The Indiscretion of Elsbeth Page #4

"The Indiscretion of Elsbeth" by Bret Harte is a nuanced short story that explores themes of love, trust, and societal expectations in the context of the American West. The narrative centers around Elsbeth, a young woman torn between her independent spirit and the conventions of her time. As she navigates the complexities of her relationships, particularly with a captivating but misunderstood suitor, the story delves into the challenges of maintaining personal integrity while grappling with the perceptions and judgments of those around her. Harte's rich prose and keen observation of character provide a compelling glimpse into the moral dilemmas faced by individuals in a rapidly changing society.

• Short story

								


He gently slid his hand toward hers and slipped his fingers softly
around it. She made a slight movement of withdrawal, but even then--as
if in forgetfulness or indifference--permitted her hand to rest
unresponsively in his. It was scarcely an encouragement to gallantry,
neither was it a rejection of an unconscious familiarity.

"But you haven't told me about yourself," he said.

"Oh, I," she returned, with her first approach to coquetry in a laugh
and a sidelong glance, "of what importance is that to you? It is the
Grand Duchess and Her Highness the Princess that you Americans seek to
know. I am--what I am--as you see."

"You bet," said Hoffman with charming decision.

"I WHAT?"

"You ARE, you know, and that's good enough for me, but I don't even know
your name."

She laughed again, and after a pause, said: "Elsbeth."

"But I couldn't call you by your first name on our first meeting, you
know."

"Then you Americans are really so very formal--eh?" she said slyly,
looking at her imprisoned hand.

"Well, yes," returned Hoffman, disengaging it. "I suppose we are
respectful, or mean to be. But whom am I to inquire for? To write to?"

"You are neither to write nor inquire."

"What?" She had moved in her seat so as to half-face him with eyes in
which curiosity, mischief, and a certain seriousness alternated, but for
the first time seemed conscious of his hand, and accented her words with
a slight pressure.

"You are to return to your hotel presently, and say to your landlord:
'Pack up my luggage. I have finished with this old town and my
ancestors, and the Grand Duke, whom I do not care to see, and I shall
leave Alstadt tomorrow!'"

"Thank you! I don't catch on."

"Of what necessity should you? I have said it. That should be enough for
a chivalrous American like you." She again significantly looked down at
her hand.

"If you mean that you know the extent of the favor you ask of me, I can
say no more," he said seriously; "but give me some reason for it."

"Ah so!" she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Then I must
tell you. You say you do not know the Grand Duke and Duchess. Well! THEY
KNOW YOU. The day before yesterday you were wandering in the park, as
you admit. You say, also, you got through the hedge and interrupted
some ceremony. That ceremony was not a Court function, Mr. Hoffman, but
something equally sacred--the photographing of the Ducal family
before the Schloss. You say that you instantly withdrew. But after the
photograph was taken the plate revealed a stranger standing actually
by the side of the Princess Alexandrine, and even taking the PAS of the
Grand Duke himself. That stranger was you!"

"And the picture was spoiled," said the American, with a quiet laugh.

"I should not say that," returned the lady, with a demure glance at her
companion's handsome face, "and I do not believe that the Princess--who
first saw the photograph--thought so either. But she is very young
and willful, and has the reputation of being very indiscreet, and
unfortunately she begged the photographer not to destroy the plate, but
to give it to her, and to say nothing about it, except that the plate
was defective, and to take another. Still it would have ended there if
her curiosity had not led her to confide a description of the stranger
to the Police Inspector, with the result you know."

"Then I am expected to leave town because I accidentally stumbled into a
family group that was being photographed?"

"Because a certain Princess was indiscreet enough to show her curiosity
about you," corrected the fair stranger.

"But look here! I'll apologize to the Princess, and offer to pay for the
plate."

"Then you do want to see the Princess?" said the young girl smiling;
"you are like the others."

"Bother the Princess! I want to see YOU. And I don't see how they can
prevent it if I choose to remain."

"Very easily. You will find that there is something wrong with your
passport, and you will be sent on to Pumpernickel for examination. You
will unwittingly transgress some of the laws of the town and be ordered
to leave it. You will be shadowed by the police until you quarrel with
them--like a free American--and you are conducted to the frontier.
Perhaps you will strike an officer who has insulted you, and then you
are finished on the spot."

The American's crest rose palpably until it cocked his straw hat over
his curls.

"Suppose I am content to risk it--having first laid the whole matter and
its trivial cause before the American Minister, so that he could make it
hot for this whole caboodle of a country if they happened to 'down me.'
By Jove! I shouldn't mind being the martyr of an international episode
if they'd spare me long enough to let me get the first 'copy' over to
the other side." His eyes sparkled.

"You could expose them, but they would then deny the whole story, and
you have no evidence. They would demand to know your informant, and I
should be disgraced, and the Princess, who is already talked about,
made a subject of scandal. But no matter! It is right that an American's
independence shall not be interfered with."

She raised the hem of her handkerchief to her blue eyes and slightly
turned her head aside. Hoffman gently drew the handkerchief away, and in
so doing possessed himself of her other hand.

"Look here, Miss--Miss--Elsbeth. You know I wouldn't give you away,
whatever happened. But couldn't I get hold of that photographer--I saw
him, he wanted me to sit to him--and make him tell me?"

"He wanted you to sit to him," she said hurriedly, "and did you?"

"No," he replied. "He was a little too fresh and previous, though I
thought he fancied some resemblance in me to somebody else."

"Ah!" She said something to herself in German which he did not
understand, and then added aloud:

"You did well; he is a bad man, this photographer. Promise me you shall
not sit for him."

"How can I if I'm fired out of the place like this?" He added ruefully,
"But I'd like to make him give himself away to me somehow."

"He will not, and if he did he would deny it afterward. Do not go near
him nor see him. Be careful that he does not photograph you with his
instantaneous instrument when you are passing. Now you must go. I must
see the Princess."

"Let me go, too. I will explain it to her," said Hoffman.

She stopped, looked at him keenly, and attempted to withdraw her
hands. "Ah, then it IS so. It is the Princess you wish to see. You are
curious--you, too; you wish to see this lady who is interested in you. I
ought to have known it. You are all alike."
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