The Heritage of the Kurts, Volume 2 (of 2)Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne
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The Heritage of the Kurts, Volume 2 (of 2)
Bjørnson, Bjørnstjerne
Norwegian fiction -- Translations into English
Some people were incensed; some laughed; some few, including the Town
Bailiff, would not give in; but how could a new school be started
without Consul Engel? And when in cold blood the advantages were
considered, who did not at last wish for peace? The daughter of the
school's benefactress married to Niels Fürst--that was in itself
victory, and that sufficed. One or two marriages of this sort,
especially amongst the most advanced pupils at the school, and the good
old constitution, the good old distribution of virtue and authority
between the sexes, would remain unshaken. Rendalen, the Society, and
Miss Hall might stick to their views if they liked. Tora was never
mentioned now.
Milla was to be married on a Monday, and to leave the same night; she
was to arrive the evening of the previous Friday; she would not be
three days in the town! That did not imply a vast amount of courage,
her quondam friends considered. Not one of them went down to the
landing-place to meet her. But there was no need for them, for,
notwithstanding a drenching rain, it was densely crowded. The wedding
for which she was returning, even if nothing special had happened
previously, would have been the most important that any one could
remember. The bridegroom, aided by the unusually large fortune which he
would command, would be able to enter upon a career at Court which
would lead to the highest positions in the country. Every one who knew
him described him as a "born politician;" not very flattering to
politicians, but that I cannot help.
The bride was a beauty capable of becoming a thorough woman of the
world. Besides, she was to remain so short a time at home, that every
one must secure a glimpse of her.
Flags were hoisted everywhere, but they drooped along the masts in
quite a shamefaced manner, mere patches of colour--the beautiful
green-clad mountains at the head of the bay were shrouded in fog.
Houses, gardens, sea, seemed to lie in a casket whose cover was the
grey woolly mist.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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