The Indiscretion of Elsbeth Page #5

"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 met her gaze with laughing frankness, accepting her outburst as a
charming feminine weakness, half jealousy, half coquetry--but retained
her hands.

"Nonsense," he said. "I wish to see her that I may have the right to see
you--that you shall not lose your place here through me; that I may come
again."

"You must never come here again."

"Then you must come where I am. We will meet somewhere when you have
an afternoon off. You shall show me the town--the houses of my
ancestors--their tombs; possibly--if the Grand Duke rampages--the
probable site of my own."

She looked into his laughing eyes with her clear, stedfast, gravely
questioning blue ones. "Do not you Americans know that it is not the
fashion here, in Germany, for the young men and the young women to walk
together--unless they are VERLOBT?"

"VER--which?"

"Engaged." She nodded her head thrice: viciously, decidedly,
mischievously.

"So much the better."

"ACH GOTT!" She made a gesture of hopelessness at his incorrigibility,
and again attempted to withdraw her hands.

"I must go now."

"Well then, good-by."

It was easy to draw her closer by simply lowering her still captive
hands. Then he suddenly kissed her coldly startled lips, and instantly
released her. She as instantly vanished.

"Elsbeth," he called quickly. "Elsbeth!"

Her now really frightened face reappeared with a heightened color from
the dense foliage--quite to his astonishment.

"Hush," she said, with her finger on her lips. "Are you mad?"

"I only wanted to remind you to square me with the Princess," he laughed
as her head disappeared.

He strolled back toward the gate. Scarcely had he quitted the shrubbery
before the same chasseur made his appearance with precisely the same
salute; and, keeping exactly the same distance, accompanied him to the
gate. At the corner of the street he hailed a droshky and was driven to
his hotel.

The landlord came up smiling. He trusted that the Herr had greatly
enjoyed himself at the Schloss. It was a distinguished honor--in fact,
quite unprecedented. Hoffman, while he determined not to commit himself,
nor his late fair companion, was nevertheless anxious to learn something
more of her relations to the Schloss. So pretty, so characteristic, and
marked a figure must be well known to sightseers. Indeed, once or twice
the idea had crossed his mind with a slightly jealous twinge that left
him more conscious of the impression she had made on him than he had
deemed possible. He asked if the model farm and dairy were always shown
by the same attendants.

"ACH GOTT! no doubt, yes; His Royal Highness had quite a retinue when he
was in residence."

"And were these attendants in costume?"

"There was undoubtedly a livery for the servants."

Hoffman felt a slight republican irritation at the epithet--he knew not
why. But this costume was rather a historical one; surely it was not
entrusted to everyday menials--and he briefly described it.

His host's blank curiosity suddenly changed to a look of mysterious and
arch intelligence.

"ACH GOTT! yes!" He remembered now (with his finger on his nose) that
when there was a fest at the Schloss the farm and dairy were filled with
shepherdesses, in quaint costume worn by the ladies of the Grand Duke's
own theatrical company, who assumed the characters with great vivacity.
Surely it was the same, and the Grand Duke had treated the Herr to this
special courtesy. Yes--there was one pretty, blonde young lady--the
Fraulein Wimpfenbuttel, a most popular soubrette, who would play it to
the life! And the description fitted her to a hair! Ah, there was no
doubt of it; many persons, indeed, had been so deceived.

But happily, now that he had given him the wink, the Herr could
corroborate it himself by going to the theater tonight. Ah, it would be
a great joke--quite colossal! if he took a front seat where she could
see him. And the good man rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation.

Hoffman had listened to him with a slow repugnance that was only equal
to his gradual conviction that the explanation was a true one, and
that he himself had been ridiculously deceived. The mystery of his fair
companion's costume, which he had accepted as part of the "show"; the
inconsistency of her manner and her evident occupation; her undeniable
wish to terminate the whole episode with that single interview;
her mingling of worldly aplomb and rustic innocence; her perfect
self-control and experienced acceptance of his gallantry under the
simulated attitude of simplicity--all now struck him as perfectly
comprehensible. He recalled the actress's inimitable touch in certain
picturesque realistic details in the dairy--which she had not spared
him; he recognized it now even in their bowered confidences (how like a
pretty ballet scene their whole interview on the rustic bench was!),
and it breathed through their entire conversation--to their theatrical
parting at the close! And the whole story of the photograph was, no
doubt, as pure a dramatic invention as the rest! The Princess's romantic
interest in him--that Princess who had never appeared (why had he not
detected the old, well-worn, sentimental situation here?)--was all a
part of it. The dark, mysterious hint of his persecution by the police
was a necessary culmination to the little farce. Thank Heaven! he had
not "risen" at the Princess, even if he had given himself away to the
clever actress in her own humble role. Then the humor of the whole
situation predominated and he laughed until the tears came to his eyes,
and his forgotten ancestors might have turned over in their graves
without his heeding them. And with this humanizing influence upon him he
went to the theater.

It was capacious even for the town, and although the performance was a
special one he had no difficulty in getting a whole box to himself. He
tried to avoid this public isolation by sitting close to the next box,
where there was a solitary occupant--an officer--apparently as lonely as
himself. He had made up his mind that when his fair deceiver appeared
he would let her see by his significant applause that he recognized her,
but bore no malice for the trick she had played on him. After all, he
had kissed her--he had no right to complain. If she should recognize
him, and this recognition led to a withdrawal of her prohibition, and
their better acquaintance, he would be a fool to cavil at her pleasant
artifice. Her vocation was certainly a more independent and original
one than that he had supposed; for its social quality and inequality he
cared nothing. He found himself longing for the glance of her calm blue
eyes, for the pleasant smile that broke the seriousness of her sweetly
restrained lips. There was no doubt that he should know her even as the
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