the poet at the breakfast table-第11部分

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tobacco。　　As　his　forefinger　shows　a　little　too　distinctly　that　he
uses　a　pen；　I　shall　compliment　him　by　calling　him　the　Man　of　Letters；
until　I　find　out　more　about　him。

The　Young　Girl　who　sits　on　my　right；　next　beyond　the　Master；　can
hardly　be　more　than　nineteen　or　twenty　years　old。　　I　wish　I　could
paint　her　so　as　to　interest　others　as　much　as　she　does　me。　　But　she
has　not　a　profusion　of　sunny　tresses　wreathing　a　neck　of　alabaster；
and　a　cheek　where　the　rose　and　the　lily　are　trying　to　settle　their
old　quarrel　with　alternating　victory。　　Her　hair　is　brown；　her　cheek
is　delicately　pallid；　her　forehead　is　too　ample　for　a　ball…room
beauty's。　　A　single　faint　line　between　the　eyebrows　is　the　record　of
longcontinued　anxious　efforts　to　please　in　the　task　she　has　chosen；
or　rather　which　has　been　forced　upon　her。　　It　is　the　same　line　of
anxious　and　conscientious　effort　which　I　saw　not　long　since　on　the
forehead　of　one　of　the　sweetest　and　truest　singers　who　has　visited
us；　the　same　which　is　so　striking　on　the　masks　of　singing　women
painted　upon　the　facade　of　our　Great　Organ；that　Himalayan　home　of
harmony　which　you　are　to　see　and　then　die；　if　you　don't　live　where
you　can　see　and　hear　it　often。　　Many　deaths　have　happened　in　a
neighboring　large　city　from　that　well…known　complaint；　Icterus
Invidiosorum；　after　returning　from　a　visit　to　the　Music　Hall。　　The
invariable　symptom　of　a　fatal　attack　is　the　Risus　Sardonicus。But
the　Young　Girl。　　She　gets　her　living　by　writing　stories　for　a
newspaper。　　Every　week　she　furnishes　a　new　story。　　If　her　head　aches
or　her　heart　is　heavy；　so　that　she　does　not　come　to　time　with　her
story；　she　falls　behindhand　and　has　to　live　on　credit。　　It　sounds
well　enough　to　say　that　〃she　supports　herself　by　her　pen；〃　but　her
lot　is　a　trying　one；　it　repeats　the　doom　of　the　Danaides。　　The
〃Weekly　Bucket〃　has　no　bottom；　and　it　is　her　business　to　help　fill
it。　　Imagine　for　one　moment　what　it　is　to　tell　a　tale　that　must　flow
on；　flow　ever；　without　pausing；　the　lover　miserable　and　happy　this
week；　to　begin　miserable　again　next　week　and　end　as　before；　the
villain　scowling；　plotting；　punished；　to　scowl；　plot；　and　get
punished　again　in　our　next；　an　endless　series　of　woes　and　busses；
into　each　paragraph　of　which　the　forlorn　artist　has　to　throw　all　the
liveliness；　all　the　emotion；　all　the　graces　of　style　she　is　mistress
of；　for　the　wages　of　a　maid　of　all　work；　and　no　more　recognition　or
thanks　from　anybody　than　the　apprentice　who　sets　the　types　for　the
paper　that　prints　her　ever…ending　and　ever…beginning　stories。　　And
yet　she　has　a　pretty　talent；　sensibility；　a　natural　way　of　writing；
an　ear　for　the　music　of　verse；　in　which　she　sometimes　indulges　to
vary　the　dead　monotony　of　everlasting　narrative；　and　a　sufficient
amount　of　invention　to　make　her　stories　readable。　　I　have　found　my
eyes　dimmed　over　them　oftener　than　once；　more　with　thinking　about
her；　perhaps；　than　about　her　heroes　and　heroines。　　Poor　little　body！
Poor　little　mind！　　Poor　little　soul！　　She　is　one　of　that　great
company　of　delicate；　intelligent；　emotional　young　creatures；　who　are
waiting；　like　that　sail　I　spoke　of；　for　some　breath　of　heaven　to　fill
their　white　bosoms；love；　the　right　of　every　woman；　religious
emotion；　sister　of　love；　with　the　same　passionate　eyes；　but　cold；
thin；　bloodless　hands；some　enthusiasm　of　humanity　or　divinity；　and
find　that　life　offers　them；　instead；　a　seat　on　a　wooden　bench；　a
chain　to　fasten　them　to　it；　and　a　heavy　oar　to　pull　day　and　night。
We　read　the　Arabian　tales　and　pity　the　doomed　lady　who　must　amuse　her
lord　and　master　from　day　to　day　or　have　her　head　cut　off；　how　much
better　is　a　mouth　without　bread　to　fill　it　than　no　mouth　at　all　to
fill；　because　no　head？　　We　have　all　round　us　a　weary…eyed　company　of
Scheherezades！　　This　is　one　of　them；　and　I　may　call　her　by　that　name
when　it　pleases　me　to　do　so。

The　next　boarder　I　have　to　mention　is　the　one　who　sits　between　the
Young　Girl　and　the　Landlady。　　In　a　little　chamber　into　which　a　small
thread　of　sunshine　finds　its　way　for　half　an　hour　or　so　every　day
during　a　month　or　six　weeks　of　the　spring　or　autumn；　at　all　other
times　obliged　to　content　itself　with　ungilded　daylight；　lives　this
boarder；　whom；　without　wronging　any　others　of　our　company；　I　may
call；　as　she　is　very　generally　called　in　the　household；　The　Lady。　　In
giving　her　this　name　it　is　not　meant　that　there　are　no　other　ladies
at　our　table；　or　that　the　handmaids　who　serve　us　are　not　ladies；　or
to　deny　the　general　proposition　that　everybody　who　wears　the
unbifurcated　garment　is　entitled　to　that　appellation。　　Only　this　lady
has　a　look　and　manner　which　there　is　no　mistaking　as　belonging　to　a
person　always　accustomed　to　refined　and　elegant　society。　　Her　style
is　perhaps　a　little　more　courtly　and　gracious　than　some　would　like。
The　language　and　manner　which　betray　the　habitual　desire　of　pleasing；
and　which　add　a　charm　to　intercourse　in　the　higher　social　circles；
are　liable　to　be　construed　by　sensitive　beings　unused　to　such
amenities　as　an　odious　condescension　when　addressed　to　persons　of
less　consideration　than　the　accused；　and　as　a　still　more　odiousyou
know　the　wordwhen　directed　to　those　who　are　esteemed　by　the　world
as　considerable　person　ages。　　But　of　all　this　the　accused　are
fortunately　wholly　unconscious；　for　there　is　nothing　so　entirely
natural　and　unaffected　as　the　highest　breeding。

》From　an　aspect　of　dignified　but　undisguised　economy　which　showed
itself　in　her　dress　as　well　as　in　her　limited　quarters；　I　suspected　a
story　of　shipwrecked　fortune；　and　determined　to　question　our
Landlady。　　That　worthy　woman　was　delighted　to　tell　the　history　of　her
most　distinguished　boarder。　　She　was；　as　I　had　supposed；　a
gentlewoman　whom　a　change　of　circumstances　had　brought　down　from　her
high　estate。

Did　I　know　the　Goldenrod　family？Of　course　I　did。…Well；　the
Lady；　was　first　cousin　to　Mrs。　Midas　Goldenrod。　　She　had　been　here　in
her　carriage　to　call　upon　her；not　very　often。…Were　her　rich
relations　kind　and　helpful　to　her？Well；　yes；　at　least　they　made　her
presents　now　and　then。　　Three　or　four　years　ago　they　sent　her　a
silver　waiter；　and　every　Christmas　they　sent　her　a　boquet；it　must
cost　as　much　as　five　dollars；　the　Landlady　thought。

And　how　did　the　Lady　receive　these　valuable　and　useful　gifts？

Every　Christmas　she　got　out　the　silver　waiter　and　borrowed　a　glass
tumbler　and　filled　it　with　water；　and　put　the　boquet　in　it　and　set　it
on　the　waiter。　　It　smelt　sweet　enough　and　looked　pretty　for　a　day　or
two；　but　the　Landlady　thought　it　wouldn't　have　hurt　'em　if　they'd
sent　a　piece　of　goods　for　a　dress；　or　at　least　a　pocket…handkercher
or　two；　or　something　or　other　that　she　could　'a'　made　some　kind　of
use　of；　but　beggars　must　n't　be　choosers；　not　that　she　was　a　beggar；
for　she'd　sooner　die　than　do　that　if　she　was　in　want　of　a　meal　of
victuals。　　There　was　a　lady　I　remember；　and　she　had　a　little　boy　and
she　was　a　widow；　and　after　she'd　buried　her　husband　she　was　dreadful
poor；　and　she　was　ashamed　to　let　her　little　boy　go　out　in　his　old
shoes；　and　copper…toed　shoes　they　was　too；　because　his　poor　little
tentoeswas　a　coming　out　of　'em；　and　what　do　you　think　my
husband's　rich　uncle；well；　there　now；　it　was　me　and　my　little
Benjamin；　as　he　was　then；　there's　no　use　in　hiding　of　it；and　what
do　you　think　my　husband's　uncle　sent　me　but　a　plaster　of　Paris　image
of　a　young　woman；　that　was；well；　her　appearance　wasn't　respectable；
and　I　had　to　take　and　wrap　her　up　in　a　towel　and　poke　her　right　into
my　closet；　and　there　she　stayed　till　she　got　her　head　broke　and
served　her　right；　for　she　was　n't　fit　to　show　folks。　　You　need　n't
say　anything　about　what　I　told　you；　but　the　fact　is　I　was　desperate
poor　before　I　began　to　support　myself　taking　boarders；　and　a　lone
woman　without　herher

The　sentence　plunged　into　the　gulf　of　her　great　remembered　sorrow；
and　was　lost　to　the　records　of　humanity。

Presently　she　continued　in　answer　to　my　questions：　The　Lady　was　not
very　sociable；　kept　mostly　to　herself。　　The　Young　Girl　（our
Scheherezade）　used　to　visit　her　sometimes；　and　they　seemed　to　like
each　other；　but　the　Young　Girl　had　not　many　spare　hours　for　visiting。
The　Lady　never　found　fault；　but　she　was　very　nice　in　her　tastes；　and
kept　everything　about　her　looking　as　neat　and　pleasant　as　she　could。

…What　did　she　do？Why；　she　read；　and　she　drew　pictures；　and　she
did　needlework　patterns；　and　played　on　an　old　harp　she　had；　the　gilt
was　mostly　off；　but　it　sounded　very　sweet；　and　she　sung　to　it
sometimes；　those　old　songs　that　used　to　be　in　fashion　twenty　or
thirty　years　ago；　with　words　to　'em　that　folks　could　understand。

Did　she　do　anything　to　help　support　herself　？The　Landlady　couldn't
say　she　did；　but　she　thought　there　was　rich　people　enough　that　ought
to　buy　the　flowers　and　things　she　worked　and　painted。

All　this　points　to　the　fact　that　she　was　bred　to　be　an　ornamental
rather　than　what　is　called　a　useful　member　of　society。　　This　is　all
very　well　so　long　as　fortune　favors　those　who　are　chosen　to　be　the
ornamental　personages；　but　if　the　golden　tide　recedes　and　leaves　them
stranded；　they　are　more　to　be　pitied　than　almost　any　other　class。　　〃I
cannot　dig；　to　beg