Sometimes it blinked again, as if the eldest of the family blinks his eyes when the youth whisper in the corners. Sometimes it played on the Christmas trees and shone flamingly between their branches, so that it seemed as if they had been outside in the cold and the breaths of the winter night had moved them. Now and then its peculiar, cheerful nature would become quite unbridled, and it would burst out with a loud bang, and would send a crowd of innocent little sparks flying into the company of the dancers, and, delighted with its prank , would reach up the chimney like a madman. The second dance was just ending when Mr. Snitchey tapped his liaison man, who was standing there looking at it, on the arm. Mr. Craggs started as if his liaison man had been a ghost. Did he go away? Craggs would ask. Be quiet! He was with me for three hours, answered Snitchey. He managed everything. He looked through all the arrangements we had made for him , and very carefully. He… Hmm! The dance ended. Marion passed him right by as he spoke. But Marion did not notice him or his companion, but sought her sister, who was sitting on the other side of the hall, and, quietly weaving through the crowd, disappeared from their sight. As you see, all is clear and well, said Craggs. He said nothing more about the matter, did he? Not a word.
And did he really go? Is he really gone now? He will keep his word. He is going down the river in that box-like boat of his, and will be out to sea tonight with that heady tail wind. In the first place, there is no way to get so unnoticed, and in the second place, said he, the high tide is now an hour before midnight. I am glad to have got rid of it. And Mr. Snitchey wiped his forehead and looked very hot and restless. What do you think, asked Mr. Craggs, of that…? “Hush,” replied his cautious companion, looking straight ahead. ” I understand. Don’t mention any names, and don’t talk as if we had secrets. I don’t know what it is to think, and to tell the truth I don’t care about it now. It is very comforting. His self-love has betrayed him, and it is very likely that the young woman has only played a trick on him. Hasn’t Alfred arrived yet? ” “No,” replied Mr. Craggs, “but he is expected any moment.” “Oh!” said Mr. Snitchey, wiping his forehead again. “It is very comforting. I have never been so restless while we were liaisons. Now I must have a good time tonight.” Mrs. Craggs and Snitchey came up to them just as he was saying these last words. The bird of paradise’s feathers were in a very quivering state, and the little bells were ringing quite audibly in the ear-rings. Everyone has been wondering about that, said Mrs. Snitchey. Surely the office is satisfied now. Satisfied with what, my angel? asked Mr. Snitchey. When it again made an insecure woman the object of laughter and contempt, replied Mrs. Snitchey, I am quite on the point. Indeed, I too, said Mrs. Craggs, have long been accustomed to consider the office as one that is its own to disturb the family mirth, that I am very pleased to be allowed to publicly acknowledge it as the enemy of my peace. And however it is, there is directness and firmness in this speech. My dear, said Mr. Craggs; I do not wish to oppose your good idea; but it is impossible for me to understand how the office can be the enemy of your peace. Of course, replied Mrs. Craggs, ringing her bells together. It is impossible for you to understand it, for if you could understand it, you would not be equal to such an office. As for my absence to-night, my dear, said Mr. Snitchey, offering his wife his arm, it was my own fault, and no one else’s; but as Mr. Craggs knows— He had not yet said all he had intended, for Mrs. Snitchey interrupted him by taking him aside, and bidding him look at the man, for his wife’s pleasure, to look at him. What man, my angel? asked Mr. Snitchey. The man you have chosen to entrust to you; for you know very well that I am not worthy of your confidence, Mr. Snitchey. You would not, my angel, said Snitchey. I am not worthy, I am not so happy, said Mrs. Snitchey, laughing proudly. I know my position. But look at your chosen one, Mr. Snitchey, your everything, your confidant, your other self, in a word. Mr. Snitchey turned his eyes in the direction his wife pointed out, and did so, as he usually did for himself and Craggs. If you can look that man in the eye tonight, continued Mrs. Snitchey, without feeling yourself deceived and betrayed, the victim of his wiles and the plaything of his will, made into you by an incomprehensible power of enchantment, a power no man can explain, and of which all my warnings are but vain and in vain, then I will do nothing more, but only pity you! At the same time, Mrs. Craggs gave her husband secret hints in the very opposite direction. Is it possible, she said, that Craggs can allow his Snitchey to so flatter himself that he does not see his true condition? Could he claim that he did not clearly perceive in his Snitcheys, when they came into this room, the secretiveness, the cunning, and the deceit? Could he deny that his peerless Snitcheys, by their very behavior, as they wiped their foreheads and glanced about them, had not shown themselves to have something in them which weighed upon their consciences, if they had any, and which could not bear the light? Could any one but his Snitcheys have come to such a celebration in the manner of a thief? Did not the very fact that they came in through the door without being noticed by anyone, show clearly what kind of men they were? Could he in the light of day, was it now, at last, the hour of midnight, to assure me that his Snitcheys could at any time purge themselves of all that reason and experience had shown to be true? Neither Snitchey nor Craggs attempted to prevent this flood, when it had once begun to swell; but both went along contentedly with it, till it at last stopped of itself, when a dance of the encounter was commenced, and a general movement was made of it. Mr. Snitchey offered himself as a cavalier to Mrs. Craggs, and Mr. Craggs begged the honour of dancing with Mrs. Snitchey. After making such little objections as, Why don’t you ask others? and you would mind if I didn’t come, and it was strange that you could dance anywhere but in the office, but this was of course a joke, both ladies accepted the offer and took their places. The gentlemen of the Union were always in the habit of doing so, and of offering each other their arms at dinner and at the supper table, for they were the best of friends and on the most familiar terms with each other. Now a bird of paradise feather was seen to pass down the middle of the floor, and the little bells began to jingle loudly. The doctor’s burning face whirled round and round like a varnished, benevolent pinwheel , and the breathless Mr. Craggs was beginning to think that the dance of encounter, like everything else in the world, had been made too easy. Mr. Snitchey jumped and whirled as if he had danced for himself and for Mr. Craggs and for many others. The dance made a great draught in the room, so that the fire in the hearth was given a new refreshment, and began to burn brighter and higher. It was like the spirit of the room, and appeared everywhere. It shone in people’s eyes; it shone in the jewels that were on the girls’ white necks; it shone in their ears, and seemed to whisper to them secretly; it blazed about their waists; it lit up the whole floor, to make it beautiful under their feet; it sparkled on the ceiling, to cast its rays mysteriously upon their beautiful faces ; and it made a real firework in Mrs. Craggs’s little clock-work. But the invigorating breath of air which wafted into it began to move more and more vigorously , as the music grew louder and the dancing got faster. Its scent set the leaves and berries on the walls in a motion which they had formerly kept in the trees. It breathed in the room, as if a host of invisible spirits had been flying at the heels of these visible revelers. In all this whirling and bustle not a single feature could be distinguished on the doctor’s face, but against it a whole flock of birds of paradise seemed to be flying at full speed , and there was a tinkling sound, as if countless little bells were ringing, a slight storm loosening the numerous swaying beads. But then the ringing ceased and the dancing ended. The doctor, now warm and out of breath, seemed to be waiting more and more impatiently for Alfred to come. Has nothing been seen yet, Britain? Has nothing been heard? It is so dark outside that nothing can be seen there, and again nothing can be heard in this noise. Indeed it is! But our welcome is all the more joyful for him. What time is it? It is twelve. Surely he should come by now? Build up the fire and put more coal in the hearth, said the doctor, so that our welcome may blaze against him in the darkness of the night when he comes so near that we may see it. He saw it already… The light from the doctor’s apartment shone on him as he turned the corner of the old church. He knew where it shone. He saw the old trees in their winter clothes that stood between him and the fire. He knew that one of them rustled its branches under Marion’s window on summer evenings. Tears came to his eyes. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hardly bear his happiness. How often had he thought this moment, had described it as such and such — had feared it would not come — had longed for it and wanted it, while it was far away. The bright light shone again. He knew that it had been lit to welcome him and to hasten him on his way. He waved his hand, twirled his hat, and exclaimed, as if he had already seen those he missed, and as if they could see and hear him, as he ran joyfully towards the shining fire along the rough and dirty road. He knew the doctor and understood how he had done it. The doctor had by no means let his arrival happen unexpectedly… but he could now arrive unexpectedly, having made the last journey on foot. If the garden gate was open, he could enter through it, but otherwise it was his climbing over the wall, which was not difficult either. In that way he could join them in a moment. He got down from the cart, telling the driver to stay in it for a few minutes and then come quietly after him. He himself hurried on, and when he reached the doctor’s apartment, he shook the garden gate, but then climbed the wall, jumped down on the other side and now stood breathless in the old garden. There were trees there in such thick frost that the small branches seemed, in the dim light of the moon covered with clouds, to be wrapped in a cloth. Withered leaves rustled at his feet as he crept quietly into the living room. The complete bleakness of the winter night had spread over the sky and the earth. But a cheerful light shone upon him from the windows. People were walking past them inside, and he could hear an indistinct sound and noise. He listened to hear Marion’s voice. As he crept to the door he tried to distinguish it from the voices of the others and thought he could hear it a little. She was just about to enter the door when it suddenly opened, and someone stepped out, who met her, but with a half-stifled groan, immediately retreated. Clemency, said Alfred, don’t you know me anymore? Don’t come in! replied Clemency, pushing her back. Go away! Don’t ask why… just don’t come in! What is it now? exclaimed Alfred. I don’t know… it terrifies me to think of it… Go away! Listen! Now there was a sudden commotion inside. Clemency put her hands to her ears. There came a cry of despair, which could not be blocked out with her hands, and Grace, her look and demeanor in confusion, rushed out of the door. Grace, said Alfred, taking her in his arms. What is it now? Is Marion dead? Grace pulled herself away from him, that she might better look into his face, and then fell at his feet. A crowd of strangers gathered around them from within. Among them was the doctor, with a paper in his hand. What is it now? exclaimed Alfred, putting his hands on his head and looking desperately at those around him. Then he fell on his knees beside the fainting Grace. Does no one want to see me? Does no one want to speak to me? Is there no one who knows me? Is there no one among you who can tell me what this is? Those around him began to agree: “He is gone! Go away,” said Alfred in despair . “He has run away, dear Alfred,” said the doctor in a broken voice and with his hands over his face. He ran away from his home and from us. This night. He writes that ‘his choice is innocent, which no one can blame, and begs us to forgive him and keep him in our memory… and has run away.’ With whom? To where?” said Alfred, and jumped up, as if intending to chase him; but when those around him made room for him to go, he staggered back and sank into his former position, seizing Grace’s cold hand and holding it in his own. Now there was a commotion and running to and fro. There was great confusion, uproar, and disorder in the room, and no one knew what to do. Some prepared to chase him down the roads, others to get horses and lanterns, some talked among themselves that there were no tracks or signs by which she could be followed. Some came kindly to comfort Alfred, others again pointed out to him that Grace must be taken in and that he should throw Grace’s hand… but he did not listen to their words and did not move. The snow was falling thickly and in large flakes. Alfred looked up into the air for a moment and thought that this white substance, which had just fallen to the ground, was fit to bury his hopes and misfortunes. He glanced around at the snow-covered ground and thought that Marion’s tracks must be covered as soon as they were made and that her memory was also fleeting in the same way. But he did not think of the air and did not move from his place. Chapter 3. Since the night of Alfred’s return, the world had become six years older. It was a warm, autumnal afternoon and it had rained hard all day. Suddenly the sun appeared from behind the clouds, and the old battlefield sparkled cheerfully and brightly in the green spot where the sun’s rays first fell, and from it sent out joyful greetings all over the plain, as from a newly lit lighthouse, which spread ever wider and wider, and to which thousands of branches seemed to respond. How beautiful was the landscape, shining in the sunshine, whose immense influence, as if supernaturally, made itself felt everywhere and brightened everything. The forest, which had just been a dim cluster, now showed many colors, yellow, green, brown, and red; trees of various shapes, and on their branches shiny raindrops that flashed as they fell to the ground. The green meadow, which had just been as if blind, now seemed to have regained its sight, so that it could gaze with clarity and color at the reflecting sky. The fields, the ditches, the fields, the private rooms, the villages, the church tower, the river, and the watermill, all stood out smilingly from the dark air. The birds sang sweetly. The flowers lifted their drooping buds towards the ground. Fragrant vapors rose from the refreshed earth. The blue sky spread out vastly above them. The slanting rays of the sun destroyed the black masses of clouds that lay before them, and the water arch, this expression of all the colors that adorn heaven and earth, appeared full-size on the firmament. By the side of the road was a small restaurant. It was surrounded by a large elm, on whose giant roots benches had been made for walkers. The funny front of the restaurant faced the highway, as such places of refreshment must do, and so it enticed the travelers in, giving silent but convincing promises that this place would be a good place to be. The scarlet sign, nailed to the tree, shone with its golden letters in the sunshine, and peeped down from the green leaves like a happy face. The basin, full of fresh, clear water, and the fragrant grass around it, always made every approaching horse prick up its ears. The crimson curtains in the downstairs windows and the clean white curtains in the little bedrooms upstairs seemed, whenever the wind blew them, to beckon the passerby inside. On the green shutters was written in golden letters: Sahtia, ale, clean wines, comfortable beds. Over the door was a pleasant picture of a brown rose, and on the windows were flowering plants in clean red pots, which stood out brightly against the white walls of the apartment; and in the dark hall there were streaks of light reflected there from bright bottles and drinking jugs. The owner himself also appeared at the door. He was a short, broad-shouldered man. He stood there with his hands in his pockets and his legs spread wide enough that one could clearly see from them that he was satisfied with everything that was in the cellar, and a firm confidence in general in what his restaurant could offer. That confidence could not be taken for flattery, for it was calm and unpretending. The abundant dampness which prevailed everywhere after the recent rain seemed to suit him very well. There was no thirst anywhere about him. A few heavy-budded dahlias, which peeped over a point in his little well-kept garden , had drunk as much as they could hold and perhaps more, and now seemed to be feeling ill on account of it. But the roses, the pansies, and the window-plants, and the leaves of the old trees, which were lovers of moderation, had not enjoyed more than was wholesome and suitable for developing their most brilliant qualities. They seemed to indulge in the innocent amusement of dropping heavy drops of water from their leaves to the ground, which, without harming anything, did good where they fell, for they moistened such hidden places as the rain could not reach. This village restaurant had had a curious sign from its foundation. It bore in brilliant letters the name of the Nutcracker, as this restaurant was called, and beneath it in similar letters: Benjamin Britain. If one had looked more closely and examined the host standing at the door, one might have seen that it was none other than Benjamin Britain himself. Time had indeed changed his form a little, but had changed it still more handsomely, so that he was indeed a very natural innkeeper. Mrs. Britain will be a little late, said Mr. Britain, looking towards the road. It is tea-time now. And when Mrs. Britain was still not heard from, he walked slowly up the road and turned to look at his restaurant with a very pleased look . That is exactly the kind of restaurant I should like to go into if I were not the keeper myself, said Britain. Then he went to the corner of his garden to look at his dahlias. They looked at him helplessly, and the buds were heavily twitched, and the luxurious water bubbled from them in heavy drops. These must be watched, said Benjamin. He must be reminded of that. But when will he come out of there! Mr. Britain’s better side seemed to be so much his better side in everything, that his worse side was completely confused and helpless if the better side was gone. He shouldn’t have been in any particular delay, as far as I know, Benjamin continued. He had a few little things to do, besides going to the market; but they weren’t many. Ah, there he comes at last! The cart, with the boy driving, came rattling along the road. In it sat a stout, matronly-looking woman on a swaying seat , with a wet umbrella spread out to dry behind her, and her bare arms around the basket that was on her knees, and a great many other baskets and parcels on either side. His face was good-natured, but his manner was perverse, as he rocked to and fro in his buggy, which from a distance looked very old-fashioned. And they looked the same as they came nearer, and as they stopped at the door of the Nutcracker, a pair of shoes came out of them, which quickly slid into Mr. Britain’s lap, and the person on whose foot they were could not have been any other than Clemency Newcome. And it was she, and the shoes on her. She looked very prosperous and well-off, her face as shiny and round as ever, but her elbows quite intact and almost imperceptible, for Clemency had put on weight in her improved condition. You’ve been so long, you know! said Mr. Britain. You see how much I had to deliver! replied Clemency, looking to see if all the parcels and baskets had come home intact. Eight, nine, ten… where is eleven… Oh, the cart was eleven!… Everything is correct! Now Harry, unharness the horse , and if it starts coughing again, put some warm hay in front of it for the night. Eight, nine, ten… oh, where is eleven? “Oh, they were all right, though I remembered again! How are the children? They are all very well!” replied Britain. ” God bless their pretty little faces!” said Mrs. Britain, taking her hat off her big head, for she and her husband were now of the gentry, and running her hands through her hair. “There; now kiss my thunder!” Mr. Britain immediately returned her embrace. ” I think everything is now properly arranged,” said Mrs. Britain, putting her hand in her pocket and drawing out a whole pack of small books and crumpled papers. Promissory notes in good standing… turnips delivered… liquor bill checked and paid… tobacco pipes ordered… seventeen pounds four shillings deposited in the bank… to Dr. Heathfield for treating little Clem, can you guess how much?… Dr. Heathfield took nothing. I guessed that beforehand, replied Britain. “No matter how many families you have,” he said, ” you won’t have to pay half a penny for his wages. Never, not even if you get twenty. ” Mr. Britain looked serious and looked hard at the wall. ” Isn’t he kind?” said Clemency. “Yes, he is,” replied Mr. Britain, “and I don’t blame him for being so kind. He doesn’t like it,” said Clemency. “And I got eight pounds two shillings for the skein. That’s not a bad price to me. It’s very good,” replied Britain. ” I’m very glad,” said Clemency, “that you’re so pleased, but I knew you would be. Now I think I’ve said everything, and your C. Britain has nothing more to say to you. Ha ha ha! There are all the papers now, read them. Ah, wait a moment. There’s a printed note here that’s to be put up on the wall… it’s still as wet as when it came from the press. How it smells good!” What is it? said Britain, looking at the paper. I don’t know, replied his wife, I haven’t read it yet. By sale by auction, read the master of the Musket, unless they have been sold by special agreement before. That’s what they always put in them, said Clemency. Yes, but they don’t always put it in these, replied Britain. Look: rooms, etc…. interests, etc…. woods, etc…. estates, etc…. Messrs. Snitchey, Craggs, etc…. all belonging to the freehold of Michael Warden, Esquire, which is to be sold, because he intends to go abroad! Intends to go abroad! exclaimed Clemency. That’s right, replied Britain, look! And yet I heard the doctor whisper to-day that he had promised to give more particulars of himself soon! said Clemency, nodding his head sadly and rubbing his elbows, as if the memory of old times had revived his old habits. God comfort them! It will be a great shock to them far away. Mr. Britain sighed, and shook his head, and replied that he could not understand, and had not tried to understand for a long time. Having said this, he fastened the note to the inside of the window-frame. And Clemency, after standing a moment lost in silent thought, cleared her brow, and hurried to look at the children. Although the master of the Nutmeg was very fond of his good wife, he was still, as always, a sort of protege, and his wife amused him greatly. But it would have astonished him greatly if anyone had said that his wife really managed his house, and that she had really made him a wealthy man by her wise conduct, her good nature, her accuracy, and her industry. Thus it easily happens in all the relations of life, as everyday experience shows, that one does not know how to value such charming characters who do not possess greater merit than one’s own timid conception admits, and that on account of external peculiarities and defects one begins to hold false opinions about people whose the inner worth, if we examine them more closely, makes us blush when we compare ourselves with them. Mr. Britain always felt glad to think that he had condescended to take Clemency as his wife. Clemency was to him a constant testimony of the goodness of his heart and the inclination of his character. And he had come to the conclusion, on reflection, that Clemency, as a proper wife , was only a new proof of the old truth that virtue rewards itself. Mr. Britain had fastened the notice of the auction to the window-sill , and locked up the certificates of his wife’s influence of that day in a cupboard , all the while talking to himself how clever his wife was in matters—when she returned with the cheerful news that both Mr. Britains were playing in the coach-house at that moment, under Betsy’s care, and that little Clem was lying in her bed like a picture. Then he sat down at the little table to pour out the tea that was waiting for him there. In the drawing-room where they were sitting, there was a small, pretty cupboard, with such ordinary things as bottles and glasses. The clock, which kept the minute, was just half-past five. Everything was in its proper place, and with the greatest precision, polished and cleaned. “ This is the first time I have time to sit down today,” said Mrs. Britain, sighing heavily, as if she intended to sit there until night. But she immediately rose to her feet again to give her husband some tea and make him a sandwich. How that announcement takes my thoughts back to old times! she said. “Ah!” replied Mr. Britain, handling his teacup as if it had been an oyster, and emptying it in the same manner. “Mr. Michael Warden just,” continued Clemency, shaking her head at the auction , “put me out of my service. But he got you a man instead,” said Mr. Britain. “Well, that’s what he did,” replied Clemency, and I give him many thanks for it. Man is a slave to habit, said Mr. Britain, looking at her over his teacup. I was so used to you that I couldn’t have done without you. So we became man and wife, Ha ha! Both of us! Who would have believed it! That’s right! replied Clemency. But you did well , Ben. It was nothing, replied Mr. Britain, looking a little squeamish. It was nothing worth talking about. It was something, at least, replied his wife very frankly. At least it is something to me, and I shall always be very grateful to you for it. Ah! now he closed his eyes again at the announcement, when her departure became known and there was no way of getting that good girl back, then I could not help talking about what I knew about it, and I did it as much for her sake as for theirs. You talked about it to everyone, said her husband. And Dr. Jeddler, continued Clemency, putting down her teacup and still looking thoughtfully at the notice of auction, drove me out of his house at once, in a state of grief and anger! Nothing has ever pleased me so much in all my life as that I never said a single bad word to him, nor felt the least hostility towards him, for he sincerely repented of it afterwards. How often has he sat in this very room and told me that he was very sorry for it at the time! The last time he spoke of it was yesterday, when you were away. How often has he talked to me in this room for hours at a time, now one thing, now another, which he thought would amuse me!… and all this he did for the sake of past times, and because he liked me. But how could you have noticed it? asked Britain, astonished that Clemency should clearly grasp a truth that had only been half-revealed to his own searching mind. “I don’t know,” replied Clem, talking over his tea to cool it. “I couldn’t tell you that if you gave me a hundred pounds as a prize. Perhaps Britain would have explained this matter more fully had he not suddenly noticed that a gentleman in his finery, a cloak over his shoulders, and riding boots on his feet, was standing on the parade ground. He seemed to be listening attentively to their conversation, and in no hurry to interrupt it. Clemency rose quickly from her seat when she noticed him. Mr. Britain did the same, and greeted the guest. Will you please go upstairs, sir, we have clean rooms there? Thank you, replied the guest, with a long and steady glance at Mr. Britain’s wife. May I not enter this room? Yes, if you please, sir, replied Clemency, making a welcoming gesture. What do you want, sir? The notice of the auction had attracted the guest’s attention, and he was reading it in the process. It is a fine property, sir, said Mr. Britain. The guest made no reply, but, having read it, turned away from it, and looked at Clemency as attentively as before. “You asked me…”, he said, still looking at Clemency. “What would you like, sir?” Clemency interrupted him, also casting her eyes on him. ” If you would bring me a mug of beer,” said the guest, going to sit down at the table by the window, and allow me to drink it here, without disturbing your atrium in the least, I should be very grateful to you. ” So saying, he sat down and began to look at the view. He was of a strong and sinewy build, as a man usually is in his prime; his sun-tanned face was shaded by a bushy black hair, and besides, he had a moustache. Having received the beer before him, he filled his glass with it and drank it cheerfully, wishing the house success. And putting the glass down, he added: “Isn’t this house quite new? Not quite new, sir,” replied Britain. “Five, six years old,” added Clemency, putting a strong emphasis on her words. “When I came in, my ears pricked up as if you had mentioned Dr. Jeddler,” continued the visitor. “This auction notice reminds me of him, for I have come to know his circumstances by chance, partly through others, partly by my own eyes. Is the old man still alive? He is alive, replied Clemency. Has he changed much? Since when, sir?” asked Clemency very eagerly and firmly. ” Since his daughter… left him. ” “Yes, he has changed much since then,” said Clemency. “He has aged very much, and does not look the same as before. But I think he lives quite contentedly now. He has made up with his sister , and often visits her. It made a good impression on him at once.” When her daughter left, she was at first very sad, that it was a pity to see her walking about cursing the world. But after a year or two, such a great and good change came over her that she began to want to talk about her lost daughter and praise her and the world. She always talked with tears in her eyes how beautiful and good her daughter was. By then she had already forgiven her in her heart. At the same time Miss Grace got married. Do you remember that, Britain? Mr. Britain remembered it very well. His other daughter is married, then, said the stranger, and after a moment’s silence asked, “To whom?” Clemency became so excited by this question that she was about to knock over the tea table. Haven’t you heard that?” she said. ” Not at all, but I would like to hear it,” replied the stranger, refilling his glass and raising it to his lips. “It would be a long story if you told it with respect,” replied Clemency, her cheek resting on her left palm and her right hand under her elbow, nodding her head and letting her thoughts drift through the time that had passed. “It would be a very long story. But tell it very briefly now!” the guest asked. ” Tell it very briefly,” said Clemency after him, with such a in a thoughtful manner, as if he had not remembered that the other was listening to him; but what was there to mention in a short story? That they mourned him together, and remembered him together, as if he were dead. That they were tender towards him, and found nothing wrong with him. That they tried to remind each other of what he was like, and always found reasons to defend him. Everyone knows that , but no one better than I, I am sure, assured Clemency, wiping her eyes with her hands. Well then, added the stranger. Well then, said Clemency, continuing her story in the same mechanical way, and without changing her position in the least, they were finally married. Their wedding was on Marion’s birthday—that anniversary is tomorrow again. Their wedding was very simple, but happy. Mr. Alfred said one evening, as they were walking in the old garden: ‘Grace, shall we have our wedding on Marion’s birthday?’ And so they did. Have they lived happily together? the stranger would ask. Yes, replied Clemency. Two people could not be happier than they are. They have never had any other sorrow than that one about Marion. Now Clemency raised her head, as if suddenly perceiving in what connection she had brought these incidents to mind, and looked at the stranger. But as the stranger’s eyes were towards the window, and his attention fixed on the view, Clemency began to make rapid gestures to her husband. She pointed to the sign, and wriggled her mouth, as if anxious to make her husband understand some word or phrase. But as she made not the slightest sound, and her signs, as well as her other gestures, were of a very peculiar quality, Mr. Britain was at a loss at his wife’s incomprehensible behavior. He looked intently at the table, at the guest, at the teaspoons, at his wife—followed his expression with his eyes, which showed astonishment, astonishment, and confusion—asked with the same gestures whether it was the guest’s property that was in danger, or whether he or his wife was in danger— responded to his signs with signs that expressed the greatest anxiety and confusion—watched the movement of his lips closely, and in a low voice guessed the trees and grass—but not at all what Clemency wanted to say. Clemency finally found such an exchange useless, and, having quietly moved her chair closer to the guest, sat down on it and pretended to look at the ground, although now and then she cast a sharp glance at the guest, expecting him to speak to her. He did not have to wait long , for the guest immediately asked: “And what happened to that young woman since she left home? Is there any news about her?” Clemency shook her head. I have heard, she replied, that Dr. Jeddler knows more about it than he tells anyone else. Miss Grace has had letters from her sister, in which she says she is well and happy, much happier than she could have been married to Alfred. And Miss Grace has written back to her. But however it is, her life and her circumstances have been a secret, at least up to now. No one has ever found out about them, but one of them… Clemency stopped in her speech. What one of them? the stranger would ask. But one of them must know, continued Clemency, drawing her breath quickly. Who would that one be? the stranger would ask again. Mr. Michael Warden! answered Clemency almost in the middle of her walk – and now told her husband what she had just wanted to tell him, and gave Mr. Michael Warden to understand that he was known. You still remember me, continued Clemency, trembling with emotion . I just noticed it now. You remember me from the time we were in the garden at night and I was with him! Yes, I remember, admitted the stranger. Yes, sir, continued Clemency, I saw that clearly. This is my husband. Ben, Ben, go and get Miss Grace and Mr. Alfred! Find them up if they are not at home, and bring them here! Do it now! Hold it! said Michael Warden, placing himself calmly at the door opposite Britain, what are you going to do? To tell them that you are here, sir, answered Clemency, clapping her hands excitedly. To tell them that they will hear you speak of her from your own lips; to tell them that she is not lost from them for ever, but is now coming home again to bless her father and her dear sister—and her old maid, me—as she said this she struck her breast with both hands and showed her beautiful face. Go, Ben, go! and again she tried to push her husband to the door, but Mr. Warden still stood with his hands spread out, not angry but sad. Perhaps, said Clemency then, pushing her husband past and seizing Mr. Warden’s cloak, perhaps Marion is already here— perhaps she is not far off. I see by your eyes that he is here. Let me see him, sir; please. I nursed him when he was a little boy… I saw him grow up to be the pride and adornment of the whole country. I wished him well when he became Mr. Alfred’s betrothed… I tried to warn him when you lured him away from home. I know what his old home was like when he was about to leave it, and what it became after he left. Let me speak to him, please! The stranger looked at him with sympathy and almost admiration, but showed no sign of consent to his request. I do not think he knows, continued Clemency, how sincerely they have forgiven him, how heartily they love him, and what joy it would give them to see him once more. He may not dare to return to his home. But if he sees me, perhaps he will be encouraged. “Tell me, Mr. Warden, is he with you? No, he is not,” replied the Warden, shaking his head. But the Warden’s manner, his black suit, his coming back so secretly, and his declaration that he still intended to be abroad, explained everything. Marion was dead, I suppose. Warden did not deny his guess, but let it be that Marion was dead! Clemency sat down, threw her face against the table, and began to cry. At that moment an old, grey-haired gentleman came in, almost out of breath. He was being talked to so loudly that it was difficult to tell from his voice that he was Snitchey. “What the hell, Mr. Warden!” said the lawyer, and took him aside at once. What is the wind doing now? He was being talked to so loudly that he could not continue his speech until after a moment, when he quietly added, “Because you are here.” From a bad direction, I suppose, replied the Warden. If you had only heard what has happened lately, how I have been begged and asked to do impossible things—what confusion and sorrow I bring with me! I can guess everything. But why did you come here in the first place, my good friend? replied Snitchey. Why did I come here! How did I know who kept this restaurant? Having sent my servant to you, I stopped in for the time being, because this was a new place to me, and in this familiar country I am as interested in everything new as in everything old. Besides, this was out of town, and I wanted to talk to you first before I went into town. I wanted to know what people were saying about me. I see from your manner that you know everything. And if you had not been so wretchedly cautious, it would have all come under my control long ago. Are we cautious? replied the lawyer. For myself and for the late Craggs, as he said this, Mr. Snitchey shook his head and looked at the band of his hat, I ask you, Mr. Warden, have you any reasonable cause to reproach us? We made such a an agreement that the matter should be kept quiet, because it was of such a nature that men of our kind, small and sensible , I recall what you yourself said on that occasion, were not fit to interfere with it. We were careful then! When Mr. Craggs was laid to his honorable grave in that strong assurance… I solemnly promised to keep quiet about it until I returned, when I should, interrupted Mr. Warden, and so I have done. Yes, sir, replied Snitchey; but I say again that we were also bound to keep quiet about it. We were compelled to keep quiet by the duty we owed to ourselves and to several of our clients, of whom you were one; and that was more sacred to us than anything. It was not fitting for us to ask you questions on so delicate a matter. I had my own ideas about it, but it is not yet six months since I came to know the truth, and received the sure information that the girl went from you to your mouth. From whom did you get that information? asked the client. From Dr. Jeddler himself, who at last voluntarily confided it to me. He, he alone, has known the true side of the matter for many years. And you know it now, said the client. I know it now, sir, answered Snitchey, and I know it will be announced to his sister to-morrow night. They have promised to announce it to her. But now perhaps you will do me the honor of coming with me to our house, as your own home does not await you. But it would be best if we dined here and went home in the evening, for though you are so changed that I could have passed you by without knowing you, you might still be known and get into the same trouble you had here before. It is very good to dine here, and besides, it is in your own country. I have dined here sometimes with the late Craggs, and it was always very well cooked. But Mr. Craggs: as he said this , Mr. Snitchey closed his eyes, and ended his life too soon . Forgive me for not having mourned your sorrow, said Mr. Warden, stroking his forehead with his hand, but I walk about as if in a dream. I am not quite in my right mind. Mr. Craggs… yes, I am sorry too that we have no more Mr. Craggs. As he said this he looked at Clemency and seemed to agree with Ben, who was just consoling his wife. It was not so easy for Mr. Craggs to stay alive—though it is bad to say so—as his science made it out to be, Snitchey remarked, or he would still be with us. His death has done me a great disservice. He was my right hand, my right foot, my right ear, and my right eye, that same Mr. Craggs. I am now as if paralyzed without him. He bequeathed his share of our business to Mrs. Craggs, her agents, her confidants, and her trustees, but yet our office is always in his name. I try sometimes, like a child, to imagine him still alive———And yet I always speak for myself and for Craggs, the deceased——— the deceased, as you have probably noticed,” explained the good-natured lawyer, loosening his handkerchief. Michael Warden, who was still always looking at Clemency, turned to Snitchey when she had finished speaking, and whispered something in her ear. How it touched her! said Snitchey, shaking his head. Yes, he was very fond of Marion, said Britain, and Marion was very fond of him. That beautiful Marion! That poor Marion! Calm down, my lady—at least you are married now, as you know yourself! Clemency only sighed, shaking her head. Don’t be anything, but wait for tomorrow! said the lawyer gently. Tomorrow cannot raise the dead, answered Clemency. sobbing. Not at all, for otherwise it would bring me back my Craggs, too, said the lawyer. But it may bring with it some reassuring information and comfort. Wait till morning! Clemency took his proffered hand and said she would do so, and Britain, who had been very depressed all the time by his wife’s despair, for it was as if things were hopeless, said that was right. Mr. Snitchey and Michael Warden then went upstairs and began to talk to each other, but so quietly that they could not be heard, especially when, while dinner was being prepared , the plates in the kitchen clattered, the frying-pan sizzled, the gravy-pan gurgled, and the spit made a faint, monotonous crackling, which now and then became a loud bang, as if something bad had happened to it. The next day was very clear and calm, and the autumn colours were nowhere more beautiful than in the old garden at the doctor’s house. The snow of many winter nights had melted there, the withered leaves of many summers had teemed there, then Marion’s departure. The grass was green again around the red steps of the apartment building, the trees cast their gloomy and shifting shadows on it, the landscape was quiet and peaceful, just as it always had been. But where was Marion? Not here… not here! She would have seemed more strange in her home now than this old home had seemed when she had left it. In her favorite place in the garden now sat the powerful woman, from whose heart she had never left for a moment, in whose faithful memory she lived unchanged and youthful, promising and giving hope, whose love for her no one else could have shared — and this powerful woman was now a mother… her little, sweet daughter played beside her and on whose sweet mouth even now was Marion’s name. The soul of that lost girl looked out of the eyes of this powerful woman— the eyes of Grace, her sister, who sat with her husband in the old garden on the anniversary of their wedding. This day was also her husband’s and Marion’s birthday. Grace’s husband had become nothing great. He was not rich; he had not forgotten the incidents or the friends of his youth; he had not fulfilled any of the old doctor’s predictions. But by going diligently and patiently, though unknown to anyone, to do good to the poor in their homes, to watch over their sickbeds, to become acquainted every day with that gentleness and benevolence which abound in the byways of the world, not trodden under the heavy feet of poverty, but rising up from its tracks and beautifying its path, she had learned year by year to know more and more the truth of her old suspicion. Although his life was inconspicuous and solitary, it had nevertheless shown him that people still often, as in ancient times, associate with angels without knowing it, and that even the most insignificant ones— even those who are unpleasant, unnatural in appearance and in rags—are, through cares, shortcomings, and troubles, as it were, recreated and transformed into haloed angels. He must have lived on the old battlefield for a higher purpose than it would have been if he had tirelessly tried to advance in the competitive arena of ambition. And he was happy to have his beloved Grace as his wife. But Marion; had he forgotten Marion? Although this time has indeed sped up since then, he said—they were talking about the very night when he returned from abroad, it still seems very long to us. We do not count it by years, but by our inner changes and incidents. And yet we have years to count since Marion was with us, replied Grace. Six times, this is the sixth time, we have sat here on Marion’s birthday and talked among ourselves of her happy return, which we so earnestly hoped for. we have longed for and hoped for, but which has been so long delayed. Ah, when will it happen! When will it happen! Her husband looked at her attentively, for tears came to his eyes; and, rising nearer to her, he said: But Marion told you, my dear, in that farewell letter which she left on your table, and which you often read, that years would pass before she would return. Didn’t she say so? Grace took the letter from her bosom, kissed it, and answered: She said! That in this interval, however happy it may be, she still always looks forward to the time when you will meet each other again , and then she will tell you everything; and that she asks you in hope and confidence to do the same. Wasn’t that in that letter, my dear? It was so, replied Grace. And she has said so in all the other letters she has written to you since. Except the last one I received a few months ago, in which he spoke of you, saying you knew something I would know tonight. He looked at the sun, which was beginning to set, and said it was destined to happen at sunset. Alfred, continued Grace, laying her hand firmly on his shoulder. In this letter… in this old letter, which you have often seen me read, there is something I have never told you. But now, tonight, when the sun is about to set, and our lives promise to become as calm and peaceful as this passing day, I cannot longer conceal it from you. What is it then, my love? When Marion left home, she wrote to me to say that you had entrusted her to my care and protection, but that she was now leaving you to it yourself. He prayed and begged me, by the love which I have for him and which I have for you, not to reject your love, of which he thought, and he said he was sure, you would take me as the object, as soon as your heart, wounded by him, should heal, but on the contrary, to be pleased with it and to show you the same love in return. And to make me a vigorous, happy man again; did he not say so too? His intention was to make me happy and honored in your love! replied Grace, closed in her husband’s arms. Listen now, my love, said Alfred. No; just stay where you are!… and he pressed his wife’s head against his breast. I know why you have not told me that part of your letter before now. I know why nothing of the kind has appeared in your words or in your glances all this time. I know why it was difficult for me to have Grace as my wife, though she was such a loyal friend to me. And knowing that, I know also how inexpressibly I value her who is now in my arms, and how much I should thank God for the treasure he has given me. Grace wept, but not from sorrow, and Alfred pressed her to his heart. After a moment he glanced at the child who sat at their feet, playing with a basket full of flowers. Then he remarked to Grace how the sun was brownish-yellow and as if gilded. Alfred! said Grace, suddenly raising her head. The sun is just setting; you have not forgotten what I must know before it sets. You must know Marion’s circumstances, my dear, he answered. And very carefully, said Grace. Nothing was to remain a secret any longer. That was your promise! It was, he answered. And all before sunset on Marion’s birthday… And now it’s already getting lower and lower! Alfred wrapped his arms around her waist, and looking steadily into her eyes replied: They haven’t been kept from you for so long that I can finally tell them to you now, my Grace… you will to hear them from another’s mouth. From another’s mouth? said Grace quietly. Yes… I feel your mind is strong… I know how strong you are… that you need not be prepared beforehand to hear them. You said the truth, my dear, that the hour has come. So it is. Now only say that you are strong enough to endure the experience… sudden surprise, unexpected scene, and the messenger will come to that place. What messenger, she asked, and what information does he bring? I am forbidden to speak any more, she answered, still looking seriously at Grace. Do you think you understand me? I am afraid to understand, replied Grace. Although Alfred’s look was serious, there was still emotion in his face , and it frightened Grace. Pressing her face again against her husband’s chest, she asked him tremblingly to stay a moment longer. Courage, my dear! As soon as you think you are strong enough to receive the messenger, it will come. The sun sets on this very day of Marion’s birthday… Courage, courage, Grace! She raised her head, and looking at Alfred said she was ready. As she stood there and followed her husband with her eyes, who went to fetch the messenger, her face was just like Marion’s when she was at home for the last time, which was very wonderful to see. Alfred took the child with him, but he called it back – it was the name of his lost sister – and pressed it to his chest. But when she got out of her mother’s arms, the little creature ran after her father again, and Grace was left alone. She did not know what she feared or what she hoped for; but she stood motionless in the same place, looking towards the front steps by which her husband had gone to the doctor’s apartment. But who was it that stepped out of the darkness and stood on the threshold! What a woman, whose white dress is fluttering in the evening breeze, and whose head is resting on her father’s chest, and who is lovingly embracing her! Oh my God! Is that the vision that now broke away from her father’s arms and, making a loud noise and clapping her hands, rushed towards him and then, overcome by unbridled love, fell into his arms! Oh, Marion, Marion! My own sister! The dearest of my heart! What unspeakable happiness and joy that we should meet again! It was not a dream, nor a vision of her hopes or fears, but Marion herself, dear Marion! She was so beautiful, so happy, so purified in sorrows and trials, and so sublimely sweet, that when the setting sun cast its last golden ray upon her face, one would have thought her an angel who had come to earth for a holy cause. Pressing herself against her sister, who had resumed her seat, bending over her—smiling with tears in her eyes —falling on her knees before her, embracing her with both arms, never taking her eyes off her— the glow of the setting sun on her forehead and the calm of the peaceful evening around her— Marion finally broke the silence. Her voice was very calm, clear, charming, and gentle; very appropriate to the moment. Grace! When this was still my dear home, which it will now become again… Don’t, my dear! Oh, Marion, to hear you speak again!… At first she could not bear the influence of her sister’s voice; she loved her sister so much. Grace! When this was my dear home, which it will now become again, I loved her with all my soul. I loved her more than anything… I would have been ready to die for her, though I was so young. In the secret of my heart I never for a moment despised his love, on the contrary I held it dearer than anything else. Although it is so long since passed , and everything has changed through it, I could not bear that you, who also held his love in such high esteem , should think that I was indifferent to it. — How tenderly I loved him that night when I left home! His sister only looked at him and held him. But he had, without knowing it, continued Marion, with a gentle smile, conquered another heart of mine before I knew that I had one to give him. And that other heart—your heart , my sister’s—was so tender toward me too, was so noble and self-denying that it tried to suppress its own love and hide it from everyone, but I saw it nevertheless. No other’s eyes were ever filled with such deep gratitude and tenderness. I saw your heart sacrificing itself for my sake. I knew what a struggle it had endured… I felt how great and incomparably valuable it was to him, and that he himself would immediately notice it if he could not love me. I felt my duty to him, for I had the noble examples of it before my eyes every day. What you had done for me, I knew I could do to you if I wanted to. I never laid my head on the bed without praying with tears in my eyes for the strength to do so. I never went to sleep without thinking about what Alfred said the day he left us. He said that victories are won in hearts that fight every day, and that victories on the battlefield are nothing compared to them. And from your example I knew it was true. The more I thought about the great endurance that was needed in such a fight, and which imperceptible love alone could keep up, the easier it began to seem to me to carry out my intention. And he who knows the hearts of all and also knows that there is no bitterness or regret in my heart, but only happiness, helped me to make the decision that I would never become Alfred’s wife. He could be my brother and – your husband, if through the enterprise I was about to make things turn out that way . But I myself, though I loved him with all my heart, never wanted to be his wife. Oh, Marion, Marion! I tried to pretend to be indifferent to him, as he said this, pressing his sister’s face to his own, but it was very difficult, and you always defended him faithfully. I tried to tell you my decision, but you would neither hear me nor understand me. The day of his coming drew nearer. I knew that the attempt must be made before he met me, for then it would be impossible. I knew that one great pain, which we would suffer at once, would save us from prolonged anguish. I knew that then, just if I abandon you, everything would turn out as it has been and we would both be as happy as we are now. I wrote to good Aunt Martha to give me a refuge with her; but then I had not yet told him much of my affairs, and he kindly consented to my request. While I was struggling with the enterprise I intended, with myself, and with the love I had for you and the house, Mr. Warden chanced to come to our house, and remained for a little while our companion. That is what has been making me uneasy these last few years, said his sister, turning as pale as a corpse. You did not love him, and yet you married him, that Alfred should marry me. He was then, continued Marion, drawing her sister nearer, about to go away secretly for a long time. After he left our house he wrote to me, in which he explained his position and his wishes frankly, and offered me his hand. He said he had seen that Alfred’s coming would not make me happy. He must have thought that my heart was not at all attached to Alfred, or that I had loved him, but had then grown cold towards him. But I wanted to appear in your eyes utterly lost to Alfred, hopelessly lost—quite dead to him. Do you understand me now, my dear? Her sister looked at her attentively and seemed to doubt. I then met Mr. Warden and trusted his honesty. I told him my secret the very night I left here with him. He has kept it secret, too. Do you understand me now, my dear? Grace looked at her absently, as if she had not heard him. My dear sister! continued Marion, now gather your thoughts for a moment… and hear me! Do not look at me so strangely. There are countries where those who would swear to renounce an improper inclination, or to resist and conquer a great feeling in their hearts, retire into hopeless solitude, separating themselves forever from all the world, worldly love, and worldly hopes. When women do so, they take for themselves a name that is so dear to you and me too. They call each other sister. But there are sisters who, in the free, wide world, under the open sky, in the loudest places and in the midst of the hustle and bustle of life, which they love and in which they themselves are, in order to be able to do something good for themselves – learn the same as those others apart from the world; who, with their hearts healthy and young, still open to happiness and still capable of enjoying it, can say: the battle was over long ago; the victory has been won; … and such I am. Do you understand me now? Grace still looked at her, without answering. Oh Grace, dear Grace, said Marion, closing her still more tenderly in her arms, from which she had been so long absent, if you were not a happy wife and mother – if I did not have this little namesake – if Alfred, my good brother, was not your dear husband – then where would I have got all the joy that I now feel in my heart? What I was when I left here, such I am when I return. My heart has known no other love, and therefore I have not given myself to anyone. I am still your virgin sister, unmarried and unbetrothed. I am still your former, dear Marion, who loves you alone and no one else. Now she understood her sister’s words. Her face came back to its former state. She began to sob, and, falling on Marion’s neck, wept and caressed her like a child. Then, when their minds had settled a little, they noticed the doctor, his sister Aunt Martha, and Alfred standing beside them. This is a sad day for me, said Aunt Martha, smiling with tears in her eyes and embracing her brother’s daughters, for in making you happy I shall lose my dear companion; and what could you give me in return for Marion? A converted brother, said the doctor. “That would be something,” replied Aunt Martha, “in a farce like… Well, don’t say that!” said the doctor, remorsefully. ” It’s pointless not to say it,” replied Aunt Martha, “but it just seems very sad to me. I don’t understand how I can live without Marion now, since we’ve been together for six whole years. You can come and live with us,” replied the doctor. “You don’t have to worry about that, there won’t be any more arguing here.” Or you can get married, said Alfred. ” That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” replied Aunt Martha, “if I could make the deal with Mr. Michael Warden, who, I hear, has come back and has improved in every way since he was away. But since I’ve known him since I was a child, and I wasn’t a young man when he was a child, he’s unlikely to worry about me when I’m this old.” That is why I must make up my mind to move in with Marion when she gets married, and that will not be long; but I will have to be alone for that long, as before. What does your brother say to that? I felt like saying that the world is completely ridiculous, and that there is no stability in it at all, replied the poor old doctor. Even if you, Anttooni, took twenty witnesses to your aid, it would not “At least, no one would believe you, with eyes like yours.” It is a world full of hearts, said the doctor, embracing his younger daughter, and extending his hand to embrace Grace too, when the sisters were not separated, and it is a stable world with all its follies, my folly included, which alone would have been enough to drown the whole earth. It is a world where the sun never rises without seeing a thousand bloodless battles, far superior to the misery and devastation of the battlefield; it is a world that we must judge with caution, for it is full of sacred secrets, and no one but its creator himself knows what moves beneath the shell of even the most insignificant image. My hard pen would not please you better if I tried to describe and present to you the delight that seized this family, when now, after a long time of separation, it was finally reunited. I will not, therefore, follow the doctor, when he humbly tried to tell what sorrows he had had since Marion’s disappearance, nor explain how steady he had found the world, because there was love, though deep in the depths of human hearts, unseen . Nor will I begin to tell how such a trifling matter as the absence of a little one from his great bills had utterly disheartened him; nor how his sister, much pitied by his despair, had early, though gradually, made known to him the true state of his daughter’s affairs, and then taken him to her, and let him peer through her lofty secrets. Nor will I tell how Alfred Heathfield also learned of the matter during the past year,—and how Marion met him, and on that occasion promised to tell Grace of it too , in her own words, on the eve of her next birthday. Excuse me, Doctor, said Mr. Snitchey, looking into the garden, may I come in there? Without waiting for an answer to his question, he went straight to Marion , and kissed her hand with great pleasure. If Mr. Craggs were still alive, dear Miss Marion, said Mr. Snitchey, he would be greatly amused by this incident. It would show him, you see, Mr. Alfred, that life is not so easy after all as not to bear all the relief we can give it. But Mr. Craggs was a man who suffered objections… His mind was always open to assurances. If it were still open to assurances, I–but ah! this is weakness… Mrs. Snitchey, my angel, as he said this, the lady peeped from behind the door, “You are now in the company of old friends. ” After wishing them good luck, Mrs. Snitchey took her husband aside. ” But now a moment, Mr. Snitchey,” she said. It is not in my nature to wish to stir up the dust of the dead—— Not at all, my angel, answered her husband, And Mr. Craggs is—— Yes, my angel, he is dead, said Snitchey. But I want to ask you, continued his wife, do you still remember that dance evening? I only ask: If you do remember; if your memory is not entirely lost, and you will no longer remain in your former blindness, I beg you to connect this occasion with that evening, and to think how I then begged and begged you on my knees— On my knees, my angel? interrupted Mr. Snitchey. Yes, yes, answered Mrs. Snitchey, I am sure, you know it best yourself—how I then begged you on my knees to avoid that man—to see what kind of eyes he has. And now I ask you to tell me whether I was not right, and whether he had secrets on that occasion which he did not reveal to anyone. Listen, my lady! whispered her husband to her. “Haven’t you ever noticed anything in my eyes?” “No,” replied Mrs. Snitchey rudely; “you can’t excuse yourself for that.” And yet it happened that we both had the same secret that evening, which we did not wish to reveal to anyone, for it concerned our business, and we were both silent about it for the same reason. The less you talk about it, the better. Learn from this, that in future you may make wiser and more loving observations with your eyes. Miss Marion! I have brought with me an old friend of yours… Come, my lady! At that moment Clemency came in quietly, with an apron over her eyes, and followed by her husband, who was very dejected, for he thought that if his wife allowed grief to take possession of her mind in such a way, the Nutmeg would soon be gone. Now, madam, what is the matter with you? said the lawyer, stopping Marion, who was about to confront Clemency. What is the matter with me! said Clemency. When she looked up at once, looking astonished and indignant, as Mr. Britain’s loud roar had also put her in, and saw before her the beautiful face of Marion, which was still in her vivid memory, she stood for a moment as if in a daze, but then began to laugh, sob, cry, make a loud noise, and embrace Marion. Having at last let her out of her arms, Clemency, to the great annoyance of Mrs. Snitchey, fell upon Mr. Snitchey’s neck and embraced him, fell upon the doctor’s neck and embraced him, fell upon Mr. Britain’s neck and embraced him; but then Clemency put her apron over her eyes and began to embrace herself, for the mother-fever began to trouble her. After Mr. Snitchey, a stranger had come into the garden and stood by the gate, unnoticed by anyone, for everyone’s attention was on poor Clemency, who had no one to lend her to. And the stranger did not seem to want to be noticed, but stood there alone, looking down. There was a gloomy expression on his face, although he was a very handsome gentleman, which was all the more remarkable as everyone was happy and cheerful here. However, Aunt Martha had noticed the stranger with her keen eye and immediately started to talk to him. He went to Marion, who was standing nearby with her sister and her little namesake, and whispered something in Marion’s ear. The latter started and seemed very surprised, but recovered immediately, and went straight with Aunt Martha, calmly up to the stranger and began to talk to him. Mr. Britain, said the lawyer, putting his hand in his pocket and drawing out a folded paper; I wish you good luck. You are now the sole rightful owner of the freehold for which you have had to pay rent until now , and where you have had a special-rights restaurant or refreshment place called the Muskottirauta. Your wife was made homeless by my client Michael Warden. Now he is giving your wife another home in its place. I shall be glad to have it decried in court one day in your name. Will it do any harm to the decease, sir, if the name and sign are slightly altered? Britain would ask. Not at all, replied the lawyer. Well then, said Britain, handing the deed back to him, I will ask you to add the words ‘and finger’ to the name, if you will be so kind. I will paint both those words on the wall of my guest room instead of the portrait of my wife which has been there until now . And permit me, said one behind them—it was a guest, Michael Warden—permit me to make use of your words too . Mr. Heathfield and Dr. Jeddler! I was about to do you both a great injury. But that it was not so is not my merit. I do not mean that I am now six years wiser or better than I was, but yet I have come to know in that time what the pangs of conscience are… I can give no reason why you should be indifferent to my faults… I have abused the hospitality of this house; but I have also noticed my faults with the shame which never leaves my mind, yet I dare hope to gain some benefit from it, he looked at Marion, from whom I immediately humbly asked forgiveness, when I saw her high value and my own baseness. In a few days I will leave this road forever. I ask you to forgive me everything… Treat others as you would have others treat you! Forget and forgive! Time – from whom I received the end of this story and with whom I have had the pleasure of being acquainted for nearly five or four years – told me, leaning lightly against his scythe, that Michael Warden never went abroad again, nor did he sell his house, but moved in again and lived there a reasonable, hospitable life with his wife, who was the pride and adornment of the whole region, and whose name was – Marion. But since I have noticed that time sometimes confuses cases, I really do not know how reliable his story is. Thank you for listening to Charles Dickens’ ‘The Battle of Life’ until the end. During the story, we have been given a glimpse into the many challenges and growth of David Copperfield’s life. Dickens’ work reminds us that life’s struggles are never simple, but they can lead us towards greater understanding and ourselves. I hope this story has stirred up some thoughts and feelings. Don’t forget to subscribe to the channel so you don’t miss the next audiobooks. See you again.
Tervetuloa kuuntelemaan Charles Dickensin klassikkoteosta *Elämän taistelu* (A Tale of Two Cities), joka vie sinut läpi Ranskan vallankumouksen myrskyisän aikakauden. 🔥💣 Tämä tarina on täynnä sydäntäsärkeviä valintoja, rohkeutta ja uhrauksia, jotka muokkasivat historian kulkua. 🇫🇷⚔️
🔑 **Tarina tiivistettynä**:
– **Ranskan vallankumous**: Dickens tuo eloon aikakauden, jossa taistellaan vapauden, tasa-arvon ja veljeyden puolesta.
– **Rakkaus ja uhraukset**: Kertomus kahdesta ystävyksestä, jotka joutuvat tekemään valtavia valintoja rakkauden ja velvollisuuden välillä. ❤️
– **Draama ja jännitys**: Täynnä jännittäviä hetkiä, joissa elämän ja kuoleman kysymykset ovat läsnä.
– **Lopun yllättävät käänteet**: Dickens onnistuu luomaan koskettavan ja yllättävän päätöksen, joka jättää jälkensä jokaiseen lukijaan. ✨
👉 *Älä unohda tilata kanavaa, jotta et jää paitsi uusista äänikirjoista! 🎧* [https://bit.ly/AanikirjatSuomeksi](https://bit.ly/AanikirjatSuomeksi)
-Elämän taistelu 💥 – Charles Dickensin mestariteos! 📚[https://youtu.be/3la7RUEcxFI]
-Musta helmi 🖤💎 – Jännittävä Salaisuus ja Romantiikka[https://youtu.be/hxA72QoE2jw]
-Sisar Rosa 🕵️♀️🔍 – Wilkie Collinsin Klassikkotrilleri[https://youtu.be/ggGLX7Vsxy8]
🔖 ****:
Tämä on syvällinen, mutta helposti lähestyttävä versio Dickensin teoksesta, joka koskettaa niin historiallisen aikakauden kuin henkilökohtaisen kamppailun teemoja. Täydellinen kuuntelukokemus kaikille klassikkokirjallisuuden ystäville!
🔑 **#Hashtagit**:
#ElämänTaistelu #CharlesDickens #ATaleOfTwoCities #RanskanVallankumous #Vallankumous #Klassikkokirjat #Äänikirjat #HistoriallinenKlassikko #Romantiikka #Rakkaus #Drama #Jännitys #Kirjallisuus #EnglanninkielisetKlassikot #RanskanVallankumousHistoria #Rakkaustarina #HistoriallisetTeokset #YllättävätLoput #Kirjat #Äänikirjakirjallisuus #KirjaKokemus
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