the professor(教授)-第61章
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Hunsden smiled。
“I think so；” he replied。 “All was real in Lucia。”
“And she was somebody you would have liked to marry—but
could not？”
“I should certainly have liked to marry her； and that I have not
done so is a proof that I could not。”
He repossessed himself of the miniature； now again in Frances’
hand； and put it away。
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“What do you think of it？” he asked of my wife； as he buttoned
his coat over it。
“I am sure Lucia once wore chains and broke them；” was the
strange answer。 “I do not mean matrimonial chains；” she added；
correcting herself； as if she feared misinterpretation； “but social
chains of some sort。 The face is that of one who has made an effort；
and a successful and triumphant effort； to wrest some vigorous
and valued faculty from insupportable constraint； and when
Lucia’s faculty got free； I am certain it spread wide pinions and
carried her higher than—” she hesitated。
“Than what？” demanded Hunsden。
“Than ‘les convenances’ permitted you to follow。”
“I think you grow spiteful—impertinent。”
“Lucia has trodden the stage；” continued Frances。 “You never
seriously thought of marrying her； you admired her originality；
her fearlessness； her energy of body and mind； you delighted in
her talent； whatever that was； whether song； dance； or dramatic
representation； you worshipped her beauty； which was of the sort
after your own heart： but I am sure she filled a sphere from
whence you would never have thought of taking a wife。”
“Ingenious；” remarked Hunsden； “whether true or not is
another question。 Meantime； don’t you feel your little lamp of a
spirit wax very pale； beside such a girandole as Lucia’s？”
“Yes。”
“Candid； at least； and the Professor will soon be dissatisfied
with the dim light you give？”
“Will you； monsieur？”
“My sight was always too weak to endure a blaze； Frances；” and
we had now reached the wicket。
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I said； a few pages back； that this is a sweet summer evening； it
is—there has been a series of lovely days； and this is the loveliest；
the hay is just carried from my fields； its perfume still lingers in
the air。 Frances proposed to me； an hour or two since； to take tea
out on the lawn； I see the round table； loaded with china； placed
under a certain beech； Hunsden is expected—nay； I hear he is
come—there is his voice； laying down the law on some point with
authority； that of Frances replies； she opposes him of course。 They
are disputing about Victor； of whom Hunsden affirms that his
mother is making a milksop。 Mrs。 Crimsworth retaliates：—
“Better a thousand times he should be a milksop than what he；
Hunsden； calls ‘a fine lad；’ and moreover she says that if Hunsden
were to become a fixture in the neighbourhood； and were not a
mere comet； coming and going； no one knows how； when； where；
or why； she should be quite uneasy till she had got Victor away to
a school at least a hundred miles off； for that with his mutinous
maxims and unpractical dogmas； he would ruin a score of
children。”
I have a word to say of Victor ere I shut this manuscript in my
desk—but it must be a brief one； for I hear the tinkle of silver on
porcelain。
Victor is as little of a pretty child as I am of a handsome man； or
his mother of a fine woman； he is pale and spare； with large eyes；
as dark as those of Frances； and as deeply set as mine。 His shape is
symmetrical enough； but slight； his health is good。 I never saw a
child smile less than he does； nor one who knits such a formidable
brow when sitting over a book that interests him； or while
listening to tales of adventure； peril； or wonder； narrated by his
mother； Hunsden； or myself。 But though still； he is not unhappy—
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though serious； not morose； he has a susceptibility to pleasurable
sensations almost too keen； for it amounts to enthusiasm。 He
learned to read in the old…fashioned way out of a spelling…book at
his mother’s knee； and as he got on without driving by that
method； she thought it unnecessary to buy him ivory letters； or to
try any of the other inducements to learning now deemed
indispensable。 When he could read； he became a glutton of books；
and is so still。 His toys have been few； and he has never wanted
more。 For those he possesses； he seems to have contracted a
partiality amounting to affection； this feeling； directed towards one
or two living animals of the house； strengthens almost to a passion。
Mr。 Hunsden gave him a mastiff cub； which he called Yorke；
after the donor； it grew to a superb dog； whose fierceness；
however； was much modified by the companionship and caresses
of its young master。 He would go nowhere； do nothing without
Yorke； Yorke lay at his feet while he learned his lessons； played
with him in the garden； walked with him in the lane and wood； sat
near his chair at meals； was fed always by his own hand； was the
first thing he sought in the morning； the last he left at night。 Yorke
accompanied Mr。 Hunsden one day to X—； and was bitten in the
street by a dog in a rabid state。 As soon as Hunsden had brought
him home； and had informed me of the circumstance； I went into
the yard and shot him where he lay licking his wound： he was
dead in an instant； he had not seen me level the gun； I stood
behind him。 I had scarcely been ten minutes in the house； when
my ear was struck with sounds of anguish： I repaired to the yard
once more； for they proceeded thence。 Victor was kneeling beside
his dead mastiff； bent over it； embracing its bull…like neck； and lost
in a passion of the wildest woe： he saw me。
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“Oh； papa； I’ll never forgive you！ I’ll never forgive you！” was his
exclamation。 “You shot Yorke—I saw it from the window。 I never
believed you could be so cruel—I can love you no more！”
I had much ado to explain to him； with a steady voice； the stern
necessity of the deed； he still； with that inconsolable and bitter
accent which I cannot render； but which pierced my heart；
repeated—
“He might have been cured—you should have tried—you
should have burnt the wound with a hot iron； or covered it with
caustic。 You gave no time； and now it is too late—he is dead！”
He sank fairly down on the senseless carcase； I waited patiently
a long while； till his grief had somewhat exhausted him； and then I
lifted him in my arms and carried him to his mother； sure that she
would comfort him best。 She had witnessed the whole scene from
a window； she would not come out for fear of increasing my
difficulties by her emotion； but she was ready now to receive him。
She took him to her kind heart； and on to her gentle lap； consoled
him but with her lips； her eyes； her soft embrace； for some time；
and then； when his sobs diminished； told him that Yorke had felt
no pain in dying； and that if he had been left to expire naturally；
his end would have been most horrible； above all； she told him
that I was not cruel （for that idea seemed to give exquisite pain to
poor Victor）； that it was my affection for Yorke and him which had
made me act so； and that I was now almost heart…broken to see
him weep thus bitterly。
Victor would have been no true son of his father； had these
considerations； these reasons； breathed in so low； so sweet a
tone—married to caresses so benign； so tender—to looks so
inspired with pitying sympathy—produced no effect on him。 They
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did produce an effect： he grew calmer； rested his face on her
shoulder； and lay still in her arms。 Looking up； shortly； he asked
his mother to tell him over again what she had said about Yorke
having suffered no pain； and my not being cruel； the balmy words
being repeated； he again pillowed his cheek on her breast； and
was again tranquil。
Some hours after； he came to me in my library； asked if I
forgave him； and desired to be reconciled。 I drew the lad to my
side； and there I kept him a good while； and had much talk with
him； in the course of which he disclosed many points of feeling
and thought I approved of in my son。 I found； it is true； few
elements of the “good fellow” or the “fine fellow” in him； scant
sparkles of the spirit which loves to flash over the wine cup； or
which kindles the passions to a destroying fire； but I saw in the
soil of his heart healthy and swelling germs of compassion；
affection； fidelity。 I discovered in the garden of his intellect a rich
growth of wholesome principles—reason； justice； moral courage；
promised； if not blighted； a fertile bearing。 So I bestowed on his
