the professor(教授)-第62章
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promised； if not blighted； a fertile bearing。 So I bestowed on his
large forehead； and on his cheek—still pale with tears—a proud
and contented kiss； and sent him away comforted。 Yet I saw him
the next day laid on the mound under which Yorke had been
buried； his face covered with his hands； he was melancholy for
some weeks； and more than a year elapsed before he would listen
to any proposal of having another dog。
Victor learns fast。 He must soon go to Eton； where； I suspect；
his first year or two will be utter wretchedness： to leave me； his
mother； and his home； will give his heart an agonized wrench；
then； the fagging will not suit him—but emulation； thirst after
knowledge； the glory of success； will stir and reward him in time。
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The Professor 314
Meantime； I feel in myself a strong repugnance to fix the hour
which will uproot my sole olive branch； and transplant it far from
me； and； when I speak to Frances on the subject； I am heard with
a kind of patient pain； as though I alluded to some fearful
operation； at which her nature shudders； but from which her
fortitude will not permit her to recoil。 The step must； however； be
taken； and it shall be； for； though Frances will not make a milksop
of her son； she will accustom him to a style of treatment； a
forbearance； a congenial tenderness； he will meet with from none
else。 She sees； as I also see； a something in Victor’s temper—a
kind of electrical ardour and power—which emits； now and then；
ominous sparks； Hunsden calls it his spirit； and says it should not
be curbed。 I call it the leaven of the offending Adam； and consider
that it should be； if not whipped out of him； at least soundly
disciplined； and that he will be cheap of any amount of either
bodily or mental suffering which will ground him radically in the
art of self…control。 Frances gives this something in her son’s
marked character no name； but when it appears in the grinding of
his teeth； in the glittering of his eye； in the fierce revolt of feeling
against disappointment； mischance； sudden sorrow； or supposed
injustice； she folds him to her breast； or takes him to walk with her
alone in the wood； then she reasons with him like any philosopher；
and to reason Victor is ever accessible； then she looks at him with
eyes of love； and by love Victor can be infallibly subjugated； but
will reason or love be the weapons with which in future the world
will meet his violence？ Oh； no！ for that flash in his black eye—for
that cloud on his bony brow—for that compression of his
statuesque lips； the lad will some day get blows instead of
blandishments—kicks instead of kisses； then for the fit of mute
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The Professor 315
fury which will sicken his body and madden his soul； then for the
ordeal of merited and salutary suffering； out of which he will come
（I trust） a wiser and a better man。
I see him now； he stands by Hunsden； who is seated on the
lawn under the beech； Hunsden’s hand rests on the boy’s collar；
and he is instilling God knows what principles into his ear。 Victor
looks well just now； for he listens with a sort of smiling interest； he
never looks so like his mother as when he smiles —pity the
sunshine breaks out so rarely！ Victor has a preference for
Hunsden； full as strong as I deem desirable； being considerably
more potent decided； and indiscriminating； than any I ever
entertained for that personage myself。 Frances； too； regards it
with a sort of unexpressed anxiety； while her son leans on
Hunsden’s knee； or rests against his shoulder； she roves with
restless movement round； like a dove guarding its young from a
hovering hawk； she says she wishes Hunsden had children of his
own； for then he would better know the danger of inciting their
pride end indulging their foibles。
Frances approaches my library window； puts aside the
honeysuckle which half covers it； and tells me tea is ready； seeing
that I continue busy she enters the room； comes near me quietly；
and puts her hand on my shoulder。
“Monsieur est trop appliqué。”
“I shall soon have done。”
She draws a chair near； and sits down to wait till I have
finished； her presence is as pleasant to my mind as the perfume of
the fresh hay and spicy flowers； as the glow of the westering sun；
as the repose of the midsummer eve are to my senses。
But Hunsden comes； I hear his step； and there he is； bending
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The Professor 316
through the lattice； from which he has thrust away the woodbine
with unsparing hand； disturbing two bees and a butterfly。
“Crimsworth！ I say； Crimsworth！ take that pen out of his hand；
mistress； and make him lift up his head。”
“Well； Hunsden ？ I hear you。”
“I was at X— yesterday！ your brother Ned is getting richer than
Croesus by railway speculations； they call him in the Piece Hall a
stag of ten； and I have heard from Brown。 M。 and Madame
Vandenhuten and Jean Baptiste talk of coming to see you next
month。 He mentions the Pelets too； he says their domestic
harmony is not the finest in the world； but in business they are
doing ‘on ne peut mieux；’ which circumstance he concludes will be
a sufficient consolation to both for any little crosses in the
affections。 Why don’t you invite the Pelets to —shire； Crimsworth？
I should so like to see your first flame； Zoraide。 Mistress； don’t be
jealous； but he loved that lady to distraction； I know it for a fact。
Brown says she weighs twelve stones now； you see what you’ve
lost； Mr。 Professor。 Now； Monsieur and Madame； if you don’t come
to tea； Victor and I will begin without you。”
“Papa； come！”
The End
Charlotte Bronte ElecBook Classics
