a mortal antipathy- 第19部分

converged。　　There　were　the　village　people；　including　a　number　of

cultivated　families；　there　were　the　visitors；　among　them　many

accomplished　and　widely　travelled　persons；　there　was　the　University；

with　its　learned　teachers　and　aspiring　young　men；　there　was　the

Corinna　Institute；　with　its　eager；　ambitious；　hungry…souled　young

women；　crowding　on；　class　after　class　coming　forward　on　the　broad

stream　of　liberal　culture；　and　rounding　the　point　which；　once　passed；

the　boundless　possibilities　of　womanhood　opened　before　them。　　All

this　furnished　material　enough　and　to　spare　for　the　records　and　the

archives　of　the　society。



The　new　Secretary　infused　fresh　life　into　the　meetings。　　It　may　be

remembered　that　the　girls　had　said　of　her；　when　she　was　The　Terror；

that　〃she　knew　everything　and　didn't　believe　anything。〃　　That　was

just　the　kind　of　person　for　a　secretary　of　such　an　association。

Properly　interpreted；　the　saying　meant　that　she　knew　a　great　deal；

and　wanted　to　know　a　great　deal　more；　and　was　consequently　always　on

the　lookout　for　information；　that　she　believed　nothing　without

sufficient　proof　that　it　was　true；　and　therefore　was　perpetually

asking　for　evidence　where；　others　took　assertions　on　trust。



It　was　astonishing　to　see　what　one　little　creature　like　The　Terror

could　accomplish　in　the　course　of　a　single　season。　　She　found　out

what　each　member　could　do　and　wanted　to　do。　　She　wrote　to　the　outside

visitors　whom　she　suspected　of　capacity；　and　urged　them　to　speak　at

the　meetings；　or　send　written　papers　to　be　read。　　As　an　official；

with　the　printed　title　at　the　head　of　her　notes；　PANSOPHIAN　SOCIETY；

she　was　a　privileged　personage。　　She　begged　the　young　persons　who　had

travelled　to　tell　something　of　their　experiences。　　She　had

contemplated　getting　up　a　discussion　on　the　woman's　rights　question；

but　being　a　wary　little　body；　and　knowing　that　the　debate　would

become　a　dispute　and　divide　the　members　into　two　hostile　camps；　she

deferred　this　project　indefinitely。　　It　would　be　time　enough　after

she　had　her　team　well　in　hand；　she　said　to　herself；had　felt　their

mouths　and　tried　their　paces。　　This　expression；　as　she　used　it　in　her

thoughts；　seems　rather　foreign　to　her　habits；　but　there　was　room　in

her　large　brain　for　a　wide　range　of　illustrations　and　an　ample

vocabulary。　　She　could　not　do　much　with　her　own　muscles；　but　she　had

known　the　passionate　delight　of　being　whirled　furiously　over　the　road

behind　four　scampering　horses；　in　a　rocking　stage…coach；　and　thought

of　herself　in　the　Secretary's　chair　as　not　unlike　the　driver　on　his

box。　　A　few　weeks　of　rest　had　allowed　her　nervous　energy　to　store

itself　up；　and　the　same　powers　which　had　distanced　competition　in　the

classes　of　her　school　had　of　necessity　to　expend　themselves　in

vigorous　action　in　her　new　office。





Her　appeals　had　their　effect。　　A　number　of　papers　were　very　soon　sent

in；　some　with　names；　some　anonymously。　　She　looked　these　papers　over；

and　marked　those　which　she　thought　would　be　worth　reading　and

listening　to　at　the　meetings。　　One　of　them　has　just　been　presented　to

the　reader。　　As　to　the　authorship　of　the　following　one　there　were

many　conjectures。　　A　well…known　writer；　who　had　spent　some　weeks　at

Arrowhead　Village；　was　generally　suspected　of　being　its　author。

Some；　however；　questioned　whether　it　was　not　the　work　of　a　new　hand；

who　wrote；　not　from　experience；　but　from　his　or　her　ideas　of　the

condition　to　which　a　story…teller；　a　novelist；　must　in　all

probability　be　sooner　or　later　reduced。　　The　reader　must　judge　for

himself　whether　this　first　paper　is　the　work　of　an　old　hand　or　a

novice。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　SOME　EXPERIENCES　OF　A　NOVELIST。



〃I　have　written　a　frightful　number　of　stories；　forty　or　more；　I

think。　　Let　me　see。　　For　twelve　years　two　novels　a　year　regularly：

that　makes　twenty…four。　　In　three　different　years　I　have　written

three　stories　annually：　that　makes　thirty…three。　　In　five　years　one　a

year；thirty…eight。　　That　is　all；　is　n't　it？　　Yes。　　Thirty…eight；

not　forty。　　I　wish　I　could　make　them　all　into　one　composite　story；　as

Mr。　Galton　does　his　faces。



〃Heroheroinemammapapaunclesister；　and　so　on。　　Love

obstaclesmiserytearsdespairglimmer　of　hopeunexpected

solution　of　difficultieshappy　finale。



〃Landscape　for　background　according　to　season。　　Plants　of　each　month

got　up　from　botanical　calendars。





〃I　should　like　much　to　see　the　composite　novel。　　Why　not　apply　Mr。

Galton's　process；　and　get　thirty…eight　stories　all　in　one？　　All　the

Yankees　would　resolve　into　one　Yankee；　all　the　P　West　Britons

into　one　Patrick；　etc。；　what　a　saving　of　time　it　would　be！



〃I　got　along　pretty　well　with　my　first　few　stories。　　I　had　some

characters　around　me　which；　a　little　disguised；　answered　well　enough。

There　was　the　minister　of　the　parish；　and　there　was　an　old

schoolmaster　either　of　them　served　very　satisfactorily　for

grandfathers　and　old　uncles。　　All　I　had　to　do　was　to　shift　some　of

their　leading　peculiarities；　keeping　the　rest。　　The　old　minister　wore

knee…breeches。　　I　clapped　them　on　to　the　schoolmaster。　　The

schoolmaster　carried　a　tall　gold…headed　cane。　　I　put　this　in　the

minister's　hands。　　So　with　other　things；I　shifted　them　round；　and

got　a　set　of　characters　who；　taken　together；　reproduced　the　chief

persons　of　the　village　where　I　lived；　but　did　not　copy　any　individual

exactly。　　Thus　it　went　on　for　a　while；　but　by　and　by　my　stock　company

began　to　be　rather　too　familiarly　known；　in　spite　of　their　change　of

costume；　and　at　last　some　altogether　too　sagacious　person　published

what　he　called　a　'key'　to　several　of　my　earlier　stories；　in　which　I

found　the　names　of　a　number　of　neighbors　attached　to　aliases　of　my

own　invention。　　All　the　'types；'　as　he　called　them；　represented　by

these　personages　of　my　story　had　come　to　be　recognized；　each　as

standing　for　one　and　the　same　individual　of　my　acquaintance。　　It　had

been　of　no　use　to　change　the　costume。　　Even　changing　the　sex　did　no

good。　　I　had　a　famous　old　gossip　in　one　of　my　tales；a　much…babbling

Widow　Sertingly。　　'Sho！'　they　all　said；　that　's　old　Deacon　Spinner；

the　same　he　told　about　in　that　other　story　of　his；only　the　deacon's

got　on　a　petticoat　and　a　mob…cap；but　it's　the　same　old　sixpence。'

So　I　said　to　myself；　I　must　have　some　new　characters。　　I　had　no

trouble　with　young　characters；　they　are　all　pretty　much　alike；dark…

haired　or　light…haired；　with　the　outfits　belonging　to　their

complexion；　respectively。　　I　had　an　old　great…aunt；　who　was　a　tip…top

eccentric。　　I　had　never　seen　anything　just　like　her　in　books。　　So　I

said；　I　will　have　you；　old　lady；　in　one　of　my　stories；　and；　sure

enough；　I　fitted　her　out　with　a　first…rate　odd…sounding　name；　which　I

got　from　the　directory；　and　sent　her　forth　to　the　world；　disguised；

as　I　supposed；　beyond　the　possibility　of　recognition。　　The　book　sold

well；　and　the　eccentric　personage　was　voted　a　novelty。　　A　few　weeks

after　it　was　published　a　lawyer　called　upon　me；　as　the　agent　of　the

person　in　the　directory；　whose　family　name　I　had　used；　as　he

maintained；　to　his　and　all　his　relatives'　great　damage；　wrong；　loss；

grief；　shame；　and　irreparable　injury；　for　which　the　sum　of　blank

thousand　dollars　would　be　a　modest　compensation。　　The　story　made　the

book　sell；　but　not　enough　to　pay　blank　thousand　dollars。　　In　the　mean

time　a　cousin　of　mine　had　sniffed　out　the　resemblance　between　the

character　in　my　book　and　our　great…aunt。　　We　were　rivals　in　her　good

graces。　　'Cousin　Pansie'　spoke　to　her　of　my　book　and　the　trouble　it

was　bringing　on　me；she　was　so　sorry　about　it！　　She　liked　my　story；

only　those　personalities；　you　know。　　'What　personalities？'　says　old

granny…aunt。　　'Why；　auntie；　dear；　they　do　say　that　he　has　brought　in

everybody　we　know；did　n't　anybody　tell　you　aboutwell；I　suppose

you　ought　to　know　it；did　n't　anybody　tell　you　you　were　made　fun　of

in　that　novel？'　　Somebodyno　matter　whohappened　to　hear　all　this；

and　told　me。　　She　said　granny…aunt's　withered　old　face　had　two　red

spots　come　to　it；　as　if　she　had　been　painting　her　cheeks　from　a　pink

saucer。　　No；　she　said；　not　a　pink　saucer；　but　as　if　they　were　two

coals　of　fire。　　She　sent　out　and　got　the　book；　and　made　her　（the

somebody　that　I　was　speaking　of）　read　it　to　her。　　When　she　had　heard

as　much　as　she　could　stand；for　'Cousin　Pansie'　explained　passages

to　her；explained；　you　know；she　sent　for　her　lawyer；　and　that　same

somebody　had　to　be　a　witness　to　a　new　will　she　had　drawn　up。　　It　was

not　to　my　advantage。　　'Cousin　Pansie'　got　the　corner　lot　where　the

grocery　is；　and　pretty　much　everything　else。　　The　old　woman　left　me　a

legacy。　　What　do　you　think　it　was？　　An　old　set　of　my　own　books；　that

looked　as　if　it　had　been　bought　out　of　a　bankrupt　circulating

library。



〃After　that　I　grew　more　careful。　　I　studied　my　disguises　much　more

diligently。　　But　after　all；　what　could　I　do？　　Here　I　was；　writing

stories　for　my　living　and　my　reputation。　　I　made　a　pretty　sum　enough；

and　worked　hard　enough　to　earn　it。　　No　tale；　no　money。　　Then　every

story　that　went　from　my　workshop　had　to　come　up　to　the　standard　of　my

reputation；　and　there　was　a　set　of　critics；there　is　a　set　of

critics　now　and　everywhere；that　watch　as　narrowly　for　the　decline

of　a　man's　reputation　as　ever　a　village　half　drowned　out　by　an

inundation　watched　for　the　falling　of　the　waters。　　The　fame　I　had

won；　such　as　it　was；　seemed　to　attend　me；not　going　before　me　in　the

shape　of　a　woman　with　a　trumpet；　but　rather　following　me　like　one　of

Actaeon's　hounds；　his　throat　open；　ready　to　pull　me　down　and　tear　me。

What　a　fierce　enemy　is　that　which　bays　behind　us　in　the　voice　of　our

proudest　bygone　achievement！



〃But；　as　I　said　above；　what　could　I　do？　　I　must　write　novels；　and　I

must　have　characters。　　'Then　why　not　invent　them？'　asks　some　novice。

Oh；　yes！　　Invent　them！　　You　can　invent　a　human　being　that　in　certain

aspects　of　humanity　will　answer　every　purpose　for　which　your

inv