KELAS BAHASA INGGERIS / ENGLISH CLASS
12 / 4 / 2020
CENTENNIAL
Page / Scene 193
His relatioship with Pasquinel was interesting. Since Saint Louis still had fewer than a thousand inhabitants, there was no public hotel, and coureurs from the west had to find such lodging as they could in private homes. Most families did not care to board the filthy and profane men, but Bockweiss insisted that Pasquinel and McKeag accept his hospitality. He had two daughters, Lise, the strong-minded one, and Grete, the coquette, and he convinced himself that one day the coureurs would become his sons-in-law. Normally a father in Saint Louis would have preferred his daughters to marry more substantial types, say, established businessmen, but Bockweiss had not made the long journey from Munich to Saint Louis because he was cautious. He was a romantic who relished the idea of probing unsettled prairies and saw that McKeag and Pasquinel fitted the pattern of his new country. So the coureurs moved in to rooms above the shop, and Bockweiss noticed with gratification that Lise was developing an interest in Pasquinel, while Grete confided that she thought McKeag congenial.
There was competition. Local girls, spotting the way Pasquinel spent his money buying presents for anyone connected with the fur trade, thought he might make a good husband. He was generous. He was entertaining. In looks...well, he was small but he was not ridiculous. Best of all, he seemed to be lucky.
They made known their interest, but Pasquinel excused himself, as he always did, on grounds that he already had a wife in Quebec. He was willing to give them money, pay for their drinks and bed with them as chance provided, but he could express no interest in marriage.
Lise Bockweise was not so easy to dispose of. She was a solid, forthright girl with all the domestic qualifications a husband might expect. She also had a sense of humor and could appreciate the comedy in watching the New Orleans French girls trying to catch this elusive trader. She was taller than Pasquinel but she had the knack of making him seem important when she was with him, and from time to time even Pasquinel had the fleeting thought: This one could make 'une bonne femme.'
The four ate together frequently, but between Grete and McKeag little was happening. He was timorous with ladies and blushed as red as
Page / Scene 194
his beard when pretty Grete teased, 'I'll bet you have a squaw hidden upstream.' It was not long before young Grete concluded that there was little future for her in wooing McKeag, and she turned her attentions to a shopkeeper who appreciated her.
It was more difficult for Pasquinel to evade Lise. For one thing, her father took a heavy-handed interest in the courtship; he was aware that Lise was seriously considering the coureur and he did not propose to let the Frenchman slip away. Bockweiss could not believe Pasquinel's vague talk of having a wife. He persuaded the coureur to visit with him in his shop, and in the process of explaining how he cast his jewelry he found opportunity to speak of his daughter: 'That one has a solid head on her shoulders. A man would always be proud of that one.'
The silver reached him in ingots, which he melted in a small furnace activated by an arm-powered bellows: 'Lise's mother taught her how to cook ... good.'
Page / Scene 37
She turned to see Vittorio. He had put the empty bucket back in the stable and was standing a few feet away, as always looking rather uncertain, rather frightened of this foreign woman.
"So," she smiled, folding her hands over the ivory handle of her parasol, "what do you think of your brother going to school?"
"I think ..." How shy he is, she thought. I suppose I can't blame him. "I think it's good."
"'Good.' Yes, I suppose it's that. And how about you, Vittorio?
Would you like to learn to read and write?"
He nodded solemnly. Good lord, she thought, how adorable he is!
"And if you could read and write," she went on, "what would you like to be?"
"An American."
He said it so simply, but it produced a complex emotion in Alice. How lucky she had been being born where she was, what she was. And how unlucky this beautiful boy was, being born in Sicily...
It was then, she realized later, that the seed became planted in her mind.
Page / Scene 38
On the night of February 17, 1880, the Tsar of All the Russias gave a banquet for the Prince of Bulgaria. Among the guests standing in the Malachite Room of the Winter Palace before dinner was the Italian Ambassador, Prince Giancarlo dell'Acqua. Giancarlo was a naturally distinguished-looking man, but his distinction was reinforced by his beautifully cut suit of tails, his Collar of the Annunziata (awarded to him the year before by the King of Italy thus making him an honorary "cousin" to the royal family), and the diamond-studded star of the Order of Orlov ( given him by the Tsar) pinned to his chest. Giancarlo was talking to one of the Grand Duchesses when dinner was announced. The crowd started through the endless halls of the gigantic palace overlooking the frozen River Neva toward the state dining room.
Page / Scene 193
His relatioship with Pasquinel was interesting. Since Saint Louis still had fewer than a thousand inhabitants, there was no public hotel, and coureurs from the west had to find such lodging as they could in private homes. Most families did not care to board the filthy and profane men, but Bockweiss insisted that Pasquinel and McKeag accept his hospitality. He had two daughters, Lise, the strong-minded one, and Grete, the coquette, and he convinced himself that one day the coureurs would become his sons-in-law. Normally a father in Saint Louis would have preferred his daughters to marry more substantial types, say, established businessmen, but Bockweiss had not made the long journey from Munich to Saint Louis because he was cautious. He was a romantic who relished the idea of probing unsettled prairies and saw that McKeag and Pasquinel fitted the pattern of his new country. So the coureurs moved in to rooms above the shop, and Bockweiss noticed with gratification that Lise was developing an interest in Pasquinel, while Grete confided that she thought McKeag congenial.
There was competition. Local girls, spotting the way Pasquinel spent his money buying presents for anyone connected with the fur trade, thought he might make a good husband. He was generous. He was entertaining. In looks...well, he was small but he was not ridiculous. Best of all, he seemed to be lucky.
They made known their interest, but Pasquinel excused himself, as he always did, on grounds that he already had a wife in Quebec. He was willing to give them money, pay for their drinks and bed with them as chance provided, but he could express no interest in marriage.
Lise Bockweise was not so easy to dispose of. She was a solid, forthright girl with all the domestic qualifications a husband might expect. She also had a sense of humor and could appreciate the comedy in watching the New Orleans French girls trying to catch this elusive trader. She was taller than Pasquinel but she had the knack of making him seem important when she was with him, and from time to time even Pasquinel had the fleeting thought: This one could make 'une bonne femme.'
The four ate together frequently, but between Grete and McKeag little was happening. He was timorous with ladies and blushed as red as
Page / Scene 194
his beard when pretty Grete teased, 'I'll bet you have a squaw hidden upstream.' It was not long before young Grete concluded that there was little future for her in wooing McKeag, and she turned her attentions to a shopkeeper who appreciated her.
It was more difficult for Pasquinel to evade Lise. For one thing, her father took a heavy-handed interest in the courtship; he was aware that Lise was seriously considering the coureur and he did not propose to let the Frenchman slip away. Bockweiss could not believe Pasquinel's vague talk of having a wife. He persuaded the coureur to visit with him in his shop, and in the process of explaining how he cast his jewelry he found opportunity to speak of his daughter: 'That one has a solid head on her shoulders. A man would always be proud of that one.'
The silver reached him in ingots, which he melted in a small furnace activated by an arm-powered bellows: 'Lise's mother taught her how to cook ... good.'
When the silver assumed liquid form, he poured it
meticulously into molds shaped like butterflies, or wheels, or arm bracelets:
‘It’s no easy thing to bring two daughters all the way from Germany, but when
they are both angels, especially Lise, it’s worth it.’
When the silver cooled, he used delicate files to remove any
excess, catching it for reuse later. Then he took the pieces to a buffer wheel,
turned by a foot pedal, and as he pumped he said, ‘A man with a good business
like you ought to marry. I myself plan to marry again next year, but of course,
finding a good woman isn’t easy.’
He now took the pieces and began the delicate etching and
decoration which made a Bockweiss silver piece so desirable. He had large, fat
fingers which seemed unsuitable for intricate work, but he used his tools with
such skill that he could carve almost any design: ‘Pasquinel, let me be frank.
I sell a piece like this for ten dollars. I’m going to be a wealthy man. With
my daughters, especially Lise, I can afford to be generous. You would have a
fixed home here in Saint Louis. A fixed home is something.’
As the time approached for the traders to return to their
rivers, Lise Bockweiss took over where her father had stopped. She gave a
dinner to which Pasquinel was invited and showed him concentrated attention,
after which her father took the Frenchman aside and said, ‘As long as the world
lasts, women will want jewelry and Indians will want trinkets. You do the
trading. I’ll make the silver. It wil be a good partnership.’
He continued expansively: ‘And as your partner, Pasquinel, I
would be very happy…that is … should you at some point in time wish to join my
family.’ This was said in Germanic gravity and with such obvious regard for
Lise’s welfare that not even Pasquinel could treat it jokingly. A proposal was
being made, one most advantageous, and he was forced to give it attention.
McKeag, watching this from a comfortable distance, since
Grete was
Page / Scene 37
She turned to see Vittorio. He had put the empty bucket back in the stable and was standing a few feet away, as always looking rather uncertain, rather frightened of this foreign woman.
"So," she smiled, folding her hands over the ivory handle of her parasol, "what do you think of your brother going to school?"
"I think ..." How shy he is, she thought. I suppose I can't blame him. "I think it's good."
"'Good.' Yes, I suppose it's that. And how about you, Vittorio?
Would you like to learn to read and write?"
He nodded solemnly. Good lord, she thought, how adorable he is!
"And if you could read and write," she went on, "what would you like to be?"
"An American."
He said it so simply, but it produced a complex emotion in Alice. How lucky she had been being born where she was, what she was. And how unlucky this beautiful boy was, being born in Sicily...
It was then, she realized later, that the seed became planted in her mind.
Page / Scene 38
On the night of February 17, 1880, the Tsar of All the Russias gave a banquet for the Prince of Bulgaria. Among the guests standing in the Malachite Room of the Winter Palace before dinner was the Italian Ambassador, Prince Giancarlo dell'Acqua. Giancarlo was a naturally distinguished-looking man, but his distinction was reinforced by his beautifully cut suit of tails, his Collar of the Annunziata (awarded to him the year before by the King of Italy thus making him an honorary "cousin" to the royal family), and the diamond-studded star of the Order of Orlov ( given him by the Tsar) pinned to his chest. Giancarlo was talking to one of the Grand Duchesses when dinner was announced. The crowd started through the endless halls of the gigantic palace overlooking the frozen River Neva toward the state dining room.
The Tsar was about to enter the dining room when the French
Ambassador asked him a question. The crowd waited as the two men talked in low
tones for a few minutes.
Then a furious blast tore the two doors of the dining room
off their hinges. As the guests of the Tsar screamed and ran for cover, black
smoke roiled out of the room.
When the smoke cleared, nothing was left: The room was a
void. Forty Finnish guards who had been in the room below were blasted to
eternity, as were a number of footmen. A carpenter name Khalturin, one of the
founders of the Moscow Workers’ Union, had smuggled a huge amount of explosives
into the basement of the palace with the attention of annihilating the imperial
family. Only the chance remark of the French Ambassador prevented him from
accomplishing his mission.
The next morning Giancarlo decided he had had enough of St.
Petersburg for a while. He informed his wife and his King – not in that order –
that he was returning to Sicily for a month “for reasons of health.” Not only
had his near brush with an explosive death shaken the Sicilian nobleman, but he
missed his beautiful wife more than he had thought possible.
saltigrade
[ sal-ti-greyd, sawl- ]
adjective
moving by leaping.
WHAT IS THE ORIGIN OF SALTIGRADE?
Saltigrade means “moving by leaping” and refers to a family of jumping spiders. The first element, salti-, derives from Latin saltāre “to jump about; dance,” frequentative of salīre “to jump.” The second element, –grade, meaning “walking; moving,” derives from Latin gradī “to walk, step, go.” Saltigrade first appears in English in the early part of the 19th century.
HOW IS SALTIGRADE USED?
It paused momentarily for one final examination of its surroundings. It felt no signals and sensed no activity within its range of perception. It felt secure in moving. It moved its saltigrade legs slowly at first, being very alert to possible detection. […] It was fully aware of each movement of its legs. It had the flexibility to move easily over the jagged landscape, and it could balance its entire body on any leg.
GARY L. BENNETT, THE STAR SAILORS, 1980
Manic existence is at the mercy of a sequence of jumps over reality, constituting a saltigrade present marked by flitting restlessness.
No comments:
Post a Comment