over the teacups-第13部分

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　　　　　　　　　　〃All　Bedlam　or　Parnassus　is　let　out〃！



What　were　the　numbers　of　the



　　　　　　　　　　〃Mob　of　gentlemen　who　wrote　with　ease〃



to　that　great　multitude　of　contributors　to　our　magazines；　and　authors

of　little　volumessometimes；　alas！　big　onesof　verse；　which　pour

out　of　the　press；　not　weekly；　but　daily；　and　at　such　a　rate　of

increase　that　it　seems　as　if　before　long　every　hour　would　bring　a

book；　or　at　least　an　article　which　is　to　grow　into　a　book　by　and　by？



I　thanked　Heaven；　the　other　day；　that　I　was　not　a　critic。　　These

attenuated　volumes　of　poetry　in　fancy　bindings　open　their　covers　at

one　like　so　many　little　unfledged　birds；　and　one　does　so　long　to　drop

a　worm　in；a　worm　in　the　shape　of　a　kind　word　for　the　poor

fledgling！　　But　what　a　desperate　business　it　is　to　deal　with　this

army　of　candidates　for　immortality！　　I　have　often　had　something　to

say　about　them；　and　I　may　be　saying　over　the　same　things；　but　if　I　do

not　remember　what　I　have　said；　it　is　not　very　likely　that　my　reader

will；　if　he　does；　he　will　find；　I　am　very　sure；　that　I　say　it　a

little　differently。



What　astonishes　me　is　that　this　enormous　mass　of　commonplace　verse；

which　burdens　the　postman　who　brings　it；　which　it　is　a　serious　task

only　to　get　out　of　its　wrappers　and　open　in　two　or　three　places；　is

on　the　whole　of　so　good　an　average　quality。　　The　dead　level　of

mediocrity　is　in　these　days　a　table…land；　a　good　deal　above　the　old

sea…level　of　laboring　incapacity。　　Sixty　years　ago　verses　made　a

local　reputation；　which　verses；　if　offered　today　to　any　of　our　first…

class　magazines；　would　go　straight　into　the　waste…basket。　　To　write

〃poetry〃　was　an　art　and　mystery　in　which　only　a　few　noted　men　and　a

woman　or　two　were　experts。



When　〃Potter　the　ventriloquist；〃　the　predecessor　of　the　well…

remembered　Signor　Blitz；　went　round　giving　his　entertainments；　there

was　something　unexplained；　uncanny；　almost　awful；　and　beyond　dispute

marvellous；　in　his　performances。　　Those　watches　that　disappeared　and

came　back　to　their　owners；　those　endless　supplies　of　treasures　from

empty　hats；　and　especially　those　crawling　eggs　that　travelled　all

over　the　magician's　person；　sent　many　a　child　home　thinking　that　Mr。

Potter　must　have　ghostly　assistants；　and　raised　grave　doubts　in　the

minds　of　〃professors；〃　that　is　members　of　the　church；　whether　they

had　not　compromised　their　characters　by　being　seen　at　such　an

unhallowed　exhibition。　　Nowadays；　a　clever　boy　who　has　made　a　study

of　parlor　magic　can　do　many　of　those　tricks　almost　as　well　as　the

great　sorcerer　himself。　　How　simple　it　all　seems　when　we　have　seen

the　mechanism　of　the　deception！



It　is　just　so　with　writing　in　verse。　　It　was　not　understood　that

everybody　can　learn　to　make　poetry；　just　as　they　can　learn　the　more

difficult　tricks　of　juggling。　　M。　Jourdain's　discovery　that　he　had

been　speaking　and　writing　prose　all　his　life　is　nothing　to　that　of

the　man　who　finds　out　in　middle　life；　or　even　later；　that　he　might

have　been　writing　poetry　all　his　days；　if　he　had　only　known　how

perfectly　easy　and　simple　it　is。　　Not　everybody；　it　is　true；　has　a

sufficiently　good　ear；　a　sufficient　knowledge　of　rhymes　and　capacity

for　handling　them；　to　be　what　is　called　a　poet。　　I　doubt　whether　more

than　nine　out　of　ten；　in　the　average；　have　that　combination　of　gifts

required　for　the　writing　of　readable　verse。



This　last　expression　of　opinion　created　a　sensation　among　The

Teacups。　　They　looked　puzzled　for　a　minute。　　One　whispered　to　the

next　Teacup；　〃More　than　nine　out　of　ten！　　I　should　think　that　was　a

pretty　liberal　allowance。〃



Yes；　I　continued；　perhaps　ninety…nine　in　a　hundred　would　come　nearer

to　the　mark。　　I　have　sometimes　thought　I　might　consider　it　worth

while　to　set　up　a　school　for　instruction　in　the　art。　　〃Poetry　taught

in　twelve　lessons。〃　　Congenital　idiocy　is　no　disqualification。

Anybody　can　write　〃poetry。〃　　It　is　a　most　unenviable　distinction　to

leave　published　a　thin　volume　of　verse；　which　nobody　wanted；　nobody

buys；　nobody　reads；　nobody　cares　for　except　the　author；　who　cries

over　its　pathos；　poor　fellow；　and　revels　in　its　beauties；　which　he

has　all　to　himself。　　Come！　who　will　be　my　pupils　in　a　Course；Poetry

taught　in　twelve　lessons？　　That　made　a　laugh；　in　which　most　of　The

Teacups；　myself　included；　joined　heartily。　　Through　it　all　I　heard

the　sweet　tones　of　Number　Five's　caressing　voice；　not　because　it　was

more　penetrating　or　louder　than　the　others；　for　it　was　low　and　soft；

but　it　was　so　different　from　the　others；　there　was　so　much　more

life；the　life　of　sweet　womanhood；dissolved　in　it。



（Of　course　he　will　fall　in　love　with　her。　　〃He？　　Who？〃　　Why；　the

newcomer；　the　Counsellor。　　Did　I　not　see　his　eyes　turn　toward　her　as

the　silvery　notes　rippled　from　her　throat？　　Did　they　not　follow　her

in　her　movements；　as　she　turned　her　tread　this　or　that　way？



What　nonsense　for　me　to　be　arranging　matters　between　two　people

strangers　to　each　other　before　to…day！）



〃A　fellow　writes　in　verse　when　he　has　nothing　to　say；　and　feels　too

dull　and　silly　to　say　it　in　prose；〃　said　Number　Seven。



This　made　us　laugh　again；　good…naturedly。　　I　was　pleased　with　a　kind

of　truth　which　it　seemed　to　me　to　wrap　up　in　its　rather　startling

affirmation。　　I　gave　a　piece　of　advice　the　other　day　which　I　said　I

thought　deserved　a　paragraph　to　itself。　　It　was　from　a　letter　I　wrote

not　long　ago　to　an　unknown　young　correspondent；　who　had　a　longing　for

seeing　himself　in　verse　but　was　not　hopelessly　infatuated　with　the

idea　that　he　was　born　a　〃poet。〃　　〃When　you　write　in　prose；〃　I　said；

〃you　say　what　you　mean。　　When　you　write　in　verse　you　say　what　you

must。〃　　I　was　thinking　more　especially　of　rhymed　verse。　　Rhythm　alone

is　a　tether；　and　not　a　very　long　one。　　But　rhymes　are　iron　fetters；

it　is　dragging　a　chain　and　ball　to　march　under　their　incumbrance；　it

is　a　clog…dance　you　are　figuring　in；　when　you　execute　your　metrical

pas　seul。　　Consider　under　what　a　disadvantage　your　thinking　powers

are　laboring　when　you　are　handicapped　by　the　inexorable　demands　of

our　scanty　English　rhyming　vocabulary！　　You　want　to　say　something

about　the　heavenly　bodies；　and　you　have　a　beautiful　line　ending　with

the　word　stars。　　Were　you　writing　in　prose；　your　imagination；　your

fancy；　your　rhetoric；　your　musical　ear　for　the　harmonies　of　language；

would　all　have　full　play。　　But　there　is　your　rhyme　fastening　you　by

the　leg；　and　you　must　either　reject　the　line　which　pleases　you；　or

you　must　whip　your　hobbling　fancy　and　all　your　limping　thoughts　into

the　traces　which　are　hitched　to　one　of　three　or　four　or　half　a　dozen

serviceable　words。　　You　cannot　make　any　use　of　cars；　I　will　suppose；

you　have　no　occasion　to　talk　about　scars；　〃the　red　planet　Mars〃　has

been　used　already；　Dibdin　has　said　enough　about　the　gallant　tars；

what　is　there　left　for　you　but　bars？　　So　you　give　up　your　trains　of

thought；　capitulate　to　necessity；　and　manage　to　lug　in　some　kind　of

allusion；　in　place　or　out　of　place；　which　will　allow　you　to　make　use

of　bars。　　Can　there　be　imagined　a　more　certain　process　for　breaking

up　all　continuity　of　thought；　for　taking　out　all　the　vigor；　all　the

virility；　which　belongs　to　natural　prose　as　the　vehicle　of　strong；

graceful；　spontaneous　thought；　than　this　miserable　subjugation　of

intellect　to　the…clink　of　well　or　ill　matched　syllables？　　I　think　you

will　smile　if　I　tell　you　of　an　idea　I　have　had　about　teaching　the　art

of　writing　〃poems〃　to　the　half…witted　children　at　the　Idiot　Asylum。

The　trick　of　rhyming　cannot　be　more　usefully　employed　than　in

furnishing　a　pleasant　amusement　to　the　poor　feeble…minded　children。

I　should　feel　that　I　was　well　employed　in　getting　up　a　Primer　for　the

pupils　of　the　Asylum；　and　other　young　persons　who　are　incapable　of

serious　thought　and　connected　expression。　　I　would　start　in　the

simplest　way；　thus：



　　　　　　　　　　When　darkness　veils　the　evening。。。。

　　　　　　　　　　I　love　to　close　my　weary。。。。



The　pupil　begins　by　supplying　the　missing　words；　which　most　children

who　are　able　to　keep　out　of　fire　and　water　can　accomplish　after　a

certain　number　of　trials。　　When　the　poet　that　is　to　be　has　got　so　as

to　perform　this　task　easily；　a　skeleton　verse；　in　which　two　or　three

words　of　each　line　are　omitted；　is　given　the　child　to　fill　up。　　By

and　by　the　more　difficult　forms　of　metre　are　outlined；　until　at

length　a　feebleminded　child　can　make　out　a　sonnet；　completely

equipped　with　its　four　pairs　of　rhymes　in　the　first　section　and　its

three　pairs　in　the　second　part。



Number　Seven　interrupted　my　discourse　somewhat　abruptly；　as　is　his

wont；　for　we　grant　him　a　license；　in　virtue　of　his　eccentricity；

which　we　should　hardly　expect　to　be　claimed　by　a　perfectly　sound

Teacup。



〃That's　the　way；that　's　the　way！〃　exclaimed　he。　　〃It's　just　the

same　thing　as　my　plan　for　teaching　drawing。〃



Some　curiosity　was　shown　among　The　Teacups　to　know　what　the　queer

creature　had　got　into　his　mind；　and　Number　Five　asked　him；　in　her

irresistible　tones；　if　he　wouldn't　oblige　us　by　telling　us　all　about

it。



He　looked　at　her　a　moment　without　speaking。　　I　suppose　he　has　often

been　made　fun　of；slighted　in　conversation；　taken　as　a　butt　for

people　who　thought　themselves　witty；　made　to　feel　as　we　may　suppose　a

cracked　piece　of　china…ware　feels　when　it　is　clinked　in　the　company

of　sound　bits　of　porcelain。　　I　never　saw　him　when　he　was　carelessly

dealt　with　in　conversation；　for　it　would　sometimes　happen；　even　at

our　table；　without　recalling　some　lines　of　Emerson　which　always

struck　me　as　of　wonderful　force　and　almost　terrible　truthfulness：





　　　　　　　　　〃Alas！　that　one　is　born　in　blight；

　　　　　　　　　　Victim　of　perpetual　slight

　　　　　　　　　　When　thou　lookest　in　his　face

　　　　　　　　　　Thy　heart　saith；　'Brother；　go　thy　ways

　　　　　　　　　　None　shall　ask　thee　what　thou　doest；

　　　　　　　　　　Or　care　a　rush　for　what　thou　knowest；

　　　　　　　　　　Or　listen　when　thou　repliest；

　　　　　　　　　　Or