the professor at the breakfast table-第40部分
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…my left arm； of course。 That leaves one's right arm free to defend
the lovely creature； if the rivalodious wretch！ attempt； to ravish
her from your side。 Likewise if one's heart should happen to beat a
little； its mute language will not be without its meaning； as you
will perceive when the arm you hold begins to tremble； a
circumstance like to occur； if you happen to be a good…looking young
fellow； and you two have the 〃stoop〃 to yourselves。
We had it to ourselves that evening。 The Koh…inoor； as we called
him； was in a corner with our landlady's daughter。 The young fellow
John was smoking out in the yard。 The gendarme was afraid of the
evening air； and kept inside； The young Marylander came to the door；
looked out and saw us walking together； gave his hat a pull over his
forehead and stalked off。 I felt a slight spasm； as it were； in the
arm I held； and saw the girl's head turn over her shoulder for a
second。 What a kind creature this is！ She has no special interest
in this youth； but she does not like to see a young fellow going off
because he feels as if he were not wanted。
She had her locked drawing…book under her arm。 Let me take it；I
said。
She gave it to me to carry。
This is full of caricatures of all of us； I am sure；said I。
She laughed； and said；No；not all of you。
I was there； of course？
Why； no；she had never taken so much pains with me。
Then she would let me see the inside of it？
She would think of it。
Just as we parted； she took a little key from her pocket and handed
it to me。 This unlocks my naughty book；she said；you shall see
it。 I am not afraid of you。
I don't know whether the last words exactly pleased me。 At any
rate； I took the book and hurried with it to my room。 I opened it；
and saw； in a few glances； that I held the heart of Iris in my hand。
I have no verses for you this month； except these few lines
suggested by the season。
MIDSUMMER。
Here！ sweep these foolish leaves away；
I will not crush my brains to…day！
Look！ are the southern curtains drawn？
Fetch me a fan； and so begone！
Not that；the palm…tree's rustling leaf
Brought from a parching coral…reef！
Its breath is heated；I would swing
The broad gray plumes；the eagle's wing。
I hate these roses' feverish blood！
Pluck me a half…blown lily…bud；
A long…stemmed lily from the lake；
Cold as a coiling water…snake。
Rain me sweet odors on the air；
And wheel me up my Indian chair；
And spread some book not overwise
Flat out before my sleepy eyes。
Who knows it not；this dead recoil
Of weary fibres stretched with toil；
The pulse that flutters faint and low
When Summer's seething breezes blow？
O Nature！ bare thy loving breast
And give thy child one hour of rest；
One little hour to lie unseen
Beneath thy scarf of leafy green！
So； curtained by a singing pine；
Its murmuring voice shall blend with mine；
Till； lost in dreams； my faltering lay
In sweeter music dies away。
X
IRIS； HER BOOK
I pray thee by the soul of her that bore thee；
By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee；
Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee！
For Iris had no mother to infold her；
Nor ever leaned upon a sister's shoulder；
Telling the twilight thoughts that Nature told her。
She had not learned the mystery of awaking
Those chorded keys that soothe a sorrow's aching；
Giving the dumb heart voice； that else were breaking。
Yet lived； wrought； suffered。 Lo； the pictured token！
Why should her fleeting day…dreams fade unspoken；
Like daffodils that die with sheaths unbroken？
She knew not love； yet lived in maiden fancies；
Walked simply clad； a queen of high romances；
And talked strange tongues with angels in her trances。
Twin…souled she seemed； a twofold nature wearing；
Sometimes a flashing falcon in her daring；
Then a poor mateless dove that droops despairing。
Questioning all things： Why her Lord had sent her？
What were these torturing gifts； and wherefore lent her？
Scornful as spirit fallen； its own tormentor。
And then all tears and anguish： Queen of Heaven；
Sweet Saints； and Thou by mortal sorrows riven；
Save me！ oh； save me！ Shall I die forgiven？
And thenAh； God！ But nay； it little matters
Look at the wasted seeds that autumn scatters；
The myriad germs that Nature shapes and shatters！
If she hadWell！ She longed； and knew not wherefore
Had the world nothing she might live to care for？
No second self to say her evening prayer for？
She knew the marble shapes that set men dreaming；
Yet with her shoulders bare and tresses streaming
Showed not unlovely to her simple seeming。
Vain？ Let it be so！ Nature was her teacher。
What if a lonely and unsistered creature
Loved her own harmless gift of pleasing feature；
Saying； unsaddened；This shall soon be faded；
And double…hued the shining tresses braided；
And all the sunlight of the morning shaded？
This her poor book is full of saddest follies；
Of tearful smiles and laughing melancholies；
With summer roses twined and wintry hollies。
In the strange crossing of uncertain chances；
Somewhere； beneath some maiden's tear…dimmed glances
May fall her little book of dreams and fancies。
Sweet sister！ Iris； who shall never name thee；
Trembling for fear her open heart may shame thee；
Speaks from this vision…haunted page to claim thee。
Spare her； I pray thee！ If the maid is sleeping；
Peace with her！ she has had her hour of weeping。
No more！ She leaves her memory in thy keeping。
These verses were written in the first leaves of the locked volume。
As I turned the pages； I hesitated for a moment。 Is it quite fair
to take advantage of a generous； trusting impulse to read the
unsunned depths of a young girl's nature； which I can look through；
as the balloon…voyagers tell us they see from their hanging…baskets
through the translucent waters which the keenest eye of such as sail
over them in ships might strive to pierce in vain？ Why has the
child trusted me with such artless confessions；self…revelations；
which might be whispered by trembling lips； under the veil of
twilight； in sacred confessionals； but which I cannot look at in the
light of day without a feeling of wronging a sacred confidence？
To all this the answer seemed plain enough after a little thought。
She did not know how fearfully she had disclosed herself； she was
too profoundly innocent。 Her soul was no more ashamed than the fair
shapes that walked in Eden without a thought of over…liberal
loveliness。 Having nobody to tell her story to；having； as she
said in her verses； no musical instrument to laugh and cry with
her；nothing； in short； but the language of pen and pencil；all
the veinings of her nature were impressed on these pages as those of
a fresh leaf are transferred to the blank sheets which inclose it。
It was the same thing which I remember seeing beautifully shown in a
child of some four or five years we had one day at our boarding…
house。 The child was a deaf mute。 But its soul had the inner sense
that answers to hearing； and the shaping capacity which through
natural organs realizes itself in words。 Only it had to talk with
its face alone； and such speaking eyes； such rapid alternations of
feeling and shifting expressions of thought as flitted over its
face； I have never seen in any other human countenance。
I wonder if something of spiritual transparency is not typified in
the golden…blonde organization。 There are a great many little
creatures；many small fishes； for instance；which are literally
transparent； with the exception of some of the internal organs。 The
heart can be seen beating as if in a case of clouded crystal。 The
central nervous column with its sheath runs as a dark stripe through
the whole length of the diaphanous muscles of the body。 Other
little creatures are so darkened with pigment that we can see only
their surface。 Conspirators and poisoners are painted with black；
beady…eyes and swarthy hue； Judas； in Leonardo's picture； is the
model of them all。
However this may be； I should say there never had been a book like
this of Iris；so full of the heart's silent language； so
transparent that the heart itself could be seen beating through it。
I should say there never could have been such a book； but for one
recollection； which is not peculiar to myself； but is shared by a
certain number of my former townsmen。 If you think I over…color
this matter of the young girl's book； hear this； which there are
others； as I just said； besides myself； will tell you is strictly
true。
THE BOOK OF THE THREE MAIDEN SISTERS。
In the town called Cantabridge； now a city； water…veined and gas
windpiped； in the street running down to the Bridge； beyond which
dwelt Sally； told of in a book of a friend of mine； was of old a
house inhabited by three maidens。 They left no near kinsfolk； I
believe； whether they did or not； I have no ill to speak of them；
for they lived and died in all good report and maidenly credit。 The
house they lived in was of the small； gambrel…roofed cottage
pattern； after the shape of Esquires' houses； but after the size of
the dwellings of handicraftsmen。 The lower story was fitted up as a
shop。 Specially was it provided with one of those half…doors now so
rarely met with； which are to whole doors as spencers worn by old
folk are to coats。 They speak of limited commerce united with a
social or observing dispositionon the part of the shopkeeper；
allowing； as they do； talk with passers…by； yet keeping off such as
have not the excuse of business to cross the threshold。 On the
door…posts； at either side； above the half…door； hung certain
perennial articles of merchandise； of which my memory still has
hanging among its faded photogr
