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安徒生童話故事第128篇：看門人的兒子The Porter’s Son
引導語：《看門人的兒子》是丹麥著名作家安徒生創作的一篇童話故事，講述一個看門人的兒子喬治在功成名就之后終于和青梅竹馬的將軍的女兒愛米莉終成眷屬的故事，下文是關于這篇童話故事的中英文版本，歡迎大家閱讀!
將軍的家住在第一層樓上;看門人的家住在地下室里。這兩家的距離很遠，整整相隔一層樓;而他們的地位也不同。不過他們是住在同一個屋頂下，面向著同一條街和同一個院子。院子里有一塊草坪和一株開花的槐樹——這就是說，當它開起花來的時候，在這樹下面有時坐著一位穿得很漂亮的保姆和一位將軍的穿得更漂亮的孩子“小小的愛米莉”。
那個有一對棕色大眼睛和一頭黑發的看門人的孩子，常常在她們面前赤著腳跳舞。這位小姑娘對他大笑，同時把一雙小手向他伸出來。將軍在窗子里看到了這情景，就點點頭，說：“好極了!”將軍夫人很年輕，她幾乎像他頭一個太太生的女兒。她從來不朝院子里望，不過她下過一道命令說，住在地下室里的那家人家的孩子可以在她的女兒面前玩，但是不能碰她。保姆嚴格地執行太太的指示。
太陽照著住在第一層樓上的人，也照著住在地下室里的人。槐樹開出花來了，而這些花又落了，第二年它們又開出來了。樹兒開著花，看門人的小兒子也開著花——他的樣子像一朵鮮艷的郁金香。
將軍的女兒長得又嫩又白，像槐樹花的粉紅色花瓣。她現在很少到這株樹底下來，她要呼吸新鮮空氣時，就坐上馬車;而且她出去時總是跟媽媽坐在一塊。她一看到看門人的兒子喬治，就對他點點頭，用手指飛一個吻，直到后來母親告訴她說，她的年紀已經夠大了，不能再做這類事兒。
有一天上午，他把門房里早晨收到的信件和報紙送給將軍。當他爬上樓梯經過沙洞子的門①的時候，聽到里面有一種卿卿喳喳的聲音。他以為里面有一只小雞在叫，但是這卻是將軍的那個穿著花邊洋布衣的小女兒。
“你不要告訴爸爸和媽媽，他們知道就會生氣的!”
“這是什么，小姐?”喬治問。
“什么都燒起來了!’”她說。“火燒得真亮!”
喬治把小育兒室的門推開;窗簾幾乎都快要燒光了;掛窗簾的桿子也燒紅了，在冒出火焰，喬治向上一跳就把它拉了下來，同時大聲呼喊。要不是他，恐怕整個房子也要燒起來了。
將軍和太太追問小愛米莉。
“我只是劃了一根火柴，”她說，“但是它馬上就燃起來了，窗帖也馬上燒起來了。我吐出唾沫來想把它壓熄，但是怎樣吐也吐得不夠多，所以我就跑出來，躲開了，因為怕爸爸媽媽生氣。”
“吐唾沫!”將軍說，“這是一種什么字眼?你什么時候聽到爸爸媽媽說過‘吐唾沫’的?你一定是跟樓底下的那些人學來的。”
但是小小的喬治得到了一個銅板。他沒有把這錢在面包店里花掉，卻把它塞進儲藏匣里去。過了不久，他就有了許多銀毫，夠買一盒顏料。他開始畫起彩色畫來，并且確實畫得不少。它們好像是從他的鉛筆和指尖直接跳出來似的。他把他最初的幾幅彩色畫送給了小愛米莉。
“好極了!”將軍說。將軍夫人承認，人們一眼就可以看出這個小家伙的意圖。“他有天才!”這就是看門人的妻子帶到地下室來的一句話。
將軍和他的夫人是有地位的人：他們的車子上繪著兩個族徽——每一個代表一個家族。夫人的每件衣服上也有一個族徽，里里外外都是如此;便帽上也有，連睡衣袋上都有。她的族徽是非常昂貴的，是她的父親用锃亮的現洋買來的②，因為他并不是一生下來就有它，她當然也不是一生下來就有它的：她生得太早，比族徽早7個年頭。大多數的人都記得這件事情，但是這一家人卻記不得。將軍的族徽是又老又大：壓在你的肩上可以壓碎你的骨頭——兩個這樣的族徽當然更不用說了。當夫人擺出一副生硬和莊嚴的架子去參加宮廷舞會的時候，她的骨頭就曾經碎過。
將軍是一個年老的人，頭發有些灰白，不過他騎馬還不壞。這點他自己知道，所以他每天騎馬到外面去，而且叫他的馬夫在后面跟他保持著相當的距離。因此他去參加晚會時總好像是騎著一匹高大的馬兒似的。他戴著勛章，而且很多，把許多人都弄得莫名其妙，但是這不能怪他。他年輕的時候在軍隊中服過役，而且還參加過一次盛大的秋季演習——軍隊在和平時期所舉行的演習。從那時起，他有一個關于自己的小故事——他常常講的唯一的故事：他屬下的一位軍官在中途截獲了一位王公。王公和他幾個被俘的兵士必須騎著馬跟在將軍后面一同進城，王公自己也是一個俘虜。這真是一件難忘的事件。多少年來，將軍一直在講它，而且老是用那幾個同樣值得紀念的字眼來講它：這幾個字是他把那把劍歸還給王公的時候說的：“只有我的部下才會把閣下抓來，作為俘虜;我本人決不會的!”于是王公回答說：“您是蓋世無雙的!”
老實講，將軍并沒有參加過戰爭。當這國家遭遇到戰爭的時候，他卻改行去辦外交了;他先后到三個國家去當過使節。他的法文講得很好，弄得他幾乎把本國的語言也忘記掉了。他的舞也跳得很好，馬也騎得很好;他上衣上掛的勛章多到不可想象的地步。警衛向他敬禮，一位非常漂亮的女子主動地要求作他的太太。他們生了一個很美麗的孩子。她好像是天上降下的一樣，那么美麗。當她開始會玩的時候，看門人的孩子就在院子里跳舞給她看，還贈送許多彩色畫給她。她把這些東西玩了一會兒，就把它們撕成碎片。她是那么美，那么可愛!
“我的玫瑰花瓣!”將軍的夫人說，“你是為了一個王子而生下來的!”
那個王子已經站在他們的門口了，但是人們卻不知道。人們的視線總是看不見自己門外的事情的。
“前天我們的孩子把黃油面包分給她吃，”看門人的妻子說;“那上面沒有干奶酪，也沒有肉，但是她吃得很香，好像那就是烤牛肉似的。將軍家里的人如果看到這種食物一定會大鬧一場的，但是他們沒有看見。”
喬治把黃油面包分給小小的愛米莉吃。他連自己的心也愿意分給她呢，如果他這樣就能使她高興的話。他是一個好孩子，又聰明，又活潑。他現在到美術學院的夜校去學習繪畫。小小的愛米莉在學習方面也有些進步。她跟保姆學講法國話，還有一位老師教她跳舞。
“到了復活節的時候，喬治就應該受堅信禮了!”看門人的妻子說。喬治已經很大了。
“現在是叫他去學一門手藝的時候了，”爸爸說。“當然要學一個好手藝，這樣我們也可以叫他獨立生活了。”
“可是他晚間得回家睡，”媽媽說;“要找到一個有地方給他住的師傅是不容易的。我們還得做衣服給他穿;他吃的那點兒伙食還不太貴——他有一兩個熟馬鈴薯吃就已經很高興了;而且他讀書也并不花錢。讓他自己選擇吧;你將來看吧，他會帶給我們很大的安慰;那位教授也這樣說過。”
受堅信禮穿的新衣已經做好了。那是媽媽親手為他縫的，不過是由一個做零活的裁縫裁的，而且裁得很好。看門人的妻子說、如果他的境遇好一點，能有一個門面和伙計的話，他也有資格為宮廷里的人做衣服。
受堅信禮的衣服已經準備好了，堅信禮也準備好了。在受堅信禮的那天，喬治從他的教父那里拿到了一個黃銅表。這個教父是一個做麻生意的商人的伙計，在喬治的教父中要算是富有的了。這只表很舊，經受過考驗：它走得很快，不過這比走得慢要好得多了。這是一件很貴重的禮品。將軍家里送來一本用鞣皮裝訂的《圣詩集》，是由那個小姑娘贈送的，正如喬治贈送過她圖畫一樣。書的標題頁上寫著他的名字和她的名字，還寫著“祝你萬事如意”。這是由將軍夫人親口念出而由別人記下來的。將軍仔細看了一次，說：“好極了!”
“這樣一位高貴的紳士真算是瞧得起我們!”看門人的妻子說。喬治得穿上他受堅信禮的衣服，拿著那本《圣詩集》，親自到樓上去答謝一番。
將軍夫人穿著許多衣服，又害起惡性的頭痛病來——當她對于生活感到膩昧的時候，就老是患這種病。她對喬治的態度非常和藹，祝他一切如意，同時也希望自己今后永遠也不害頭痛病。將軍穿著睡衣，戴著一頂有纓子的帽子，穿著一雙俄國式的紅長統靴。他懷著許多感想和回憶，來回走了三次，然后站著不動，說：
“小喬治現在成了一個基督徒!讓他也成為一個誠實的、尊敬他長輩的人吧!將來你老了的時候，你可以說這句話是將軍教給你的!”
這比他平時所作的演說要長得多!于是他又沉到他的默想中去，現出一副很莊嚴的樣子。不過喬治在這兒聽到和看到的一切東西之中，他記得最清楚的是愛米莉小姐。她是多么可愛，多么溫柔，多么輕盈，多么嬌嫩啊!如果要把她畫下來，那么他就應該把她畫在肥皂泡上才對。她的衣服，她金色的薄發，都發出一陣香氣，好像她是一棵開著鮮花的玫瑰樹一樣;而他卻曾經把自己的黃油面包分給她吃過!她吃得那么津津有味，每吃一口就對他點點頭。她現在是不是還能記得這事呢?是的，當然記得。她還送過他一本美麗的《圣詩集》“作為紀念”呢。因此在新年后新月第一次出現的時候，他就拿著面包和一枚銀毫到外邊去;他把這書打開，要看看他會翻到哪一首詩。他翻到一首贊美和感恩的詩;于是他又翻開.看小小的愛米莉會得到一首什么詩。他很當心不耍翻到悼亡歌那一部分;但是他卻翻到關于死和墳墓之間的那幾頁了。這類事兒當然是不值得相信的!但是他卻害怕起來，因為那個柔嫩的小姑娘不久就倒在床上病了，醫生的車子每天中午都停在她的門口。
“他們留不住她了!”看門人的妻子說;“我們的上帝知道他應該把什么人收回去!”
然而他們卻把她留下來了。喬治畫了些圖畫贈送給她：他畫了沙皇的宮殿——莫斯科的古克里姆林宮——一點也不走樣：有尖塔，也有圓塔，樣子很像綠色和金色的大黃瓜——起碼在喬治的畫里是如此。小愛米莉非常喜歡它們，因此在一星期以內，喬治又送了幾張畫給她——它們全是建筑物，因為她可以對建筑物想象許多東西——門里和窗里的東西。
他畫了一幢中國式的房子;它有16層樓，每層樓上都有鐘樂器。他畫了兩座希臘的廟宇，有細長的大理石圓柱，周圍還有臺階;他畫了一個挪威的教堂，你一眼就可以看出來，它完全是木頭做的，雕著花，建筑得非常好，每層樓就好像是建筑在搖籃下面的彎桿上一樣。但是最美麗的一張畫是一個宮殿，它的標題是：“小愛米莉之宮”。她將要住在這樣的一座房子里。這完全是喬治的創見;他把一切別的建筑物中最美的東西都移到這座宮殿里來。它像那個挪威的教堂一樣，有雕花的大梁;像那個希臘的廟宇一樣，有大理石圓柱;每層樓上都有鐘樂器，同時在最高一層的頂上有綠色和鍍金的圓塔，像沙皇的克里姆林宮。這真是一個孩子的樓閣!每個窗子下面都注明了房間和廳堂的用處：“這是愛米莉睡的地方”，“這是愛米莉跳舞的地方”，“這是愛米莉玩會客游戲的地方”。它看起來很好玩，而大家也就真的來看它了。
“好極了!”將軍說。
但是那位年老的伯爵一點也不表示意見。那一位伯爵比將軍更有名望，而且還擁有一座宮殿和田莊。他聽說它是由一個看門人的小兒子設計和畫出來的。不過他現在既然受了堅信禮，就不應該再算是一個小孩子了。老伯爵把這些圖畫看了一眼，對它們有一套冷靜的看法。
有一天，天氣非常陰沉、潮濕、可怕。對于小喬治說來，這要算是最明朗和最好的時候了。藝術學院的那位教授把他喊進去。
“請聽著，我的朋友，”他說。“我們來談一下吧!上帝厚待你，使你有些天資。他還對你很好，使你跟許多好人來往。住在街角的那位老伯爵跟我談到過你;我也看到過你的圖畫。我們可以在那上面修幾筆，因為它們有許多地方需要修正。請你每星期到我的繪圖學校來兩次;以后你就可以畫得好一點。我相信，你可以成為一個好建筑師，而不是一個畫家;你還有時間可以考慮這個問題。不過請你今天到住在街角的老伯爵那兒去，同時感謝我們的上帝，你居然碰到了這樣一個人!”
街角的那幢房子是很大的;它的窗子上雕著大象和單峰駱駝——全是古代的手工藝。不過老伯爵最喜歡新時代和這個時代所帶來的好處，不管這些好處是來自第二層樓、地下室，或者閣樓。
“我相信，”看門人的妻子說，“一個真正偉大的人是不會太驕傲的。那位老伯爵是多么可愛和直爽啊!他講起話來的態度跟你和我完全一樣;將軍家里的人做不到這一點!你看，昨天喬治受到伯爵熱情的接待，簡直是高興得不知怎樣辦才好。今天我跟這個偉人談過話，也有同樣的感覺。我們沒有讓喬治去當學徒，不是一件很好的事嗎?他是一個有天資的人。”
“但是他需要外來的幫助，”父親說。
“他現在已經得到幫助了，”媽媽說，“伯爵的話已經講得很清楚了。”
“事情有這樣的結果，跟將軍家的關系是分不開的!”爸爸說。“我們也應該感謝他們。”
“自然啰!”媽媽說，“不過我覺得他們沒有什么東西值得我們感謝，我應該感謝我們的上帝;我還有一件事應該感謝他：愛米莉現在懂事了!”
愛米莉在進步，喬治也在進步。在這一年中他得到一個小小的銀獎章;后來沒有多久又得到一個較大的獎章。
“如果我們把他送去學一門手藝倒也好了!”母親說，同時哭起來;“那樣我們倒還可以把他留下來!他跑到羅馬去干什么呢?就是他回來了，我永遠也不會再看到他的;但是他不會回來的，我可愛的孩子!”
“但是這是他的幸運和光榮啊!”爸爸說。
“是的，謝謝你，我的朋友!”媽媽說，“不過你沒說出你心里的話!你跟我一樣，也是很難過的!”
就想念和別離說來，這是真的。大家都說，這個年輕人真幸運。
喬治告別了，也到將軍家里去告別了。不過將軍夫人沒有出來，因為她又在害她的重頭痛病。作為臨別贈言，將軍把他那個唯一的故事又講了一遍——他對那位王公所講的話，和那位王公對他所講的話：“你是蓋世無雙的!”于是他就把手伸向喬治——一只松軟的手。
愛米莉也把手向喬治伸出來，她的樣子幾乎有些難過;不過喬治是最難過的。
當一個人在忙的時候，時間就過去了;當一個人在閑著的時候，時間也過去了。時間是同樣地長，但不一定是同樣有用。就喬治說來，時間很有用，而且除非他在想家的時候以外，也似乎不太長。住在樓上和樓下的人生活得好嗎?嗯，信上也談到過;而信上可寫的東西也不少;可以寫明朗的太陽光，也可以寫陰沉的日子。他們的事情信上都有：爸爸已經死了，只有母親還活著。愛米莉一直是一個會安慰人的安琪兒。媽媽在信中寫道：她常常下樓來看她。信上還說，主人準許她仍舊保留著看門的這個位置。
將軍夫人每天寫日記。在她的日記里，她參加的每一個宴會，每一個舞會，接見的每一個客人，都記載下來了。日記本里還有些外交官和顯貴人士的名片作為插圖。她對于她的日記本感到驕傲。日子越長，篇幅就越多：她害過許多次重頭痛病，參加過許多次熱鬧的晚會——這也就是說.參加過宮廷的舞會。
愛米莉第一次去參加宮廷舞會的時候，媽媽是穿著綴有黑花邊的粉紅色衣服。這是西班牙式的裝束!女兒穿著白衣服，那么明朗，那么美麗!綠色的緞帶在她戴著睡蓮花冠的金黃鬈發上飄動著，像燈心草一樣。她的眼睛是那么藍，那么清亮;她的嘴是那么紅，那么小;她的樣子像一個小人魚，美麗得超乎想象之外。三個王子跟她跳過舞，這也就是說，第一個跳了，接著第二個就來跳。將軍夫人算是一整個星期沒有害過頭痛病了。
頭一次的舞會并不就是最后的一次，不過愛米莉倒是累得吃不消了。幸而夏天到了;它帶來休息和新鮮空氣。這一家人被請到那位老伯爵的王府里去。
王府里有一個花園，值得一看。它有一部分布置得古色古香，有莊嚴的綠色籬笆，人們在它們之間走就好像置身于有窺孔的、綠色的屏風之間一樣。黃楊樹和水松被剪扎成為星星和金字塔的形狀，水從嵌有貝殼的石洞里流出來。周圍有許多巨大的石頭雕成的人像——你從它們的衣服和面孔就可以認得出來;每一塊花畦的形狀不是一條魚，一個盾牌，就是一個拼成字。這是花園富有法國風味的一部分。從這兒你可以走到一個新鮮而開闊的樹林里去。樹在這兒可以自由地生長，因此它們是又大又好看。草是綠色的，可以在上面散步。它被剪過，壓平過，保護得很好。這是這花園富有英國風味的一部分。
“舊的時代和新的時代，”伯爵說，“在這兒和諧地配合在一起!兩年以后這房子就會有它一套獨特的風格。它將會徹底地改變——變成一種更好。更美的東西。我把它設計給你看，同時還可以把那個建筑師介紹給你們。他今天來這兒吃午飯!”
“好極了!”將軍說。
“這兒簡直像一個天堂!”夫人說。“那兒你還有一個華麗的王府!”
“那是我的雞屋。”伯爵說。“鴿子住在頂上，吐綬雞住在第一層樓，不過老愛爾茜住在大廳里。她的四周還有客房：孵卵雞單獨住在一起，帶著小雞的母雞又另外住在一起.鴨子有它們自己對水里去的出口!”
“好極了!”將軍重復說。
于是他們就一起去看這豪華的布置。
老愛爾茜在大廳的中央，她旁邊站著的是建筑師喬治。過了多少年以后，現在他和小愛米莉又在雞屋里碰頭了。
是的，他就站在這兒，他的風度很優雅;面孔是開朗的，有決斷的;頭發黑得發光;嘴唇上掛著微笑，好像是說：“我耳朵后面坐著一個調皮鬼，他對你的里里外外都知道得清清楚楚。”老愛爾茜為了要對貴客們表示尊敬，特地把她的木鞋脫掉，穿著襪子站著。母雞咯咯地叫，公雞咯咯地啼，鴨子一邊蹣跚地走，一邊嘎嘎地喊。不過那位蒼白的、苗條的姑娘站在那兒——她就是他兒時的朋友，將軍的女兒——她蒼白的臉上發出一陣然紅，眼睛睜得很大，嘴唇雖然沒透露出一句話，卻表示出無窮盡的意思。如果他們不是一家人，或者從來沒有在一起跳過舞，這要算一個年輕人從一個女子那里所能得到的最漂亮的敬禮了。她和這位建筑師卻是從來沒有在一起跳過舞的。
伯爵和他握手，介紹他說，“我們的年輕朋友喬治先生并不完全是一個生人。”
將軍夫人行了禮。她的女兒正要向他伸出手來，忽然又縮回去了。
“我們親愛的喬治先生!”將軍說，“我們是住在一處的老朋友，好極了!”
“你簡直成了一個意大利人了。”將軍夫人說，“我想你的意大利話一定跟意大利人講得一樣好了。”
將軍夫人會唱意大利歌，但是不會講意大利話——將軍這樣說。
喬治坐在愛米莉的右首。將軍陪著她，伯爵陪著將軍夫人。
喬治先生講了一些奇聞軼事，他講得很好。他是這次宴會中的靈魂和生命，雖然老伯爵也可以充當這個角色。愛米莉坐著一聲不響;她的耳朵聽著，她的眼睛亮著。
但是她一句話也不說。
后來她和喬治一起在陽臺上的花叢中間站著。玫瑰花的籬笆把他們遮住了。喬治又是第一個先講話。
“我感謝你對我老母親的厚意!”他說。“我知道，我父親去世的那天晚上，你特別走下樓來陪著她，一直到他閉上眼睛為止。我感謝你!”他握著愛米莉的手，吻了它——在這種情形下他是可以這樣做的。她臉上發出一陣緋紅，不過她把他的手又捏了一下，同時用溫柔的藍眼睛盯了他一眼。
“你的母親是一位慈愛的媽媽!她是多么疼愛你啊!她讓我讀你寫給她的信，我現在可說是很了解你了!我小的時候，你對我是多么和氣啊;你送給我許多圖畫——”
“而你卻把它們撕成碎片!”喬治說。
“不，我仍然保存著我的那座樓閣——它的圖畫。”
“現在我要把樓閣建筑成為實物了!”喬治說，同時對自己的話感到興奮起來。
將軍和夫人在自己的房間里談論著這個看門人的兒子，他的行為舉止很好，談吐也能表示出他的學問和聰明。“他可以做一個家庭教師!”將軍說。
“簡直是天才!”將軍夫人說。她不再說別的話了。
在美麗的夏天里，喬治到伯爵王府來的次數更多了。當他不來的時候，大家就想念他。
“上帝賜給你的東西比賜給我們這些可憐的人多得多!”愛米莉對他說。“你體會到這點沒有?”
喬治感到很榮幸，這么一個漂亮的年輕女子居然瞧得起他。他也覺得她得天獨厚。
將軍漸漸深切地感覺到喬治不可能是地下室里長大的孩子。
“不過他的母親是一個非常誠實的女人，”他說，“這點使我永遠記得她。”
夏天過去了，冬天來了。人們更常常談論起喬治先生來。他在高尚的場合中都受到重視和歡迎。將軍在宮廷的舞會中碰見他。現在家中要為小愛米莉開一個舞會了。是不是把喬治先生也請來呢?
“國王可以請的人，將軍當然也可以請的!”將軍說，同時他挺起腰來，整整高了一寸。
喬治先生得到了邀請，而他也就來了。王子和伯爵們也來了，他們跳起舞來一個比一個好;不過愛米莉只能跳頭一次的舞。她在這歡舞中扭了腳;不太厲害，但是使她感到很不舒服。因此她得很當心，不能再跳，只能望著別人跳。她坐在那兒望著，那位建筑師站在她身邊。
“你真是把整個圣·彼得教堂①都給她了!”將軍從旁邊走過去的時候說。他笑得像一個慈愛的老人。
幾天以后，他用同樣慈愛的笑來接待喬治先生。這位年輕人是來感謝那次邀請他參加舞會的，他還能有什么別的話呢?是的，這是一件最使人驚奇、最使人害怕的事情!他說了一些瘋狂的話。將軍簡直不能相信自己的耳朵，“荒唐的建議”——一個不可想象的要求：喬治先生要求小愛米莉做他的妻子!
“天啦!”將軍說，他的腦袋氣得要裂開了。
“我一點也不懂得你的意思!你說的什么?你要求什么?先生，我不認識你!朋友!你居然帶著這種念頭到我家里來!我要不要呆在這兒呢?”于是他就退到臥室里去，把門鎖上，讓喬治單獨站在外面。他站了幾分鐘，然后就轉身走出去。愛米莉站在走廊里。
“父親答應了嗎?——”她問，她的聲音有些發抖。
喬治握著她的手。“他避開我了!——機會還有!”
愛米莉的眼睛里充滿了眼淚;但是這個年輕人的眼睛里充滿了勇氣和信心。太陽照在他們兩個人身上，為他們祝福。將軍坐在自己的房間里，氣得不得了。是的，他還在生氣，而且用這樣的喊聲表示出來：“簡直是發瘋!看門人的發瘋!”
不到一點鐘，將軍夫人就從將軍口里聽到這件事情。她把愛米莉喊來，單獨和她坐在一起。
“你這個可憐的孩子!他這樣地侮辱你!這樣地侮辱我們!你的眼睛里也有眼淚，但是這與你很相稱!你有眼淚倒顯得更美了!你很像我在結婚那天的樣子。痛哭吧，小愛米莉!”
“是的，我要哭一場!”愛米莉說，“假如你和爸爸不說一聲‘同意’的話!”
“孩子啊!”夫人大叫一聲，“你病了!你在發囈語，我那個可怕的頭痛病現在又發了!請想想你帶給我家的苦痛吧!愛米莉，請你不要逼死你的母親吧。愛米莉，你這樣做就沒有母親了!”
將軍夫人的眼睛也變得潮濕了。她一想到她自己的死就非常難過。
人們在報紙上讀到一批新的任命：“喬治先生被任命為第八類的五級教授。”
“真可惜，他的父母埋在墳墓里，讀不到這個消息!”新的看門人一家子說。現在他們就住在將軍樓下的地下室里。他們知道，教授就是在他們的四堵墻中間出世和長大的。
“現在他得付頭銜稅了，”丈夫說。
“是的，對于一個窮人家的孩子說來，這是一樁大事，”妻子說。
“一年得付18塊錢!”丈夫說，“這的確不是一筆很小的數目!”
“不，我是說他的升級!”妻子說。“你以為他還會為錢費腦筋!那點錢他可以賺不知多少倍!他還會討一個有錢的太太呢。如果我們有孩子，他們也應該是建筑師和教授才對!”
住在地下室里的人對于喬治的印象都很好;住在第二層樓上的人對他的印象也很好;那位老伯爵也表示同樣的看法。
這些話都是由于他兒時所畫的那些圖畫所引起的。不過他們為什么要提起這些圖畫呢?他們在談論著俄國，在談論著莫斯科，因此他們也當然談到克里姆林宮——小喬治曾經專為小愛米莉畫過。他畫過那么多的畫，那位伯爵還特別能記得起一張：“小愛米莉的宮殿——她在那里面睡覺.在那用面跳湯.在那里面做‘接待客人的游戲’。”這位教授有很大的能力;他一定會以當上一位老樞密顧問官而告終的。這并不是不可能的事。他從前既然可以為現在這樣一位年輕的小姐建筑一座宮殿，為什么不可能呢?
“這真是一個滑稽的玩笑!”將軍夫人在伯爵離去以后說。將軍若有所思地搖搖頭，騎著馬走了——他的馬夫跟在后面保持相當的距離;他坐在他那匹高頭大馬上顯得比平時要神氣得不知多少倍。
現在是小愛米莉的生日;人們送給她許多花和書籍、信和名片。將軍夫人吻著她的嘴;將軍吻著她的額;他們是一對慈愛的父母;她和他們都有很名貴的客人——兩位王子——來拜訪。他們談論著舞會和戲劇，談論著外交使節的事情，談論著許多國家和政府。他們談論著有才能的人和本國的優秀人物;那位年輕的教授和建筑師也在這些談話中被提到了。
“他為了要使自己永垂不朽而建筑著!”大家說。“他也為將來和一個望族拉上關系而建筑著!”
“一個望族?”將軍后來對夫人重復了這句話，“哪一個望族?”
“我知道大家所指的是誰!”將軍夫人說，“不過我對此事不表示意見!我連想都不要想它!上帝決定一切!不過我倒覺得很奇怪!”
“讓我也奇怪一下吧!”將軍說，“我腦子里一點概念也沒有。”于是他就浸入沉思里去了。
恩寵的源泉，不管它是來自宮廷，或者來自上帝，都會發生一種力量，一種說不出的力量——這些思寵，小小的喬治都有了。不過我們卻把生日忘記了。
愛米莉的房間被男朋友和女朋友送來的花熏得噴香;桌子上擺著許多美麗的賀禮和紀念品，可是喬治的禮品一件也沒有。禮品來不了，但是也沒有這個必要，因為整個房子就是他的一種紀念品。甚至樓梯下面那個沙洞子里也有一朵紀念的花冒出來：愛米莉曾經在這里朝外望過，窗簾子在這里燒起來過，而喬治那時也作為第一架救火機開到這里來過。她只須朝窗子外望一眼，那棵槐樹就可以使她回憶起兒童時代。花和葉子都謝了，但是樹仍在寒霜中立著，像一棵奇怪的珊瑚樹。月亮掛在樹枝之間，又大又圓，像在移動，又像沒有移動，正如喬治分黃油面包給小愛米莉吃的那個時候一樣。
她從抽屜里取出那些繪著沙皇宮殿和她自己的宮殿的畫——這都是喬治的紀念品。她看著，思索著，心中起了許多感想。她記得有一天，在爸爸媽媽沒有注意的時候，她走到樓下看門人的妻子那兒去——她正躺在床上快要斷氣。她坐在她旁邊，握著她的手，聽到她最后的話：“祝福你——喬治!”母親在想著自己的兒子。現在愛米莉懂得了她這話的意思。是的，是的，在她的生日這天，喬治是陪她在一起，的確在一起!
第二天碰巧這家又有一個生日——將軍的生日。他比他的女兒生得晚一天——當然他出生的年份是要早一些的，要早許多年。人們又送許多禮品來了;在這些禮品之中有一個馬鞍，它的樣子很特殊，坐起來很舒服，價錢很貴。只有王子有類似這樣的馬鞍。這是誰送來的呢?將軍非常高興。它上面有一張小卡片。如果紙條上寫著“謝謝你過去對我的好意”，我們可能猜到是誰送來的;可是它上面卻寫著：“將軍所不認識的一個人敬贈”!
“世界上有哪一個人我不認識呢?”將軍說。
“每個人我都認識!”這時他便想起社交界中的許多人士;他每個人都認識。“這是我的太太送的!”他最后說，“她在跟我開玩笑!好極了!”
但是她并沒有跟他開玩笑;那個時候已經過去了。
現在又有一個慶祝會，但不是在將軍家里開的。這是在一位王子家里開的一個化裝舞會。人們可以戴假面具參加跳舞。
將軍穿著西班牙式的小皺領的服裝，掛著劍，莊嚴地打扮成為魯本斯③先生去參加。夫人則打扮成為魯本斯夫人。她穿著黑天鵝絨的、高領的、熱得可怕的禮眼;她的頭頸上還掛著一塊磨石——這也就是說，一個很大的皺領，完全像將軍所有的那幅荷蘭畫上的畫像——畫里面的手特別受人贊賞：完全跟夫人的手一樣。
愛米莉打扮成為一個穿綴著花邊的細棉布衣的普賽克④。她很像一根浮著的天鵝羽毛。她不需要翅膀。她裝上翅膀只是作為普賽克的一個表征。這兒是一派富麗堂皇而雅致的景象，充滿著光明和花朵。這兒的東西真是看不完，因此人們也就沒有注意到魯本斯夫人的一雙美麗的手了。
一位穿黑色化裝外衣的人⑤的帽子上插著槐花，跟普賽克在一起跳舞。
“他是誰呢?”夫人問。
“王子殿下!”將軍說;“我一點也不懷疑;和他一握手，我馬上就知道是他。”
夫人有點兒懷疑。
魯本斯將軍一點疑心也沒有;他走到這位穿化裝外衣的人身邊去，在他手上寫出王子姓名的第一個字母。這個人否認，但是給了他一個暗示：
“請想想馬鞍上的那句話!將軍所不認識的那個人!”
“那么我就認識您了!”將軍說。“原來是您送給我那個馬鞍!”
這個人擺脫自己的手，在人群中不見了。
“愛米莉，跟你一起跳舞的那位黑衣人是誰呀?”將軍夫人問。
“我沒有問過他的姓名，”她回答說。
“因為你認識他呀!他就是那位教授呀!”她把頭掉向站在旁邊的伯爵，繼續說，“伯爵，您的那位教授就在這兒。黑衣人，戴著槐樹花!”
“親愛的夫人，這很可能，”他回答說;“‘不過有一位王子也是穿著這樣的衣服呀，”
“我認識他握手的姿勢!”將軍說。“這位王子送過我一個馬鞍!我一點也不懷疑，我要請他吃飯。”
“那么你就這樣辦吧!如果他是王子的話，他一定會來的，”伯爵說。
“假如他是別人，那么他就不會來了!”將軍說，同時向那位正在跟國王談話的黑衣人身邊走去。將軍恭敬地邀請他——為的是想彼此交交朋友。將軍滿懷信心地微笑著;他相信他知道他請的是什么人。他大聲地、清楚地表示他的邀請。
穿化裝外衣的人把他的假面具揭開來：原來是喬治。
“將軍能否把這次邀請重說一次呢?”他問。
將軍馬上長了一寸來高，顯出一副傲慢的神氣，向后倒退兩步，又向前進了一步，像在小步舞⑥中一樣。一個將軍的面孔所能做出的那種莊嚴的表情，現在全都擺出來了。
“我從來是不食言的;教授先生，我請您!”他鞠了一躬，向聽到了這全部話語的國王膘了一眼。
這么著，將軍家里就舉行了一個午宴。被請的客人只有老伯爵和他的年輕朋友。
“腳一伸到桌子底下，”喬治想，“奠基石就算是安下來了!”的確，奠基石是莊嚴地安下來了，而且是在將軍和他的夫人面前安的。
客人到來了。正如將軍所知道和承認的，他的談吐很像一位上流社會人士，而且他非常有趣。將軍有許多次不得不說：“好極了!”將軍夫人常常談起這次午宴——她甚至還跟宮廷的一位夫人談過。這位夫人也是一個天賦獨厚的人;她要求下次教授來的時候，也把她請來。因此他得以又受到一次邀請。他終于被請來了，而且仍然那么可愛。他甚至還下棋呢。
“他不是在地下室里出生的那種人!”將軍說，“他一定是一個望族的少爺!像這樣出自名門的少爺很多，這完全不能怪那個年輕人。”
這位教授既然可以到國王的宮殿里去，當然也可以走進將軍的家。不過要在那里生下根來——那是絕對不可能的。他只能在整個的城市里生下根。
他在發展。恩惠的滑水從上面降到他身上來。
因此，不用奇怪，當這位教授成了樞密顧問的時候，愛米莉就成了樞密顧問夫人。
“人生不是一個悲劇，就是一個喜劇，”將軍說。“人們在悲劇中滅亡，但在喜劇中結為眷屬。”
目前的這種情形，是結為眷屬。他們還生了三個健壯的孩子，當然不是一次生的。
這些可愛的孩子來看外公外婆的時候，就在房間和堂屋里騎著木馬亂跑。將軍也在他們后面騎著木馬，“作為這些小樞密顧問的馬夫”。
將軍夫人坐在沙發上看;即使她又害起很嚴重的頭痛病來，她還是微笑著。
喬治的發展就是這樣的，而且還在發展;不然的話，這個看門人的兒子的故事也就不值得一講了。
①在北歐的建筑物中，樓梯旁邊總有一個放掃帚和零星什物的小室。這個小室叫“沙洞子”(Sandhullet)。
②在歐洲的封建社會里，只有貴族才可以有一個族徽。這兒的意思是說，這人的貴族頭銜是用錢買來的，而不是繼承來的。
③魯本斯(Rubens)是荷蘭一個最普通的姓。
④古希臘中代表靈魂的女神，參看《普賽克》注。
⑤原文是Domino，是一種帶有黑帽子的黑披肩。原先是意大利牧師穿的一種御寒的衣服。后來參加化裝舞會而不扮演任何特殊角色的人，都是這種裝束，這里是指這種裝束的人。
⑥原文是minuet，是歐洲中世紀流行的一種舞蹈。
《看門人的兒子》英文版：
The Porter’s Son
THE General lived in the grand first floor, and the porter lived in the cellar. There was a great distance between the two families— the whole of the ground floor, and the difference in rank; but they lived in the same house, and both had a view of the street, and of the courtyard. In the courtyard was a grass-plot, on which grew a blooming acacia tree (when it was in bloom), and under this tree sat occasionally the finely-dressed nurse, with the still more finely-dressed child of the General—little Emily. Before them danced about barefoot the little son of the porter, with his great brown eyes and dark hair; and the little girl smiled at him, and stretched out her hands towards him; and when the General saw that from the window, he would nod his head and cry, “Charming!” The General’s lady (who was so young that she might very well have been her husband’s daughter from an early marriage) never came to the window that looked upon the courtyard. She had given orders, though, that the boy might play his antics to amuse her child, but must never touch it. The nurse punctually obeyed the gracious lady’s orders.
The sun shone in upon the people in the grand first floor, and upon the people in the cellar; the acacia tree was covered with blossoms, and they fell off, and next year new ones came. The tree bloomed, and the porter’s little son bloomed too, and looked like a fresh tulip.
The General’s little daughter became delicate and pale, like the leaf of the acacia blossom. She seldom came down to the tree now, for she took the air in a carriage. She drove out with her mamma, and then she would always nod at the porter’s George; yes, she used even to kiss her hand to him, till her mamma said she was too old to do that now.
One morning George was sent up to carry the General the letters and newspapers that had been delivered at the porter’s room in the morning. As he was running up stairs, just as he passed the door of the sand-box, he heard a faint piping. He thought it was some young chicken that had strayed there, and was raising cries of distress; but it was the General’s little daughter, decked out in lace and finery.
“Don’t tell papa and mamma,” she whimpered; “they would be angry.”
“What’s the matter, little missie?” asked George.
“It’s all on fire!” she answered. “It’s burning with a bright flame!” George hurried up stairs to the General’s apartments; he opened the door of the nursery. The window curtain was almost entirely burnt, and the wooden curtain-pole was one mass of flame. George sprang upon a chair he brought in haste, and pulled down the burning articles; he then alarmed the people. But for him, the house would have been burned down.
The General and his lady cross-questioned little Emily.
“I only took just one lucifer-match,” she said, “and it was burning directly, and the curtain was burning too. I spat at it, to put it out; I spat at it as much as ever I could, but I could not put it out; so I ran away and hid myself, for papa and mamma would be angry.”
“I spat!” cried the General’s lady; “what an expression! Did you ever hear your papa and mamma talk about spitting? You must have got that from down stairs!”
And George had a penny given him. But this penny did not go to the baker’s shop, but into the savings-box; and soon there were so many pennies in the savings-box that he could buy a paint-box and color the drawings he made, and he had a great number of drawings. They seemed to shoot out of his pencil and out of his fingers’ ends. His first colored pictures he presented to Emily.
“Charming!” said the General, and even the General’s lady acknowledged that it was easy to see what the boy had meant to draw. “He has genius.” Those were the words that were carried down into the cellar.
The General and his gracious lady were grand people. They had two coats of arms on their carriage, a coat of arms for each of them, and the gracious lady had had this coat of arms embroidered on both sides of every bit of linen she had, and even on her nightcap and her dressing-bag. One of the coats of arms, the one that belonged to her, was a very dear one; it had been bought for hard cash by her father, for he had not been born with it, nor had she; she had come into the world too early, seven years before the coat of arms, and most people remembered this circumstance, but the family did not remember it. A man might well have a bee in his bonnet, when he had such a coat of arms to carry as that, let alone having to carry two; and the General’s wife had a bee in hers when she drove to the court ball, as stiff and as proud as you please.
The General was old and gray, but he had a good seat on horseback, and he knew it, and he rode out every day, with a groom behind him at a proper distance. When he came to a party, he looked somehow as if he were riding into the room upon his high horse; and he had orders, too, such a number that no one would have believed it; but that was not his fault. As a young man he had taken part in the great autumn reviews which were held in those days. He had an anecdote that he told about those days, the only one he knew. A subaltern under his orders had cut off one of the princes, and taken him prisoner, and the Prince had been obliged to ride through the town with a little band of captured soldiers, himself a prisoner behind the General. This was an ever-memorable event, and was always told over and over again every year by the General, who, moreover, always repeated the remarkable words he had used when he returned his sword to the Prince; those words were, “Only my subaltern could have taken your Highness prisoner; I could never have done it!” And the Prince had replied, “You are incomparable.” In a real war the General had never taken part. When war came into the country, he had gone on a diplomatic career to foreign courts. He spoke the French language so fluently that he had almost forgotten his own; he could dance well, he could ride well, and orders grew on his coat in an astounding way. The sentries presented arms to him, one of the most beautiful girls presented arms to him, and became the General’s lady, and in time they had a pretty, charming child, that seemed as if it had dropped from heaven, it was so pretty; and the porter’s son danced before it in the courtyard, as soon as it could understand it, and gave her all his colored pictures, and little Emily looked at them, and was pleased, and tore them to pieces. She was pretty and delicate indeed.
“My little Roseleaf!” cried the General’s lady, “thou art born to wed a prince.”
The prince was already at the door, but they knew nothing of it; people don’t see far beyond the threshold.
“The day before yesterday our boy divided his bread and butter with her!” said the porter’s wife. There was neither cheese nor meat upon it, but she liked it as well as if it had been roast beef. There would have been a fine noise if the General and his wife had seen the feast, but they did not see it.
George had divided his bread and butter with little Emily, and he would have divided his heart with her, if it would have pleased her. He was a good boy, brisk and clever, and he went to the night school in the Academy now, to learn to draw properly. Little Emily was getting on with her education too, for she spoke French with her “bonne,” and had a dancing master.
“George will be confirmed at Easter,” said the porter’s wife; for George had got so far as this.
“It would be the best thing, now, to make an apprentice of him,” said his father. “It must be to some good calling—and then he would be out of the house.”
“He would have to sleep out of the house,” said George’s mother. “It is not easy to find a master who has room for him at night, and we shall have to provide him with clothes too. The little bit of eating that he wants can be managed for him, for he’s quite happy with a few boiled potatoes; and he gets taught for nothing. Let the boy go his own way. You will say that he will be our joy some day, and the Professor says so too.”
The confirmation suit was ready. The mother had worked it herself; but the tailor who did repairs had cut them out, and a capital cutter-out he was.
“If he had had a better position, and been able to keep a workshop and journeymen,” the porter’s wife said, “he might have been a court tailor.”
The clothes were ready, and the candidate for confirmation was ready. On his confirmation day, George received a great pinchbeck watch from his godfather, the old iron monger’s shopman, the richest of his godfathers. The watch was an old and tried servant. It always went too fast, but that is better than to be lagging behind. That was a costly present. And from the General’s apartment there arrived a hymn-book bound in morocco, sent by the little lady to whom George had given pictures. At the beginning of the book his name was written, and her name, as “his gracious patroness.” These words had been written at the dictation of the General’s lady, and the General had read the inscription, and pronounced it “Charming!”
“That is really a great attention from a family of such position,” said the porter’s wife; and George was sent up stairs to show himself in his confirmation clothes, with the hymn-book in his hand.
The General’s lady was sitting very much wrapped up, and had the bad headache she always had when time hung heavy upon her hands. She looked at George very pleasantly, and wished him all prosperity, and that he might never have her headache. The General was walking about in his dressing-gown. He had a cap with a long tassel on his head, and Russian boots with red tops on his feet. He walked three times up and down the room, absorbed in his own thoughts and recollections, and then stopped and said:
“So little George is a confirmed Christian now. Be a good man, and honor those in authority over you. Some day, when you are an old man, you can say that the General gave you this precept.”
That was a longer speech than the General was accustomed to make, and then he went back to his ruminations, and looked very aristocratic. But of all that George heard and saw up there, little Miss Emily remained most clear in his thoughts. How graceful she was, how gentle, and fluttering, and pretty she looked. If she were to be drawn, it ought to be on a soap-bubble. About her dress, about her yellow curled hair, there was a fragrance as of a fresh-blown rose; and to think that he had once divided his bread and butter with her, and that she had eaten it with enormous appetite, and nodded to him at every second mouthful! Did she remember anything about it? Yes, certainly, for she had given him the beautiful hymn-book in remembrance of this; and when the first new moon in the first new year after this event came round, he took a piece of bread, a penny, and his hymn-book, and went out into the open air, and opened the book to see what psalm he should turn up. It was a psalm of praise and thanksgiving. Then he opened the book again to see what would turn up for little Emily. He took great pains not to open the book in the place where the funeral hymns were, and yet he got one that referred to the grave and death. But then he thought this was not a thing in which one must believe; for all that he was startled when soon afterwards the pretty little girl had to lie in bed, and the doctor’s carriage stopped at the gate every day.
“They will not keep her with them,” said the porter’s wife. “The good God knows whom He will summon to Himself.”
But they kept her after all; and George drew pictures and sent them to her. He drew the Czar’s palace; the old Kremlin at Moscow, just as it stood, with towers and cupolas; and these cupolas looked like gigantic green and gold cucumbers, at least in George’s drawing. Little Emily was highly pleased, and consequently, when a week had elapsed, George sent her a few more pictures, all with buildings in them; for, you see, she could imagine all sorts of things inside the windows and doors.
He drew a Chinese house, with bells hanging from every one of sixteen stories. He drew two Grecian temples with slender marble pillars, and with steps all round them. He drew a Norwegian church. It was easy to see that this church had been built entirely of wood, hewn out and wonderfully put together; every story looked as if it had rockers, like a cradle. But the most beautiful of all was the castle, drawn on one of the leaves, and which he called “Emily’s Castle.” This was the kind of place in which she must live. That is what George had thought, and consequently he had put into this building whatever he thought most beautiful in all the others. It had carved wood-work, like the Norwegian church; marble pillars, like the Grecian temple; bells in every story; and was crowned with cupolas, green and gilded, like those of the Kremlin of the Czar. It was a real child’s castle, and under every window was written what the hall or the room inside was intended to be; for instance: “Here Emily sleeps;” “Here Emily dances;” “Here Emily plays at receiving visitors.” It was a real pleasure to look at the castle, and right well was the castle looked at accordingly.
“Charming!” said the General.
But the old Count—for there was an old Count there, who was still grander than the General, and had a castle of his own—said nothing at all; he heard that it had been designed and drawn by the porter’s little son. Not that he was so very little, either, for he had already been confirmed. The old Count looked at the pictures, and had his own thoughts as he did so.
One day, when it was very gloomy, gray, wet weather, the brightest of days dawned for George; for the Professor at the Academy called him into his room.
“Listen to me, my friend,” said the Professor; “I want to speak to you. The Lord has been good to you in giving you abilities, and He has also been good in placing you among kind people. The old Count at the corner yonder has been speaking to me about you. I have also seen your sketches; but we will not say any more about those, for there is a good deal to correct in them. But from this time forward you may come twice a-week to my drawing-class, and then you will soon learn how to do them better. I think there’s more of the architect than of the painter in you. You will have time to think that over; but go across to the old Count this very day, and thank God for having sent you such a friend.”
It was a great house—the house of the old Count at the corner. Round the windows elephants and dromedaries were carved, all from the old times; but the old Count loved the new time best, and what it brought, whether it came from the first floor, or from the cellar, or from the attic.
“I think,” said, the porter’s wife, “the grander people are, the fewer airs do they give themselves. How kind and straightforward the old count is! and he talks exactly like you and me. Now, the General and his lady can’t do that. And George was fairly wild with delight yesterday at the good reception he met with at the Count’s, and so am I to-day, after speaking to the great man. Wasn’t it a good thing that we didn’t bind George apprentice to a handicraftsman? for he has abilities of his own.”
“But they must be helped on by others,” said the father.
“That help he has got now,” rejoined the mother; “for the Count spoke out quite clearly and distinctly.”
“But I fancy it began with the General,” said the father, “and we must thank them too.”
“Let us do so with all my heart,” cried the mother, “though I fancy we have not much to thank them for. I will thank the good God; and I will thank Him, too, for letting little Emily get well.”
Emily was getting on bravely, and George got on bravely too. In the course of the year he won the little silver prize medal of the Academy, and afterwards he gained the great one too.
“It would have been better, after all, if he had been apprenticed to a handicraftsman,” said the porter’s wife, weeping; “for then we could have kept him with us. What is he to do in Rome? I shall never get a sight of him again, not even if he comes back; but that he won’t do, the dear boy.”
“It is fortune and fame for him,” said the father.
“Yes, thank you, my friend,” said the mother; “you are saying what you do not mean. You are just as sorrowful as I am.”
And it was all true about the sorrow and the journey. But everybody said it was a great piece of good fortune for the young fellow. And he had to take leave, and of the General too. The General’s lady did not show herself, for she had her bad headache. On this occasion the General told his only anecdote, about what he had said to the Prince, and how the Prince had said to him, “You are incomparable.” And he held out a languid hand to George.
Emily gave George her hand too, and looked almost sorry; and George was the most sorry of all.
Time goes by when one has something to do; and it goes by, too, when one has nothing to do. The time is equally long, but not equally useful. It was useful to George, and did not seem long at all, except when he happened to be thinking of his home. How might the good folks be getting on, up stairs and down stairs? Yes, there was writing about that, and many things can be put into a letter—bright sunshine and dark, heavy days. Both of these were in the letter which brought the news that his father was dead, and that his mother was alone now. She wrote that Emily had come down to see her, and had been to her like an angel of comfort; and concerning herself, she added that she had been allowed to keep her situation as porteress.
The General’s lady kept a diary, and in this diary was recorded every ball she attended and every visit she received. The diary was illustrated by the insertion of the visiting cards of the diplomatic circle and of the most noble families; and the General’s lady was proud of it. The diary kept growing through a long time, and amid many severe headaches, and through a long course of half-nights, that is to say, of court balls. Emily had now been to a court ball for the first time. Her mother had worn a bright red dress, with black lace, in the Spanish style; the daughter had been attired in white, fair and delicate; green silk ribbons fluttered like flag-leaves among her yellow locks, and on her head she wore a wreath of water-lillies. Her eyes were so blue and clear, her mouth was so delicate and red, she looked like a little water spirit, as beautiful as such a spirit can be imagined. The Princes danced with her, one after another of course; and the General’s lady had not a headache for a week afterwards.
But the first ball was not the last, and Emily could not stand it; it was a good thing, therefore, that summer brought with it rest, and exercise in the open air. The family had been invited by the old Count to visit him at him castle. That was a castle with a garden which was worth seeing. Part of this garden was laid out quite in the style of the old days, with stiff green hedges; you walked as if between green walls with peep-holes in them. Box trees and yew trees stood there trimmed into the form of stars and pyramids, and water sprang from fountains in large grottoes lined with shells. All around stood figures of the most beautiful stone—that could be seen in their clothes as well as in their faces; every flower-bed had a different shape, and represented a fish, or a coat of arms, or a monogram. That was the French part of the garden; and from this part the visitor came into what appeared like the green, fresh forest, where the trees might grow as they chose, and accordingly they were great and glorious. The grass was green, and beautiful to walk on, and it was regularly cut, and rolled, and swept, and tended. That was the English part of the garden.
“Old time and new time,” said the Count, “here they run well into one another. In two years the building itself will put on a proper appearance, there will be a complete metamorphosis in beauty and improvement. I shall show you the drawings, and I shall show you the architect, for he is to dine here to-day.”
“Charming!” said the General.
“ ’Tis like Paradise here,” said the General’s lady, “and yonder you have a knight’s castle!”
“That’s my poultry-house,” observed the Count. “The pigeons live in the tower, the turkeys in the first floor, but old Elsie rules in the ground floor. She has apartments on all sides of her. The sitting hens have their own room, and the hens with chickens have theirs; and the ducks have their own particular door leading to the water.”
“Charming!” repeated the General.
And all sailed forth to see these wonderful things. Old Elsie stood in the room on the ground floor, and by her side stood Architect George. He and Emily now met for the first time after several years, and they met in the poultry-house.
Yes, there he stood, and was handsome enough to be looked at. His face was frank and energetic; he had black shining hair, and a smile about his mouth, which said, “I have a brownie that sits in my ear, and knows every one of you, inside and out.” Old Elsie had pulled off her wooden shoes, and stood there in her stockings, to do honor to the noble guests. The hens clucked, and the cocks crowed, and the ducks waddled to and fro, and said, “Quack, quack!” But the fair, pale girl, the friend of his childhood, the daughter of the General, stood there with a rosy blush on her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes opened wide, and her mouth seemed to speak without uttering a word, and the greeting he received from her was the most beautiful greeting a young man can desire from a young lady, if they are not related, or have not danced many times together, and she and the architect had never danced together.
The Count shook hands with him, and introduced him.
“He is not altogether a stranger, our young friend George.”
The General’s lady bowed to him, and the General’s daughter was very nearly giving him her hand; but she did not give it to him.
“Our little Master George!” said the General. “Old friends! Charming!”
“You have become quite an Italian,” said the General’s lady, “and I presume you speak the language like a native?”
“My wife sings the language, but she does not speak it,” observed the General.
At dinner, George sat at the right hand of Emily, whom the General had taken down, while the Count led in the General’s lady.
Mr. George talked and told of his travels; and he could talk well, and was the life and soul of the table, though the old Count could have been it too. Emily sat silent, but she listened, and her eyes gleamed, but she said nothing.
In the verandah, among the flowers, she and George stood together; the rose-bushes concealed them. And George was speaking again, for he took the lead now.
“Many thanks for the kind consideration you showed my old mother,” he said. “I know that you went down to her on the night when my father died, and you stayed with her till his eyes were closed. My heartiest thanks!”
He took Emily’s hand and kissed it—he might do so on such an occasion. She blushed deeply, but pressed his hand, and looked at him with her dear blue eyes.
“Your mother was a dear soul!” she said. “How fond she was of her son! And she let me read all your letters, so that I almost believe I know you. How kind you were to me when I was little girl! You used to give me pictures.”
“Which you tore in two,” said George.
“No, I have still your drawing of the castle.”
“I must build the castle in reality now,” said George; and he became quite warm at his own words.
The General and the General’s lady talked to each other in their room about the porter’s son—how he knew how to behave, and to express himself with the greatest propriety.
“He might be a tutor,” said the General.
“Intellect!” said the General’s lady; but she did not say anything more.
During the beautiful summer-time Mr. George several times visited the Count at his castle; and he was missed when he did not come.
“How much the good God has given you that he has not given to us poor mortals,” said Emily to him. “Are you sure you are very grateful for it?”
It flattered George that the lovely young girl should look up to him, and he thought then that Emily had unusually good abilities. And the General felt more and more convinced that George was no cellar-child.
“His mother was a very good woman,” he observed. “It is only right I should do her that justice now she is in her grave.”
The summer passed away, and the winter came; again there was talk about Mr. George. He was highly respected, and was received in the first circles. The General had met him at a court ball.
And now there was a ball to be given in the General’s house for Emily, and could Mr. George be invited to it?
“He whom the King invites can be invited by the General also,” said the General, and drew himself up till he stood quite an inch higher than before.
Mr. George was invited, and he came; princes and counts came, and they danced, one better than the other. But Emily could only dance one dance—the first; for she made a false step—nothing of consequence; but her foot hurt her, so that she had to be careful, and leave off dancing, and look at the others. So she sat and looked on, and the architect stood by her side.
“I suppose you are giving her the whole history of St. Peter’s,” said the General, as he passed by; and smiled, like the personification of patronage.
With the same patronizing smile he received Mr. George a few days afterwards. The young man came, no doubt, to return thanks for the invitation to the ball. What else could it be? But indeed there was something else, something very astonishing and startling. He spoke words of sheer lunacy, so that the General could hardly believe his own ears. It was “the height of rhodomontade,” an offer, quite an inconceivable offer—Mr. George came to ask the hand of Emily in marriage!
“Man!” cried the General, and his brain seemed to be boiling. “I don’t understand you at all. What is it you say? What is it you want? I don’t know you. Sir! Man! What possesses you to break into my house? And am I to stand here and listen to you?” He stepped backwards into his bed-room, locked the door behind him, and left Mr. George standing alone. George stood still for a few minutes, and then turned round and left the room. Emily was standing in the corridor.
“My father has answered?” she said, and her voice trembled.
George pressed her hand.
“He has escaped me,” he replied; “but a better time will come.”
There were tears in Emily’s eyes, but in the young man’s eyes shone courage and confidence; and the sun shone through the window, and cast his beams on the pair, and gave them his blessing.
The General sat in his room, bursting hot. Yes, he was still boiling, until he boiled over in the exclamation, “Lunacy! porter! madness!”
Not an hour was over before the General’s lady knew it out of the General’s own mouth. She called Emily, and remained alone with her.
“You poor child,” she said; “to insult you so! to insult us so! There are tears in your eyes, too, but they become you well. You look beautiful in tears. You look as I looked on my wedding-day. Weep on, my sweet Emily.”
“Yes, that I must,” said Emily, “if you and my father do not say ‘yes.’”
“Child!” screamed the General’s lady; “you are ill! You are talking wildly, and I shall have a most terrible headache! Oh, what a misfortune is coming upon our house! Don’t make your mother die, Emily, or you will have no mother.”
And the eyes of the General’s lady were wet, for she could not bear to think of her own death.
In the newspapers there was an announcement. “Mr. George has been elected Professor of the Fifth Class, number Eight.”
“It’s a pity that his parents are dead and cannot read it,” said the new porter people, who now lived in the cellar under the General’s apartments. They knew that the Professor had been born and grown up within their four walls.
“Now he’ll get a salary,” said the man.
“Yes, that’s not much for a poor child,” said the woman.
“Eighteen dollars a year,” said the man. “Why, it’s a good deal of money.”
“No, I mean the honor of it,” replied the wife. “Do you think he cares for the money? Those few dollars he can earn a hundred times over, and most likely he’ll get a rich wife into the bargain. If we had children of our own, husband, our child should be an architect and a professor too.”
George was spoken well of in the cellar, and he was spoken well of in the first floor. The old Count took upon himself to do that.
The pictures he had drawn in his childhood gave occasion for it. But how did the conversation come to turn on these pictures? Why, they had been talking of Russia and of Moscow, and thus mention was made of the Kremlin, which little George had once drawn for Miss Emily. He had drawn many pictures, but the Count especially remembered one, “Emily’s Castle,” where she was to sleep, and to dance, and to play at receiving guests.
“The Professor was a true man,” said the Count, “and would be a privy councillor before he died, it was not at all unlikely; and he might build a real castle for the young lady before that time came: why not?”
“That was a strange jest,” remarked the General’s lady, when the Count had gone away. The General shook his head thoughtfully, and went out for a ride, with his groom behind him at a proper distance, and he sat more stiffly than ever on his high horse.
It was Emily’s birthday. Flowers, books, letters, and visiting cards came pouring in. The General’s lady kissed her on the mouth, and the General kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionate parents, and they and Emily had to receive grand visitors, two of the Princes. They talked of balls and theatres, of diplomatic missions, of the government of empires and nations; and then they spoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse turned upon the young architect.
“He is building up an immortality for himself,” said one, “and he will certainly build his way into one of our first families”.
“One of our first families!” repeated the General and afterwards the General’s lady; “what is meant by one of our first families?”
“I know for whom it was intended,” said the General’s lady, “but I shall not say it. I don’t think it. Heaven disposes, but I shall be astonished.”
“I am astonished also!” said the General. “I haven’t an idea in my head!” And he fell into a reverie, waiting for ideas.
There is a power, a nameless power, in the possession of favor from above, the favor of Providence, and this favor little George had. But we are forgetting the birthday.
Emily’s room was fragrant with flowers, sent by male and female friends; on the table lay beautiful presents for greeting and remembrance, but none could come from George—none could come from him; but it was not necessary, for the whole house was full of remembrances of him. Even out of the ash-bin the blossom of memory peeped forth, for Emily had sat whimpering there on the day when the window-curtain caught fire, and George arrived in the character of fire engine. A glance out of the window, and the acacia tree reminded of the days of childhood. Flowers and leaves had fallen, but there stood the tree covered with hoar frost, looking like a single huge branch of coral, and the moon shone clear and large among the twigs, unchanged in its changings, as it was when George divided his bread and butter with little Emily.
Out of a box the girl took the drawings of the Czar’s palace and of her own castle—remembrances of George. The drawings were looked at, and many thoughts came. She remembered the day when, unobserved by her father and mother, she had gone down to the porter’s wife who lay dying. Once again she seemed to sit beside her, holding the dying woman’s hand in hers, hearing the dying woman’s last words: “Blessing George!” The mother was thinking of her son, and now Emily gave her own interpretation to those words. Yes, George was certainly with her on her birthday.
It happened that the next day was another birthday in that house, the General’s birthday. He had been born the day after his daughter, but before her of course—many years before her. Many presents arrived, and among them came a saddle of exquisite workmanship, a comfortable and costly saddle—one of the Princes had just such another. Now, from whom might this saddle come? The General was delighted. There was a little note with the saddle. Now if the words on the note had been “many thanks for yesterday’s reception,” we might easily have guessed from whom it came. But the words were “From somebody whom the General does not know.”
“Whom in the world do I not know?” exclaimed the General. “I know everybody;” and his thoughts wandered all through society, for he knew everybody there. “That saddle comes from my wife!” he said at last. “She is teasing me—charming!”
But she was not teasing him; those times were past.
Again there was a feast, but it was not in the General’s house, it was a fancy ball at the Prince’s, and masks were allowed too.
The General went as Rubens, in a Spanish costume, with a little ruff round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. The General’s lady was Madame Rubens, in black velvet made high round the neck, exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck in the shape of a great ruff—accurately dressed after a Dutch picture in the possession of the General, in which the hands were especially admired. They were just like the hands of the General’s lady.
Emily was Psyche. In white crape and lace she was like a floating swan. She did not want wings at all. She only wore them as emblematic of Psyche.
Brightness, splendor, light and flowers, wealth and taste appeared at the ball; there was so much to see, that the beautiful hands of Madame Rubens made no sensation at all.
A black domino, with an acacia blossom in his cap, danced with Psyche.
“Who is that?” asked the General’s lady.
“His Royal Highness,” replied the General. “I am quite sure of it. I knew him directly by the pressure of his hand.”
The General’s lady doubted it.
General Rubens had no doubts about it. He went up to the black domino and wrote the royal letters in the mask’s hand. These were denied, but the mask gave him a hint.
The words that came with the saddle: “One whom you do not know, General.”
“But I do know you,” said the General. “It was you who sent me the saddle.”
The domino raised his hand, and disappeared among the other guests.
“Who is that black domino with whom you were dancing, Emily?” asked the General’s lady.
“I did not ask his name,” she replied, “because you knew it. It is the Professor. Your protégé is here, Count!” she continued, turning to that nobleman, who stood close by. “A black domino with acacia blossoms in his cap.”
“Very likely, my dear lady,” replied the Count. “But one of the Princes wears just the same costume.”
“I knew the pressure of the hand,” said the General. “The saddle came from the Prince. I am so certain of it that I could invite that domino to dinner.”
“Do so. If it be the Prince he will certainly come,” replied the Count.
“And if it is the other he will not come,” said the General, and approached the black domino, who was just speaking with the King. The General gave a very respectful invitation “that they might make each other’s acquaintance,” and he smiled in his certainty concerning the person he was inviting. He spoke loud and distinctly.
The domino raised his mask, and it was George. “Do you repeat your invitation, General?” he asked.
The General certainly seemed to grow an inch taller, assumed a more stately demeanor, and took two steps backward and one step forward, as if he were dancing a minuet, and then came as much gravity and expression into the face of the General as the General could contrive to infuse into it; but he replied,
“I never retract my words! You are invited, Professor!” and he bowed with a glance at the King, who must have heard the whole dialogue.
Now, there was a company to dinner at the General’s, but only the old Count and his protégé were invited.
“I have my foot under his table,” thought George. “That’s laying the foundation stone.”
And the foundation stone was really laid, with great ceremony, at the house of the General and of the General’s lady.
The man had come, and had spoken quite like a person in good society, and had made himself very agreeable, so that the General had often to repeat his “Charming!” The General talked of this dinner, talked of it even to a court lady; and this lady, one of the most intellectual persons about the court, asked to be invited to meet the Professor the next time he should come. So he had to be invited again; and he was invited, and came, and was charming again; he could even play chess.
“He’s not out of the cellar,” said the General; “he’s quite a distinguished person. There are many distinguished persons of that kind, and it’s no fault of his.”
The Professor, who was received in the King’s palace, might very well be received by the General; but that he could ever belong to the house was out of the question, only the whole town was talking of it.
He grew and grew. The dew of favor fell from above, so no one was surprised after all that he should become a Privy Councillor, and Emily a Privy Councillor’s lady.
“Life is either a tragedy or a comedy,” said the General. “In tragedies they die, in comedies they marry one another.”
In this case they married. And they had three clever boys—but not all at once.
The sweet children rode on their hobby-horses through all the rooms when they came to see the grandparents. And the General also rode on his stick; he rode behind them in the character of groom to the little Privy Councillors.
And the General’s lady sat on her sofa and smiled at them, even when she had her severest headache.
So far did George get, and much further; else it had not been worth while to tell the story of THE PORTER’S SON.
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