a mortal antipathy-第12节

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he　was　apt　to　have　a　stick　of　candy　or　a　handful　of　peanuts　or　other

desirable　luxury　in　his　pocket　for　any　of　his　little　friends　he　met

with。　　He　had　that　wholesome；　happy　look；　so　uncommon　in　our　arid

countrymen；a　look　hardly　to　be　found　except　where　figs　and　oranges

ripen　in　the　open　air。　　A　kindly　climate　to　grow　up　in；　a　religion

which　takes　your　money　and　gives　you　a　stamped　ticket　good　at　Saint

Peter's　box　office；　a　roomy　chest　and　a　good　pair　of　lungs　in　it；　an

honest　digestive　apparatus；　a　lively　temperament；　a　cheerful

acceptance　of　the　place　in　life　assigned　to　one　by　nature　and

circumstance；these　are　conditions　under　which　life　may　be　quite

comfortable　to　endure；　and　certainly　is　very　pleasant　to　contemplate。

All　these　conditions　were　united　in　Paolo。　　He　was　the　easiest；

pleasantest　creature　to　talk　with　that　one　could　ask　for　a　companion。

His　southern　vivacity；　his　amusing　English；　his　simplicity　and

openness；　made　him　friends　everywhere。



It　seemed　as　if　it　would　be　a　very　simple　matter　to　get　the　history

of　his　master　out　of　this　guileless　and　unsophisticated　being。　　He

had　been　tried　by　all　the　village　experts。　　The　rector　had　put　a

number　of　well…studied　careless　questions；　which　failed　of　their

purpose。　　The　old　librarian　of　the　town　library　had　taken　note　of　all

the　books　he　carried　to　his　master；　and　asked　about　his　studies　and

pursuits。　　Paolo　found　it　hard　to　understand　his　English；　apparently；

and　answered　in　the　most　irrelevant　way。　　The　leading　gossip　of　the

village　tried　her　skill　in　pumping　him　for　information。　　It　was　all

in　vain。



His　master's　way　of　life　was　peculiar；in　fact；　eccentric。　　He　had

hired　rooms　in　an　old…fashioned　three…story　house。　　He　had　two　rooms

in　the　second　and　third　stories　of　this　old　wooden　building：　his

study　in　the　second；　his　sleeping…room　in　the　one　above　it。　　Paolo

lived　in　the　basement；　where　he　had　all　the　conveniences　for　cooking；

and　played　the　part　of　chef　for　his　master　and　himself。　　This　was

only　a　part　of　his　duty；　for　he　was　a　man…of…all…work；　purveyor；

steward；　chambermaid；as　universal　in　his　services　for　one　man　as

Pushee　at　the　Anchor　Tavern　used　to　be　for　everybody。



It　so　happened　that　Paolo　took　a　severe　cold　one　winter's　day；　and

had　such　threatening　symptoms　that　he　asked　the　baker；　when　he

called；　to　send　the　village　physician　to　see　him。　　In　the　course　of

his　visit　the　doctor　naturally　inquired　about　the　health　of　Paolo's

master。



〃Signor　Kirkwood　well；molto　bene；〃　said　Paolo。　　〃Why　does　he　keep

out　of　sight　as　he　does？〃　asked　the　doctor。



〃He　always　so；〃　replied　Paolo。　　〃Una　antipatia。〃



Whether　Paolo　was　off　his　guard　with　the　doctor；　whether　he　revealed

it　to　him　as　to　a　father　confessor；　or　whether　he　thought　it　time

that　the　reason　of　his　master's　seclusion　should　be　known；　the　doctor

did　not　feel　sure。　　At　any　rate；　Paolo　was　not　disposed　to　make　any

further　revelations。　　Una　antipatia；an　antipathy；that　was　all　the

doctor　learned。　　He　thought　the　matter　over；　and　the　more　he

reflected　the　more　he　was　puzzled。　　What　could　an　antipathy　be　that

made　a　young　man　a　recluse！　　Was　it　a　dread　of　blue　sky　and　open　air；

of　the　smell　of　flowers；　or　some　electrical　impression　to　which　be

was　unnaturally　sensitive？



Dr。　Butts　carried　these　questions　home　with　him。　　His　wife　was　a

sensible；　discreet　woman；　whom　he　could　trust　with　many　professional

secrets。　　He　told　her　of　Paolo's　revelation；　and　talked　it　over　with

her　in　the　light　of　his　experience　and　her　own；　for　she　had　known

some　curious　cases　of　constitutional　likes　and　aversions。



Mrs。　　Butts　buried　the　information　in　the　grave　of　her　memory；　where

it　lay　for　nearly　a　week。　　At　the　end　of　that　time　it　emerged　in　a

confidential　whisper　to　her　favorite　sister…in…law；　a　perfectly　safe

person。　　Twenty…four　hours　later　the　story　was　all　over　the　village

that　Maurice　Kirkwood　was　the　subject　of　a　strange；　mysterious；

unheard…of　antipathy　to　something；　nobody　knew　what；　and　the　whole

neighborhood　naturally　resolved　itself　into　an　unorganized　committee

of　investigation。









IV



What　is　a　country　village　without　its　mysterious　personage？　　Few　are

now　living　who　can　remember　the　advent　of　the　handsome　young　man　who

was　the　mystery　of　our　great　university　town　〃sixty　years　since；〃

long　enough　ago　for　a　romance　to　grow　out　of　a　narrative；　as　Waverley

may　remind　us。　　The　writer　of　this　narrative　remembers　him　well；　and

is　not　sure　that　he　has　not　told　the　strange　story　in　some　form　or

other　to　the　last　generation；　or　to　the　one　before　the　last。　　No

matter：　if　he　has　told　it　they　have　forgotten　it；that　is；　if　they

have　ever　read　it；　and　whether　they　have　or　have　not；　the　story　is

singular　enough　to　justify　running　the　risk　of　repetition。



This　young　man；　with　a　curious　name　of　Scandinavian　origin；　appeared

unheralded　in　the　town；　as　it　was　then；　of　Cantabridge。　　He　wanted

employment；　and　soon　found　it　in　the　shape　of　manual　labor；　which　he

undertook　and　performed　cheerfully。　　But　his　whole　appearance　showed

plainly　enough　that　he　was　bred　to　occupations　of　a　very　different

nature；　if；　in　deed；　he　had　been　accustomed　to　any　kind　of　toil　for

his　living。　　His　aspect　was　that　of　one　of　gentle　birth。　　His　hands

were　not　those　of　a　laborer；　and　his　features　were　delicate　and

refined；　as　well　as　of　remarkable　beauty。　　Who　he　was；　where　he　came

from；　why　he　had　come　to　Cantabridge；　was　never　clearly　explained。

He　was　alone；　without　friends；　except　among　the　acquaintances　he　had

made　in　his　new　residence。　　If　he　had　any　correspondents；　they　were

not　known　to　the　neighborhood　where　he　was　living。　　But　if　he　had

neither　friends　nor　correspondents；　there　was　some　reason　for

believing　that　he　had　enemies。　　Strange　circumstances　occurred　which

connected　themselves　with　him　in　an　ominous　and　unaccountable　way。　　A

threatening　letter　was　slipped　under　the　door　of　a　house　where　he　was

visiting。　　He　had　a　sudden　attack　of　illness；　which　was　thought　to

look　very　much　like　the　effect　of　poison。　　At　one　time　he

disappeared；　and　was　found　wandering；　bewildered；　in　a　town　many

miles　from　that　where　he　was　residing。　　When　questioned　how　he　came

there；　he　told　a　coherent　story　that　he　had　been　got；　under　some

pretext；　or　in　some　not　incredible　way；　into　a　boat；　from　which；　at　a

certain　landing…place；　he　had　escaped　and　fled　for　his　life；　which　he

believed　was　in　danger　from　his　kidnappers。



Whoever　his　enemies　may　have　been；if　they　really　existed；he　did

not　fall　a　victim　to　their　plots；　so　far　as　known　to　or　remembered　by

this　witness。



Various　interpretations　were　put　upon　his　story。　　Conjectures　were　as

abundant　as　they　were　in　the　case　of　Kaspar　Hauser。　　That　he　was　of

good　family　seemed　probable；　that　he　was　of　distinguished　birth；　not

impossible；　that　he　was　the　dangerous　rival　of　a　candidate　for　a

greatly　coveted　position　in　one　of　the　northern　states　of　Europe　was

a　favorite　speculation　of　some　of　the　more　romantic　young　persons。

There　was　no　dramatic　ending　to　this　story；at　least　none　is

remembered　by　the　present　writer。



〃He　left　a　name；〃　like　the　royal　Swede；　of　whose　lineage　he　may　have

been　for　aught　that　the　village　people　knew；　but　not　a　name　at　which

anybody　〃grew　pale；〃　for　he　had　swindled　no　one；　and　broken　no

woman's　heart　with　false　vows。　　Possibly　some　withered　cheeks　may

flush　faintly　as　they　recall　the　handsome　young　man　who　came　before

the　Cantabridge　maidens　fully　equipped　for　a　hero　of　romance　when　the

century　was　in　its　first　quarter。



The　writer　has　been　reminded　of　the　handsome　Swede　by　the　incidents

attending　the　advent　of　the　unknown　and　interesting　stranger　who　had

made　his　appearance　at　Arrowhead　Village。



It　was　a　very　insufficient　and　unsatisfactory　reason　to　assign　for

the　young　man's　solitary　habits　that　he　was　the　subject　of　an

antipathy。　　For　what　do　we　understand　by　that　word？　　When　a　young

lady　screams　at　the　sight　of　a　spider；　we　accept　her　explanation　that

she　has　a　natural　antipathy　to　the　creature。　　When　a　person　expresses

a　repugnance　to　some　wholesome　article　of　food；　agreeable　to　most

people；　we　are　satisfied　if　he　gives　the　same　reason。　　And　so　of

various　odors；　which　are　pleasing　to　some　persons　and　repulsive　to

others。　　We　do　not　pretend　to　go　behind　the　fact。　　It　is　an

individual；　and　it　may　be　a　family；　peculiarity。　　Even　between

different　personalities　there　is　an　instinctive　elective　dislike　as

well　as　an　elective　affinity。　　We　are　not　bound　to　give　a　reason　why

Dr。　Fell　is　odious　to　us　any　more　than　the　prisoner　who　peremptorily

challenges　a　juryman　is　bound　to　say　why　he　does　it；　it　is　enough

that　he　〃does　not　like　his　looks。〃



There　was　nothing　strange；　then；　that　Maurice　Kirkwood　should　have

his　special　antipathy；　a　great　many　other　people　have　odd　likes　and

dislikes。　　But　it　was　a　very　curious　thing　that　this　antipathy　shoul