the poet at the breakfast table-第9节

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dispute。　　He　has　given　me　a　copy　of　a　work　of　his　which　seems　to　me
not　wanting　in　suggestiveness；　and　which　I　hope　I　shall　be　able　to
make　some　use　of　in　my　records　by　and　by。　　I　said　the　other　day　that
he　had　good　solid　prejudices；　which　is　true；　and　I　like　him　none　the
worse　for　it；　but　he　has　also　opinions　more　or　less　original；
valuable；　probable；　fanciful；　fantastic；　or　whimsical；　perhaps；　now
and　then；　which　he　promulgates　at　table　somewhat　in　the　tone　of
imperial　edicts。　　Another　thing　I　like　about　him　is；　that　he　takes　a
certain　intelligent　interest　in　pretty　much　everything　that　interests
other　people。　　I　asked　him　the　other　day　what　he　thought　most　about
in　his　wide　range　of　studies。

Sir；said　he；I　take　stock　in　everything　that　concerns　anybody。
Humani　nihil；you　know　the　rest。　　But　if　you　ask　me　what　is　my
specialty；　I　should　say；　I　applied　myself　more　particularly　to　the
contemplation　of　the　Order　of　Things。

A　pretty　wide　subject；I　ventured　to　suggest。

Not　wide　enough；　sir；not　wide　enough　to　satisfy　the　desire　of　a
mind　which　wants　to　get　at　absolute　truth；　without　reference　to　the
empirical　arrangements　of　our　particular　planet　and　its　environments。
I　want　to　subject　the　formal　conditions　of　space　and　time　to　a　new
analysis；　and　project　a　possible　universe　outside　of　the　Order　of
Things。　　But　I　have　narrowed　myself　by　studying　the　actual　facts　of
being。　　By　and　byby　and　byperhapsperhaps。　　I　hope　to　do　some
sound　thinking　in　heavenif　I　ever　get　there；he　said　seriously；
and　it　seemed　to　me　not　irreverently。

I　rather　like　that；I　said。　　I　think　your　telescopic　people　are；
on　the　whole；　more　satisfactory　than　your　microscopic　ones。

My　left…hand　neighbor　fidgeted　about　a　little　in　his　chair　as　I
said　this。　　But　the　young　man　sitting　not　far　from　the　Landlady；　to
whom　my　attention　had　been　attracted　by　the　expression　of　his　eyes；
which　seemed　as　if　they　saw　nothing　before　him；　but　looked　beyond
everything；　smiled　a　sort　of　faint　starlight　smile；　that　touched　me
strangely；　for　until　that　moment　he　had　appeared　as　if　his　thoughts
were　far　away；　and　I　had　been　questioning　whether　he　had　lost　friends
lately；　or　perhaps　had　never　had　them；　he　seemed　so　remote　from　our
boarding…house　life。　　I　will　inquire　about　him；　for　he　interests　me；
and　I　thought　he　seemed　interested　as　I　went　on　talking。

No；I　continued；I　don't　want　to　have　the　territory　of　a　man's
mind　fenced　in。　　I　don't　want　to　shut　out　the　mystery　of　the　stars
and　the　awful　hollow　that　holds　them。　　We　have　done　with　those
hypaethral　temples；　that　were　open　above　to　the　heavens；　but　we　can
have　attics　and　skylights　to　them。　　Minds　with　skylights；yes；
stop；　let　us　see　if　we　can't　get　something　out　of　that。

One…story　intellects；　twostory　intellects；　three　story　intellects
with　skylights。　　All　factcollectors；　who　have　no　aim　beyond　their
facts；　are　one…story　men。　　Two…story　men　compare；　reason；　generalize；
using　the　labors　of　the　fact…collectors　as　well　as　their　own。　　Three…
story　men　idealize；　imagine；　predict；　their　best　illumination　comes
from　above；　through　the　skylight。　　There　are　minds　with　large　ground
floors；　that　can　store　an　infinite　amount　of　knowledge；　some
librarians；　for　instance；　who　know　enough　of　books　to　help　other
people；　without　being　able　to　make　much　other　use　of　their　knowledge；
have　intellects　of　this　class。　　Your　great　working　lawyer　has　two
spacious　stories；　his　mind　is　clear；　because　his　mental　floors　are
large；　and　he　has　room　to　arrange　his　thoughts　so　that　he　can　get　at
them；facts　below；　principles　above；　and　all　in　ordered　series；
poets　are　often　narrow　below；　incapable　of　clear　statement；　and　with
small　power　of　consecutive　reasoning；　but　full　of　light；　if　sometimes
rather　bare　of　furniture；　in　the　attics。

The　old　Master　smiled。　　I　think　he　suspects　himself　of　a　three…
story　intellect；　and　I　don't　feel　sure　that　he　is　n't　right。


Is　it　dark　meat　or　white　meat　you　will　be　helped　to？said　the
Landlady；　addressing　the　Master。

Dark　meat　for　me；　always；he　answered。　　Then　turning　to　me；　he
began　one　of　those　monologues　of　his；　such　as　that　which　put　the
Member　of　the　Haouse　asleep　the　other　day。

It　's　pretty　much　the　same　in　men　and　women　and　in　books　and
everything；　that　it　is　in　turkeys　and　chickens。　　Why；　take　your
poets；　now；　say　Browning　and　Tennyson。　　Don't　you　think　you　can　say
which　is　the　dark…meat　and　which　is　the　white…meat　poet？　　And　so　of
the　people　you　know；　can't　you　pick　out　the　full…flavored；　coarse…
fibred　characters　from　the　delicate；　fine…fibred　ones？　　And　in　the
same　person；　don't　you　know　the　same　two　shades　in　different　parts　of
the　character　that　you　find　in　the　wing　and　thigh　of　a　partridge？　　I
suppose　you　poets　may　like　white　meat　best；　very　probably；　you　had
rather　have　a　wing　than　a　drumstick；　I　dare　say。

Why；　yes；said　I；I　suppose　some　of　us　do。　　Perhaps　it　is　because
a　bird　flies　with　his　white…fleshed　limbs　and　walks　with　the　dark…
fleshed　ones。　　Besides；　the　wing…muscles　are　nearer　the　heart　than
the　leg…muscles。

I　thought　that　sounded　mighty　pretty；　and　paused　a　moment　to　pat
myself　on　the　back；　as　is　my　wont　when　I　say　something　that　I　think
of　superior　quality。　　So　I　lost　my　innings；　for　the　Master　is　apt　to
strike　in　at　the　end　of　a　bar；　instead　of　waiting　for　a　rest；　if　I
may　borrow　a　musical　phrase。　　No　matter；　just　at　this　moment；　what　he
said；　but　he　talked　the　Member　of　the　Haouse　asleep　again。

They　have　a　new　term　nowadays　（I　am　speaking　to　you；　the　Reader）　for
people　that　do　a　good　deal　of　talking；　they　call　them
〃conversationists；〃　or　〃conversationalists　〃；　talkists；　I　suppose；
would　do　just　as　well。　　It　is　rather　dangerous　to　get　the　name　of
being　one　of　these　phenomenal　manifestations；　as　one　is　expected　to
say　something　remarkable　every　time　one　opens　one's　mouth　in　company。
It　seems　hard　not　to　be　able　to　ask　for　a　piece　of　bread　or　a　tumbler
of　water；　without　a　sensation　running　round　the　table；　as　if　one　were
an　electric　eel　or　a　torpedo；　and　couldn't　be　touched　without　giving
a　shock。　　A　fellow　is　n't　all　battery；　is　he？　　The　idea　that　a
Gymnotus　can't　swallow　his　worm　without　a　coruscation　of　animal
lightning　is　hard　on　that　brilliant　but　sensational　being。　　Good　talk
is　not　a　matter　of　will　at　all；　it　dependsyou　know　we　are　all　half…
materialists　nowadayson　a　certain　amount　of　active　congestion　of
the　brain；　and　that　comes　when　it　is　ready；　and　not　before。　　I　saw　a
man　get　up　the　other　day　in　a　pleasant　company；　and　talk　away　for
about　five　minutes；　evidently　by　a　pure　effort　of　will。　　His　person
was　good；　his　voice　was　pleasant；　but　anybody　could　see　that　it　was
all　mechanical　labor；　he　was　sparring　for　wind；　as　the　Hon。　John
Morrissey；　M。　C。；　would　express　himself。　　Presently；

Do　you；Beloved；　I　am　afraid　you　are　not　old　enough；but　do　you
remember　the　days　of　the　tin　tinder…box；　the　flint；　and　steel？
Click！　　click！　　click！Al…h…h！　　knuckles　that　time！　　click！　　click！
CLICK！　　a　spark　has　taken；　and　is　eating　into　the　black　tinder；　as　a
six…year…old　eats　into　a　sheet　of　gingerbread。

Presently；　after　hammering　away　for　his　five　minutes　with　mere　words；
the　spark　of　a　happy　expression　took　somewhere　among　the　mental
combustibles；　and　then　for　ten　minutes　we　had　a　pretty；　wandering；
scintillating　play　of　eloquent　thought；　that　enlivened；　if　it　did　not
kindle；　all　around　it。　　If　you　want　the　real　philosophy　of　it；　I　will
give　it　to　you。　　The　chance　thought　or　expression　struck　the　nervous
centre　of　consciousness；　as　the　rowel　of　a　spur　stings　the　flank　of　a
racer。　　Away　through　all　the　telegraphic　radiations　of　the　nervous
cords　flashed　the　intelligence　that　the　brain　was　kindling；　and　must
be　fed　with　something　or　other；　or　it　would　burn　itself　to　ashes。


And　all　the　great　hydraulic　engines　poured　in　their　scarlet　blood；
and　the　fire　kindled；　and　the　flame　rose；　for　the　blood　is　a　stream
that；　like　burning　rock…oil；　at　once　kindles；　and　is　itself　the　fuel。
You　can't　order　these　organic　processes；　any　more　than　a　milliner　can
make　a　rose。　　She　can　make　something　that　looks　like　a　rose；　more　or
less；　but　it　takes　all　the　forces　of　the　universe　to　finish　and
sweeten　that　blossom　in　your　button…hole；　and　you　may　be　sure　that
when　the　orator's　brain　is　in　a　flame；　when　the　poet's　heart　is　in　a
tumult；　it　is　something　mightier　than　he　and　his　will　that　is　dealing
with　him！　　As　I　have　looked　from　one　of　the　northern　windows　of　the
street　which　commands　our　noble　estuary；the　view　through　which　is　a
picture　on　an　illimitable　canvas　and　a　poem　in　innumerable　cantos；I
have　sometimes　seen　a　pleasure…boat　drifting　along；　her　sail
flapping；　and　she　seeming　as　if　she　had　neither　will　nor　aim。　　At　her
stern　a　man　was　laboring　to　bring　her　head　round　with　an　oar；　to
little　purpose；　as　it　seemed　to　those　who　watched　him　pulling　and
tugging。　　But　all　at　once　the　wind　of　heaven；　which　had　wandered　all
the　way　from　Florida　or　from　Labrador；　it　may　be；　struck　full　upon
the　sail；　and　it　swelled　and　rounded　itself；　like　a　white　bosom　that
had　burst　its　bodice；　and

You　are　right；　it　is　too　true！　　but　how　I　love　these　pretty
phrases！　　I　am　afraid　I　am　becoming　an