the professor at the breakfast table-第52部分

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the　truth　of　the　matter；　and　it　does　rather　please　me　to　think　that

fifty　years　from　now　nobody　will　know　that　the　place　where　I　lie

does　n't　hold　as　stout　and　straight　a　man　as　the　best　of　'em　that

stretch　out　as　if　they　were　proud　of　the　room　they　take。　　You　may

get　me　well；　if　you　can；　Sir；　if　you　think　it　worth　while　to　try；

but　I　tell　you　there　has　been　no　time　for　this　many　a　year　when　the

smell　of　fresh　earth　was　not　sweeter　to　me　than　all　the　flowers　that

grow　out　of　it。　　There's　no　anodyne　like　your　good　clean　gravel；

Sir。　　But　if　you　can　keep　me　about　awhile；　and　it　amuses　you　to　try；

you　may　show　your　skill　upon　me；　if　you　like。　　There　is　a　pleasure

or　two　that　I　love　the　daylight　for；　and　I　think　the　night　is　not

far　off；　at　best。　I　believe　I　shall　sleep　now；　you　may　leave　me；

and　come；　if　you　like；　in　the　morning。



Before　I　passed　out；　I　took　one　more　glance　round　the　apartment。

The　beautiful　face　of　the　portrait　looked　at　me；　as　portraits　often

do；　with　a　frightful　kind　of　intelligence　in　its　eyes。　　The　drapery

fluttered　on　the　still　outstretched　arm　of　the　tall　object　near　the

window；a　crack　of　this　was　open；　no　doubt；　and　some　breath　of　wind

stirred　the　hanging　folds。　　In　my　excited　state；　I　seemed　to　see

something　ominous　in　that　arm　pointing　to　the　heavens。　　I　thought　of

the　figures　in　the　Dance　of　Death　at　Basle；　and　that　other　on　the

panels　of　the　covered　Bridge　at　Lucerne；　and　it　seemed　to　me　that

the　grim　mask　who　mingles　with　every　crowd　and　glides　over　every

threshold　was　pointing　the　sick　man　to　his　far　home；　and　would　soon

stretch　out　his　bony　hand　and　lead　him　or　drag　him　on　the　unmeasured

journey　towards　it。



The　fancy　had　possession　of　me；　and　I　shivered　again　as　when　I　first

entered　the　chamber。　　The　picture　and　the　shrouded　shape；　I　saw　only

these　two　objects。　　They　were　enough。　　The　house　was　deadly　still；

and　the　night…wind；　blowing　through　an　open　window；　struck　me　as

from　a　field　of　ice；　at　the　moment　I　passed　into　the　creaking

corridor。　　As　I　turned　into　the　common　passage；　a　white　figure；

holding　a　lamp；　stood　full　before　me。　　I　thought　at　first　it　was　one

of　those　images　made　to　stand　in　niches　and　hold　a　light　in　their

hands。　　But　the　illusion　was　momentary；　and　my　eyes　speedily

recovered　from　the　shock　of　the　bright　flame　and　snowy　drapery　to

see　that　the　figure　was　a　breathing　one。　　It　was　Iris；　in　one　of　her

statue…trances。　　She　had　come　down；　whether　sleeping　or　waking；　I

knew　not　at　first；　led　by　an　instinct　that　told　her　she　was　wanted；…

…or；　possibly；　having　overheard　and　interpreted　the　sound　of　our

movements；or；　it　may　be；　having　learned　from　the　servant　that

there　was　trouble　which　might　ask　for　a　woman's　hand。　　I　sometimes

think　women　have　a　sixth　sense；　which　tells　them　that　others；　whom

they　cannot　see　or　hear；　are　in　suffering。　　How　surely　we　find　them

at　the　bedside　of　the　dying！　　How　strongly　does　Nature　plead　for

them；　that　we　should　draw　our　first　breath　in　their　arms；　as　we　sigh

away　our　last　upon　their　faithful　breasts！



With　white；　bare　feet；　her　hair　loosely　knotted；　clad　as　the

starlight　knew　her；　and　the　morning　when　she　rose　from　slumber；　save

that　she　had　twisted　a　scarf　round　her　long　dress；　she　stood　still

as　a　stone　before　me；　holding　in　one　hand　a　lighted　coil　of

waxtaper；　and　in　the　other　a　silver　goblet。　　I　held　my　own　lamp

close　to　her；　as　if　she　had　been　a　figure　of　marble；　and　she　did　not

stir。　　There　was　no　breach　of　propriety　then；　to　scare　the　Poor

Relation　with　and　breed　scandal　out　of。　　She　had　been　〃warned　in　a

dream；〃　doubtless　suggested　by　her　waking　knowledge　and　the　sounds

which　had　reached　her　exalted　sense。　　There　was　nothing　more　natural

than　that　she　should　have　risen　and　girdled　her　waist；　and　lighted

her　taper；　and　found　the　silver　goblet　with　〃Ex　dono　pupillorum〃　on

it；　from　which　she　had　taken　her　milk　and　possets　through　all　her

childish　years；　and　so　gone　blindly　out　to　find　her　place　at　the

bedside；a　Sister　of　Charity　without　the　cap　and　rosary；　nay；

unknowing　whither　her　feet　were　leading　her；　and　with　wide　blank

eyes　seeing　nothing　but　the　vision　that　beckoned　her　along。　Well；

I　must　wake　her　from　her　slumber　or　trance。　I　called　her　name；　but

she　did　not　heed　my　voice。



The　Devil　put　it　into　my　head　that　I　would　kiss　one　handsome　young

girl　before　I　died；　and　now　was　my　chance。　　She　never　would　know　it；

and　I　should　carry　the　remembrance　of　it　with　me　into　the　grave；　and

a　rose　perhaps　grow　out　of　my　dust；　as　a　brier　did　out　of　Lord

Lovers；　in　memory　of　that　immortal　moment！　　Would　it　wake　her　from

her　trance？　　and　would　she　see　me　in　the　flush　of　my　stolen　triumph；

and　hate　and　despise　me　ever　after？　　Or　should　I　carry　off　my　trophy

undetected；　and　always　from　that　time　say　to　myself；　when　I　looked

upon　her　in　the　glory　of　youth　and　the　splendor　of　beauty；　〃My　lips

have　touched　those　roses　and　made　their　sweetness　mine　forever〃？

You　think　my　cheek　was　flushed；　perhaps；　and　my　eyes　were　glittering

with　this　midnight　flash　of　opportunity。　　On　the　contrary；　I　believe

I　was　pale；　very　pale；　and　I　know　that　I　trembled。　　Ah；　it　is　the

pale　passions　that　are　the　fiercest；it　is　the　violence　of　the

chill　that　gives　the　measure　of　the　fever！　　The　fighting…boy　of　our

school　always　turned　white　when　he　went　out　to　a　pitched　battle　with

the　bully　of　some　neighboring　village；　but　we　knew　what　his

bloodless　cheeks　meant；the　blood　was　all　in　his　stout　heart；he

was　a　slight　boy；　and　there　was　not　enough　to　redden　his　face　and

fill　his　heart　both　at　once。



Perhaps　it　is　making　a　good　deal　of　a　slight　matter；　to　tell　the

internal　conflicts　in　the　heart　of　a　quiet　person　something　more

than　juvenile　and　something　less　than　senile；　as　to　whether　he

should　be　guilty　of　an　impropriety；　and；　if　he　were；　whether　he

would　get　caught　in　his　indiscretion。　　And　yet　the　memory　of　the

kiss　that　Margaret　of　Scotland　gave　to　Alain　Chartier　has　lasted

four　hundred　years；　and　put　it　into　the　head　of　many　an　ill…favored

poet；　whether　Victoria；　or　Eugenie；　would　do　as　much　by　him；　if　she

happened　to　pass　him　when　he　was　asleep。　　And　have　we　ever　forgotten

that　the　fresh　cheek　of　the　young　John　Milton　tingled　under　the　lips

of　some　high…born　Italian　beauty；　who；　I　believe；　did　not　think　to

leave　her　card　by　the　side　of　the　slumbering　youth；　but　has

bequeathed　the　memory　of　her　pretty　deed　to　all　coming　time？　　The

sound　of　a　kiss　is　not　so　loud　as　that　of　a　cannon；　but　its　echo

lasts　a　deal　longer。



There　is　one　disadvantage　which　the　man　of　philosophical　habits　of

mind　suffers；　as　compared　with　the　man　of　action。　　While　he　is

taking　an　enlarged　and　rational　view　of　the　matter　before　him；　he

lets　his　chance　slip　through　his　fingers。　　Iris　woke　up；　of　her　own

accord；　before　I　had　made　up　my　mind　what　I　was　going　to　do　about

it。



When　I　remember　how　charmingly　she　looked；　I　don't　blame　myself　at

all　for　being　tempted；　but　if　I　had　been　fool　enough　to　yield　to　the

impulse；　I　should　certainly　have　been　ashamed　to　tell　of　it。　　She

did　not　know　what　to　make　of　it；　finding　herself　there　alone；　in

such　guise；　and　me　staring　at　her。　　She　looked　down　at　her　white

robe　and　bare　feet；　and　colored；then　at　the　goblet　she　held　in　her

hand；　then　at　the　taper；　and　at　last　her　thoughts　seemed　to　clear

up。



I　know　it　all；she　said。　He　is　going　to　die；　and　I　must　go　and

sit　by　him。　　Nobody　will　care　for　him　as　I　shall；　and　I　have　nobody

else　to　care　for。



I　assured　her　that　nothing　was　needed　for　him　that　night　but　rest；

and　persuaded　her　that　the　excitement　of　her　presence　could　only　do

harm。　　Let　him　sleep；　and　he　would　very　probably　awake　better　in　the

morning。　　There　was　nothing　to　be　said；　for　I　spoke　with　authority；

and　the　young　girl　glided　away　with　noiseless　step　and　sought　her

own　chamber。



The　tremor　passed　away　from　my　limbs；　and　the　blood　began　to　burn　in

my　cheeks。　　The　beautiful　image　which　had　so　bewitched　me　faded

gradually　from　my　imagination；　and　I　returned　to　the　still

perplexing　mysteries　of　my　little　neighbor's　chamber。



All　was　still　there　now。　　No　plaintive　sounds；　no　monotonous

murmurs；　no　shutting　of　windows　and　doors　at　strange　hours；　as　if

something　or　somebody　were　coming　in　or　going　out；　or　there　was

something　to　be　hidden　in　those　dark　mahogany　presses。　　Is　there　an

inner　apartment　that　I　have　not　seen？　　The　way　in　which　the　house　is

built　might　admit　of　it。　　As　I　thought　it　over；　I　at　once　imagined　a

Bluebeard's　chamber。　　Suppose；　for　instance；　that　the　narrow

bookshelves　to　the　right　are　really　only　a　masked　door；　such　as　we

remember　leading　to　the　private　study　of　one　of　our　most

distinguished　townsmen；　who　loved　to　steal　away　from　his　stately

library　to　that　little　silent　cell。　　If　this　were　lighted　from

above；　a　person　or　persons　might　pass　their　days　there　without

attracting　attention　from　the　household；　and　wander　whe