short stories and essays-第2章

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again　to　Janssen　and　Marina；　by　way　of　the　coke…cart。　　The　thought　of
them　rapt　me　so　far　from　the　druggist　that　I　listened　to　his　answer　with
a　glazing　eye；　and　did　not　know　what　he　said。　　My　hands　had　now　got　warm；
and　I　bade　him　good…morning　with　a　parting　regret；　which　he　civilly
shared；　that　he　had　not　the　thing　I　had　not　wanted；　and　I　pushed　out
again　into　the　cold；　which　I　found　not　so　bad　as　before。

My　hero　and　heroine　were　waiting　for　me　there；　and　I　saw　that　to　be　truly
modern；　to　be　at　once　realistic　and　mystical；　to　have　both　delicacy　and
strength；　I　must　not　let　them　get　further　acquainted　with　each　other。
The　affair　must　simply　go　on　from　day　to　day；　till　one　morning　Jan　must
note　that　it　was　again　the　grandmother　and　no　longer　the　girl　who　was
following　his　cart。　　She　must　be　very　weak　from　a　long　sicknessI　was
not　sure　whether　to　have　it　the　grippe　or　not；　but　I　decided　upon　that
provisionally　and　she　must　totter　after　Janssen；　so　that　he　must　get　down
after　a　while　to　speak　to　her　under　pretence　of　arranging　the　tail…board
of　his　cart；　or　something　of　that　kind；　I　did　not　care　for　the　detail。
They　should　get　into　talk　in　the　broken　English　which　was　the　only
language　they　could　have　in　common；　and　she　should　burst　into　tears；　and
tell　him　that　now　Nina　was　sick；　I　imagined　making　this　very　simple；　but
very　touching；　and　I　really　made　it　so　touching　that　it　brought　the　lump
into　my　own　throat；　and　I　knew　it　would　be　effective　with　the　reader。
Then　I　had　Jan　get　back　upon　his　cart；　and　drive　stolidly　on　again；　and
the　old　woman　limp　feebly　after。

There　should　not　be　any　more；　I　decided；　except　that　one　very　cold
morning；　like　that；　Jan　should　be　driving　through　that　street；　and　should
be　passing　the　door　of　the　tenement　house　where　Nina　had　lived；　just　as　a
little　procession　should　be　issuing　from　it。　　The　fact　must　be　told　in
brief　sentences；　with　a　total　absence　of　emotionality。　　The　last　touch
must　be　Jan's　cart　turning　the　street　corner　with　Jan's　figure　sharply
silhouetted　against　the　clear；　cold　morning　light。　　Nothing　more。

But　it　was　at　this　point　that　another　notion　came　into　my　mind；　so　antic；
so　impish；　so　fiendish；　that　if　there　were　still　any　Evil　One；　in　a　world
which　gets　on　so　poorly　without　him；　I　should　attribute　it　to　his
suggestion；　and　this　was　that　the　procession　which　Jan　saw　issuing　from
the　tenement…house　door　was　not　a　funeral　procession；　as　the　reader　will
have　rashly　fancied；　but　a　wedding　procession；　with　Nina　at　the　head　of
it；　quite　well　again；　and　going　to　be　married　to　the　little　brown　youth
with　ear…rings　who　had　long　had　her　heart。

With　a　truly　perverse　instinct；　I　saw　how　strong　this　might　be　made；　at
the　fond　reader's　expense；　to　be　sure；　and　how　much　more　pathetic；　in
such　a　case；　the　silhouetted　figure　on　the　coke…cart　would　really　be。
I　should；　of　course；　make　it　perfectly　plain　that　no　one　was　to　blame；
and　that　the　whole　affair　had　been　so　tacit　on　Jan's　part　that　Nina　might
very　well　have　known　nothing　of　his　feeling　for　her。　　Perhaps　at　the　very
end　I　might　subtly　insinuate　that　it　was　possible　he　might　have　had　no
such　feeling　towards　her　as　the　reader　had　been　led　to　imagine。




III。

The　question　as　to　which　ending　I　ought　to　have　given　my　romance　is　what
has　ever　since　remained　to　perplex　me；　and　it　is　what　has　prevented　my
ever　writing　it。　　Here　is　material　of　the　best　sort　lying　useless　on　my
hands；　which；　if　I　could　only　make　up　my　mind；　might　be　wrought　into　a
short　story　as　affecting　as　any　that　wring　our　hearts　in　fiction；　and　I
think　I　could　get　something　fairly　unintelligible　out　of　the　broken
English　of　Jan　and　Nina's　grandmother；　and　certainly　something　novel。
All　that　I　can　do　now；　however；　is　to　put　the　case　before　the　reader；　and
let　him　decide　for　himself　how　it　should　end。

The　mere　humanist；　I　suppose；　might　say；　that　I　am　rightly　served　for
having　regarded　the　fact　I　had　witnessed　as　material　for　fiction　at　all；
that　I　had　no　business　to　bewitch　it　with　my　miserable　art；　that　I　ought
to　have　spoken　to　that　little　child　and　those　poor　old　women；　and　tried
to　learn　something　of　their　lives　from　them；　that　I　might　offer　my
knowledge　again　for　the　instruction　of　those　whose　lives　are　easy　and
happy　in　the　indifference　which　ignorance　breeds　in　us。　　I　own　there　is
something　in　this；　but　then；　on　the　other　hand；　I　have　heard　it　urged　by
nice　people　that　they　do　not　want　to　know　about　such　squalid　lives；　that
it　is　offensive　and　out　of　taste　to　be　always　bringing　them　in；　and　that
we　ought　to　be　writing　about　good　society；　and　especially　creating
grandes　dames　for　their　amusement。　　This　sort　of　people　could　say　to　the
humanist　that　he　ought　to　be　glad　there　are　coke…carts　for　fuel　to　fall
off　from　for　the　lower　classes；　and　that　here　was　no　case　for　sentiment；
for　if　one　is　to　be　interested　in　such　things　at　all；　it　must　be
aesthetically；　though　even　this　is　deplorable　in　the　presence　of　fiction
already　overloaded　with　low　life；　and　so　poor　in　grades　dames　as　ours。






SUMMER　ISLES　OF　EDEN

It　may　be　all　an　illusion　of　the　map；　where　the　Summer　Islands　glimmer　a
small　and　solitary　little　group　of　dots　and　wrinkles；　remote　from
continental　shores；　with　a　straight　line　descending　southeastwardly　upon
them；　to　show　how　sharp　and　swift　the　ship's　course　is；　but　they　seem　so
far　and　alien　from　my　wonted　place　that　it　is　as　if　I　had　slid　down　a
steepy　slant　from　the　home…planet　to　a　group　of　asteroids　nebulous
somewhere　in　middle　space；　and　were　resting　there；　still　vibrant　from　the
rush　of　the　meteoric　fall。　　There　were；　of　course；　facts　and　incidents
contrary　to　such　a　theory：　a　steamer　starting　from　New　York　in　the　raw
March　morning；　and　lurching　and　twisting　through　two　days　of　diagonal
seas；　with　people　aboard　dining　and　undining；　and　talking　and　smoking　and
cocktailing　and　hot…scotching　and　beef…teaing；　but　when　the　ship　came　in
sight　of　the　islands；　and　they　began　to　lift　their　cedared　slopes　from
the　turquoise　waters；　and　to　explain　their　drifted　snows　as　the　white
walls　and　white　roofs　of　houses；　then　the　waking　sense　became　the
dreaming　sense；　and　the　sweet　impossibility　of　that　drop　through　air
became　the　sole　reality。




I。

Everything　here；　indeed；　is　so　strange　that　you　placidly　accept　whatever
offers　itself　as　the　simplest　and　naturalest　fact。　　Those　low　hills；　that
climb；　with　their　tough；　dark　cedars；　from　the　summer　sea　to　the　summer
sky；　might　have　drifted　down　across　the　Gulf　Stream　from　the　coast　of
Maine；　but　when；　upon　closer　inspection；　you　find　them　skirted　with　palms
and　bananas；　and　hedged　with　oleanders；　you　merely　wonder　that　you　had
never　noticed　these　growths　in　Maine　before；　where　you　were　so　familiar
with　the　cedars。　　The　hotel　itself；　which　has　brought　the　Green　Mountains
with　it；　in　every　detail；　from　the　dormer…windowed　mansard…roof；　and　the
white…painted；　green…shuttered　walls；　to　the　neat；　school…mistressly
waitresses　in　the　dining…room；　has　a　clump　of　palmettos　beside　it；
swaying　and　sighing　in　the　tropic　breeze；　and　you　know　that　when　it
migrates　back　to　the　New　England　hill…country；　at　the　end　of　the　season；
you　shall　find　it　with　the　palmettos　still　before　its　veranda；　and
equally　at　home；　somewhere　in　the　Vermont　or　New　Hampshire　July。　　There
will　be　the　same　American　groups　looking　out　over　them；　and　rocking　and
smoking；　though；　alas！　not　so　many　smoking　as　rocking。

But　where；　in　that　translation；　would　be　the　gold　braided　red　or　blue
jackets　of　the　British　army　and　navy　which　lend　their　lustre　and　color
here　to　the　veranda　groups？　　Where　should　one　get　the　house　walls　of
whitewashed　stone　and　the　garden　walls　which　everywhere　glow　in　the　sun；
and　belt　in　little　spaces　full　of　roses　and　lilies？　　These　things　must
come　from　some　other　association；　and　in　the　case　of　him　who　here
confesses；　the　lustrous　uniforms　and　the　glowing　walls　rise　from　waters
as　far　away　in　time　as　in　space；　and　a　long…ago　apparition　of　Venetian
Junes　haunts　the　coral　shore。　　（They　are　beginning　to　say　the　shore　is
not　coral；　but　no　matter。）　　To　be　sure；　the　white　roofs　are　not　accounted
for　in　this　visionary　presence；　and　if　one　may　not　relate　them　to　the
snowfalls　of　home　winters；　then　one　must　frankly　own　them　absolutely
tropical；　together　with　the　green…pillared　and　green…latticed　galleries。
They　at　least　suggest　the　tropical　scenery　of　Prue　and　I　as　one　remembers
seeing　it　through　Titbottom's　spectacles；　and　yet；　if　one　supplies　roofs
of　brown…red　tiles；　it　is　all　Venetian　enough；　with　the　lagoon…like
expanses　that　lend　themselves　to　the　fond　effect。　　It　is　so　Venetian；
indeed；　that　it　wants　but　a　few　silent　gondolas　and　noisy　gondoliers；
in　place　of　the　dark；　taciturn　oarsmen　of　the　clumsy　native　boats；　to
complete　the　coming　and　going　illusion；　and　there　is　no　good　reason　why
the　rough　little　isles　that　fill　the　bay　should　not　call　themselves
respectively　San　Giorgio　and　San　Clemente；　and　Sant'　Elena　and　San
Lazzaro：　they　probably　have　no　other　names！




II。

These　summer　isles　of　Eden　have　this　advantage　over　the　scriptural　Eden；
that　apparently　it　was　not　woman　and　her　seed　who　were　expelled；　when
once　she　set　foot　here；　but　the　serpent　and　his　seed：　women　now　abound　in
the　Summer　Islands；　and　there　is　not　a　snake　anywhere　to　be　found。　　There
are　some　tortoises　and　a　great　many　frogs　in　their　season；　but　no　other
reptiles。　　The　frogs　are　fabled　of　a　note　so　deep　and　hoarse　that　its
vibration　almost　springs　the　environing　mines　of　dynamite；　though　it　has
never　yet　done　so；　the　tortoises　grow　to　a　great　size　and　a　patriarchal
age；　and　are　fond　of　Boston　brown　bread　and　baked　beans；　if　their
preferences　may　be　judged　from　those　of　a　colossal　specimen　in　the　care
of　an　American　family　living　on　the　islands。　　The　observer　who
contributes　this　fact　to　science　is　able　to　report　the　case　of　a　parrot…
fish；　on　the　same　premises；　so　exactly　like　a　large　brown　and　purple
cockatoo　that；　seeing　such　a　cockatoo　later　on　dry　land；　it　was　with　a
sense　of　something　like　cruelty　in　its　exile　from　its　native　waters。
The　angel…fish　he　thinks　not　so　much　like　angels；　they　are　of　a
transparent　purity　of　substance；　and　a　cherubic　innocence　of　expression；
but　they　terminate　in　two　tails；　which　somehow　will　not　lend　themselves
to　the　resemblance。

Certainly　the　angel…fish　is　not　so　well　named　as　the　parrot…fish；　it
might　better　be　called　the　ghostfish；　it　is　so　like　a　moonbeam　in　the
pools　it　haunts；　and　of　such　a　convertible　quality　with　the　iridescent
vegetable　growths　about　it。　　All　things　here　are　of　a　weird
convertibility　to　the　alien　perception；　and　the　richest　and　rarest　facts
of　nature　lavish　themselves　in　humble　association　with　the　commonest　and
most　familiar。　　You　drive　through　long　stretches　of　wayside　willows；　and
realize　only　now　and　then　that　these　willows　are　thick　clumps　of
oleanders；　and　through　them　you　can　catch　glimpses　of　banana…orchards；
which　look　like　dishevelled　patches　of　gigantic　cornstalks。　　The　fields
of　Easter　lilies　do　not　quite　live　up　to　their　photographs；　they　are
presently　suffering　from　a　mysterious　blight；　and　their　flowers　are　not
frequent　eno