tea-table talk(茶桌上的谈话)-第9节
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most people on most points connected with the Opera。 If forgetful for a
momentas an Englishman may be excused for beingwhether it be
summer or winter； one may assure oneself by waiting to see whether
Longrush is enthusing over cricket or football。 He is always up…to… date。
The last new Shakespeare； the latest scandal； the man of the hour； the next
nine days' wonderby the evening Longrush has his roller ready。 In my
early days of journalism I had to write each evening a column for a
provincial daily； headed 'What People are Saying。' The editor was
precise in his instructions。 'I don't want your opinions； I don't want you
to be funny； never mind whether the thing appears to you to be interesting
or not。 I want it to be real； the things people ARE saying。' I tried to be
conscientious。 Each paragraph began with 'That。' I wrote the column
because I wanted the thirty shillings。 Why anybody ever read it； I fail to
understand to this day； but I believe it was one of the popular features of
the paper。 Longrush invariably brings back to my mind the dreary hours
I spent penning that fatuous record。〃
〃I think I know the man you mean；〃 said the Philosopher。 〃I had
forgotten his name。〃
〃I thought it possible you might have met him；〃 I replied。 〃Well； my
cousin Edith was arranging a dinner…party the other day； and； as usual； she
did me the honour to ask my advice。 Generally speaking； I do not give
advice nowadays。 As a very young man I was generous with it。 I have
since come to the conclusion that responsibility for my own muddles and
mistakes is sufficient。 However； I make an exception in Edith's case；
knowing that never by any chance will she follow it。〃
〃Speaking of editors；〃 said the Philosopher； 〃Bates told me at the club
the other night that he had given up writing the 'Answers to
Correspondents' personally； since discovery of the fact that he had been
discussing at some length the attractive topic； 'Duties of a Father；' with his
own wife； who is somewhat of a humorist。〃
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〃There was the wife of a clergyman my mother used to tell of；〃 said
the Woman of the World； 〃who kept copies of her husband's sermons。 She
would read him extracts from them in bed； in place of curtain lectures。
She explained it saved her trouble。 Everything she felt she wanted to say
to him he had said himself so much more forcibly。〃
〃The argument always appears to me weak；〃 said the Philosopher。 〃If
only the perfect may preach； our pulpits would remain empty。 Am I to
ignore the peace that slips into my soul when perusing the Psalms； to deny
myself all benefit from the wisdom of the Proverbs； because neither David
nor Solomon was a worthy casket of the jewels that God had placed in
them？ Is a temperance lecturer never to quote the self…reproaches of poor
Cassio because Master Will Shakespeare； there is evidence to prove； was a
gentleman； alas！ much too fond of the bottle？ The man that beats the
drum may be himself a coward。 It is the drum that is the important thing
to us； not the drummer。〃
〃Of all my friends；〃 said the Woman of the World； 〃the one who has
the most trouble with her servants is poor Jane Meredith。〃
〃I am exceedingly sorry to hear it；〃 observed the Philosopher； after a
slight pause。 〃But forgive me； I really do not see〃
〃I beg your pardon；〃 answered the Woman of the World。 〃I thought
everybody knew 'Jane Meredith。' She writes 'The Perfect Home' column
for The Woman's World。〃
〃It will always remain a riddle； one supposes；〃 said the Minor Poet。
〃Which is the real egoI； the author of 'The Simple Life；' fourteenth
edition； three and sixpence net〃
〃Don't；〃 pleaded the Old Maid； with a smile； 〃please don't。〃
〃Don't what？〃 demanded the Minor Poet。
〃Don't ridicule itmake fun of it； even though it may happen to be
your own。 There are parts of it I know by heart。 I say them over to
myself when Don't spoil it for me。〃 The Old Maid laughed； but
nervously。
〃My dear lady；〃 reassured her the Minor Poet； 〃do not be afraid。 No
one regards that poem with more reverence than do I。 You can have but
small conception what a help it is to me also。 I； too； so often read it to
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myself； and when We understand。 As one who turns his back on scenes
of riot to drink the moonlight in quiet ways； I go to it for sweetness and for
peace。 So much do I admire the poem； I naturally feel desire and
curiosity to meet its author； to know him。 I should delight； drawing him
aside from the crowded room； to grasp him by the hand； to say to him：
'My dearmy very dear Mr。 Minor Poet； I am so glad to meet you！ I
would I could tell you how much your beautiful work has helped me。
This； my dear sirthis is indeed privilege！' But I can picture so vividly
the bored look with which he would receive my gush。 I can imagine the
contempt with which he； the pure liver； would regard me did he know me…
…me； the liver of the fool's hot days。〃
〃A short French story I once read somewhere；〃 I said； 〃rather
impressed me。 A poet or dramatistI am not sure whichhad married the
daughter of a provincial notary。 There was nothing particularly attractive
about her except her dot。 He had run through his own small fortune and
was in some need。 She worshipped him and was； as he used to boast to
his friends； the ideal wife for a poet。 She cooked admirablya useful
accomplishment during the first half… dozen years of their married life； and
afterwards； when fortune came to him； managed his affairs to perfection；
by her care and economy keeping all worldly troubles away from his study
door。 An ideal Hausfrau； undoubtedly； but of course no companion for
our poet。 So they went their ways； till； choosing as in all things the right
moment； when she could best be spared； the good lady died and was
buried。
〃And here begins the interest of the story； somewhat late。 One article
of furniture； curiously out of place among the rich appointments of their
fine hotel； the woman had insisted on retaining； a heavy； clumsily carved
oak desk her father had once used in his office； and which he had given to
her for her own as a birthday present back in the days of her teens。
〃You must read the story for yourselves if you would enjoy the subtle
sadness that surrounds it； the delicate aroma of regret through which it
moves。 The husband finding after some little difficulty the right key； fits
it into the lock of the bureau。 As a piece of furniture； plain； solid； squat；
it has always jarred upon his artistic sense。 She too； his good；
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affectionate Sara； had been plain； solid； a trifle squat。 Perhaps that was
why the poor woman had clung so obstinately to the one thing in the
otherwise perfect house that was quite out of place there。 Ah； well！ she is
gone now； the good creature。 And the bureauno； the bureau shall
remain。 Nobody will need to come into this room； no one ever did come
there but the woman herself。 Perhaps she had not been altogether so
happy as she might have been。 A husband less intellectualone from
whom she would not have lived so far apartone who could have entered
into her simple； commonplace life！ it might have been better for both of
them。 He draws down the lid； pulls out the largest drawer。 It is full of
manuscripts； folded and tied neatly with ribbons once gay； now
