The soldiers and men on the ramparts idolized him, and no wonder, for he had the same power of winning the common people that distinguished5 his father, King Christian the Fourth. Nor was this the only point of resemblance. He had inherited his father’s hot-headedness and intemperance6, but also much of his ability, his gift of thinking quickly and taking in a situation at a glance. He was extremely blunt. Several years at European courts had not made him a courtier, nor even passably well mannered. In daily intercourse7, he was taciturn to the point of rudeness, and in the service, he never opened his mouth without cursing and swearing like a common sailor.
With all this, he was a genuine soldier. In spite of his - 56 - youth—for he was but eight-and-twenty—he conducted the defence of the city, and led the dangerous but important sallies, with such masterful insight and such mature perfection of plan that the cause could hardly have been in better hands with any one else among the men who surrounded Frederik the Third.
No wonder, therefore, that his name outshone all others, and that the poetasters, in their versified accounts of the fighting, addressed him as “thou vict’ry-crowned Gyldenl?v’, thou Denmark’s saviour9 brave!” or greeted him: “Hail, hail, thou Northern Mars, thou Danish David bold!” and wished that his life might be as a cornucopia10, yea, even as a horn of plenty, full and running over with praise and glory, with health, fortune, and happiness. No wonder that many a quiet family vespers ended with the prayer that God would preserve Mr. Ulrik Christian, and some pious11 souls added a petition that his foot might be led from the slippery highways of sin, and his heart be turned from all that was evil, to seek the shining diadem12 of virtue13 and truth, and that he, who had in such full measure won the honor of this world, might also participate in the only true and everlasting14 glory.
Marie Grubbe’s thoughts were much engrossed15 by this kinsman16 of her aunt. As it happened, she had never met him either at Mistress Rigitze’s or in society, and all she had seen of him was a glimpse in the dusk when Lucie had pointed17 him out in the street.
All were speaking of him. Nearly every day some fresh story of his valor18 was noised abroad. She had heard and read that he was a hero, and the murmur19 of enthusiasm that went through the crowds in the streets, as he rode past, had given her an unforgettable thrill.
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The hero-name lifted him high above the ranks of ordinary human beings. She had never supposed that a hero could be like other people. King Alexander of Macedonia, Holger the Dane, and Chevalier Bayard were tall, distant, radiant figures—ideals rather than men. Just as she had never believed, in her childhood, that any one could form letters with the elegance20 of the copy-book, so it had never occurred to her that one could become a hero. Heroes belonged to the past. To think that one might meet a flesh-and-blood hero riding in Store-F?rgestr?de was beyond anything she had dreamed of. Life suddenly took on a different aspect. So it was not all dull routine! The great and beautiful and richly colored world she had read of in her romances and ballads21 was something she might actually see with her own eyes. There was really something that one could long for with all one’s heart and soul; all these words that people and books were full of had a meaning. They stood for something. Her confused dreams and longings23 took form, since she knew that they were not hers alone, but that grown people believed in such things. Life was rich, wonderfully rich and radiant.
It was nothing but an intuition, which she knew to be true, but could not yet see or feel. He was her only pledge that it was so, the only thing tangible24. Hence her thoughts and dreams circled about him unceasingly. She would often fly to the window at the sound of horse’s hoofs26, and, when out walking, she would persuade the willing Lucie to go round by the castle, but they never saw him.
Then came a day toward the end of October, when she was plying27 her bobbins by the afternoon light, at a window in the long drawing-room where the fireplace was. Mistress Rigitze sat before the fire, now and then taking - 58 - a pinch of dried flowers or a bit of cinnamon bark from a box on her lap and throwing it on a brazier full of live coals that stood near her. The air in the low-ceilinged room was hot and close and sweet. But little light penetrated28 between the full curtains of motley, dark-flowered stuff. From the adjoining room came the whirr of a spinning-wheel, and Mistress Rigitze was nodding drowsily29 in her cushioned chair.
Marie Grubbe felt faint with the heat. She tried to cool her burning cheeks against the small, dewy window-pane and peeped out into the street, where a thin layer of new-fallen snow made the air dazzlingly bright. As she turned to the room again, it seemed doubly dark and oppressive. Suddenly Ulrik Christian came in through the door, so quickly that Mistress Rigitze started. He did not notice Marie, but took a seat before the fire. After a few words of apology for his long absence, he remarked that he was tired, leaned forward in his chair, his face resting on his hand, and sat silent, scarcely hearing Mistress Rigitze’s lively chatter30.
Marie Grubbe had turned pale with excitement, when she saw him enter. She closed her eyes for an instant with a sense of giddiness, then blushed furiously and could hardly breathe. The floor seemed to be sinking under her, and the chairs, tables, and people in the room falling through space. All objects appeared strangely definite and yet flickering32, for she could hold nothing fast with her eyes, and moreover everything seemed new and strange.
So this was he. She wished herself far away or at least in her own room, her peaceful little chamber33. She was frightened and could feel her hands tremble. If he would only not see her! She shrank deeper into the window recess34 and tried to fix her eyes on her aunt’s guest.
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Was this the way he looked?—not very, very much taller? And his eyes were not fiery35 black, they were blue—such dear blue eyes, but sad—that was something she could not have imagined. He was pale and looked as if he were sorry about something. Ah, he smiled, but not in a really happy way. How white his teeth were, and what a nice mouth he had, so small and finely formed!
As she looked, he grew more and more handsome in her eyes, and she wondered how she could ever have fancied him larger or in any way different from what he was. She forgot her shyness and thought only of the eulogies36 of him she had heard. She saw him storming at the head of his troops, amid the exultant37 cries of the people. All fell back before him, as the waves are thrown off, when they rise frothing around the broad breast of a galleon38. Cannon39 thundered, swords flashed, bullets whistled through dark clouds of smoke, but he pressed onward40, brave and erect41, and on his stirrup Victory hung—in the words of a chronicle she had read.
Her eyes shone upon him full of admiration42 and enthusiasm.
He made a sudden movement and met her gaze, but turned his head away, with difficulty repressing a triumphant43 smile. The next moment he rose as though he had just caught sight of Marie Grubbe.
Mistress Rigitze said this was her little niece, and Marie made her courtesy.
Ulrik Christian was astonished and perhaps a trifle disappointed to find that the eyes that had given him such a look were those of a child.
“Ma chère,” he said with a touch of mockery, as he looked down at her lace, “you’re a past mistress in the art - 60 - of working quietly and secretly; not a sound have I heard from your bobbins in all the time I’ve been here.”
“No,” replied Marie, who understood him perfectly44; “when I saw you, Lord Gyldenl?ve,”—she shoved the heavy lace-maker’s cushion along the window-sill,—“it came to my mind that in times like these ’twere more fitting to think of lint45 and bandages than of laced caps.”
“Faith, I know that caps are as becoming in war-times as any other day,” he said, looking at her.
“But who would give them a thought in seasons like the present!”
“Many,” answered Ulrik Christian, who began to be amused at her seriousness, “and I for one.”
“I understand,” said Marie, looking up at him gravely; “’tis but a child you are addressing.” She courtesied ceremoniously and reached for her work.
“Stay, my little maid!”
“I pray you, let me no longer incommode you!”
“Hark’ee!” He seized her wrists in a hard grip and drew her to him across the little table. “By God, you’re a thorny46 person, but,” he whispered, “if one has greeted me with a look such as yours a moment ago, I will not have her bid me so poor a farewell—I will not have it! There—now kiss me!”
Her eyes full of tears, Marie pressed her trembling lips against his. He dropped her hands, and she sank down over the table, her head in her arms. She felt quite dazed. All that day and the next she had a dull sense of bondage47, of being no longer free. A foot seemed to press on her neck and grind her helplessly in the dust. Yet there was no bitterness in her heart, no defiance48 in her thoughts, no desire for revenge. A strange peace had come over her soul and had - 61 - chased away the flitting throng49 of dreams and longings. She could not define her feeling for Ulrik Christian; she only knew that if he said Come, she must go to him, and if he said Go, she must quit him. She did not understand it, but it was so and had always been so, thus and not otherwise.
With unwonted patience she worked all day long at her sewing and her lace-making, meanwhile humming all the mournful ballads she had ever known, about the roses of love which paled and never bloomed again, about the swain who must leave his truelove and go to foreign lands, and who never, never came back any more, and about the prisoner who sat in the dark tower such a long dreary50 time, and first his noble falcon51 died, and then his faithful dog died, and last his good steed died, but his faithless wife Malvina lived merrily and well and grieved not for him. These songs and many others she would sing, and sometimes she would sigh and seem on the point of bursting into tears, until Lucie thought her ill and urged her to put way-bread leaves in her stockings.
When Ulrik Christian came in, a few days later, and spoke52 gently and kindly53 to her, she too behaved as though nothing had been between them, but she looked with childlike curiosity at the large white hands that had held her in such a hard grip, and she wondered what there could be in his eyes or his voice that had so cowed her. She glanced at the mouth, too, under its narrow, drooping54 moustache, but furtively55 and with a secret thrill of fear.
In the weeks that followed he came almost every day, and Marie’s thoughts became more and more absorbed in him. When he was not there, the old house seemed dull and desolate56, and she longed for him as the sleepless57 long - 62 - for daylight, but when he came, her joy was never full and free, always timid and doubting.
One night she dreamed that she saw him riding through the crowded streets as on that first evening, but there were no cheers, and all the faces seemed cold and indifferent. The silence frightened her. She dared not smile at him, but hid behind the others. Then he glanced around with a strange questioning, wistful look, and this look fastened on her. She forced her way through the mass of people and threw herself down before him, while his horse set its cold, iron-shod hoof25 on her neck.
She awoke and looked about her, bewildered, at the cold, moonlit chamber. Alas58, it was but a dream! She sighed; she did want so much to show him how she loved him. Yes, that was it. She had not understood it before, but she loved him. At the thought, she seemed to be lying in a stream of fire, and flames flickered59 before her eyes, while every pulse in her heart throbbed60 and throbbed and throbbed. She loved him. How wonderful it was to say it to herself! She loved him! How glorious the words were, how tremendously real, and yet how unreal! Good God, what was the use, even if she did love him? Tears of self-pity came into her eyes—and yet! She huddled61 comfortably under the soft, warm coverlet of down,—after all it was delicious to lie quite still and think of him and of her great, great love.
When Marie met Ulrik Christian again, she no longer felt timid. Her secret buoyed62 her up with a sense of her own importance, and the fear of revealing it gave her manner a poise63 that made her seem almost a woman. They were happy days that followed, fantastic, wonderful days! Was it not joy enough when Ulrik Christian went, to throw a hundred kisses after him, unseen by him and all others, or - 63 - when he came, to fancy how her beloved would take her in his arms and call her by every sweet name she could think of, how he would sit by her side, while they looked long into each other’s eyes, and how she would run her hand through his soft, wavy64 brown hair? What did it matter that none of these things happened? She blushed at the very thought that they might happen.
They were fair and happy days, but toward the end of November Ulrik Christian fell dangerously ill. His health, long undermined by debauchery of every conceivable kind, had perhaps been unable to endure the continued strain of night-watches and hard work in connection with his post. Or possibly fresh dissipations had strung the bow too tightly. A wasting disease, marked by intense pain, wild fever dreams, and constant restlessness, attacked him, and soon took such a turn that none could doubt the name of the sickness was death.
On the eleventh of December, Pastor65 Hans Didrichsen Bartskj?r, chaplain to the royal family, was walking uneasily up and down over the fine straw mattings that covered the floor in the large leather-brown room outside of Ulrik Christian’s sick-chamber. He stopped absentmindedly before the paintings on the walls, and seemed to examine with intense interest the fat, naked nymphs, outstretched under the trees, the bathing Susannas, and the simpering Judith with bare, muscular arms. They could not hold his attention long, however, and he went to the window, letting his gaze roam from the gray-white sky to the wet, glistening66 copper67 roofs and the long mounds68 of dirty, melting snow in the castle park below. Then he resumed his nervous pacing, murmuring, and gesticulating.
Was that the door opening? He stopped short to listen. - 64 - No! He drew a deep breath and sank down into a chair, where he sat, sighing and rubbing the palms of his hands together, until the door really opened. A middle-aged69 woman wearing a huge flounced cap of red-dotted stuff appeared and beckoned70 cautiously to him. The pastor pulled himself together, stuck his prayer-book under his arm, smoothed his cassock, and entered the sick-chamber.
The large oval room was wainscoted in dark wood from floor to ceiling. From the central panel, depressed71 below the surface of the wall, grinned a row of hideous72, white-toothed heads of blackamoors and Turks, painted in gaudy73 colors. The deep, narrow lattice-window was partially74 veiled by a sash-curtain of thin, blue-gray stuff, leaving the lower part of the room in deep twilight75, while the sunbeams played freely on the painted ceiling, where horses, weapons, and naked limbs mingled76 in an inextricable tangle77, and on the canopy78 of the four-poster bed, from which hung draperies of yellow damask fringed with silver.
The air that met the pastor, as he entered, was warm, and so heavy with the scent79 of salves and nostrums80 that for a moment he could hardly breathe. He clutched a chair for support, his head swam, and everything seemed to be whirling around him—the table covered with flasks81 and phials, the window, the nurse with her cap, the sick man on the bed, the sword-rack, and the door opening into the adjoining room where a fire was blazing in the grate.
“The peace of God be with you, my lord!” he greeted in a trembling voice as soon as he recovered from his momentary82 dizziness.
“What the devil d’ye want here?” roared the sick man, trying to lift himself in bed.
“Gemach, gn?digster Herr, gemach!” Shoemaker’s Anne, - 65 - the nurse, hushed him, and coming close to the bed, gently stroked the coverlet. “’Tis the venerable Confessionarius of his Majesty83, who has been sent hither to give you the sacrament.”
“Gracious Sir, noble Lord Gyldenl?ve!” began the pastor, as he approached the bed. “Though ’tis known to me that you have not been among the simple wise or the wisely simple who use the Word of the Lord as their rod and staff and who dwell in His courts, and although that God whose cannon is the crashing thunderbolt likewise holds in His hand the golden palm of victory and the blood-dripping cypresses84 of defeat, yet men may understand, though not justify85, the circumstance that you, whose duty it has been to command and set a valiant86 example to your people, may for a moment have forgotten that we are but as nothing, as a reed in the wind, nay87, as the puny88 grafted89 shoot in the hands of the mighty90 Creator. You may have thought foolishly: This have I done, this is a fruit that I have brought to maturity91 and perfection. Yet now, beloved lord, when you lie here on your bed of pain, now God who is the merciful God of love hath surely enlightened your understanding and turned your heart to Him in longing22 with fear and trembling to confess your uncleansed sins, that you may trustfully accept the grace and forgiveness which His loving hands are holding out to you. The sharp-toothed worm of remorse93—”
“Cross me fore8 and cross me aft! Penitence94, forgiveness of sins, and life eternal!” jeered95 Ulrik Christian and sat up in bed. “Do you suppose, you sour-faced baldpate, do you suppose, because my bones are rotting out of my body in stumps96 and slivers97, that gives me more stomach for your parson-palaver?”
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“Most gracious lord, you sadly misuse98 the privilege which your high rank and yet more your pitiable condition give you to berate99 a poor servant of the Church, who is but doing his duty in seeking to turn your thoughts toward that which is assuredly to you the one thing needful. Oh, honored lord, it avails but little to kick against the pricks100! Has not the wasting disease that has struck your body taught you that none can escape the chastisements of the Lord God, and that the scourgings of heaven fall alike on high and low?”
Ulrik Christian interrupted him, laughing: “Hell consume me, but you talk like a witless school-boy! This sickness that’s eating my marrow101 I’ve rightfully brought on myself, and if you suppose that heaven or hell sends it, I can tell you that a man gets it by drinking and wenching and revelling102 at night. You may depend on’t. And now take your scholastic103 legs out of this chamber with all speed, or else I’ll—”
Another attack seized him, and as he writhed104 and moaned with the intense pain, his oaths and curses were so blasphemous106 and so appalling107 in their inventiveness that the scandalized pastor stood pale and aghast. He prayed God for strength and power of persuasion108, if mayhap he might be vouchsafed109 the privilege of opening this hardened soul to the truth and glorious consolation110 of religion. When the patient was quiet again he began: “My lord, my lord, with tears and weeping I beg and beseech111 you to cease from such abominable112 cursing and swearing! Remember, the axe113 is laid unto the root of the tree, and it shall be hewn down and cast into the fire, if it continues to be unfruitful and does not in the eleventh hour bring forth114 flowers and good fruit! Cease your baleful resistance, and - 67 - throw yourself with penitent115 prayers at the feet of our Saviour—”
When the pastor began his speech, Ulrik Christian sat up at the headboard of the bed. He pointed threateningly to the door and cried again and again: “Begone, parson! Begone, march! I can’t abide116 you any longer!”
“Oh, my dear lord,” continued the clergyman, “if mayhap you are hardening yourself because you misdoubt the possibility of finding grace, since the mountain of your sins is overwhelming, then hear with rejoicing that the fountain of God’s grace is inexhaustible—”
“Mad dog of a parson, will you go!” hissed117 Ulrik Christian between clenched118 teeth; “one—two!”
“And if your sins were red as blood, ay, as Tyrian purple—”
“Right about face!”
“He shall make them white as Lebanon’s—”
“Now by St. Satan and all his angels!” roared Ulrik Christian as he jumped out of bed, caught a rapier from the sword-rack, and made a furious lunge after the pastor, who, however, escaped into the adjoining room, slamming the door after him. In his rage, Ulrik Christian flung himself at the door, but sank exhausted119 to the floor, and had to be lifted into bed, though he still held the sword.
The forenoon passed in a drowsy120 calm. He suffered no pain, and the weakness that came over him seemed a pleasant relief. He lay staring at the points of light penetrating121 the curtain, and counted the black rings in the iron lattice. A pleased smile flitted over his face when he thought of his onslaught on the pastor, and he grew irritable122 only when Shoemaker’s Anne would coax123 him to close his eyes and try to sleep.
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In the early afternoon a loud knock at the door announced the entrance of the pastor of Trinity Church, Dr. Jens Justesen. He was a tall, rather stout124 man, with coarse, strong features, short black hair, and large, deep-set eyes. Stepping briskly up to the bed, he said simply: “Good-day!”
As soon as Ulrik Christian became aware that another clergyman was standing92 before him, he began to shake with rage, and let loose a broadside of oaths and railing against the pastor, against Shoemaker’s Anne, who had not guarded his peace better, against God in heaven and all holy things.
“Silence, child of man!” thundered Pastor Jens. “Is this language meet for one who has even now one foot in the grave? ’Twere better you employed the flickering spark of life that still remains125 to you in making your peace with the Lord, instead of picking quarrels with men. You are like those criminals and disturbers of peace who, when their judgment126 is fallen and they can no longer escape the red-hot pincers and the axe, then in their miserable127 impotence curse and revile128 the Lord our God with filthy129 and wild words. They seek thereby130 courage to drag themselves out of that almost brutish despair, that craven fear and slavish remorse without hope, into which such fellows generally sink toward the last, and which they fear more than death and the tortures of death.”
Ulrik Christian listened quietly, until he had managed to get his sword out from under the coverlet. Then he cried: “Guard yourself, priest-belly!” and made a sudden lunge after Pastor Jens, who coolly turned the weapon aside with his broad prayer-book.
“Leave such tricks to pages!” he said contemptuously. “They’re scarce fitting for you or me. And now this - 69 - woman”—turning to Shoemaker’s Anne—“had best leave us private.”
Anne quitted the room, and the pastor drew his chair up to the bed, while Ulrik Christian laid his sword on the coverlet.
Pastor Jens spoke fair words about sin and the wages of sin, about God’s love for the children of men, and about the death on the cross.
Ulrik Christian lay turning his sword in his hand, letting the light play on the bright steel. He swore, hummed bits of ribald songs, and tried to interrupt with blasphemous questions, but the pastor went on speaking about the seven words of the cross, about the holy sacrament of the altar, and the bliss131 of heaven.
Then Ulrik Christian sat up in bed and looked the pastor straight in the face.
“’Tis naught4 but lies and old wives’ tales,” he said.
“May the devil take me where I stand, if it isn’t true!” cried the pastor,—“every blessed word!” He hit the table with his fist, till the jars and glasses slid and rattled132 against one another, while he rose to his feet and spoke in a stern voice: “’Twere meet that I should shake the dust from my feet in righteous anger and leave you here alone, a sure prey133 to the devil and his realm, whither you are most certainly bound. You are one of those who daily nail our Lord Jesus to the gibbet of the cross, and for all such the courts of hell are prepared. Do not mock the terrible name of hell, for it is a name that contains a fire of torment134 and the wailing135 and gnashing of teeth of the damned! Alas, the anguish136 of hell is greater than any human mind can conceive; for if one were tortured to death and woke in hell, he would long for the wheel and the red-hot pincers as for Abraham’s - 70 - bosom137. ’Tis true that sickness and disease are bitter to the flesh of man when they pierce like a draught138, inch by inch, through every fibre of the body, and stretch the sinews till they crack, when they burn like salted fire in the vitals, and gnaw139 with dull teeth in the innermost marrow! But the sufferings of hell are a raging storm racking every limb and joint140, a whirlwind of unthinkable woe141, an eternal dance of anguish; for as one wave rolls upon another, and is followed by another and another in all eternity142, so the scalding pangs143 and blows of hell follow one another ever and everlastingly144, without end and without pause.”
The sick man looked around bewildered. “I won’t!” he said, “I won’t! I’ve nothing to do with your heaven or hell. I would die, only die and nothing more!”
“You shall surely die,” said the pastor, “but at the end of the dark valley of death are two doors, one leading to the bliss of heaven and one to the torments145 of hell. There is no other way, no other way at all.”
“Yes, there is, pastor, there must be—tell me, is there not?—a deep, deep grave hard by for those who went their own way, a deep black grave leading down to nothing—to no earthly thing?”
“They who went their own way are headed for the realm of the devil. They are swarming146 at the gate of hell; high and low, old and young, they push and scramble147 to escape the yawning abyss, and cry miserably148 to that God whose path they would not follow, begging Him to take them away. The cries of the pit are over their heads, and they writhe105 in fear and agony, but the gates of hell shall close over them as the waters close over the drowning.”
“Is it the truth you’re telling me? On your word as an honest man, is it anything but a tale?”
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“It is.”
“But I won’t! I’ll do without your God! I don’t want to go to heaven, only to die!”
“Then pass on to that horrible place of torment, where those who are damned for all eternity are cast about on the boiling waves of an endless sea of sulphur, where their limbs are racked by agony, and their hot mouths gasp149 for air, among the flames that flicker31 over the surface. I see their bodies drifting like white gulls150 on the sea, yea, like a frothing foam151 in a storm, and their shrieks152 are like the noise of the earth when the earthquake tears it, and their anguish is without a name. Oh, would that my prayers might save thee from it, miserable man! But grace has hidden its countenance153, and the sun of mercy is set forever.”
“Then help me, pastor, help me!” groaned154 Ulrik Christian. “What are you a parson for, if you can’t help me? Pray, for God’s sake, pray! Are there no prayers in your mouth? Or give me your wine and bread, if there’s salvation155 in ’em as they say! Or is it all a lie—a confounded lie? I’ll crawl to the feet of your God like a whipped boy, since He’s so strong—it is not fair—He’s so mighty, and we’re so helpless! Make Him kind, your God, make Him kind to me! I bow down—I bow down—I can do no more!”
“Pray!”
“Ay, I’ll pray, I’ll pray all you want—indeed!” he knelt in bed and folded his hands. “Is that right?” he asked, looking toward Pastor Jens. “Now, what shall I say?”
The pastor made no answer.
For a few moments Ulrik Christian knelt thus, his large, bright, feverish156 eyes turned upward. “There are no words, pastor,” he whimpered. “Lord Jesu, they’re all gone,” and he sank down, weeping.
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Suddenly he sprang up, seized his sword, broke it, and cried: “Lord Jesu Christ, see, I break my sword!” and he lifted the shining pieces of the blade. “Pardon, Jesu, pardon!”
The pastor then spoke words of consolation to him and gave him the sacrament without delay, for he seemed not to have a long time left. After that Pastor Jens called Shoemaker’s Anne and departed.
The disease was believed to be contagious157, hence none of those who had been close to the dying man attended him in his illness, but in the room below a few of his family and friends, the physician in ordinary to the King, and two or three gentlemen of the court were assembled to receive the noblemen, foreign ministers, officers, courtiers, and city councilmen who called to inquire about him. So the peace of the sick-chamber was not disturbed, and Ulrik Christian was again alone with Shoemaker’s Anne.
Twilight fell. Anne threw more wood on the fire, lit two candles, took her prayer-book, and settled herself comfortably. She pulled her cap down to shade her face and very soon was asleep. A barber-surgeon and a lackey158 had been posted in the ante-room to be within call, but they were both squatting159 on the floor near the window, playing dice160 on the straw matting to deaden the sound. They were so absorbed in their game that they did not notice some one stealing through the room, until they heard the door of the sick-chamber close.
“It must have been the doctor,” they said, looking at each other in fright.
It was Marie Grubbe. Noiselessly she stole up to the bed and bent161 over the patient, who was dozing162 quietly. In the dim, uncertain light, he looked very pale and unlike himself, - 73 - the forehead had a deathly whiteness, the eyelids163 were unnaturally164 large, and the thin wax-yellow hands were groping feebly and helplessly over the dark blue bolster165.
Marie wept. “Art thou so ill?” she murmured. She knelt, supporting her elbows on the edge of the bed, and gazed at his face.
“Ulrik Christian,” she called, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Is any one else here?” he moaned weakly.
She shook her head. “Art thou very ill?” she asked.
“Yes, ’tis all over with me.”
“No, no, it must not be! Whom have I if you go? No, no, how can I bear it!”
“To live?—’tis easy to live, but I have had the bread of death and the wine of death, I must die—yes, yes,—bread and wine—body and blood—d’you believe they help? No, no, in the name of Jesus Christ, in the name of Jesus Christ! Say a prayer, child, make it a strong one!”
Marie folded her hands and prayed.
“Amen, amen! Pray again! I’m such a great sinner, child, it needs so much! Pray again, a long prayer with many words—many words! Oh, no, what’s that? Why is the bed turning?—Hold fast, hold fast! ’Tis turning—like a whirlwind of unthinkable woe, a dance of eternal anguish, and—ha, ha, ha! Am I drunk again? What devilry is this—what have I been drinking? Wine! Ay, of course, ’twas wine I drank, ha, ha! We’re gaily166 yet, we’re gaily—Kiss me, my chick!
Herzen und Küssen Ist Himmel auf Erd—
Kiss me again, sweetheart, I’m so cold, but you’re round - 74 - and warm. Kiss me warm! You’re white and soft, white and smooth—”
He had thrown his arms around Marie, and pressed the terrified child close to him. At that moment, Shoemaker’s Anne woke and saw her patient sitting up and fondling a strange woman. She lifted her prayer-book threateningly and cried: “H’raus, thou hell-born wench! To think of the shameless thing sitting here and wantoning with the poor dying gentleman before my very eyes! H’raus, whoever ye are—handmaid of the wicked one, sent by the living Satan!”
“Satan!” shrieked167 Ulrik Christian and flung away Marie Grubbe in horror. “Get thee behind me! Go, go!” he made the sign of the cross again and again. “Oh, thou cursed devil! You would lead me to sin in my last breath, in my last hour, when one should be so careful. Begone, begone, in the blessed name of the Lord, thou demon168!” His eyes wide open, fear in every feature, he stood up in bed and pointed to the door.
Speechless and beside herself with terror, Marie rushed out. The sick man threw himself down and prayed and prayed, while Shoemaker’s Anne read slowly and in a loud voice prayer after prayer from her book with the large print.
A few hours later Ulrik Christian was dead.
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1
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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2
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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4
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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5
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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intemperance
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| n.放纵 | |
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7
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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8
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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10
cornucopia
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| n.象征丰收的羊角 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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12
diadem
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| n.王冠，冕 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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14
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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19
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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20
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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21
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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22
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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23
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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24
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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25
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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28
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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29
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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30
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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31
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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32
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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33
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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35
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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36
eulogies
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| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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37
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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38
galleon
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| n.大帆船 | |
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39
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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40
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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41
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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42
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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43
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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44
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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45
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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46
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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47
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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48
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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49
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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50
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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51
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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52
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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53
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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54
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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55
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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56
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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57
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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58
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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59
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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61
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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62
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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63
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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64
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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65
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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66
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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67
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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70
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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72
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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73
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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74
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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75
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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76
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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77
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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78
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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79
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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80
nostrums
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| n.骗人的疗法，有专利权的药品( nostrum的名词复数 )；妙策 | |
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81
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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82
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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83
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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84
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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85
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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86
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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87
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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88
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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89
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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91
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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92
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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93
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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94
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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95
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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slivers
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| （切割或断裂下来的）薄长条，碎片( sliver的名词复数 ) | |
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98
misuse
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| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
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berate
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| v.训斥，猛烈责骂 | |
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pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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101
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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102
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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103
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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104
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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106
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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107
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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109
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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110
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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112
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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113
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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114
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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115
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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116
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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117
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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118
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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120
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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121
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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122
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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123
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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125
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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126
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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127
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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128
revile
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| v.辱骂，谩骂 | |
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129
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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130
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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131
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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132
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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133
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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134
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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135
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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136
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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137
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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138
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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139
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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140
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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141
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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142
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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143
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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144
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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145
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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146
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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147
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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148
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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149
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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150
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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151
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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152
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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154
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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155
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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156
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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157
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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158
lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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159
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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160
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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161
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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162
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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163
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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164
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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165
bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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166
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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167
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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