tea-table talk-第1节

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Tea…table　Talk

by　Jerome　K。　Jerome






CHAPTER　I



〃They　are　very　pretty；　some　of　them；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃not　the　sort　of　letters　I　should　have　written　myself。〃

〃I　should　like　to　see　a　love…letter　of　yours；〃　interrupted　the　Minor　Poet。

〃It　is　very　kind　of　you　to　say　so；〃　replied　the　Woman　of　the　World。　〃It　never　occurred　to　me　that　you　would　care　for　one。〃

〃It　is　what　I　have　always　maintained；〃　retorted　the　Minor　Poet；　〃you　have　never　really　understood　me。〃

〃I　believe　a　volume　of　assorted　love…letters　would　sell　well；〃　said　the　Girton　Girl；　〃written　by　the　same　hand；　if　you　like；　but　to　different　correspondents　at　different　periods。　　To　the　same　person　one　is　bound；　more　or　less；　to　repeat　oneself。〃

〃Or　from　different　lovers　to　the　same　correspondent；〃　suggested　the　Philosopher。　　〃It　would　be　interesting　to　observe　the　response　of　various　temperaments　exposed　to　an　unvaried　influence。　　It　would　throw　light　on　the　vexed　question　whether　the　qualities　that　adorn　our　beloved　are　her　own；　or　ours　lent　to　her　for　the　occasion。　Would　the　same　woman　be　addressed　as　'My　Queen！'　by　one　correspondent；　and　as　'Dear　Popsy　Wopsy！'　by　another；　or　would　she　to　all　her　lovers　be　herself？〃

〃You　might　try　it；〃　I　suggested　to　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃selecting；　of　course；　only　the　more　interesting。〃

〃It　would　cause　so　much　unpleasantness；　don't　you　think？〃　replied　the　Woman　of　the　World。　　〃Those　I　left　out　would　never　forgive　me。　It　is　always　so　with　people　you　forget　to　invite　to　a　funeralthey　think　it　is　done　with　deliberate　intention　to　slight　them。〃

〃The　first　love…letter　I　ever　wrote；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃was　when　I　was　sixteen。　　Her　name　was　Monica；　she　was　the　left…hand　girl　in　the　third　joint　of　the　crocodile。　　I　have　never　known　a　creature　so　ethereally　beautiful。　　I　wrote　the　letter　and　sealed　it；　but　I　could　not　make　up　my　mind　whether　to　slip　it　into　her　hand　when　we　passed　them；　as　we　usually　did　on　Thursday　afternoons；　or　to　wait　for　Sunday。〃

〃There　can　be　no　question；〃　murmured　the　Girton　Girl　abstractedly；　〃the　best　time　is　just　as　one　is　coming　out　of　church。　　There　is　so　much　confusion；　besides；　one　has　one's　Prayer…bookI　beg　your　pardon。〃

〃I　was　saved　the　trouble　of　deciding；〃　continued　the　Minor　Poet。　〃On　Thursday　her　place　was　occupied　by　a　fat；　red…headed　girl；　who　replied　to　my　look　of　inquiry　with　an　idiotic　laugh；　and　on　Sunday　I　searched　the　Hypatia　House　pews　for　her　in　vain。　　I　learnt　subsequently　that　she　had　been　sent　home　on　the　previous　Wednesday；　suddenly。　　It　appeared　that　I　was　not　the　only　one。　　I　left　the　letter　where　I　had　placed　it；　at　the　bottom　of　my　desk；　and　in　course　of　time　forgot　it。　　Years　later　I　fell　in　love　really。　　I　sat　down　to　write　her　a　love…letter　that　should　imprison　her　as　by　some　subtle　spell。　　I　would　weave　into　it　the　love　of　all　the　ages。　　When　I　had　finished　it；　I　read　it　through　and　was　pleased　with　it。　　Then　by　an　accident；　as　I　was　going　to　seal　it；　I　overturned　my　desk；　and　on　to　the　floor　fell　that　other　love…letter　I　had　written　seven　years　before；　when　a　boy。　　Out　of　idle　curiosity　I　tore　it　open；　I　thought　it　would　afford　me　amusement。　　I　ended　by　posting　it　instead　of　the　letter　I　had　just　completed。　　It　carried　precisely　the　same　meaning；　but　it　was　better　expressed；　with　greater　sincerity；　with　more　artistic　simplicity。〃

〃After　all；〃　said　the　Philosopher；　〃what　can　a　man　do　more　than　tell　a　woman　that　he　loves　her？　　All　the　rest　is　mere　picturesque　amplification；　on　a　par　with　the　'Full　and　descriptive　report　from　our　Special　Correspondent；'　elaborated　out　of　a　three…line　telegram　of　Reuter's。〃

〃Following　that　argument；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃you　could　reduce　'Romeo　and　Juliet'　to　a　two…line　tragedy　…

Lass　and　lad；　loved　like　mad；

Silly　muddle；　very　sad。〃

〃To　be　told　that　you　are　loved；〃　said　the　Girton　Girl；　〃is　only　the　beginning　of　the　theoremits　proposition；　so　to　speak。〃

〃Or　the　argument　of　the　poem；〃　murmured　the　Old　Maid。

〃The　interest；〃　continued　the　Girton　Girl；　〃lies　in　proving　itwhy　does　he　love　me？〃

〃I　asked　a　man　that　once；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World。　　〃He　said　it　was　because　he　couldn't　help　it。　　It　seemed　such　a　foolish　answer　the　sort　of　thing　your　housemaid　always　tells　you　when　she　breaks　your　favourite　teapot。　　And　yet；　I　suppose　it　was　as　sensible　as　any　other。〃

〃More　so；〃　commented　the　Philosopher。　　〃It　is　the　only　possible　explanation。〃

〃I　wish；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃it　were　a　question　one　could　ask　of　people　without　offence；　I　so　often　long　to　put　it。　　Why　do　men　marry　viragoes；　pimply　girls　with　incipient　moustaches？　　Why　do　beautiful　heiresses　choose　thick…lipped；　little　men　who　bully　them？　　Why　are　old　bachelors；　generally　speaking；　sympathetic；　kind…hearted　men；　and　old　maids；　so　many　of　them；　sweet…looking　and　amiable？〃

〃I　think；〃　said　the　Old　Maid；　〃that　perhaps〃　　But　there　she　stopped。

〃Pray　go　on；〃　said　the　Philosopher。　　〃I　shall　be　so　interested　to　have　your　views。〃

〃It　was　nothing；　really；〃　said　the　Old　Maid；　〃I　have　forgotten。〃

〃If　only　one　could　obtain　truthful　answers；〃　the　Minor　Poet；　〃what　a　flood　of　light　they　might　let　fall　on　the　hidden　half　of　life！〃

〃It　seems　to　me；〃　said　the　Philosopher；　〃that；　if　anything；　Love　is　being　exposed　to　too　much　light。　　The　subject　is　becoming　vulgarised。　　Every　year　a　thousand　problem　plays　and　novels；　poems　and　essays；　tear　the　curtain　from　Love's　Temple；　drag　it　naked　into　the　market…place　for　grinning　crowds　to　gape　at。　　In　a　million　short　stories；　would…be　comic；　would…be　serious；　it　is　handled　more　or　less　coarsely；　more　or　less　unintelligently；　gushed　over；　gibed　and　jeered　at。　　Not　a　shred　of　self…respect　is　left　to　it。　　It　is　made　the　central　figure　of　every　farce；　danced　and　sung　round　in　every　music…hall；　yelled　at　by　gallery；　guffawed　at　by　stalls。　　It　is　the　stock…in…trade　of　every　comic　journal。　　Could　any　god；　even　a　Mumbo　Jumbo；　so　treated；　hold　its　place　among　its　votaries？　　Every　term　of　endearment　has　become　a　catchword；　every　caress　mocks　us　from　the　hoardings。　　Every　tender　speech　we　make　recalls　to　us　even　while　we　are　uttering　it　a　hundred　parodies。　　Every　possible　situation　has　been　spoilt　for　us　in　advance　by　the　American　humorist。〃

〃I　have　sat　out　a　good　many　parodies　of　'Hamlet；'〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃but　the　play　still　interests　me。　　I　remember　a　walking　tour　I　once　took　in　Bavaria。　　In　some　places　the　waysides　are　lined　with　crucifixes　that　are　either　comic　or　repulsive。　　There　is　a　firm　that　turns　them　out　by　machinery。　　Yet；　to　the　peasants　who　pass　by；　the　Christ　is　still　beautiful。　　You　can　belittle　only　what　is　already　contemptible。〃

〃Patriotism　is　a　great　virtue；〃　replied　the　Philosopher：　　〃the　Jingoes　have　made　it　ridiculous。〃

〃On　the　contrary；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃they　have　taught　us　to　distinguish　between　the　true　and　the　false。　　So　it　is　with　love。　The　more　it　is　cheapened；　ridiculed；　employed　for　market　purposes；　the　less　the　inclination　to　affect　itto　be　in　love　with　love；　as　Heine　admitted　he　was；　for　its　own　sake。〃

〃Is　the　necessity　to　love　born　in　us；〃　said　the　Girton　Girl；　〃or　do　we　practise　to　acquire　it　because　it　is　the　fashionmake　up　our　mind　to　love；　as　boys　learn　to　smoke；　because　every　other　fellow　does　it；　and　we　do　not　like　to　be　peculiar？〃

〃The　majority　of　men　and　women；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet；　〃are　incapable　of　love。　　With　most　it　is　a　mere　animal　passion；　with　others　a　mild　affection。〃

〃We　talk　about　love；〃　said　the　Philosopher；　〃as　though　it　were　a　known　quantity。　　After　all；　to　say　that　a　man　loves　is　like　saying　that　he　paints　or　plays　the　violin；　it　conveys　no　meaning　until　we　have　witnessed　his　performance。　　Yet　to　hear　the　subject　discussed；　one　might　imagine　the　love　of　a　Dante　or　a　society　Johnny；　of　a　Cleopatra　or　a　Georges　Sand；　to　be　precisely　the　same　thing。〃

〃It　was　always　poor　Susan's　trouble；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃she　could　never　be　persuaded　that　Jim　really　loved　her。　　It　was　very　sad；　because　I　am　sure　he　was　devoted　to　her；　in　his　way。　　But　he　could　not　do　the　sort　of　things　she　wanted　him　to　do；　she　was　so　romantic。　　He　did　try。　　He　used　to　go　to　all　the　poetical　plays　and　study　them。　　But　he　hadn't　the　knack　of　it　and　he　was　naturally　clumsy。　　He　would　rush　into　the　room　and　fling　himself　on　his　knees　before　her；　never　noticing　the　dog；　so　that；　instead　of　pouring　out　his　heart　as　he　had　intended；　he　would　have　to　start　off　with；　'So　awfully　sorry！　　Hope　I　haven't　hurt　the　little　beast？'　　Which　was　enough　to　put　anybody　out。〃

〃Young　girls　are　so　foolish；〃　said　the　Old　Maid；　〃they　run　after　what　glitters；　and　do　not　see　the　gold　until　it　is　too　late。　　At　first　they　are　all　eyes　and　no　heart。〃

〃I　knew　a　girl；〃　I　said；　〃or；　rather；　a　young　married　woman；　who　was　cured　of　folly　by　the　homoeopathic　method。　　Her　great　trouble　was　that　her　husband　had　ceased　to　be　her　lover。〃

〃It　seems　to　me　so　sad；〃　said　the　Old　Maid。　　〃Sometimes　it　is　the　woman's　fault；　sometimes　the　man's；　more　often　both。　　The　little　courtesies；　the　fond　words；　the　tender　nothings　that　mean　so　much　to　those　that　loveit　would　cost　so　little　not　to　forget　them；　and　they　would　make　life　so　much　more　beautiful。〃

〃There　is