the poet at the breakfast table-第18节

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This　frightful　speech　of　mine　reached　the　ear　of　our　Scheherezade；
who　said　that　it　was　perfectly　shocking　and　that　I　deserved　to　be
shown　up　as　the　outlaw　in　one　of　her　bandit　stories。

Hush；　my　dear；said　the　Lady；you　will　have　to　bring　John　Milton
into　your　story　with　our　friend　there；　if　you　punish　everybody　who
says　naughty　things　like　that。　　Send　the　little　boy　up　to　my　chamber
for　Paradise　Lost；　if　you　please。　　He　will　find　it　lying　on　my　table。
The　little　old　volume；he　can't　mistake　it。

So　the　girl　called　That　Boy　round　and　gave　him　the　message；　I　don't
know　why　she　should　give　it；　but　she　did；　and　the　Lady　helped　her　out
with　a　word　or　two。

The　little　volumeits　cover　protected　with　soft　white　leather　from　a
long　kid　glove；　evidently　suggesting　the　brilliant　assemblies　of　the
days　when　friends　and　fortune　smiled…came　presently　and　the　Lady
opened　it。…You　may　read　that；　if　you　like；　she　said；it　may　show
you　that　our　friend　is　to　be　pilloried　in　good　company。

The　Young　Girl　ran　her　eye　along　the　passage　the　Lady　pointed　out；
blushed；　laughed；　and　slapped　the　book　down　as　though　she　would　have
liked　to　box　the　ears　of　Mr。　John　Milton；　if　he　had　been　a
contemporary　and　fellow…contributor　to　the　〃Weekly　Bucket。〃I　won't
touch　the　thing；she　said。…He　was　a　horrid　man　to　talk　so：　and　he
had　as　many　wives　as　Blue…Beard。

Fair　play；said　the　Master。…Bring　me　the　book；　my　little
fractional　superfluity；I　mean　you；　my　nursling；my　boy；　if　that
suits　your　small　Highness　better。

The　Boy　brought　the　book。

The　old　Master；　not　unfamiliar　with　the　great　epic　opened　pretty
nearly　to　the　place；　and　very　soon　found　the　passage：　He　read；　aloud
with　grand　scholastic　intonation　and　in　a　deep　voice　that　silenced
the　table　as　if　a　prophet　had　just　uttered　Thus　saith　the　Lord：

　　　　〃So　spake　our　sire；　and　by　his　countenance　seemed
　　　　　Entering　on　studious　thoughts　abstruse；　which　Eve
　　　　　Perceiving　〃

went　to　water　her　geraniums；　to　make　a　short　story　of　it；　and　left
the　two　〃conversationists；〃　to　wit；　the　angel　Raphael　and　the
gentleman；there　was　but　one　gentleman　in　society　then；　you　know；
to　talk　it　out。

　　　　〃Yet　went　she　not；　as　not　with　such　discourse
　　　　　Delighted；　or　not　capable　her　ear
　　　　　Of　what　was　high；　such　pleasure　she　reserved；
　　　　　Adam　relating；　she　sole　auditress；
　　　　　Her　husband　the　relater　she　preferred
　　　　　Before　the　angel；　and　of　him　to　ask
　　　　　Chose　rather；　he　she　knew　would　intermix
　　　　　Grateful　digressions；　and　solve　high　dispute
　　　　　With　conjugal　caresses：　from　his　lips
　　　　　Not　words　alone　pleased　her。〃

Everybody　laughed；　except　the　Capitalist；　who　was　a　little　hard　of
hearing；　and　the　Scarabee；　whose　life　was　too　earnest　for
demonstrations　of　that　kind。　　He　had　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　volume；
however；　with　eager　interest。


The　p'int　's　carried；said　the　Member　of　the　Haouse。

Will　you　let　me　look　at　that　book　a　single　minute？said　the
Scarabee。　　I　passed　it　to　him；　wondering　what　in　the　world　he　wanted
of　Paradise　Lost。

Dermestes　lardarius；he　said；　pointing　to　a　place　where　the　edge　of
one　side　of　the　outer　cover　had　been　slightly　tasted　by　some　insect。
Very　fond　of　leather　while　they　're　in　the　larva　state。

Damage　the　goods　as　bad　as　mice；said　the　Salesman。

Eat　half　the　binding　off　Folio　67；said　the　Register　of　Deeds。
Something　did；　anyhow；　and　it　was　n't　mice。　　Found　the　shelf　covered
with　little　hairy　cases　belonging　to　something　or　other　that　had　no
business　there。

Skins　of　the　Dermestes　lardaraus；said　the　Scarabee；you　can　always
tell　them　by　those　brown　hairy　coats。　　That　's　the　name　to　give　them。

What　good　does　it　do　to　give　'em　a　name　after　they　've　eat　the
binding　off　my　folios？　asked　the　Register　of　Deeds。

The　Scarabee　had　too　much　respect　for　science　to　answer　such　a
question　as　that；　and　the　book；　having　served　its　purposes；　was
passed　back　to　the　Lady。

I　return　to　the　previous　question；said　I；if　our　friend　the　Member
of　the　House　of　Representatives　will　allow　me　to　borrow　the　phrase。
Womanly　women　are　very　kindly　critics；　except　to　themselves　and　now
and　then　to　their　own　sex。　　The　less　there　is　of　sex　about　a　woman；
the　more　she　is　to　be　dreaded。　　But　take　a　real　woman　at　her　best
moment；well　dressed　enough　to　be　pleased　with　herself；　not　so
resplendent　as　to　be　a　show　and　a　sensation；　with　those　varied
outside　influences　which　set　vibrating　the　harmonic　notes　of　her
nature　stirring　in　the　air　about　her；　and　what　has　social　life　to
compare　with　one　of　those　vital　interchanges　of　thought　and　feeling
with　her　that　make　an　hour　memorable？　　What　can　equal　her　tact；　her
delicacy；　her　subtlety　of　apprehension；　her　quickness　to　feel　the
changes　of　temperature　as　the　warm　and　cool　currents　of　talk　blow　by
turns？　　At　one　moment　she　is　microscopically　intellectual；　critical；
scrupulous　in　judgment　as　an　analyst's　balance；　and　the　next　as
sympathetic　as　the　open　rose　that　sweetens　the　wind　from　whatever
quarter　it　finds　its　way　to　her　bosom。　　It　is　in　the　hospitable　soul
of　a　woman　that　a　man　forgets　he　is　a　stranger；　and　so　becomes
natural　and　truthful；　at　the　same　time　that　he　is　mesmerized　by　all
those　divine　differences　which　make　her　a　mystery　and　a　bewilderment
to

If　you　fire　your　popgun　at　me；　you　little　chimpanzee；　I　will　stick　a
pin　right　through　the　middle　of　you　and　put　you　into　one　of　this
gentleman's　beetle…cases！

I　caught　the　imp　that　time；　but　what　started　him　was　more　than　I
could　guess。　　It　is　rather　hard　that　this　spoiled　child　should　spoil
such　a　sentence　as　that　was　going　to　be；　but　the　wind　shifted　all　at
once；　and　the　talk　had　to　come　round　on　another　tack；　or　at　least
fall　off　a　point　or　two　from　its　course。

I'll　tell　you　who　I　think　are　the　best　talkers　in　all　probability；
said　I　to　the　Master；　who；　as　I　mentioned；　was　developing
interesting　talent　as　a　listener；poets　who　never　write　verses。　　And
there　are　a　good　many　more　of　these　than　it　would　seem　at　first
sight。　　I　think　you　may　say　every　young　lover　is　a　poet；　to　begin
with。　　I　don't　mean　either　that　all　young　lovers　are　good　talkers；
they　have　an　eloquence　all　their　own　when　they　are　with　the　beloved
object；　no　doubt；　emphasized　after　the　fashion　the　solemn　bard　of
Paradise　refers　to　with　such　delicious　humor　in　the　passage　we　just
heard；but　a　little　talk　goes　a　good　way　in　most　of　these　cooing
matches；　and　it　wouldn't　do　to　report　them　too　literally。　　What　I
mean　is；　that　a　man　with　the　gift　of　musical　and　impassioned　phrase
（and　love　often　deeds　that　to　a　young　person　for　a　while）；　who
〃wreaks〃　it；　to　borrow　Byron's　word；　on　conversation　as　the　natural
outlet　of　his　sensibilities　and　spiritual　activities；　is　likely　to
talk　better　than　the　poet；　who　plays　on　the　instrument　of　verse。　　A
great　pianist　or　violinist　is　rarely　a　great　singer。　　To　write　a　poem
is　to　expend　the　vital　force　which　would　have　made　one　brilliant　for
an　hour　or　two；　and　to　expend　it　on　an　instrument　with　more　pipes；
reeds；　keys；　stops；　and　pedals　than　the　Great　Organ　that　shakes　New
England　every　time　it　is　played　in　full　blast。

Do　you　mean　that　it　is　hard　work　to　write　a　poem？said　the　old
Master。…I　had　an　idea　that　a　poem　wrote　itself；　as　it　were；　very
often；　that　it　came　by　influx；　without　voluntary　effort；　indeed；　you
have　spoken　of　it　as　an　inspiration　rather　than　a　result　of　volition。

Did　you　ever　see　a　great　ballet…dancer？I　asked　him。

I　have　seen　Taglioni；he　answered。…She　used　to　take　her　steps
rather　prettily。　　I　have　seen　the　woman　that　danced　the　capstone　on
to　Bunker　Hill　Monument；　as　Orpheus　moved　the　rocks　by　music；　the
Elssler　woman；Fanny　Elssler。　　She　would　dance　you　a　rigadoon　or　cut
a　pigeon's　wing　for　you　very　respectably。

（Confound　this　old　college　book…worm；he　has　seen　everything！）

Well；　did　these　two　ladies　dance　as　if　it　was　hard　work　to　them？

Why　no；　I　should　say　they　danced　as　if　they　liked　it　and　couldn't
help　dancing；　they　looked　as　if　they　felt　so　〃corky〃　it　was　hard　to
keep　them　down。

And　yet　they　had　been　through　such　work　to　get　their　limbs　strong
and　flexible　and　obedient；　that　a　cart…horse　lives　an　easy　life
compared　to　theirs　while　they　were　in　training。

The　Master　cut　in　just　hereI　had　sprung　the　trap　of　a
reminiscence。

When　I　was　a　boy；he　said；some　of　the　mothers　in　our　small　town；
who　meant　that　their　children　should　know　what　was　what　as　well　as
other　people's　children；　laid　their　heads　together　and　got　a　dancing…
master　to　come　out　from　the　city　and　give　instruction　at　a　few
dollars　a　quarter　to　the　young　folks　of　condition　in　the　village。
Some　of　their　husbands　were　ministers　and　some　were　deacons；　but　the
mothers　knew　what　they　were　about；　and　they　did　n't　see　any　reason
why　ministers'　and　deacons'　wives'　children　shouldn't　have　as　easy
manners　as　the　sons　and　daughters　of　Belial。　　So；　as　I　tell　you；　they
got　a　dancing…master　to　come　out　to　our　place；a　man　of　good　repute；
a　most　respectable　man；madam　（to　the　Landlady）；　you　must　remember
the　worthy　old　citizen；　in　his　advanced　age；　going　about　the　streets；
a　most　gentlemanly　bundle　of　infirmities；only　he　always　cocked　his
hat　a　little　too　much　on　one　side；　as　they　do　here　and　t