the law and the lady-第47节

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jestingly　put　into　her　head；　in　exhibiting　her　to　us　on　the
previous　night；　had　been　ripening　slowly　in　that　dull　brain；　and
had　found　its　way　outward　into　words；　about　fifteen　hours
afterward；　under　the　irritating　influence　of　my　presence！

〃I　don't　want　to　touch　his　hair　or　his　beard；〃　I　said。　〃I　leave
that　entirely　to　you。〃

She　looked　around　at　me；　her　fat　face　flushing；　her　dull　eyes
dilating；　with　the　unaccustomed　effort　to　express　herself　in
speech；　and　to　understand　what　was　said　to　her　in　return。

〃Say　that　again；〃　she　burst　out。　〃And　say　it　slower　this　time。〃

I　said　it　again；　and　I　said　it　slower。

〃Swear　it！〃　she　cried；　getting　more　and　more　excited。

I　preserved　my　gravity　（the　canal　was　just　visible　in　the
distance）；　and　swore　it。

〃Are　you　satisfied　now？〃　I　asked。

There　was　no　answer。　Her　last　resources　of　speech　were　exhausted。
The　strange　creature　looked　back　again　straight　between　the
pony's　ears；　emitted　hoarsely　a　grunt　of　relief；　and　never　more
looked　at　me；　never　more　spoke　to　me；　for　the　rest　of　the
journey。　We　drove　past　the　banks　of　the　canal；　and　I　escaped
immersion。　We　rattled；　in　our　jingling　little　vehicle；　through
the　streets　and　across　the　waste　patches　of　ground；　which　I　dimly
remembered　in　the　darkness；　and　which　looked　more　squalid　and
more　hideous　than　ever　in　the　broad　daylight。　The　chaise　tur　ned
down　a　lane；　too　narrow　for　the　passage　of　any　larger　vehicle；
and　stopped　at　a　wall　and　a　gate　that　were　new　objects　to　me。
Opening　the　gate　with　her　key；　and　leading　the　pony；　Ariel
introduced　me　to　the　back　garden　and　yard　of　Miserrimus　Dexter's
rotten　and　rambling　old　house。　The　pony　walked　off　independently
to　his　stable；　with　the　chaise　behind　him。　My　silent　companion
led　me　through　a　bleak　and　barren　kitchen；　and　along　a　stone
passage。　Opening　a　door　at　the　end；　she　admitted　me　to　the　back
of　the　hall；　into　which　Mrs。　Macallan　and　I　had　penetrated　by　the
front　entrance　to　the　house。　Here　Ariel　lifted　a　whistle　which
hung　around　her　neck；　and　blew　the　shrill　trilling　notes　with　the
sound　of　which　I　was　already　familiar　as　the　means　of
communication　between　Miserrimus　Dexter　and　his　slave。　The
whistling　over；　the　slave's　unwilling　lips　struggled　into　speech
for　the　last　time。

〃Wait　till　you　hear　the　Master's　whistle；〃　she　said；　〃then　go
upstairs。〃

So！　I　was　to　be　whistled　for　like　a　dog！　And；　worse　still；　there
was　no　help　for　it　but　to　submit　like　a　dog。　Had　Ariel　any
excuses　to　make？　Nothing　of　the　sort。

She　turned　her　shapeless　back　on　me　and　vanished　into　the　kitchen
region　of　the　house。

After　waiting　for　a　minute　or　two；　and　hearing　no　signal　from　the
floor　above；　I　advanced　into　the　broader　and　brighter　part　of　the
hall；　to　look　by　daylight　at　the　pictures　which　I　had　only
imperfectly　discovered　in　the　darkness　of　the　night。　A　painted
inscription　in　many　colors；　just　under　the　cornice　of　the
ceiling；　informed　me　that　the　works　on　the　walls　were　the
production　of　the　all…accomplished　Dexter　himself。　Not　satisfied
with　being　poet　and　composer；　he　was　painter　as　well。　On　one　wall
the　subjects　were　described　as　〃Illustrations　of　the　Passions；〃
on　the　other；　as　〃Episodes　in　the　Life　of　the　Wandering　Jew。〃
Chance　speculators　like　myself　were　gravely　warned；　by　means　of
the　inscription；　to　view　the　pictures　as　efforts　of　pure
imagination。　〃Persons　who　look　for　mere　Nature　in　works　of　Art〃
（the　inscription　announced）　〃are　persons　to　whom　Mr。　Dexter　does
not　address　himself　with　the　brush。　He　relies　entirely　on　his
imagination。　Nature　puts　him　out。〃

Taking　due　care　to　dismiss　all　ideas　of　Nature　from　my　mind；　to
begin　with；　I　looked　at　the　pictures　which　represented　the
Passions　first。

Little　as　I　knew　critically　of　Art；　I　could　see　that　Miserrimus
Dexter　knew　still　less　of　the　rules　of　drawing；　color；　and
composition。　His　pictures　were；　in　the　strictest　meaning　of　that
expressive　word；　Daubs。　The　diseased　and　riotous　delight　of　the
painter　in　representing　Horrors　was　（with　certain　exceptions　to
be　hereafter　mentioned）　the　one　remarkable　quality　that　I　could
discover　in　the　series　of　his　works。

The　first　of　the　Passion　pictures　illustrated　Revenge。　A　corpse；
in　fancy　costume；　lay　on　the　bank　of　a　foaming　river；　under　the
shade　of　a　giant　tree。　An　infuriated　man；　also　in　fancy　costume；
stood　astride　over　the　dead　body；　with　his　sword　lifted　to　the
lowering　sky；　and　watched；　with　a　horrid　expression　of　delight；
the　blood　of　the　man　whom　he　had　just　killed　dripping　slowly　in　a
procession　of　big　red　drops　down　the　broad　blade　of　his　weapon。
The　next　picture　illustrated　Cruelty；　in　many　compartments。　In
one　I　saw　a　disemboweled　horse　savagely　spurred　on　by　his　rider
at　a　bull…fight。　In　another；　an　aged　philosopher　was　dissecting　a
living　cat；　and　gloating　over　his　work。　In　a　third；　two　pagans
politely　congratulated　each　other　on　the　torture　of　two　saints：
one　saint　was　roasting　on　a　grid…iron；　the　other；　hung　up　to　a
tree　by　his　heels；　had　been　just　skinned；　and　was　not　quite　dead
yet。　Feeling　no　great　desire；　after　these　specimens；　to　look　at
any　more　of　the　illustrated　Passions；　I　turned　to　the　opposite
wall　to　be　instructed　in　the　career　of　the　Wandering　Jew。　Here　a
second　inscription　informed　me　that　the　painter　considered　the
Flying　Dutchman　to　be　no　other　than　the　Wandering　Jew；　pursuing
his　interminable　Journey　by　sea。　The　marine　adventures　of　this
mysterious　personage　were　the　adventures　chosen　for
representation　by　Dexter's　brush。　The　first　picture　showed　me　a
harbor　on　a　rocky　coast。　A　vessel　was　at　anchor；　with　the
helmsman　singing　on　the　deck。　The　sea　in　the　offing　was　black　and
rolling；　thunder…clouds　lay　low　on　the　horizon；　split　by　broad
flashes　of　lightning。　In　the　glare　of　the　lightning；　heaving　and
pitching；　appeared　the　misty　form　of　the　Phantom　Ship　approaching
the　shore。　In　this　work；　badly　as　it　was　painted；　there　were
really　signs　of　a　powerful　imagination；　and　even　of　a　poetical
feeling　for　the　supernatural。　The　next　picture　showed　the　Phantom
Ship；　moored　（to　the　horror　and　astonishment　of　the　helmsman）
behind　the　earthly　vessel　in　the　harbor。　The　Jew　had　stepped　on
shore。　His　boat　was　on　the　beach。　His　crewlittle　men　with
stony；　white　faces；　dressed　in　funeral　blacksat　in　silent　rows
on　the　seats　of　the　boat；　with　their　oars　in　their　lean；　long
hands。　The　Jew；　also　a　black；　stood　with　his　eyes　and　hands
raised　imploringly　to　the　thunderous　heaven。　The　wild　creatures
of　land　and　seathe　tiger；　the　rhinoceros；　the　crocodile；　the
sea…serpent；　the　shark；　and　the　devil…fishsurrounded　the
accursed　Wanderer　in　a　mystic　circle；　daunted　and　fascinated　at
the　sight　of　him。　The　lightning　was　gone。　The　sky　and　sea　had
darkened　to　a　great　black　blank。　A　faint　and　lurid　light　lighted
the　scene；　falling　downward　from　a　torch；　brandished　by　an
avenging　Spirit　that　hovered　over　the　Jew　on　outspread　vulture
wings。　Wild　as　the　picture　might　be　in　its　conception；　there　was
a　suggestive　power　in　it　which　I　confess　strongly　impressed　me。
The　mysterious　silence　in　the　house；　and　my　strange　position　at
the　moment；　no　doubt　had　their　effect　on　my　mind。　While　I　was
still　looking　at　the　ghastly　composition　before　me；　the　shrill
trilling　sound　of　the　whistle　upstairs　burst　on　the　stillness。
For　the　moment　my　nerves　were　so　completely　upset　that　I　started
with　a　cry　of　alarm。　I　felt　a　momentary　impulse　to　open　the　door
and　run　out。　The　idea　of　trusting　myself　alone　with　the　man　who
had　painted　those　frightful　pictures　actually　terrified　me；　I　was
obliged　to　sit　down　on　one　of　the　hall　chairs。　Some　minutes
passed　before　my　mind　recovered　its　balance；　and　I　began　to　feel
like　my　own　ordinary　self　again。　The　whistle　sounded　impatiently
for　the　second　time。　I　rose　and　ascended　the　broad　flight　of
stairs　which　led　to　the　first　story。　To　draw　back　at　the　point
which　I　had　now　reached　would　have　utterly　degraded　me　in　my　own
estimation。　Still；　my　heart　did　certainly　beat　faster　than　usual
as　I　approached　the　door　of　the　circular　anteroom；　and　I　honestly
acknowledge　that　I　saw　my　own　imprudence；　just　then；　in　a
singularly　vivid　light。

There　was　a　glass　over　the　mantel…piece　in　the　anteroom。　I
lingered　for　a　moment　（nervous　as　I　was）　to　see　how　I　looked　in
the　glass。

The　hanging　tapestry　over　the　inner　door　had　been　left　partially
drawn　aside。　Softly　as　I　moved；　the　dog's　ears　of　Miserrimus
Dexter　caught　the　sound　of　my　dress　on　the　floor。　The　fine　tenor
voice；　which　I　had　last　heard　singing；　called　to　me　softly。

〃Is　that　Mrs。　Valeria？　Please　don't　wait　there。　Come　in！〃

I　entered　the　inner　room。

The　wheeled　chair　advanced　to　meet　me；　so　slowly　and　so　softly
that　I　hardly　knew　it　again。　Miserrimus　Dexter　languidly　held　out
his　hand。　His　head　inclined　pensively　to　one　side；　his　large　blue
eyes　looked　at　me　piteously。　Not　a　vestige　seemed　to　be　left　of
the　raging；　shouting　creature　of　my　first　visit；　who　was　Napoleon
at　one　moment；　and　Shakespeare　at　another。　Mr。　Dexter　of　the
morning　was　a　mild；　thoughtful；　melancholy　man；　who　only　recalled
Mr。　Dexter　of　the　night　by　the　inveterate　oddity　of　his　dress。
His　jacket；　on　this　occasion；　was　of　pink　q