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Jean Paul (search for this): chapter 3
e very often. The gate was sometimes opened by Paul, the silent Bavarian gardener, who was master oom my own mind, I got the key of the house from Paul, explored it thoroughly, and was satisfied thatcross the doorway. This did no great credit to Paul's stewardship, but was, perhaps, a slight relied. Either it was pure fancy, I said, or it was Paul the gardener. But here he was prepared for mscaled the wall, and looked in at the window of Paul's little cottage, where the man and his wife weclimbed it, as Severance had done, to look into Paul's cottage. That worthy was just getting into b Failing to get any clew, I waited one day for Paul's absence, and made a call upon the wife, underwn by the storm. I therefore went inside, with Paul's household, leaving the fishermen without. lness he told me all he had to tell; and though Paul and his family disappeared next day,--perhaps gs country, and joined her sister, Paul's wife. Paul had received her reluctantly, and only on condi[3 more...]
Minerva (search for this): chapter 3
' season, and the fishermen found there a favorite lounging-place; but nobody scaled the wall of the house save myself, and I went there very often. The gate was sometimes opened by Paul, the silent Bavarian gardener, who was master of the keys; and there were also certain great cats that were always sunning themselves on the steps, and seemed to have grown old and gray in waiting for mice that had never come. They looked as if they knew the past and the future. If the owl is the bird of Minerva, the cat should be her beast; they have the same sleepy air of unfathomable wisdom. There was such a quiet and potent spell about the place that one could almost fancy these constant animals to be the transformed bodies of human visitors who had stayed too long. Who knew what tales might be told by these tall, slender birches, clustering so closely by the sombre walls?--birches which were but whispering shrubs when the first gray stones were laid, and which now reared above the eaves the
Rutherford (search for this): chapter 3
then, human. After all, thought I, it is a commonplace thing enough, this masquerading in a cloak and hood. Some one has observed Severance's nocturnal visits, and is amusing himself at his expense. The peculiarity was, that the thing was so well done, and the figure had such an air of dignity, that somehow it was not so easy to make light of it in talking with him. I went into his room, next day. His sick headache, or whatever it was, had come on again, and he was lying on his bed. Rutherford's strange old book on the Second Sight lay open before him. Look there, he said; and I read the motto of a chapter:-- In sunlight one, In shadow none, In moonlight two, In thunder two, Then comes Death. I threw the book indignantly from me, and began to invent doggerel, parodying this precious incantation. But Severance did not seem to enjoy the joke, and it grows tiresome to enact one's own farce and do one's own applauding. For several days after he was laid up in earnest; bu
Severance (search for this): chapter 3
yself. It was easy to explain all this to Severance, but he shook his head. So cool a philosophas called out of town for a week or two. If Severance would go with me, it would doubtless complet was not surprised to hear, soon after, that Severance was seriously ill. This brought me back a. It seemed that, on seeing the two figures, Severance had at once left the piazza, and, with an inough far more faintly than in the sunlight. Severance then joined me, and his reflected shape stoowatched awhile uselessly, and went home with Severance, a good deal puzzled. r By daylight thewith her apron full of turnips, told me that Severance had been missing since nightfall, after beinore than all. Outside the western window lay Severance, his white face against the pane, his eyes geighbor in whom they had placed confidence. Severance, while convalescing at a country-house in Fa just too late for them; and the money which Severance left, as his only reparation for poor Emilia[23 more...]
September (search for this): chapter 3
the wall. It was a whim of his, he said; and once only I got out of him something about the resemblance of the house to some Portuguese mansion, --at Madeira, perhaps, or at Rio Janeiro, but he did not say,--with which he had no pleasant associations. Yet he afterwards seemed to wish to deny this remark, or to confuse my impressions of it, which naturally fixed it the better in my mind. I remember well the morning when he was at last coaxed into approaching the house. It was late in September, and a day of perfect calm. As we looked from the broad piazza, there was a glassy smoothness over all the bay, and the hills were coated with a film, or rather a mere varnish, inconceivably thin, of haze more delicate than any other climate in America can show. Over the water there were white gulls flying, lazy and low; schools of young mackerel displayed their white sides above the surface; and it seemed as if even a butterfly might be seen for miles over that calm expanse. The bay wa
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