over the teacups- 第15部分

　　　　　And　have　I　coined　my　soul　in　words　for　naught？

　　　　　And　must　I；　with　the　dim；　forgotten　throng

　　　　　Of　silent　ghosts　that　left　no　earthly　trace

　　　　　To　show　they　once　had　breathed　this　vital　air；

　　　　　Die　out；　of　mortal　memories？



His　voice　is　choked　by　his　emotion。　　〃How　is　it　possible；〃　he　says　to

himself；　〃that　any　one　can　read　my　'Gaspings　for　Immortality'　without

being　impressed　by　their　freshness；　their　passion；　their　beauty；

their　originality？〃　　Tears　come　to　his　relief　freely；so　freely　that

be　has　to　push　the　precious　volume　out　of　the　range　of　their

blistering　shower。　　Six　years　ago　〃Gaspings　for　Immortality　〃　was

published；　advertised；　praised　by　the　professionals　whose　business　it

is　to　boost　their　publishers'　authors。　　A　week　and　more　it　was　seen

on　the　counters　of　the　booksellers　and　at　the　stalls　in　the　railroad

stations。　　Then　it　disappeared　from　public　view。　　A　few　copies　still

kept　their　place　on　the　shelves　of　friends；　presentation　copies；　of

course；　as　there　is　no　evidence　that　any　were　disposed　of　by　sale；

and　now；　one　might　as　well　ask　for　the　lost　books　of　Livy　as　inquire

at　a　bookstore　for　〃Gaspings　for　Immortality。〃



The　authors　of　these　poems　are　all　round　us；　men　and　women；　and　no

one　with　a　fair　amount　of　human　sympathy　in　his　disposition　would

treat　them　otherwise　than　tenderly。　　Perhaps　they　do　not　need　tender

treatment。　　How　do　you　know　that　posterity　may　not　resuscitate　these

seemingly　dead　poems；　and　give　their　author　the　immortality　for　which

he　longed　and　labored？　　It　is　not　every　poet　who　is　at　once

appreciated。　　Some　will　tell　you　that　the　best　poets　never　are。　　Who

can　say　that　you；　dear　unappreciated　brother　or　sister；　are　not　one

of　those　whom　it　is　left　for　after　times　to　discover　among　the　wrecks

of　the　past；　and　hold　up　to　the　admiration　of　the　world？



I　have　not　thought　it　necessary　to　put　in　all　the　interpellations；　as

the　French　call　them；　which　broke　the　course　of　this　somewhat

extended　series　of　remarks；　but　the　comments　of　some　of　The　Teacups

helped　me　to　shape　certain　additional　observations；　and　may　seem　to

the　reader　as　of　more　significance　than　what　I　had　been　saying。



Number　Seven　saw　nothing　but　the　folly　and　weakness　of　the　〃rhyming

cranks；〃　as　he　called　them。　　He　thought　the　fellow　that　I　had

described　as　blubbering　over　his　still…born　poems　would　have　been

better　occupied　in　earning　his　living　in　some　honest　way　or　other。

He　knew　one　chap　that　published　a　volume　of　verses；　and　let　his　wife

bring　up　the　wood　for　the　fire　by　which　he　was　writing。　　A　fellow

says；　〃I　am　a　poet！〃　and　he　thinks　himself　different　from　common

folks。　　He　ought　to　be　excused　from　military　service。　　He　might　be

killed；　and　the　world　would　lose　the　inestimable　products　of　his

genius。　　〃I　believe　some　of　'em　think；〃　said　Number　Seven；　〃that　they

ought　not　to　be　called　upon　to　pay　their　taxes　and　their　bills　for

household　expenses；　like　the　rest　of　us。〃



〃If　they　would　only　study　and　take　to　heart　Horace's　'Ars　Poetica；'〃

said　the　Professor；　〃it　would　be　a　great　benefit　to　them　and　to　the

world　at　large。　　I　would　not　advise　you　to　follow　him　too　literally；

of　course；　for；　as　you　will　see；　the　changes　that　have　taken　place

since　his　time　would　make　some　of　his　precepts　useless　and　some

dangerous；　but　the　spirit　of　them　is　always　instructive。　　This　is　the

way；　somewhat　modernized　and　accompanied　by　my　running　commentary；　in

which　he　counsels　a　young　poet：



〃'Don't　try　to　write　poetry；　my　boy；　when　you　are　not　in　the　mood　for

doing　it；when　it　goes　against　the　grain。　　You　are　a　fellow　of

sense；you　understand　all　that。



〃'If　you　have　written　anything　which　you　think　well　of；　show　it　to

Mr。______　；　the　well…known　critic；　to　〃the　governor；〃　as　you　call

him；　your　honored　father；　and　to　me；　your　friend。'



〃To　the　critic　is　well　enough；　if　you　like　to　be　overhauled　and　put

out　of　conceit　with　yourself；it　may　do　you　good；　but　I　wouldn't　go

to　'the　governor'　with　my　verses；　if　I　were　you。　　For　either　he　will

think　what　you　have　written　is　something　wonderful；　almost　as　good　as

he　could　have　written　himself；in　fact；　he　always　did　believe　in

hereditary　genius；or　he　will　pooh…pooh　the　whole　rhyming　nonsense；

and　tell　you　that　you　had　a　great　deal　better　stick　to　your　business；

and　leave　all　the　word…jingling　to　Mother　Goose　and　her　followers。



〃'Show　me　your　verses；'　says　Horace。　　Very　good　it　was　in　him；　and

mighty　encouraging　the　first　counsel　he　gives！　　'Keep　your　poem　to

yourself　for　some　eight　or　ten　years；　you　will　have　time　to　look　it

over；　to　correct　it　and　make　it　fit　to　present　to　the　public。'



〃'Much　obliged　for　your　advice；'　says　the　poor　poet；　thirsting　for　a

draught　of　fame；　and　offered　a　handful　of　dust。　　And　off　he　hurries

to　the　printer；　to　be　sure　that　his　poem　comes　out　in　the　next　number

of　the　magazine　he　writes　for。〃





〃Is　not　poetry　the　natural　language　of　lovers？〃



It　was　the　Tutor　who　asked　this　question；　and　I　thought　he　looked　in

the　direction　of　Number　Five；　as　if　she　might　answer　his　question。

But　Number　Five　stirred　her　tea　devotedly；　there　was　a　lump　of　sugar；

I　suppose；　that　acted　like　a　piece　of　marble。　　So　there　was　a　silence

while　the　lump　was　slowly　dissolving；　and　it　was　anybody's　chance　who

saw　fit　to　take　up　the　conversation。



The　voice　that　broke　the　silence　was　not　the　sweet；　winsome　one　we

were　listening　for；　but　it　instantly　arrested　the　attention　of　the

company。　　It　was　the　grave；　manly　voice　of　one　used　to　speaking；　and

accustomed　to　be　listened　to　with　deference。　　This　was　the　first　time

that　the　company　as　a　whole　had　heard　it；　for　the　speaker　was　the

new…comer　who　has　been　repeatedly　alluded　to；the　one　of　whom　I

spoke　as　〃the　Counsellor。〃



〃I　think　I　can　tell　you　something　about　that；〃　said　the　Counsellor。

〃I　suppose　you　will　wonder　how　a　man　of　my　profession　can　know　or

interest　himself　about　a　question　so　remote　from　his　arid　pursuits。

And　yet　there　is　hardly　one　man　in　a　thousand　who　knows　from　actual

experience　a　fraction　of　what　I　have　learned　of　the　lovers'

vocabulary　in　my　professional　experience。　　I　have；　I　am　sorry　to　say；

had　to　take　an　important　part　in　a　great　number　of　divorce　cases。

These　have　brought　before　me　scores　and　hundreds　of　letters；　in　which

every　shade　of　the　great　passion　has　been　represented。　　What　has　most

struck　me　in　these　amatory　correspondences　has　been　their　remarkable

sameness。　　It　seems　as　if　writing　love…letters　reduced　all　sorts　of

people　to　the　same　level。　　I　don't　remember　whether　Lord　Bacon　has

left　us　anything　in　that　line；unless；　indeed；　he　wrote　Romeo　and

Juliet'　and　the　'Sonnets；'　but　if　he　has；　I　don't　believe　they　differ

so　very　much　from　those　of　his　valet　or　his　groom　to　their　respective

lady…loves。　　It　is　always；　My　darling！　　my　darling！　　The　words　of

endearment　are　the　only　ones　the　lover　wants　to　employ；　and　he　finds

the　vocabulary　too　limited　for　his　vast　desires。　　So　his　letters　are

apt　to　be　rather　tedious　except　to　the　personage　to　whom　they　are

addressed。　　As　to　poetry；　it　is　very　common　to　find　it　in　love…

letters；　especially　in　those　that　have　no　love　in　them。　　The　letters

of　bigamists　and　polygamists　are　rich　in　poetical　extracts。

Occasionally；　an　original　spurt　in　rhyme　adds　variety　to　an　otherwise

monotonous　performance。　　I　don't　think　there　is　much　passion　in　men's

poetry　addressed　to　women。　　I　agree　with　The　Dictator　that　poetry　is

little　more　than　the　ashes　of　passion；　still　it　may　show　that　the

flame　has　had　its　sweep　where　you　find　it；　unless；　indeed；　it　is

shoveled　in　from　another　man's　fireplace。〃



〃What　do　you　say　to　the　love　poetry　of　women？〃　asked　the　Professor。

〃Did　ever　passion　heat　words　to　incandescence　as　it　did　those　of

Sappho？〃



The　Counsellor　turned；not　to　Number　Five；　as　he　ought　to　have　done；

according　to　my　programme；　but　to　the　Mistress。



〃Madam；〃　he　said；　〃your　sex　is　adorable　in　many　ways；　but　in　the

abandon　of　a　genuine　love…letter　it　is　incomparable。　　I　have　seen　a

string　of　women's　love…letters；　in　which　the　creature　enlaced　herself

about　the　object　of　her　worship　as　that　South　American　parasite　which

clasps　the　tree　to　which　it　has　attached　itself；　begins　with　a

slender　succulent　network；　feeds　on　the　trunk；　spreads　its　fingers

out　to　hold　firmly　to　one　branch　after　another；　thickens；　hardens；

stretches　in　every　direction；　following　the　boughs；and　at　length

gets　strong　enough　to　hold　in　its　murderous　arms；　high　up　in　air；　the

stump　and　shaft　of　the　once　sturdy　growth　that　was　its　support　and

subsistence。〃



The　Counsellor　did　not　say　all　this　quite　so　formally　as　I　have　set

it　down　here；　but　in　a　much　easier　way。　　In　fact；　it　is　impossible　to

smooth　out　a　conversation　from　memory　without　stiffening　it；　you

can't　have　a　dress　shirt　look　quite　right　without　starching　the

bosom。



Some　of　us　would　have　liked　to　hear　more　about　those　letters　in　the

divorce　cases；　but　the　Counsellor　had　to　leave　the　table。　　He

promised　to　show　us　some　pictures　he　has　of　the　South　American

parasite。　　I　have　seen　them；　and　I　can　assure　you　they　are　very

curious。



The　following　verses　were　found　in　the　urn；　or　sugar…bowl。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　CACOETHES　SCRIBENDI。



　　　　　　　　　　If　all　the　trees　in　all　the　woods　were　men；

　　　　　　　　　　And　each　and　every　blade　of　grass　a　pen；

　　　　　　　　　　If　every　leaf　on　every　shrub　and　tree

　　　　　　　　　　Turned　to　a　sheet　of　foolscap；　every　sea

　　　　　　　　　　Were　changed　to　ink；　and　all　earth's　living　tribes

　　　　　　　　　　Had　nothing　else　to　do　but　act　as　scribes；

　　　　　　　　　　And　for　ten　thousand　ages；　day　and　night；

　　　　　　　　　　The　human　race　should　write；　and　write；　and　write；

　　　　　　　　　　Till　all　the　pens　and　paper　were　used　up；

　　　　　　　　　　And　the　huge　inkstand　was　an　empty　cup；

　　　　　　　　　　Still　would　the　scribblers　clustered　round　its　brim

　　　　　　　　　　Call　for　more　pens；　more　p