the angel and the author-第8节

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intended　to　be　serious　or　comic　I　had　never　been　able　to　make　up　my　
mind。　　The　way　she　gives　it　confers　upon　it　all　the　disadvantages　of　
both。　　It　is　chiefly　concerned　with　an　angel　and　a　child。　　But　a　dog　
comes　into　it　about　the　middle；　and　from　that　point　onward　it　is　
impossible　to　tell　who　is　talkingsometimes　you　think　it　is　the　
angel；　and　then　it　sounds　more　like　the　dog。　　The　child　is　the　
easiest　to　follow：　　it　talks　all　the　time　through　its　nose。　　If　I　
have　heard　that　recitation　once　I　have　heard　it　fifty　times；　and　now　
she　is　busy　learning　an　encore。

＇And　all　the　World　had　Sense！＇

〃What　hurts　me　most；〃　he　went　on；　〃is　having　to　watch　her　making　
herself　ridiculous。　　Yet　what　am　I　to　do？　　If　I　explain　things　to　her　
she　will　be　miserable　and　ashamed　of　herself；　added　to　which　her　
franknessperhaps　her　greatest　charmwill　be　murdered。　　The　trouble　
runs　through　everything。　　She　won't　take　my　advice　about　her　frocks。　　
She　laughs；　and　repeats　to　mewell；　the　lies　that　other　women　tell　a　
girl　who　is　spoiling　herself　by　dressing　absurdly；　especially　when　
she　is　a　pretty　girl　and　they　are　anxious　she　should　go　on　spoiling　
herself。　　She　bought　a　hat　last　week；　one　day　when　I　was　not　with　
her。　　It　only　wants　the　candles　to　look　like　a　Christmas　tree。　　They　
insist　on　her　taking　it　off　so　they　may　examine　it　more　closely；　with　
the　idea　of　having　one　built　like　it　for　themselves；　and　she　sits　by　
delighted；　and　explains　to　them　the　secret　of　the　thing。　　We　get　to　
parties　half　an　hour　before　the　opening　time；　she　is　afraid　of　being　
a　minute　late。　　They　have　told　her　that　the　party　can't　begin　without　
herisn't　worth　calling　a　party　till　she's　there。　　We　are　always　the　
last　to　go。　　The　other　people　don't　matter；　but　if　she　goes　they　will　
feel　the　whole　thing　has　been　a　failure。　　She　is　dead　for　want　of　
sleep；　and　they　are　sick　and　tired　of　us；　but　if　I　look　at　my　watch　
they　talk　as　if　their　hearts　were　breaking；　and　she　thinks　me　a　brute　
for　wanting　to　leave　friends　so　passionately　attached　to　us。

〃Why　do　we　all　play　this　silly　game；　what　is　the　sense　of　it？〃　he　
wanted　to　know。

I　could　not　tell　him。



CHAPTER　VI



＇Fire　and　the　Foreigner。＇

They　are　odd　folk；　these　foreigners。　　There　are　moments　of　despair　
when　I　almost　give　them　upfeel　I　don't　care　what　becomes　of　them
feel　as　if　I　could　let　them　muddle　on　in　their　own　waywash　my　hands　
of　them；　so　to　speak；　and　attend　exclusively　to　my　own　business：　　we　
all　have　our　days　of　feebleness。　　They　will　sit　outside　a　cafe　on　a　
freezing　night；　with　an　east　wind　blowing；　and　play　dominoes。　　They　
will　stand　outside　a　tramcar；　rushing　through　the　icy　air　at　fifteen　
miles　an　hour；　and　refuse　to　go　inside；　even　to　oblige　a　lady。　　Yet　
in　railway　carriages；　in　which　you　could　grill　a　bloater　by　the　
simple　process　of　laying　it　underneath　the　seat；　they　will　insist　on　
the　window　being　closed；　light　cigars　to　keep　their　noses　warm；　and　
sit　with　the　collars　of　their　fur　coats　buttoned　up　around　their　
necks。

In　their　houses　they　keep　the　double　windows　hermetically　sealed　for　
three　or　four　months　at　a　time：　　and　the　hot　air　quivering　about　the　
stoves　scorches　your　face　if　you　venture　nearer　to　it　than　a　yard。　　
Travel　can　broaden　the　mind。　　It　can　also　suggest　to　the　Britisher　
that　in　some　respects　his　countrymen　are　nothing　near　so　silly　as　
they　are　supposed　to　be。　　There　was　a　time　when　I　used　to　sit　with　my　
legs　stretched　out　before　the　English　coal　fire　and　listen　with　
respectful　attention　while　people　who　I　thought　knew　all　about　it　
explained　to　me　how　wicked　and　how　wasteful　were　our　methods。

All　the　heat　from　that　fire；　they　told　me；　was　going　up　the　chimney。　　
I　did　not　like　to　answer　them　that　notwithstanding　I　felt　warm　and　
cosy。　　I　feared　it　might　be　merely　British　stupidity　that　kept　me　
warm　and　cosy；　not　the　fire　at　all。　　How　could　it　be　the　fire？　　The　
heat　from　the　fire　was　going　up　the　chimney。　　It　was　the　glow　of　
ignorance　that　was　making　my　toes　tingle。　　Besides；　if　by　sitting　
close　in　front　of　the　fire　and　looking　hard　at　it；　I　did　contrive；　by　
hypnotic　suggestion；　maybe；　to　fancy　myself　warm；　what　should　I　feel　
like　at　the　other　end　of　the　room？

It　seemed　like　begging　the　question　to　reply　that　I　had　no　particular　
use　for　the　other　end　of　the　room；　that　generally　speaking　there　was　
room　enough　about　the　fire　for　all　the　people　I　really　cared　for；　
that　sitting　altogether　round　the　fire　seemed　quite　as　sensible　as　
sulking　by　one's　self　in　a　corner　the　other　end　of　the　room；　that　the　
fire　made　a　cheerful　and　convenient　focus　for　family　and　friends。　　
They　pointed　out　to　me　how　a　stove；　blocking　up　the　centre　of　the　
room；　with　a　dingy　looking　fluepipe　wandering　round　the　ceiling；　
would　enable　us　to　sit　ranged　round　the　walls；　like　patients　in　a　
hospital　waiting…room；　and　use　up　coke　and　potato…peelings。

Since　then　I　have　had　practical　experience　of　the　scientific　stove。　　
I　want　the　old…fashioned；　unsanitary；　wasteful；　illogical；　open　
fireplace。　　I　want　the　heat　to　go　up　the　chimney；　instead　of　stopping　
in　the　room　and　giving　me　a　headache；　and　making　everything　go　round。　　
When　I　come　in　out　of　the　snow　I　want　to　see　a　firesomething　that　
says　to　me　with　a　cheerful　crackle；　〃Hallo；　old　man；　cold　outside；　
isn't　it？　　Come　and　sit　down。　　Come　quite　close　and　warm　your　hands。　　
That's　right；　put　your　foot　under　him　and　persuade　him　to　move　a　yard　
or　two。　　That's　all　he's　been　doing　for　the　last　hour；　lying　there　
roasting　himself；　lazy　little　devil。　　He'll　get　softening　of　the　
spine；　that's　what　will　happen　to　him。　　Put　your　toes　on　the　fender。　　
The　tea　will　be　here　in　a　minute。〃

＇My　British　Stupidity。＇

I　want　something　that　I　can　toast　my　back　against；　while　standing　
with　coat　tails　tucked　up　and　my　hands　in　my　pockets；　explaining　
things　to　people。　　I　don't　want　a　comfortless；　staring；　white　thing；　
in　a　corner　of　the　room；　behind　the　sofaa　thing　that　looks　and　
smells　like　a　family　tomb。　　It　may　be　hygienic；　and　it　may　be　hot；　
but　it　does　not　seem　to　do　me　any　good。　　It　has　its　advantages：　　it　
contains　a　cupboard　into　which　you　can　put　things　to　dry。　　You　can　
also　forget　them；　and　leave　them　there。　　Then　people　complain　of　a　
smell　of　burning；　and　hope　the　house　is　not　on　fire；　and　you　ease　
their　mind　by　explaining　to　them　that　it　is　probably　only　your　boots。　　
Complicated　internal　arrangements　are　worked　by　a　key。　　If　you　put　on　
too　much　fuel；　and　do　not　work　this　key　properly；　the　thing　explodes。　　
And　if　you　do　not　put　on　any　coal　at　all　and　the　fire　goes　out　
suddenly；　then　likewise　it　explodes。　　That　is　the　only　way　it　knows　
of　calling　attention　to　itself。　　On　the　Continent　you　know　when　the　
fire　wants　seeing　to　merely　by　listening：

〃Sounded　like　the　dining…room；　that　last　explosion；〃　somebody　
remarks。

〃I　think　not；〃　observes　another；　〃I　distinctly　felt　the　shock　behind　
memy　bedroom；　I　expect。〃

Bits　of　ceiling　begin　to　fall；　and　you　notice　that　the　mirror　over　
the　sideboard　is　slowly　coming　towards　you。

〃Why　it　must　be　this　stove；〃　you　say；　〃curious　how　difficult　it　is　to　
locate　sound。〃

You　snatch　up　the　children　and　hurry　out　of　the　room。　　After　a　while；　
when　things　have　settled　down；　you　venture　to　look　in　again。　　Maybe　
it　was　only　a　mild　explosion。　　A　ten…pound　note　and　a　couple　of　
plumbers　in　the　house　for　a　week　will　put　things　right　again。　　They　
tell　me　they　are　economical；　these　German　stoves；　but　you　have　got　to　
understand　them。　　I　think　I　have　learnt　the　trick　of　them　at　last：　　
and　I　don't　suppose；　all　told；　it　has　cost　me　more　than　fifty　pounds。　　
And　now　I　am　trying　to　teach　the　rest　of　the　family。　　What　I　complain　
about　the　family　is　that　they　do　not　seem　anxious　to　learn。

〃You　do　it；〃　they　say；　pressing　the　coal　scoop　into　my　hand：　　〃it　
makes　us　nervous。〃

It　is　a　pretty；　patriarchal　idea：　　I　stand　between　the　trusting；　
admiring　family　and　these　explosive　stoves　that　are　the　terror　of　
their　lives。　　They　gather　round　me　in　a　group　and　watch　me；　the　
capable；　all…knowing　Head　who　fears　no　foreign　stove。　　But　there　are　
days　when　I　get　tired　of　going　round　making　up　fires。

Nor　is　it　sufficient　to　understand　only　one　particular　stove。　　The　
practical　foreigner　prides　himself　upon　having　various　stoves；　
adapted　to　various　work。　　Hitherto　I　have　been　speaking　only　of　the　
stove　supposed　to　be　best　suited　to　reception　rooms　and　bedrooms。　　
The　hall　is　provided　with　another　sort　of　stove　altogether：　　an　iron　
stove　this；　that　turns　up　its　nose　at　coke　and　potato…peelings。　　If　
you　give　it　anything　else　but　the　best　coal　it　explodes。　　It　is　like　
living　surrounded　by　peppery　old　colonels；　trying　to　pass　a　peaceful　
winter　among　these　passionate　stoves。　　There　is　a　stove　in　the　
kitchen　to　be　used　only　for　roasting：　　this　one　will　not　look　at　
anything　else　but　wood。　　Give　it　a　bit　of　coal；　meaning　to　be　kind；　
and　before　you　are　out　of　the　room　it　has　exploded。

Then　there　is　a　trick　stove　specially　popular　in　Belgium。　　It　has　a　
little　door　at　the　top　and　another　little　door　at　the　bottom；　and　
looks　like　a　pepper…caster。