Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Auction at Björne
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And he went from room to room. He snatched
up anything he took a fancy to, and carried great
burdens down to the auction room. He panted
under the weight of sofas and marble tables, but he
persisted in his work. And he threw it all down in
the greatest confusion. He had torn the cupboards
open and brought out the family silver. Away with
it! Marienne had used it. He gathered up armfuls
of snow-white damask and smooth linen towels with
wide open-work hems—honest, homemade stuff,
the fruit of years of toil—and tumbled it all in
a heap. Away with it! Marienne was not worthy
to inherit it. He stormed through the rooms with
piles of porcelain, caring little if he broke dozens of
plates, and he carried off the teacups on which the
family crest was painted. Away with them! Let who
will use them. He brought downstairs mountains of
bed-clothes from the garrets—pillows and bolsters
so soft, you could sink in them as in a wave. Away
with them! Marienne had slept in them.
He cast furious glances at the well-known furniture.
There was n’t a chair or a sofa that she had
not used, nor a picture that she had n’t looked at,
nor a chandelier that had n’t lighted her, nor a
mirror that had n’t reflected her beauty. Gloomily he
shook his fist at that world of memories. He could
have rushed at them with lifted club and broken
them in pieces.
Yet it seemed to him an even greater revenge to
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