the professor at the breakfast table-第26章

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If　this　is　repeated　often　enough；　we　get　a　permanent　resemblance　to

it；　or；　at　least；　a　fixed　aspect　which　we　took　from　it。　　Husband　and

wife　come　to　look　alike　at　last；　as　has　often　been　noticed。　　It　is　a

common　saying　of　a　jockey；　that　he　is　〃all　horse〃；　and　I　have　often

fancied　that　milkmen　get　a　stiff；　upright　carriage；　and　an　angular

movement　of　the　arm；　that　remind　one　of　a　pump　and　the　working　of

its　handle。



All　this　came　in　by　accident；　just　because　I　happened　to　mention

that　the　Little　Gentleman　found　that　Iris　had　been　looking　at　him

with　her　soul　in　her　eyes；　when　his　glance　rested　on　her　after

wandering　round　the　company。　　What　he　thought；　it　is　hard　to　say；

but　the　shadow　of　suspicion　faded　off　from　his　face；　and　he　looked

calmly　into　the　amber　eyes；　resting　his　cheek　upon　the　hand　that

wore　the　red　jewel。



If　it　were　a　possible　thing；women　are　such　strange　creatures！

Is　there　any　trick　that　love　and　their　own　fancies　do　not　play　them？

Just　see　how　they　marry！　　A　woman　that　gets　hold　of　a　bit　of　manhood

is　like　one　of　those　Chinese　wood…carvers　who　work　on　any　odd；

fantastic　root　that　comes　to　hand；　and；　if　it　is　only　bulbous　above

and　bifurcated　below；　will　always　contrive　to　make　a　mansuch　as　he

isout　of　it。　　I　should　like　to　see　any　kind　of　a　man；

distinguishable　from　a　Gorilla；　that　some　good　and　even　pretty　woman

could　not　shape　a　husband　out　of。



A　child；yes；　if　you　choose　to　call　her　so；　but　such　a　child！　　Do

you　know　how　Art　brings　all　ages　together？　　There　is　no　age　to　the

angels　and　ideal　human　forms　among　which　the　artist　lives；　and　he

shares　their　youth　until　his　hand　trembles　and　his　eye　grows　dim。

The　youthful　painter　talks　of　white…bearded　Leonardo　as　if　he　were　a

brother；　and　the　veteran　forgets　that　Raphael　died　at　an　age　to

which　his　own　is　of　patriarchal　antiquity。



But　why　this　lover　of　the　beautiful　should　be　so　drawn　to　one　whom

Nature　has　wronged　so　deeply　seems　hard　to　explain。　　Pity；　I

suppose。　　They　say　that　leads　to　love。



I　thought　this　matter　over　until　I　became　excited　and　curious；　and

determined　to　set　myself　more　seriously　at　work　to　find　out　what　was

going　on　in　these　wild　hearts　and　where　their　passionate　lives　were

drifting。　　I　say　wild　hearts　and　passionate　lives；　because　I　think　I

can　look　through　this　seeming　calmness　of　youth　and　this　apparent

feebleness　of　organization；　and　see　that　Nature；　whom　it　is　very

hard　to　cheat；　is　only　waiting　as　the　sapper　waits　in　his　mine；

knowing　that　all　is　in　readiness　and　the　slow…match　burning　quietly

down　to　the　powder。　　He　will　leave　it　by…and…by；　and　then　it　will

take　care　of　itself。



One　need　not　wait　to　see　the　smoke　coming　through　the　roof　of　a

house　and　the　flames　breaking　out　of　the　windows　to　know　that　the

building　is　on　fire。　　Hark！　　There　is　a　quiet；　steady；　unobtrusive；

crisp；　not　loud；　but　very　knowing　little　creeping　crackle　that　is

tolerably　intelligible。　　There　is　a　whiff　of　something　floating

about；　suggestive　of　toasting　shingles。　　Also　a　sharp　pyroligneous…

acid　pungency　in　the　air　that　stings　one's　eyes。　　Let　us　get　up　and

see　what　is　going　on。　Oh；oh；oh！　do　you　know　what　has　got　hold

of　you？　　It　is　the　great　red　dragon　that　is　born　of　the　little　red

eggs　we　call　sparks；　with　his　hundred　blowing　red　manes；　and　his

thousand　lashing　red　tails；　and　his　multitudinous　red　eyes　glaring

at　every　crack　and　key…hole；　and　his　countless　red　tongues　lapping

the　beams　he　is　going　to　crunch　presently；　and　his　hot　breath

warping　the　panels　and　cracking　the　glass　and　making　old　timber

sweat　that　had　forgotten　it　was　ever　alive　with　sap。　　Run　for　your

life！　leap！　or　you　will　be　a　cinder　in　five　minutes；　that　nothing

but　a　coroner　would　take　for　the　wreck　of　a　human　being！



If　any　gentleman　will　have　the　kindness　to　stop　this　run…away

comparison；　I　shall　be　much　obliged　to　him。　　All　I　intended　to　say

was；　that　we　need　not　wait　for　hearts　to　break　out　in　flames　to　know

that　they　are　full　of　combustibles　and　that　a　spark　has　got　among

them。　　I　don't　pretend　to　say　or　know　what　it　is　that　brings　these

two　persons　together；and　when　I　say　together；　I　only　mean　that

there　is　an　evident　affinity　of　some　kind　or　other　which　makes　their

commonest　intercourse　strangely　significant；　as　that　each　seems　to

understand　a　look　or　a　word　of　the　other。　　When　the　young　girl　laid

her　hand　on　the　Little　Gentleman's　arm；which　so　greatly　shocked

the　Model；　you　may　remember；I　saw　that　she　had　learned　the　lion…

tamer's　secret。　　She　masters　him；　and　yet　I　can　see　she　has　a　kind

of　awe　of　him；　as　the　man　who　goes　into　the　cage　has　of　the　monster

that　he　makes　a　baby　of。



One　of　two　things　must　happen。　　The　first　is　love；　downright　love；

on　the　part　of　this　young　girl；　for　the　poor　little　misshapen　man。

You　may　laugh；　if　you　like。　　But　women　are　apt　to　love　the　men　who

they　think　have　the　largest　capacity　of　loving；and　who　can　love

like　one　that　has　thirsted　all　his　life　long　for　the　smile　of　youth

and　beauty；　and　seen　it　fly　his　presence　as　the　wave　ebbed　from　the

parched　lips　of　him　whose　fabled　punishment　is　the　perpetual　type　of

human　longing　and　disappointment？　　What　would　become　of　him；　if　this

fresh　soul　should　stoop　upon　him　in　her　first　young　passion；　as　the

flamingo　drops　out　of　the　sky　upon　some　lonely　and　dark　lagoon　in

the　marshes　of　Cagliari；　with　a　flutter　of　scarlet　feathers　and　a

kindling　of　strange　fires　in　the　shadowy　waters　that　hold　her

burning　image？



Marry　her；　of　course？Why；　no；　not　of　course。　　I　should　think　the

chance　less；　on　the　whole；　that　he　would　be　willing　to　marry　her

than　she　to　marry　him。



There　is　one　other　thing　that　might　happen。　　If　the　interest　he

awakes　in　her　gets　to　be　a　deep　one；　and　yet　has　nothing　of　love　in

it；　she　will　glance　off　from　him　into　some　great　passion　or　other。

All　excitements　run　to　love　in　women　of　a　certainlet　us　not　say

age；　but　youth。　　An　electrical　current　passing　through　a　coil　of

wire　makes　a　magnet　of　a　bar　of　iron　lying　within　it；　but　not

touching　it。　　So　a　woman　is　turned　into　a　love…magnet　by　a　tingling

current　of　life　running　round　her。　　I　should　like　to　see　one　of　them

balanced　on　a　pivot　properly　adjusted；　and　watch　if　she　did　not　turn

so　as　to　point　north　and　south；as　she　would；　if　the　love…currents

are　like　those　of　the　earth　our　mother。



Pray；　do　you　happen　to　remember　Wordsworth's　〃Boy　of　Windermere〃？

This　boy　used　to　put　his　hands　to　his　mouth；　and　shout　aloud；

mimicking　the　hooting　of　the　owls；　who　would　answer　him



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃with　quivering　peals；

　　　　　And　long　halloos　and　screams；　and　echoes　loud

　　　　　Redoubled　and　redoubled。〃



When　they　failed　to　answer　him；　and　he　hung　listening　intently　for

their　voices；　he　would　sometimes　catch　the　faint　sound　of　far

distant　waterfalls；　or　the　whole　scene　around　him　would　imprint

itself　with　new　force　upon　his　perceptions。　Read　the　sonnet；　if

you　please；it　is　Wordsworth　all　over；trivial　in　subject；　solemn

in　style；　vivid　in　description；　prolix　in　detail；　true　meta…

physically；　but　immensely　suggestive　of　〃imagination；〃　to　use　a　mild

term；　when　related　as　an　actual　fact　of　a　sprightly　youngster。

All　I　want　of　it　is　to　enforce　the　principle；　that；　when　the　door　of

the　soul　is　once　opened　to　a　guest；　there　is　no　knowing　who　will

come　in　next。



Our　young　girl　keeps　up　her　early　habit　of　sketching　heads　and

characters。　　Nobody　is；　I　should　think；　more　faithful　and　exact　in

the　drawing　of　the　academical　figures　given　her　as　lessons；　but

there　is　a　perpetual　arabesque　of　fancies　that　runs　round　the　margin

of　her　drawings；　and　there　is　one　book　which　I　know　she　keeps　to　run

riot　in；　where；　if　anywhere；　a　shrewd　eye　would　be　most　likely　to

read　her　thoughts。　　This　book　of　hers　I　mean　to　see；　if　I　can　get　at

it　honorably。



I　have　never　yet　crossed　the　threshold　of　the　Little　Gentleman's

chamber。　　How　he　lives；　when　he　once　gets　within　it；　I　can　only

guess。　　His　hours　are　late；　as　I　have　said；　often；　on　waking　late　in

the　night；　I　see　the　light　through　cracks　in　his　window…shutters　on

the　wall　of　the　house　opposite。　　If　the　times　of　witchcraft　were　not

over；　I　should　be　afraid　to　be　so　close　a　neighbor　to　a　place　from

which　there　come　such　strange　noises。　　Sometimes　it　is　the　dragging

of　something　heavy　over　the　floor；　that　makes　me　shiver　to　hear　it；…

…it　sounds　so　like　what　people　that　kill　other　people　have　to　do　now

and　then。　　Occasionally　I　hear　very　sweet　strains　of　music；whether

of　a　wind　or　stringed　instrument；　or　a　human　voice；　strange　as　it

may　seem；　I　have　often　tried　to　find　out；　but　through　the　partition

I　could　not　be　quite　sure。　　If　I　have　not　heard　a　woman　cry　and

moan；　and　then　again　laugh　as　though　she　would　die　laughing；　I　have

heard　sounds　so　like　them　thatI　am　a　fool　to　confess　itI　have

covered　my　head　with　the　bedclothes；　for　I　have　had　a　fancy　in　my

dreams；　that　I　could　hardly　shake　off　when　I　woke　up；　about　that　so…

called　witch　that　was　his　great…grandmother；　or　whatever　it　was；a

sort　of　fancy　that　she　visited　the　Little　Gentleman；a　young　woman

in　old…fashioned　dress；　with　a　red　ring　round　her　white　neck；not　a

neck…lace；　but　a　dull…stain。



Of　course　you　don't　suppose　that　I　have　any　foolish　superstitions

about　the　matter；I；　the　Professor；　who　have　seen　enough　to　take

all　that　nonsense　out　of　any　man's　head！　　It　is　not　our　beliefs　that

frighten　us　half　so　much　as　our　fancies。　　A　man　not　only　believes；

but　knows　he　runs　a　risk；　whenever　he　steps　into　a　railroad　car；　but

it　does　n't　worry　him　much。　　On　the　other　hand；　carry　that　man

across　a　pasture　a　little　way　from　some　dreary　country…village；　and

show　him　an　old　house　where　there　were　strange　deaths　a　good　many

years　ago；　and　there　are　rumors　of　ugly　spots　on　the　walls；the　old

man　hung　himself　in　the　garret；　that　is　certain；　and　ever　since　the

country…people　have　called　it　〃the　haunted　house；〃the　owners

have　n't　been　able　to　let　it　since　the　last　tenants　left　on　account

of　the　noises；so　it　has　fallen　into　sad　decay；　and　the　moss　grows

on　the　rotten　shingles　of　the　roof；　and　the　clapboards　have　turned

black；　and　the　windows　rattle　like　teeth　that　chatter　with　fear；　and

the　walls　of　the　house　begin　to　lean　as　if　its　knees　were　shaking；

take　the　man　who　did　n't　mind　the　real　risk　of　the　cars　to　that　old

house；　on　some　dreary　November　evening；　and　ask　him　to　sleep　there

alone；how　do　you　think　he　will　like　it？　　He　doesn't　believe　one

word　of　ghosts；but　then　he　knows；　that；　whether　waking　or

sleeping；　his　imagination　will　people　the　haunted　chambers　with

ghostly　images。　　It　is　not　what　we　believe；　as　I　said　before；　that

frightens　us　commonly；　but　what　we　conceive。　　A　principle　that

reaches　a　good　way　if　I　am　not　mistaken。　　I　say；　then；　that；　if

these　odd　sounds　coming　from　the　Little　Gentleman's　chamber

sometimes　make　me　nervous；　so　that　I　cannot　get