a mortal antipathy-第22节

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diligently。　　But　after　all；　what　could　I　do？　　Here　I　was；　writing

stories　for　my　living　and　my　reputation。　　I　made　a　pretty　sum　enough；

and　worked　hard　enough　to　earn　it。　　No　tale；　no　money。　　Then　every

story　that　went　from　my　workshop　had　to　come　up　to　the　standard　of　my

reputation；　and　there　was　a　set　of　critics；there　is　a　set　of

critics　now　and　everywhere；that　watch　as　narrowly　for　the　decline

of　a　man's　reputation　as　ever　a　village　half　drowned　out　by　an

inundation　watched　for　the　falling　of　the　waters。　　The　fame　I　had

won；　such　as　it　was；　seemed　to　attend　me；not　going　before　me　in　the

shape　of　a　woman　with　a　trumpet；　but　rather　following　me　like　one　of

Actaeon's　hounds；　his　throat　open；　ready　to　pull　me　down　and　tear　me。

What　a　fierce　enemy　is　that　which　bays　behind　us　in　the　voice　of　our

proudest　bygone　achievement！



〃But；　as　I　said　above；　what　could　I　do？　　I　must　write　novels；　and　I

must　have　characters。　　'Then　why　not　invent　them？'　asks　some　novice。

Oh；　yes！　　Invent　them！　　You　can　invent　a　human　being　that　in　certain

aspects　of　humanity　will　answer　every　purpose　for　which　your

invention　was　intended。　　A　basket　of　straw；　an　old　coat　and　pair　of

breeches；　a　hat　which　has　been　soaked；　sat　upon；　stuffed　a　broken

window；　and　had　a　brood　of　chickens　raised　in　it；these　elements；

duly　adjusted　to　each　other；　will　represent　humanity　so　truthfully

that　the　crows　will　avoid　the　cornfield　when　your　scarecrow　displays

his　personality。　　Do　you　think　you　can　make　your　heroes　and

heroines；nay；　even　your　scrappy　supernumeraries；out　of　refuse

material；　as　you　made　your　scarecrow？　　You　can't　do　it。　　You　must

study　living　people　and　reproduce　them。　　And　whom　do　you　know　so　well

as　your　friends？　　You　will　show　up　your　friends；　then；　one　after

another。　　When　your　friends　give　out；　who　is　left　for　you？　　Why；

nobody　but　your　own　family；　of　course。　　When　you　have　used　up　your

family；　there　is　nothing　left　for　you　but　to　write　your

autobiography。



〃After　my　experience　with　my　grand…aunt；　I　be　came　more　cautious；

very　naturally。　　I　kept　traits　of　character；　but　I　mixed　ages　as　well

as　sexes。　　In　this　way　I　continued　to　use　up　a　large　amount　of

material；　which　looked　as　if　it　were　as　dangerous　as　dynamite　to

meddle　with。　　Who　would　have　expected　to　meet　my　maternal　uncle　in

the　guise　of　a　schoolboy？　　Yet　I　managed　to　decant　his

characteristics　as　nicely　as　the　old　gentleman　would　have　decanted　a

bottle　of　Juno　Madeira　through　that　long　siphon　which　he　always　used

when　the　most　sacred　vintages　were　summoned　from　their　crypts　to

render　an　account　of　themselves　on　his　hospitable　board。　　It　was　a

nice　business；　I　confess；　but　I　did　it；　and　I　drink　cheerfully　to

that　good　uncle's　memory　in　a　glass　of　wine　from　his　own　cellar；

which；　with　many　other　more　important　tokens　of　his　good　will；　I　call

my　own　since　his　lamented　demise。



〃I　succeeded　so　well　with　my　uncle　that　I　thought　I　would　try　a

course　of　cousins。　　I　had　enough　of　them　to　furnish　out　a　whole

gallery　of　portraits。　　There　was　cousin　'Creeshy；'　as　we　called　her；

Lucretia；　more　correctly。　　She　was　a　cripple。　　Her　left　lower　limb

had　had　something　happen　to　it；　and　she　walked　with　a　crutch。　　Her

patience　under　her　trial　was　very　pathetic　and　picturesque；　so　to

speak；I　mean　adapted　to　the　tender　parts　of　a　story；　nothing　could

work　up　better　in　a　melting　paragraph。　　But　I　could　not；　of　course；

describe　her　particular　infirmity；　that　would　point　her　out　at　once。

I　thought　of　shifting　the　lameness　to　the　right　lower　limb；　but　even

that　would　be　seen　through。　　So　I　gave　the　young　woman　that　stood　for

her　in　my　story　a　lame　elbow；　and　put　her　arm　in　a　sling；　and　made

her　such　a　model　of　uncomplaining　endurance　that　my　grandmother　cried

over　her　as　if　her　poor　old　heart　would　break。　　She　cried　very

easily；　my　grandmother；　in　fact；　she　had　such　a　gift　for　tears　that　I

availed　myself　of　it；　and　if　you　remember　old　Judy；　in　my　novel

〃Honi　Soit　〃　（Honey　Sweet；　the　booksellers　called　it）；old　Judy；　the

black…nurse；that　was　my　grandmother。　　She　had　various　other

peculiarities；　which　I　brought　out　one　by　one；　and　saddled　on　to

different　characters。　　You　see　she　was　a　perfect　mine　of

singularities　and　idiosyncrasies。　　After　I　had　used　her　up　pretty

well；　I　came　dawn　upon　my　poor　relations。　　They　were　perfectly　fair

game；　what　better　use　could　I　put　them　to？　　I　studied　them　up　very

carefully；　and　as　there　were　a　good　many　of　them　I　helped　myself

freely。　　They　lasted　me；　with　occasional　intermissions；　I　should　say；

three　or　four　years。　　I　had　to　be　very　careful　with　my　poor

relations；they　were　as　touchy　as　they　could　be；　and　as　I　felt　bound

to　send　a　copy　of　my　novel；　whatever　it　might　be；　to　each　one　of

them；there　were　as　many　as　a　dozen；I　took　care　to　mix　their

characteristic　features；　so　that；　though　each　might　suspect　I　meant

the　other；　no　one　should　think　I　meant　him　or　her。　　I　got　through　all

my　relations　at　last　except　my　father　and　mother。　　I　had　treated　my

brothers　and　sisters　pretty　fairly；　all　except　Elisha　and　Joanna。

The　truth　is　they　both　had　lots　of　odd　ways；family　traits；　I

suppose；　but　were　just　different　enough　from　each　other　to　figure

separately　in　two　different　stories。　　These　two　novels　made　me　some

little　trouble；　for　Elisha　said　he　felt　sure　that　I　meant　Joanna　in

one　of　them；　and　quarrelled　with　me　about　it；　and　Joanna　vowed　and

declared　that　Elnathan；　in　the　other；　stood　for　brother　'Lisha；　and

that　it　was　a　real　mean　thing　to　make　fun　of　folks'　own　flesh　and

blood；　and　treated　me　to　one　of　her　cries。　　She　was　n't　handsome　when

she　cried；　poor；　dear　Joanna；　in　fact；　that　was　one　of　the　personal

traits　I　had　made　use　of　in　the　story　that　Elisha　found　fault　with。



〃So　as　there　was　nobody　left　but　my　father　and　mother；　you　see　for

yourself　I　had　no　choice。　　There　was　one　great　advantage　in　dealing

with　them；I　knew　them　so　thoroughly。　　One　naturally　feels　a　certain

delicacy　it　handling　from　a　purely　artistic　point　of　view　persons　who

have　been　so　near　to　him。　　One's　mother；　for　instance：　suppose　some

of　her　little　ways　were　so　peculiar　that　the　accurate　delineation　of

them　would　furnish　amusement　to　great　numbers　of　readers；　it　would

not　be　without　hesitation　that　a　writer　of　delicate　sensibility　would

draw　her　portrait；　with　all　its　whimsicalities；　so　plainly　that　it

should　be　generally　recognized。　　One's　father　is　commonly　of　tougher

fibre　than　one's　mother；　and　one　would　not　feel　the　same　scruples；

perhaps；　in　using　him　professionally　as　material　in　a　novel；　still；

while　you　are　employing　him　as　bait；you　see　I　am　honest　and　plain…

spoken；　for　your　characters　are　baits　to　catch　readers　with；I　would

follow　kind　Izaak　Walton's　humane　counsel　about　the　frog　you　are

fastening　to　your　fish…hook：　fix　him　artistically；　as　he　directs；　but

in　so　doing　I　use　him　as　though　you　loved　him。'



〃I　have　at　length　shown　up；　in　one　form　and　another；　all　my　townsmen

who　have　anything　effective　in　their　bodily　or　mental　make…up；　all　my

friends；　all　my　relatives；　that　is；　all　my　blood　relatives。　　It　has

occurred　to　me　that　I　might　open　a　new　field　in　the　family　connection

of　my　father…in…law　and　mother…in…law。　　We　have　been　thinking　of

paying　them　a　visit；　and　I　shall　have　an　admirable　opportunity　of

studying　them　and　their　relatives　and　visitors。　　I　have　long　wanted　a

good　chance　for　getting　acquainted　with　the　social　sphere　several

grades　below　that　to　which　I　am　accustomed；　and　I　have　no　doubt　that

I　shall　find　matter　for　half　a　dozen　new　stories　among　those

connections　of　mine。　　Besides；　they　live　in　a　Western　city；　and　one

doesn't　mind　much　how　he　cuts　up　the　people　of　places　he　does　n't

himself　live　in。　　I　suppose　there　is　not　really　so　much　difference　in

people's　feelings；　whether　they　live　in　Bangor　or　Omaha；　but　one's

nerves　can't　be　expected　to　stretch　across　the　continent。　　It　is　all

a　matter　of　greater　or　less　distance。　　I　read　this　morning　that　a

Chinese　fleet　was　sunk；　but　I　did　n't　think　half　so　much　about　it　as

I　did　about　losing　my　sleeve　button；　confound　it！　　People　have

accused　me　of　want　of　feeling；　they　misunderstand　the　artist…nature；

that　is　all。　　I　obey　that　implicitly；　I　am　sorry　if　people　don't

like　my　descriptions；　but　I　have　done　my　best。　　I　have　pulled　to

pieces　all　the　persons　I　am　acquainted　with；　and　put　them　together

again　in　my　characters。　　The　quills　I　write　with　come　from　live

geese；　I　would　have　you　know。　　I　expect　to　get　some　first…rate

pluckings　from　those　people　I　was　speaking　of；　and　I　mean　to　begin　my

thirty…ninth　novel　as　soon　as　I　have　got　through　my　visit。〃









IX



THE　SOCIETY　AND　ITS　NEW　SECRETARY。



There　is　no　use　in　trying　to　hurry　the　natural　course　of　events；　in　a

narrative　like　this。　　June　passed　away；　and　July；　and　August　had

come；　and　as　yet　the　enigma　which　had　completely　puzzled　Arrowhead

Village　and　its　visitors　remained　unsolved。