the professor(教授)-第55章
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rationality should feel enthusiasm about a mere name； and that
name England？ I thought you were a lady…abbess five minutes
ago； and respected you accordingly； and now I see you are a sort of
Swiss sibyl； with high Tory and high Church principles！”
“England is your country？” asked Frances。
“Yes。”
“And you don’t like it？”
“I’d be sorry to like it！ A little corrupt； venal； lord…and…king…
cursed nation； full or mucky pride （as they say in —…shire）； and
helpless pauperism； rotten with abuses； worm…eaten with
prejudices！”
“You might say so of almost every state； there are abuses and
prejudices everywhere； and I thought fewer in England than in
other countries。”
“Come to England and see。 Come to Birmingham and
Manchester； come to St。 Giles’ in London； and get a practical
notion of how our system works。 Examine the footprints of our
august aristocracy； see how they walk in blood； crushing hearts as
they go。 Just put your head in at English cottage doors； get a
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glimpse of Famine crouched torpid on black hearthstones； of
Disease lying bare on beds without coverlets； of Infamy wantoning
viciously with Ignorance； though indeed Luxury is her favourite
paramour； and princely halls are dearer to her than thatched
hovels—”
“I was not thinking of the wretchedness and vice in England； I
was thinking of the good side—of what is elevated in your
character as a nation。”
“There is no good side—none at least of which you can have
any knowledge； for you cannot appreciate the efforts of industry；
the achievements of enterprise； or the discoveries of science：
narrowness of education and obscurity of position quite
incapacitate you from understanding these points； and as to
historical and poetical associations； I will not insult you；
mademoiselle； by supposing that you alluded to such humbug。”
“But I did partly。”
Hunsden laughed—his laugh of unmitigated scorn。
“I did； Mr。 Hunsden。 Are you of the number of those to whom
such associations give no pleasure？”
“Mademoiselle； what is an association？ I never saw one。 What is
its length； breadth； weight； value—ay； value？ What price will it
bring in the market？”
“Your portrait； to any one who loved you； would； for the sake of
association； be without price。”
That inscrutable Hunsden heard this remark and felt it rather
acutely； too； somewhere； for he coloured—a thing not unusual
with him； when hit unawares on a tender point。 A sort of trouble
momentarily darkened his eye； and I believe he filled up the
transient pause succeeding his antagonist’s home…thrust； by a wish
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that some one did love him as he would like to be loved —some
one whose love he could unreservedly return。
The lady pursued her temporary advantage。
“If your world is a world without associations； Mr。 Hunsden； I
no longer wonder that you hate England so。 I don’t clearly know
what Paradise is； and what angels are； yet taking it to be the most
glorious region I can conceive； and angels the most elevated
existences—if one of them—if Abdiel the Faithful himself” （she
was thinking of Milton） “were suddenly stripped of the faculty of
association； I think he would soon rush forth from ‘the ever…during
gates；’ leave heaven； and seek what he had lost in hell。 Yes； in the
very hell from which he turned ‘with retorted scorn。’”
Frances’ tone in saying this was as marked as her language； and
it was when the word “hell” twanged off from her lips； with a
somewhat startling emphasis； that Hunsden deigned to bestow
one slight glance of admiration。 He liked something strong；
whether in man or woman； he liked whatever dared to clear
conventional limits。 He had never before heard a lady say “hell”
with that uncompromising sort of accent； and the sound pleased
him from a lady’s lips； he would fain have had Frances to strike
the string again； but it was not in her way。 The display of eccentric
vigour never gave her pleasure； and it only sounded in her voice or
flashed in her countenance when extraordinary circumstances —
and those generally painful—forced it out of the depths where it
burned latent。 To me； once or twice； she had in intimate
conversation； uttered venturous thoughts in nervous language；
but when the hour of such manifestation was past； I could not
recall it； it came of itself and of itself departed。 Hunsden’s
excitations she put by soon with a smile； and recurring to the
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theme of disputation； said—
“Since England is nothing； why do the continental nations
respect her so？”
“I should have thought no child would have asked that
question；” replied Hunsden； who never at any time gave
information without reproving for stupidity those who asked it of
him。 “If you had been my pupil； as I suppose you once had the
misfortune to be that of a deplorable character not a hundred
miles off； I would have put you in the corner for such a confession
of ignorance。 Why； mademoiselle； can’t you see that it is our gold
which buys us French politeness； German good…will； and Swiss
servility？” And he sneered diabolically。
“Swiss？” said Frances； catching the word “servility。” “Do you
call my countrymen servile？” and she started up。 I could not
suppress a low laugh； there was ire in her glance and defiance in
her attitude。 “Do you abuse Switzerland to me； Mr。 Hunsden？ Do
you think I have no associations？ Do you calculate that I am
prepared to dwell only on what vice and degradation may be
found in Alpine villages； and to leave quite out of my heart the
social greatness of my countrymen； and our blood…earned
freedom； and the natural glories of our mountains？ You’re
mistaken—you’re mistaken。”
“Social greatness？ Call it what you will； your countrymen are
sensible fellows； they make a marketable article of what to you is
an abstract idea； they have； ere this； sold their social greatness and
also their blood…earned freedom to be the servants of foreign
kings。”
“You never were in Switzerland？”
“Yes—I have been there twice。”
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“You know nothing of it。”
“I do。”
“And you say the Swiss are mercenary； as a parrot says ‘Poor
Poll；’ or as the Belgians here say the English are not brave； or as
the French accuse them of being perfidious： there is no justice in
your dictums。”
“There is truth。”
“I tell you； Mr。 Hunsden； you are a more unpractical man than I
am an unpractical woman； for you don’t acknowledge what really
exists； you want to annihilate individual patriotism and national
greatness as an atheist would annihilate God and his own soul； by
denying their existence。”
“Where are you flying to？ You are off at a tangent—I thought
we were talking about the mercenary nature of the Swiss。”
“We were—and if you proved to me that the Swiss are
mercenary to…morrow （which you cannot do） I should love
Switzerland still。”
“You would be mad； then—mad as a March hare—to indulge in
a passion for millions of shiploads of soil； timber； snow； and ice。”
“Not so mad as you who love nothing。”
“There’s a method in my madness； there’s none in yours。”
“Your method is to squeeze the sap out of creation and make
manure of the refuse； by way of turning it to what you call use。”
“You cannot reason at all；” said Hunsden； “there is no logic in
you。”
“Better to be without logic than without feeling；” retorted
Frances； who was now passing backwards and forwards from her
cupboard to the table； intent； if not on hospitable thoughts； at least
on hospitable deeds； for she was laying the cloth； and putting
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plates； knives and forks thereon。
“Is that a hit at me； mademoiselle？ Do you suppose I am
without feeling ？”
“I suppose you are always interfering with your own feelings；
and those of other people； and dogmatizing about the irrationality
of this； that； and the other sentiment； and then ordering it to be
suppressed because you imagine it to be inconsistent with logic。”
“I do right。”
Frances had stepped out of sight into a sort of little pantry； she
soon reappeared。
“You do right？ Indeed； no！ You are much mistaken if you think
so。 Just be so good as to let me get to the fire； Mr。 Hunsden； I have
something to cook。” （An interval occupied in settling a casserole
on the fire； th
