Bierce Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce. Illustrated

Chickamauga. An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. The Death of Halpin Frayser. The Moonlit Road. The Devil's Dictionary. Tales of Soldiers and Civilians and other
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-0-88000-474-9
Verlag: Strelbytskyy Multimedia Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 4813 Seiten

Ambrose Bierce is considered a modern master of the short story. A soldier with the Union Army during the American Civil War (1861-1865), his experiences as a soldier influenced his writing. While no anthology would be complete without 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge', this collection of Bierce's stories includes ghost stories, tales of war, humorous episodes, stinging aphorisms, and political articles. Contents: The Novellas The Short Story Collections The Poetry Collection The Non-Fiction Ambrose Bierce: A Biography by Carey McWilliams

Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce (June 24, 1842 - circa 1914) was an American short story writer, journalist, poet, and Civil War veteran.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Bierce, Ambrose

Leseproben

CHAPTER I.

“That motley drama! Oh, be sure

It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased for evermore

By a crowd that seize it not,

Through a circle that ever returneth in

To the self-same spot;

And much of Madness, and more of Sin

And Horror, the soul of the plot!”

POE.

Reader, I have an engagement to keep to-night. Let me take you with me; you will be interested.

But, stay – I have a condition to make before I accept of your company. Have you read the preface? “No, of course not; who reads prefaces?” Very well, just oblige me by making mine an exception – it is a Gilead where you perhaps may obtain balm for the wounds you will receive on our expedition. And now, supposing you to have granted this request, let us proceed.

Our carriage pulls up before the entrance of an imposing mansion. From every window the golden gaslight streams out into the darkness; from the wide-open door a perfect glory floods the street from side to side. There is a hum of subdued voices within, there is a banging of coach doors without; there is revelry brewing, we may be sure.

We step daintily from our carriage upon the rich carpet which preserves our patent-leathers from the contamination of the sidewalk; we trip lightly up the grand stone stairway to the entrance; obsequious lackeys relieve us of our superfluous raiment; folding doors fly open before us without so much as a “sesame” being uttered; and, behold, we enter upon a scene of enchantment.

Magnificent apartments succeed each other in a long vista, glittering with splendid decorations; costly frescoes are overhead, luxurious carpets are under foot, priceless pictures, rich laces, rare trifles of art are around us; an atmosphere of wealth, refinement, luxury, and good taste is all-pervading.

But these are afterthoughts with us; it is the splendor of the assembled company that absorbs our admiration now. Let us draw aside and observe this throng a little, my friend.

Would you have believed it possible that so much beauty and richness could have been collected under one roof? Score upon score of fair women and handsome men; the apparel of the former rich beyond conception – of the latter, Immaculate to a fault. The rooms are pretty well filled already, but the cry is still they come.

See yonder tall and radiant maiden, as she enters leaning upon the arm of her grey-headed father. Mark her well, my friend; I will draw your attention to her again presently. How proud of her the old man looks; and well he may. What divine grace of womanhood lives in that supple form; what calm, sweet beauty shines in that lovely face – a face so pure and passionless in expression that the nudity of bust and arms, and the contour of limbs more than suggested by the tightly clinging silk, call for no baser admiration than we feel when looking upon the representation of an angel. Observe closely with what high-bred and maidenly reserve she responds to the greeting of the Apollo in “full dress” who bows low before her – the very type of the elegant and polished gentleman. In bland and gentle tones he begs a favor to be granted a little later in the evening. With downcast eyes she smiles consent; with a bow he records the promise upon a tablet in his hand. Gracefully she moves forward again, leaning on her father’s arm, smiling and nodding to her acquaintances, and repeating the harmless little ceremony described above with perhaps a dozen other Apollos before she reaches the end of the room.

“Ah, pure and lovely girl!” I hear you mutter as she disappears, “happy indeed is he who can win that jewel for a wife. That face will haunt me like a dream!” Likely enough, O my friend! but dreams are not all pleasant.

Now look again at this young wife just entering with her husband. Is she not beautiful! and how devotedly she hangs upon his arm! With what a triumphant glance around the room he seems to say: “Behold my treasure – my very own; look at the gorgeousness of her attire, ladies, and pray for such a husband; gaze upon the fairness of her face, gentlemen, and covet such a wife.” Again the Apollos step blandly forward, again the little promises are lisped out and recorded. And so the goodly company go on, introducing and being introduced, and conversing agreeably together. A right pleasant and edifying spectacle, purely.

But, hark! The music strikes up; the dancing is about to begin. You and I do not dance; we withdraw to an adjoining room and take a hand at cards.

The hours go swiftly by and still we play on. The clock strikes two; the card-players are departing. But the strains of the distant music have been unceasing; the game does not flag in the ball-room. You have not seen a dance since your youth, you say, and then only the rude gambols of country-folk; you would fain see before you go how these dames and damsels of gentler breeding acquit themselves.

The dance is at its height; we could not have chosen a better time to see the thing in its glory.

As we approach the door of the ballroom the music grows louder and more ravishing than ever; no confusion of voices mars its delicious melody; the only sounds heard beneath its strains are a low swish and rustle as of whirling robes, and a light, but rapid and incessant shuffling of feet. The dull element has gone home; those who remain have better work to do than talking. We push the great doors asunder and enter.

Ha! the air is hot and heavy here; it breathes upon us in sensuous gusts of varying perfumes. And no wonder. A score of whirling scented robes stir it into fragrance. How beautiful – but you look aghast, my friend. Ah, I forgot; these are not the rude countryfolk of your youth. You are dazzled – bewildered. Then let me try to enliven your dulled senses with a description of what we see.

A score of forms whirl swiftly before us under the softened gaslight. I say a score of – but each is double – they would have made two score before the dancing began. Twenty floating visions – each male and female. Twenty women knit and growing to as many men, undulate, sway, and swirl giddily before us, keeping time with the delirious melody of piano, harp, and violin, But draw nearer – let us see how this miracle is accomplished. Do you mark yonder tall couple who seem even to excel the rest in grace and ardor. Do they not make a picture which might put a soul under the ribs of Death? Such must have been the sight which made Speusippas incontinently rave: “O admirable, O divine Panareta! Who would not admire her, who would not love her, that should but see her dance as I did? O how she danced, how she tripped, how she turned! With what a grace! ! O most incomparable, only, Panareta!” Let us take this couple for a sample. He is stalwart, agile, mighty; she is tall, supple, lithe, and how beautiful in form and feature! Her head rests upon his shoulder, her face is upturned to his; her naked arm is almost around his neck; her swelling breast heaves tumultuously against his; face to face they whirl, his limbs interwoven with her limbs; with strong right arm about her yielding waist, he presses her to him till every curve in the contour of her lovely body thrills with the amorous contact. Her eyes look into his, but she sees nothing; the soft music fills the room, but she hears nothing; swiftly he whirls her from the floor or bends her frail body to and fro in his embrace, but she knows it not; his hot breath is upon her hair, his lips almost touch her forehead, yet she does not shrink; his eyes, gleaming with a fierce intolerable lust, gloat satyrlike over her, yet she does not quail; she is filled with a rapture divine in its intensity – she is in the maelstrom of burning desire – her spirit is with the gods.

With a last, low wail the music ceases. Her swooning senses come back to life. Ah, must it be! Yes; her companion releases her from his embrace. Leaning wearily upon his arm, the rapture faded from her eye, the flush dying from her cheek – enervated, limp, listless, worn out – she is led to a seat, there to recover from her delirium and gather her energies as best she may in the space of five minutes, after which she must yield her body to a new embrace.

But did you not notice a faint smile upon the lips of her late companion as he turned and left her? a smile of triumph, an air of sated appetite, it seemed to me; and see, as he joins his cronies yonder he laughs, rubs his hands together, chuckles visibly, and communicates some choice scrap of news which makes them look over at our jaded beauty and laugh too; they appreciate the suggestion of the ancient:

“Tenta modo tangere corpus,

Jam tua mellifluo membra calore fluent.”

But she can keep her secret better than they, it is evident.

And now tell me, friend of mine, did you not recognize an old acquaintance in the lady we have been watching so closely? No! Then believe me she is no other than the “pure and lovely girl” you so much admired earlier in the evening, the so desirable wife, the angel who was to “haunt your dreams.”

“What! that harlot -.”

Hush – a spade is not called a spade here; but I assure you again that the sensuous, delirious Bacchante...