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Read books online » Fiction » Marie Grubbe by Jens Peter Jacobsen (black male authors txt) 📖

Book online «Marie Grubbe by Jens Peter Jacobsen (black male authors txt) 📖». Author Jens Peter Jacobsen



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been so ignorant of their historia naturalis and materia magica

that the most lowborn quacksalver could not entertain such vulgar

superstitions as they do. They even put their faith in that widely

disseminated though shameful delusion that making gold is like

concocting a sleeping potion or a healing pillula, that if one has the

correct ingredients, ‘t is but to mix them together, set them over the

fire, and lo! the gold is there. Such lies are circulated by

catch-pennies and ignoramuses—whom may the devil take! Cannot the

fools understand that if ‘t were so simple a process, the world would

be swimming in gold? For although learned authors have held, and

surely with reason, that only a certain part of matter can be

clarified in the form of gold, yet even so we should be flooded. Nay,

the art of the gold maker is costly and exacting. It requires a

fortunate hand, and there must be certain constellations and

conjunctions in the ascendant if the gold is to flow properly. ‘T is

not every year that matter is equally gold-yielding. You have but to

remember that it is no mere distillation nor sublimation but a very

re-creating of nature that is to take place. Nay, I will dare to say

that a tremor passes over the abodes of the spirits of nature whenever

a portion of the pure, bright metal is freed from the

thousand-year-old embrace of materia vilis.”

 

“Forgive my question,” said Ulrik Frederik, “but do not these occult

arts imperil the soul of him who practises them?”

 

“Indeed no,” said Burrhi; “how can you harbor such a thought? What

magician was greater than Solomon, whose seal, the great as well as

the small, has been wondrously preserved to us unto this day? And who

imparted to Moses the power of conjuring? Was it not Sabaoth, the

spirit of the storm, the terrible one?” He pressed the stone in one of

his rings to his lips. “‘Tis true,” he continued, “that we know great

names of darkness and awful words, yea, fearful mystic signs which if

they be used for evil, as many witches and warlocks and vulgar

soothsayers use them, instantly bind the soul of him who names them in

the fetters of Gehenna; but we call upon them only to free the sacred

primordial element from its admixture of and pollution by dust and

earthly ashes; for that is the true nature of gold; it is the original

matter that was in the beginning and gave light before the sun and the

moon had been set in their appointed places in the vault of heaven.”

 

They talked thus at length about alchemy and other occult arts until

Ulrik Frederik asked whether Burrhi had been able to cast his

horoscope by the aid of the paper he had sent him through Ole Borch a

few days earlier.

 

“In its larger aspects,” replied Burrhi, “I might prognosticate your

fate, but when the nativity is not cast in the very hour a child is

born, we fail to get all the more subtle phenomena, and the result is

but little to be depended upon. Yet some things I know. Had you been

of citizen birth and in the position of a humble physician, then I

should have had but joyful tidings for you. As it is, your path

through the world is not so clear. Indeed, the custom is in many ways

to be deplored by which the son of an artisan becomes an artisan, the

merchant’s son a merchant, the farmer’s son a fanner, and so on

throughout all classes. The misfortune of many men is due to nothing

else but their following another career than that which the stars in

the ascendant at the time of their birth would indicate. Thus if a

man born under the sign of the ram in the first section becomes a

soldier, success will never attend him, but wounds, slow advancement,

and early death will be his assured portion, whereas, if he had chosen

a handicraft, such as working in stone or wrought metals, his course

would have run smooth. One who is born under the sign of the fishes,

if in the first section, should till the soil, or if he be a man of

fortune, should acquire a landed estate, while he who is born in the

latter part should follow the sea, whether it be as the skipper of a

smack or as an admiral. The sign of the bull in the first part is for

warriors, in the second part, for lawyers. The twins, which were in

the ascendant at the time of your birth, are, as I have said before,

for physicians in the first part and for merchants in the second. But

now let me see your palm.”

 

Ulrik Frederik held out his hand, and Burrhi went to the triangle of

horseshoes, touching them with his shoes as a tight-rope dancer rubs

his soles over the waxed board before venturing out on the line. Then

he looked at the palm.

 

“Ay,” said he, “the honor line is long and unbroken; it goes as far as

it may go without reaching a crown. The luck line is somewhat blurred

for a time, but farther on it grows more distinct. There is the life

line; it seems but poor, I grieve to say. Take great care until you

have passed the age of seven and twenty, for at that time your life is

threatened in some sinister and secret fashion, but after that the

line becomes clear and strong and reaches to a good old age. There is

but one offshoot—ah, no, there is a smaller one hard by. You will

have issue of two beds, but few in each.”

 

He dropped the hand.

 

“Hark,” he said gravely, “there is danger before you, but where it

lurks is hidden from me. Yet it is in no wise the open danger of war.

If it should be a fall or other accident of travel, I would have you

take these triangular malachites; they are of a particular nature.

See, I myself carry one of them in this ring; they guard against

falling from horse or coach. Take them with you and carry them ever on

your breast, or if you have them set in a ring, cut away the gold

behind them, for the stone must touch if it is to protect you. And

here is a jasper. Do you see the design like a tree? It is very rare

and most precious and good against stabbing in the dark and liquid

poisons. Once more I pray you, my dear young gentleman, that you have

a care, especially where women are concerned. Nothing definite is

revealed to me, but there are signs of danger gleaming in the hand of

a woman, yet I know nothing for a certainty, and it were well to guard

also against false friends and traitorous servants, against cold

waters and long nights.”

 

Ulrik Frederik accepted the gifts graciously and did not neglect the

following day to send the alchemist a costly necklace as a token of

his gratitude for his wise counsel and protecting stones. After that

he proceeded directly to Spain without further interruption.

CHAPTER X

The house seemed very quiet that spring day when the sound of horses’

hoofs had died away in the distance. In the flurry of leave-taking the

doors had been left open; the table was still set after Ulrik

Frederik’s breakfast, with his napkin just as he had crumpled it at

his plate, and the tracks of his great riding boots were still wet on

the floor. Over there by the tall pier glass he had pressed her to his

heart and kissed and kissed her in farewell, trying to comfort her

with oaths and vows of a speedy return. Involuntarily she moved to the

mirror as though to see whether it did not hold something of his image

as she had glimpsed it a moment ago while locked in his arms. Her own

lonely, drooping figure and pale, tear-stained face met her searching

glance from behind the smooth, glittering surface.

 

She heard the street door close, and the lackey cleared the table.

Ulrik Frederik’s favorite dogs, Nero, Passando, Rumor, and Delphine,

had been locked in and ran about the room whimpering and sniffing his

tracks. She tried to call them but could not for weeping. Passando,

the tall red foxhound, came to her; she knelt down to stroke and

caress the dog, but he wagged his tail in an absentminded way, looked

up into her face, and went on howling.

 

Those first days—how empty every thing was and dreary! The time

dragged slowly, and the solitude seemed to hang over her, heavy and

oppressive, while her longing would sometimes burn like salt in an

open wound. Ay, it was so at first, but presently all this was no

longer new, and the darkness and emptiness, the longing and grief came

again and again like snow that falls flake upon flake, until it seemed

to wrap her in a strange, dull hopelessness, almost a numbness that

made a comfortable shelter of her sorrow.

 

Suddenly all was changed. Every nerve was strung to the most acute

sensitiveness, every vein throbbing with blood athirst for life, and

her fancy teemed like the desert air with colorful images and luring

forms. On such days she was like a prisoner who sees youth slip by,

spring after spring, barren, without bloom, dull and empty, always

passing, never coming. The sum of time seemed to be counted out with

hours for pennies; at every stroke of the clock one fell rattling at

her feet, crumbled, and was dust while she would wring her hands in

agonized life-hunger and scream with pain.

 

She appeared but seldom at court or in the homes of her family, for

etiquette demanded that she should keep to the house. Nor was she in

the mood to welcome visitors, and as they soon ceased coming, she was

left entirely to herself. This lonely brooding and fretting soon

brought on an indolent torpor, and she would sometimes lie in bed for

days and nights at a stretch, trying to keep in a state betwixt waking

and sleeping which gave rise to fantastic visions. Far clearer than

the misty dream pictures of healthy sleep, these images filled the

place of the life she was missing.

 

Her irritability grew with every day, and the slightest noise was

torture. Sometimes she would be seized with the strangest notions and

with sudden mad impulses that might almost raise a doubt of her

sanity. Indeed, there was perhaps but the width of a straw between

madness and that curious longing to do some desperate deed merely for

the sake of doing it without the least reason or even real desire for

it.

 

Sometimes when she stood at the open window leaning against the

casement and looking down into the paved court below, she would feel

an overmastering impulse to throw herself down, merely to do it. But

in that very second she seemed to have actually made the leap in her

imagination and to have felt the cool, incisive tingling that

accompanies a jump from a height. She darted back from the window to

the inmost corner of the room, shaking with horror, the image of

herself lying in her own blood on the hard stones so vivid in her mind

that she had to go back to the window again and look down in order to

drive it away.

 

Less dangerous and of a somewhat different nature was the fancy that

would seize her when she looked at her own bare arm and traced, in a

kind of fascination, the course of the blue and deep violet veins

under the white

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