Prevod
V Bostonu je živel moder in prileten kemik po imenu dr. Daws, ki se je nekoliko ukvarjal tudi s čarovnijo. V Bostonu pa je živela tudi mlada dama po imenu Claribel Sudds, ki je imela veliko denarja, malo pameti in silno željo, da bi nastopala na odru.
Claribel je torej odšla k dr. Dawsu in mu rekla: »Ne znam ne peti ne plesati; ne znam recitirati verzov ne igrati klavirja; nisem akrobatka, ne znam skakati ne visoko dvigovati nog; pa vendar si želim nastopati na odru. Kaj naj storim?«
»Ste pripravljeni plačati za takšne spretnosti?« je vprašal modri kemik. »Seveda,« je odgovorila Claribel in zacingljala z mošnjičkom. »Potem pridite k meni jutri ob dveh,« ji je rekel.
Vso noč se je ukvarjal s tem, čemur pravimo kemično čarovništvo; ko je Claribel Sudds naslednjega dne ob dveh prišla k njemu, ji je pokazal majhno škatlico, polno pripravkov, ki so bili na las podobni francoskim bonbonom.
»Živimo v dobi napredka,« je rekel starec, »in laskam si, da vaš stric Daws prav nič ne zaostaja za časom. Kakšen staromoden čarovnik bi vam pripravil ogabne, grenke pilule, ki bi jih morali pogoltniti; jaz pa sem pomislil na vaš okus in udobje. Tukaj imate nekaj čarobnih bonbonov. Če pojeste tega sivkaste barve, boste odtlej plesali tako lahkotno in graciozno, kakor da bi se urili vse življenje. Ko boste zaužili rožnato slaščico, boste peli kakor slavček. Beli bonbon vam bo omogočil, da postanete najboljša recitatorka v deželi. Čokoladni vas bo začaral, da boste igrali klavir bolje od Rubensteina, po limonasto rumenem bonbonu pa boste zlahka sunili z nogo šest čevljev nad svojo glavo.«
»Kako čudovito!« je vzkliknila Claribel, ki je bila resnično navdušena. »Prav gotovo ste nadvse spreten čarovnik in obenem obziren pripravljavec čarobnih pripravkov,« je rekla in iztegnila roko po škatlici.
»Hm!« je rekel modrec. »Ček, prosim.« »O, seveda! Kako neumno od mene, da sem pozabila,« je odvrnila. Obzirno je obdržal škatlico v svoji roki, medtem ko je podpisovala ček za veliko vsoto denarja, potem pa ji je dovolil, da jo je vzela sama.
»Ste prepričani, da so dovolj močni?« je zaskrbljeno vprašala. »Običajno je treba precej, da kaj učinkuje name.« »Bojim se le,« je odgovoril dr. Daws, »da sem jih naredil premočne. Prvič se mi namreč dogaja, da me je kdo prosil, naj pripravim te čudovite slaščice.«
»Nikar ne skrbite,« je rekla Claribel. »Močneje ko bodo delovale, bolje bom nastopala.« S temi besedami je odšla, toda ko se je med potjo ustavila v trgovini s tekstilnim blagom, jo je nakupovanje tako prevzelo, da je pozabila na dragoceno škatlico in jo pustila na pultu s trakovi.
Nato je k pultu prišla mala Bessie Bostwick, da bi kupila trak za lase, in poleg škatlice odložila svoje zavitke. Ko je odhajala, je skupaj z drugimi zavitki pobrala tudi škatlico in z njo odhitela domov.
Bessie je šele potem, ko je plašč obesila v omaro na hodniku in preštela svoje zavitke, opazila, da ima enega preveč. Odprla ga je in vzkliknila:
»Saj to je škatlica bonbonov! Nekdo jo je gotovo kam založil. Ampak zaradi takšne malenkosti se res ni vredno vznemirjati; le nekaj jih je.« Vsebino škatlice je stresla v posodico za bonbone, ki je stala na mizici na hodniku, izbrala čokoladnega — čokoladne je imela še posebno rada — in ga z užitkom pojedla, medtem ko si je ogledovala svoje nakupe.
Teh ni bilo veliko, saj je bila Bessie stara komaj dvanajst let in ji starši še niso zaupali, da bi v trgovinah zapravljala veliko denarja. Toda med pomerjanjem traku za lase je nenadoma začutila silno željo, da bi igrala klavir, in ta želja je nazadnje postala tako neustavljiva, da je odšla v salon in odprla glasbilo.
Deklici se je z neskončnim trudom posrečilo naučiti dve »skladbici«, ki ju je navadno izvajala s sunkovitimi gibi desnice, medtem ko je levica pozabljala slediti in tako ustvarjala grozljivo neskladje. Pod vplivom čokoladnega bonbona pa je sedla in lahkotno zdrsnila s prsti po tipkah ter izvabila tako prečudovito ubranost, da je osupnila nad lastnim igranjem.
Toda to je bil šele uvod. Že naslednji hip se je zagnala v Beethovnovo sedmo sonato in jo odigrala veličastno. Njena mati je zaslišala nenavadni izbruh melodije in prišla po stopnicah navzdol pogledat, kakšen glasbeno nadarjen gost jih je obiskal; ko pa je odkrila, da tako božansko igra njena lastna hčerkica, jo je zgrabil napad razbijanja srca, h kateremu je bila nagnjena, in sedla je na zofo, da bi počakala, dokler ne mine.
Medtem je Bessie z neutrudno vnemo igrala skladbo za skladbo. Glasbo je ljubila in zdaj je ugotovila, da ji ni treba drugega kakor sedeti za klavirjem, poslušati in opazovati, kako ji prsti plešejo po tipkah.
Mrak v sobi se je gostil, ko se je Bessiejin oče vrnil domov, obesil klobuk in plašč ter postavil dežnik v stojalo. Nato je pokukal v salon, da bi videl, kdo igra.
»Pri velikem Cezarju!« je vzkliknil. Toda mati je tiho pristopila k njemu s prstom na ustnicah in zašepetala: »Ne moti je, John. Zdi se, da je najin otrok v zamaknjenosti. Si že kdaj slišal tako sijajno glasbo?«
»Saj je pravi čudežni otrok!« je izdavil osupli oče. »Slepega Toma prekaša na vsej črti! To je — to je čudovito!« Medtem ko sta stala in poslušala, je prišel senator, ki sta ga tisti večer povabila na večerjo. Še preden je slekel plašč, pa se jim je pridružil tudi profesor z univerze Yale — mož globokega znanja in velike učenosti.
Bessie je igrala naprej; štirje odrasli pa so se stisnili v gručo ter molče in osuplo poslušali glasbo in čakali, da zazveni gong za večerjo.
Gospod Bostwick, ki je bil lačen, je vzel posodico za bonbone z mizice poleg sebe in pojedel rožnato slaščico. Profesor ga je opazoval, zato mu je gospod Bostwick vljudno ponudil posodico. Profesor je pojedel limonasto rumeni bonbon, senator pa je segel z roko in vzel sivkastega. Vendar ga ni pojedel, saj se je po naključju spomnil, da bi mu utegnil pokvariti tek za večerjo, in ga je spravil v žep telovnika. Gospa Bostwick, ki je še vedno napeto poslušala svojo izjemno nadarjeno hčerko, je povsem nezavedno vzela zadnji bonbon, belega, in ga počasi pojedla.
Posodica je bila zdaj prazna in dragoceni bonboni Claribel Sudds so bili zanjo za vselej izgubljeni! Nenadoma je gospod Bostwick, sicer velik in krepak mož, začel peti s predirljivim sopranskim glasom, polnim tremola. Ni pel iste skladbe, kot jo je igrala Bessie, in neskladje je bilo tako pretresljivo, da se je profesor nasmehnil, senator si je z rokama zatisnil ušesa, gospa Bostwick pa je zgroženo vzkliknila:
»William!« Njen mož je pel naprej, kakor da bi se trudil posnemati slovito Christine Nillson, in se ni prav nič menil ne za ženo ne za goste.
Na srečo je tedaj zazvenel gong za večerjo in gospa Bostwick je odvlekla Bessie od klavirja ter goste povedla v jedilnico. Gospod Bostwick jim je sledil in prepeval »Zadnjo vrtnico poletja«, kakor da bi jo za dodatek zahtevalo tisoč navdušenih poslušalcev.
Uboga ženska je ob moževem nedostojnem vedenju obupovala in se spraševala, kako naj ga obvlada. Profesor je bil videti resnejši kot navadno; senatorju je na obrazu ležal užaljen izraz, Bessie pa je ves čas premikala prste, kakor da bi še vedno hotela igrati klavir.
Gospe Bostwick je uspelo vse posesti, čeprav je njen mož že začel novo arijo; nato je služkinja prinesla juho. Ko je profesorju prinesla krožnik, je ta razburjeno zaklical:
»Držite ga više! Više, pravim!« Skočil je pokonci in ga nenadoma sunil z nogo, da je odletel skoraj do stropa, od tam pa padel nazaj, poškropil Bessie in služkinjo z juho ter se raztreščil na temenu profesorjeve plešaste glave.
Ob tem grozljivem dejanju je senator z vzklikom zgroženosti vstal s stola in pogledal gostiteljico. Gospa Bostwick je že nekaj časa omotično strmela naravnost predse; ko pa je zdaj ujela senatorjev pogled, se je elegantno priklonila in z donečim glasom začela recitirati »Juriš lahke brigade«.
Senator je zadrhtel. Takšnega sramotnega razgrajanja v spodobni družinski hiši ni še nikoli ne videl ne slišal. Čutil je, da je njegov ugled na kocki, in ker je bil očitno edini človek pri zdravi pameti v sobi, se ni mogel obrniti na nikogar.
Služkinja je zbežala v kuhinjo in tam histerično jokala; gospod Bostwick je pel »O, obljubi mi«; profesor je skušal z brcami zbiti steklene krogle z lestenca; gospa Bostwick je svojo recitacijo zamenjala s pesmijo »Deček je stal na gorečem krovu«, Bessie pa se je izmuznila v salon in silovito igrala uverturo iz »Letečega Holandca«.
Senator ni bil prav nič prepričan, da se tudi njemu vsak hip ne bo zmešalo; zato se je izmuznil iz tega vrišča, na hodniku pograbil klobuk in plašč ter odhitel iz hiše.
Tisto noč je bedel pozno v noč in pisal politični govor, ki naj bi ga imel naslednje popoldne v dvorani Faneuil, vendar so ga doživetja pri Bostwickovih tako pretresla, da je komaj zbral misli. Pogosto je obstal in sočutno zmajal z glavo, ko se je spomnil nenavadnih reči, ki jih je videl v tem sicer uglednem domu.
Naslednji dan je na ulici srečal gospoda Bostwicka, vendar je šel mimo njega z ledenim pogledom, kakor da ga ne pozna. Menil je, da si v prihodnje res ne more več privoščiti poznanstva s tem gospodom. Gospod Bostwick je bil nad tako očitno nevljudnostjo seveda ogorčen; vendar mu je v mislih ostal medel spomin na nekaj precej nenavadnih dogodkov pri večerji prejšnjega dne in ni prav vedel, ali si sploh sme zameriti senatorjevo ravnanje.
Politični shod je bil glavni dogodek dneva, saj je bila senatorjeva zgovornost v Bostonu dobro znana. Velika dvorana je bila zato nabito polna, v eni od sprednjih vrst pa je sedela družina Bostwick in poleg nje učeni profesor z univerze Yale. Vsi so bili videti utrujeni in bledi, kakor da bi za njimi bil precej razuzdan večer, in senatorja je pogled nanje tako vznemiril, da ni hotel še enkrat pogledati v njihovo smer.
Medtem ko ga je župan predstavljal, se je veliki mož nemirno presedal na stolu; ko je po naključju segel s palcem in kazalcem v žep telovnika, je našel sivkasti bonbon, ki ga je prejšnji večer spravil vanj.
»To mi bo morda očistilo grlo,« je pomislil senator in si vtaknil bonbon v usta. Nekaj minut pozneje je vstal pred številnim občinstvom, ki ga je pozdravilo z navdušenim ploskanjem.
»Prijatelji moji,« je senator začel s slovesnim glasom, »to je nadvse veličastna in pomembna priložnost.« Nato je obmolknil, prenesel težo na levo stopalo in vrgel desno nogo v zrak, kakor to počnejo baletni plesalci!
Med gledalci je završalo od osuplosti in groze, toda senator tega očitno ni opazil. Zavrtel se je na konicah prstov, graciozno zamahoval z nogami na desno in levo ter prestrašil plešastega moža v prvi vrsti, ko mu je namenil koprneč pogled.
Nenadoma je Claribel Sudds, ki je bila po naključju med občinstvom, zakričala in planila na noge. Z obtožujočim prstom je pokazala na plešočega senatorja in glasno zavpila:
»Ta človek mi je ukradel bonbone! Primite ga! Aretirajte ga! Ne pustite mu pobegniti!« Toda redarji so jo naglo odvedli iz dvorane, misleč, da se ji je nenadoma zmešalo; senatorjevi prijatelji pa so ga čvrsto zgrabili in ga skozi odrski vhod odnesli na ulico, kjer so ga posadili v odprto kočijo in kočijažu naročili, naj ga odpelje domov.
Učinek čarobnega bonbona je bil še vedno dovolj močan, da je obvladoval ubogega senatorja, ki je stal na zadnjem sedežu kočije in vso pot domov živahno plesal, v veselje množici dečkov, ki so tekli za kočijo, in v žalost resnim meščanom, ki so otožno zmajevali z glavami in šepetali, da je »še en dober človek zašel na kriva pota«.
Senator je potreboval več mesecev, da si je opomogel od sramote in ponižanja zaradi te pustolovščine; in, kar je bilo nenavadno, nikoli se mu ni niti najmanj sanjalo, kaj ga je pripravilo do tako nenavadnega vedenja. Morda je bilo še sreča, da je bil zdaj pojeden zadnji bonbon, saj bi zlahka povzročili precej več težav, kot so jih.
Claribel je seveda znova obiskala modrega kemika in podpisala ček za novo škatlico čarobnih bonbonov; toda na te je gotovo bolje pazila, saj je zdaj slavna varietejska igralka.
Ta zgodba naj nas nauči, kako nespametno je obsojati druge zaradi dejanj, ki jih ne razumemo, saj nikoli ne vemo, kaj se utegne zgoditi nam samim. Lahko pa nam služi tudi kot namig, naj pazimo, da na javnih krajih ne puščamo zavitkov, in mimogrede še kot opomin, naj tuje zavitke pustimo povsem pri miru.
Izvirnik
There lived in Boston a wise and ancient chemist by the name of Dr. Daws, who dabbled somewhat in magic. There also lived in Boston a young lady by the name of Claribel Sudds, who was possessed of much money, little wit and an intense desire to go upon the stage.
So Claribel went to Dr. Daws and said:
“I can neither sing nor dance; I cannot recite verse nor play upon the piano; I am no acrobat nor leaper nor high kicker; yet I wish to go upon the stage. What shall I do?”
“Are you willing to pay for such accomplishments?” asked the wise chemist.
“Certainly,” answered Claribel, jingling her purse.
“Then come to me to-morrow at two o’clock,” said he.
All that night he practiced what is known as chemical sorcery; so that when Claribel Sudds came next day at two o’clock he showed her a small box filled with compounds that closely resembled French bonbons.
“This is a progressive age,” said the old man, “and I flatter myself your Uncle Daws keeps right along with the procession. Now, one of your old-fashioned sorcerers would have made you some nasty, bitter pills to swallow; but I have consulted your taste and convenience. Here are some magic bonbons. If you eat this one with the lavender color you can dance thereafter as lightly and gracefully as if you had been trained a lifetime. After you consume the pink confection you will sing like a nightingale. Eating the white one will enable you to become the finest elocutionist in the land. The chocolate piece will charm you into playing the piano better than Rubenstein, while after eating the lemon-yellow bonbon you can easily kick six feet above your head.”
“How delightful!” exclaimed Claribel, who was truly enraptured. “You are certainly a most clever sorcerer as well as a considerate compounder,” and she held out her hand for the box.
“Ahem!” said the wise one; “a check, please.”
“Oh, yes; to be sure! How stupid of me to forget it,” she returned.
He considerately retained the box in his own hand while she signed a check for a large amount of money, after which he allowed her to hold the box herself.
“Are you sure you have made them strong enough?” she inquired, anxiously; “it usually takes a great deal to affect me.”
“My only fear,” replied Dr. Daws, “is that I have made them too strong. For this is the first time I have ever been called upon to prepare these wonderful confections.”
“Don’t worry,” said Claribel; “the stronger they act the better I shall act myself.”
She went away, after saying this, but stopping in at a dry goods store to shop, she forgot the precious box in her new interest and left it lying on the ribbon counter.
Then little Bessie Bostwick came to the counter to buy a hair ribbon and laid her parcels beside the box. When she went away she gathered up the box with her other bundles and trotted off home with it.
Bessie never knew, until after she had hung her coat in the hall closet and counted up her parcels, that she had one too many. Then she opened it and exclaimed:
“Why, it’s a box of candy! Someone must have mislaid it. But it is too small a matter to worry about; there are only a few pieces.” So she dumped the contents of the box into a bonbon dish that stood upon the hall table and picking out the chocolate piece—she was fond of chocolates—ate it daintily while she examined her purchases.
These were not many, for Bessie was only twelve years old and was not yet trusted by her parents to expend much money at the stores. But while she tried on the hair ribbon she suddenly felt a great desire to play upon the piano, and the desire at last became so overpowering that she went into the parlor and opened the instrument.
The little girl had, with infinite pains, contrived to learn two “pieces” which she usually executed with a jerky movement of her right hand and a left hand that forgot to keep up and so made dreadful discords. But under the influence of the chocolate bonbon she sat down and ran her fingers lightly over the keys producing such exquisite harmony that she was filled with amazement at her own performance.
That was the prelude, however. The next moment she dashed into Beethoven’s seventh sonata and played it magnificently.
Her mother, hearing the unusual burst of melody, came downstairs to see what musical guest had arrived; but when she discovered it was her own little daughter who was playing so divinely she had an attack of palpitation of the heart (to which she was subject) and sat down upon a sofa until it should pass away.
Meanwhile Bessie played one piece after another with untiring energy. She loved music, and now found that all she need do was to sit at the piano and listen and watch her hands twinkle over the keyboard.
Twilight deepened in the room and Bessie’s father came home and hung up his hat and overcoat and placed his umbrella in the rack. Then he peeped into the parlor to see who was playing.
“Great Caesar!” he exclaimed. But the mother came to him softly with her finger on her lips and whispered: “Don’t interrupt her, John. Our child seems to be in a trance. Did you ever hear such superb music?”
“Why, she’s an infant prodigy!” gasped the astounded father. “Beats Blind Tom all hollow! It’s—it’s wonderful!”
As they stood listening the senator arrived, having been invited to dine with them that evening. And before he had taken off his coat the Yale professor—a man of deep learning and scholarly attainments—joined the party.
Bessie played on; and the four elders stood in a huddled but silent and amazed group, listening to the music and waiting for the sound of the dinner gong.
Mr. Bostwick, who was hungry, picked up the bonbon dish that lay on the table beside him and ate the pink confection. The professor was watching him, so Mr. Bostwick courteously held the dish toward him. The professor ate the lemon-yellow piece and the senator reached out his hand and took the lavender piece. He did not eat it, however, for, chancing to remember that it might spoil his dinner, he put it in his vest pocket. Mrs. Bostwick, still intently listening to her precocious daughter, without thinking what she did, took the remaining piece, which was the white one, and slowly devoured it.
The dish was now empty, and Claribel Sudds’ precious bonbons had passed from her possession forever!
Suddenly Mr. Bostwick, who was a big man, began to sing in a shrill, tremolo soprano voice. It was not the same song Bessie was playing, and the discord was shocking that the professor smiled, the senator put his hands to his ears and Mrs. Bostwick cried in a horrified voice:
“William!”
Her husband continued to sing as if endeavoring to emulate the famous Christine Nillson, and paid no attention whatever to his wife or his guests.
Fortunately the dinner gong now sounded, and Mrs. Bostwick dragged Bessie from the piano and ushered her guests into the dining-room. Mr. Bostwick followed, singing “The Last Rose of Summer” as if it had been an encore demanded by a thousand delighted hearers.
The poor woman was in despair at witnessing her husband’s undignified actions and wondered what she might do to control him. The professor seemed more grave than usual; the senator’s face wore an offended expression, and Bessie kept moving her fingers as if she still wanted to play the piano.
Mrs. Bostwick managed to get them all seated, although her husband had broken into another aria; and then the maid brought in the soup.
When she carried a plate to the professor, he cried, in an excited voice:
“Hold it higher! Higher—I say!” And springing up he gave it a sudden kick that sent it nearly to the ceiling, from whence the dish descended to scatter soup over Bessie and the maid and to smash in pieces upon the crown of the professor’s bald head.
At this atrocious act the senator rose from his seat with an exclamation of horror and glanced at his hostess.
For some time Mrs. Bostwick had been staring straight ahead, with a dazed expression; but now, catching the senator’s eye, she bowed gracefully and began reciting “The Charge of the Light Brigade” in forceful tones.
The senator shuddered. Such disgraceful rioting he had never seen nor heard before in a decent private family. He felt that his reputation was at stake, and, being the only sane person, apparently, in the room, there was no one to whom he might appeal.
The maid had run away to cry hysterically in the kitchen; Mr. Bostwick was singing “O Promise Me;” the professor was trying to kick the globes off the chandelier; Mrs. Bostwick had switched her recitation to “The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck,” and Bessie had stolen into the parlor and was pounding out the overture from the “Flying Dutchman.”
The senator was not at all sure he would not go crazy himself, presently; so he slipped away from the turmoil, and, catching up his had and coat in the hall, hurried from the house.
That night he sat up late writing a political speech he was to deliver the next afternoon at Faneuil hall, but his experiences at the Bostwicks’ had so unnerved him that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, and often he would pause and shake his head pityingly as he remembered the strange things he had seen in that usually respectable home.
The next day he met Mr. Bostwick in the street, but passed him by with a stony glare of oblivion. He felt he really could not afford to know this gentleman in the future. Mr. Bostwick was naturally indignant at the direct snub; yet in his mind lingered a faint memory of some quite unusual occurrences at his dinner party the evening before, and he hardly knew whether he dared resent the senator’s treatment or not.
The political meeting was the feature of the day, for the senator’s eloquence was well known in Boston. So the big hall was crowded with people, and in one of the front rows sat the Bostwick family, with the learned Yale professor beside them. They all looked tired and pale, as if they had passed a rather dissipated evening, and the senator was rendered so nervous by seeing them that he refused to look in their direction a second time.
While the mayor was introducing him the great man sat fidgeting in his chair; and, happening to put his thumb and finger into his vest pocket, he found the lavender-colored bonbon he had placed there the evening before.
“This may clear my throat,” thought the senator, and slipped the bonbon into his mouth.
A few minutes afterwards he arose before the vast audience, which greeted him with enthusiastic plaudits.
“My friends,” began the senator, in a grave voice, “this is a most impressive and important occasion.”
Then he paused, balanced himself upon his left foot, and kicked his right leg into the air in the way favored by ballet-dancers!
There was a hum of amazement and horror from the spectators, but the senator appeared not to notice it. He whirled around upon the tips of his toes, kicked right and left in a graceful manner, and startled a bald-headed man in the front row by casting a languishing glance in his direction.
Suddenly Claribel Sudds, who happened to be present, uttered a scream and sprang to her feet. Pointing an accusing finger at the dancing senator, she cried in a loud voice:
“That’s the man who stole my bonbons! Seize him! Arrest him! Don’t let him escape!”
But the ushers rushed her out of the hall, thinking she had gone suddenly insane; and the senator’s friends seized him firmly and carried him out the stage entrance to the street, where they put him into an open carriage and instructed the driver to take him home.
The effect of the magic bonbon was still powerful enough to control the poor senator, who stood upon the rear seat of the carriage and danced energetically all the way home, to the delight of the crowd of small boys who followed the carriage and the grief of the sober-minded citizens, who shook their heads sadly and whispered that “another good man had gone wrong.”
It took the senator several months to recover from the shame and humiliation of this escapade; and, curiously enough, he never had the slightest idea what had induced him to act in so extraordinary a manner. Perhaps it was fortunate the last bonbon had now been eaten, for they might easily have caused considerably more trouble than they did.
Of course Claribel went again to the wise chemist and signed a check for another box of magic bonbons; but she must have taken better care of these, for she is now a famous vaudeville actress.
This story should teach us the folly of condemning others for actions that we do not understand, for we never know what may happen to ourselves. It may also serve as a hint to be careful about leaving parcels in public places, and, incidentally, to let other people’s packages severely alone.
