the professor at the breakfast table- 第40部分

…my　left　arm；　of　course。　　That　leaves　one's　right　arm　free　to　defend

the　lovely　creature；　if　the　rivalodious　wretch！　attempt；　to　ravish

her　from　your　side。　　Likewise　if　one's　heart　should　happen　to　beat　a

little；　its　mute　language　will　not　be　without　its　meaning；　as　you

will　perceive　when　the　arm　you　hold　begins　to　tremble；　a

circumstance　like　to　occur；　if　you　happen　to　be　a　good…looking　young

fellow；　and　you　two　have　the　〃stoop〃　to　yourselves。



We　had　it　to　ourselves　that　evening。　　The　Koh…inoor；　as　we　called

him；　was　in　a　corner　with　our　landlady's　daughter。　　The　young　fellow

John　was　smoking　out　in　the　yard。　　The　gendarme　was　afraid　of　the

evening　air；　and　kept　inside；　The　young　Marylander　came　to　the　door；

looked　out　and　saw　us　walking　together；　gave　his　hat　a　pull　over　his

forehead　and　stalked　off。　　I　felt　a　slight　spasm；　as　it　were；　in　the

arm　I　held；　and　saw　the　girl's　head　turn　over　her　shoulder　for　a

second。　　What　a　kind　creature　this　is！　　She　has　no　special　interest

in　this　youth；　but　she　does　not　like　to　see　a　young　fellow　going　off

because　he　feels　as　if　he　were　not　wanted。



She　had　her　locked　drawing…book　under　her　arm。　Let　me　take　it；I

said。



She　gave　it　to　me　to　carry。



This　is　full　of　caricatures　of　all　of　us；　I　am　sure；said　I。



She　laughed；　and　said；No；not　all　of　you。



I　was　there；　of　course？



Why；　no；she　had　never　taken　so　much　pains　with　me。



Then　she　would　let　me　see　the　inside　of　it？



She　would　think　of　it。



Just　as　we　parted；　she　took　a　little　key　from　her　pocket　and　handed

it　to　me。　　This　unlocks　my　naughty　book；she　said；you　shall　see

it。　　I　am　not　afraid　of　you。



I　don't　know　whether　the　last　words　exactly　pleased　me。　　At　any

rate；　I　took　the　book　and　hurried　with　it　to　my　room。　　I　opened　it；

and　saw；　in　a　few　glances；　that　I　held　the　heart　of　Iris　in　my　hand。



I　have　no　verses　for　you　this　month；　except　these　few　lines

suggested　by　the　season。





　　　　　　　　　　MIDSUMMER。



Here！　　sweep　these　foolish　leaves　away；

I　will　not　crush　my　brains　to…day！

Look！　are　the　southern　curtains　drawn？

Fetch　me　a　fan；　and　so　begone！



Not　that；the　palm…tree's　rustling　leaf

Brought　from　a　parching　coral…reef！

Its　breath　is　heated；I　would　swing

The　broad　gray　plumes；the　eagle's　wing。



I　hate　these　roses'　feverish　blood！

Pluck　me　a　half…blown　lily…bud；

A　long…stemmed　lily　from　the　lake；

Cold　as　a　coiling　water…snake。



Rain　me　sweet　odors　on　the　air；

And　wheel　me　up　my　Indian　chair；

And　spread　some　book　not　overwise

Flat　out　before　my　sleepy　eyes。



Who　knows　it　not；this　dead　recoil

Of　weary　fibres　stretched　with　toil；

The　pulse　that　flutters　faint　and　low

When　Summer's　seething　breezes　blow？



O　Nature！　　bare　thy　loving　breast

And　give　thy　child　one　hour　of　rest；

One　little　hour　to　lie　unseen

Beneath　thy　scarf　of　leafy　green！



So；　curtained　by　a　singing　pine；

Its　murmuring　voice　shall　blend　with　mine；

Till；　lost　in　dreams；　my　faltering　lay

In　sweeter　music　dies　away。









X



　　　　　　　　　　IRIS；　HER　BOOK



I　pray　thee　by　the　soul　of　her　that　bore　thee；

By　thine　own　sister's　spirit　I　implore　thee；

Deal　gently　with　the　leaves　that　lie　before　thee！



For　Iris　had　no　mother　to　infold　her；

Nor　ever　leaned　upon　a　sister's　shoulder；

Telling　the　twilight　thoughts　that　Nature　told　her。



She　had　not　learned　the　mystery　of　awaking

Those　chorded　keys　that　soothe　a　sorrow's　aching；

Giving　the　dumb　heart　voice；　that　else　were　breaking。



Yet　lived；　wrought；　suffered。　　Lo；　the　pictured　token！

Why　should　her　fleeting　day…dreams　fade　unspoken；

Like　daffodils　that　die　with　sheaths　unbroken？



She　knew　not　love；　yet　lived　in　maiden　fancies；

Walked　simply　clad；　a　queen　of　high　romances；

And　talked　strange　tongues　with　angels　in　her　trances。



Twin…souled　she　seemed；　a　twofold　nature　wearing；

Sometimes　a　flashing　falcon　in　her　daring；

Then　a　poor　mateless　dove　that　droops　despairing。



Questioning　all　things：　Why　her　Lord　had　sent　her？

What　were　these　torturing　gifts；　and　wherefore　lent　her？

Scornful　as　spirit　fallen；　its　own　tormentor。



And　then　all　tears　and　anguish：　Queen　of　Heaven；

Sweet　Saints；　and　Thou　by　mortal　sorrows　riven；

Save　me！　　oh；　save　me！　　Shall　I　die　forgiven？



And　thenAh；　God！　　But　nay；　it　little　matters

Look　at　the　wasted　seeds　that　autumn　scatters；

The　myriad　germs　that　Nature　shapes　and　shatters！



If　she　hadWell！　　She　longed；　and　knew　not　wherefore

Had　the　world　nothing　she　might　live　to　care　for？

No　second　self　to　say　her　evening　prayer　for？



She　knew　the　marble　shapes　that　set　men　dreaming；

Yet　with　her　shoulders　bare　and　tresses　streaming

Showed　not　unlovely　to　her　simple　seeming。



Vain？　　Let　it　be　so！　　Nature　was　her　teacher。

What　if　a　lonely　and　unsistered　creature

Loved　her　own　harmless　gift　of　pleasing　feature；



Saying；　unsaddened；This　shall　soon　be　faded；

And　double…hued　the　shining　tresses　braided；

And　all　the　sunlight　of　the　morning　shaded？



This　her　poor　book　is　full　of　saddest　follies；

Of　tearful　smiles　and　laughing　melancholies；

With　summer　roses　twined　and　wintry　hollies。



In　the　strange　crossing　of　uncertain　chances；

Somewhere；　beneath　some　maiden's　tear…dimmed　glances

May　fall　her　little　book　of　dreams　and　fancies。



Sweet　sister！　　Iris；　who　shall　never　name　thee；

Trembling　for　fear　her　open　heart　may　shame　thee；

Speaks　from　this　vision…haunted　page　to　claim　thee。



Spare　her；　I　pray　thee！　　If　the　maid　is　sleeping；

Peace　with　her！　she　has　had　her　hour　of　weeping。

No　more！　　She　leaves　her　memory　in　thy　keeping。





These　verses　were　written　in　the　first　leaves　of　the　locked　volume。

As　I　turned　the　pages；　I　hesitated　for　a　moment。　　Is　it　quite　fair

to　take　advantage　of　a　generous；　trusting　impulse　to　read　the

unsunned　depths　of　a　young　girl's　nature；　which　I　can　look　through；

as　the　balloon…voyagers　tell　us　they　see　from　their　hanging…baskets

through　the　translucent　waters　which　the　keenest　eye　of　such　as　sail

over　them　in　ships　might　strive　to　pierce　in　vain？　　Why　has　the

child　trusted　me　with　such　artless　confessions；self…revelations；

which　might　be　whispered　by　trembling　lips；　under　the　veil　of

twilight；　in　sacred　confessionals；　but　which　I　cannot　look　at　in　the

light　of　day　without　a　feeling　of　wronging　a　sacred　confidence？



To　all　this　the　answer　seemed　plain　enough　after　a　little　thought。

She　did　not　know　how　fearfully　she　had　disclosed　herself；　she　was

too　profoundly　innocent。　　Her　soul　was　no　more　ashamed　than　the　fair

shapes　that　walked　in　Eden　without　a　thought　of　over…liberal

loveliness。　　Having　nobody　to　tell　her　story　to；having；　as　she

said　in　her　verses；　no　musical　instrument　to　laugh　and　cry　with

her；nothing；　in　short；　but　the　language　of　pen　and　pencil；all

the　veinings　of　her　nature　were　impressed　on　these　pages　as　those　of

a　fresh　leaf　are　transferred　to　the　blank　sheets　which　inclose　it。

It　was　the　same　thing　which　I　remember　seeing　beautifully　shown　in　a

child　of　some　four　or　five　years　we　had　one　day　at　our　boarding…

house。　　The　child　was　a　deaf　mute。　　But　its　soul　had　the　inner　sense

that　answers　to　hearing；　and　the　shaping　capacity　which　through

natural　organs　realizes　itself　in　words。　　Only　it　had　to　talk　with

its　face　alone；　and　such　speaking　eyes；　such　rapid　alternations　of

feeling　and　shifting　expressions　of　thought　as　flitted　over　its

face；　I　have　never　seen　in　any　other　human　countenance。



I　wonder　if　something　of　spiritual　transparency　is　not　typified　in

the　golden…blonde　organization。　　There　are　a　great　many　little

creatures；many　small　fishes；　for　instance；which　are　literally

transparent；　with　the　exception　of　some　of　the　internal　organs。　　The

heart　can　be　seen　beating　as　if　in　a　case　of　clouded　crystal。　　The

central　nervous　column　with　its　sheath　runs　as　a　dark　stripe　through

the　whole　length　of　the　diaphanous　muscles　of　the　body。　　Other

little　creatures　are　so　darkened　with　pigment　that　we　can　see　only

their　surface。　　Conspirators　and　poisoners　are　painted　with　black；

beady…eyes　and　swarthy　hue；　Judas；　in　Leonardo's　picture；　is　the

model　of　them　all。



However　this　may　be；　I　should　say　there　never　had　been　a　book　like

this　of　Iris；so　full　of　the　heart's　silent　language；　so

transparent　that　the　heart　itself　could　be　seen　beating　through　it。

I　should　say　there　never　could　have　been　such　a　book；　but　for　one

recollection；　which　is　not　peculiar　to　myself；　but　is　shared　by　a

certain　number　of　my　former　townsmen。　　If　you　think　I　over…color

this　matter　of　the　young　girl's　book；　hear　this；　which　there　are

others；　as　I　just　said；　besides　myself；　will　tell　you　is　strictly

true。





THE　BOOK　OF　THE　THREE　MAIDEN　SISTERS。



In　the　town　called　Cantabridge；　now　a　city；　water…veined　and　gas

windpiped；　in　the　street　running　down　to　the　Bridge；　beyond　which

dwelt　Sally；　told　of　in　a　book　of　a　friend　of　mine；　was　of　old　a

house　inhabited　by　three　maidens。　　They　left　no　near　kinsfolk；　I

believe；　whether　they　did　or　not；　I　have　no　ill　to　speak　of　them；

for　they　lived　and　died　in　all　good　report　and　maidenly　credit。　　The

house　they　lived　in　was　of　the　small；　gambrel…roofed　cottage

pattern；　after　the　shape　of　Esquires'　houses；　but　after　the　size　of

the　dwellings　of　handicraftsmen。　　The　lower　story　was　fitted　up　as　a

shop。　　Specially　was　it　provided　with　one　of　those　half…doors　now　so

rarely　met　with；　which　are　to　whole　doors　as　spencers　worn　by　old

folk　are　to　coats。　　They　speak　of　limited　commerce　united　with　a

social　or　observing　dispositionon　the　part　of　the　shopkeeper；

allowing；　as　they　do；　talk　with　passers…by；　yet　keeping　off　such　as

have　not　the　excuse　of　business　to　cross　the　threshold。　　On　the

door…posts；　at　either　side；　above　the　half…door；　hung　certain

perennial　articles　of　merchandise；　of　which　my　memory　still　has

hanging　among　its　faded　photogr