roundabout papers-第30部分

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not　suppose　the　combatants　of　necessity　hated　each　other？　　No　more　than　the　celebrated　trained　bands　of　literary　sword…and…buckler　men　hate　the　adversaries　whom　they　meet　in　the　arena。　　They　engage　at　the　given　signal；　feint　and　parry；　slash；　poke；　rip　each　other　open；　dismember　limbs；　and　hew　off　noses：　but　in　the　way　of　business；　and；　I　trust；　with　mutual　private　esteem。　　For　instance；　I　salute　the　warriors　of　the　Superfine　Company　with　the　honors　due　among　warriors。　　Here's　at　you；　Spartacus；　my　lad。　　A　hit；　I　acknowledge。　A　palpable　hit！　　Ha！　how　do　you　like　that　poke　in　the　eye　in　return？　When　the　trumpets　sing　truce；　or　the　spectators　are　tired；　we　bow　to　the　noble　company：　withdraw；　and　get　a　cool　glass　of　wine　in　our　rendezvous　des　braves　gladiateurs。　By　the　way；　I　saw　that　amphitheatre　of　Verona　under　the　strange　light　of　a　lurid　eclipse　some　years　ago：　and　I　have　been　there　in　spirit　for　these　twenty　lines　past；　under　a　vast　gusty　awning；　now　with　twenty　thousand　fellow…citizens　looking　on　from　the　benches；　now　in　the　circus　itself；　a　grim　gladiator　with　sword　and　net；　or　a　meek　martyrwas　I？brought　out　to　be　gobbled　up　by　the　lions？　or　a　huge；　shaggy；　tawny　lion　myself；　on　whom　the　dogs　were　going　to　be　set？　　What　a　day　of　excitement　I　have　had　to　be　sure！　　But　I　must　get　away　from　Verona；　or　who　knows　how　much　farther　the　Roundabout　Pegasus　may　carry　me？　We　were　saying；　my　Muse；　before　we　dropped　and　perched　on　earth　for　a　couple　of　sentences；　that　our　unsaid　words　were　in　some　limbo　or　other；　as　real　as　those　we　have　uttered；　that　the　thoughts　which　have　passed　through　our　brains　are　as　actual　as　any　to　which　our　tongues　and　pens　have　given　currency。　　For　instance；　besides　what　is　here　hinted　at；　I　have　thought　ever　so　much　more　about　Verona：　about　an　early　Christian　church　I　saw　there；　about　a　great　dish　of　rice　we　had　at　the　inn；　about　the　bugs　there；　about　ever　so　many　more　details　of　that　day's　journey　from　Milan　to　Venice；　about　Lake　Garda；　which　lay　on　the　way　from　Milan；　and　so　forth。　　I　say　what　fine　things　we　have　thought　of；　haven't　we；　all　of　us？　　Ah；　what　a　fine　tragedy　that　was　I　thought　of；　and　never　wrote！　　On　the　day　of　the　dinner　of　the　Oystermongers'　Company；　what　a　noble　speech　I　thought　of　in　the　cab；　and　broke　downI　don't　mean　the　cab；　but　the　speech。　　Ah；　if　you　could　but　read　some　of　the　unwritten　Roundabout　Papers；　how　you　would　be　amused！　　Aha！　my　friend；　I　catch　you　saying；　〃Well；　then；　I　wish　THIS　was　unwritten　with　all　my　heart。〃　Very　good。　　I　owe　you　one。　　I　do　confess　a　hit；　a　palpable　hit。　One　day　in　the　past　month；　as　I　was　reclining　on　the　bench　of　thought；　with　that　ocean　The　Times　newspaper　spread　before　me；　the　ocean　cast　up　on　the　shore　at　my　feet　two　famous　subjects　for　Roundabout　Papers；　and　I　picked　up　those　waifs；　and　treasured　them　away　until　I　could　polish　them　and　bring　them　to　market。　　That　scheme　is　not　to　be　carried　out。　　I　can't　write　about　those　subjects。　　And　though　I　cannot　write　about　them；　I　may　surely　tell　what　are　the　subjects　I　am　going　NOT　to　write　about。　The　first　was　that　Northumberland　Street　encounter；　which　all　the　papers　have　narrated。　　Have　any　novelists　of　our　days　a　scene　and　catastrophe　more　strange　and　terrible　than　this　which　occurs　at　noonday　within　a　few　yards　of　the　greatest　thoroughfare　in　Europe？　At　the　theatres　they　have　a　new　name　for　their　melodramatic　pieces；　and　call　them　〃Sensation　Dramas。〃　　What　a　sensation　Drama　this　is！　What　have　people　been　flocking　to　see　at　the　Adelphi　Theatre　for　the　last　hundred　and　fifty　nights？　　A　woman　pitched　overboard　out　of　a　boat；　and　a　certain　Miles　taking　a　tremendous　〃header；〃　and　bringing　her　to　shore？　　Bagatelle！　　What　is　this　compared　to　the　real　life…　drama；　of　which　a　midday　representation　takes　place　just　opposite　the　Adelphi　in　Northumberland　Street？　　The　brave　Dumas；　the　intrepid　Ainsworth；　the　terrible　Eugene　Sue；　the　cold…shudder…inspiring　〃Woman　in　White；〃　the　astounding　author　of　the　〃Mysteries　of　the　Court　of　London；〃　never　invented　anything　more　tremendous　than　this。　It　might　have　happened　to　you　and　me。　　We　want　to　borrow　a　little　money。　　We　are　directed　to　an　agent。　　We　propose　a　pecuniary　transaction　at　a　short　date。　　He　goes　into　the　next　room；　as　we　fancy；　to　get　the　bank…notes；　and　returns　with　〃two　very　pretty；　delicate　little　ivory…handled　pistols；〃　and　blows　a　portion　of　our　heads　off。　　After　this；　what　is　the　use　of　being　squeamish　about　the　probabilities　and　possibilities　in　the　writing　of　fiction？　　Years　ago　I　remember　making　merry　over　a　play　of　Dumas；　called　Kean；　in　which　the　〃Coal…Hole　Tavern〃　was　represented　on　the　Thames；　with　a　fleet　of　pirate…ships　moored　alongside。　　Pirate…ships？　　Why　not？　What　a　cavern　of　terror　was　this　in　Northumberland　Street；　with　its　splendid　furniture　covered　with　dust；　its　empty　bottles；　in　the　midst　of　which　sits　a　grim　〃agent；〃　amusing　himself　by　firing　pistols；　aiming　at　the　unconscious　mantel…piece；　or　at　the　heads　of　his　customers！　After　this；　what　is　not　possible？　　It　is　possible　Hungerford　Market　is　mined；　and　will　explode　some　day。　　Mind　how　you　go　in　for　a　penny　ice　unawares。　　〃Pray；　step　this　way；〃　says　a　quiet　person　at　the　door。　　You　enterinto　a　back　room：a　quiet　room；　rather　a　dark　room。　　〃Pray；　take　your　place　in　a　chair。〃　　And　she　goes　to　fetch　the　penny　ice。　　Malheureux！　　The　chair　sinks　down　with　yousinks；　and　sinks；　and　sinksa　large　wet　flannel　suddenly　envelopes　your　face　and　throttles　you。　　Need　we　say　any　more？　　After　Northumberland　Street；　what　is　improbable？　　Surely　there　is　no　difficulty　in　crediting　Bluebeard。　　I　withdraw　my　last　month's　opinions　about　ogres。　　Ogres？　　Why　not？　　I　protest　I　have　seldom　contemplated　anything　more　terribly　ludicrous　than　this　〃agent〃　in　the　dingy　splendor　of　his　den；　surrounded　by　dusty　ormolu　and　piles　of　empty　bottles；　firing　pistols　for　his　diversion　at　the　mantel…piece　until　his　clients　come　in！　　Is　pistol…practice　so　common　in　Northumberland　Street；　that　it　passes　without　notice　in　the　lodging…houses　there？　We　spake　anon　of　good　thoughts。　　About　bad　thoughts？　　Is　there　some　Northumberland　Street　chamber　in　your　heart　and　mine；　friend：　close　to　the　every…day　street　of　life　visited　by　daily　friends：　visited　by　people　on　business；　in　which　affairs　are　transacted；　jokes　are　uttered；　wine　is　drunk；　through　which　people　come　and　go；　wives　and　children　pass；　and　in　which　murder　sits　unseen　until　the　terrible　moment　when　he　rises　up　and　kills？　　A　farmer；　say；　has　a　gun　over　the　mantel…piece　in　his　room　where　he　sits　at　his　daily　meals　and　rest：　caressing　his　children；　joking　with　his　friends；　smoking　his　pipe　in　his　calm。　　One　night　the　gun　is　taken　down：　the　farmer　goes　out：　and　it　is　a　murderer　who　comes　back　and　puts　the　piece　up　and　drinks　by　that　fireside。　　Was　he　a　murderer　yesterday　when　he　was　tossing　the　baby　on　his　knee；　and　when　his　hands　were　playing　with　his　little　girl's　yellow　hair？　　Yesterday　there　was　no　blood　on　them　at　all：　they　were　shaken　by　honest　men：　have　done　many　a　kind　act　in　their　time　very　likely。　　He　leans　his　head　on　one　of　them；　the　wife　comes　in　with　her　anxious　looks　of　welcome；　the　children　are　prattling　as　they　did　yesterday　round　the　father's　knee　at　the　fire；　and　Cain　is　sitting　by　the　embers；　and　Abel　lies　dead　on　the　moor。　Think　of　the　gulf　between　now　and　yesterday。　　Oh；　yesterday！　　Oh；　the　days　when　those　two　loved　each　other　and　said　their　prayers　side　by　side！　　He　goes　to　sleep；　perhaps；　and　dreams　that　his　brother　is　alive。　　Be　true；　O　dream！　　Let　him　live　in　dreams；　and　wake　no　more。　Be　undone；　O　crime；　O　crime！　　But　the　sun　rises：　and　the　officers　of　conscience　come：　and　yonder　lies　the　body　on　the　moor。　　I　happened　to　pass；　and　looked　at　the　Northumberland　Street　house　the　other　day。　　A　few　loiterers　were　gazing　up　at　the　dingy　windows。　　A　plain　ordinary　face　of　a　house　enoughand　in　a　chamber　in　it　one　man　suddenly　rose　up；　pistol　in　hand；　to　slaughter　another。　　Have　you　ever　killed　any　one　in　your　thoughts？　　Has　your　heart　compassed　any　man's　death？　　In　your　mind；　have　you　ever　taken　a　brand　from　the　altar；　and　slain　your　brother？　　How　many　plain　ordinary　faces　of　men　do　we　look　at；　unknowing　of　murder　behind　those　eyes？　　Lucky　for　you　and　me；　brother；　that　we　have　good　thoughts　unspoken。　　But　the　bad　ones？　　I　tell　you　that　the　sight　of　those　blank　windows　in　Northumberland　Streetthrough　which；　as　it　were；　my　mind　could　picture　the　awful　tragedy　glimmering　behindset　me　thinking；　〃Mr。　Street…Preacher；　here　is　a　text　for　one　of　your　pavement　sermons。　But　it　is　too　glum　and　serious。　　You　eschew　dark　thoughts：　and　desire　to　be　cheerful　and　merry　in　the　main。〃　　And；　such　being　the　case；　you　see　we　must　have　no　Roundabout　Essay　on　this　subject。　Well；　I　had　another　arrow　in　my　quiver。　　（So；　you　know；　had　William　Tell　a　bolt　for　his　son；　the　apple　of　his　eye；　and　a　shaft　for　Gessler；　in　case　William　came　to　any　trouble　with　the　first　poor　little　target。）　　And　this；　I　must　tell　you；　was　to　have　been　a　rare　Roundabout　performanceone　of　the　very　best　that　has　ever　appeared　in　this　series。　　It　was　to　have　contained　all　the　deep　pathos　of　Addison；　the　logical　precision　of　Rabelais；　the　childlike　playfulness　of　Swift；　the　manly　stoicism　of　Sterne；　the　metaphysical　depth　of　Goldsmith；　the　blushing　modesty　of　Fielding；　the　epigrammatic　terseness　of　Walter　Scott；　the　uproarious　humor　of　Sam　Richardson；　and　the　gay　simplicity　of　Sam　Johnson；it　was　to　have　combined　all　these　qualities；　with　some　excellences　of　modern　writers　whom　I　could　name：but　circumstances　have　occurred　which　have　rendered　this　Roundabout　Essay　also　impossible。　I　have　not　the　least　objection　to　tell　you　what　was　to　have　been　the　subject　of　that　other　admirable　Roundabout　Paper。　　Gracious　powers！　the　Dean　of　St。　Patrick's　never　had　a　better　theme。　　The　paper　was　to　have　been　on　the　Gorillas；　to　be　sure。　　I　was　going　to　imagine　myself　to　be　a　young　surgeon…apprentice　from　Charleston；　in　South　Carolina；　who　ran　away　to　Cuba　on　account　of　unhappy　family　circumstances；　with　which　nobody　has　the　least　concern；　who　sailed　thence　to　Africa　in　a　large；　roomy　schooner　with　an　extraordinary　vacant　space　between　decks。　　I　was　subject　to　dreadful　ill　treatment　from　the　first　mate　of　the　ship；　who；　when　I　found　she　was　a