the professor at the breakfast table-第44节
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tints have faded out as their line of descent has become
impoverished； are of various blood； and in them the soul has often
become pale with that blanching of the hair and loss of color in the
eyes which makes them approach the character of Albinesses。
I see in this young girl that union of strength and sensibility
which； when directed and impelled by the strong instinct so apt to
accompany this combination of active and passive capacity； we call
genius。 She is not an accomplished artist； certainly； as yet； but
there is always an air in every careless figure she draws； as it
were of upward aspiration；the elan of John of Bologna's Mercury；
a lift to them； as if they had on winged sandals； like the herald of
the Gods。 I hear her singing sometimes； and though she evidently is
not trained； yet is there a wild sweetness in her fitful and
sometimes fantastic melodies；such as can come only from the
inspiration of the moment；strangely enough； reminding me of those
long passages I have heard from my little neighbor's room； yet of
different tone； and by no means to be mistaken for those weird
harmonies。
I cannot pretend to deny that I am interested in the girl。 Alone；
unprotected； as I have seen so many young girls left in boarding…
houses； the centre of all the men's eyes that surround the table；
watched with jealous sharpness by every woman； most of all by that
poor relation of our landlady； who belongs to the class of women
that like to catch others in mischief when they themselves are too
mature for indiscretions； （as one sees old rogues turn to thief…
catchers；） one of Nature's gendarmerie； clad in a complete suit of
wrinkles； the cheapest coat…of…mail against the shafts of the great
little enemy；so surrounded； Iris spans this commonplace household…
life of ours with her arch of beauty； as the rainbow； whose name she
borrows； looks down on a dreary pasture with its feeding flocks and
herds of indifferent animals。
These young girls that live in boarding…houses can do pretty much as
they will。 The female gendarmes are off guard occasionally。 The
sitting…room has its solitary moments； when any two boarders who
wish to meet may come together accidentally； （accidentally； I said；
Madam； and I had not the slightest intention of Italicizing the
word；） and discuss the social or political questions of the day； or
any other subject that may prove interesting。 Many charming
conversations take place at the foot of the stairs； or while one of
the parties is holding the latch of a door；in the shadow of
porticoes； and especially on those outside balconies which some of
our Southern neighbors call 〃stoops；〃 the most charming places in
the world when the moon is just right and the roses and honeysuckles
are in full blow；as we used to think in eighteen hundred and never
mention it。
On such a balcony or 〃stoop；〃 one evening； I walked with Iris。 We
were on pretty good terms now； and I had coaxed her arm under mine；…
…my left arm； of course。 That leaves one's right arm free to defend
the lovely creature； if the rivalodious wretch！ attempt； to ravish
her from your side。 Likewise if one's heart should happen to beat a
little； its mute language will not be without its meaning； as you
will perceive when the arm you hold begins to tremble； a
circumstance like to occur； if you happen to be a good…looking young
fellow； and you two have the 〃stoop〃 to yourselves。
We had it to ourselves that evening。 The Koh…inoor； as we called
him； was in a corner with our landlady's daughter。 The young fellow
John was smoking out in the yard。 The gendarme was afraid of the
evening air； and kept inside； The young Marylander came to the door；
looked out and saw us walking together； gave his hat a pull over his
forehead and stalked off。 I felt a slight spasm； as it were； in the
arm I held； and saw the girl's head turn over her shoulder for a
second。 What a kind creature this is！ She has no special interest
in this youth； but she does not like to see a young fellow going off
because he feels as if he were not wanted。
She had her locked drawing…book under her arm。 Let me take it；I
said。
She gave it to me to carry。
This is full of caricatures of all of us； I am sure；said I。
She laughed； and said；No；not all of you。
I was there； of course？
Why； no；she had never taken so much pains with me。
Then she would let me see the inside of it？
She would think of it。
Just as we parted； she took a little key from her pocket and handed
it to me。 This unlocks my naughty book；she said；you shall see
it。 I am not afraid of you。
I don't know whether the last words exactly pleased me。 At any
rate； I took the book and hurried with it to my room。 I opened it；
and saw； in a few glances； that I held the heart of Iris in my hand。
I have no verses for you this month； except these few lines
suggested by the season。
MIDSUMMER。
Here！ sweep these foolish leaves away；
I will not crush my brains to…day！
Look！ are the southern curtains drawn？
Fetch me a fan； and so begone！
Not that；the palm…tree's rustling leaf
Brought from a parching coral…reef！
Its breath is heated；I would swing
The broad gray plumes；the eagle's wing。
I hate these roses' feverish blood！
Pluck me a half…blown lily…bud；
A long…stemmed lily from the lake；
Cold as a coiling water…snake。
Rain me sweet odors on the air；
And wheel me up my Indian chair；
And spread some book not overwise
Flat out before my sleepy eyes。
Who knows it not；this dead recoil
Of weary fibres stretched with toil；
The pulse that flutters faint and low
When Summer's seething breezes blow？
O Nature！ bare thy loving breast
And give thy child one hour of rest；
One little hour to lie unseen
Beneath thy scarf of leafy green！
So； curtained by a singing pine；
Its murmuring voice shall blend with mine；
Till； lost in dreams； my faltering lay
In sweeter music dies away。
X
IRIS； HER BOOK
I pray thee by the soul of her that bore thee；
By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee；
Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee！
For Iris had no mother to infold her；
Nor ever leaned upon a sister's shoulder；
Telling the twilight thoughts that Nature told her。
She had not learned the mystery of awaking
Those chorded keys that soothe a sorrow's aching；
Giving the dumb heart voice； that else were breaking。
Yet lived； wrought； suffered。 Lo； the pictured token！
Why should her fleeting day…dreams fade unspoken；
Like daffodils that die with sheaths unbroken？
She knew not love； yet lived in maiden fancies；
Walked simply clad； a queen of high romances；
And talked strange tongues with angels in her trances。
Twin…souled she seemed； a twofold nature wearing；
Sometimes a flashing falcon in her daring；
Then a poor mateless dove that droops despairing。
Questioning all things： Why her Lord had sent her？
What were these torturing gifts； and wherefore lent her？
Scornful as spirit fallen； its own tormentor。
And then all tears and anguish： Queen of Heaven；
Sweet Saints； and Thou by mortal sorrows riven；
Save me！ oh； save me！ Shall I die forgiven？
And thenAh； God！ But nay； it little matters
Look at the wasted seeds that autumn scatters；
The myriad germs that Nature shapes and shatters！
If she hadWell！ She longed； and knew not wherefore
Had the world nothing she might live to care for？
No second self to say her evening prayer for？
She knew the marble shapes that set men dreaming；
Yet with her shoulders bare and tresses streaming
Showed not unlovely to her simple seeming。
Vain？ Let it be so！ Nature was her teacher。
What if a lonely and unsistered creature
Loved her own harmless gift of pleasing feature；
Saying； unsaddened；This shall soon be faded；
And double…hued the shining tresses braided；
And all the sunlight of the morning shaded？
This her poor book is full of saddest follies；
Of tearful smiles and laughing melancholies；
With summer roses twined and wintry hollies。
In the strange crossing of uncertain chances；
Somewhere； beneath some maiden's tear…dimmed glances
May fall her little book of dreams and fancies。
Sweet sister！ Iris； who shall never name thee；
Trembling for fear her open heart may shame thee；
Speaks from this vision…haunted page to claim thee。
Spare her； I pray thee！ If the maid is sleeping；
Peace with her！ she has had her hour of weeping。
No more！ She leaves her memory in thy keeping。
These verses were written in the first leaves of the locked volume。
As I turned the pages； I hesitated for a moment。 Is it quite fair
to take advantage of a generous； trusting impulse to read the
unsunned depths of a young girl's nature； which I can look through；
as the balloon…voyagers tell us th
