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Beauty and The Beast-Part19_Bayard Taylor(1825-1878)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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up, he reached Posen, and there either met or heard of the Polish



Count, Ladislas Kasincsky, who was seeking a tutor for his only

son. His accomplishments, and perhaps, also, a certain



aristocratic grace of manner unconsciously caught from the Baron

von Herisau, speedily won for him the favor of the Count and



Countess Kasincsky, and emboldened him to hope for the hand of the

Countess' sister, Helmine ----, to whom he was no doubt sincerely



attached. Here Johann Helm, or "Jean," a confidential servant of

the Count, who looked upon the new tutor as a rival, yet adroitly



flattered his vanity for the purpose of misleading and displacing

him, appears upon the stage. "Jean" first detected Otto's passion;



"Jean," at an epicurean dinner, wormed out of Otto the secret of

the Herisau documents, and perhaps suggested the part which the



latter afterwards played.

This "Jean" seemed to me to have been the evil agency in the



miserable history which followed. After Helmine's rejection of

Otto's suit, and the flight or captivity of Count Kasincsky,



leaving a large sum of money in Otto's hands, it would be easy for

"Jean," by mingled persuasions and threats, to move the latter to



flight, after dividing the money still remaining in his hands.

After the theft, and the partition, which took place beyond the



Polish frontier, "Jean" in turn, stole his accomplice's share,

together with the Von Herisau documents.



Exile and a year's experience of organized mendicancy did the rest.

Otto Lindenschmidt was one of those natures which possess no moral



elasticity--which have neither the power nor the comprehension of

atonement. The first real, unmitigated guilt--whether great or



small--breaks them down hopelessly" target="_blank" title="ad.无希望地，绝望地">hopelessly. He expected no chance of self-

redemption, and he found none. His life in America was so utterly



dark and hopeless that the brightest moment in it must have been

that which showed him the approach of death.



My task was done. I had tracked this weak, vain, erring, hunted

soul to its last refuge, and the knowledge bequeathed to me but a



single duty. His sins were balanced by his temptations; his vanity

and weakness had revenged themselves; and there only remained to



tell the simple, faithful sister that her sacrifices were no longer

required. I burned the evidences of guilt, despair and suicide,



and sent the other papers, with a letter relating the time and

circumstances of Otto Lindenschmidt's death, to the civil



authorities of Breslau, requesting that they might be placed in the

hands of his sister Elise.



This, I supposed, was the end of the history, so far as my

connection with it was concerned. But one cannot track a secret



with impunity; the fatality connected with the act and the actor

clings even to the knowledge of the act. I had opened my door a



little, in order to look out upon the life of another, but in doing

so a ghost had entered in, and was not to be dislodged until



I had done its service.

In the summer of 1867 I was in Germany, and during a brief journey



of idlesse and enjoyment came to the lovely little watering-place

of Liebenstein, on the southern slope of the Thuringian Forest. I



had no expectation or even desire of making new acquaintances among

the gay company who took their afternoon coffee under the noble



linden trees on the terrace; but, within the first hour of my

after-dinner leisure, I was greeted by an old friend, an author,



from Coburg, and carried away, in my own despite, to a group of his

associates. My friend and his friends had already been at the



place a fortnight, and knew the very tint and texture of its

gossip. While I sipped my coffee, I listened to them with one ear,



and to Wagner's overture to "Lohengrin" with the other; and I

should soon have been wholly occupied with the fine orchestra had



I not been caught and startled by an unexpected name.

"Have you noticed," some one asked, "how much attention the Baron



von Herisau is paying her?"

I whirled round and exclaimed, in a breath, "The Baron von






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