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Henry Childs Merwin. The Life of Bret Harte, with Some Account of the California Pioneers
The Life of Bret Harte, with Some Account of the California Pioneers
Table of Contents
PREFACE
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE LIFE OF BRET HARTE
BRET HARTE
CHAPTER I
BRET HARTE’S ANCESTRY
CHAPTER II
BRET HARTE’S BOYHOOD
CHAPTER III
BRET HARTE’S WANDERINGS IN CALIFORNIA
CHAPTER IV
BRET HARTE IN SAN FRANCISCO
CHAPTER V
THE PIONEER MEN AND WOMEN
CHAPTER VI
PIONEER LIFE
CHAPTER VII
PIONEER LAW AND LAWLESSNESS
CHAPTER VIII
WOMEN AND CHILDREN AMONG THE PIONEERS
CHAPTER IX
FRIENDSHIP AMONG THE PIONEERS
CHAPTER X
GAMBLING IN PIONEER TIMES
CHAPTER XI
OTHER FORMS OF BUSINESS
CHAPTER XII
LITERATURE, JOURNALISM AND RELIGION
CHAPTER XIII
BRET HARTE’S DEPARTURE FROM CALIFORNIA
CHAPTER XIV
BRET HARTE IN THE EAST
CHAPTER XV
BRET HARTE AT CREFELD
CHAPTER XVI
BRET HARTE AT GLASGOW
CHAPTER XVII
BRET HARTE IN LONDON
CHAPTER XVIII
BRET HARTE AS A WRITER OF FICTION
CHAPTER XIX
BRET HARTE AS A POET
CHAPTER XX
BRET HARTE’S PIONEER DIALECT
CHAPTER XXI
BRET HARTE’S STYLE
INDEX
Отрывок из книги
Henry Childs Merwin
Published by Good Press, 2019
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“I was watching roulette one evening, intensely absorbed in the mere movement of the players. Either they were so preoccupied with the game, or I was really older looking than my actual years, but a bystander laid his hand familiarly on my shoulder, and said, as to an ordinary habitué, ‘Ef you’re not chippin’ in yourself, pardner, s’pose you give me a show.’ Now, I honestly believe that up to that moment I had no intention, nor even a desire, to try my own fortune. But in the embarrassment of the sudden address I put my hand in my pocket, drew out a coin and laid it, with an attempt at carelessness, but a vivid consciousness that I was blushing, upon a vacant number. To my horror I saw that I had put down a large coin—the bulk of my possessions! I did not flinch, however; I think any boy who reads this will understand my feeling; it was not only my coin but my manhood at stake. … I even affected to be listening to the music. The wheel spun again; the game was declared, the rake was busy, but I did not move. At last the man I had displaced touched me on the arm and whispered, ‘Better make a straddle and divide your stake this time.’ I did not understand him, but as I saw he was looking at the board, I was obliged to look, too. I drew back dazed and bewildered! Where my coin had lain a moment before was a glittering heap of gold.
“… ‘Make your game, gentlemen,’ said the croupier monotonously. I thought he looked at me—indeed, everybody seemed to be looking at me—and my companion repeated his warning. But here I must again appeal to the boyish reader in defence of my idiotic obstinacy. To have taken advice would have shown my youth. I shook my head—I could not trust my voice. I smiled, but with a sinking heart, and let my stake remain. The ball again sped round the wheel, and stopped. There was a pause. The croupier indolently advanced his rake and swept my whole pile with others into the bank! I had lost it all. Perhaps it may be difficult for me to explain why I actually felt relieved, and even to some extent triumphant, but I seemed to have asserted my grown-up independence—possibly at the cost of reducing the number of my meals for days; but what of that! … The man who had spoken to me, I think, suddenly realized, at the moment of my disastrous coup, the fact of my extreme youth. He moved toward the banker, and leaning over him whispered a few words. The banker looked up, half impatiently, half kindly—his hand straying tentatively toward the pile of coin. I instinctively knew what he meant, and, summoning my determination, met his eyes with all the indifference I could assume, and walked away.”
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