Seven Gothic Tales

Isak Dinesen [Karen Blixen]
Seven Gothic Tales (1934)

Editado originalmente em língua inglesa sob pseudónimo, este livro da dinamarquesa Karen Blixen é exactamente o que o seu título promete: sete contos na fronteira do sobrenatural. São ambientados no séc. XIX e a própria escrita contém um certo gosto novecentista. Além do elemento insólito, discretamente colocado em cada um dos contos, encontram-se também alusões a factos históricos e alguns ténues elementos das linhas narrativas reaparecem esparsamente aqui e ali.
O excerto abaixo pertence ao conto “The Supper at Elsinore”.

All in all, Morten's countenance was quiet, considerate, and dignified, as it had always been.
"Good evening, little sisters; well met, well met," he said, "it was very sweet and sisterly of you to come and see me here. You had a—" he stopped a moment, as if searching for his word, as if not in the habit of speaking much with other people—"a nice fresh drive to Elsinore, I should say," he concluded.
His sisters sat with their faces toward him, as pale as he. Morten had always been wont to speak very lowly, in contrast to themselves. Thus a discussion between the sisters might be carried on with the two speaking at the same time, on the chance of the one shrill voice drowning the other. But if you wanted to hear what Morten said, you had to listen. He spoke in just the same way now, and they had been prepared for his appearance, more or less, but not for his voice.
They listened then as they had done before. But they were longing to do more. As they had set eyes on him they had turned their slim torsos all around in their chairs. Could they not touch him? No, they knew that to be out of the question. They had not been reading ghost stories all their lives for nothing. And this very thing recalled to them the old days, when, for these private supper-parties of theirs, Morten had come in at times, his large cloak soaked with rain and sea water, shining, black and rough like a shark's skin, or glazed over with snow, or freshly tarred, so that they had, laughing, held him at arm's length off their frocks. Oh, how thoroughly had the tunes of thirty years ago been transposed from a major to a minor key! From what blizzards had he come in tonight? With what sort of tar was he tarred?
"How are you, my dears?" he asked. "Do you have as merry a time in Copenhagen as in the old days at Elsinore?"
"And how are you yourself, Morten?" asked Fanny, her voice a full octave higher than his. "You are looking a real, fine privateer captain. You are bringing all the full, spiced, trade winds into our nunnery of Elsinore."
"Yes, those are fine winds," said Morten.
"How far away you have been, Morten?" said Eliza, her voice trembling a little. "What a multitude of lovely places you have visited, that we have never seen! How I have wished, how I have wished that I were you."
Fanny gave her sister a quick strong glance. Had their thoughts gone up in a parallel motion from the snowy parks and streets of Copenhagen? Or did this quiet sister, younger than she, far less brilliant, speak the simple truth of her heart?
"Yes, Lizzie, my duck," said Morten. "I remember that. I have thought of that—how you used to cry and stamp your little feet and wring your hands shouting, 'Oh, I wish I were dead.'"
"Where do you come from, Morten?" Fanny asked him.
"I come from hell," said Morten. "I beg your pardon," he added, as he saw his sister wince. "I have come now, as you see, because the Sound is frozen over. I can come then. That is a rule."

Li anteriormente:
Out Of Africa (1937)