the professor at the breakfast table-第46节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



around　her。



Such　was　the　Book　of　the　Maiden　Sisters。　　You　will　believe　me　more

readily　now　when　I　tell　you　that　I　found　the　soul　of　Iris　in　the　one

that　lay　open　before　me。　　Sometimes　it　was　a　poem　that　held　it；

sometimes　a　drawing；　angel；　arabesque；　caricature；　or　a　mere

hieroglyphic　symbol　of　which　I　could　make　nothing。　　A　rag　of　cloud

on　one　page；　as　I　remember；　with　a　streak　of　red　zigzagging　out　of

it　across　the　paper　as　naturally　as　a　crack　runs　through　a　China

bowl。　　On　the　next　page　a　dead　bird；some　little　favorite；　I

suppose；　for　it　was　worked　out　with　a　special　love；　and　I　saw　on　the

leaf　that　sign　with　which　once　or　twice　in　my　life　I　have　had　a

letter　sealed；a　round　spot　where　the　paper　is　slightly　corrugated；

and；　if　there　is　writing　there；　the　letters　are　somewhat　faint　and

blurred。　　Most　of　the　pages　were　surrounded　with　emblematic

traceries。　　It　was　strange　to　me　at　first　to　see　how　often　she

introduced　those　homelier　wild…flowers　which　we　call　weeds；for　it

seemed　there　was　none　of　them　too　humble　for　her　to　love；　and　none

too　little　cared　for　by　Nature　to　be　without　its　beauty　for　her

artist　eye　and　pencil。　　By　the　side　of　the　garden…flowers；of

Spring's　curled　darlings；　the　hyacinths；　of　rosebuds；　dear　to

sketching　maidens；　of　flower…de…luces　and　morning…glories；　nay；

oftener　than　these；　and　more　tenderly　caressed　by　the　colored　brush

that　rendered　them；were　those　common　growths　which　fling

themselves　to　be　crushed　under　our　feet　and　our　wheels；　making

themselves　so　cheap　in　this　perpetual　martyrdom　that　we　forget　each

of　them　is　a　ray　of　the　Divine　beauty。



Yellow　japanned　buttercups　and　star…disked　dandelions；just　as　we

see　them　lying　in　the　grass；　like　sparks　that　have　leaped　from　the

kindling　sun　of　summer；　the　profuse　daisy…like　flower　which　whitens

the　fields；　to　the　great　disgust　of　liberal　shepherds；　yet　seems

fair　to　loving　eyes；　with　its　button…like　mound　of　gold　set　round

with　milk…white　rays；　the　tall…stemmed　succory；　setting　its　pale

blue　flowers　aflame；　one　after　another；　sparingly；　as　the　lights　are

kindled　in　the　candelabra　of　decaying　palaces　where　the　heirs　of

dethroned　monarchs　are　dying　out；　the　red　and　white　clovers；　the

broad；　flat　leaves　of　the　plantain；〃the　white　man's　foot；〃　as　the

Indians　called　it；the　wiry；　jointed　stems　of　that　iron　creeping

plant　which　we　call　〃knot…grass；〃　and　which　loves　its　life　so　dearly

that　it　is　next　to　impossible　to　murder　it　with　a　hoe；　as　it　clings

to　the　cracks　of　the　pavement；all　these　plants；　and　many　more；　she

wove　into　her　fanciful　garlands　and　borders。　On　one　of　the　pages

were　some　musical　notes。　　I　touched　them　from　curiosity　on　a　piano

belonging　to　one　of　our　boarders。　　Strange！　　There　are　passages　that

I　have　heard　before；　plaintive；　full　of　some　hidden　meaning；　as　if

they　were　gasping　for　words　to　interpret　them。　　She　must　have　heard

the　strains　that　have　so　excited　my　curiosity；　coming　from　my

neighbor's　chamber。　　The　illuminated　border　she　had　traced　round　the

page　that　held　these　notes　took　the　place　of　the　words　they　seemed

to　be　aching　for。　　Above；　a　long　monotonous　sweep　of　waves；　leaden…

hued；　anxious　and　jaded　and　sullen；　if　you　can　imagine　such　an

expression　in　water。　　On　one　side　an　Alpine　needle；　as　it　were；　of

black　basalt；　girdled　with　snow。　　On　the　other　a　threaded　waterfall。

The　red　morning…tint　that　shone　in　the　drops　had　a　strange　look；

one　would　say　the　cliff　was　bleeding；perhaps　she　did　not　mean　it。

Below；　a　stretch　of　sand；　and　a　solitary　bird　of　prey；　with　his

wings　spread　over　some　unseen　object。　And　on　the　very　next　page　a

procession　wound　along；　after　the　fashion　of　that　on　the　title…page

of　Fuller's　〃Holy　War；〃　in　which　I　recognized　without　difficulty

every　boarder　at　our　table　in　all　the　glory　of　the　most　resplendent

caricaturethree　only　excepted；the　Little　Gentleman；　myself；　and

one　other。



I　confess　I　did　expect　to　see　something　that　would　remind　me　of　the

girl's　little　deformed　neighbor；　if　not　portraits　of　him。　There　is

a　left　arm　again；　though；no；that　is　from　the　〃Fighting

Gladiator；〃the　〃Jeune　Heros　combattant〃　of　the　Louvre；there　is　the

broad　ring　of　the　shield。　　From　a　cast；　doubtless。　　＇The　separate

casts　of　the　〃Gladiator's〃　arm　look　immense；　but　in　its　place　the

limb　looks　light；　almost　slender；such　is　the　perfection　of　that

miraculous　marble。　　I　never　felt　as　if　I　touched　the　life　of　the　old

Greeks　until　I　looked　on　that　statue。＇Here　is　something　very　odd；

to　be　sure。　　An　Eden　of　all　the　humped　and　crooked　creatures！　　What

could　have　been　in　her　head　when　she　worked　out　such　a　fantasy？　　She

has　contrived　to　give　them　all　beauty　or　dignity　or　melancholy

grace。　　A　Bactrian　camel　lying　under　a　palm。　　A　dromedary　flashing

up　the　sands；spray　of　the　dry　ocean　sailed　by　the　〃ship　of　the

desert。〃　　A　herd　of　buffaloes；　uncouth；　shaggy…maned；　heavy　in　the

forehand；　light　in　the　hind…quarter。　　＇The　buffalo　is　the　lion　of

the　ruminants。＇　And　there　is　a　Norman　horse；　with　his　huge；　rough

collar；　echoing；　as　it　were；　the　natural　form　of　the　other　beast。

And　here　are　twisted　serpents；　and　stately　swans；　with　answering

curves　in　their　bowed　necks；　as　if　they　had　snake's　blood　under

their　white　feathers；　and　grave；　high…shouldered　herons　standing　on

one　foot　like　cripples；　and　looking　at　life　round　them　with　the　cold

stare　of　monumental　effigies。　A　very　odd　page　indeed！　　Not　a

creature　in　it　without　a　curve　or　a　twist；　and　not　one　of　them　a

mean　figure　to　look　at。　　You　can　make　your　own　comment；　I　am

fanciful；　you　know。　　I　believe　she　is　trying　to　idealize　what　we

vulgarly　call　deformity；　which　she　strives　to　look　at　in　the　light

of　one　of　Nature's　eccentric　curves；　belonging　to　her　system　of

beauty；　as　the　hyperbola；　and　parabola　belong　to　the　conic　sections；

though　we　cannot　see　them　as　symmetrical　and　entire　figures；　like

the　circle　and　ellipse。　　At　any　rate；　I　cannot　help　referring　this

paradise　of　twisted　spines　to　some　idea　floating　in　her　head

connected　with　her　friend　whom　Nature　has　warped　in　the　moulding。

That　is　nothing　to　another　transcendental　fancy　of　mine。　　I

believe　her　soul　thinks　itself　in　his　little　crooked　body　at　times；

if　it　does　not　really　get　freed　or　half　freed　from　her　own。　　Did

you　ever　see　a　case　of　catalepsy？　　You　know　what　I　mean；transient

loss　of　sense；　will；　and　motion；　body　and　limbs　taking　any　position

in　which　they　are　put；　as　if　they　belonged　to　a　lay…figure。　　She　had

been　talking　with　him　and　listening　to　him　one　day　when　the　boarders

moved　from　the　table　nearly　all　at　once。　　But　she　sat　as　before；　her

cheek　resting　on　her　hand；　her　amber　eyes　wide　open　and　still。　　I

went　to　her；　she　was　breathing　as　usual；　and　her　heart　was　beating

naturally　enough；but　she　did　not　answer。　　I　bent　her　arm；　it　was

as　plastic　as　softened　wag；　and　kept　the　place　I　gave　it。　This


will　never　do；　though；　and　I　sprinkled　a　few　drops　of　water　on　her

forehead。　　She　started　and　looked　round。　I　have　been　in　a　dream；

she　said；I　feel　as　if　all　my　strength　were　in　this　arm；give　me

your　hand！　She　took　my　right　hand　in　her　left；　which　looked　soft

and　white　enough；　butGood　Heaven！　　I　believe　she　will　crack　my

bones！　　All　the　nervous　power　in　her　body　must　have　flashed　through

those　muscles；　as　when　a　crazy　lady　snaps　her　iron　window…bars；she

who　could　hardly　glove　herself　when　in　her　common　health。　　Iris

turned　pale；　and　the　tears　came　to　her　eyes；she　saw　she　had　given

pain。　　Then　she　trembled；　and　might　have　fallen　but　for　me；the

poor　little　soul　had　been　in　one　of　those　trances　that　belong　to　the

spiritual　pathology　of　higher　natures；　mostly　those　of　women。



To　come　back　to　this　wondrous　book　of　Iris。　　Two　pages　faced　each

other　which　I　took　for　symbolical　expressions　of　two　states　of　mind。

On　the　left　hand；　a　bright　blue　sky　washed　over　the　page；　specked

with　a　single　bird。　　No　trace　of　earth；　but　still　the　winged

creature　seemed　to　be　soaring　upward　and　upward。　　Facing　it；　one　of

those　black　dungeons　such　as　Piranesi　alone　of　all　men　has　pictured。

I　am　sure　she　must　have　seen　those　awful　prisons　of　his；　out　of

which　the　Opium…Eater　got　his　nightmare　vision；　described　by　another

as　〃cemeteries　of　departed　greatness；　where　monstrous　and　forbidden

things　are　crawling　and　twining　their　slimy　convolutions　among

mouldering　bones；　broken　sculpture；　and　mutilated　inscriptions。〃

Such　a　black　dungeon　faced　the　page　that　held　the　blue　sky　and　the

single　bird；　at　the　bottom　of　it　something　was　coiled；what；　and

whether　meant　for　dead　or　alive；　my　eyes　could　not　make　out。



I　told　you　the　young　girl's　soul　was　in　this　book。　　As　I　turned　over

the　last　leaves　I　could　not　help　starting。　　There　were　all　sorts　of

faces　among　the　arabesques　which　laughed　and　scowled　in　the　borders

that　ran　round　the　pages。　　They　had　mostly　the　outline　of　childish

or　womanly　or　manly　beauty；　without　very　distinct　individuality。

But　at　last　it　see