text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/163

 But at this time Octavian, whom Caesar had adopted as his son, arrived from Illyria, and claimed the inheritance of his “father.” Octavian obtained the support of the senate and of Cicero; and the veteran troops of the dictator flocked to his standard. Antony was denounced as a public enemy, and Octavian was entrusted with the command of the war against him. Antony was defeated at Mutina (43) where he was besieging Brutus. The consuls Aulus Hirtius and C. Vibius Pansa, however, fell in the battle, and the senate became suspicious of Octavian, who, irritated at the refusal of a triumph and the appointment of Brutus to the command over his head, entered Rome at the head of his troops, and forced the senate to bestow the consulship upon him (August 19th). Meanwhile, Antony escaped to Cisalpine Gaul, effected a junction with Lepidus and marched towards Rome with a large force of infantry and cavalry. Octavian betrayed his party, and came to terms with Antony and Lepidus. The three leaders met at Bononia and adopted the title of Triumviri reipublicae constituendae as joint rulers. Gaul was to belong to Antony, Spain to Lepidus, and Africa, Sardinia and Sicily to Octavian. The arrangement was to last for five years. A reign of terror followed; proscriptions, confiscations, and executions became general; some of the noblest citizens were put to death, and Cicero fell a victim to Antony’s revenge. In the following year (42) Antony and Octavian proceeded against the conspirators Cassius and Brutus, and by the two battles of Philippi annihilated the senatorial and republican parties. Antony proceeded to Greece, and thence to Asia Minor, to procure money for his veterans and complete the subjugation of the eastern provinces. On his passage through Cilicia in 41 he fell a victim to the charms of Cleopatra, in whose company he spent the winter at Alexandria. At length he was aroused by the Parthian invasion of Syria and the report of an outbreak between Fulvia his wife and Lucius his brother on the one hand and Octavian on the other. On arriving in Italy he found that Octavian was already victorious; on the death of Fulvia, a reconciliation was effected between the triumvirs, and cemented by the marriage of Antony with Octavia, the sister of his colleague. A new division of the Roman world was made at Brundusium, Lepidus receiving Africa, Octavian the west, and Antony the east. Returning to his province Antony made several attempts to subdue the Parthians, without any decided success. In 39 he visited Athens, where he behaved in a most extravagant manner, assuming the attributes of the god Dionysus. In 37 he crossed over to Italy, and renewed the triumvirate for five years at a meeting with Octavian. Returning to Syria, he resumed relations with Cleopatra. His treatment of Octavia, her brother’s desire to get rid of him, and the manner in which he disposed of kingdoms and provinces in favour of Cleopatra alienated his supporters. In 32 the senate deprived him of his powers and declared war against Cleopatra. After two years spent in preparations, Antony was defeated at the battle of Actium (2nd September 31). Once more he sought refuge in the society of Cleopatra, who had escaped with sixty ships to Egypt. He was pursued by his enemies and his troops abandoned him. Thereupon he committed suicide in the mistaken belief that Cleopatra had already done so (30 ). Antony had been married in succession to Fadia, Antonia, Fulvia and Octavia, and left behind him a number of children.

5., youngest son of Marcus Antonius Creticus, and brother of the triumvir. In 44, as tribune of the people, he brought forward a law authorizing Caesar to nominate the chief magistrates during his absence from Rome. After the murder of Caesar, he supported his brother Marcus. He proposed an agrarian law in favour of the people and Caesar’s veterans, and took part in the operations at Mutina (43). In 41 he was consul, and had a dispute with Octavian, which led to the so-called Perusian War, in which he was supported by Fulvia (Mark Antony’s wife), who was anxious to recall her husband from Cleopatra’s court. Later, observing the bitter feelings that had been evoked by the distribution of land among the veterans of Caesar, Antonius and Fulvia changed their attitude, and stood forward as the defenders of those who had suffered from its operation. Antonius marched on Rome, drove out Lepidus, and promised the people that the triumvirate should be abolished. On the approach of Octavian, he retired to Perusia in Etruria, where he was besieged by three armies, and compelled to surrender (winter of 41). His life was spared, and he was sent by Octavian to Spain as governor. Nothing is known of the circumstances or date of his death. Cicero, in his Philippics, actuated in great measure by personal animosity, gives a highly unfavourable view of his character.

6., second son of Marcus Antonius Creticus, and brother of the triumvir. In 49 he was legate of Caesar and, with P. Cornelius Dolabella, was entrusted with the defence of Illyricum against the Pompeians. Dolabella’s fleet was destroyed; Antonius was shut up in the island of Curicta and forced to surrender. In 44 he was city praetor, his brothers Marcus and Lucius being consul and tribune respectively in the same year. Gaius was appointed to the province of Macedonia, but on his way thither fell into the hands of M. Junius Brutus on the coast of Illyria. Brutus at first treated him generously, but ultimately put him to death (42).

ANTONOMASIA, in rhetoric, the Greek term for a substitution of any epithet or phrase for a proper name; as “Pelides,” or “the son of Peleus,” for Achilles; “the Stagirite” for Aristotle; “the author of Paradise Lost” for Milton; “the little corporal” for Napoleon I.; “Macedonia’s madman” for Alexander the Great, &c. &c. The opposite substitution of a proper name for some generic term is also sometimes called antonomasia; as “a Cicero” for an orator. ANTRAIGUES, EMMANUEL HENRI LOUIS ALEXANDRE DE LAUNAY, (c. 1755–1812), French publicist and political adventurer, was a nephew of François Emmanuel de Saint-Priest (1735–1821), one of the last ministers of Louis XVI. He was a cavalry captain, but, having little taste for the army, left it and travelled extensively, especially in the East. On his return to Paris, he sought the society of philosophers and artists, visited Voltaire at Ferney for three months, but was more attracted by J. J. Rousseau, with whom he became somewhat intimate. He published a Mémoire sur les états-généraux, supported the Revolution enthusiastically when it broke out, was elected deputy, and took the oath to the constitution; but he suddenly changed his mind completely, became a defender of the monarchy and emigrated in 1790. He was the secret agent of the comte de Provence (Louis XVIII.) at different courts of Europe, and at the same time received money from the courts he visited. He published a number of pamphlets, Des monstres ravagent partout, Point d’accommodement, &c. At Venice, where he was attaché to the Russian legation, he was arrested in 1797, but escaped to Russia. Sent as Russian attaché to Dresden, he published a violent pamphlet against Napoleon I., and was expelled by the Saxon government. He then went to London, and it was universally believed that he betrayed the secret articles of the treaty of Tilsit to the British cabinet, but his recent biographer, Pingaud, contests this. In 1812 he and his wife Madame Saint-Huberty, an operatic singer, were assassinated by an Italian servant whom they had dismissed. It has never been known whether the murder was committed from private or political motives.

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/163


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Antonius

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Antonius


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Antraigues, Emmanuel Henri Louis Alexandre de Launay


text: User:Marilee Nutt

title: User:Marilee Nutt


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/137

Rh Alphonse nothing of the occurrence; on the contrary, he proposed that they should apply for two vacant places in the Crédit Lyonnais.

Alphonse was quite willing, for he loved change, and the splendid new banking establishment on the Boulevard seemed to him far more attractive than the dark offices in the Rue Bergère. So they removed to the Crédit Lyonnais on the first of May. But as they were in the chief's office taking their leave, the old banker said to Charles, when Alphonse had gone out (Alphonse always took precedence of Charles), "Sentiment won't do for a business man."

From that day forward a change went on in Charles. He not only worked as industriously and conscientiously as before, but developed such energy and such an amazing faculty for labor as soon attracted to him the attention of his superiors. That he was far ahead of his friend in business capacity was soon manifest; but every time he received a new mark of recognition he had a struggle with himself. For a long time, every advancement brought with it a certain qualm of conscience; and yet he worked on with restless ardor.

One day Alphonse said, in his light, frank way: "You are really a smart fellow, Charlie! You're getting ahead of everybody, young and old—not to mention me. I'm quite proud of you."

Charles felt ashamed. He had been thinking


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/138

130 that Alphonse must feel wounded at being left on one side, and now he learned that his friend not only did not grudge him his advancement, but was even proud of him. By degrees his conscience was lulled to rest, and his solid worth was more and more appreciated.

But if he was in reality the more capable, how came it that he was so entirely ignored in society, while Alphonse remained everybody's darling? The very promotions and marks of appreciation which he had won for himself by hard work were accorded him in a dry, business manner; while every one, from the directors to the messengers, had a friendly word or a merry greeting for Alphonse.

In the different offices and departments of the bank they intrigued to obtain possession of Monsieur Alphonse; for a breath of life and freshness followed ever in the wake of his handsome person and joyous nature. Charles, on the other hand, had often remarked that his colleagues regarded him as a dry person, who thought only of business and of himself.

The truth was that he had a heart of rare sensitiveness, with no faculty for giving it expression.

Charles was one of those small, black Frenchmen whose beard begins right under the eyes; his complexion was yellowish and his hair stiff and splintery. His eyes did not dilate when he


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/139

Rh was pleased and animated, but they flashed around and glittered. When he laughed the corners of his mouth turned upward, and many a time, when his heart was full of joy and goodwill, he had seen people draw back, half-frightened by his forbidding exterior. Alphonse alone knew him so well that he never seemed to see his ugliness; every one else misunderstood him. He became suspicious, and retired more and more within himself.

In an insensible crescendo the thought grew in him: Why should he never attain anything of that which he most longed for—intimate and cordial intercourse and friendliness which should answer to the warmth pent up within him? Why should every one smile to Alphonse with out-stretched hands, while he must content himself with stiff bows and cold glances?

Alphonse knew nothing of all this. He was joyous and healthy, charmed with life and content with his daily work. He had been placed in the easiest and most interesting branch of the business, and, with his quick brain and his knack of making himself agreeable, he filled his place satisfactorily.

His social circle was very large—every one set store by his acquaintance, and he was at least as popular among women as among men.

For a time Charles accompanied Alphonse into society, until he was seized by a misgiving


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/140

132 that he was invited for his friend's sake alone, when he at once drew back.

When Charles proposed that they should set up in business together, Alphonse had answered: "It is too good of you to choose me. You could easily find a much better partner."

Charles had imagined that their altered relations and closer association in work would draw Alphonse out of the circles which Charles could not now endure, and unite them more closely. For he had conceived a vague dread of losing his friend.

He did not himself know, nor would it have been easy to decide, whether he was jealous of all the people who flocked around Alphonse and drew him to them, or whether he envied his friend's popularity.

They began their business prudently and energetically, and got on well.

It was generally held that each formed an admirable complement to the other. Charles represented the solid, confidence-inspiring element, while the handsome and elegant Alphonse imparted to the firm a certain lustre which was far from being without value.

Every one who came into the counting-house at once remarked his handsome figure, and thus it seemed quite natural that all should address themselves to him.

Charles meanwhile bent over his work and let


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/141

Rh Alphonse be spokesman. When Alphonse asked him about anything, he answered shortly and quietly without looking up.

Thus most people thought that Charles was a confidential clerk, while Alphonse was the real head of the house.

As Frenchmen, they thought little about marrying, but as young Parisians they led a life into which erotics entered largely.

Alphonse was never really in his element except when in female society. Then all his exhilarating amiability came into play, and when he leaned back at supper and held out his shallow champagne-glass to be refilled, he was as beautiful as a happy god.

He had a neck of the kind which women long to caress, and his soft, half-curling hair looked as if it were negligently arranged, or carefully disarranged, by a woman's coquettish hand.

Indeed, many slim white fingers had passed through those locks; for Alphonse had not only the gift of being loved by women, but also the yet rarer gift of being forgiven by them.

When the friends were together at gay supper-parties, Alphonse paid no particular heed to Charles. He kept no account of his own love-affairs, far less of those of his friend. So it might easily happen that a beauty on whom Charles had cast a longing eye fell into the hands of Alphonse.


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/142

134 Charles was used to seeing his friend preferred in life; but there are certain things to which men can scarcely accustom themselves. He seldom went with Alphonse to his suppers, and it was always long before the wine and the general exhilaration could bring him into a convivial humor.

But then, when the champagne and the bright eyes had gone to his head, he would often be the wildest of all; he would sing loudly with his harsh voice, laugh and gesticulate so that his stiff black hair fell over his forehead; and then the merry ladies shrank from him, and called him the "chimney-sweep."

—As the sentry paces up and down in the beleaguered fortress, he sometimes hears a strange sound in the silent night, as if something were rustling under his feet. It is the enemy, who has undermined the outworks, and to-night or to-morrow night there will be a hollow explosion, and armed men will storm in through the breach.

If Charles had kept close watch over himself he would have heard strange thoughts rustling within him. But he would not hear—he had only a dim foreboding that sometime there must come an explosion.

—And one day it came.

It was already after business hours; the clerks had all left the outer office, and only the principals remained behind.


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/143

Rh Charles was busily writing a letter which he wished to finish before he left.

Alphonse had drawn on both his gloves and buttoned them. Then he had brushed his hat until it shone, and now he was walking up and down and peeping into Charles's letter every time he passed the desk.

They used to spend an hour every day before dinner in a café on the great Boulevard, and Alphonse was getting impatient for his newspapers.

"Will you never have finished that letter?" he said, rather irritably.

Charles was silent a second or two, then he sprang up so that his chair fell over: "Perhaps Alphonse imagined that he could do it better? Did he not know which of them was really the man of business?" And now the words streamed out with that incredible rapidity of which the French language is capable when it is used in fiery passion.

But it was a turbid stream, carrying with it many ugly expressions, upbraidings, and recriminations; and through the whole there sounded something like a suppressed sob.

As he strode up and down the room, with clenched hands and dishevelled hair, Charles looked like a little wiry-haired terrier barking at an elegant Italian grayhound. At last he seized his hat and rushed out.


text: Author:Andrew Edward Breen

title: Author:Andrew Edward Breen


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/144

136 Alphonse had stood looking at him with great wondering eyes. When he was gone, and there was once more silence in the room, it seemed as though the air was still quivering with the hot words. Alphonse recalled them one by one, as he stood motionless beside the desk.

"Did he not know which was the abler of the two?" Yes, assuredly! he had never denied that Charles was by far his superior.

"He must not think that he would succeed in winning everything to himself with his smooth face." Alphonse was not conscious of ever having deprived his friend of anything.

"I don't care for your cocottes" Charles had said.

Could he really have been interested in the little Spanish dancer? If Alphonse had only had the faintest suspicion of such a thing he would never have looked at her. But that was nothing to get so wild about; there were plenty of women in Paris.

And at last: "As sure as to-morrow comes, I will dissolve partnership!"

Alphonse did not understand it at all. He left the counting-house and walked moodily through the streets until he met an acquaintance. That put other thoughts into his head; but all day he had a feeling as if something gloomy and uncomfortable lay in wait, ready to seize him so soon as he was alone.


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/145

Rh When he reached home, late at night, he found a letter from Charles. He opened it hastily; but it contained, instead of the apology he had expected, only a coldly-worded request to M. Alphonse to attend at the counting-house early the next morning "in order that the contemplated dissolution of partnership might be effected as quickly as possible."

Now, for the first time, did Alphonse begin to understand that the scene in the counting-house had been more than a passing outburst of passion; but this only made the affair more inexplicable.

And the longer he thought it over, the more clearly did he feel that Charles had been unjust to him. He had never been angry with his friend, nor was he precisely angry even now. But as he repeated to himself all the insults Charles had heaped upon him, his good-natured heart hardened; and the next morning he took his place in silence, after a cold "Good-morning."

Although he arrived a whole hour earlier than usual, he could see that Charles had been working long and industriously. There they sat, each on his side of the desk; they spoke only the most indispensable words; now and then a paper passed from hand to hand, but they never looked each other in the face.

In this way they both worked—each more


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/146

138 than the other—until twelve o'clock, their usual luncheon-time.

This hour of déjêuner was the favorite time of both. Their custom was to have it served in their office, and when the old housekeeper announced that lunch was ready, they would both rise at once, even if they were in the midst of a sentence or of an account.

They used to eat standing by the fireplace, or walking up and down in the warm, comfortable office. Alphonse had always some piquant stories to tell, and Charles laughed at them. These were his pleasantest hours.

But that day, when madame said her friendly "Messieurs, on a servi," they both remained sitting. She opened her eyes wide, and repeated the words as she went out, but neither moved.

At last Alphonse felt hungry, went to the table, poured out a glass of wine and began to eat his cutlet. But as he stood there eating, with his glass in his hand, and looked round the dear old office where they had spent so many pleasant hours, and then thought that they were to lose all this and imbitter their lives for a whim, a sudden burst of passion, the whole situation appeared to him so preposterous that he almost burst out laughing.

"Look here, Charles," he said, in the half-earnest, half-joking tone which always used to make Charles laugh, "it will really be too


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/147

Rh to advertise: 'According to an amicable agreement, from such and such a date the firm of—'"

"I have been thinking," interrupted Charles, quietly, "that we will put: 'According to mutual agreement.'"

Alphonse laughed no more; he put down his glass, and the cutlet tasted bitter in his mouth.

He understood that friendship was dead between them, why or wherefore he could not tell; but he thought that Charles was hard and unjust to him. He was now stiffer and colder than the other.

They worked together until the business of dissolution was finished; then they parted.

A considerable time passed, and the two quondam friends worked each in his own quarter in the great Paris. They met at the Bourse, but never did business with each other. Charles never worked against Alphonse; he did not wish to ruin him; he wished Alphonse to ruin himself.

And Alphonse seemed likely enough to meet his friend's wishes in this respect. It is true that now and then he did a good stroke of business, but the steady industry he had learned from Charles he soon forgot. He began to neglect his office, and lost many good connections.


text:
Category:Travelogues

A record made by a voyager, generally in diary form. A travelogue contains descriptions of the traveler's experiences, and is normally written during the course of the journey, with the intention of updating friends or family on the journey.

title: Category:Travelogues


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/148

140 He had always had a taste for dainty and luxurious living, but his association with the frugal Charles had hitherto held his extravagances in check. Now, on the contrary, his life became more and more dissipated. He made fresh acquaintances on every hand, and was more than ever the brilliant and popular Monsieur Alphonse; but Charles kept an eye on his growing debts.

He had Alphonse watched as closely as possible, and, as their business was of the same kind, could form a pretty good estimate of the other's earnings. His expenses were even easier to ascertain, and he soon assured himself of the fact that Alphonse was beginning to run into debt in several quarters.

He cultivated some acquaintances about whom he otherwise cared nothing, merely because through them he got an insight into Alphonse's expensive mode of life and rash prodigality. He sought the same cafés and restaurants as Alphonse, but at different times; he even had his clothes made by the same tailor, because the talkative little man entertained him with complaints that Monsieur Alphonse never paid his bills.

Charles often thought how easy it would be to buy up a part of Alphonse's liabilities and let them fall into the hands of a grasping usurer. But it would be a great injustice to suppose that Charles for a moment contemplated doing such


text: Author:Hector Papi

title: Author:Hector Papi


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/149

Rh a thing himself. It was only an idea he was fond of dwelling upon; he was, as it were, in love with Alphonse's debts.

But things went slowly, and Charles became pale and sallow while he watched and waited.

He was longing for the time when the people who had always looked down upon him should have their eyes opened, and see how little the brilliant and idolized Alphonse was really fit for. He wanted to see him humbled, abandoned by his friends, lonely and poor; and then—!

Beyond that he really did not like to speculate; for at this point feelings stirred within him which he would not acknowledge.

He would hate his former friend; he would have revenge for all the coldness and neglect which had been his own lot in life; and every time the least thought in defence of Alphonse arose in his mind he pushed it aside, and said, like the old banker, "Sentiment won't do for a business man."

One day he went to his tailor's; he bought more clothes in these days than he absolutely needed.

The nimble little man at once ran to meet him with a roll of cloth: "See, here is the very stuff for you. Monsieur Alphonse has had a whole suit made of it, and Monsieur Alphonse is a gentleman who knows how to dress."

"I did not think that Monsieur Alphonse was


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/158

150 in the opposite mirror and thought she had beauty enough left.

Now and then the door opened and a new guest came in, stamped his feet, and shut his wet umbrella. All bowed to Madame Virginie, and almost all said, "What horrible weather!"

When Charles entered, he saluted shortly and took a seat in the corner beside the fireplace.

Alphonse's eyes had indeed become restless. He looked towards the door every time any one came in; and when Charles appeared, a spasm passed over his face and he missed his stroke.

"Monsieur Alphonse is not in the vein to-day," said an onlooker.

Soon after a strange gentleman came in. Charles looked up from his paper and nodded slightly; the stranger raised his eyebrows a little and looked at Alphonse.

He dropped his cue on the floor.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I'm not in the mood for billiards to-day," said he, "permit me to leave off. Waiter, bring me a bottle of seltzer-water and a spoon—I must take my dose of Vichy salts."

"You should not take so much Vichy salts, Monsieur Alphonse, but rather keep to a sensible diet," said the doctor, who sat a little way off playing chess.

Alphonse laughed, and seated himself at the newspaper-table. He seized the Journal


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/159

Rh , and began to make merry remarks upon the illustrations. A little circle quickly gathered round him, and he was inexhaustible in racy stories and whimsicalities.

While he rattled on under cover of the others' laughter, he poured out a glass of seltzer-water and took from his pocket a little box on which was written, in large letters, "Vichy Salts."

He shook the powder out into the glass and stirred it round with a spoon. There was a little cigar-ash on the floor in front of his chair; he whipped it off with his pocket-handkerchief, and then stretched out his hand for the glass.

At that moment he felt a hand on his arm. Charles had risen and hurried across the room; he now bent down over Alphonse.

Alphonse turned his head towards him so that none but Charles could see his face. At first he let his eyes travel furtively over his old friend's figure; then he looked up, and, gazing straight at Charles, he said, half aloud, "Charlie!"

It was long since Charles had heard that old pet name. He gazed into the well-known face, and now for the first time saw how it had altered of late. It seemed to him as though he were reading a tragic story about himself.

They remained thus for a second or two, and there glided over Alphonse's features that expression of imploring helplessness which Charles knew so well from the old school-days, when


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/160

152 came bounding in at the last moment and wanted his composition written.

"Have you done with the Journal Amusant?" asked Charles, with a thick utterance.

"Yes; pray take it," answered Alphonse, hurriedly. He reached him the paper, and at the same time got hold of Charles's thumb. He pressed it and whispered, "Thanks," then—drained the glass.

Charles went over to the stranger who sat by the door: "Give me the bill."

"You don't need our assistance, then?"

"No, thanks."

"So much the better," said the stranger, handing Charles a folded blue paper. Then he paid for his coffee and went.

Madame Virginie rose with a little shriek: "Alphonse! Oh, my God! Monsieur Alphonse is ill."

He slipped off his chair; his shoulders went up and his head fell on one side. He remained sitting on the floor, with his back against the chair.

There was a movement among those nearest; the doctor sprang over and knelt beside him. When he looked in Alphonse's face he started a little. He took his hand as if to feel his pulse, and at the same time bent down over the glass which stood on the edge of the table.

With a movement of the arm he gave it a slight


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/161

Rh push, so that it fell on the floor and was smashed. Then he laid down the dead man's hand and bound a handkerchief round his chin.

Not till then did the others understand what had happened. "Dead? Is he dead, doctor? Monsieur Alphonse dead?"

"Heart disease," answered the doctor.

One came running with water, another with vinegar. Amid laughter and noise, the balls could be heard cannoning on the inner billiard-table.

"Hush!" some one whispered. "Hush!" was repeated; and the silence spread in wider and wider circles round the corpse, until all was quite still.

"Come and lend a hand," said the doctor.

The dead man was lifted up; they laid him on a sofa in a corner of the room, and the nearest gas-jets were put out.

Madame Virginie was still standing up; her face was chalk-white, and she held her little soft hand pressed against her breast. They carried him right past the buffet. The doctor had seized him under the back, so that his waistcoat slipped up and a piece of his fine white shirt appeared.

She followed with her eyes the slender, supple limbs she knew so well, and continued to stare towards the dark corner.

Most of the guests went away in silence. A couple of young men entered noisily from the


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/150

142 one of your favorite customers," said Charles, rather taken by surprise.

"Oh, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the little tailor, "you mean because I have once or twice mentioned that Monsieur Alphonse owed me a few thousand francs. It was very stupid of me to speak so. Monsieur Alphonse has not only paid me the trifle he was owing, but I know that he has also satisfied a number of other creditors. I have done ce cher beau monsieur great injustice, and I beg you never to give him a hint of my stupidity."

Charles was no longer listening to the chatter of the garrulous tailor. He soon left the shop, and went up the street, quite absorbed in the one thought that Alphonse had paid.

He thought how foolish it really was of him to wait and wait for the other's ruin. How easily might not the adroit and lucky Alphonse come across many a brilliant business opening, and make plenty of money without a word of it reaching Charles's ears. Perhaps, after all, he was getting on well. Perhaps it would end in people saying, "See, at last Monsieur Alphonse shows what he is fit for, now that he is quit of his dull and crabbed partner!"

Charles went slowly up the street with his head bent. Many people jostled him, but he heeded not. His life seemed to him so meaningless, as if he had lost all that he had ever possessed—or


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/151

Rh had he himself cast it from him? Just then some one ran against him with more than usual violence. He looked up. It was an acquaintance from the time when he and Alphonse had been in the Crédit Lyonnais.

"Ah, good-day, Monsieur Charles!" cried he, "It is long since we met. Odd, too, that I should meet you to-day. I was just thinking of you this morning."

"Why, may I ask?" said Charles, half absently.

"Well, you see, only to-day I saw up at the bank a paper—a bill for thirty or forty thousand francs—bearing both your name and that of Monsieur Alphonse. It astonished me, for I thought that you two—hm!—had done with each other."

"No, we have not quite done with each other yet," said Charles slowly.

He struggled with all his might to keep his face calm, and asked, in as natural a tone as he could command, "When does the bill fall due? I don't quite recollect."

"To-morrow or the day after, I think," answered the other, who was a hard-worked business man, and was already in a hurry to be off. "It was accepted by Monsieur Alphonse."

"I know that," said Charles; "but could you not manage to let me redeem the bill to-morrow? It is a courtesy—a favor I am anxious to do."


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/152

144 "With pleasure. Tell your messenger to ask for me personally at the bank to-morrow afternoon. I will arrange it; nothing easier. Excuse me; I'm in a hurry. Good-bye!" and with that he ran on.

Next day Charles sat in his counting-house waiting for the messenger who had gone up to the bank to redeem Alphonse's bill.

At last a clerk entered, laid a folded blue paper by his principal's side, and went out again.

Not until the door was closed did Charles seize the draft, look swiftly round the room, and open it. He stared for a second or two at his name, then lay back in his chair and drew a deep breath. It was as he had expected—the signature was a forgery.

He bent over it again. For long he sat, gazing at his own name, and observing how badly it was counterfeited.

While his sharp eyes followed every line in the letters of his name, he scarcely thought. His mind was so disturbed, and his feelings so strangely conflicting, that it was some time before he became conscious how much they betrayed—these bungling strokes on the blue paper.

He felt a strange lump in his throat, his nose began to tickle a little, and, before he was aware of it, a big tear fell on the paper.

He looked hastily around, took out his pocket-handkerchief, and carefully wiped the wet place


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/153

Rh on the bill. He thought again of the old banker in the Rue Bergère.

What did it matter to him that Alphonse's weak character had at last led him to crime, and what had he lost? Nothing, for did he not hate his former friend? No one could say it was his fault that Alphonse was ruined—he had shared with him honestly, and never harmed him.

Then his thoughts turned to Alphonse. He knew him well enough to be sure that when the refined, delicate Alphonse had sunk so low, he must have come to a jutting headland in life, and be prepared to leap out of it rather than let disgrace reach him.

At this thought Charles sprang up. That must not be. Alphonse should not have time to send a bullet through his head and hide his shame in the mixture of compassion and mysterious horror which follows the suicide. Thus Charles would lose his revenge, and it would be all to no purpose that he had gone and nursed his hatred until he himself had become evil through it. Since he had for ever lost his friend, he would at least expose his enemy, so that all should see what a miserable, despicable being was this charming Alphonse.

He looked at his watch; it was half-past four. Charles knew the café in which he would find Alphonse at this hour; he pocketed the bill and buttoned his coat.


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/154

146 But on the way he would call at a police-station, and hand over the bill to a detective, who at a sign from Charles should suddenly advance into the middle of the café where Alphonse was always surrounded by his friends and admirers, and say loudly and distinctly so that all should hear it:

"Monsieur Alphonse, you are charged with forgery."

It was raining in Paris. The day had been foggy, raw, and cold; and well on in the afternoon it had begun to rain. It was not a downpour—the water did not fall from the clouds in regular drops—but the clouds themselves had, as it were, laid themselves down in the streets of Paris and there slowly condensed into water.

No matter how people might seek to shelter themselves, they got wet on all sides. The moisture slid down the back of your neck, laid itself like a wet towel about your knees, penetrated into your boots and far up your trousers.

A few sanguine ladies were standing in the portes cochères, with their skirts tucked up, expecting it to clear; others waited by the hour in the omnibus stations. But most of the stronger sex hurried along under their umbrellas; only a few had been sensible enough to give up the battle, and had turned up their collars, stuck their


text:
Author:Michael O'Riordan

Works

 * Catholicity and Progress in Ireland (1906)

title: Author:Michael O'Riordan


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/155

Rh under their arms, and their hands in their pockets.

Although it was early in the autumn it was already dusk at five o'clock. A few gas-jets lighted in the narrowest streets, and in a shop here and there strove to shine out in the thick wet air.

People swarmed as usual in the streets, jostled one another off the pavement, and ruined one another's umbrellas. All the cabs were taken up; they splashed along and bespattered the foot passengers to the best of their ability, while the asphalt glistened in the dim light with a dense coating of mud.

The cafés were crowded to excess; regular customers went round and scolded, and the waiters ran against each other in their hurry. Ever and anon, amid the confusion, could be heard the sharp little ting of the bell on the buffet; it was la dame du comptoir summoning a waiter, while her calm eyes kept a watch upon the whole café.

A lady sat at the buffet of a large restaurant on the Boulevard Sebastopol. She was widely known for her cleverness and her amiable manners.

She had glossy black hair, which, in spite of the fashion, she wore parted in the middle of her forehead in natural curls. Her eyes were almost black and her mouth full, with a little shadow of a moustache.


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/156

148 Her figure was still very pretty, although, if the truth were known, she had probably passed her thirtieth year; and she had a soft little hand, with which she wrote elegant figures in her cashbook, and now and then a little note. Madame Virginie could converse with the young dandies who were always hanging about the buffet, and parry their witticisms, while she kept account with the waiters and had her eye upon every corner of the great room.

She was really pretty only from five till seven in the afternoon—that being the time at which Alphonse invariably visited the café. Then her eyes never left him; she got a fresher color, her mouth was always trembling into a smile, and her movements became somewhat nervous. That was the only time of the day when she was ever known to give a random answer or to make a mistake in the accounts; and the waiters tittered and nudged each other.

For it was generally thought that she had formerly had relations with Alphonse, and some would even have it that she was still his mistress.

She herself best knew how matters stood; but it was impossible to be angry with Monsieur Alphonse. She was well aware that he cared no more for her than for twenty others; that she had lost him—nay, that he had never really been hers. And yet her eyes besought a friendly look, and when he left the café without sending


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/157

Rh her a confidential greeting, it seemed as though she suddenly faded, and the waiters said to each other: "Look at madame; she is gray to-night."

Over at the windows it was still light enough to read the papers; a couple of young men were amusing themselves with watching the crowds which streamed past. Seen through the great plate-glass windows, the busy forms gliding past one another in the dense, wet, rainy air looked like fish in an aquarium. Further back in the café, and over the billiard-tables, the gas was lighted. Alphonse was playing with a couple of friends.

He had been to the buffet and greeted Madame Virginie, and she, who had long noticed how Alphonse was growing paler day by day, had—half in jest, half in anxiety—reproached him with his thoughtless life.

Alphonse answered with a poor joke and asked for absinthe.

How she hated those light ladies of the ballet and the opera who enticed Monsieur Alphonse to revel night after night at the gaming-table, or at interminable suppers! How ill he had been looking these last few weeks! He had grown quite thin, and the great gentle eyes had acquired a piercing, restless look. What would she not give to be able to rescue him out of that life that was dragging him down! She glanced


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/162

154 street; a waiter ran towards them and said a few words. They glanced towards the corner, buttoned their coats, and plunged out again into the fog.

The half-darkened café was soon empty; only some of Alphonse's nearest friends stood in a group and whispered. The doctor was talking with the proprietor, who had now appeared on the scene.

The waiters stole to and fro, making great circuits to avoid the dark corner. One of them knelt and gathered up the fragments of the glass on a tray. He did his work as quietly as he could; but for all that it made too much noise.

"Let that alone until by and by," said the host, softly.

Leaning against the chimney-piece, Charles looked at the dead man. He slowly tore the folded paper to pieces, while he thought of his friend.


text:
Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Massachusetts

ASSACHUSETTS, an Indian name originally applied to a small hillock bordering on Boston Harbour, and thence to a neighbouring tribe of Indians. It is the chief political division of New England, and one of the original thirteen States of the American Union. It lies for the most part between 40° and 42° 45' N. lat., and 70° 30' and 73° 30' W. long.

Physical Description. — Its area, of about 7800 square miles, forms in the main a parallelogram, of 160 miles east and west, 50 miles north and south, — with a projection at the south-east and a lesser one at the north-east, which gives a breadth of 90 miles at this part, where it borders upon the ocean, while the general irregularity of this coast-line gives a sea frontage of about 250 miles. No large navigable river flows in any part, though the Connecticut river, bisecting the State during 50 miles of its course, and fed within it by several lateral streams, has been made navigable for small craft. The Housatonic, a lesser stream, flows parallel with the Connecticut, farther west. The two valleys are separated by the Hoosac range (1200 to 1600 feet high) of the Berkshire Hills, a part of the Appalachian system, and a continuation of the Green Mountains of Vermont. These, with the Taconic range on the western side of the Housatonic valley, of which the highest peak is Greylock, or Saddleback (almost 3500 feet), in the extreme north-west corner of the State, form the only considerable elevated land. Bordering on the Connecticut, Mount Tom (1200 feet) and a few other hills form conspicuous landmarks. Wachusett (2018 feet), farther east, rises from a level country. The Blue Hills in Milton are the nearest elevation to the coast, and are conspicuous to navigators approaching Boston.

The Merrimac runs for 35 miles through the north-east corner of the State, and affords valuable water-power at Lowell, Lawrence, and Haverhill. A few small streams, useful for mill purposes and irrigation, seek the ocean through Boston, Buzzard's, and Narragansett Bays, running for the most part through a rolling country. The

south-east parts of the State are level, — with a slightly elevated ridge (Manomet) south of Plymouth, — sandy in soil, with tracts of forest, largely white pine, and well watered by ponds. Between Plymouth and Buzzard's Bay there is the most considerable region of untamed soil in the State, where deer are occasionally seen.

South of Cohasset the shore is sandy, with a few isolated rocky ledges and boulders. About Boston, and to the north of it, the shore is rocky and picturesque. Massachusetts Bay is a name now applied to the gulf of which the outer limits are Cape Cod and Cape Ann; but in early days it was applied to the enclosed lesser bay on its western side, now called Boston Harbour, the finest roadstead on the coast. The extreme hook of the Cape Cod peninsula forms Provincetown Harbour, which is an excellent and capacious port of refuge for vessels approaching Boston. Salem Harbour is the most considerable other haven on the bay; while on Buzzard's Bay New Bedford has a good harbour.

The principal islands lie off the southern coast. The largest is Martha's Vineyard, 21 miles long, with an average breadth of 5 or 6. It has in Holmes's Hole a spacious harbour, much frequented by wind-bound vessels seeking a passage round Cape Cod. The island is interesting as the scene of Mayhew's missionary efforts among the Indians, and it still harbours a remnant of a tribe. It has a population (4300 in 1880) formerly dependent wholly upon the sea; and of late years it has become a summer resort of much popularity. Farther east, Nantucket, an island of triangular shape, 15 miles long and 11 wide at its eastern end, is likewise the home of a seafaring folk (population in 1880, 3727), who still retain in some degree primitive habits, though summer visitors are more and more affecting its life. Nantucket Shoals, south-east of the island, is a large sandbank dangerous to navigation.

Flora and Fauna. — The original native trees and plants did not vary from what is common to New England and northern New York. The presence of a dense population has driven some out, and brought in others, including some noxious weeds. The larger wild animals have disappeared except an occasional deer; but small game still runs, and even within the municipal limits of Boston wild foxes are occasionally killed. No very large birds frequent the State, though a stray eagle is sometimes seen. Reptiles of a harmless kind are found, and three kinds of venomous snakes, — the latter even near Boston, particularly in the Blue Hills of Milton. Fish are abundant on the coast, and the cod is sometimes used as an emblem of the State, a figure of one hanging in the Representatives Chamber at the State House. The artificial propagation and preservation of salmon and other edible pond and river fish have been of late carried on successfully under the supervision of a State commission

Geology. — Professor N. S. Shaler of Harvard University says: “Geologically as well as topographically, the State is divided into four districts, which extend farther than the State limits. In the south-eastern part the whole of Cape Cod and Plymouth county is made up of rearranged glacial drift. Westward, from the shore region to the Connecticut, the rocks are of the Laurentian, Cambrian, and Carboniferous ages. The Connecticut river flows through a basin of Triassic rocks, abounding in reptilian footprints. West of this basin, to the New York line, the surface is occupied by an extensive series of highly metamorphosed rocks, the age of which is doubtful; but the series is certainly as old as the Silurian. The whole surface of the State was greatly affected by the last glacial period, as much so as Scotland or Sweden.

“The economic resources are limited. An area of about 250 square miles in the south-eastern part of the State

shows Carboniferous rocks, containing several coals. The deep drift coating, the profoundly dislocated character of the beds, and the graphitic nature of the coals have made mining unsuccessful. Mines of silver-bearing lead have at times been worked in the north-eastern shore districts, and in the Connecticut valley, but without profit. Emery is now successfully worked in the western district. There are also deposits of hematite iron ores all along the border of New York, which are considerably worked. There are numerous quarries of sienite in the eastern parts of the State, some of red sandstone in the Connecticut valley,. and of white marble in the western regions.”

Climate. — The climate is a trying one, showing great extremes (20° Fahr. below and 100° above), with about 42 inches of rainfall. The mean average temperature of Boston is 48° Fahr. In the interior it is a trifle lower. Changes are often sudden, and the passage from winter to summer is by a rapid spring. The ocean tempers the climate considerably on the seaboard. Boston harbour has been frozen over in the past, but steam-tugs plying constantly prevent now the occurrence of such obstruction.

Agriculture. — The soil, except in some of the valleys, can hardly be called naturally fertile; and sandy barrens are common in the south-eastern parts. High cultivation, however, has produced valuable market-gardens about Boston and the larger towns; and industry has made the tilling of the earth sustaining in most other parts; while the average sterility of the soil has doubtless had a strong influence in developing a sturdy yeomanry in the rural regions.

In 1875 671,131 tons of hay were cut. On the seaboard some extensive salt marshes yield a hay which is much prized. The corn crop diminished one half from 1855 to 1875. The State produced in 1880 1,797,593 bushels of Indian corn, 15,768 of wheat, 645,159 of oats, 80,128 of barley, 213,716 of rye, 67,117 of buckwheat. In 1870 the average cash value per acre of principal farm-crops was $26.71, which amount is exceeded only in Rhode Island. In the Connecticut valley tobacco is grown, 3358 acres being given to it in 1880, producing 5,369,436 lb, which gives the State the thirteenth rank in the Union. In forty years the sheep have fallen from 384,614 to 65,123 in 1880; and in the same year there were 139,861 horses and 174,859 cows. In 1880 there were 38,406 farms, of which 35,266 were owned by occupants. Most of them were between 20 and 500 acres each, nearly 12,000 having over 100 acres.

(J. WI.)


text:
The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb

KLOPSTOCK, Friedrich Gottlieb, a German poet, born in Quedlinburg, July 2, 1724, died in Hamburg, March 14, 1803. He was born in a small house at the foot of the castle hill in the Schlossplatz, recognizable by the two pillars which support its porch. His father was a public functionary in comfortable circumstances and his mother a woman of great piety. In 1740 he entered the seminary of Schulpforte. At that early age he was already possessed by the ambition of producing a great epic. The stirring incidents of the life of Henry the Fowler captivated for a time his imagination, as shown by some odes written by him in honor of that prince; but after his attendance at the university of Jena (1745), religious enthusiasm led to the conception of his Messias (“Messiah”). In 1746 he went to Leipsic, then the resort of many literary men, who, after their secession from the pedantic school of Gottsched, had formed in 1740 a poetical union and established an independent literary journal published in Bremen. Klopstock, in his ode entitled Wingolf, distinguishes Gellert, Rabener, Hagedorn, Gleim, and many others of his literary associates of Leipsic, who as early as 1747 had recognized him as able to inaugurate a new era in German poetry. The first three cantos of his “Messiah” were published in 1748, in the Bremen Literarische Zeitung, and the poem was eventually regarded as equal to the epics of Dante and Milton, especially by the religious and female portion of the community. Gottsched, however, ridiculed what he called Klopstock's “seraphic spirit of fanaticism;” and his strictures on his dogmatism, his effeminate and morbid tenderness, and his religious sentimentality were afterward confirmed by Lessing, although in a milder and more dignified spirit. Foremost among his admirers was Bodmer of Zürich, the opponent of Gottsched, the translator of Milton, and the head of a school of poets and religionists. From 1748 to 1750 Klopstock was employed as a teacher in the family of his relative Weiss in Langensalza, where he met the sister of his friend Schmidt, whom he celebrates in his odes as his beloved Fanny, but who did not reciprocate his affection. In the summer of 1750 he went with his friend Sulzer to Zürich, which he left in the following year, in compliance with an invitation from the Danish prime minister Bernstorff, who offered him a pension of $300, in order to enable him to devote himself exclusively to the completion of his epic. On his way to Copenhagen he fell in love with Margaretha (Meta) Moller, the daughter of a Hamburg merchant, whom he celebrates under the name of Cidli. In the Danish capital he was received with marked distinction, and introduced to the king, whom he accompanied on

a journey to Holstein, on which occasion he spent some time with Meta, who became his wife in 1754. She died in 1758, in her 31st year. The loveliness of her character is apparent in her correspondence with Richardson, the English novelist, with Cramer, an intimate friend of Klopstock, and with her husband. (See “Memoirs of Frederick and Margaret Klopstock,” English translation, by Elizabeth Smith, London, 1808; and her correspondence with Richardson, 1818.) Klopstock resided now alternately in Brunswick, Quedlinburg, and Blankenburg, till 1763, when he returned to Copenhagen. In 1771, on Bernstorff's withdrawal from the ministry, he went to Hamburg with the rank of a councillor of the Danish legation. In 1792 he contracted a second marriage with Johanna Elisabeth von Dimpfel, whose first husband had been a nobleman named Windhem. He lived in Hamburg until his death, occasionally visiting literary friends in various parts of Germany. A pension was conferred upon him by the prince of Baden, and honorary citizenship by the French revolutionists. His death was looked upon in Germany as a national calamity, and his funeral was celebrated with the pomp and solemnity generally accorded only to royal personages. — The last two volumes of his "Messiah" and the greater portion of his odes appeared from 1769 to 1773. He wrote various grammatical and philological works and sacred dramas, or rather dramatic poems, chiefly turning upon characters of the Old Testament, as “The Death of Adam,” “Solomon,” and “David;” also several patriotic dramas (Bardiete), in commemoration of the national hero Hermann. Novalis (Hardenberg) says Klopstock's works resemble translations from some unknown poet, prepared by a skilful but unpoetical philologist. Goethe remarked in his conversations with Eckermann that German literature was greatly indebted to Klopstock, who was in advance of his times, but that the times had since advanced beyond Klopstock. Goethe in his autobiography also records his personal impression of Klopstock: “He was of small stature, but well built. His manners were grave and decorous, but free from pedantry. His address was intelligent and pleasing. On the whole, one might have taken him for a diplomatist. He carried himself with the self-conscious dignity of a person who has a great moral mission to fulfil. He conversed with facility on various subjects, but rather avoided speaking of poetry and literary matters.” His works have gone through many editions. Among the English translations of the “Messiah” is one into prose by Mrs. and Mr. Collyer, and a metrical translation appeared in London in 1825-'6. The “Death of Adam” and “Solomon” have also been translated into English, as well as his “Odes,” the latter by W. Nind (London, 1848). — See also Miss Benger, “Klopstock and his Friends” (London, 1814); Mörikofer, Klopstock in Zürich (Zürich, 1851); and a French essay on

him by Dietz (Paris, 1859). D. F. Strauss has an essay on Klopstock in his Kleine Schriften (Berlin, 1866).


text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/164

 ANTRIM, RANDAL MACDONNELL,  (d. 1636), called “Arranach,” having been brought up in the Scottish island of Arran by the Hamiltons, was the 4th son of  (q.v.), and of Mary, daughter of Conn O’Neill, 1st earl of Tyrone. He fought at first against the English government, participating in his brother James’s victory over Sir John Chichester at Carrickfergus in November 1597, and joining in O’Neill’s rebellion in 1600. But on the 16th of December he signed articles with Sir Arthur Chichester and was granted protection; in 1601 he became head of his house by his elder brother’s death, his pardon being confirmed to him; and in 1602 he submitted to Lord Mountjoy and was knighted. On the accession of James I. in 1603 he obtained a grant of the Route and the Glynns (Glens) districts, together with the island of Rathlin, and remained faithful to the government in spite of the unpopularity he thereby incurred among his kinsmen, who conspired to depose him. In 1607 he successfully defended himself against the charge of disloyalty on the occasion of the flight of the earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnell, and rendered services to the government by settling and civilizing his districts, being well received the following year by James in London. In 1618 he was created Viscount Dunluce, and subsequently he was appointed a privy councillor and lord-lieutenant of the county of Antrim. On the 12th of December 1620 he was created earl of Antrim. In 1621 he was charged with harbouring Roman Catholic priests, confessed his offence and was pardoned. He offered his assistance in 1625 during the prospect of a Spanish invasion, but was still regarded as a person that needed watching. His arbitrary conduct in Ireland in 1627 was suggested as a fit subject for examination by the Star Chamber, but his fidelity to the government was strictly maintained to the last. In 1631 he was busy repairing Protestant churches, and in 1634 he attended the Irish parliament. He made an important agreement in 1635 for the purchase from James Campbell, Lord Cantire, of the lordship of Cantire, or Kintyre, of which the MacDonnells had been dispossessed in 1600 by Argyll; but his possession was successfully opposed by Lord Lorne. He died on the 10th of December 1636. Antrim married Alice, daughter of Hugh O’Neill, earl of Tyrone, by whom, besides six daughters, he had (q.v.), and Alexander, 3rd earl. Three other sons, Maurice, Francis and James, were probably illegitimate. The earldom has continued in the family down to the present day, the 11th earl (b. 1851) succeeding in 1869.

ANTRIM, RANDAL MACDONNELL, (1609–1683), son of the 1st earl of Antrim, was born in 1609 and educated as a Roman Catholic. He travelled abroad, and on his return in 1634 went to court, next year marrying Katherine Manners, widow of the 1st duke of Buckingham, and living on her fortune for some years in great splendour. In 1639, on the outbreak of the Scottish war, he initiated a scheme of raising a force in Ireland to attack Argyll in Scotland and recover Kintyre (or Cantire), a district formerly possessed by his family; but the plan, discouraged and ridiculed by Strafford, miscarried. Soon afterwards he returned to Ireland, and sought in 1641 to create a diversion, together with Ormonde, for Charles I. against the parliament. He joined in his schemes Lord Slane and Sir Phelim O’Neill, later leaders of the rebellion, but on the outbreak of the rebellion in the autumn he dissociated himself from his allies and retired to his castle at Dunluce. His suspicious conduct, however, and his Roman Catholicism, caused him to be regarded as an enemy by the English party. In May 1642 he was captured at Dunluce Castle by the parliamentary general Robert Munro, and imprisoned at Carrickfergus. Escaping thence he joined the queen at York; and subsequently, having proceeded to Ireland to negotiate a cessation of hostilities, he was again captured with his papers in May 1643 and confined at Carrickfergus, thence once more escaping and making his way to Kilkenny, the headquarters of the Roman Catholic confederation. He returned to Oxford in December with a scheme for raising 10,000 Irish for service in England and 2000 to join Montrose in Scotland, which through the influence of the duchess of Buckingham secured the consent of the king. On the 26th of January 1644 Antrim was created a marquess. He returned to Kilkenny in February, took the oath of association, and was made a member of the council and lieutenant-general of the forces of the Catholic confederacy. The confederacy, however, giving him no support in his projects, he threw up his commission, and with Ormonde’s help despatched about 1600 men in June to Montrose’s assistance in Scotland, subsequently returning to Oxford and being sent by the king in 1645 with letters for the queen at St Germains. He proceeded thence to Flanders and fitted out two frigates with military stores, which he brought to the prince of Wales at Falmouth. He visited Cork and afterwards in July 1646 joined his troops in Scotland, with the hope of expelling Argyll from Kintyre; but he was obliged to retire by order of the king, and returning to Ireland threw himself into the intrigues between the various factions. In 1647 he was appointed with two others by the confederacy to negotiate a treaty with the prince of Wales in France, and though he anticipated his companions by starting a week before them, he failed to secure the coveted lord-lieutenancy, which was confirmed to Ormonde. He now ceased to support the Roman Catholics or the king’s cause; opposed the treaty between Ormonde and the confederates; supported the project of union between O’Neill and the parliament; and in 1649 entered into communications with Cromwell, for whom he performed various services, though there appears no authority to support Carte’s story that Antrim was the author of a forged agreement for the betrayal of the king’s army by Lord Inchiquin. Subsequently he joined Ireton, and was present at the siege of Carlow. He returned to England in December 1650, and in lieu of his confiscated estate received a pension of £500 and later of £800, together with lands in Mayo. At the Restoration Antrim was excluded from the Act of Oblivion on account of his religion, and on presenting himself at court was imprisoned in the Tower, subsequently being called before the lords justices in Ireland. In 1663 he succeeded, in spite of Ormonde’s opposition, in securing a decree of innocence from the commissioners of claims. This raised an outcry from the adventurers who had been put in possession of his lands, and who procured a fresh trial; but Antrim appealed to the king, and through the influence of the queen mother obtained a pardon, his estates being restored to him by the Irish, Act of Explanation in 1665. Antrim died on the 3rd of February 1683. He is described by Clarendon as of handsome appearance but “of excessive pride and vanity and of a marvellous weak and narrow understanding.” He married secondly Rose, daughter of Sir Henry O’Neill, but had no children, being succeeded in the earldom by his brother Alexander, 3rd earl of Antrim.

ANTRIM, a county in the north-east corner of Ireland, in the province of Ulster. It is bounded N. and E. by the narrow seas separating Ireland from Scotland, the Atlantic Ocean and Irish Sea, S. by Belfast Lough and the Lagan river dividing it from the county Down, W. by Lough Neagh, dividing it from the counties Armagh and Tyrone, and by county Londonderry, the boundary with which is the river Bann.

The area is 751,965 acres or about 1175 sq. m. A large portion of the county is hilly, especially in the east, where the highest elevations are attained, though these are nowhere great. The range runs north and south, and, following this direction

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/164


text:
User:NanoHeroAtom

{| class="tblMPmodule"
 * class="tdMPmodule" |

The Awesome Show Cast:
Here is the cast crew.

 * Robin Punzalan (2012-present) (writer, storyboard, and creator)
 * Rianna Punzalan (2012-present) (director)
 * }

title: User:NanoHeroAtom


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Antrim, Randal MacDonnell, 1st Earl of


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Antrim, Randal MacDonnell, 1st Marquess of


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/50

42 plainer. Again the horizon widely around was rose-colored, and between the tinted cloud-layers angel-heads peeped out—not Bible angels, which are neither man nor woman; but angelic girls, whom he didn't know, and who didn't know him. The truth was, he didn't know anybody to whom he could give his heart, but longed, with a certain twenty-four-year power, for her to whom he could offer it,—her who was worthy to receive his whole self-made being, and in exchange give him all that queer imagined bliss, which is or ought to be in the world, as every one so firmly believes.

"Oh, I am a fool!" he said, as he suddenly became conscious that he was merely dreaming and wishing. He tried to think of something practical, thought upon a little picnic that was to be held in the evening; but the same dream returned and overpowered him, because the season of spring was in him, because life thrilled in him as in trees and plants when the spring sun shines.

He leaned upon the window-seat—it was in an attic—and let the wind cool his forehead. But while the wind refreshed, the street itself gave his mind new nourishment. Down there it moved, to him unknown, and veiled and hidden as at a masquerade. What a treasure might not that easy virgin foot carry! What a fancy might there not be moving in the head under that little bonnet, and what a heart might there not be


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/51

Rh beating under the folds of that shawl! But, too, all this preciousness might belong to another.

Alas! yes, there were certainly many amiable ones down there!—and if destiny should lead him to one of them, who was free, lovely, well-bred, of good family, could any one vouch that for her sake he was not giving up Her, the beau-ideal, the expected, whose portrait had shown itself between the tinted clouds? or, in any event, who can vouch for one's success in not missing the right one?

"Oh! life is a lottery, a cruel lottery; for to everybody there is but one drawing, and the whole man is at stake. Woe to the loser!"

After the expiration of some time, Fritz, under the influence of these meditations, had become melancholy, and all bright, smiling, and sure as life had recently appeared to him, so misty, uncertain, and painful it now appeared. For the second time he stroked his forehead, shook these thoughts from him, seeking more practical ones, and for the second time it terminated in going to the window and gazing out.

A whirlwind filled the street, slamming gates and doors, shaking windows and carrying dust with it up to his attic chamber. He was in the act of drawing back, when he saw a little piece of paper whirled in the dust cloud coming closely near him. He shut his eyes to keep out the dust, grasping at random for the paper, which he


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/52

44 caught. At the same moment the whirlwind ceased, and the sky was again clear. This appeared to him ominous; the scrap of paper had certainly a meaning to him, a meaning for him; the unknown whom he had not really spoken to, yet had been so exceedingly busy with, could not quite accidentally have thus conveyed this to his hands, and with throbbing heart he retired from the window to read the message.

One side of the paper was blank; in the left-hand corner of the other side was written "beloved," and a little below it seemed as if there had been a signature, but now there was nothing left excepting the letters "geb."

"'Geb,' what does that mean?" asked Fritz Bagger, with dark humor. "If it had been gek, I could have understood it, although it were incorrectly written. Geb, Gebrer, Algebra, Gebrüderbuh,—I am a big fool."

"But it is no matter, she shall have an answer," he shouted after a while, and seated himself to write a long, glowing love-letter. When it was finished and read, he tore it in pieces.

"No," said he, "if destiny has intended the least thing by acting to me as mail-carrier through the window, let me act reasonably." He wrote on a little piece of paper:

"As the old Norwegians, when they went to Iceland, threw their high-seat pillars into the sea with the resolution to settle where they should


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/53

Rh go ashore, so I send this out. My faith follows after; and it is my conviction that where this alights, I shall one day come, and salute you as my chosen, as my—." "Yes, now what more shall I add?" he asked himself. "Ay, as my—'geb'—!" he added, with an outburst of merry humor, that just completed the whole sentimental outburst. He went to the window and threw the paper out; it alighted with a slow quivering. He was already afraid that it would go directly down into the ditch; but then a breeze came lifting it almost up to himself again, then a new current carried it away, lifting it higher and higher, whirling it, till at last it disappeared from his sight in continual ascension, so he thought.

"After all, I have become engaged to-day," he said to himself, with a certain quiet humor, and yet impressed by a feeling that he had really given himself to the unknown.

years had passed, and Fritz Bagger had made his mark, although not as a lover. He had become Counsellor, and was particularly distinguished for the skill and energy with which he brought criminals to confession. It is thus that a man of fine and poetic feelings can satisfy himself in such a business, for a time at least: with


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/54

46 the half of his soul he can lead a life which to himself and others seems entire only because it is busy, because it keeps him at work, and fills him with a consciousness of accomplishing something practical and good. There is a youthful working power, which needs not to look sharply out into the future for a particular aim of feeling or desire. This power itself, by the mere effort to keep in a given place, is for such an organization, every day, an aim, a relish; and one can for a number of years drive business so energetically, that he, too, slips over that difficult time which in every twenty-four hours threatens to meet him, the time between work and sleep, twilight, when the other half of the soul strives to awaken.

Be it because his professional duties gave him no time or opportunity for courtship, or for some other reason, Fritz Bagger remained a bachelor; and a bachelor with the income of his profession is looked upon as a rich man. Counsellor Bagger would, when business allowed, enter into social life, treating it in that elegant, independent, almost poetic manner, which in most cases is denied to married men, and which is one reason why they press the hand of a bachelor with a sigh, a mixture of envy, admiration, and compassion. If we add here that a bachelor with such a professional income is the possible stepping-stone to an advantageous marriage, it is easily seen that Fritz Bagger


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/55

Rh was much sought for in company. He went, too, into it as often as allowed by his legal duties, from which he would hasten in the black "swallow-tail" to a dinner or soirée, and often amused himself where most others were weary; because conversation about anything whatever with the cultivated was to him a refreshment, and because he brought with him a good appetite and good humor, resting upon conscientious work. He could show interest in divers trifles, because in their nothingness (quite contrary to the trifles in which half an hour previous, with painful interest, he had ferreted out crime), they appeared to him as belonging to an innocent, childish world; and if conversation approached more earnest things, he spoke freely, and evidently gave himself quite up to the subject, letting the whole surface of his soul flow out. And this procured him friendship and reputation.

In this way, then, six years had slipped by, when Counsellor Bagger, or rather Fritz Bagger as we will call him, in remembrance of his examination-day, and his notes by the flying mail, was invited to a wedding-party on the shooting-ground. The company was not very large,—only thirty couples,—but very elegant. Bagger was a friend in the families of both bride and bridegroom, and consequently being well known to nearly all present he felt himself as among friends gathered by a mutual joy, and was more


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/56

48 than usually animated. A superb wine, which the bride's father had himself brought, crowned their spirits with the last perfect wreath. Although the toast to the bridal pair had been officially proposed, Bagger took occasion to offer his congratulations in a second encomium of lovel and matrimony; which gave a solid, prosaic man opportunity for the witty remark and hearty wish that so distinguished a practical office-holder as Counsellor Bagger would carry his fine theories upon matrimony into practice. The toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and just at that moment a strong wind shook the windows, and burst open one of the doors, blowing so far into the hall as to cause the lights to flicker much.

Bagger became, through the influence of the wine, the company, and the sight of the happy bridal pair, six years younger. His soul was carried away from criminal and police courts, and found itself on high, as in the attic chamber, with a vision of the small tinted clouds and the angel-heads. The sudden gust of wind carried him quite back to the moment when he sent out his note as the Norwegian heroes their high-seat pillars: the spirit of his twenty-fourth year came wholly over him, queerly mixed with the half-regretful reflection of the thirtieth year, with fun, inclination to talk and to breathe; and he exclaimed, as he rose to acknowledge the toast:

"I am engaged."


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/57

Rh "Ay! ay! Congratulate! congratulate!" sounded from all sides.

"This gust of wind, which nearly extinguished the lights, brought me a message from my betrothed!"

"What?" "What is it?" asked the company, their heads at that moment not in the least condition for guessing charades.

"Counsellor Bagger, have you, like the Doge of Venice, betrothed yourself to the sea or storm?" asked the bridegroom.

"Hear him, the fortunate! sitting upon the golden doorstep to the kingdom of love! Let him surmise and guess all that concerns Cupid, for he has obtained the inspiration, the genial sympathy," exclaimed Bagger. "Yes," he continued, "just like the Doge of Venice, but not as aristocratic! From my attic chamber, where I sat on my examination-day, guided by Cupid, in a manner which it would take too long to narrate, I gave to the whirlwind a love-letter, and at any moment She can step forward with my letter, my promise, and demand me soul and body."

"Who is it, then?" asked bridegroom and bride, with the most earnest interest.

"Yes, how can I tell that? Do I know the whirlwind's roads?"

"Was the letter signed with your name?"

"No; but don't you think I will acknowledge


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/58

50 my handwriting?" replied Bagger, quite earnestly.

This earnestness with reference to an obligation which no one understood became comical; and Bagger felt at the moment that he was on the brink of the ridiculous. Trying to collect himself, he said:

"Is it not an obligation we all have? Do not both bride and bridegroom acknowledge that long before they knew each other the obligation was present?"

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the bridegroom.

"And the whirlwind, accident, the unknown power, brought them together so that the obligation was redeemed?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Let us, then," continued Bagger, "drink a toast to the wind, the accident, the moving power, unknown and yet controlling. To those of us who, as yet, are unprovided for and under forty, it will at some time undoubtedly bring a bride; to those who are already provided for will come the expected in another form. So a toast to the wind that came in here and flickered the lights; to the unknown, that brings us the wished for; and to ourselves, that we may be prepared to receive it when announced."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the bridegroom, looking upon his bride.

"Puh-h-h!" thought Bagger, seating himself


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/59

Rh with intense relief, "I have come out of it somewhat decently after all. The deuce take me before I again express a sentimentality."

How Counsellor Bagger that night could have fallen asleep, between memory, or longing and discontent, is difficult to tell, had he not on his arrival home found a package of papers, an interesting theft case. He sat down instantly to read, and day dawned ere they were finished. His last thought, before his eyelids closed, was,—Two years in the House of Correction.

later, toward the close of September, two ladies, twenty or twenty-two years of age, were walking in a garden about ten miles from Copenhagen. Although the walks were quite wide, impediments in them made it difficult for the ladies to go side by side. The autumn showed itself uneven and jagged. The currant and gooseberry boughs, that earlier hung in soft arches, now projected stiffly forth, catching in the ladies' dresses; branches from plum and apple trees hung bare and broken, and required attention above also. One of the ladies apparently was at home there: this was evident partly from her dress, which, although elegant, was domestic, and partly by her taking the lead and paying honor, by drawing boughs and branches aside,


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/60

52 holding them until the other lady, who was more showily dressed, had slipped past. On account of the hindrances of the walk there were none of those easy, subdued, familiar conversations, which otherwise so naturally arise when young ladies, acquaintances, or "friends," visit each other, and from the house slip out alone into garden or wood. An attentive observer meanwhile, by scrutinizing the physiognomy of both, would, perhaps, have come to the conclusion, that even if these two had been together on the most unobstructed road, no confidence would have arisen between them, and would have suspected the hostess of trying to atone for her lack of interest, by being polite and careful. She was not strikingly handsome, but possessed of a fine nature, which manifested itself in the whole figure, and perhaps, especially, in the uncommonly well-formed nose; yet it was by peering into her eyes that one first obtained the idea of a womanhood somewhat superior to the generality of her sex. Their expression was not to be caught at once: they told of both meditation and resolve, and hinted at irony or badinage, which works so queerly when it comes from deep ground. The other lady was "burgherly-genteel," a handsome, cultivated girl, had certainly also some soul, but yet was far less busy with a world in her own heart than with the world of fashion. It was about the world, the world of Copenhagen, that


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/61

Rh Miss Brandt at this moment was giving Miss Hjelm an account, interrupted by the boughs and branches, and although Miss Hjelm was not, nun-like, indifferent either to fashions or incidents in high life, the manner in which Miss Brandt unmistakably laid her soul therein, caused her to go thus politely before.

"But you have heard about Emmy Ibsen's marriage?" asked Miss Brandt.

"Yes, it was about a month ago, I think."

"Yes, I was bridesmaid."

"Indeed!" said Miss Hjelm, in a voice which atoned for her brevity.

"The party was at the shooting-ground."

"So!" said Miss Hjelm again, with as correct an intonation as if she had learned it for "I don't care." "Take care, Miss Brandt," she added, stooping to avoid an apple-branch.

"Take care?—oh, for that branch!" said Miss Brandt, and avoided it as charmingly and coquettishly as if it had been living.

"It was very gay," she added, "even more so than wedding-parties commonly are; but this was caused a good deal by Counsellor Bagger."

"So!"

"Yes, he was very gay. . . . I was his companion at table."

"Ah!"

"Oh, only to think! at the table he stands up declaring that he is engaged."


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/62

54 "Was his lady present?"

"No, that she was not, I think. Do you know who it was?"

"No, how should I know that, Miss Brandt?"

"The whirlwind!"

"The whirlwind?"

"Yes. He said that he, as a young man, in a solemn moment had sent his love letter or his promise out with the wind, and he was continually waiting for an answer: he had given his promise, was betrothed!—Ou!"

"What is it?" asked Miss Hjelm, sympathetically. The truth was, the young hostess at this moment had relaxed her polite care, and a limb of a gooseberry-bush had struck against Miss Brandt's ankle.

The pain was soon over; and the two ladies, who now had reached the termination of the walk, turned toward the house side by side, each protecting herself, unconscious that any change had occurred.

"But I hardly believe it," continued Miss Brandt: "he said it perhaps only to make himself conspicuous, for certain gentlemen are just as coquettish as . . . as they accuse us of being."

Miss Hjelm uttered a doubting, "Um!"

"Yes, that they really are! Have you ever seen any lady as coquettish as an actor?"

"I don't know any of them, but I should suppose an actress might be."


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/63

Rh "No: no actress I have ever met of the better sort was really coquettish. I don't know how it is with them, but I believe they have overcome coquettishness."

"But you think, then, Counsellor Bang is coquettish?"

"Not Bang—Bagger. Yes; for although he said he had this romantic love for a fairy, he often does court to modest earthly ladies. He is properly somewhat of a flirt."

"That is unbecoming an old man."

"Yes; but he is not old."

"Oh!" said Miss Hjelm, laughing: "I have only known one war counsellor, and he was old; so I thought of all war counsellors as old."

"Yes; but Counsellor Bagger is not war counsellor, but a real Superior Court Counsellor."

"Oh, how earnest that is! And so he is in love with a fairy?"

"Yes: it is ridiculous!" said Miss Brandt, laughing. During this conversation they had reached the house, and Miss Brandt complained that something was yet pricking her ankle. They went into Miss Hjelm's room, and here a thorn was discovered and taken out.

"How pretty and cosy this room really is!" said Miss Brandt, looking around. "In a situation like this one can surely live in the country summer and winter. Out with us at Taarback it


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/64

56 blows in through the windows, doors, and very walls."

"That must be bad in a whirlwind."

"Yes—yes: still, it might be quite amusing when the whirlwind carried such billets: not that one would care for them; yet they might be interesting for a while."

"Oh, yes! perhaps."

"Yes: how do you think a young girl would like it, when there came from Heaven a billet, in which one pledged himself to her for time and eternity?"

"That is n't easy to say; but I don't believe the occurrence quite so uncommon. A friend of mine once had such a billet blown to her, and she presented me with it."

"Does one give such things away? Have you the billet?"

"I will look for it," answered Miss Hjelm; and surely enough, after longer search in the sewing-table, in drawers, and small boxes, than was really necessary, she found it. Miss Brandt read it, taking care not to remark that it very much appeared to her as if it resembled the one the counsellor had mentioned.

"And such a billet one gives away!" she said after a pause.

"Yes: will you have it?" asked Miss Hjelm, as though after a sudden resolution.

Miss Brandt's first impulse was an eager


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/65

Rh ; but she checked herself almost as quickly, and answered:

"Oh, yes, thank you, as a curiosity." Then slowly put it between her glove and hand.

As Miss Brandt and her company rode away, said Miss Hjelm's cousin, a handsome, middle-aged widow, to her:

"How is it, Ingeborg? It appears to me you laugh with one eye and weep with the other."

"Yes: a soap-bubble has burst for me, and glitters, maybe, for another."

"You know I seldom understand the sentimental enigmas: can you not interpret your words?"

"Yes: to-day an illusion has vanished, that had lasted for six years."

"For six years?" said her cousin, with an inquiring or sympathizing look. "So it began when you were hardly sixteen years."

"Now do you believe, that when I was in my sixteenth year I saw an ideal of a man, and was enamoured of him, and to-day I hear that he is married."

"No, I don't know as I believe just that," answered the cousin, dropping her eyes; "but I suppose that then you had a pretty vision, and have carried it along with you in silence—and with faith."


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/66

58 "But it was something more than a vision; it was a letter—a love-letter."

The cousin looked upon Ingeborg so inquiringly, so anxiously, that words were unnecessary. Beside this the cousin knew, that when Ingeborg was inclined to talk, she did so without being asked, and if she wished to be silent, she was silent.

Ingeborg continued: "One time, I drove to town with sainted father. Father was to go no further than to Noerrebro, and I had an errand at Vestervold. So I stepped out and went through the Love-path. As I came to the corner of the path, and the Ladegaardsway, the wind blew so violently against me, that I could hardly breathe; and something blew against my veil, fluttering with wings like a humming-bird. I tried to drive it away, for it blinded one of my eyes; but it blew back again. So I caught it and was going to let it fly away over my head, but that moment I saw it was written upon, and read it. It was a love-letter! A man wrote that he sent this as in old times the Norwegian emigrants let their high-seat pillars be carried by the sea, and where it came he would one time come, and bring his faith to his destined ' Geb. '

"'Geb'? What is that?" asked the cousin. "That is Ingeborg," answered Miss Hjelm, with a plain simplicity, showing how deeply


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/67

Rh she had believed in the earnestness of the message.

"It was really remarkable!" said the cousin, and added with a smile which perhaps was somewhat ironical: "And did you then resolve to remain unmarried, until the unknown letter-writer should come and redeem his vow?"

"I will not say that," answered Ingeborg, who quickly became more guarded; "but the letter perhaps contained some stronger requirements than under the circumstances could be fulfilled."

"So! and now?"

"Now I have presented the letter to Miss Brandt."

"You gave it away? Why?"

"Because I learned that the man, who perhaps or probably wrote it in his youth, has spoken about it publicly, and is counsellor in one of the courts."

"Oh, I understand," said the cousin, half audibly: "when the ideal is found out to be a counsellor, then—"

"Then it is not an ideal any longer? No. The whole had been spoiled by being fumbled in public. I would get away from the temptation to think of him. Do court to him, announce myself to him as the happy finder,—I could not."

"That I understand very well," said the cousin, putting her arm affectionately around


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/68

60 Ingeborg's waist; "but why did you just give Miss Brandt the letter?"

"Because she is acquainted with the counsellor, and indeed, as far as I could understand, feels somewhat for him. They two can get each other; and what a wonderful consecration it will be, when she on the marriage-day gives him the letter!"

The cousin said musingly: "And such secrets can live in one whole year, without another surmising it! Suddenly she added: "But how will Miss Brandt on that occasion interpret the word 'Geb'?"

"Oh! I suppose a single syllable is of no consequence; and, besides, Miss Brandt is a judicious girl," answered Ingeborg, with an inexpressible flash in the dark eyes.

fortune seldom comes singly. One morning Criminal and Court Counsellor Bagger got, at his residence at Noerre Street, official intelligence that from the first of next month he was transferred to the King's Court, and in grace was promoted to be veritable counsellor of justice there; rank, fourth-class, number three. As, gratified by this friendly smile from above, he went out to repair to the court-house, he met in the porch a postman, who delivered


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/70

62 was this: It can be a trick, a foolery. But in the next moment it occurred to him, that never to any living soul had he mentioned his bold figure of the high-seat pillars, and still less revealed the mysterious, to him so valued, syllable—geb—. No doubt could exist: the fine, perfumed paper, the delicate lady handwriting, and the few significant words testified, that the billet which once in youthful, sanguine longing he had entrusted to the winds of heaven, had come to a lady, and that in one way or another she had found him out. He remembered very well, that a single time, five or six weeks before, he had in a numerous company mentioned that incident, and he did not doubt that the story had extended itself as ripples do, when one throws a stone into the water; but where in the whole town, or indeed the land, had the ripple hit the exact point? He looked again at the envelope. It bore the stamp of the Copenhagen city mail: that was all. But that showed with some probability that the writer lived in Copenhagen, and maybe at this moment she looked down upon him from one of the many windows; for now he stood by the fountain. There was something in the paper, the hand-writing, or more properly perhaps in the secrecy, that made her seem young, spirited, beautiful, piquant. There was something fairy-like, exalted, intoxicating, in the feeling that the object of the longing and hope of his youth had been


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/71

Rh under the protection of a good spirit, and that the great unknown had taken care of and prepared for him a companion, a wife, just at the moment when he had become Counsellor of Justice of the Superior Court. But who was she? This was the only thing painful in the affair; but this intriguing annoyance was not to be avoided, if the lady was to remain within her sphere, surrounded by respect and esteem.

"What would I have thought of a lady, a woman, who came straight forward and handed out the billet, saying: 'Here I am'?" he asked himself, at the moment when at last he had found the court-house stairs and was ascending.

How it fared that day with the examinations is recorded in criminal and police court documents; but a veil is thrown over it in consideration of the fact, that a man only once in his life is made Counsellor of Justice in the King's Court. The day following it went better; although it is pretty sure that a horse thief went free from further reproof, because the counsellor was busy rolling that stone up the mountain: Where shall I seek her if she does not write again? Will she write again? If she would do that, why did she not write a little more at first?

A couple of weeks after the receipt of the letter, one evening about seven o'clock, the counsellor sat at home, not as before by his writing-table busy with acts, but on a corner


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/72

64 of the sofa, with drooping arms, deeply absorbed in a mixture of anxious doubts and dreaming expectations. Hope built air-castles, and doubt then puffed them over like card-houses. One of his fancies was, that she summoned him—he would not even in thought use the expression: gave him an interview—at a masquerade. It was consequently no common masquerade, but a grand, elegant masked ball, to which a true lady could repair. The clock was at eleven, the appointed hour: he waited anxiously the pressing five minutes; then she came and extended him the fine hand in the finest straw-colored glove—

"Letter to the Counsellor of Justice," said Jens, with strong Funen accent, and short, soldierly pronunciation.

It is so uncommon that what one longs for comes just at the moment of most earnest desire; but notwithstanding the letter was from her, the Counsellor of Justice knew the superscription, would have known it among a hundred thousand. The letter read thus:

Here the Counsellor of Justice stopped a moment and caught for breath. A good many of our twenty-year-old beaux, who have never been


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/73

Rh admitted to the bar, far less have been Court Counsellors, would, under similar circumstances, have said to themselves: "She writes that she will be open; that is to say, now she will fool me: we will never meet; that is to say, now I shall soon see her." But Counsellor Bagger believed every word as gospel, and his knees trembled. He read further:

"Never! But who can have spread the infamous slander! What dreadful treachery of some wretch or gossiping wench, who knows nothing about me! And how can she believe it! How in such a town as Copenhagen can it be a matter of doubt for five minutes, if a Superior Court Counsellor is married or not! Or maybe there is some other Counsellor Bagger married,—a Chamber Counsellor or the like? Or maybe she lives at a distance, in a quiet world, so that the truth of it does not easily reach her? So there is no sunshine more!

"If she should sometime meet me, and know


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/74

66 that I was, am, and have been unmarried, that meanwhile we have both become old and gray,—can one think of anything more sad? It is enough to make the heart cease beating! But suppose, too, that to-morrow she finds out that she has been deceived: she has once written, 'I was mistaken,' and cannot, as a true woman, write it again, unless she first heard from me, and learned how I longed—and so I am cut off from her, as if I lived in the moon. More, more! for I can meet her upon the street and touch her arm without surmising it. It is insupportable! Our time has mail, steamboats, railroads, telegraphs: to me these do not exist; for of what use are they altogether, when one knows not where to search."

A thought came suddenly, like a meteor in the dark: advertise. What family in Copenhagen did not the Address Paper reach? He would put in an advertisement,—but how? "Fritz Bagger is not married."—No: that was too plain.—"F. B. is not married."—No: that was not plain enough. As he could find no successful use for his own name, it flashed into his mind to use hers,—geb;—and although it was painful to him to publish this, to him, almost sacred syllable for profane eyes to gaze upon, yet it comforted him, that only one, she herself, would understand it. Yet he hesitated. But one cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs; and although the


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/75

Rh heart's finest fibres ache at the thought of sending a message to a fairy through the Address Paper, yet one yields to this rather than lose the fairy.

At last, after numerous efforts he stopped at this: "—geb—! It is a mistake: he waits only for—geb—." It appeared to him to contain the approach to a happy result, and tired out by emotion he fell asleep on his sofa.

Some days after came a new letter with the dear handwriting: its contents were:

This was sunshine after thunder; this was hope's rainbow which arched itself up to heaven from the earth, yet wet with tears.

"And so she belongs to good society," said the Counsellor of Justice, without noticing how by these words he discovered to himself that a doubt or suspicion had lain until now behind his ecstasy. "But," he added, "consequently, it is my own friends who have spread the rumor of my marriage. Friends indeed! A wife is a man's only friend. It is hard, suicidal, to remain a bachelor."

On the appointed day he went too early. Mrs. Canuteson was yet alone. She was surprised at


text:
Page:Stories by Foreign Authors (Scandinavian).djvu/76

68 his congratulatory visit; but, however, as it was a courtesy, the surprise was mingled with delight, and Bagger was not the man whose visit a lady would not receive with pleasure. With that ingenuity of wit one can sometimes have, just when the heart is full and taken possession of, he did wonders, and entertained the lady in so lively a manner that she did not perceive how long a time he was passing with her. As the door at length opened, the lady exclaimed:

"Oh, that is charming! Heartily welcome! Thank you for last time, and for all the good in your house! How does your mother do? This amiable young lady's acquaintance I made last summer when we were in the country, and at last she is so good as to keep her promise and visit me. Counsellor Bagger—Miss Hjelm."

The Counsellor was n't sure that it was She, but he was convinced that it ought to be. Not to speak of Ingeborg Hjelm's being really amiable and distinguléè, his heart was now prepared, as a photographer's glass which has received collodium, and took the first girl picture that met it. He was quite afraid that there would come more to choose among. Yet the fairy brightness of the unknown had at this moment lost itself for