marjorie daw-第1节

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Majorie　Daw

by　Thomas　Bailey　Aldrich




I。

DR。　DILLON　TO　EDWARD　DELANEY；　ESQ。；　AT　THE　PINES。
NEAR　RYE；　N。H。

August　8；　1872。

My　Dear　Sir：　I　am　happy　to　assure　you　that　your　anxiety　is　without
reason。　Flemming　will　be　confined　to　the　sofa　for　three　or　four
weeks；　and　will　have　to　be　careful　at　first　how　he　uses　his　leg。　A
fracture　of　this　kind　is　always　a　tedious　affair。　Fortunately　the
bone　was　very　skilfully　set　by　the　surgeon　who　chanced　to　be　in　the
drugstore　where　Flemming　was　brought　after　his　fall；　and　I
apprehend　no　permanent　inconvenience　from　the　accident。　Flemming　is
doing　perfectly　well　physically；　but　I　must　confess　that　the
irritable　and　morbid　state　of　mind　into　which　he　has　fallen　causes
me　a　great　deal　of　uneasiness。　He　is　the　last　man　in　the　world　who
ought　to　break　his　leg。　You　know　how　impetuous　our　friend　is
ordinarily；　what　a　soul　of　restlessness　and　energy；　never　content
unless　he　is　rushing　at　some　object；　like　a　sportive　bull　at　a　red
shawl；　but　amiable　withal。　He　is　no　longer　amiable。　His　temper　has
become　something　frightful。　Miss　Fanny　Flemming　came　up　from
Newport；　where　the　family　are　staying　for　the　summer；　to　nurse　him；
but　he　packed　her　off　the　next　morning　in　tears。　He　has　a　complete
set　of　Balzac's　works；　twenty…seven　volumes；　piled　up　near　his
sofa；　to　throw　at　Watkins　whenever　that　exemplary　serving…man
appears　with　his　meals。　Yesterday　I　very　innocently　brought
Flemming　a　small　basket　of　lemons。　You　know　it　was　a　strip　of
lemonpeel　on　the　curbstone　that　caused　our　friend's　mischance。
Well；　he　no　sooner　set　is　eyes　upon　those　lemons　than　he　fell　into
such　a　rage　as　I　cannot　adequately　describe。　This　is　only　one　of
moods；　and　the　least　distressing。　At　other　times　he　sits　with　bowed
head　regarding　his　splintered　limb；　silent；　sullen；　despairing。
When　this　fit　is　on　himand　it　sometimes　lasts　all　daynothing
can　distract　his　melancholy。　He　refuses　to　eat；　does　not　even　read
the　newspapers；　books；　except　as　projectiles　for　Watkins；　have　no
charms　for　him。　His　state　is　truly　pitiable。

Now；　if　he　were　a　poor　man；　with　a　family　depending　on　his　daily
labor；　this　irritability　and　despondency　would　be　natural　enough。
But　in　a　young　fellow　of　twenty…four；　with　plenty　of　money　and
seemingly　not　a　care　in　the　world；　the　thing　is　monstrous。　If　he
continues　to　give　way　to　his　vagaries　in　this　manner；　he　will　end
by　bringing　on　an　inflammation　of　the　fibula。　It　was　the　fibula　he
broke。　I　am　at　my　wits'　end　to　know　what　to　prescribe　for　him。　I
have　anaesthetics　and　lotions；　to　make　people　sleep　and　to　soothe
pain；　but　I've　no　medicine　that　will　make　a　man　have　a　little
common…sense。　That　is　beyond　my　skill；　but　maybe　it　is　not　beyond
yours。　You　are　Flemming's　intimate　friend；　his　fidus　Achates。　Write
to　him；　write　to　him　frequently；　distract　his　mind；　cheer　him　up；
and　prevent　him　from　becoming　a　confirmed　case　of　melancholia。
Perhaps　he　has　some　important　plans　disarranged　by　his　present
confinement。　If　he　has　you　will　know；　and　will　know　how　to　advise
him　judiciously。　I　trust　your　father　finds　the　change　beneficial？
I　am；　my　dear　sir；　with　great　respect；　etc。


II。

EDWARD　DELANEY　TO　JOHN　FLEMMING；　WEST　38TH　STREET；
NEW　YORK。

August　9；　1872。

My　Dear　Jack：　I　had　a　line　from　Dillon　this　morning；　and　was
rejoiced　to　learn　that　your　hurt　is　not　so　bad　as　reported。　Like　a
certain　personage；　you　are　not　so　black　and　blue　as　you　are
painted。　Dillon　will　put　you　on　your　pins　again　in　two　to　three
weeks；　if　you　will　only　have　patience　and　follow　his　counsels。　Did
you　get　my　note　of　last　Wednesday？　I　was　greatly　troubled　when　I
heard　of　the　accident。

I　can　imagine　how　tranquil　and　saintly　you　are　with　your　leg　in　a
trough！　It　is　deuced　awkward；　to　be　sure；　just　as　we　had　promised
ourselves　a　glorious　month　together　at　the　sea…side；　but　we　must
make　the　best　of　it。　It　is　unfortunate；　too；　that　my　father's
health　renders　it　impossible　for　me　to　leave　him。　I　think　he　has
much　improved；　the　sea　air　is　his　native　element；　but　he　still
needs　my　arm　to　lean　upon　in　his　walks；　and　requires　some　one　more
careful　that　a　servant　to　look　after　him。　I　cannot　come　to　you；
dear　Jack；　but　I　have　hours　of　unemployed　time　on　hand；　and　I　will
write　you　a　whole　post…office　full　of　letters；　if　that　will　divert
you。　Heaven　knows；　I　haven't　anything　to　write　about。　It　isn't　as
if　we　were　living　at　one　of　the　beach　houses；　then　I　could　do　you
some　character　studies；　and　fill　your　imagination　with　groups　of
sea…goddesses；　with　their　（or　somebody　else's）　raven　and　blonde
manes　hanging　down　their　shoulders。　You　should　have　Aphrodite　in
morning　wrapper；　in　evening　costume；　and　in　her　prettiest　bathing
suit。　But　we　are　far　from　all　that　here。　We　have　rooms　in　a
farm…house；　on　a　cross…road；　two　miles　from　the　hotels；　and　lead
the　quietest　of　lives。

I　wish　I　were　a　novelist。　This　old　house；　with　its　sanded　floors
and　high　wainscots；　and　its　narrow　windows　looking　out　upon　a
cluster　of　pines　that　turn　themselves　into　aeolian　harps　every　time
the　wind　blows；　would　be　the　place　in　which　to　write　a　summer
romance。　It　should　be　a　story　with　the　odors　of　the　forest　and　the
breath　of　the　sea　in　it。　It　should　be　a　novel　like　one　of　that
Russian　fellow'swhat's　his　name？Tourguenieff；　Turguenef；
Turgenif；　Toorguniff；　Turgenjewnobody　knows　how　to　spell　him。　Yet
I　wonder　if　even　a　Liza　or　an　Alexandra　Paulovna　could　stir　the
heart　of　a　man　who　has　constant　twinges　in　his　leg。　I　wonder　if　one
of　our　own　Yankee　girls　of　the　best　type；　haughty　and　spirituelle；
would　be　of　any　comfort　to　you　in　your　present　deplorable
condition。　If　I　thought　so；　I　would　hasten　down　to　the　Surf　House
and　catch　one　for　you；　or；　better　still；　I　would　find　you　one　over
the　way。

Picture　to　yourself　a　large　white　house　just　across　the　road；
nearly　opposite　our　cottage。　It　is　not　a　house；　but　a　mansion；
built；　perhaps；　in　the　colonial　period；　with　rambling　extensions；
and　gambrel　roof；　and　a　wide　piazza　on　three　sidesa　self…
possessed；　high…bred　piece　of　architecture；　with　its　nose　in　the
air。　It　stands　back　from　the　road；　and　has　an　obsequious　retinue　of
fringed　elms　and　oaks　and　weeping　willows。　Sometimes　in　the
morning；　and　oftener　in　the　afternoon；　when　the　sun　has　withdrawn
from　that　part　of　the　mansions；　a　young　woman　appears　on　the　piazza
with　some　mysterious　Penelope　web　of　embroidery　in　her　hand；　or　a
book。　There　is　a　hammock　over　thereof　pineapple　fibre；　it　looks
from　here。　A　hammock　is　very　becoming　when　one　is　eighteen；　and　has
golden　hair；　and　dark　eyes；　and　an　emerald…colored　illusion　dress
looped　up　after　the　fashion　of　a　Dresden　china　shepherdess；　and　is
chaussee　like　a　belle　of　the　time　of　Louis　Quatorze。　All　this
splendor　goes　into　that　hammock；　and　sways　there　like　a　pond…lily
in　the　golden　afternoon。　The　window　of　my　bedroom　looks　down　on
that　piazzaand　so　do　I。

But　enough　of　the　nonsense；　which　ill　becomes　a　sedate　young
attorney　taking　his　vacation　with　an　invalid　father。　Drop　me　a
line；　dear　Jack；　and　tell　me　how　you　really　are。　State　your　case。
Write　me　a　long；　quite　letter。　If　you　are　violent　or　abusive；　I'll
take　the　law　to　you。


III。

JOHN　FLEMMING　TO　EDWARD　DELANEY。

August　11；　1872。

Your　letter；　dear　Ned；　was　a　godsend。　Fancy　what　a　fix　I　am　inI；
who　never　had　a　day's　sickness　since　I　was　born。　My　left　leg　weighs
three　tons。　It　is　embalmed　in　spices　and　smothered　in　layers　of
fine　linen；　like　a　mummy。　I　can't　move。　I　haven't　moved　for　five
thousand　years。　I'm　of　the　time　of　Pharaoh。

I　lie　from　morning　till　night　on　a　lounge；　staring　into　the　hot
street。　Everybody　is　out　of　town　enjoying　himself。　The　brown…stone…
front　houses　across　the　street　resemble　a　row　of　particularly　ugly
coffins　set　up　on　end。　A　green　mould　is　settling　on　the　names　of
the　deceased；　carved　on　the　silver　door…plates。　Sardonic　spiders
have　sewed　up　the　key…holes。　All　is　silence　and　dust　and
desolation。　I　interrupt　this　a　moment；　to　take　a　shy　at　Watkins
with　the　second　volume　of　Cesar　Birotteau。　Missed　him！　I　think　I
could　bring　him　down　with　a　copy　of　Sainte…Beuve　or　the
Dictionnaire　Universel；　if　I　had　it。　These　small　Balzac　books
somehow　do　not　quite　fit　my　hand；　but　I　shall　fetch　him　yet。　I've
an　idea　that　Watkins　is　tapping　the　old　gentleman's　Chateau　Yquem。
Duplicate　key　of　the　wine…cellar。　Hibernian　swarries　in　the　front
basement。　Young　Cheops　up　stairs；　snug　in　his　cerements。　Watkins
glides　into　my　chamber；　with　that　colorless；　hypocritical　face　of
his　drawn　out　long　like　an　accordion；　but　I　know　he　grins　all　the
way　down　stairs；　and　is　glad　I　have　broken　my　leg。　Was　not　my　evil
star　in　the　very　zenith　when　I　ran　up　to　town　to　attend　that　dinner
at　Delmonico's？　I　didn't　come　up　altogether　for　that。　It　was　partly
to　buy　Frank　Livingstone's　roan　mare　Margot。　And　now　I　shall　not　be
able　to　sit　in　the　saddle　these　two　months。　I'll　send　the　mare　down
to　you　at　The　Pinesis　that　the　name　of　the　place？

Old　Dillon　fancies　that　I　have　something　on　my　mind。　He　drives　me
wild　with　lemons。　Lemons　for　a　mind　diseased！　Nonsense。　I　am　only
as　restless　as　the　devil　under　this　confinementa　thing　I'm　not
used　to。　Tak