over the teacups-第17节

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to　'the　governor'　with　my　verses；　if　I　were　you。　　For　either　he　will

think　what　you　have　written　is　something　wonderful；　almost　as　good　as

he　could　have　written　himself；in　fact；　he　always　did　believe　in

hereditary　genius；or　he　will　pooh…pooh　the　whole　rhyming　nonsense；

and　tell　you　that　you　had　a　great　deal　better　stick　to　your　business；

and　leave　all　the　word…jingling　to　Mother　Goose　and　her　followers。



〃'Show　me　your　verses；'　says　Horace。　　Very　good　it　was　in　him；　and

mighty　encouraging　the　first　counsel　he　gives！　　'Keep　your　poem　to

yourself　for　some　eight　or　ten　years；　you　will　have　time　to　look　it

over；　to　correct　it　and　make　it　fit　to　present　to　the　public。'



〃'Much　obliged　for　your　advice；'　says　the　poor　poet；　thirsting　for　a

draught　of　fame；　and　offered　a　handful　of　dust。　　And　off　he　hurries

to　the　printer；　to　be　sure　that　his　poem　comes　out　in　the　next　number

of　the　magazine　he　writes　for。〃





〃Is　not　poetry　the　natural　language　of　lovers？〃



It　was　the　Tutor　who　asked　this　question；　and　I　thought　he　looked　in

the　direction　of　Number　Five；　as　if　she　might　answer　his　question。

But　Number　Five　stirred　her　tea　devotedly；　there　was　a　lump　of　sugar；

I　suppose；　that　acted　like　a　piece　of　marble。　　So　there　was　a　silence

while　the　lump　was　slowly　dissolving；　and　it　was　anybody's　chance　who

saw　fit　to　take　up　the　conversation。



The　voice　that　broke　the　silence　was　not　the　sweet；　winsome　one　we

were　listening　for；　but　it　instantly　arrested　the　attention　of　the

company。　　It　was　the　grave；　manly　voice　of　one　used　to　speaking；　and

accustomed　to　be　listened　to　with　deference。　　This　was　the　first　time

that　the　company　as　a　whole　had　heard　it；　for　the　speaker　was　the

new…comer　who　has　been　repeatedly　alluded　to；the　one　of　whom　I

spoke　as　〃the　Counsellor。〃



〃I　think　I　can　tell　you　something　about　that；〃　said　the　Counsellor。

〃I　suppose　you　will　wonder　how　a　man　of　my　profession　can　know　or

interest　himself　about　a　question　so　remote　from　his　arid　pursuits。

And　yet　there　is　hardly　one　man　in　a　thousand　who　knows　from　actual

experience　a　fraction　of　what　I　have　learned　of　the　lovers'

vocabulary　in　my　professional　experience。　　I　have；　I　am　sorry　to　say；

had　to　take　an　important　part　in　a　great　number　of　divorce　cases。

These　have　brought　before　me　scores　and　hundreds　of　letters；　in　which

every　shade　of　the　great　passion　has　been　represented。　　What　has　most

struck　me　in　these　amatory　correspondences　has　been　their　remarkable

sameness。　　It　seems　as　if　writing　love…letters　reduced　all　sorts　of

people　to　the　same　level。　　I　don't　remember　whether　Lord　Bacon　has

left　us　anything　in　that　line；unless；　indeed；　he　wrote　Romeo　and

Juliet'　and　the　'Sonnets；'　but　if　he　has；　I　don't　believe　they　differ

so　very　much　from　those　of　his　valet　or　his　groom　to　their　respective

lady…loves。　　It　is　always；　My　darling！　　my　darling！　　The　words　of

endearment　are　the　only　ones　the　lover　wants　to　employ；　and　he　finds

the　vocabulary　too　limited　for　his　vast　desires。　　So　his　letters　are

apt　to　be　rather　tedious　except　to　the　personage　to　whom　they　are

addressed。　　As　to　poetry；　it　is　very　common　to　find　it　in　love…

letters；　especially　in　those　that　have　no　love　in　them。　　The　letters

of　bigamists　and　polygamists　are　rich　in　poetical　extracts。

Occasionally；　an　original　spurt　in　rhyme　adds　variety　to　an　otherwise

monotonous　performance。　　I　don't　think　there　is　much　passion　in　men's

poetry　addressed　to　women。　　I　agree　with　The　Dictator　that　poetry　is

little　more　than　the　ashes　of　passion；　still　it　may　show　that　the

flame　has　had　its　sweep　where　you　find　it；　unless；　indeed；　it　is

shoveled　in　from　another　man's　fireplace。〃



〃What　do　you　say　to　the　love　poetry　of　women？〃　asked　the　Professor。

〃Did　ever　passion　heat　words　to　incandescence　as　it　did　those　of

Sappho？〃



The　Counsellor　turned；not　to　Number　Five；　as　he　ought　to　have　done；

according　to　my　programme；　but　to　the　Mistress。



〃Madam；〃　he　said；　〃your　sex　is　adorable　in　many　ways；　but　in　the

abandon　of　a　genuine　love…letter　it　is　incomparable。　　I　have　seen　a

string　of　women's　love…letters；　in　which　the　creature　enlaced　herself

about　the　object　of　her　worship　as　that　South　American　parasite　which

clasps　the　tree　to　which　it　has　attached　itself；　begins　with　a

slender　succulent　network；　feeds　on　the　trunk；　spreads　its　fingers

out　to　hold　firmly　to　one　branch　after　another；　thickens；　hardens；

stretches　in　every　direction；　following　the　boughs；and　at　length

gets　strong　enough　to　hold　in　its　murderous　arms；　high　up　in　air；　the

stump　and　shaft　of　the　once　sturdy　growth　that　was　its　support　and

subsistence。〃



The　Counsellor　did　not　say　all　this　quite　so　formally　as　I　have　set

it　down　here；　but　in　a　much　easier　way。　　In　fact；　it　is　impossible　to

smooth　out　a　conversation　from　memory　without　stiffening　it；　you

can't　have　a　dress　shirt　look　quite　right　without　starching　the

bosom。



Some　of　us　would　have　liked　to　hear　more　about　those　letters　in　the

divorce　cases；　but　the　Counsellor　had　to　leave　the　table。　　He

promised　to　show　us　some　pictures　he　has　of　the　South　American

parasite。　　I　have　seen　them；　and　I　can　assure　you　they　are　very

curious。



The　following　verses　were　found　in　the　urn；　or　sugar…bowl。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　CACOETHES　SCRIBENDI。



　　　　　　　　　　If　all　the　trees　in　all　the　woods　were　men；

　　　　　　　　　　And　each　and　every　blade　of　grass　a　pen；

　　　　　　　　　　If　every　leaf　on　every　shrub　and　tree

　　　　　　　　　　Turned　to　a　sheet　of　foolscap；　every　sea

　　　　　　　　　　Were　changed　to　ink；　and　all　earth's　living　tribes

　　　　　　　　　　Had　nothing　else　to　do　but　act　as　scribes；

　　　　　　　　　　And　for　ten　thousand　ages；　day　and　night；

　　　　　　　　　　The　human　race　should　write；　and　write；　and　write；

　　　　　　　　　　Till　all　the　pens　and　paper　were　used　up；

　　　　　　　　　　And　the　huge　inkstand　was　an　empty　cup；

　　　　　　　　　　Still　would　the　scribblers　clustered　round　its　brim

　　　　　　　　　　Call　for　more　pens；　more　paper；　and　more　ink。









V



〃Dolce；　ma　non　troppo　dolce；〃　said　the　Professor　to　the　Mistress；　who

was　sweetening　his　tea。　　She　always　sweetens　his　and　mine　for　us。　　He

has　been　attending　a　series　of　concerts；　and　borrowed　the　form　of　the

directions　to　the　orchestra。　　〃Sweet；　but　not　too　sweet；〃　he　said；

translating　the　Italian　for　the　benefit　of　any　of　the　company　who

might　not　be　linguists　or　musical　experts。



〃Do　you　go　to　those　musical　hullabaloos？〃　called　out　Number　Seven。

There　was　something　very　much　like　rudeness　in　this　question　and　the

tone　in　which　it　was　asked。　　But　we　are　used　to　the　outbursts；　and

extravagances；　and　oddities　of　Number　Seven；　and　do　not　take　offence

at　his　rough　speeches　as　we　should　if　any　other　of　the　company

uttered　them。



〃If　you　mean　the　concerts　that　have　been　going　on　this　season；　yes；　I

do；〃　said　the　Professor；　in　a　bland；　good…humored　way。



〃And　do　you　take　real　pleasure　in　the　din　of　all　those　screeching　and

banging　and　growling　instruments？〃



〃Yes；〃　he　answered；　modestly；　〃I　enjoy　she　brouhaha；　if　you　choose　to

consider　it　such；　of　all　this　quarrelsome　menagerie　of　noise…making

machines；　brought　into　order　and　harmony　by　the　presiding　genius；　the

leader；　who　has　made　a　happy　family　of　these　snarling　stringed

instruments　and　whining　wind　instruments；　so　that　although



　　　　　　　　　　Linguae　centum　sent；　oraque　centum；



notwithstanding　there　are　a　hundred　vibrating　tongues　and　a　hundred

bellowing　mouths；　their　one　grand　blended　and　harmonized　uproar　sets

all　my　fibres　tingling　with　a　not　unpleasing　tremor。〃



〃Do　you　understand　it？　　Do　you　take　any　idea　from　it？　　Do　you　know

what　it　all　means？〃　said　Number　Seven。



The　Professor　was　long…suffering　under　this　series　of　somewhat

peremptory　questions。　　He　replied　very　placidly；　〃I　am　afraid　I　have

but　a　superficial　outside　acquaintance　with　the　secrets；　the

unfathomable　mysteries；　of　music。　　I　can　no　more　conceive　of　the

working　conditions　of　the　great　composer；



　　　　　　　　　'Untwisting　all　the　chains　that　tie

　　　　　　　　　　The　hidden　soul　of　harmony；'



than　a　child　of　three　years　can　follow　the　reasonings　of　Newton's

'Principia。'　　I　do　not　even　pretend　that　I　can　appreciate　the　work　of

a　great　master　as　a　born　and　trained　musician　does。　　Still；　I　do　love

a　great　crash　of　harmonies；　and　the　oftener　I　listen　to　these　musical

tempests　the　higher　my　soul　seems　to　ride　upon　them；　as　the　wild　fowl

I　see　through　my　window　soar　more　freely　and　fearlessly　the　fiercer

the　storm　with　which　they　battle。〃



〃That's　all　very　well；〃　said　Number　Seven；　〃but　I　wish　we　could　get

the　old…time　music　back　again。　　You　ought　to　have　heard；no；　I　won't

mention　her；　dead；　poor　girl；dead　and　singing　with　the　saints　in

heaven；but　the　S_____　girls。　　If　you　could　have　heard　them　as　I　did

when　I　was　a　boy；　you　would　have　cried；　as　we　all　used　to。　　Do　you

cry　at　those　great　musical　smashes？　　How　can　you　cry　when　you　don't

know　what　it　i