classic mystery and detective stories-第51部分

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〃I　hope　I　shall　often　see　you　again；〃　I　said；　on　which　I　own　poor

Manasseh　gave　a　dreadful　grin；　and　shot　back　into　his　parlor。



I　ran　home；　clutching　the　ten　delicious；　crisp　hundred　pounds；　and

the　dear　little　fifty　which　made　up　the　account。　　I　flew　through

the　streets　again。　　I　got　to　my　chambers。　　I　bolted　the　outer

doors。　　I　sank　back　in　my　great　chair；　and　slept。　。　。　。



My　first　thing　on　waking　was　to　feel　for　my　money。　　Perdition！

Where　was　I？　　Ha！on　the　table　before　me　was　my　grandmother's

snuff…box；　and　by　its　side　one　of　those　awfulthose　admirable

sensation　novels；　which　I　had　been　reading；　and　which　are　full　of

delicious　wonder。



But　that　the　guillotine　is　still　to　be　seen　at　Mr。　Gale's；　No。　47；

High　Holborn；　I　give　you　MY　HONOR。　　I　suppose　I　was　dreaming　about

it。　　I　don't　know。　　What　is　dreaming？　　What　is　life？　　Why　shouldn't

I　sleep　on　the　ceiling？and　am　I　sitting　on　it　now；　or　on　the

floor？　　I　am　puzzled。　　But　enough。　　If　the　fashion　for　sensation

novels　goes　on；　I　tell　you　I　will　write　one　in　fifty　volumes。　　For

the　present；　DIXI。　　But　between　ourselves；　this　Pinto；　who　fought

at　the　Colosseum；　who　was　nearly　being　roasted　by　the　Inquisition；

and　sang　duets　at　Holyrood；　I　am　rather　sorry　to　lose　him　after

three　little　bits　of　Roundabout　Papers。　　Et　vous？







Bourgonef





I



AT　A　TABLE　D'HOTE





At　the　close　of　February；　1848；　I　was　in　Nuremberg。　　My　original

intention　had　been　to　pass　a　couple　of　days　there　on　my　way　to

Munich；　that　being；　I　thought；　as　much　time　as　could　reasonably　be

spared　for　so　small　a　city；　beckoned　as　my　footsteps　were　to　the

Bavarian　Athens；　of　whose　glories　of　ancient　art　and　German

Renaissance　I　had　formed　expectations　the　most　exaggerated

expectations　fatal　to　any　perfect　enjoyment；　and　certain　to　be

disappointed；　however　great　the　actual　merit　of　Munich　might　be。

But　after　two　days　at　Nuremberg　I　was　so　deeply　interested　in　its

antique　sequestered　life；　the　charms　of　which　had　not　been　deadened

by　previous　anticipations；　that　I　resolved　to　remain　there　until　I

had　mastered　every　detail　and　knew　the　place　by　heart。



I　have　a　story　to　tell　which　will　move　amidst　tragic　circumstances

of　too　engrossing　a　nature　to　be　disturbed　by　archaeological

interests；　and　shall　not；　therefore；　minutely　describe　here　what　I

observed　in　Nuremberg；　although　no　adequate　description　of　that

wonderful　city　has　yet　fallen　in　my　way。　　To　readers　unacquainted

with　this　antique　place；　it　will　be　enough　to　say　that　in　it　the

old　German　life　seems　still　to　a　great　extent　rescued　from　the　all…

devouring；　all…equalizing　tendencies　of　European　civilization。　　The

houses　are　either　of　the　fifteenth　and　sixteenth　centuries；　or　are

constructed　after　those　ancient　models。　　The　citizens　have

preserved　much　of　the　simple　manners　and　customs　of　their

ancestors。　　The　hurrying　feet　of　commerce　and　curiosity　pass

rapidly　by；　leaving　it　sequestered　from　the　agitations　and　the

turmoils　of　metropolitan　existence。　　It　is　as　quiet　as　a　village。

During　my　stay　there　rose　in　its　quiet　streets　the　startled　echoes

of　horror　at　a　crime　unparalleled　in　its　annals；　which；　gathering

increased　horror　from　the　very　peacefulness　and　serenity　of　the

scene；　arrested　the　attention　and　the　sympathy　in　a　degree　seldom

experienced。　　Before　narrating　that；　it　will　be　necessary　to　go

back　a　little；　that　my　own　connection　with　it　may　be　intelligible；

especially　in　the　fanciful　weaving　together　of　remote　conjectures

which　strangely　involved　me　in　the　story。



The　table　d'hote　at　the　Bayerischer　Hof　had　about　thirty　visitors

all；　with　one　exception；　of　that　local　commonplace　which　escapes

remark。　　Indeed　this　may　almost　always　be　said　of　tables　d'hote；

though　there　is　a　current　belief；　which　I　cannot　share；　of　a　table

d'hote　being　very　delightfulof　one　being　certain　to　meet　pleasant

people　there。〃　　It　may　be　so。　　For　many　years　I　believed　it　was　so。

The　general　verdict　received　my　assent。　　I　had　never　met　those

delightful　people；　but　was　always　expecting　to　meet　them。　　Hitherto

they　had　been　conspicuous　by　their　absence。　　According　to　my

experience　in　Spain；　France；　and　Germany；　such　dinners　had　been

dreary　or　noisy　and　vapid。　　If　the　guests　were　English；　they　were

chillingly　silent；　or　surlily　monosyllabic：　to　their　neighbors　they

were　frigid；　amongst　each　other　they　spoke　in　low　undertones。　　And

if　the　guests　were　foreigners；　they　were　noisy；　clattering；　and

chattering；　foolish　for　the　most　part；　and　vivaciously　commonplace。

I　don't　know　which　made　me　feel　most　dreary。　　The　predominance　of

my　countrymen　gave　the　dinner　the　gayety　of　a　funeral；　the

predominance　of　the　Mossoo　gave　it　the　fatigue　of　got…up

enthusiasm；　of　trivial　expansiveness。　　To　hear　strangers　imparting

the　scraps　of　erudition　and　connoisseurship　which　they　had　that

morning　gathered　from　their　valets　de　place　and　guide…books；　or

describing　the　sights　they　had　just　seen；　to　you；　who　either　saw

them　yesterday；　or　would　see　them　to…morrow；　could　not　be

permanently　attractive。　　My　mind　refuses　to　pasture　on　such　food

with　gusto。　　I　cannot　be　made　to　care　what　the　Herr　Baron's

sentiments　about　Albert　Durer　or　Lucas　Cranach　may　be。　　I　can

digest　my　rindfleisch　without　the　aid　of　the　commis　voyageur's

criticisms　on　Gothic　architecture。　　This　may　be　my　misfortune。　　In

spite　of　the　Italian　blood　which　I　inherit；　I　am　a　shy　manshy　as

the　purest　Briton。　　But；　like　other　shy　men；　I　make　up　in　obstinacy

what　may　be　deficient　in　expansiveness。　　I　can　be　frightened　into

silence；　but　I　won't　be　dictated　to。　　You　might　as　well　attempt　the

persuasive　effect　of　your　eloquence　upon　a　snail　who　has　withdrawn

into　his　shell　at　your　approach；　and　will　not　emerge　till　his

confidence　is　restored。　　To　be　told　that　I　MUST　see　this；　and　ought

to　go　there；　because　my　casual　neighbor　was　charme；　has　never

presented　itself　to　me　as　an　adequate　motive。



From　this　you　readily　gather　that　I　am　severely　taciturn　at　a　table

d'hote。　　I　refrain　from　joining　in　the　〃delightful　conversation〃

which　flies　across　the　table；　and　know　that　my　reticence　is

attributed　to　〃insular　pride。〃　　It　is　really　and　truly　nothing　but

impatience　of　commonplace。　　I　thoroughly　enjoy　good　talk；　but；　ask

yourself；　what　are　the　probabilities　of　hearing　that　rare　thing　in

the　casual　assemblage　of　forty　or　fifty　people；　not　brought

together　by　any　natural　affinities　or　interests；　but　thrown

together　by　the　accident　of　being　in　the　same　district；　and　in　the

same　hotel？　　They　are　not　〃forty　feeding　like　one；〃　but　like　forty。

They　have　no　community；　except　the　community　of　commonplace。　　No；

tables　d'hote　are　not　delightful；　and　do　not　gather　interesting

people　together。



Such　has　been　my　extensive　experience。　　But　this　at　Nuremberg　is　a

conspicuous　exception。　　At　that　table　there　was　one　guest　who；　on

various　grounds；　personal　and　incidental；　remains　the　most

memorable　man　I　ever　met。　　From　the　first　he　riveted　my　attention

in　an　unusual　degree。　　He　had　not；　as　yet；　induced　me　to　emerge

from　my　habitual　reserve；　for　in　truth；　although　he　riveted　my

attention；　he　inspired　me　with　a　strange　feeling　of　repulsion。　　I

could　scarcely　keep　my　eyes　from　him；　yet；　except　the　formal　bow　on

sitting　down　and　rising　from　the　table；　I　had　interchanged　no　sign

of　fellowship　with　him。　　He　was　a　young　Russian；　named　Bourgonef；

as　I　at　once　learned；　rather　handsome；　and　peculiarly　arresting　to

the　eye；　partly　from　an　air　of　settled　melancholy；　especially　in

his　smile；　the　amiability　of　which　seemed　breaking　from　under

clouds　of　grief；　and　still　more　so　from　the　mute　appeal　to　sympathy

in　the　empty　sleeve　of　his　right　arm；　which　was　looped　to　the

breast…button　of　his　coat。　　His　eyes　were　large　and　soft。　　He　had

no　beard　or　whisker；　and　only　delicate　moustaches。　　The　sorrow；

quiet　but　profound；　the　amiable　smile　and　the　lost　arm；　were

appealing　details　which　at　once　arrested　attention　and　excited

sympathy。　　But　to　me　this　sympathy　was　mingled　with　a　vague

repulsion；　occasioned　by　a　certain　falseness　in　the　amiable　smile；

and　a　furtiveness　in　the　eyes；　which　I　sawor　fanciedand　which；

with　an　inexplicable　reserve；　forming　as　it　were　the　impregnable

citadel　in　the　center　of　his　outwardly　polite　and　engaging　manner；

gave　me　something　of　that　vague　impression　which　we　express　by　the

words　〃instinctive　antipathy。〃



It　was；　when　calmly　considered；　eminently　absurd。　　To　see　one　so

young；　and　by　his　conversation　so　highly　cultured　and　intelligent；

condemned　to　early　helplessness；　his　food　cut　up　for　him　by　a

servant；　as　if　he　were　a　child；　naturally　engaged　pity；　and；　on　the

first　day；　I　cudgeled　my　brains　during　the　greater　part　of　dinner

in　the　effort　to　account　for　his　lost　arm。　　He　was　obviously　not　a

military　man；　the　unmistakable　look　and　stoop　of　a　student　told

that　plainly　enough。　　Nor　was　the　loss　one　dating　from　early　life：

he　used　his　left　arm　too　awkwardly　for　the　event　not　to　have　had　a

recent　date。　　Had　it　anything　to　do　with　his　melancholy？　　Here　was

a　topic　for　my　vagabond　imagination；　and　endless　were　the　romances

woven　by　it　during　my　silent　dinner。　　For　the　reader　must　be　told

of　one　peculiarity　in　me；　because　to　it　much　of　the　strange

complications　of　my　story　are　due；　complications　into　which　a　mind

less　active　in　weaving　imaginary　hypotheses　to　interpret　casual　and

trifling　facts　would　never　have　been　drawn。　　From　my　childhood　I

have　been　the　victim　of　my　constructive　imagination；　which　has　led

me　into　many　mistakes　and　some　scrapes；　because；　instead　of

contenting　myself　with　plain；　obvious　evidence；　I　have　allowed

myself　to　frame　hypothetical　interpretations；　which；　to　acts　simple

in　themselves；　and　explicable　on　ordinary　motives；　render　the

simple…seeming　acts　portentous。　　With　bitter　pangs　of　self…reproach

I　have　at　times　discovered　that　a　long　and　plausible　history