the notch on the ax and on being found out-第61节

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fancy；　which　had　mysteriously　settled　itself　into　a　conviction；　and
having　thus　capriciously　identified　the　stranger　with　Lieschen's
murderer；　I　now；　upon　evidence　quite　as　preposterous；　identified
Bourgonef　with　the　stranger。

The　folly　became　apparent　even　to　myself。　　If　Bourgonef　had　in　his
possession　a　rouge…pot　and　false　beard；　I　could　not　but　acknowledge
that　he　made　no　attempt　to　conceal　them；　nor　had　he　manifested　any
confusion　on　their　appearance。　　He　had　quietly　characterized　them
as　masquerading　follies。　　Moreover；　I　now　began　to　remember
distinctly　that　the　stranger　did　carry　a　walking…stick　in　his　right
hand；　and　as　Bourgonef　had　lost　his　right　arm；　that　settled　the
point。

Into　such　complications；　would　the　tricks　of　imagination　lead　me！
I　blushed　mentally；　and　resolved　to　let　it　serve　as　a　lesson　in
future。　　It　is　needless；　however；　to　say　that　the　lesson　was　lost；
as　such　lessons　always　are　lost；　a　strong　tendency　in　any　direction
soon　disregards　all　the　teachings　of　experience。　　I　am　still　not
the　less　the　victim　of　my　constructive　imagination；　because　I　have
frequently　had　to　be　ashamed　of　its　vagaries。

The　next　morning　I　awoke　with　a　lighter　breast；　rejoicing　in　the
caution　which　had　delayed　me　from　any　rash　manifestation　of
suspicions　now　seen　to　be　absurd。　　I　smiled　as　the　thought　arose：
what　if　this　suspected　stranger　should　also　be　pestered　by　an
active　imagination；　and　should　entertain　similar　suspicions　of　me？
He　must　have　seen　in　my　eyes　the　look　of　recognition　which　I　saw　in
his。　　On　hearing　of　the　murder；　our　meeting　may　also　have　recurred
to　him；　and　his　suspicions　would　have　this　color；　wanting　to　mine；
that　I　happen　to　inherit　with　my　Italian　blood　a　somewhat　truculent
appearance；　which　has　gained　for　me　among　my　friends　the　playful
sobriquet　of　〃the　brigand。〃

Anxious　to　atone　at　once　for　my　folly；　and　to　remove　from　my　mind
any　misgivingif　it　existedat　my　quitting　him　so　soon　after　the
disclosures　of　the　masquerading　details；　I　went　to　Bourgonef　as
soon　as　I　was　dressed　and　proposed　a　ramble　till　the　diligence
started　for　Munich。　　He　was　sympathetic　in　his　inquiries　about　my
colic；　which　I　assured　him　had　quite　passed　away；　and　out　we　went。
The　sharp　morning　air　of　March　made　us　walk　briskly；　and　gave　a
pleasant　animation　to　our　thoughts。　　As　he　discussed　the　acts　of
the　provisional　government；　so　wise；　temperate；　and　energetic；　the
fervor　and　generosity　of　his　sentiments　stood　out　in　such　striking
contrast　with　the　deed　I　had　last　night　recklessly　imputed　to　him
that　I　felt　deeply　ashamed；　and　was　nearly　carried　away　by　mingled
admiration　and　self…reproach　to　confess　the　absurd　vagrancy　of　my
thoughts　and　humbly　ask　his　pardon。　　But　you　can　understand　the
reluctance　at　a　confession　so　insulting　to　him；　so　degrading　to　me。
It　is　at　all　times　difficult　to　tell　a　man；　face　to　face；　eye　to
eye；　the　evil　you　have　thought　of　him；　unless　the　recklessness　of
anger　seizes　on　it　as　a　weapon　with　which　to　strike；　and　I　had　now
so　completely　unsaid　to　myself　all　that　I　once　had　thought　of　evil；
that　to　put　it　in　words　seemed　a　gratuitous　injury　to　me　and　insult
to　him。

A　day　or　two　after　our　arrival　in　Munich　a　reaction　began　steadily
to　set　in。　　Ashamed　as　I　was　of　my　suspicions；　I　could　not
altogether　banish　from　my　mind　the　incident　which　had　awakened
them。　　The　image　of　that　false　beard　would　mingle　with　my　thoughts。
I　was　vaguely　uncomfortable　at　the　idea　of　Bourgonef's　carrying
about　with　him　obvious　materials　of　disguise。　　In　itself　this　would
have　had　little　significance；　but　coupled　with　the　fact　that　his
devoted　servant　wasin　spite　of　all　Bourgonef's　eulogies
repulsively　ferocious　in　aspect；　capable；　as　I　could　not　help
believing；　of　any　brutality；the　suggestion　was　unpleasant。　　You
will　understand　that　having　emphatically　acquitted　Bourgonef　in　my
mind；　I　did　not　again　distinctly　charge　him　with　any　complicity　in
the　mysterious　murder；　on　the　contrary；　I　should　indignantly　have
repelled　such　a　thought；　but　the　uneasy　sense　of　some　mystery　about
him；　coupled　with　the　accessories　of　disguise；　and　the　aspect　of
the　servant；　gave　rise　to　dim；　shadowy　forebodings　which　ever　and
anon　passed　across　my　mind。

Did　it　ever　occur　to　you；　reader；　to　reflect　on　the　depths　of
deceit　which　lie　still　and　dark　even　in　the　honestest　minds？
Society　reposes　on　a　thin　crust　of　convention；　underneath　which　lie
fathomless　possibilities　of　crime；　and　consequently　suspicions　of
crime。　　Friendship；　however　close　and　dear；　is　not　free　from　its
reserves；　unspoken　beliefs；　more　or　less　suppressed　opinions。　　The
man　whom　you　would　indignantly　defend　against　any　accusation
brought　by　another；　so　confident　are　you　in　his　unshakable
integrity；　you　may　yourself　momentarily　suspect　of　crimes　far
exceeding　those　which　you　repudiate。　　Indeed；　I　have　known
sagacious　men　hold　that　perfect　frankness　in　expressing　the
thoughts　is　a　sure　sign　of　imperfect　friendship；　something　is
always　suppressed；　and　it　is　not　he　who　loves　you　that　〃tells　you
candidly　what　he　thinks〃　of　your　person；　your　pretensions；　your
children；　or　your　poems。　　Perfect　candor　is　dictated　by　envy；　or
some　other　unfriendly　feeling；　making　friendship　a　stalking…horse；
under　cover　of　which　it　shoots　the　arrow　which　will　rankle。
Friendship　is　candid　only　when　the　candor　is　urgentmeant　to　avert
impending　danger　or　to　rectify　an　error。　　The　candor　which　is　an
impertinence　never　springs　from　friendship。　　Love　is　sympathetic。

I　do　not；　of　course；　mean　to　intimate　that　my　feeling　for　Bourgonef
was　of　that　deep　kind　which　justifies　the　name　of　friendship。　　I
only　want　to　say　that　in　our　social　relations　we　are　constantly
hiding　from　each　other；　under　the　smiles　and　courtesies　of　friendly
interest；　thoughts　which；　if　expressed；　would　destroy　all　possible
communionand　that；　nevertheless；　we　are　not　insincere　in　our
smiles　and　courtesies；　and　therefore　there　is　nothing　paradoxical
in　my　having　felt　great　admiration　for　Bourgonef；　and　great
pleasure　in　his　society；　while　all　the　time　there　was　deep　down　in
the　recesses　of　my　thoughts　an　uneasy　sense　of　a　dark　mystery　which
possibly　connected　him　with　a　dreadful　crime。

This　feeling　was　roused　into　greater　activity　by　an　incident　which
now　occurred。　　One　morning　I　went　to　Bourgonef's　room；　which　was　at
some　distance　from　mine　on　the　same　floor；　intending　to　propose　a
visit　to　the　sculpture　at　the　Glyptothek。　　To　my　surprise　I　found
Ivan　the　serf　standing　before　the　closed　door。　　He　looked　at　me
like　a　mastiff　about　to　spring；　and　intimated　by　significant
gestures　that　I　was　not　allowed　to　enter　the　room。　　Concluding　that
his　master　was　occupied　in　some　way；　and　desired　not　to　be
disturbed；　I　merely　signified　by　a　nod　that　my　visit　was　of　no
consequence；　and　went　out。　　On　returning　about　an　hour　afterwards　I
saw　Ivan　putting　three　pink　letters　into　the　letter…box　of　the
hotel。　　I　attached　no　significance　to　this　very　ordinary　fact　at
the　time；　but　went　up　to　my　room　and　began　writing　my　letters；　one
of　which　was　to　my　lawyer；　sending　him　an　important　receipt。　　The
dinner…bell　sounded　before　I　had　half　finished　this　letter；　but　I
wrote　on；　determined　to　have　done　with　it　at　once；　in　case　the
afternoon　should　offer　any　expedition　with　Bourgonef。

At　dinner　he　quietly　intimated　that　Ivan　had　informed　him　of　my
visit；　and　apologized　for　not　having　been　able　to　see　me。　　I；　of
course；　assured　him　that　no　apology　was　necessary；　and　that　we　had
plenty　of　time　to　visit　sculpture　together　without　intruding　on　his
private　hours。　　He　informed　me　that　he　was　that　afternoon　going　to
pay　a　visit　to　Schwanthaler；　the　sculptor；　and　if　I　desired　it；　he
would　ask　permission　on　another　occasion　to　take　me　with　him。　　I
jumped　at　the　proposal；　as　may　be　supposed。

Dinner　over；　I　strolled　into　the　Englische　Garten；　and　had　my
coffee　and　cigar　there。　　On　my　return　I　was　vexed　to　find　that　in
the　hurry　of　finishing　my　letters　I　had　sealed　the　one　to　my
lawyer；　and　had　not　enclosed　the　receipt　which　had　been　the　object
of　writing。　　Fortunately　it　was　not　too　late。　　Descending　to　the
bureau　of　the　hotel；　I　explained　my　mistake　to　the　head…waiter；　who
unlocked　the　letter…box　to　search　for　my　letter。　　It　was　found　at
once；　for　there　were　only　seven　or　eight　in　the　box。　　Among　these
my　eye　naturally　caught　the　three　pink　letters　which　I　had　that
morning　seen　Ivan　drop　into　the　box；　but　although　they　were　SEEN　by
me　they　were　not　NOTICED　at　the　time；　my　mind　being　solely　occupied
with　rectifying　the　stupid　blunder　I　had　made。

Once　more　in　my　own　room　a　sudden　revelation　startled　me。　　Everyone
knows　what　it　is　to　have　details　come　under　the　eye　which　the　mind
first　interprets　long　after　the　eye　ceases　to　rest　upon　them。　　The
impressions　are　received　passively；　but　they　are　registered；　and
can　be　calmly　read　whenever　the　mind　is　in　activity。　　It　was　so
now。　　I　suddenly；　as　if　now　for　the　first　time；　saw　that　the
addresses　on　Bourgonef's　letters　were　written　in　a　fluent；　masterly
hand；　bold　in　character；　and　with　a　certain　sweep　which　might　have
come　from　a　painter。　　The　thrill　which　this　vision　gave　will　be
intelligib