short stories and essays-第1节

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Short　Stories　and　Essays

by　William　Dean　Howells






CONTENTS：

　　　　　Worries　of　a　Winter　Walk
　　　　　Summer　Isles　of　Eden
　　　　　Wild　Flowers　of　the　Asphalt
　　　　　A　Circus　in　the　Suburbs
　　　　　A　She　Hamlet
　　　　　The　Midnight　Platoon
　　　　　The　Beach　at　Rockaway
　　　　　Sawdust　in　the　Arena
　　　　　At　a　Dime　Museum
　　　　　American　Literature　in　Exile
　　　　　The　Horse　Show
　　　　　The　Problem　of　the　Summer
　　　　　Aesthetic　New　York　Fifty…odd　Years　Ago
　　　　　From　New　York　into　New　England
　　　　　The　Art　of　the　Adsmith
　　　　　The　Psychology　of　Plagiarism
　　　　　Puritanism　in　American　Fiction
　　　　　The　What　and　How　in　Art
　　　　　Politics　in　American　Authors
　　　　　Storage
　　　　　〃Floating　down　the　River　on　the　O…hi…o〃






WORRIES　OF　A　WINTER　WALK

The　other　winter；　as　I　was　taking　a　morning　walk　down　to　the　East　River；
I　came　upon　a　bit　of　our　motley　life；　a　fact　of　our　piebald　civilization；
which　has　perplexed　me　from　time　to　time；　ever　since；　and　which　I　wish
now　to　leave　with　the　reader；　for　his　or　her　more　thoughtful
consideration。




I。

The　morning　was　extremely　cold。　　It　professed　to　be　sunny；　and　there　was
really　some　sort　of　hard　glitter　in　the　air；　which；　so　far　from　being
tempered　by　this　effulgence；　seemed　all　the　stonier　for　it。　　Blasts　of
frigid　wind　swept　the　streets；　and　buffeted　each　other　in　a　fury　of
resentment　when　they　met　around　the　corners。　　Although　I　was　passing
through　a　populous　tenement…house　quarter；　my　way　was　not　hindered　by　the
sports　of　the　tenement…house　children；　who　commonly　crowd　one　from　the
sidewalks；　no　frowzy　head　looked　out　over　the　fire…escapes；　there　were　no
peddlers'　carts　or　voices　in　the　road…way；　not　above　three　or　four　shawl…
hooded　women　cowered　out　of　the　little　shops　with　small　purchases　in
their　hands；　not　so　many　tiny　girls　with　jugs　opened　the　doors　of　the
beer　saloons。　　The　butchers'　windows　were　painted　with　patterns　of　frost；
through　which　I　could　dimly　see　the　frozen　meats　hanging　like　hideous
stalactites　from　the　roof。　　When　I　came　to　the　river；　I　ached　in　sympathy
with　the　shipping　painfully　atilt　on　the　rocklike　surface　of　the　brine；
which　broke　against　the　piers；　and　sprayed　itself　over　them　like　showers
of　powdered　quartz。

But　it　was　before　I　reached　this　final　point　that　I　received　into　my
consciousness　the　moments　of　the　human　comedy　which　have　been　an
increasing　burden　to　it。　　Within　a　block　of　the　river　I　met　a　child　so
small　that　at　first　I　almost　refused　to　take　any　account　of　her；　until
she　appealed　to　my　sense　of　humor　by　her　amusing　disproportion　to　the
pail　which　she　was　lugging　in　front　of　her　with　both　of　her　little
mittened　hands。　　I　am　scrupulous　about　mittens；　though　I　was　tempted　to
write　of　her　little　naked　hands；　red　with　the　pitiless　cold。　　This　would
have　been　more　effective；　but　it　would　not　have　been　true；　and　the　truth
obliges　me　to　own　that　she　had　a　stout；　warm…looking　knit　jacket　on。
The　pail…which　was　half　her　height　and　twice　her　bulk…was　filled　to
overflowing　with　small　pieces　of　coal　and　coke；　and　if　it　had　not　been
for　this　I　might　have　taken　her　for　a　child　of　the　better　classes；　she
was　so　comfortably　clad。　　But　in　that　case　she　would　have　had　to　be
fifteen　or　sixteen　years　old；　in　order　to　be　doing　so　efficiently　and
responsibly　the　work　which；　as　the　child　of　the　worse　classes；　she　was
actually　doing　at　five　or　six。　　We　must；　indeed；　allow　that　the　early
self…helpfulness　of　such　children　is　very　remarkable；　and　all　the　more　so
because　they　grow　up　into　men　and　women　so　stupid　that；　according　to　the
theories　of　all　polite　economists；　they　have　to　have　their　discontent
with　their　conditions　put　into　their　heads　by　malevolent　agitators。

From　time　to　time　this　tiny　creature　put　down　her　heavy　burden　to　rest；
it　was；　of　course；　only　relatively　heavy；　a　man　would　have　made　nothing
of　it。　　From　time　to　time　she　was　forced　to　stop　and　pick　up　the　bits　of
coke　that　tumbled　from　her　heaping　pail。　　She　could　not　consent　to　lose
one　of　them；　and　at　last；　when　she　found　she　could　not　make　all　of　them
stay　on　the　heap；　she　thriftily　tucked　them　into　the　pockets　of　her
jacket；　and　trudged　sturdily　on　till　she　met　a　boy　some　years　older；　who
planted　himself　in　her　path　and　stood　looking　at　her；　with　his　hands　in
his　pockets。　　I　do　not　say　he　was　a　bad　boy；　but　I　could　see　in　his
furtive　eye　that　she　was　a　sore　temptation　to　him。　　The　chance　to　have
fun　with　her　by　upsetting　her　bucket；　and　scattering　her　coke　about　till
she　cried　with　vexation；　was　one　which　might　not　often　present　itself；
and　I　do　not　know　what　made　him　forego　it；　but　I　know　that　he　did；　and
that　he　finally　passed　her；　as　I　have　seen　a　young　dog　pass　a　little　cat；
after　having　stopped　it；　and　thoughtfully　considered　worrying　it。

I　turned　to　watch　the　child　out　of　sight；　and　when　I　faced　about　towards
the　river　again　I　received　the　second　instalment　of　my　present
perplexity。　　A　cart；　heavily　laden　with　coke；　drove　out　of　the　coal…yard
which　I　now　perceived　I　had　come　to；　and　after　this　cart　followed　two
brisk　old　women；　snugly　clothed　and　tightly　tucked　in　against　the　cold
like　the　child；　who　vied　with　each　other　in　catching　up　the　lumps　of　coke
that　were　jolted　from　the　load；　and　filling　their　aprons　with　them；　such
old　women；　so　hale；　so　spry；　so　tough　and　tireless；　with　the　withered
apples　red　in　their　cheeks；　I　have　not　often　seen。　　They　may　have　been
about　sixty　years；　or　sixty…five；　the　time　of　life　when　most　women　are
grandmothers　and　are　relegated　on　their　merits　to　the　cushioned　seats　of
their　children's　homes；　softly　silk…gowned　and　lace…capped；　dear　visions
of　lilac　and　lavender；　to　be　loved　and　petted　by　their　grandchildren。
The　fancy　can　hardly　put　such　sweet　ladies　in　the　place　of　those　nimble
beldams；　who　hopped　about　there　in　the　wind…swept　street；　plucking　up
their　day's　supply　of　firing　from　the　involuntary　bounty　of　the　cart。
Even　the　attempt　is　unseemly；　and　whether　mine　is　at　best　but　a　feeble
fancy；　not　bred　to　strenuous　feats　of　any　kind；　it　fails　to　bring　them
before　me　in　that　figure。　　I　cannot　imagine　ladies　doing　that　kind　of
thing；　I　can　only　imagine　women　who　had　lived　hard　and　worked　hard　all
their　lives　doing　it；　who　had　begun　to　fight　with　want　from　their
cradles；　like　that　little　one　with　the　pail；　and　must　fight　without
ceasing　to　their　graves。　　But　I　am　not　unreasonable；　I　understand　and　I
understood　what　I　saw　to　be　one　of　the　things　that　must　be；　for　the
perfectly　good　and　sufficient　reason　that　they　always　have　been；　and　at
the　moment　I　got　what　pleasure　I　could　out　of　the　stolid　indifference　of
the　cart…driver；　who　never　looked　about　him　at　the　scene　which　interested
me；　but　jolted　onward；　leaving　a　trail　of　pungent　odors　from　his　pipe　in
the　freezing　eddies　of　the　air　behind　him。




II。

It　is　still　not　at　all；　or　not　so　much；　the　fact　that　troubles　me；　it　is
what　to　do　with　the　fact。　　The　question　began　with　me　almost　at　once；　or
at　least　as　soon　as　I　faced　about　and　began　to　walk　homeward　with　the
wind　at　my　back。　　I　was　then　so　much　more　comfortable　that　the　aesthetic
instinct　thawed　out　in　me；　and　I　found　myself　wondering　what　use　I　could
make　of　what　I　had　seen　in　the　way　of　my　trade。　　Should　I　have　something
very　pathetic；　like　the　old　grandmother　going　out　day　after　day　to　pick
up　coke　for　her　sick　daughter's　freezing　orphans　till　she　fell　sick
herself？　　What　should　I　do　with　the　family　in　that　case？　　They　could　not
be　left　at　that　point；　and　I　promptly　imagined　a　granddaughter；　a　girl　of
about　eighteen；　very　pretty　and　rather　proud；　a　sort　of　belle　in　her
humble　neighborhood；　who　should　take　her　grandmother's　place。　　I　decided
that　I　should　have　her　Italian；　because　I　knew　something　of　Italians；　and
could　manage　that　nationality　best；　and　I　should　call　her　Maddalena；
either　Maddalena　or　Marina；　Marina　would　be　more　Venetian；　and　I　saw　that
I　must　make　her　Venetian。　　Here　I　was　on　safe　ground；　and　at　once　the
love…interest　appeared　to　help　me　out。　　By　virtue　of　the　law　of
contrasts；　it　appeared　to　me　in　the　person　of　a　Scandinavian　lover；　tall；
silent；　blond；　whom　I　at　once　felt　I　could　do；　from　my　acquaintance　with
Scandinavian　lovers　in　Norwegian　novels。　　His　name　was　Janssen；　a　good；
distinctive　Scandinavian　name；　I　do　not　know　but　it　is　Swedish；　and　I
thought　he　might　very　well　be　a　Swede；　I　could　imagine　his　manner　from
that　of　a　Swedish　waitress　we　once　had。

JanssenJan　Janssen；　say…drove　the　coke…cart　which　Marina's　grandmother
used　to　follow　out　of　the　coke…yard；　to　pick　up　the　bits　of　coke　as　they
were　jolted　from　it；　and　he　had　often　noticed　her　with　deep　indifference。
At　first　he　noticed　Marinaor　Nina；　as　I　soon　saw　I　must　call　herwith
the　same　unconcern；　for　in　her　grandmother's　hood　and　jacket　and　check
apron；　with　her　head　held　shamefacedly　downward；　she　looked　exactly　like
the　old　woman。　　I　thought　I　would　have　Nina　make　her　self…sacrifice
rebelliously；　as　a　girl　like　her　would　be　apt　to　do；　and　follow　the
cokecart　with　tears。　　This　would　catch　Janssen's　notice；　and　he　would
wonder；　perhaps　with　a　little　pang；　what　the　old　woman　was　crying　about；
and　then　he　would　see　that　it　was　not