Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XVI
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
thousand bursting buds had been lulled to sleep, in the fullness
of spring, at the very moment when they quickened on the
branches of the moss-green trees. She came up to the palace.
From the thorny vines of the rose-bushes, a flood of green
billowed noiselessly down over walls and roofs, and the
flowers fell like silent froth, sometimes in masses of bloom,
sometimes flecking the green like pale-pink foam. From
the mouth of the marble lion, a fountain jet shot up like a
tree of crystal with boughs of cobweb, and shining horses
mirrored breathless mouths and closed eyes in the
dormant waters of the porphyry basin, while the page rubbed
his eyes in sleep.
She feasted her eyes on the tranquil beauty of the old
garden, where fallen petals lay like a rose-flushed snowdrift
high against walls and doors, hiding the marble steps. Oh,
to rest! To let the days glide over her in blissful peace, hour
after hour, and to feel all memories, longings, and dreams
flowing away, out of her mind, in softly lapping waves—that
was the most beautiful of all the dreams she knew.
This was true at first, but her imagination tired of flying
unceasingly toward the same goal like an imprisoned bee
buzzing against the window-pane, and all other faculties of
her soul wearied too. As a fair and noble edifice in the hands
of barbarians is laid waste and spoiled, the bold spires made
into squat cupolas, the delicate, lace-like ornaments broken
bit by bit, and the wealth of pictures hidden under layer
upon layer of deadening whitewash, so was Marie Grubbe
laid waste and spoiled in those sixteen years.
Erik Grubbe, her father, was old and decrepit, and age
seemed to intensify all his worst traits, just as it sharpened
his features and made them more repulsive. He was grouchy
and perverse, childishly obstinate, quick to anger, extremely
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
