Stories by Foreign Authors
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Various >> Stories by Foreign Authors
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At this thought Charles sprang up. That must not be. Alphonse
should not have time to send a bullet through his bead and hide
his shame in the mixture of compassion and mysterious horror
which follows the suicide. Thus Charles would lose
his revenge, and it would be all to no purpose that he had gone
and nursed his hatred until he himself had become evil through
it. Since he had forever lost his friend, he would at least expose
his enemy, so that all should see what a miserable, despicable
being was this charming Alphonse.
He looked at his watch; it was half-past four. Charles knew the
cafe in which he would find Alphonse at this hour; he pocketed the
bill and buttoned his coat.
But on the way he would call at a police-station, and hand over
the bill to a detective, who at a sign from Charles should
suddenly advance into the middle of the cafe where Alphonse was
always surrounded by his friends and admirers, and say loudly and
distinctly so that all should hear it:
"Monsieur Alphonse, you are charged with forgery."
It was raining in Paris. The day had been foggy, raw, and cold;
and well on in the afternoon it had begun to rain. It was not a
downpour--the water did not fall from the clouds in regular
drops--but the clouds themselves had, as it were, laid themselves
down in the streets of Paris and there slowly condensed into water.
No matter how people might seek to shelter themselves, they got
wet on all sides. The moisture slid down the back of your neck,
laid itself like a wet towel about your knees, penetrated into
your boots and far up your trousers.
A few sanguine ladies were standing in the portes cocheres, with
their skirts tucked up, expecting it to clear; others waited by
the hour in the omnibus stations. But most of the stronger sex
hurried along under their umbrellas; only a few had been sensible
enough to give up the battle, and had turned up their collars,
stuck their umbrellas under their arms, and their hands in their
pockets.
Although it was early in the autumn it was already dusk at five
o'clock. A few gas-jets lighted in the narrowest streets, and in a
shop here and there strove to shine out in the thick wet air.
People swarmed as usual in the streets, jostled one another off
the pavement, and ruined one another's umbrellas. All the cabs
were taken up; they splashed along and bespattered the foot
passengers to the best of their ability, while the asphalt
glistened in the dim light with a dense coating of mud.
The cafes were crowded to excess; regular customers went round and
scolded, and the waiters ran against each other in their hurry.
Ever and anon, amid the confusion, could be heard the sharp little
ting of the bell on the buffet; it was la dame du comptoir
summoning a waiter, while her calm eyes kept a watch upon the
whole cafe.
A lady sat at the buffet of a large restaurant on the Boulevard
Sebastopol. She was widely known for her cleverness and her
amiable manners.
She had glossy black hair, which, in spite of the fashion, she
wore parted in the middle of her forehead in natural curls. Her
eyes were almost black and her mouth full, with a little shadow of
a moustache.
Her figure was still very pretty, although, if the truth were
known, she had probably passed her thirtieth year; and she had a
soft little hand, with which she wrote elegant figures in her
cashbook, and now and then a little note. Madame Virginie could
converse with the young dandies who were always hanging about the
buffet, and parry their witticisms, while she kept account with
the waiters and had her eye upon every corner of the great room.
She was really pretty only from five till seven in the afternoon--
that being the time at which Alphonse invariably visited the cafe.
Then her eyes never left him; she got a fresher color, her mouth
was always trembling into a smile, and her movements became
somewhat nervous. That was the only time of the day when she was
ever known to give a random answer or to make a mistake in the
accounts; and the waiters tittered and nudged each other.
For it was generally thought that she had formerly had relations
with Alphonse, and some would even have it that she was still his
mistress.
She herself best knew how matters stood; but it was impossible to
be angry with Monsieur Alphonse. She was well aware that he cared
no more for her than for twenty others; that she had lost him--
nay, that he had never really been hers. And yet her eyes besought
a friendly look, and when he left the cafe without sending her a
confidential greeting, it seemed as though she suddenly faded, and
the waiters said to each other: "Look at madame; she is gray
tonight."
Over at the windows it was still light enough to read the papers;
a couple of young men were amusing themselves with watching the
crowds which streamed past. Seen through the great plate-glass
windows, the busy forms gliding past one another in the dense,
wet, rainy air looked like fish in an aquarium. Further back in
the cafe, and over the billiard-tables, the gas was lighted.
Alphonse was playing with a couple of friends.
He had been to the buffet and greeted Madame Virginie, and she,
who had long noticed how Alphonse was growing paler day by day,
had--half in jest, half in anxiety--reproached him with his
thoughtless life.
Alphonse answered with a poor joke and asked for absinthe.
How she hated those light ladies of the ballet and the opera who
enticed Monsieur Alphonse to revel night after night at the
gaming-table, or at interminable suppers! How ill he had been
looking these last few weeks! He had grown quite thin, and the
great gentle eyes had acquired a piercing, restless look. What
would she not give to be able to rescue him out of that life that
was dragging him down! She glanced in the opposite mirror and
thought she had beauty enough left.
Now and then the door opened and a new guest came in, stamped his
feet, and shut his wet umbrella. All bowed to Madame Virginie, and
almost all said, "What horrible weather!"
When Charles entered, he saluted shortly and took a seat in the
corner beside the fireplace.
Alphonse's eyes had indeed become restless. He looked towards the
door every time any one came in; and when Charles appeared, a
spasm passed over his face and he missed his stroke.
"Monsieur Alphonse is not in the vein to-day," said an onlooker.
Soon after a strange gentleman came in. Charles looked up from his
paper and nodded slightly; the stranger raised his eyebrows a
little and looked at Alphonse.
He dropped his cue on the floor.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, I'm not in the mood for billiards to-day,"
said he, "permit me to leave off. Waiter, bring me a bottle of
seltzer-water and a spoon--I must take my dose of Vichy salts."
"You should not take so much Vichy salts, Monsieur Alphonse, but
rather keep to a sensible diet," said the doctor, who sat a little
way off playing chess.
Alphonse laughed, and seated himself at the newspaper-table. He
seized the JOURNAL AMUSANT, and began to make merry remarks
upon the illustrations. A little circle quickly gathered
round him, and he was inexhaustible in racy stories and
whimsicalities.
While he rattled on under cover of the others' laughter, he poured
out a glass of seltzer-water and took from his pocket a little box
on which was written, in large letters, "Vichy Salts."
He shook the powder out into the glass and stirred it round with a
spoon. There was a little cigar-ash on the floor in front of his
chair; he whipped it off with his pocket-handkerchief, and then
stretched out his hand for the glass.
At that moment he felt a hand on his arm. Charles had risen and
hurried across the room he now bent down over Alphonse.
Alphonse turned his head towards him so that none but Charles
could see his face. At first he let his eyes travel furtively over
his old friend's figure; then he looked up, and, gazing straight
at Charles, he said, half aloud, "Charlie!"
It was long since Charles had heard that old pet name. He gazed
into the well-known face and now for the first time saw how it had
altered of late. It seemed to him as though he were
reading a tragic story about himself.
They remained thus far a second or two and there glided over
Alphonse's features that expression of imploring helplessness which
Charles knew so well from the old school-days, when Alphonse came
bounding in at the last moment and wanted his composition written.
"Have you done with the JOURNAL AMUSANT?" asked Charles, with a
thick utterance.
"Yes; pray take it," answered Alphonse, hurriedly. He reached him
the paper, and at the same time got hold of Charles's thumb. He
pressed it and whispered, "Thanks," then--drained the glass.
Charles went over to the stranger who sat by the door: "Give me
the bill."
"You don't need our assistance, then?"
"No, thanks."
"So much the better," said the stranger, handing Charles a folded
blue paper. Then he paid for his coffee and went.
Madame Virginie rose with a little shriek: "Alphonse! Oh, my God!
Monsieur Alphonse is ill."
He slipped off his chair; his shoulders went up and his head fell
on one side. He remained sitting on the floor, with his back
against the chair.
There was a movement among those nearest; the doctor sprang over
and knelt beside him. When he looked in Alphonse's face he started
a little. He took his hand as if to feel his pulse, and at the
same time bent down over the glass which stood on the edge of the
table.
With a movement of the arm he gave it a slight push, so that it
fell on the floor and was smashed. Then he laid down the dead
man's hand and bound a handkerchief round his chin.
Not till then did the others understand what had happened. "Dead?
Is he dead, doctor? Monsieur Alphonse dead?"
"Heart disease," answered the doctor.
One came running with water, another with vinegar. Amid laughter
and noise, the balls could be heard cannoning on the inner
billiard-table.
"Hush!" some one whispered. "Hush!" was repeated; and the silence
spread in wider and wider circles round the corpse, until all was
quite still.
"Come and lend a hand," said the doctor.
The dead man was lifted up; they laid him on a sofa in a corner of
the room, and the nearest gas-jets were put out.
Madame Virginie was still standing up; her face was chalk-white,
and she held her little soft hand pressed against her breast. They
carried him right past the buffet. The doctor had seized him under
the back, so that his waistcoat slipped up and a piece of his fine
white shirt appeared.
She followed with her eyes the slender, supple limbs she knew so
well, and continued to stare towards the dark corner.
Most of the guests went away in silence. A couple of young men
entered noisily from the street; a waiter ran towards them and
said a few words. They glanced towards the corner, buttoned their
coats, and plunged out again into the fog.
The half-darkened cafe was soon empty; only some of Alphonse's
nearest friends stood in a group and whispered. The doctor was
talking with the proprietor, who had now appeared on the scene.
The waiters stole to and fro, making great circuits to avoid the
dark corner. One of them knelt and gathered up the fragments of
the glass on a tray. He did his work as quietly as he could; but
for all that it made too much noise.
"Let that alone until by and by," said the host, softly.
Leaning against the chimney-piece, Charles looked at the dead man.
He slowly tore the folded paper to pieces, while he thought of his
friend.
HOPES
BY
FREDERIKA BREMER
The Translation by Mary Howitt.
HOPES
BY
FREDERIKA BREMER
I had a peculiar method of wandering without very much pain along
the stormy path of life. Although, in a physical as well as in a
moral sense, I wandered almost barefoot,-I HOPED, hoped from day
to day; in the morning my hopes rested on evening, in the evening
on the morning; in the autumn; upon the spring, in spring upon the
autumn; from this year to the next, and this amid mere hopes, I
had passed through nearly thirty years of my life, without, of all
my privations, painfully perceiving the want of anything but whole
boots. Nevertheless, I consoled myself easily for this out of
doors in the open air but in a drawing-room it always gave me an
uneasy manner to have to turn the heels, as being the part least
torn, to the front. Much more oppressive was it to me, truly, that
I could in the abodes of misery only console with kind words.
I comforted myself, like a thousand others, by a hopeful glance
upon the rolling wheel of fortune, and with the philosophical
remark, "When the time comes, comes the counsel."
As a poor assistant to a country clergyman with a narrow income
and meagre table, morally becoming mouldy in the company of the
scolding housekeeper, of the willingly fuddled clergyman, of a
foolish young gentleman and the daughters of the house, who, with
high shoulders and turned-in toes, went from morning to night
paying visits, I felt a peculiarly strange emotion of tenderness
and joy as one of my acquaintance informed me by writing, that my
uncle, the Merchant P---in Stockholm, to me personally unknown,
now lay dying, and in a paroxysm of kindred affection had inquired
after his good-for-nothing nephew.
With a flat, meagre little bundle, and a million of rich hopes,
the grateful nephew now allowed himself to be shaken up hill and
down hill, upon an uncommonly uncomfortable and stiff-necked
peasant cart, and arrived, head-over-heels, in the capital.
In the inn where I alighted, I ordered for myself a little--only a
very little breakfast,--a trifle--a bit of bread-and-butter--a few
eggs.
The landlord and a fat gentleman walked up and down the saloon and
chatted. "Nay, that I must say," said the fat gentleman, "this
Merchant P--, who died the day before yesterday, he was a fine
fellow."
"Yes, yes," thought I; "aha, aha, a fellow, who had heaps of
money! Hear you, my friend" (to the waiter), "could not you get me
a bit of venison, or some other solid dish? Hear you, a cup of
bouillon would not be amiss. Look after it, but quick!"
"Yes," said mine host now, "it is strong! Thirty thousand dollars,
and they banko! Nobody in the whole world could have dreamed of
it--thirty thousand!"
"Thirty thousand!" repeated I, in my exultant soul,
"thirty thousand! Hear you, waiter! Make haste, give me here
thirty then--; and give me here banko--no give me here a glass of
wine, I mean;" and from head to heart there sang in me, amid the
trumpet-beat of every pulse in alternating echoes, "Thirty thousand!
Thirty thousand!"
"Yes," continued the fat gentlemen, "and would you believe that in
the mass of debts there are nine hundred dollars for credit
and five thousand dollars for champagne. And now all his
creditors stand there prettily and open their mouths; all the thing
in the house are hardly worth two farthings; and out of the house
they find, as the only indemnification--a calash!"
"Aha, that is something quite different! Hear you, youth, waiter!
Eh, come you here! take that meat, and the bouillon, and the wine
away again; and hear you, observe well, that I have not eaten a
morsel of all this. How could I, indeed; I, that ever since I
opened my eyes this morning have done nothing else but eat (a
horrible untruth!), and it just now occurs to me that it would
therefore be unnecessary to pay money for such a superfluous
feast."
"But you have actually ordered it," replied the waiter, in a state
of excitement.
"My friend," I replied, and seized myself behind the ear, a place
whence people, who are in embarrassment, are accustomed in some
sort of way to obtain the necessary help--"my friend, it was a
mistake for which I must not be punished; for it was not my fault
that a rich heir, for whom I ordered the breakfast, is all at once
become poor,--yes, poorer than many a poor devil, because he has
lost more than the half of his present means upon the future. If
he, under these circumstances, as you may well imagine, cannot pay
for a dear breakfast, yet it does not prevent my paying for the
eggs which I have devoured, and giving you over and above
something handsome for your trouble, as business compels me to
move off from here immediately."
By my excellent logic, and the "something handsome," I removed
from my throat, with a bleeding heart and a watering mouth, that
dear breakfast, and wandered forth into the city, with my little
bundle under my arm, to seek for a cheap room, while I considered
where I w as to get the money for it.
In consequence of the violent coming in contact of hope and
reality I had a little headache. But when I saw upon my ramble a
gentleman, ornamented with ribbons and stars, alight from a
magnificent carriage, who had a pale yellow complexion, a deeply-
wrinkled brow, and above his eyebrows an intelligible trace of ill-
humour; when I saw a young count, with whom I had become
acquainted in the University of Upsala, walking along as if he
were about to fall on his nose from age and weariness of life,
I held up my head, inhaled the air, which accidentally
(unfortunately) at this place was filled with the smell of smoked
sausage, and extolled poverty, and a pure heart.
I found at length, in a remote street, a little room, which was
more suited to my gloomy prospects than to the bright hopes which
I cherished two hours before.
I had obtained permission to spend the winter in Stockholm, and
had thought of spending it in quite a different way to what now
was to be expected. But what was to be done? To let the courage
sink was the worst of all; to lay the hands in the lap and look up
to heaven, not much better. "The sun breaks forth when one least
expects it," thought I, as heavy autumn clouds descended upon the
city. I determined to use all the means I could to obtain for myself a
decent substance with a somewhat pleasanter prospect for the future,
than was opened to me under the miserable protection of Pastor G., and,
in the meantime, to earn my daily bread by copying,--a sorrowful
expedient in a sorrowful condition.
Thus I passed my days amid fruitless endeavors to find ears which
might not be deaf, amid the heart-wearing occupation of writing
out fairly the empty productions of empty heads, with my dinners
becoming more and more scanty, and with ascending hopes, until
that evening against whose date I afterwards made a cross in my
calendar.
My host had just left me with the friendly admonition to pay the
first quarter's rent on the following day, if I did not prefer
(the politeness is French) to march forth again with bag and
baggage on a voyage of discovery through the streets of the city.
It was just eight o'clock, on an indescribably cold November
evening, when I was revived with this affectionate salutation on
my return from a visit to a sick person, for whom I, perhaps--
really somewhat inconsiderately, had emptied my purse.
I snuffed my sleepy, thin candle with my fingers, and glanced
around the little dark chamber, for the further use of which I
must soon see myself compelled to gold-making.
"Diogenes dwelt worse," sighed I, with a submissive mind, as I
drew a lame table from the window where the wind and rain were not
contented to stop outside. At that moment my eye fell upon a
brilliantly blazing fire in a kitchen, which lay, Tantalus-like,
directly opposite to my modest room, where the fireplace was as
dark as possible.
"Cooks, men and women, have the happiest lot of all serving
mortals!" thought I, as, with a secret desire to play that fire-
tending game, I contemplated the well-fed dame, amid iron pots and
stewpans, standing there like an empress in the glory of the
firelight, and with the fire-tongs sceptre rummaging about
majestically in the glowing realm.
A story higher, I had, through a window, which was concealed by no
envious curtain, the view into a brightly lighted room, where a
numerous family were assembled round a tea-table covered with cups
and bread baskets.
I was stiff in my whole body, from cold and damp. How empty it was
in that part which may be called the magazine, I do not say; but,
ah, good Heavens! thought I, if, however, that pretty girl, who
over there takes a cop of tea-nectar and rich splendid rusks to
that fat gentleman who, from satiety, can hardly raise himself
from the sofa, would but reach out her lovely hand a little
further, and could--she would with a thousand kisses--in vain!--
ah, the satiated gentleman takes his cup; he steeps and steeps his
rusk with such eternal slowness--it might be wine. Now the
charming girl caresses him. I am curious whether it is the dear
papa himself or the uncle, or, perhaps--Ah, the enviable mortal!
But no, it is quite impossible; he is at least forty years older
than she. See, that indeed must be his wife--an elderly lady, who
sits near him on the sofa, and who offers rusks to the young lady.
The old lady seems very dignified; but to whom does she go now? I
cannot see the person. An ear and a piece of a shoulder are all
that peep forth near the window. I cannot exactly take it amiss
that the respectable person turns his back to me; but that he
keeps the young lady a quarter of an hour standing before him,
lets her courtesy and offer her good things, does thoroughly
provoke me. It must be a lady--a man could not be so unpolite
towards this angelic being. But--or--now she takes the cup; and
now, oh, woe! a great man's hand grasps into the rusk-basket--the
savage! and how he helps himself--the churl! I should like to know
whether it is her brother,--he was perhaps hungry, poor fellow!
Now come in, one after the other, two lovely children, who are
like the sister. I wonder now, whether the good man with one ear
has left anything remaining. That most charming of girls, how she
caresses the little ones, and kisses them, and gives to them all
the rusks and the cakes that have escaped the fingers of Monsieur
Gobble. Now she has had herself, the sweet child! of the whole
entertainment, no more than me--the smell.
What a movement suddenly takes place in the room! The old
gentleman heaves himself up from the sofa--the person with one ear
starts forward, and in so doing, gives the young lady a blow (the
dromedary!) which makes her knock against the tea-table, whereby
the poor lady, who was just about springing up from the sofa, is
pushed down again--the children hop about and clap their hands--
the door flies open--a young officer enters--the young girl throws
herself into his arms. So, indeed! Aha, now we have it! I put to
my shutters so violently that they cracked, and seated myself on a
chair, quite wet through with rain, and with my knees trembling.
What had I to do at the window? That is what one gets when one is
inquisitive.
Eight days ago, this family had removed from the country into the
handsome house opposite to me; and it had never yet occurred to me
to ask who they were, or whence they came. What need was there for
me to-night to make myself acquainted with their domestic concerns
in an illicit manner? How could it interest me? I was in an ill-humor;
perhaps, too, I felt some little heartache. But for all that, true
to my resolution, not to give myself up to anxious thoughts when they
could do no good, I seized the pen with stiff fingers, and, in order
to dissipate my vexation, wished to attempt a description of domestic
happiness, of a happiness which I had never enjoyed. For the rest, I
philosophized whilst I blew upon my stiffened hands. "Am I the first
who, in the hot hour of fancy, has sought for a warmth which the stern
world of reality has denied him? Six dollars for a measure of fir-wood.
Yes, prosit, thou art not likely to get it before December! I write!
"Happy, threefold happy, the family, in whose narrow, contracted
circle no heart bleeds solitarily, or solitarily rejoices! No
look, no smile, remains unanswered; and where the friends say
daily, not with words but with deeds, to each other, 'Thy cares,
thy joys, thy happiness, are mine also!'"
"Lovely is the peaceful, the quiet home, which closes itself
protectingly around the weary pilgrim through life--which, around
its friendly blazing hearth, assembles for repose the old man
leaning on his staff, the strong man, the affectionate wife, and
happy children, who, shouting and exulting, hop about in their
earthly heaven, and closing a day spent in the pastimes of
innocence, repeat a thanksgiving prayer with smiling lips, and
drop asleep on the bosom of their parents, whilst the gentle voice
of the mother tells them, in whispered cradle-tones, how around
their couch--
"The little angels in a ring,
Stand round about to keep
A watchful guard upon the bed
Where little children sleep."
Here I was obliged to leave off, because I felt something
resembling a drop of rain come forth from my eye, and therefore
could not any longer see clearly.
"How many," thought I, as my reflections, against my will, took a
melancholy turn--"how many are there who must, to their sorrow, do
without this highest happiness of earthly life--domestic
happiness!"
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