An Episode of Fiddletown

"An Episode of Fiddletown" by Bret Harte is a short story that captures the vibrant and quirky life of a mining town during the California Gold Rush. The narrative focuses on the whimsical and tumultuous events surrounding a local fiddlers' contest, highlighting the colorful characters and lively spirit of Fiddletown. Through humor and keen social observations, Harte explores themes of ambition, rivalry, and the peculiarities of frontier life, all set against the backdrop of an emerging American frontier culture. The story exemplifies Harte's skill in depicting the unique blend of hope and folly that defined the gold rush era.

• Short story

								
In 1858 Fiddletown considered her a very pretty woman. She had a
quantity of light chestnut hair, a good figure, a dazzling complexion,
and a certain languid grace which passed easily for gentle-womanliness.
She always dressed becomingly, and in what Fiddletown accepted as the
latest fashion. She had only two blemishes: one of her velvety eyes,
when examined closely, had a slight cast; and her left cheek bore a
small scar left by a single drop of vitriol--happily the only drop of
an entire phial--thrown upon her by one of her own jealous sex, that
reached the pretty face it was intended to mar. But when the observer
had studied the eyes sufficiently to notice this defect, he was
generally incapacitated for criticism; and even the scar on her cheek
was thought by some to add piquancy to her smile. The youthful editor of
THE FIDDLETOWN AVALANCHE had said privately that it was "an exaggerated
dimple." Colonel Starbottle was instantly "reminded of the beautifying
patches of the days of Queen Anne, but more particularly, sir, of the
blankest beautiful women that, blank you, you ever laid your two blank
eyes upon--a Creole woman, sir, in New Orleans. And this woman had a
scar--a line extending, blank me, from her eye to her blank chin. And
this woman, sir, thrilled you, sir; maddened you, sir; absolutely sent
your blank soul to perdition with her blank fascination! And one day I
said to her, 'Celeste, how in blank did you come by that beautiful scar,
blank you?' And she said to me, 'Star, there isn't another white man
that I'd confide in but you; but I made that scar myself, purposely, I
did, blank me.' These were her very words, sir, and perhaps you think it
a blank lie, sir; but I'll put up any blank sum you can name and prove
it, blank me."

Indeed, most of the male population of Fiddletown were or had been in
love with her. Of this number, about one-half believed that their love
was returned, with the exception, possibly, of her own husband. He alone
had been known to express skepticism.

The name of the gentleman who enjoyed this infelicitous distinction was
Tretherick. He had been divorced from an excellent wife to marry this
Fiddletown enchantress. She, also, had been divorced; but it was hinted
that some previous experiences of hers in that legal formality had made
it perhaps less novel, and probably less sacrificial. I would not have
it inferred from this that she was deficient in sentiment, or devoid of
its highest moral expression. Her intimate friend had written (on the
occasion of her second divorce), "The cold world does not understand
Clara yet"; and Colonel Starbottle had remarked blankly that with the
exception of a single woman in Opelousas Parish, La., she had more soul
than the whole caboodle of them put together. Few indeed could read
those lines entitled "Infelissimus," commencing "Why waves no cypress
o'er this brow?" originally published in the AVALANCHE, over the
signature of "The Lady Clare," without feeling the tear of sensibility
tremble on his eyelids, or the glow of virtuous indignation mantle his
cheek, at the low brutality and pitiable jocularity of THE DUTCH FLAT
INTELLIGENCER, which the next week had suggested the exotic character
of the cypress, and its entire absence from Fiddletown, as a reasonable
answer to the query.

Indeed, it was this tendency to elaborate her feelings in a metrical
manner, and deliver them to the cold world through the medium of the
newspapers, that first attracted the attention of Tretherick.
Several poems descriptive of the effects of California scenery upon a
too-sensitive soul, and of the vague yearnings for the infinite which
an enforced study of the heartlessness of California society produced
in the poetic breast, impressed Mr. Tretherick, who was then driving a
six-mule freight wagon between Knight's Ferry and Stockton, to seek out
the unknown poetess. Mr. Tretherick was himself dimly conscious of a
certain hidden sentiment in his own nature; and it is possible that some
reflections on the vanity of his pursuit--he supplied several mining
camps with whisky and tobacco--in conjunction with the dreariness of the
dusty plain on which he habitually drove, may have touched some chord in
sympathy with this sensitive woman. Howbeit, after a brief courtship--as
brief as was consistent with some previous legal formalities--they were
married; and Mr. Tretherick brought his blushing bride to Fiddletown, or
"Fideletown," as Mrs. Tretherick preferred to call it in her poems.

The union was not a felicitous one. It was not long before Mr.
Tretherick discovered that the sentiment he had fostered while
freighting between Stockton and Knight's Ferry was different from that
which his wife had evolved from the contemplation of California scenery
and her own soul. Being a man of imperfect logic, this caused him to
beat her; and she, being equally faulty in deduction, was impelled to
a certain degree of unfaithfulness on the same premise. Then Mr.
Tretherick began to drink, and Mrs. Tretherick to contribute regularly
to the columns of the AVALANCHE. It was at this time that Colonel
Starbottle discovered a similarity in Mrs. Tretherick's verse to the
genius of Sappho, and pointed it out to the citizens of Fiddletown in a
two-columned criticism, signed "A. S.," also published in the AVALANCHE,
and supported by extensive quotation. As the AVALANCHE did not possess
a font of Greek type, the editor was obliged to reproduce the Leucadian
numbers in the ordinary Roman letter, to the intense disgust of Colonel
Starbottle, and the vast delight of Fiddletown, who saw fit to accept
the text as an excellent imitation of Choctaw--a language with which the
colonel, as a whilom resident of the Indian Territories, was supposed to
be familiar. Indeed, the next week's INTELLIGENCER contained some vile
doggerel supposed to be an answer to Mrs. Tretherick's poem, ostensibly
written by the wife of a Digger Indian chief, accompanied by a glowing
eulogium signed "A. S. S."

The result of this jocularity was briefly given in a later copy of the
AVALANCHE. "An unfortunate rencounter took place on Monday last,
between the Hon. Jackson Flash of THE DUTCH FLAT INTELLIGENCER and the
well-known Col. Starbottle of this place, in front of the Eureka Saloon.
Two shots were fired by the parties without injury to either, although
it is said that a passing Chinaman received fifteen buckshot in the
calves of his legs from the colonel's double-barreled shotgun, which
were not intended for him. John will learn to keep out of the way of
Melican man's firearms hereafter. The cause of the affray is not known,
although it is hinted that there is a lady in the case. The rumor that
points to a well-known and beautiful poetess whose lucubrations have
often graced our columns seems to gain credence from those that are
posted."

Meanwhile the passiveness displayed by Tretherick under these trying

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