Bokelskere.no

A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, today were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.

'Svin,' fortsatte Mr. Wopsle med sin dypeste stemme og pekte med gaffelen mot mitt rødmende ansikt, som om han nettopp hadde uttalt fornavnet mitt, 'den fortapte sønn omgav seg med svin. [...].

Yo vengo de todas partes,
Y hacia todas partes voy:
Arte soy entre las artes,
En los montes, monte soy.

His [i.e. Mr Wickfield's] hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were still black. He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, was handsome. There was a certain richness in his complexion, which I had been long accustomed, under Peggotty's tuition, to connect with port wine; and I fancied it was in his voice too, and referred his growing corpulency to the same cause.

When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent upon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on the ground floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of the house), and quickly disappear. The low arched door then opened, and the face came out. It was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the window, though in the grain of it there was that tinge of red which is sometimes to be observed in the skins of red-haired people. It belonged to a red-haired person — a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but looking much older — whose hair was cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown, so unsheltered and unshaded, that I remember wondering how he went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black, with a white wisp of a neckcloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a long, lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as he stood at the pony's head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up at us in the chaise.

'Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?' said my aunt.

Det ser ut som om du leter etter noen, hadde Sophie sagt. Men jeg tror den savnede personen er deg.

PROFESSOR RUBEK
Ja hvad så! Så er vi jo fri. Og det er endnu tid for os at leve livet, Irene.

IRENE ser tungt på ham
Livsbegæret døde i mig, Arnold. Nu er jeg opstanden. Og spejder efter dig. Og finder dig. – Og så ser jeg, at du og livet ligger lig – ligesom jeg har ligget.

PROFESSOR RUBEK
Å hvor du er vildfarende! Livet i os og omkring os gærer og bruser som før!

IRENE smiler og ryster på hodet
Din unge opstandne kvinde kan se hele livet ligge på ligstrå.

PROFESOR RUBEK slår armene voldsomt om hende
Så lad os to døde leve livet en eneste gang til bunds – før vi går ned i vore grave igen!

PROFESSOR RUBEK gentager drømmede
Sommernat på vidden. Med dig. Med dig. (Hans øjne møder hendes) Å Irene, - det kunde ha' været livet. - Og det har vi forspildt, - vi to.

IRENE
Det uoprettelige sér vi først, når - (bryder kort af)

PROFESSOR RUBEK sér spørgende på hende
Når -?

IRENE
Når vi døde vågner.

PROFESSOR RUBEK ryster tungsindig på hodet
Ja, hvad sér vi så egentlig?

IRENEVi sér, at vi aldrig har levet.