1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Lebensstil
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
William Dean Howells' novel, 'The Garotters', provides readers with a vivid portrayal of the social and political issues of the post-Civil War era in America. The book delves into the lives of working-class individuals and explores themes of class struggle, justice, and the impact of industrialization on society. Howells' writing style is characterized by its realism and attention to detail, making the reader feel immersed in the world he creates. Set against the backdrop of a rapidly changing society, 'The Garotters' offers a compelling exploration of the human experience during this tumultuous period in American history. As a prominent literary figure in the late 19th century, William Dean Howells was known for his insightful social commentary and realistic portrayals of everyday life. His own experiences as a journalist and editor likely influenced his decision to write 'The Garotters' and shed light on the struggles faced by ordinary Americans. Howells' commitment to social reform and his keen observation of society's ills are evident throughout the novel. I highly recommend 'The Garotters' to readers interested in American literature, historical fiction, and social commentary. Howells' compelling storytelling and thought-provoking themes make this novel a valuable contribution to the literary canon, offering a glimpse into the complexities of 19th-century America.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Ähnliche
The Garotters
Table of Contents
PART FIRST
I MRS. ROBERTS; THEN MR. ROBERTS
At the window of her apartment in Hotel Bellingham, Mrs. Roberts stands looking out into the early nightfall. A heavy snow is driving without, and from time to time the rush of the wind and the sweep of the flakes against the panes are heard. At the sound of hurried steps in the anteroom, Mrs. Roberts turns from the window, and runs to the portière, through which she puts her head.
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Is that you, Edward? So dark here! We ought really to keep the gas turned up all the time.’
Mr. Roberts, in a muffled voice, from without: ‘Yes, it’s I.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Well, hurry in to the fire, do! Ugh, what a storm! Do you suppose anybody will come? You must be half frozen, you poor thing! Come quick, or you’ll certainly perish!’ She flies from the portière to the fire burning on the hearth, pokes it, flings on a log, jumps back, brushes from her dress with a light shriek the sparks driven out upon it, and continues talking incessantly in a voice lifted for her husband to hear in the anteroom. ‘If I’d dreamed it was any such storm as this, I should never have let you go out in it in the world. It wasn’t at all necessary to have the flowers. I could have got on perfectly well, and I believe now the table would look better without them. The chrysanthemums would have been quite enough; and I know you’ve taken more cold. I could tell it by your voice as soon as you spoke; and just as quick as they’re gone to-night I’m going to have you bathe your feet in mustard and hot water, and take eight of aconite, and go straight to bed. And I don’t want you to eat very much at dinner, dear, and you must be sure not to drink any coffee, or the aconite won’t be of the least use.’ She turns and encounters her husband, who enters through the portière, his face pale, his eyes wild, his white necktie pulled out of knot, and his shirt front rumpled. ‘Why, Edward, what in the world is the matter? What has happened?’
Roberts, sinking into a chair: ‘Get me a glass of water, Agnes—wine—whisky—brandy—’
Mrs. Roberts, bustling wildly about: ‘Yes, yes. But what—Bella! Bridget! Maggy!—Oh, I’ll go for it myself, and I won’t stop to listen! Only—only don’t die!’ While Roberts remains with his eyes shut, and his head sunk on his breast in token of extreme exhaustion, she disappears and reappears through the door leading to her chamber, and then through the portière cutting off the dining-room. She finally descends upon her husband with a flagon of cologne in one hand, a small decanter of brandy in the other, and a wineglass held in the hollow of her arm against her breast. She contrives to set the glass down on the mantel and fill it from the flagon, then she turns with the decanter in her hand, and while she presses the glass to her husband’s lips, begins to pour the brandy on his head. ‘Here! this will revive you, and it’ll refresh you to have this cologne on your head.’
Roberts, rejecting a mouthful of the cologne with a furious sputter, and springing to his feet: ‘Why, you’ve given me the cologne to drink, Agnes! What are you about? Do you want to poison me? Isn’t it enough to be robbed at six o’clock on the Common, without having your head soaked in brandy, and your whole system scented up like a barber’s shop, when you get home?’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Robbed?’ She drops the wineglass, puts the decanter down on the hearth, and carefully bestowing the flagon of cologne in the wood-box, abandons herself to justice: ‘Then let them come for me at once, Edward! If I could have the heart to send you out in such a night as this for a few wretched rosebuds, I’m quite equal to poisoning you. Oh, Edward, who robbed you?’
Roberts: ‘That’s what I don’t know.’ He continues to wipe his head with his handkerchief, and to sputter a little from time to time. ‘All I know is that when I got—phew!—to that dark spot by the Frog Pond, just by—phew!—that little group of—phew!—evergreens, you know—phew!—’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Yes, yes; go on! I can bear it, Edward.’
Roberts: ‘—a man brushed heavily against me, and then hurried on in the other direction. I had unbuttoned my coat to look at my watch under the lamp-post, and after he struck against me I clapped my hand to my waistcoat, and—phew!—’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Waistcoat! Yes!’
Roberts: ‘—found my watch gone.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘What! Your watch? The watch Willis gave you? Made out of the gold that he mined himself when he first went out to California? Don’t ask me to believe it, Edward! But I’m only too glad that you escaped with your life. Let them have the watch and welcome. Oh, nay dear, dear husband!’ She approaches him with extended arms, and then suddenly arrests herself. ‘But you’ve got it on!’
Roberts, with as much returning dignity as can comport with his dishevelled appearance: ‘Yes; I took it from him.’ At his wife’s speechless astonishment: ‘I went after him and took it from him.’ He sits down, and continues with resolute calm, while his wife remains standing before him motionless: ‘Agnes, I don’t know how I came to do it. I wouldn’t have believed I could do it. I’ve never thought that I had much courage—physical courage; but when I felt my watch was gone, a sort of frenzy came over me. I wasn’t hurt; and for the first time in my life I realised what an abominable outrage theft was. The thought that at six o’clock in the evening, in the very heart of a great city like Boston, an inoffensive citizen could be assaulted and robbed, made me furious. I didn’t call out. I simply buttoned my coat tight round me and turned and ran after the fellow.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Edward!’
Roberts: ‘Yes, I did. He hadn’t got half-a-dozen rods away—it all took place in a flash—and I could easily run him down. He was considerably larger than I—’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Oh!’
Roberts: ‘—and he looked young and very athletic; but these things didn’t seem to make any impression on me.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Oh, I wonder that you live to tell the tale, Edward!’
Roberts: ‘Well, I wonder a little at myself. I don’t set up for a great deal of—’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘But I always knew you had it! Go on. Oh, when I tell Willis of this! Had the robber any accomplices? Were there many of them?’
