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classic mystery and detective stories-第62部分

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enter completely into the minds of the sorrowing; pleading parents;

and the sorrowing; denying lover。  He appreciated and expounded

their motives with a subtlety and delicacy of perception which

surprised and delighted me。  It showed the refinement of his moral

nature。  But; at the same time; it rendered his minor degree of

interest in the other episodes of the story; those which had a more

direct and overpowering appeal to the heart; a greater paradox。



Human nature is troubled in the presence of all mystery which has

not by long familiarity lost its power of soliciting attention; and

for my own part; I have always been uneasy in the presence of moral

problems。  Puzzled by the contradictions which I noticed in

Bourgonef; I tried to discover whether he had any general

repugnance to stories of crimes; or any special repugnance to

murders; or; finally; any strange repugnance to this particular

case now everywhere discussed。  And it is not a little remarkable

that during three separate interviews; in the course of which I

severally; and as I thought artfully; introduced these topics;

making them seem to arise naturally out of the suggestion of our

talk; I totally failed to arrive at any distinct conclusion。  I was

afraid to put the direct question:  Do you not share the common

feeling of interest in criminal stories?  This question would

doubtless have elicited a categorical reply; but somehow; the

consciousness of an arriere…pensee made me shrink from putting such

a question。



Reflecting on this indifference on a special point; and on the

numerous manifestations I had noticed of his sensibility; I came at

last to the conclusion that he must be a man of tender heart; whose

delicate sensibilities easily shrank from the horrible under every

form; and no more permitted him to dwell unnecessarily upon painful

facts; than they permit imaginative minds to dwell on the details

of an operation。



I had not long settled this in my mind before an accident suddenly

threw a lurid light upon many details noticed previously; and

painfully revived that inexplicable repulsion with which I had at

first regarded him。  A new suspicion filled my mind; or rather; let

me say; a distinct shape was impressed upon many fluctuating

suspicions。  It scarcely admitted of argument; and at times seemed

preposterous; nevertheless it persisted。  The mind which in broad

daylight assents to all that can be alleged against the absurdities

of the belief in apparitions; will often acknowledge the dim

terrors of darkness and lonelinessterrors at possibilities of

supernatural visitations。  In like manner; in the clear daylight of

reason I could see the absurdity of my suspicion; but the vague

stirrings of feeling remained unsilenced。  I was haunted by the dim

horrors of a possibility。



Thus it arose。  We were both going to Munich; and Bourgonef had

shortened his contemplated stay at Nuremberg that he might have the

pleasure of accompanying me; adding also that he; too; should be

glad to reach Munich; not only for its art; but for its greater

command of papers and intelligence respecting what was then going

on in France。  On the night preceding the morning of our departure;

I was seated in his room; smoking and discussing as usual; while

Ivan; his servant; packed up his things in two large portmanteaus。



Ivan was a serf who spoke no word of any language but his own。

Although of a brutal; almost idiotic type; he was loudly eulogized

by his master as the model of fidelity and usefulness。  Bourgonef

treated him with gentleness; though with a certain imperiousness;

much as one might treat a savage mastiff which it was necessary to

dominate without exasperating。  He more than once spoke of Ivan as

a living satire on physiognomists and phrenologists; and as I am a

phrenologist; I listened with some incredulity。



〃Look at him;〃 he would say。  〃Observe the low; retreating brow;

the flat face; the surly mouth; the broad base of the head; and the

huge bull…like neck。  Would not anyone say Ivan was as destructive

as a panther; as tenacious as a bull…dog; as brutal as a bull?  Yet

he is the gentlest of sluggish creatures; and as tender…hearted as

a girl!  That thick…set muscular frame shrouds a hare's heart。  He

is so faithful and so attached that I believe for me he would risk

his life; but on no account could you get him to place himself in

danger on his own account。  Part of his love for me is gratitude

for having rescued him from the conscription: the dangers incident

to a military life had no charm for him!〃



Now; although Bourgonef; who was not a phrenologist; might be

convinced of the absence of ferocious instincts in Ivan; to me; as

a phrenologist; the statement was eminently incredible。  All the

appearances of his manner were such as to confirm his master's

opinion。  He was quiet; even tender in his attentions。  But the

tyrannous influence of ideas and physical impressions cannot be set

aside; and no evidence would permanently have kept down my distrust

of this man。  When women shriek at the sight of a gun; it is in

vain that you solemnly assure them that the gun is not loaded。  〃I

don't know;〃 they reply;〃at any rate; I don't like it。〃  I was

much in this attitude with regard to Ivan。  He might be harmless。

I didn't know that; what I did know wasthat I didn't like his

looks。



On this night he was moving noiselessly about the room; employed in

packing。  Bourgonef's talk rambled over the old themes; and I

thought I had never before met with one of my own age whose society

was so perfectly delightful。  He was not so conspicuously my

superior on all points that I felt the restraints inevitably

imposed by superiority; yet he was in many respects sufficiently

above me in knowledge and power to make me eager to have his assent

to my views where we differed; and to have him enlighten me where I

knew myself to be weak。



In the very moment of my most cordial admiration came a shock。

Ivan; on passing from one part of the room to the other; caught his

foot in the strap of the portmanteau and fell。  The small wooden

box; something of a glove…box; which he held in his hand at the

time; fell on the floor; and falling over; discharged its contents

close to Bourgonef's feet。  The objects which caught my eyes were

several pairs of gloves; a rouge…pot and hare's foot; and a black

beard!



By what caprice of imagination was it that the sight of this false

beard lying at Bourgonef's feet thrilled me with horror?  In one

lightning…flash I beheld the archwaythe stranger with the

startled eyesthis stranger no longer unknown to me; but too

fatally recognized as Bourgonefand at his feet the murdered girl!



Moved by what subtle springs of suggestion I know not; but there

before me stood that dreadful vision; seen in a lurid light; but

seen as clearly as if the actual presence of the objects were

obtruding itself upon my eyes。  In the inexpressible horror of this

vision my heart seemed clutched with an icy hand。



Fortunately Bourgonef's attention was called away from me。  He

spoke angrily some short sentence; which of course was in Russian;

and therefore unintelligible to me。  He then stooped; and picking

up the rouge…pot; held it towards me with his melancholy smile。  He

was very red in the face; but that may have been either anger or

the effect of sudden stooping。  〃I see you are surprised at these

masquerading follies;〃 he said in a tone which; though low; was

perfectly calm。  〃You must not suppose that I beautify my sallow

cheeks on ordinary occasions。〃



He then quietly handed the pot to Ivan; who replaced it with the

gloves and the beard in the box; and after making an inquiry which

sounded like a growl; to which Bourgonef answered negatively; he

continued his packing。



Bourgonef resumed his cigar and his argument as if nothing had

happened。



The vision had disappeared; but a confused mass of moving figures

took its place。  My heart throbbed so violently that it seemed to

me as if its tumult must be heard by others。  Yet my face must have

been tolerably calm; since Bourgonef made no comment on it。



I answered his remarks in vague fragments; for; in truth; my

thoughts were flying from conjecture to conjecture。  I remembered

that the stranger had a florid complexion; was this rouge?  It is

true that I fancied the stranger carried a walking…stick in his

right hand; if so; this was enough to crush all suspicions of his

identity with Bourgonef; but then I was rather hazy on this point;

and probably did not observe a walking…stick。



After a while my inattention struck him; and looking at me with

some concern; he inquired if there was anything the matter。  I

pleaded a colic; which I attributed to the imprudence of having

indulged in sauerkraut at dinner。  He advised me to take a little

brandy; but; affecting a fresh access of pain; I bade him go
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