I hear some one come up the
stairs.
"It was Student Pettersen, I ... I have two letters for him."
"He has gone home," replies the woman; "but he will return after the
holidays. I could take the letters if you like!"
"Yes, thanks! that was all right," said I. "He could get them then when he
came back; they might contain matters of importance. Good-morning."
When I got outside, I came to a standstill and said loudly in the open
street, as I clenched my hands: "I will tell you one thing, my good Lord
God, you are a bungler!" and I nod furiously, with set teeth, up to the
clouds; "I will be hanged if you are not a bungler."
Then I took a few strides, and stopped again. Suddenly, changing my
attitude, I fold my hands, hold my head to one side, and ask, with an
unctuous, sanctimonious tone of voice: "Hast thou appealed also to him, my
child?" It did not sound right!
With a large H, I say, with an H as big as a cathedral! once again, "Hast
thou invoked Him, my child?" and I incline my head, and I make my voice
whine, and answer, No!
That didn't sound right either.
You can't play the hypocrite, you idiot! Yes, you should say, I have
invoked God my Father! and you must set your words to the most piteous
tune you have ever heard in your life. So--o! Once again! Come, that was
better! But you must sigh like a horse down with the colic. So--o! that's
right. Thus I go, drilling myself in hypocrisy; stamp impatiently in the
street when I fail to succeed; rail at myself for being such a blockhead,
whilst the astonished passers-by turn round and stare at me.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111