eugene pickering- 第7部分

enough　for　it　to　pain　me。　　Her　quarrel　with　society　has　brought　her

no　happiness；　and　her　outward　charm　is　only　the　mask　of　a　dangerous

discontent。　　Her　imagination　is　lodged　where　her　heart　should　be！　　So

long　as　you　amuse　it；　well　and　good；　she's　radiant。　　But　the　moment

you　let　it　flag；　she　is　capable　of　dropping　you　without　a　pang。　　If

you　land　on　your　feet　you　are　so　much　the　wiser；　simply；　but　there

have　been　two　or　three；　I　believe；　who　have　almost　broken　their　necks

in　the　fall。〃



〃You　are　reversing　your　promise；〃　I　said；　〃and　giving　me　an　opinion；

but　not　an　anecdote。〃



〃This　is　my　anecdote。　　A　year　ago　a　friend　of　mine　made　her

acquaintance　in　Berlin；　and　though　he　was　no　longer　a　young　man；　and

had　never　been　what　is　called　a　susceptible　one；　he　took　a　great

fancy　to　Madame　Blumenthal。　　He's　a　major　in　the　Prussian　artillery

grizzled；　grave；　a　trifle　severe；　a　man　every　way　firm　in　the　faith

of　his　fathers。　　It's　a　proof　of　Anastasia's　charm　that　such　a　man

should　have　got　into　the　habit　of　going　to　see　her　every　day　of　his

life。　　But　the　major　was　in　love；　or　next　door　to　it！　　Every　day　that

he　called　he　found　her　scribbling　away　at　a　little　ormolu　table　on　a

lot　of　half…sheets　of　note…paper。　　She　used　to　bid　him　sit　down　and

hold　his　tongue　for　a　quarter　of　an　hour；　till　she　had　finished　her

chapter；　she　was　writing　a　novel；　and　it　was　promised　to　a　publisher。

Clorinda；　she　confided　to　him；　was　the　name　of　the　injured　heroine。

The　major；　I　imagine；　had　never　read　a　work　of　fiction　in　his　life；

but　he　knew　by　hearsay　that　Madame　Blumenthal's　literature；　when　put

forth　in　pink　covers；　was　subversive　of　several　respectable

institutions。　　Besides；　he　didn't　believe　in　women　knowing　how　to

write　at　all；　and　it　irritated　him　to　see　this　inky　goddess

correcting　proof…sheets　under　his　noseirritated　him　the　more　that；

as　I　say；　he　was　in　love　with　her　and　that　he　ventured　to　believe　she

had　a　kindness　for　his　years　and　his　honours。　　And　yet　she　was　not

such　a　woman　as　he　could　easily　ask　to　marry　him。　　The　result　of　all

this　was　that　he　fell　into　the　way　of　railing　at　her　intellectual

pursuits　and　saying　he　should　like　to　run　his　sword　through　her　pile

of　papers。　　A　woman　was　clever　enough　when　she　could　guess　her

husband's　wishes；　and　learned　enough　when　she　could　read　him　the

newspapers。　　At　last；　one　day；　Madame　Blumenthal　flung　down　her　pen

and　announced　in　triumph　that　she　had　finished　her　novel。　　Clorinda

had　expired　in　the　arms　ofsome　one　else　than　her　husband。　　The

major；　by　way　of　congratulating　her；　declared　that　her　novel　was

immoral　rubbish；　and　that　her　love　of　vicious　paradoxes　was　only　a

peculiarly　depraved　form　of　coquetry。　　He　added；　however；　that　he

loved　her　in　spite　of　her　follies；　and　that　if　she　would　formally

abjure　them　he　would　as　formally　offer　her　his　hand。　　They　say　that

women　like　to　be　snubbed　by　military　men。　　I　don't　know；　I'm　sure；　I

don't　know　how　much　pleasure；　on　this　occasion；　was　mingled　with

Anastasia's　wrath。　　But　her　wrath　was　very　quiet；　and　the　major

assured　me　it　made　her　look　uncommonly　pretty。　　'I　have　told　you

before；'　she　says；　'that　I　write　from　an　inner　need。　　I　write　to

unburden　my　heart；　to　satisfy　my　conscience。　　You　call　my　poor

efforts　coquetry；　vanity；　the　desire　to　produce　a　sensation。　　I　can

prove　to　you　that　it　is　the　quiet　labour　itself　I　care　for；　and　not

the　world's　more　or　less　flattering　attention　to　it！'　　And　seizing

the　history　of　Clorinda　she　thrust　it　into　the　fire。　　The　major

stands　staring；　and　the　first　thing　he　knows　she　is　sweeping　him　a

great　curtsey　and　bidding　him　farewell　for　ever。　　Left　alone　and

recovering　his　wits；　he　fishes　out　Clorinda　from　the　embers；　and　then

proceeds　to　thump　vigorously　at　the　lady's　door。　　But　it　never

opened；　and　from　that　day　to　the　day　three　months　ago　when　he　told　me

the　tale；　he　had　not　beheld　her　again。〃



〃By　Jove；　it's　a　striking　story；〃　I　said。　　〃But　the　question　is；　what

does　it　prove？〃



〃Several　things。　　First　（what　I　was　careful　not　to　tell　my　friend）；

that　Madame　Blumenthal　cared　for　him　a　trifle　more　than　he　supposed；

second；　that　he　cares　for　her　more　than　ever；　third；　that　the

performance　was　a　master…stroke；　and　that　her　allowing　him　to　force

an　interview　upon　her　again　is　only　a　question　of　time。〃



〃And　last？〃　I　asked。



〃This　is　another　anecdote。　　The　other　day；　Unter　den　Linden；　I　saw　on

a　bookseller's　counter　a　little　pink…covered　romance'Sophronia；'　by

Madame　Blumenthal。　　Glancing　through　it；　I　observed　an　extraordinary

abuse　of　asterisks；　every　two　or　three　pages　the　narrative　was

adorned　with　a　portentous　blank；　crossed　with　a　row　of　stars。〃



〃Well；　but　poor　Clorinda？〃　I　objected；　as　Niedermeyer　paused。



〃Sophronia；　my　dear　fellow；　is　simply　Clorinda　renamed　by　the　baptism

of　fire。　　The　fair　author　came　back；　of　course；　and　found　Clorinda

tumbled　upon　the　floor；　a　good　deal　scorched；　but；　on　the　whole；　more

frightened　than　hurt。　　She　picks　her　up；　brushes　her　off；　and　sends

her　to　the　printer。　　Wherever　the　flames　had　burnt　a　hole　she　swings

a　constellation！　　But　if　the　major　is　prepared　to　drop　a　penitent

tear　over　the　ashes　of　Clorinda；　I　shall　not　whisper　to　him　that　the

urn　is　empty。〃



Even　Adelina　Patti's　singing；　for　the　next　half…hour；　but　half

availed　to　divert　me　from　my　quickened　curiosity　to　behold　Madame

Blumenthal　face　to　face。　　As　soon　as　the　curtain　had　fallen　again　I

repaired　to　her　box　and　was　ushered　in　by　Pickering　with　zealous

hospitality。　　His　glowing　smile　seemed　to　say　to　me；　〃Ay；　look　for

yourself；　and　adore！〃　　Nothing　could　have　been　more　gracious　than　the

lady's　greeting；　and　I　found；　somewhat　to　my　surprise；　that　her

prettiness　lost　nothing　on　a　nearer　view。　　Her　eyes　indeed　were　the

finest　I　have　ever　seenthe　softest；　the　deepest；　the　most　intensely

responsive。　　In　spite　of　something　faded　and　jaded　in　her

physiognomy；　her　movements；　her　smile；　and　the　tone　of　her　voice；

especially　when　she　laughed；　had　an　almost　girlish　frankness　and

spontaneity。　　She　looked　at　you　very　hard　with　her　radiant　gray　eyes；

and　she　indulged　while　she　talked　in　a　superabundance　of　restless；

rather　affected　little　gestures；　as　if　to　make　you　take　her　meaning

in　a　certain　very　particular　and　superfine　sense。　　I　wondered　whether

after　a　while　this　might　not　fatigue　one's　attention；　then　meeting

her　charming　eyes；　I　said；　Not　for　a　long　time。　　She　was　very　clever；

and；　as　Pickering　had　said；　she　spoke　English　admirably。　　I　told　her；

as　I　took　my　seat　beside　her；　of　the　fine　things　I　had　heard　about

her　from　my　friend；　and　she　listened；　letting　me　go　on　some　time；　and

exaggerate　a　little；　with　her　fine　eyes　fixed　full　upon　me。

〃Really？〃　she　suddenly　said；　turning　short　round　upon　Pickering；　who

stood　behind　us；　and　looking　at　him　in　the　same　way。　　〃Is　that　the

way　you　talk　about　me？〃



He　blushed　to　his　eyes；　and　I　repented。　　She　suddenly　began　to　laugh；

it　was　then　I　observed　how　sweet　her　voice　was　in　laughter。　　We

talked　after　this　of　various　matters；　and　in　a　little　while　I

complimented　her　on　her　excellent　English；　and　asked　if　she　had

learnt　it　in　England。



〃Heaven　forbid！〃　she　cried。　　〃I　have　never　been　there　and　wish　never

to　go。　　I　should　never　get　on　with　the〃　I　wondered　what　she　was

going　to　say；　the　fogs；　the　smoke；　or　whist　with　sixpenny　stakes？〃I

should　never　get　on；〃　she　said；　〃with　the　aristocracy！　　I　am　a　fierce

democratI　am　not　ashamed　of　it。　　I　hold　opinions　which　would　make

my　ancestors　turn　in　their　graves。　　I　was　born　in　the　lap　of

feudalism。　　I　am　a　daughter　of　the　crusaders。　　But　I　am　a

revolutionist！　　I　have　a　passion　for　freedommy　idea　of　happiness　is

to　die　on　a　great　barricade！　　It's　to　your　great　country　I　should

like　to　go。　　I　should　like　to　see　the　wonderful　spectacle　of　a　great

people　free　to　do　everything　it　chooses；　and　yet　never　doing　anything

wrong！〃



I　replied；　modestly；　that；　after　all；　both　our　freedom　and　our　good

conduct　had　their　limits；　and　she　turned　quickly　about　and　shook　her

fan　with　a　dramatic　gesture　at　Pickering。　　〃No　matter；　no　matter！〃

she　cried；　〃I　should　like　to　see　the　country　which　produced　that

wonderful　young　man。　　I　think　of　it　as　a　sort　of　Arcadiaa　land　of

the　golden　age。　　He's　so　delightfully　innocent！　　In　this　stupid　old

Germany；　if　a　young　man　is　innocent　he's　a　fool；　he　has　no　brains；

he's　not　a　bit　interesting。　　But　Mr。　Pickering　says　the　freshest

things；　and　after　I　have　laughed　five　minutes　at　their　freshness　it

suddenly　occurs　to　me　that　they　are　very　wise；　and　I　think　them　over

for　a　week。　　〃True！〃　she　went　on；　nodding　at　him。　　〃I　call　them

inspired　solecisms；　and　I　treasure　them　up。　　Remember　that　when　I

next　laugh　at　you！〃



Glancing　at　Pickering；　I　was　prompted　to　believe　that　he　was　in　a

state　of　beatific　exaltation　which　weighed　Madame　Blumenthal's　smiles

and　frowns　in　an　equal　balance。　　They　were　equally　hers；　they　were

links　alike　in　the　golden　chain。　　He　looked　at　me　with　eyes　that

seemed　to　say；　〃Did　you　ever　hear　such　wit？　　Did　you　ever　see　such

grace？〃　　It　seemed　to　me　that　he　was　but　vaguely　conscious　of　the

meaning　of　her　words；　her　gestures；　her　voice　and　glance；　made　an

absorbing　harmony。　　There　is　something　painful　in　the　spectacle　of

absolute　enthralment；　even　to　an　excellent　cause。　　I　gave　no　response

to　Pickering's　challenge；　but　made　some　remark　upon　the　charm　of

Adelina　Patti's　singing。　　Madame　Blumenthal；　as　became　a

〃revolutionist；〃　was　obliged　to　confess　that　she　could　see　no　charm

in　it；　it　was　meagre；　it　was　trivial；　it　lacked　soul。　　〃You　must　know

that　in　music；　too；〃　she　said；　〃I　think　for　myself！〃　　And　she　began

with　a　great　many　flourishes　of　her　fan　to　explain　what　it　was　she

thought。　　Remarkable　things；　doubtless；　but　I　cannot　answer　for　it；

for　in　the　midst　of　the　explanation　the　curtain　rose　again。　　〃You

can't　be　a　great　a