wessex tales-第2节

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They　would　not　hear　of　this；　and　went　back　to　the　hotel；　intending
to　proceed　to　the　agent's　to　inquire　further。　　Hardly　had　they　sat
down　to　tea　when　the　landlady　called。　　Her　gentleman；　she　said；　had
been　so　obliging　as　to　offer　to　give　up　his　rooms　for　three　or　four
weeks　rather　than　drive　the　new…comers　away。

'It　is　very　kind；　but　we　won't　inconvenience　him　in　that　way；'　said
the　Marchmills。

'O；　it　won't　inconvenience　him；　I　assure　you！'　said　the　landlady
eloquently。　　'You　see；　he's　a　different　sort　of　young　man　from　most…
…dreamy；　solitary；　rather　melancholyand　he　cares　more　to　be　here
when　the　south…westerly　gales　are　beating　against　the　door；　and　the
sea　washes　over　the　Parade；　and　there's　not　a　soul　in　the　place；
than　he　does　now　in　the　season。　　He'd　just　as　soon　be　where；　in
fact；　he's　going　temporarily；　to　a　little　cottage　on　the　Island
opposite；　for　a　change。'　　She　hoped　therefore　that　they　would　come。

The　Marchmill　family　accordingly　took　possession　of　the　house　next
day；　and　it　seemed　to　suit　them　very　well。　　After　luncheon　Mr。
Marchmill　strolled　out　towards　the　pier；　and　Mrs。　Marchmill；　having
despatched　the　children　to　their　outdoor　amusements　on　the　sands；
settled　herself　in　more　completely；　examining　this　and　that　article；
and　testing　the　reflecting　powers　of　the　mirror　in　the　wardrobe
door。

In　the　small　back　sitting…room；　which　had　been　the　young　bachelor's；
she　found　furniture　of　a　more　personal　nature　than　in　the　rest。
Shabby　books；　of　correct　rather　than　rare　editions；　were　piled　up　in
a　queerly　reserved　manner　in　corners；　as　if　the　previous　occupant
had　not　conceived　the　possibility　that　any　incoming　person　of　the
season's　bringing　could　care　to　look　inside　them。　　The　landlady
hovered　on　the　threshold　to　rectify　anything　that　Mrs。　Marchmill
might　not　find　to　her　satisfaction。

'I'll　make　this　my　own　little　room；'　said　the　latter；　'because　the
books　are　here。　　By　the　way；　the　person　who　has　left　seems　to　have　a
good　many。　　He　won't　mind　my　reading　some　of　them；　Mrs。　Hooper；　I
hope？'

'O　dear　no；　ma'am。　　Yes；　he　has　a　good　many。　　You　see；　he　is　in　the
literary　line　himself　somewhat。　　He　is　a　poetyes；　really　a　poet
and　he　has　a　little　income　of　his　own；　which　is　enough　to　write
verses　on；　but　not　enough　for　cutting　a　figure；　even　if　he　cared
to。'

'A　poet！　　O；　I　did　not　know　that。'

Mrs。　Marchmill　opened　one　of　the　books；　and　saw　the　owner's　name
written　on　the　title…page。　　'Dear　me！'　she　continued；　'I　know　his
name　very　wellRobert　Treweof　course　I　do；　and　his　writings！　　And
it　is　HIS　rooms　we　have　taken；　and　HIM　we　have　turned　out　of　his
home？'

Ella　Marchmill；　sitting　down　alone　a　few　minutes　later；　thought　with
interested　surprise　of　Robert　Trewe。　　Her　own　latter　history　will
best　explain　that　interest。　　Herself　the　only　daughter　of　a
struggling　man　of　letters；　she　had　during　the　last　year　or　two　taken
to　writing　poems；　in　an　endeavour　to　find　a　congenial　channel　in
which　to　let　flow　her　painfully　embayed　emotions；　whose　former
limpidity　and　sparkle　seemed　departing　in　the　stagnation　caused　by
the　routine　of　a　practical　household　and　the　gloom　of　bearing
children　to　a　commonplace　father。　　These　poems；　subscribed　with　a
masculine　pseudonym；　had　appeared　in　various　obscure　magazines；　and
in　two　cases　in　rather　prominent　ones。　　In　the　second　of　the　latter
the　page　which　bore　her　effusion　at　the　bottom；　in　smallish　print；
bore　at　the　top；　in　large　print；　a　few　verses　on　the　same　subject　by
this　very　man；　Robert　Trewe。　　Both　of　them　had；　in　fact；　been　struck
by　a　tragic　incident　reported　in　the　daily　papers；　and　had　used　it
simultaneously　as　an　inspiration；　the　editor　remarking　in　a　note
upon　the　coincidence；　and　that　the　excellence　of　both　poems　prompted
him　to　give　them　together。

After　that　event　Ella；　otherwise　'John　Ivy；'　had　watched　with　much
attention　the　appearance　anywhere　in　print　of　verse　bearing　the
signature　of　Robert　Trewe；　who；　with　a　man's　unsusceptibility　on　the
question　of　sex；　had　never　once　thought　of　passing　himself　off　as　a
woman。　　To　be　sure；　Mrs。　Marchmill　had　satisfied　herself　with　a　sort
of　reason　for　doing　the　contrary　in　her　case；　that　nobody　might
believe　in　her　inspiration　if　they　found　that　the　sentiments　came
from　a　pushing　tradesman's　wife；　from　the　mother　of　three　children
by　a　matter…of…fact　small…arms　manufacturer。

Trewe's　verse　contrasted　with　that　of　the　rank　and　file　of　recent
minor　poets　in　being　impassioned　rather　than　ingenious；　luxuriant
rather　than　finished。　　Neither　symboliste　nor　decadent；　he　was　a
pessimist　in　so　far　as　that　character　applies　to　a　man　who　looks　at
the　worst　contingencies　as　well　as　the　best　in　the　human　condition。
Being　little　attracted　by　excellences　of　form　and　rhythm　apart　from
content；　he　sometimes；　when　feeling　outran　his　artistic　speed；
perpetrated　sonnets　in　the　loosely　rhymed　Elizabethan　fashion；　which
every　right…minded　reviewer　said　he　ought　not　to　have　done。

With　sad　and　hopeless　envy；　Ella　Marchmill　had　often　and　often
scanned　the　rival　poet's　work；　so　much　stronger　as　it　always　was
than　her　own　feeble　lines。　　She　had　imitated　him；　and　her　inability
to　touch　his　level　would　send　her　into　fits　of　despondency。　　Months
passed　away　thus；　till　she　observed　from　the　publishers'　list　that
Trewe　had　collected　his　fugitive　pieces　into　a　volume；　which　was
duly　issued；　and　was　much　or　little　praised　according　to　chance；　and
had　a　sale　quite　sufficient　to　pay　for　the　printing。

This　step　onward　had　suggested　to　John　Ivy　the　idea　of　collecting
her　pieces　also；　or　at　any　rate　of　making　up　a　book　of　her　rhymes　by
adding　many　in　manuscript　to　the　few　that　had　seen　the　light；　for
she　had　been　able　to　get　no　great　number　into　print。　　A　ruinous
charge　was　made　for　costs　of　publication；　a　few　reviews　noticed　her
poor　little　volume；　but　nobody　talked　of　it；　nobody　bought　it；　and
it　fell　dead　in　a　fortnightif　it　had　ever　been　alive。

The　author's　thoughts　were　diverted　to　another　groove　just　then　by
the　discovery　that　she　was　going　to　have　a　third　child；　and　the
collapse　of　her　poetical　venture　had　perhaps　less　effect　upon　her
mind　than　it　might　have　done　if　she　had　been　domestically
unoccupied。　　Her　husband　had　paid　the　publisher's　bill　with　the
doctor's；　and　there　it　all　had　ended　for　the　time。　　But；　though　less
than　a　poet　of　her　century；　Ella　was　more　than　a　mere　multiplier　of
her　kind；　and　latterly　she　had　begun　to　feel　the　old　afflatus　once
more。　　And　now　by　an　odd　conjunction　she　found　herself　in　the　rooms
of　Robert　Trewe。

She　thoughtfully　rose　from　her　chair　and　searched　the　apartment　with
the　interest　of　a　fellow…tradesman。　　Yes；　the　volume　of　his　own
verse　was　among　the　rest。　　Though　quite　familiar　with　its　contents；
she　read　it　here　as　if　it　spoke　aloud　to　her；　then　called　up　Mrs。
Hooper；　the　landlady；　for　some　trivial　service；　and　inquired　again
about　the　young　man。

'Well；　I'm　sure　you'd　be　interested　in　him；　ma'am；　if　you　could　see
him；　only　he's　so　shy　that　I　don't　suppose　you　will。'　　Mrs。　Hooper
seemed　nothing　loth　to　minister　to　her　tenant's　curiosity　about　her
predecessor。　　'Lived　here　long？　　Yes；　nearly　two　years。　　He　keeps　on
his　rooms　even　when　he's　not　here：　　the　soft　air　of　this　place　suits
his　chest；　and　he　likes　to　be　able　to　come　back　at　any　time。　　He　is
mostly　writing　or　reading；　and　doesn't　see　many　people；　though；　for
the　matter　of　that；　he　is　such　a　good；　kind　young　fellow　that　folks
would　only　be　too　glad　to　be　friendly　with　him　if　they　knew　him。
You　don't　meet　kind…hearted　people　every　day。'

'Ah；　he's　kind…hearted　。　。　。　and　good。'

'Yes；　he'll　oblige　me　in　anything　if　I　ask　him。　　〃Mr。　Trewe；〃　I　say
to　him　sometimes；　〃you　are　rather　out　of　spirits。〃　　〃Well；　I　am；
Mrs。　Hooper；〃　he'll　say；　〃though　I　don't　know　how　you　should　find　it
out。〃　　〃Why　not　take　a　little　change？〃　I　ask。　　Then　in　a　day　or　two
he'll　say　that　he　will　take　a　trip　to　Paris；　or　Norway；　or
somewhere；　and　I　assure　you　he　comes　back　all　the　better　for　it。'

'Ah；　indeed！　　His　is　a　sensitive　nature；　no　doubt。'

'Yes。　　Still　he's　odd　in　some　things。　　Once　when　he　had　finished　a
poem　of　his　composition　late　at　night　he　walked　up　and　down　the　room
rehearsing　it；　and　the　floors　being　so　thinjerry…built　houses；　you
know；　though　I　say　it　myselfhe　kept　me　awake　up　above　him　till　I
wished　him　further　。　。　。　But　we　get　on　very　well。'

This　was　but　the　beginning　of　a　series　of　conversations　about　the
rising　poet　as　the　days　went　on。　　On　one　of　these　occasions　Mrs。
Hooper　drew　Ella's　attention　to　what　she　had　not　noticed　before：
minute　scribblings　in　pencil　on　the　wall…paper　behind　the　curtains
at　the　head　of　the　bed。

'O！　let　me　look；'　said　Mrs。　Marchmill；　unable　to　conceal　a　rush　of
tender　curiosity　as　she　bent　her　pretty　face　close　to　the　wall。

'These；'　said　Mrs。　Hooper；　with　the　manner　of　a　woman　who　knew
things；　'are　the　very　beginnings　and　first　thoughts　of　his　verses。
He　has　tried　to　rub　most　of　them　out；　but　you　can　read　them　still。
My　belief　is　that　he　wakes　up　in　the　night；　you　know；　with　some
rhyme　in　his　head；　and　jots　it　down　there　on　the　wall　lest　he　should
forget　it　by　the　morning。　　Some　of　these