the professor at the breakfast table-第36章

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young　lady；　and　taking　every　chance　I　could　get　to　talk　with　her；　I

have　found　myself　becoming；　I　will　not　say　intimate；　but　well

acquainted　with　Miss　Iris。　　There　is　a　certain　frankness　and

directness　about　her　that　perhaps　belong　to　her　artist　nature。　　For；

you　see；　the　one　thing　that　marks　the　true　artist　is　a　clear

perception　and　a　firm；　bold　hand；　in　distinction　from　that　imperfect

mental　vision　and　uncertain　touch　which　give　us　the　feeble　pictures

and　the　lumpy　statues　of　the　mere　artisans　on　canvas　or　in　stone。　　A

true　artist；　therefore；　can　hardly　fail　to　have　a　sharp；　well…

defined　mental　physiognomy。　　Besides　this；　many　young　girls　have　a

strange　audacity　blended　with　their　instinctive　delicacy。　　Even　in

physical　daring　many　of　them　are　a　match　for　boys；　whereas　you　will

find　few　among　mature　women；　and　especially　if　they　are　mothers；　who

do　not　confess；　and　not　unfrequently　proclaim；　their　timidity。　　One

of　these　young　girls；　as　many　of　us　hereabouts　remember；　climbed　to

the　top　of　a　jagged；　slippery　rock　lying　out　in　the　waves；an　ugly

height　to　get　up；　and　a　worse　one　to　get　down；　even　for　a　bold　young

fellow　of　sixteen。　　Another　was　in　the　way　of　climbing　tall　trees

for　crows'　nests；and　crows　generally　know　about　how　far　boys　can

〃shin　up；〃　and　set　their　household　establishments　above　that　high…

water　mark。　　Still　another　of　these　young　ladies　I　saw　for　the　first

time　in　an　open　boat；　tossing　on　the　ocean　ground…swell；　a　mile　or

two　from　shore；　off　a　lonely　island。　　She　lost　all　her　daring；　after

she　had　some　girls　of　her　own　to　look　out　for。



Many　blondes　are　very　gentle；　yielding　in　character；　impressible；

unelastic。　　But　the　positive　blondes；　with　the　golden　tint　running

through　them；　are　often　full　of　character。　　They　come；　probably

enough；　from　those　deep…bosomed　German　women　that　Tacitus　portrayed

in　such　strong　colors。　　The　negative　blondes；　or　those　women　whose

tints　have　faded　out　as　their　line　of　descent　has　become

impoverished；　are　of　various　blood；　and　in　them　the　soul　has　often

become　pale　with　that　blanching　of　the　hair　and　loss　of　color　in　the

eyes　which　makes　them　approach　the　character　of　Albinesses。



I　see　in　this　young　girl　that　union　of　strength　and　sensibility

which；　when　directed　and　impelled　by　the　strong　instinct　so　apt　to

accompany　this　combination　of　active　and　passive　capacity；　we　call

genius。　　She　is　not　an　accomplished　artist；　certainly；　as　yet；　but

there　is　always　an　air　in　every　careless　figure　she　draws；　as　it

were　of　upward　aspiration；the　elan　of　John　of　Bologna's　Mercury；

a　lift　to　them；　as　if　they　had　on　winged　sandals；　like　the　herald　of

the　Gods。　　I　hear　her　singing　sometimes；　and　though　she　evidently　is

not　trained；　yet　is　there　a　wild　sweetness　in　her　fitful　and

sometimes　fantastic　melodies；such　as　can　come　only　from　the

inspiration　of　the　moment；strangely　enough；　reminding　me　of　those

long　passages　I　have　heard　from　my　little　neighbor's　room；　yet　of

different　tone；　and　by　no　means　to　be　mistaken　for　those　weird

harmonies。



I　cannot　pretend　to　deny　that　I　am　interested　in　the　girl。　　Alone；

unprotected；　as　I　have　seen　so　many　young　girls　left　in　boarding…

houses；　the　centre　of　all　the　men's　eyes　that　surround　the　table；

watched　with　jealous　sharpness　by　every　woman；　most　of　all　by　that

poor　relation　of　our　landlady；　who　belongs　to　the　class　of　women

that　like　to　catch　others　in　mischief　when　they　themselves　are　too

mature　for　indiscretions；　（as　one　sees　old　rogues　turn　to　thief…

catchers；）　one　of　Nature's　gendarmerie；　clad　in　a　complete　suit　of

wrinkles；　the　cheapest　coat…of…mail　against　the　shafts　of　the　great

little　enemy；so　surrounded；　Iris　spans　this　commonplace　household…

life　of　ours　with　her　arch　of　beauty；　as　the　rainbow；　whose　name　she

borrows；　looks　down　on　a　dreary　pasture　with　its　feeding　flocks　and

herds　of　indifferent　animals。



These　young　girls　that　live　in　boarding…houses　can　do　pretty　much　as

they　will。　　The　female　gendarmes　are　off　guard　occasionally。　　The

sitting…room　has　its　solitary　moments；　when　any　two　boarders　who

wish　to　meet　may　come　together　accidentally；　（accidentally；　I　said；

Madam；　and　I　had　not　the　slightest　intention　of　Italicizing　the

word；）　and　discuss　the　social　or　political　questions　of　the　day；　or

any　other　subject　that　may　prove　interesting。　　Many　charming

conversations　take　place　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　or　while　one　of

the　parties　is　holding　the　latch　of　a　door；in　the　shadow　of

porticoes；　and　especially　on　those　outside　balconies　which　some　of

our　Southern　neighbors　call　〃stoops；〃　the　most　charming　places　in

the　world　when　the　moon　is　just　right　and　the　roses　and　honeysuckles

are　in　full　blow；as　we　used　to　think　in　eighteen　hundred　and　never

mention　it。



On　such　a　balcony　or　〃stoop；〃　one　evening；　I　walked　with　Iris。　　We

were　on　pretty　good　terms　now；　and　I　had　coaxed　her　arm　under　mine；…

…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

throug