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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In "Condensed Novels," Bret Harte presents a masterful collection of satirical stories that parody the conventions of contemporary literature, particularly the sprawling novels of his time. His unique approach condenses popular narratives into brief, witty summaries, exposing the absurdities and melodramatic tendencies prevalent in 19th-century fiction. Employing a sharp, ironic literary style, Harte navigates themes of morality, justice, and the human condition, while placing his characters in familiar yet exaggerated settings that reflect the complexities of Western American life. The work serves as both an ode to and a critique of the literary traditions that shaped his era, positioning Harte as a key player in the development of American literary humor. Bret Harte, a prominent figure in American literature during the Gold Rush era, was known for his vivid portrayals of Western life and society. Harte'Äôs experiences in California, witnessing the tumultuous encounters between settlers, miners, and indigenous peoples, deeply influenced his literary voice and thematic choices. His understanding of the social dynamics of post-Civil War America informed his drive to address contemporary literary norms, making "Condensed Novels" a significant addition to his oeuvre. This book is highly recommended for readers interested in the intersection of comedy and critique in literature. It not only entertains with its clever brevity but also invites reflection on the artistry of storytelling. Harte's clever dissection of literary tropes makes this work essential for those exploring the evolution of American literature and the nuances of genre parody.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Condensed Novels
Table of Contents
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES.
BY CH—S R—DE.
CHAPTER I.
The Dodds were dead. For twenty year they had slept under the green graves of Kittery churchyard. The townfolk still spoke of them kindly. The keeper of the alehouse, where David had smoked his pipe, regretted him regularly, and Mistress Kitty, Mrs. Dodd's maid, whose trim figure always looked well in her mistress's gowns, was inconsolable. The Hardins were in America. Raby was aristocratically gouty; Mrs. Raby, religious. Briefly, then, we have disposed of—
1. Mr. and Mrs. Dodd (dead).
2. Mr. and Mrs. Hardin (translated).
3. Raby, baron et femme. (Yet I don't know about the former; he came of a long-lived family, and the gout is an uncertain disease.)
We have active at the present writing (place aux dames)—
1. Lady Caroline Coventry, niece of Sir Frederick.
2. Faraday Huxley Little, son of Henry and Grace Little, deceased.
Sequitur to the above, A HERO AND HEROINE.
CHAPTER II.
On the death of his parents, Faraday Little was taken to Raby Hall. In accepting his guardianship, Mr. Raby struggled stoutly against two prejudices: Faraday was plain-looking and sceptical.
"Handsome is as handsome does, sweetheart," pleaded Jael, interceding for the orphan with arms that were still beautiful. "Dear knows, it is not his fault if he does not look like—his father," she added with a great gulp. Jael was a woman, and vindicated her womanhood by never entirely forgiving a former rival.
"It's not that alone, madam," screamed Raby, "but, d—m it, the little rascal's a scientist—an atheist, a radical, a scoffer! Disbelieves in the Bible, ma'am; is full of this Darwinian stuff about natural selection and descent. Descent, forsooth! In my day, madam, gentlemen were content to trace their ancestors back to gentlemen, and not to—monkeys!"
"Dear heart, the boy is clever," urged Jael.
"Clever!" roared Raby; "what does a gentleman want with cleverness?"
CHAPTER III.
Young Little WAS clever. At seven he had constructed a telescope; at nine, a flying-machine. At ten he saved a valuable life.
Norwood Park was the adjacent estate—a lordly domain dotted with red deer and black trunks, but scrupulously kept with gravelled roads as hard and blue as steel. There Little was strolling one summer morning, meditating on a new top with concealed springs. At a little distance before him he saw the flutter of lace and ribbons. A young lady, a very young lady—say of seven summers—tricked out in the crying abominations of the present fashion, stood beside a low bush. Her nursery-maid was not present, possibly owing to the fact that John the footman was also absent.
Suddenly Little came towards her. "Excuse me, but do you know what those berries are?" He was pointing to the low bush filled with dark clusters of shining—suspiciously shining—fruit.
"Certainly; they are blueberries."
"Pardon me; you are mistaken. They belong to quite another family."
Miss Impudence drew herself up to her full height (exactly three feet nine and a half inches), and, curling an eight of an inch of scarlet lip, said, scornfully. "YOUR family, perhaps."
Faraday Little smiled in the superiority of boyhood over girlhood.
"I allude to the classification. That plant is the belladonna, or deadly nightshade. Its alkaloid is a narcotic poison."
Sauciness turned pale. "I—have—just—eaten—some!" And began to whimper. "O dear, what shall I do?" Then did it, i.e. wrung her small fingers and cried.
"Pardon me one moment." Little passed his arm around her neck, and with his thumb opened widely the patrician-veined lids of her sweet blue eyes. "Thank Heaven, there is yet no dilation of the pupil; it is not too late!" He cast a rapid glance around. The nozzle and about three feet of garden hose lay near him.
"Open your mouth, quick!"
It was a pretty, kissable mouth. But young Little meant business. He put the nozzle down her pink throat as far as it would go.
"Now, don't move."
He wrapped his handkerchief around a hoopstick. Then he inserted both in the other end of the stiff hose. It fitted snugly. He shoved it in and then drew it back.
Nature abhors a vacuum. The young patrician was as amenable to this law as the child of the lowest peasant.
She succumbed. It was all over in a minute. Then she burst into a small fury.
"You nasty, bad—UGLY boy."
Young Little winced, but smiled.
"Stimulants," he whispered to the frightened nursery-maid who approached; "good evening." He was gone.
CHAPTER IV.
The breach between young Little and Mr. Raby was slowly widening. Little found objectionable features in the Hall. "This black oak ceiling and wainscoating is not as healthful as plaster; besides, it absorbs the light. The bedroom ceiling is too low; the Elizabethan architects knew nothing of ventilation. The color of that oak panelling which you admire is due to an excess of carbon and the exuvia from the pores of your skin—"
"Leave the house," bellowed Raby, "before the roof falls on your sacrilegious head!"
As Little left the house, Lady Caroline and a handsome boy of about Little's age entered. Lady Caroline recoiled, and then—blushed. Little glared; he instinctively felt the presence of a rival.
CHAPTER V.
Little worked hard. He studied night and day. In five years he became a lecturer, then a professor.
He soared as high as the clouds, he dipped as low as the cellars of the London poor. He analyzed the London fog, and found it two parts smoke, one disease, one unmentionable abominations. He published a pamphlet, which was violently attacked. Then he knew he had done something.
But he had not forgotten Caroline. He was walking one day in the Zoological Gardens and he came upon a pretty picture—flesh and blood too.
Lady Caroline feeding buns to the bears! An exquisite thrill passed through his veins. She turned her sweet face and their eyes met. They recollected their first meeting seven years before, but it was his turn to be shy and timid. Wonderful power of age and sex! She met him with perfect self-possession.
"Well meant, but indigestible I fear" (he alluded to the buns).
"A clever person like yourself can easily correct that" (she, the slyboots, was thinking of something else).
In a few moments they were chatting gayly. Little eagerly descanted upon the different animals; she listened with delicious interest. An hour glided delightfully away.
After this sunshine, clouds.
To them suddenly entered Mr. Raby and a handsome young man. The gentlemen bowed stiffly and looked vicious—as they felt. The lady of this quartette smiled amiably, as she did not feel.
"Looking at your ancestors, I suppose," said Mr. Raby, pointing to the monkeys; "we will not disturb you. Come." And he led Caroline away.
Little was heart-sick. He dared not follow them. But an hour later he saw something which filled his heart with bliss unspeakable.
Lady Caroline, with a divine smile on her face, feeding the monkeys!
CHAPTER VI.
Encouraged by love, Little worked hard upon his new flying-machine. His labors were lightened by talking of the beloved one with her French maid Therese, whom he had discreetly bribed. Mademoiselle Therese was venal, like all her class, but in this instance I fear she was not bribed by British gold. Strange as it may seem to the British mind, it was British genius, British eloquence, British thought, that brought her to the feet of this young savan.
"I believe," said Lady Caroline, one day, interrupting her maid in a glowing eulogium upon the skill of "M. Leetell,"—"I believe you are in love with this Professor." A quick flush crossed the olive cheek of Therese, which Lady Caroline afterward remembered.
The eventful day of trial came. The public were gathered, impatient and scornful as the pigheaded public are apt to be. In the open area a long cylindrical balloon, in shape like a Bologna sausage, swayed above the machine, from which, like some enormous bird caught in a net, it tried to free itself. A heavy rope held it fast to the ground.
Little was waiting for the ballast, when his eye caught Lady Caroline's among the spectators. The glance was appealing. In a moment he was at her side.
"I should like so much to get into the machine," said the arch-hypocrite, demurely.
"Are you engaged to marry young Raby," said Little, bluntly.
"As you please," she said with a courtesy; "do I take this as a refusal?"
Little was a gentleman. He lifted her and her lapdog into the car.
"How nice! it won't go off?"
"No, the rope is strong, and the ballast is not yet in."
A report like a pistol, a cry from the spectators, a thousand hands stretched to grasp the parted rope, and the balloon darted upward.
Only one hand of that thousand caught the rope—Little's! But in the same instant the horror-stricken spectators saw him whirled from his feet and borne upward, still clinging to the rope, into space.
CHAPTER VII.*
* The right of dramatization of this and succeeding chapters is reserved by the writer.
Lady Caroline fainted. The cold watery nose of her dog on her cheek brought her to herself. She dared not look over the edge of the car; she dared not look up to the bellying monster above her, bearing her to death. She threw herself on the bottom of the car, and embraced the only living thing spared her—the poodle. Then she cried. Then a clear voice came apparently out of the circumambient air:—
"May I trouble you to look at the barometer?"
She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at the end of a long rope. She put her head back again.
In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face over the edge—blissful sight.
"O, please don't think of coming up! Stay there, do!"
Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out of the barometer, and said so. Little smiled.
"Will you kindly send it down to me?"
But she had no string or cord. Finally she said, "Wait a moment."
Little waited. This time her face did not appear. The barometer came slowly down at the end of—a stay-lace.
The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little looked up at the valve and said nothing. Presently he heard a sigh. Then a sob. Then, rather sharply—
"Why don't you do something?"
CHAPTER VIII.
Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline crouched in the farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, whined. "Poor thing," said Lady Caroline, "it's hungry."
"Do you wish to save the dog?" said Little.
"Yes."
"Give me your parasol."
She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk and whalebone. (None of your "sunshades.") Little examined its ribs carefully.
"Give me the dog."
Lady Caroline hurriedly slipped a note under the dog's collar, and passed over her pet.
Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and launched them both into space. The next moment they were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to the earth.
"A parasol and a parachute are distinct, but not different. Be not alarmed, he will get his dinner at some farm-house."
"Where are we now?"
"That opaque spot you see is London fog. Those twin clouds are North and South America. Jerusalem and Madagascar are those specks to the right."
Lady Caroline moved nearer; she was becoming interested. Then she recalled herself and said freezingly, "How are we going to descend?"
"By opening the valve."
