the angel and the author-第7章

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necks。

In　their　houses　they　keep　the　double　windows　hermetically　sealed　for　
three　or　four　months　at　a　time：　　and　the　hot　air　quivering　about　the　
stoves　scorches　your　face　if　you　venture　nearer　to　it　than　a　yard。　　
Travel　can　broaden　the　mind。　　It　can　also　suggest　to　the　Britisher　
that　in　some　respects　his　countrymen　are　nothing　near　so　silly　as　
they　are　supposed　to　be。　　There　was　a　time　when　I　used　to　sit　with　my　
legs　stretched　out　before　the　English　coal　fire　and　listen　with　
respectful　attention　while　people　who　I　thought　knew　all　about　it　
explained　to　me　how　wicked　and　how　wasteful　were　our　methods。

All　the　heat　from　that　fire；　they　told　me；　was　going　up　the　chimney。　　
I　did　not　like　to　answer　them　that　notwithstanding　I　felt　warm　and　
cosy。　　I　feared　it　might　be　merely　British　stupidity　that　kept　me　
warm　and　cosy；　not　the　fire　at　all。　　How　could　it　be　the　fire？　　The　
heat　from　the　fire　was　going　up　the　chimney。　　It　was　the　glow　of　
ignorance　that　was　making　my　toes　tingle。　　Besides；　if　by　sitting　
close　in　front　of　the　fire　and　looking　hard　at　it；　I　did　contrive；　by　
hypnotic　suggestion；　maybe；　to　fancy　myself　warm；　what　should　I　feel　
like　at　the　other　end　of　the　room？

It　seemed　like　begging　the　question　to　reply　that　I　had　no　particular　
use　for　the　other　end　of　the　room；　that　generally　speaking　there　was　
room　enough　about　the　fire　for　all　the　people　I　really　cared　for；　
that　sitting　altogether　round　the　fire　seemed　quite　as　sensible　as　
sulking　by　one's　self　in　a　corner　the　other　end　of　the　room；　that　the　
fire　made　a　cheerful　and　convenient　focus　for　family　and　friends。　　
They　pointed　out　to　me　how　a　stove；　blocking　up　the　centre　of　the　
room；　with　a　dingy　looking　fluepipe　wandering　round　the　ceiling；　
would　enable　us　to　sit　ranged　round　the　walls；　like　patients　in　a　
hospital　waiting…room；　and　use　up　coke　and　potato…peelings。

Since　then　I　have　had　practical　experience　of　the　scientific　stove。　　
I　want　the　old…fashioned；　unsanitary；　wasteful；　illogical；　open　
fireplace。　　I　want　the　heat　to　go　up　the　chimney；　instead　of　stopping　
in　the　room　and　giving　me　a　headache；　and　making　everything　go　round。　　
When　I　come　in　out　of　the　snow　I　want　to　see　a　firesomething　that　
says　to　me　with　a　cheerful　crackle；　〃Hallo；　old　man；　cold　outside；　
isn't　it？　　Come　and　sit　down。　　Come　quite　close　and　warm　your　hands。　　
That's　right；　put　your　foot　under　him　and　persuade　him　to　move　a　yard　
or　two。　　That's　all　he's　been　doing　for　the　last　hour；　lying　there　
roasting　himself；　lazy　little　devil。　　He'll　get　softening　of　the　
spine；　that's　what　will　happen　to　him。　　Put　your　toes　on　the　fender。　　
The　tea　will　be　here　in　a　minute。〃

＇My　British　Stupidity。＇

I　want　something　that　I　can　toast　my　back　against；　while　standing　
with　coat　tails　tucked　up　and　my　hands　in　my　pockets；　explaining　
things　to　people。　　I　don't　want　a　comfortless；　staring；　white　thing；　
in　a　corner　of　the　room；　behind　the　sofaa　thing　that　looks　and　
smells　like　a　family　tomb。　　It　may　be　hygienic；　and　it　may　be　hot；　
but　it　does　not　seem　to　do　me　any　good。　　It　has　its　advantages：　　it　
contains　a　cupboard　into　which　you　can　put　things　to　dry。　　You　can　
also　forget　them；　and　leave　them　there。　　Then　people　complain　of　a　
smell　of　burning；　and　hope　the　house　is　not　on　fire；　and　you　ease　
their　mind　by　explaining　to　them　that　it　is　probably　only　your　boots。　　
Complicated　internal　arrangements　are　worked　by　a　key。　　If　you　put　on　
too　much　fuel；　and　do　not　work　this　key　properly；　the　thing　explodes。　　
And　if　you　do　not　put　on　any　coal　at　all　and　the　fire　goes　out　
suddenly；　then　likewise　it　explodes。　　That　is　the　only　way　it　knows　
of　calling　attention　to　itself。　　On　the　Continent　you　know　when　the　
fire　wants　seeing　to　merely　by　listening：

〃Sounded　like　the　dining…room；　that　last　explosion；〃　somebody　
remarks。

〃I　think　not；〃　observes　another；　〃I　distinctly　felt　the　shock　behind　
memy　bedroom；　I　expect。〃

Bits　of　ceiling　begin　to　fall；　and　you　notice　that　the　mirror　over　
the　sideboard　is　slowly　coming　towards　you。

〃Why　it　must　be　this　stove；〃　you　say；　〃curious　how　difficult　it　is　to　
locate　sound。〃

You　snatch　up　the　children　and　hurry　out　of　the　room。　　After　a　while；　
when　things　have　settled　down；　you　venture　to　look　in　again。　　Maybe　
it　was　only　a　mild　explosion。　　A　ten…pound　note　and　a　couple　of　
plumbers　in　the　house　for　a　week　will　put　things　right　again。　　They　
tell　me　they　are　economical；　these　German　stoves；　but　you　have　got　to　
understand　them。　　I　think　I　have　learnt　the　trick　of　them　at　last：　　
and　I　don't　suppose；　all　told；　it　has　cost　me　more　than　fifty　pounds。　　
And　now　I　am　trying　to　teach　the　rest　of　the　family。　　What　I　complain　
about　the　family　is　that　they　do　not　seem　anxious　to　learn。

〃You　do　it；〃　they　say；　pressing　the　coal　scoop　into　my　hand：　　〃it　
makes　us　nervous。〃

It　is　a　pretty；　patriarchal　idea：　　I　stand　between　the　trusting；　
admiring　family　and　these　explosive　stoves　that　are　the　terror　of　
their　lives。　　They　gather　round　me　in　a　group　and　watch　me；　the　
capable；　all…knowing　Head　who　fears　no　foreign　stove。　　But　there　are　
days　when　I　get　tired　of　going　round　making　up　fires。

Nor　is　it　sufficient　to　understand　only　one　particular　stove。　　The　
practical　foreigner　prides　himself　upon　having　various　stoves；　
adapted　to　various　work。　　Hitherto　I　have　been　speaking　only　of　the　
stove　supposed　to　be　best　suited　to　reception　rooms　and　bedrooms。　　
The　hall　is　provided　with　another　sort　of　stove　altogether：　　an　iron　
stove　this；　that　turns　up　its　nose　at　coke　and　potato…peelings。　　If　
you　give　it　anything　else　but　the　best　coal　it　explodes。　　It　is　like　
living　surrounded　by　peppery　old　colonels；　trying　to　pass　a　peaceful　
winter　among　these　passionate　stoves。　　There　is　a　stove　in　the　
kitchen　to　be　used　only　for　roasting：　　this　one　will　not　look　at　
anything　else　but　wood。　　Give　it　a　bit　of　coal；　meaning　to　be　kind；　
and　before　you　are　out　of　the　room　it　has　exploded。

Then　there　is　a　trick　stove　specially　popular　in　Belgium。　　It　has　a　
little　door　at　the　top　and　another　little　door　at　the　bottom；　and　
looks　like　a　pepper…caster。　　Whether　it　is　happy　or　not　depends　upon　
those　two　little　doors。　　There　are　times　when　it　feels　it　wants　the　
bottom　door　shut　and　the　top　door　open；　or　vice　versa；　or　both　open　
at　the　same　time；　or　both　shutit　is　a　fussy　little　stove。

Ordinary　intelligence　does　not　help　you　much　with　this　stove。　　You　
want　to　be　bred　in　the　country。　　It　is　a　question　of　instinct：　　you　
have　to　have　Belgian　blood　in　your　veins　to　get　on　comfortably　with　
it。　　On　the　whole；　it　is　a　mild　little　stove；　this　Belgian　pet。　　It　
does　not　often　explode：　　it　only　gets　angry；　and　throws　its　cover　
into　the　air；　and　flings　hot　coals　about　the　room。　　It　lives；　
generally　speaking；　inside　an　iron　cupboard　with　two　doors。　　When　you　
want　it；　you　open　these　doors；　and　pull　it　out　into　the　room。　　It　
works　on　a　swivel。　　And　when　you　don't　want　it　you　try　to　push　it　
back　again；　and　then　the　whole　thing　tumbles　over；　and　the　girl　
throws　her　hands　up　to　Heaven　and　says；　〃Mon　Dieu！〃　and　screams　for　
the　cook　and　the　femme　journee；　and　they　all　three　say　〃Mon　Dieu！〃　
and　fall　upon　it　with　buckets　of　water。　　By　the　time　everything　has　
been　extinguished　you　have　made　up　your　mind　to　substitute　for　it　
just　the　ordinary　explosive　stove　to　which　you　are　accustomed。

＇I　am　considered　Cold　and　Mad。＇

In　your　own　house　you　can；　of　course；　open　the　windows；　and　thus　
defeat　the　foreign　stove。　　The　rest　of　the　street　thinks　you　mad；　but　
then　the　Englishman　is　considered　by　all　foreigners　to　be　always　mad。　　
It　is　his　privilege　to　be　mad。　　The　street　thinks　no　worse　of　you　
than　it　did　before；　and　you　can　breathe　in　comfort。　　But　in　the　
railway　carriage　they　don't　allow　you　to　be　mad。　　In　Europe；　unless　
you　are　prepared　to　draw　at　sight　upon　the　other　passengers；　throw　
the　conductor　out　of　the　window；　and　take　the　train　in　by　yourself；　
it　is　useless　arguing　the　question　of　fresh　air。　　The　rule　abroad　is　
that　if　any　one　man　objects　to　the　window　being　open；　the　window　
remains　closed。　　He　does　not　quarrel　with　you：　　he　rings　the　bell；　
and　points　out　to　the　conductor　that　the　temperature　of　the　carriage　
has　sunk　to　little　more　than　ninety　degrees；　Fahrenheit。　　He　thinks　a　
window　must　be　open。

The　conductor　is　generally　an　old　soldier：　　he　understands　being　
shot；　he　understands　being　thrown　out　of　window；　but　not　the　laws　of　
sanitation。　　If；　as　I　have　explained；　you　shoot　him；　or　throw　him　out　
on　the　permanent　way；　that　convinces　him。　　He　leaves　you　to　discuss　
the　matter　with　the　second　conductor；　who；　by　your　action；　has　now；　
of　course；　become　the　first　conductor。　　As　there　are　generally　half　a　
dozen　of　these　conductors　scattered　about　the　train；　the　process　of　
educating　them　becomes　monotonous。　　You　generally　end　by　submitting　
to　the　law。

Unless　you　happen　to　be　an　American　woman。　　Never　did　my　heart　go　out　
more　gladly　to　America　as　a　nation　than　one　spring　day　travelling　
from　Berne　to　Vevey。　　We　had　been　sitting　for　an　hour　in　an　
atmosphere　that　would　have　rendered　a　Dante　disinclined　to　notice　
things。　　Dante；　after　ten　minutes　in　that　atmosphere；　would　have　lost　
all　interest　in　the　show。　　He　would　not　have　asked　questions。　　He　
would　have　whispered　to　Virgil：

〃Get　me　out　of　this；　old　man；　there's　a　good　fellow！〃

＇Sometimes　I　wish　I　were　an　American　Woman。＇

The　carriage　was　crowded；　chiefly　with　Germans。　　Every　window　was　
closed；　every　ventilator　shut。　　The　hot　air　quivered　round　our　feet　　
Seventeen　men　and　four　women　were　smoking；　two　children　were　sucking　
peppermints；　and　an　old　married　couple　were　eating　their　lunch；　
consisting　chiefly　of　garlic。　　At　a　junction；　the　door　was　thrown　
open。　　The　foreigner　opens　the　door　a　little　way；　glides　in；　and　
closes　it　behind　him。　　This　was　not　a　foreigner；　but　an　American　
lady；　en　voyage；　accompanied　by　five　other　American　ladies。　　They　
marched　in　carrying　packages。　　They　could　not　find　six　seats　
together；　so　they　scattered　up　and　down　the　carriage。　　The　first　
thing　that　each　woman　did；　the　moment　she　could　get　her　hands　free；　
was　to　dash　for　the　nearest　window　and　haul　it　down。

〃Astonishes　me；〃　said　the　first　woman；　〃that　somebody　is　not　dead　in　
this　carriage。〃

Their　idea；　I　think；　was　that　through　asphyxiation　we　had　become　
comatose；　and；　but　for　their　entrance；　would　have　died　unconscious。

〃It　is　a　current　of　air　that　is　wanted；〃　said　another　of　the　ladies。

So　they　opened　the　door　at　the　front　of　the　carriage　and　four　of　them　
stood　outside　on　the　platform；　chatting　pleasantly　and　admiring　the　
scenery；　while　two　of　them　opened　the　door　at　the　other　end；　and　took　
photographs　of　the　Lake　of　Geneva。　　The　carriage　rose　and　cursed　them　
in　six　languages。　　Bells　were　rung：　　conductors　came　flying　in。　　It　
was　all　of　no　use。　　Those　American　ladies　were　cheerful　but　firm。　　
They　argued　with　volubility：　　they　argued　standing　in　the　open　
doorway。　　The　conductors；　familiar；　no　doubt；　with　the　American　lady　
and　her　ways；　shrugged　their　shoulders　and　retired。　　The　other　
passengers　undid　their　bags　and　bu