memories and portraits- 第19部分

Whether　he　was　originally　big　or　little　is　more　than　I　can　guess。　　

When　I　knew　him　he　was　all　fallen　away　and　fallen　in；　crooked　and　

shrunken；　buckled　into　a　stiff　waistcoat　for　support；　troubled　by　

ailments；　which　kept　him　hobbling　in　and　out　of　the　room；　one　foot　

gouty；　a　wig　for　decency；　not　for　deception；　on　his　head；　close　

shaved；　except　under　his　chin　…　and　for　that　he　never　failed　to　

apologise；　for　it　went　sore　against　the　traditions　of　his　life。　　

You　can　imagine　how　he　would　fare　in　a　novel　by　Miss　Mather；　yet　

this　rag　of　a　Chelsea　veteran　lived　to　his　last　year　in　the　

plenitude　of　all　that　is　best　in　man；　brimming　with　human　kindness；　

and　staunch　as　a　Roman　soldier　under　his　manifold　infirmities。　　You　

could　not　say　that　he　had　lost　his　memory；　for　he　would　repeat　

Shakespeare　and　Webster　and　Jeremy　Taylor　and　Burke　by　the　page　

together；　but　the　parchment　was　filled　up；　there　was　no　room　for　

fresh　inscriptions；　and　he　was　capable　of　repeating　the　same　

anecdote　on　many　successive　visits。　　His　voice　survived　in　its　full　

power；　and　he　took　a　pride　in　using　it。　　On　his　last　voyage　as　

Commissioner　of　lighthouses；　he　hailed　a　ship　at　sea　and　made　

himself　clearly　audible　without　a　speaking　trumpet；　ruffling　the　

while　with　a　proper　vanity　in　his　achievement。　　He　had　a　habit　of　

eking　out　his　words　with　interrogative　hems；　which　was　puzzling　and　

a　little　wearisome；　suited　ill　with　his　appearance；　and　seemed　a　

survival　from　some　former　stage　of　bodily　portliness。　　Of　yore；　

when　he　was　a　great　pedestrian　and　no　enemy　to　good　claret；　he　may　

have　pointed　with　these　minute　guns　his　allocutions　to　the　bench。　　

His　humour　was　perfectly　equable；　set　beyond　the　reach　of　fate；　

gout；　rheumatism；　stone　and　gravel　might　have　combined　their　forces　

against　that　frail　tabernacle；　but　when　I　came　round　on　Sunday　

evening；　he　would　lay　aside　Jeremy　Taylor's　LIFE　OF　CHRIST　and　

greet　me　with　the　same　open　brow；　the　same　kind　formality　of　

manner。　　His　opinions　and　sympathies　dated　the　man　almost　to　a　

decade。　　He　had　begun　life；　under　his　mother's　influence；　as　an　

admirer　of　Junius；　but　on　maturer　knowledge　had　transferred　his　

admiration　to　Burke。　　He　cautioned　me；　with　entire　gravity；　to　be　

punctilious　in　writing　English；　never　to　forget　that　I　was　a　

Scotchman；　that　English　was　a　foreign　tongue；　and　that　if　I　

attempted　the　colloquial；　I　should　certainly；　be　shamed：　the　remark　

was　apposite；　I　suppose；　in　the　days　of　David　Hume。　　Scott　was　too　

new　for　him；　he　had　known　the　author　…　known　him；　too；　for　a　Tory；　

and　to　the　genuine　classic　a　contemporary　is　always　something　of　a　

trouble。　　He　had　the　old；　serious　love　of　the　play；　had　even；　as　he　

was　proud　to　tell；　played　a　certain　part　in　the　history　of　

Shakespearian　revivals；　for　he　had　successfully　pressed　on　Murray；　

of　the　old　Edinburgh　Theatre；　the　idea　of　producing　Shakespeare's　

fairy　pieces　with　great　scenic　display。　　A　moderate　in　religion；　he　

was　much　struck　in　the　last　years　of　his　life　by　a　conversation　

with　two　young　lads；　revivalists　〃H'm；〃　he　would　say　…　〃new　to　me。　　

I　have　had　…　h'm　…　no　such　experience。〃　　It　struck　him；　not　with　

pain；　rather　with　a　solemn　philosophic　interest；　that　he；　a　

Christian　as　he　hoped；　and　a　Christian　of　so　old　a　standing；　should　

hear　these　young　fellows　talking　of　his　own　subject；　his　own　

weapons　that　he　had　fought　the　battle　of　life　with；　…　〃and　…　h'm　…　

not　understand。〃　　In　this　wise　and　graceful　attitude　he　did　justice　

to　himself　and　others；　reposed　unshaken　in　his　old　beliefs；　and　

recognised　their　limits　without　anger　or　alarm。　　His　last　recorded　

remark；　on　the　last　night　of　his　life；　was　after　he　had　been　

arguing　against　Calvinism　with　his　minister　and　was　interrupted　by　

an　intolerable　pang。　　〃After　all；〃　he　said；　〃of　all　the　'isms；　I　

know　none　so　bad　as　rheumatism。〃　　My　own　last　sight　of　him　was　some　

time　before；　when　we　dined　together　at　an　inn；　he　had　been　on　

circuit；　for　he　stuck　to　his　duties　like　a　chief　part　of　his　

existence；　and　I　remember　it　as　the　only　occasion　on　which　he　ever　

soiled　his　lips　with　slang　…　a　thing　he　loathed。　　We　were　both　

Roberts；　and　as　we　took　our　places　at　table；　he　addressed　me　with　a　

twinkle：　〃We　are　just　what　you　would　call　two　bob。〃　　He　offered　me　

port；　I　remember；　as　the　proper　milk　of　youth；　spoke　of　〃twenty…

shilling　notes〃；　and　throughout　the　meal　was　full　of　old…world　

pleasantry　and　quaintness；　like　an　ancient　boy　on　a　holiday。　　But　

what　I　recall　chiefly　was　his　confession　that　he　had　never　read　

OTHELLO　to　an　end。　　Shakespeare　was　his　continual　study。　　He　loved　

nothing　better　than　to　display　his　knowledge　and　memory　by　adducing　

parallel　passages　from　Shakespeare；　passages　where　the　same　word　

was　employed；　or　the　same　idea　differently　treated。　　But　OTHELLO　

had　beaten　him。　　〃That　noble　gentleman　and　that　noble　lady　…　h'm　…　

too　painful　for　me。〃　　The　same　night　the　hoardings　were　covered　

with　posters；　〃Burlesque　of　OTHELLO；〃　and　the　contrast　blazed　up　in　

my　mind　like　a　bonfire。　　An　unforgettable　look　it　gave　me　into　that　

kind　man's　soul。　　His　acquaintance　was　indeed　a　liberal　and　pious　

education。　　All　the　humanities　were　taught　in　that　bare　dining…room　

beside　his　gouty　footstool。　　He　was　a　piece　of　good　advice；　he　was　

himself　the　instance　that　pointed　and　adorned　his　various　talk。　　

Nor　could　a　young　man　have　found　elsewhere　a　place　so　set　apart　

from　envy；　fear；　discontent；　or　any　of　the　passions　that　debase；　a　

life　so　honest　and　composed；　a　soul　like　an　ancient　violin；　so　

subdued　to　harmony；　responding　to　a　touch　in　music　…　as　in　that　

dining…room；　with　Mr。　Hunter　chatting　at　the　eleventh　hour；　under　

the　shadow　of　eternity；　fearless　and　gentle。



The　second　class　of　old　people　are　not　anecdotic；　they　are　rather　

hearers　than　talkers；　listening　to　the　young　with　an　amused　and　

critical　attention。　　To　have　this　sort　of　intercourse　to　

perfection；　I　think　we　must　go　to　old　ladies。　　Women　are　better　

hearers　than　men；　to　begin　with；　they　learn；　I　fear　in　anguish；　to　

bear　with　the　tedious　and　infantile　vanity　of　the　other　sex；　and　we　

will　take　more　from　a　woman　than　even　from　the　oldest　man　in　the　

way　of　biting　comment。　　Biting　comment　is　the　chief　part；　whether　

for　profit　or　amusement；　in　this　business。　　The　old　lady　that　I　

have　in　my　eye　is　a　very　caustic　speaker；　her　tongue；　after　years　

of　practice；　in　absolute　command；　whether　for　silence　or　attack。　　

If　she　chance　to　dislike　you；　you　will　be　tempted　to　curse　the　

malignity　of　age。　　But　if　you　chance　to　please　even　slightly；　you　

will　be　listened　to　with　a　particular　laughing　grace　of　sympathy；　

and　from　time　to　time　chastised；　as　if　in　play；　with　a　parasol　as　

heavy　as　a　pole…axe。　　It　requires　a　singular　art；　as　well　as　the　

vantage…ground　of　age；　to　deal　these　stunning　corrections　among　the　

coxcombs　of　the　young。　　The　pill　is　disguised　in　sugar　of　wit；　it　

is　administered　as　a　compliment　…　if　you　had　not　pleased；　you　would　

not　have　been　censured；　it　is　a　personal　affair　…　a　hyphen；　A　TRAIT　

D'UNION；　between　you　and　your　censor；　age's　philandering；　for　her　

pleasure　and　your　good。　　Incontestably　the　young　man　feels　very　

much　of　a　fool；　but　he　must　be　a　perfect　Malvolio；　sick　with　self…

love；　if　he　cannot　take　an　open　buffet　and　still　smile。　　The　

correction　of　silence　is　what　kills；　when　you　know　you　have　

transgressed；　and　your　friend　says　nothing　and　avoids　your　eye。　　If　

a　man　were　made　of　gutta…percha；　his　heart　would　quail　at　such　a　

moment。　　But　when　the　word　is　out；　the　worst　is　over；　and　a　fellow　

with　any　good…humour　at　all　may　pass　through　a　perfect　hail　of　

witty　criticism；　every　bare　place　on　his　soul　hit　to　the　quick　with　

a　shrewd　missile；　and　reappear；　as　if　after　a　dive；　tingling　with　a　

fine　moral　reaction；　and　ready；　with　a　shrinking　readiness；　one…

third　loath；　for　a　repetition　of　the　discipline。



There　are　few　women；　not　well　sunned　and　ripened；　and　perhaps　

toughened；　who　can　thus　stand　apart　from　a　man　and　say　the　true　

thing　with　a　kind　of　genial　cruelty。　　Still　there　are　some　…　and　I　

doubt　if　there　be　any　man　who　can　return　the　compliment。　　The　class　

of　man　represented　by　Vernon　Whitford　in　THE　EGOIST　says；　indeed；　

the　true　thing；　but　he　says　it　stockishly。　　Vernon　is　a　noble　

fellow；　and　makes；　by　the　way；　a　noble　and　instructive　contrast　to　

Daniel　Deronda；　his　conduct　is　the　conduct　of　a　man　of　honour；　but　

we　agree　with　him；　against　our　consciences；　when　he　remorsefully　

considers　〃its　astonishing　dryness。〃　　He　is　the　best　of　men；　but　

the　best　of　women　manage　to　combine　all　that　and　something　more。　　

Their　very　faults　assist　them；　they　are　helped　even　by　the　

falseness　of　their　position　in　life。　　They　can　retire　into　the　

fortified　camp　of　the　proprieties。　　They　can　touch　a　subject　and　

suppress　it。　　The　most　adroit　employ　a　somewhat　elaborate　reserve　

as　a　means　to　be　frank；　much　as　they　wear　gloves　when　they　shake　

hands。　　But　a　man　has　the　full　responsibility　of　his　freedom；　

cannot　evade　a　question；　can　scarce　be　silent　without　rudeness；　

must　answer　for　his　words　upon　the　moment；　and　is　not　seldom　left　

face　to　face　with　a　damning　choice；　between　the　more　or　less　

dishonourable　wriggling　of　Deronda　and　the　downright　woodenness　of　

Vernon　Whitford。



But　the　superiority　of　women　is　perpetually　menaced；　they　do　not　

sit　throned　on　infirmities　like　the　old；　they　are　suitors　as　well　

as　sovereigns；　their　vanity　is　engaged；　their　affections　are　too　

apt　to　follow；　and　hence　much　of　the　talk　between　the　sexes　

degenerates　into　something　unworthy　of　the　name。　　The　desire　to　

please；　to　shine　with　a　certain　softness　of　lustre　and　to　draw　a　

fascinating　picture　of　oneself；　banishes　from　conversation　all　that　

is　sterling　and　most　of　what　is　humorous。　　As　soon　as　a　strong　

current　of　mutual　admiration　begins　to　flow；　the　human