Chapter 1 The Indiscretion of Elsbeth

2018-04-15 作者： 外研社编译组

Chapter 1 The Indiscretion of Elsbeth

Www.Pinwenba.Com 吧by Bret Harte

The American paused.He had evidently lost his way.For the last half hour he had been wandering in a medieval town, in a profound medieval dream.Only a few days had elapsed since he had left the steamship that carried him hither; and the accents of his own tongue, the idioms of his own people, and the sympathetic community of New World tastes and expressions still filled his mind until he woke up, or rather, as it seemed to him, was falling asleep in the past of this Old World town which had once held his ancestors.

Although a republican, he had liked to think of them in quaint distinctive garb, representing state and importance perhaps even aristocratic pre eminence content to let the responsibility of such “bad eminence” rest with them entirely, but a habit of conscientiousness and love for historic truth eventually led him also to regard an honest BAUER standing beside his cattle in the quaint market place, or a kindly faced black eyed DIENSTMADCHEN in a doorway, with a timid, respectful interest, as a possible type of his progenitors.

For, unlike some of his traveling countrymen in Europe, he was not a snob, and it struck him as an American that it was, perhaps, better to think of his race as having improved than as having degenerated.In these ingenuous meditations he had passed the long rows of quaint, high houses, whose sagging roofs and unpatched dilapidations were yet far removed from squalor, until he had reached the road bordered by poplars, all so unlike his own country’s waysides and knew that he had wandered far from his hotel.

He did not care, however, to retrace his steps and return by the way he had come.There was, he reasoned, some other street or turning that would eventually bring him to the market place and his hotel, and yet extend his experience of the town.He turned at right angles into a narrow grass lane, which was, however, as neatly kept and apparently as public as the highway.A few moments’ walking convinced him that it was not a thoroughfare and that it led to the open gates of a park.

This had something of a public look, which suggested that his intrusion might be at least a pardonable trespass, and he relied, like most strangers, on the exonerating quality of a stranger’s ignorance.The park lay in the direction he wished to go, and yet it struck him as singular that a park of such extent should be still allowed to occupy such valuable urban space.Indeed, its length seemed to be illimitable as he wandered on, until he became conscious that he must have again lost his way, and he diverged toward the only boundary, a high, thickset hedge to the right, whose line he had been following.

As he neared it he heard the sound of voices on the other side, speaking in German, with which he was unfamiliar.Having, as yet, met no one, and being now impressed with the fact that for a public place the park was singularly deserted, he was conscious that his position was getting serious, and he determined to take this only chance of inquiring his way.The hedge was thinner in some places than in others, and at times he could see not only the light through it but even the moving figures of the speakers, and the occasional white flash of a summer gown.

At last he determined to penetrate it, and with little difficulty emerged on the other side.But here he paused motionless.He found himself behind a somewhat formal and symmetrical group of figures with their backs toward him, but all stiffened into attitudes as motionless as his own, and all gazing with a monotonous intensity in the direction of a handsome building, which had been invisible above the hedge but which now seemed to arise suddenly before him.Some of the figures were in uniform.Immediately before him, but so slightly separated from the others that he was enabled to see the house between her and her companions, he was confronted by the pretty back, shoulders, and blond braids of a young girl of twenty.

Convinced that he had unwittingly intruded upon some august ceremonial, he instantly slipped back into the hedge, but so silently that his momentary presence was evidently undetected.When he regained the park side he glanced back through the interstices; there was no movement of the figures nor break in the silence to indicate that his intrusion had been observed.With a long breath of relief he hurried from the park.

It was late when he finally got back to his hotel.But his little modern adventure had, I fear, quite outrun his previous medieval reflections, and almost his first inquiry of the silver chained porter in the courtyard was in regard to the park.There was no public park in Alstadt!The Herr possibly alluded to the Hof Gardens the Schloss, which was in the direction he indicated.The Schloss was the residency of the hereditary Grand Duke.JA WOHL!He was stopping there with several Hoheiten.There was naturally a party there a family reunion.But it was a private enclosure.At times, when the Grand Duke was “not in residence,” it was open to the public.In point of fact, at such times tickets of admission were to be had at the hotel for fifty pfennige each.There was not, of truth, much to see except a model farm and dairy the pretty toy of a previous Grand Duchess.

But he seemed destined to come into closer collision with the modern life of Alstadt.On entering the hotel, wearied by his long walk, he passed the landlord and a man in half military uniform on the landing near his room.As he entered his apartment he had a vague impression, without exactly knowing why, that the landlord and the military stranger had just left it.This feeling was deepened by the evident disarrangement of certain articles in his unlocked portmanteau and the disorganization of his writing case.A wave of indignation passed over him.It was followed by a knock at the door,and the landlord blandly appeared with the stranger.

“A thousand pardons,” said the former, smilingly, “but Herr Sanderman, the Ober Inspector of Police, wishes to speak with you.I hope we are not intruding?”

“Not NOW,” said the American, dryly.

The two exchanged a vacant and deprecating smile.

“I have to ask only a few formal questions,” said the Ober Inspector in excellent but somewhat precise English, “to supplement the report which, as a stranger, you may not know is required by the police from the landlord in regard to the names and quality of his guests who are foreign to the town.You have apassport?”

“I have,” said the American still more dryly.“But I do not keep it in an unlockedportmanteau or an open writing case.”

“An admirable precaution,” said Sanderman, with unmoved politeness.“May I see it?Thanks,” he added, glancing over the document which the American produced from his pocket.“I see that you are a born American citizen and an earlier knowledge of that fact would have prevented this little contretemps.You are aware, Mr. Hoffman, that your name is German?”

“It was borne by my ancestors, who came from this country two centuries ago,” said Hoffman, curtly.

“We are indeed honoredby your return to it,” returned Sanderman suavely, “but it was the circumstance of your name being a local one, and the possibility of your still being a German citizen liable to unperformed military duty, which has caused the trouble.”His manner was clearly civil and courteous, but Hoffman felt that all the time his own face and features were undergoing a profound scrutiny from the speaker.

“And you are making sure that you will know me again?” said Hoffman, with a smile.

“I trust, indeed, both,” returned Sanderman, with a bow, “although you will permit me to say that your description here,” pointing to the passport, “scarcely does you justice.ACH GOTT! it is the same in all countries; the official eye is not that of the young DAMEN.”

Hoffman, though not conceited, had not lived twenty years without knowing that he was very good looking, yet there was something in the remark that causedhim to color with a new uneasiness.

The Ober Inspector rose with another bow, and moved toward the door.“I hope you will let me make amends for this intrusion by doing anything I can to render your visit here a pleasant one.Perhaps,” he added,“it is not for long.”

But Hoffman evaded the evident question, as he resented what he imagined was a possible sneer.

“I have not yet determined my movements,” he said.

The Ober Inspector brought his heels together in a somewhat stiffer military salute and departed.

Nothing, however, could have exceeded the later almost servile urbanity of the landlord, who seemed to have been proud of the official visit to his guest.He was profuse in his attentions, and even introduced him to a singularly artistic looking man of middle age, wearing an order in his buttonhole, whom he met casually in the hall.

“Our Court photographer,” explained the landlord with some fervor, “at whose studio, only a few houses distant, most of the Hoheiten and Prinzessinen of Germany have sat for their likenesses.”

“I should feel honoredif the distinguished American Herr would give me a visit,” said the stranger gravely, as he gazed at Hoffman with an intensity which recalled the previous scrutiny of the Police Inspector, “and I would be charmed if he would avail himself of my poor skill to transmit his picturesque features to my unique collection.”

Hoffman returned a polite evasion to this invitation, although he was conscious of being struck with this second examination of his face, and the allusion to his personality.

The next morning the porter met him with a mysterious air.The Herr would still like to see the Schloss?Hoffman, who had quite forgotten his adventure in the park, looked vacant.JA WOHL the Hof authorities had no doubt heard of his visit and had intimated to the hotel proprietor that he might have permission to visit the model farm and dairy.As the American still looked indifferent the porter pointed out with some importance that it was a Ducal courtesy not to be lightly treated; that few, indeed, of the burghers themselves had ever been admitted to this eccentric whim of the late Grand Duchess.He would, of course, be silent about it; the Court would not like it known that they had made an exception to their rules in favor of a foreigner; he would enter quickly and boldly alone.There wouldbe a housekeeper or a dairymaid to show him over the place.

More amused at this important mystery over what he, as an American, was inclined to classify as a “free pass” to a somewhat heavy “side show,” he gravely accepted the permission, and the next morning after breakfast set out to visit the model farm and dairy.Dismissing his driver, as he had been instructed, Hoffman entered the gateway with a mingling of expectancy and a certain amusement over the “boldness” which the porter had suggested should characterize his entrance.Before him was a beautifully kept lane bordered by arbored and trellised roses, which seemed to sink into the distance.

He was instinctively following it when he became aware that he was mysteriously accompanied by a man in the livery of a chasseur, who was walking among the trees almost abreast of him, keeping pace with his step, and after the first introductory military salute preserving a ceremonious silence.There was something so ludicrous in this solemn procession toward a peaceful, rural industry that by the time they had reached the bottom of the lane the American had quite recovered his good humor.But here a new astonishment awaited him.Nestling before him in a green amphitheater lay a little wooden farm yard and outbuildings, which irresistibly suggested that it had been recently unpacked and set up from a box of Nuremberg toys.The symmetrical trees, the galleried houses with preternaturally glazed windows, even the spotty, disproportionately sized cows in the white fenced barnyards were all unreal, wooden and toylike.

Crossing a miniature bridge over a little stream, from which he was quite prepared to hook metallic fish with a magnet their own size, he looked about him for some real being to dispel the illusion.The mysterious chasseur had disappeared.But under the arch of an arbor, which seemed to be composed of silk ribbons, green glass, and pink tissue paper, stood a quaint but delightful figure.

At first it seemed as if he had only dispelled one illusion for another.For the figure before him might have been made of Dresden china so daintily delicate and unique it was in color and arrangement.It was that of a young girl dressed in some forgotten medieval peasant garb of velvet braids, silver staylaced corsage, lace sleeves, and helmeted metallic comb.But, after the Dresden method, the pale yellow of her hair was repeated in her bodice, the pink of her cheeks was in the roses of her chintz overskirt.The blue of her eyes was the blue of her petticoat; the dazzling whiteness of her neck shone again in the sleeves and stockings.Nevertheless she was real and human, for the pink deepened in her cheeks as Hoffman’s hat flew from his head, and she recognized the civility with a grave little curtsy.

“You have come to see the dairy,” she said in quaintly accurate English; “I will show you the way.”

“If you please,” said Hoffman, gaily, “but ”

“But what?” she said, facing him suddenly with absolutely astonished eyes.

Hoffman looked into them solong that their frank wonder presently contracted into an ominous mingling of restraint and resentment.Nothing daunted, however, he went on:“Couldn’t we shake all that?”

The look of wonder returned.“Shake all that?” she repeated.“I do not understand.”

“Well!I’m not positively aching to see cows, and you must be sick of showing them.I think, too, I’ve about sized the whole show.Wouldn’t it be better if we sat down in that arbor supposing it won’t fall down and you told me all about the lot?It would save you a heap of trouble and keep your pretty frock cleaner than trapesing round.Of course,” he said, with a quick transition to the gentlest courtesy, “if you’re conscientious about this thing we’ll go on and not spare a cow.Consider me in it with you for the whole morning.”

She looked at him again, and then suddenly broke into a charming laugh.It revealed a set of strong white teeth, as well as a certain barbaric trace in its cadence which civilized restraint had not entirely overlaid.

“I suppose she really is a peasant, in spite of that pretty frock,” he said to himself as he laughed too.

But her face presently took a shade of reserve, and with a gentle but singular significance she said:“I think you must see the dairy.”

Hoffman’s hat was in his hand with a vivacity that tumbled the brown curls on his forehead.“By all means,” he said instantly, and began walking by her side in modest but easy silence.Now that he thought her a conscientious peasant he was quiet and respectful.

Presently she lifted her eyes, which, despite her gravity, had not entirely lost their previous mirthfulness, and said: “But you Americans in your rich and prosperous country, with your large lands and your great harvests you must know all about farming.”

“Never was in a dairy in my life,” said Hoffman gravely.“I’m from the city of New York, where the cows give swill milk, and are kept in cellars.”

Her eyebrows contracted prettily in an effort to understand.Then she apparently gave it up, and said with a slanting glint of mischief in her eyes:“Then you come here like the other Americans in hope to see the Grand Duke and Duchess and the Princesses?”

“No.The fact is I almost tumbled into a lot of ’em standing like wax figures the other side of the park lodge, the other day and got away as soon as I could.I think I prefer the cows.”

Her head was slightly turned away.He had to content himself with looking down upon the strong feet in their serviceable but smartly buckled shoes that uplifted her upright figure asshe moved beside him.

“Of course,”he added with boyish but unmistakable courtesy, “if it’s part of your show to trot out the family, why I’m in that, too.I dare say you could make them interesting.”

“But why,” she saidwith her head still slightly turned away toward a figure a sturdy looking woman, which, for the first time, Hoffman perceived waswalking in a line with them as the chasseur had done ”why did you come here at all?”

“The first time was a fool accident,” he returned frankly.“I was making a short cut through what I thought was a public park.The second time was because I had been rude to a Police Inspector whom I found going through my things, but who apologized as I suppose by getting me an invitation from the Grand Duke to come here, and I thought it only the square thing to both of ’em to accept it.But I’m mighty glad I came; I wouldn’t have missed YOU for a thousand dollars.You see I haven’t struck anyone I cared to talk to since.”Here he suddenly remarked that she hadn’t looked at him, and that the delicate whiteness of her neck was quite suffused with pink, and stopped instantly.Presently he said quite easily:“Who’s the chorus?”

“The lady?”

“Yes.She’s watching us as if she didn’t quite approve, you know just as if she didn’t catch on.”

“She’s the head housekeeper of the farm.Perhaps you would prefer to have her show you the dairy; shall I call her?”

The figure in question was very short and stout, with voluminous petticoats.

“Please don’t; I’ll stay without your setting that paperweight on me.But here’s the dairy.Don’t let hercome inside among those pans of fresh milk with that smile, or there’ll be trouble.”

The young girl paused too, made a slight gesture with her hand, and the figure passed on as they entered the dairy.It was beautifully clean and fresh.With a persistence that he quickly recognized as mischievous and ironical, and with his characteristic adaptability accepted with even greater gravity and assumption of interest, she showed him all the details.From thence they passed to the farmyard, where he hung with breathless attention over the names of the cows and made her repeat them.Although she was evidently familiar with the subject, he could see that her zeal was fitful and impatient.

“Suppose we sit down,” he said, pointing to an ostentatious rustic seat in the center of the green.

“Sir down?” she repeated wonderingly.“What for?”

“To talk.We’ll knock off and call it half a day.”

“But if you are not looking at the farm you are, of course, going,” she said quickly.

“Am I?I don’t think these particulars were in my invitation.”

She again broke into a fit of laughter, and at the same time cast a bright eye around the field.

“Come,” he said gently, “there are no other sightseers waiting, and your conscience is clear,” and he moved toward the rustic seat.

“Certainly not there,” she added in a low voice.

They moved on slowly together to a copse of willows which overhung the miniature stream.

“You are not staying long in Alstadt?” she said.

“No; I only came to see the old town that my ancestors came from.”

They were walking so close together that her skirt brushed his trousers, but she suddenly drew away from him, and looking him fixedly in the eye said:“Ah, you have relations here?”

“Yes, but they are dead two hundred years.”

She laughed again with a slight expression of relief.They had entered the copse and were walking in dense shadow when she suddenly stopped and sat down upon a rustic bench.To his surprise he found that they were quite alone.

“Tell me about these relatives,” she said, slightly drawing aside her skirt to make room for him on the seat.

He did not require a second invitation.He not only told her all about his ancestral progenitors, but, I fear, even about those more recent and more nearly related to him; about his own life, his vocation he was a clever newspaper correspondent with a roving commission his ambitions, his beliefs and his romance.

“And then, perhaps, of this visit you will also make ‘copy’?”