over the teacups-第26章

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did。　　I　would　not　for　the　world　insinuate　that　he　wishes　she　would

slip　and　twist　her　foot　a　little；just　a　little；　you　know；　but　so

that　it　would　have　to　be　laid　on　a　pillow　in　a　chair；　and　inspected；

and　bandaged；　and　delicately　manipulated。　　There　was　a　banana…skin

which　she　might　naturally　have　trodden　on；　in　her　way　to　the　tea…

table。　　Nobody　can　suppose　that　it　was　there　except　by　the　most

innocent　of　accidents。　　There　are　people　who　will　suspect　everybody。

The　idea　of　the　Doctor's　putting　that　banana…skin　there！　　People　love

to　talk　in　that　silly　way　about　doctors。



Number　Five　had　promised　to　read　us　a　narrative　which　she　thought

would　interest　some　of　the　company。　　Who　wrote　it　she　did　not　tell

us；　but　I　inferred　from　various　circumstances　that　she　had　known　the

writer。　　She　read　the　story　most　effectively　in　her　rich；　musical

voice。　　I　noticed　that　when　it　came　to　the　sounds　of　the　striking

clock；　the　ringing　of　the　notes　was　so　like　that　which　reaches　us

from　some　far…off　cathedral　tower　that　we　wanted　to　bow　our　heads；　as

if　we　had　just　heard　a　summons　to　the　Angelus。　　This　was　the　short

story　that　Number　Five　read　to　The　Teacups：





I　have　somewhere　read　this　anecdote。　　Louis　the　Fourteenth　was

looking　out；　one　day；　from；　a　window　of　his　palace　of　Saint…Germain。

It　was　a　beautiful　landscape　which　spread　out　before　him；　and　the

monarch；　exulting　in　health；　strength；　and　the　splendors　of　his

exalted　position；　felt　his　bosom　swell　with　emotions　of　pride　and

happiness：　Presently　he　noticed　the　towers　of　a　church　in　the

distance；　above　the　treetops。　　〃What　building　is　that？〃　he　asked。

〃May　it　please　your　Majesty；　that　is　the　Church　of　St。　Denis；　where

your　royal　ancestors　have　been　buried　for　many　generations。〃　　The

answer　did　not　〃please　his　Royal　Majesty。〃　　There；　then；　was　the

place　where　he　too　was　to　lie　and　moulder　in　the　dust。　　He　turned；

sick　at　heart；　from　the　window；　and　was　uneasy　until　he　had　built　him

another　palace；　from　which　he　could　never　be　appalled　by　that　fatal

prospect。



Something　like　the　experience　of　Louis　the　Fourteenth　was　that　of　the

owner　of





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　TERRIBLE　CLOCK。



I　give　the　story　as　transcribed　from　the　original　manuscript：



The　clock　was　bequeathed　to　me　by　an　old　friend　who　had　recently

died。　　His　mind　had　been　a　good　deal　disordered　in　the　later　period

of　his　life。　　This　clock；　I　am　told；　seemed　to　have　a　strange

fascination　for　him。　　His　eyes　were　fastened　on　it　during　the　last

hours　of　his　life。　　He　died　just　at　midnight。　　The　clock　struck

twelve；　the　nurse　told　me；　as　he　drew　his　last　breath；　and　then；

without　any　known　cause；　stopped；　with　both　hands　upon　the　hour。



It　is　a　complex　and　costly　piece　of　mechanism。　　The　escapement　is　in

front；　so　that　every　tooth　is　seen　as　it　frees　itself。　　It　shows　the

phases　of　the　moon；　the　month　of　the　year；　the　day　of　the　month；　and

the　day　of　the　week；　as　well　as　the　hour　and　minute　of　the　day。



I　had　not　owned　it　a　week　before　I　began　to　perceive　the　same　kind　of

fascination　as　that　which　its　former　owner　had　experienced。　　This

gradually　grew　upon　me；　and　presently　led　to　trains　of　thought　which

became　at　first　unwelcome；　then　worrying；　and　at　last　unendurable。　　I

began　by　taking　offence　at　the　moon。　　I　did　not　like　to　see　that

〃something　large　and　smooth　and　round；〃　so　like　the　skull　which

little　Peterkin　picked　up　on　the　field　of　Blenheim。　　〃How　many

times；〃　I　kept　saying　to　myself；　〃is　that　wicked　old　moon　coming　up

to　stare　at　me？〃　　I　could　not　stand　it。　　I　stopped　a　part　of　the

machinery；　and　the　moon　went　into　permanent　eclipse。　　By　and　by　the

sounds　of　the　infernal　machine　began　to　trouble　and　pursue　me。　　They

talked　to　me；　more　and　more　their　language　became　that　of

articulately　speaking　men。　　They　twitted　me　with　the　rapid　flight　of

time。　　They　hurried　me；　as　if　I　had　not　a　moment　to　lose。　　Quick！

Quick！　Quick！　as　each　tooth　released　itself　from　the　escapement。　　And

as　I　looked　and　listened　there　could　not　be　any　mistake　about　it。　　I

heard　Quick！　Quick！　Quick！　as　plainly；　at　least；　as　I　ever　heard　a

word　from　the　phonograph。　　I　stood　watching　the　dial　one　day；it　was

near　one　o'clock；and　a　strange　attraction　held　me　fastened　to　the

spot。　　Presently　something　appeared　to　trip　or　stumble　inside　of　the

infernal　mechanism。　　I　waited　for　the　sound　I　knew　was　to　follow。

How　nervous　I　got！　　It　seemed　to　me　that　it　would　never　strike。　　At

last　the　minute…hand　reached　the　highest　point　of　the　dial。　　Then

there　was　a　little　stir　among　the　works；　as　there　is　in　a

congregation　as　it　rises　to　receive　the　benediction。　　It　was　no　form

of　blessing　which　rung　out　those　deep；　almost　sepulchral　tones。　　But

the　word　they　uttered　could　not　be　mistaken。　　I　can　hear　its

prolonged；　solemn　vibrations　as　if　I　were　standing　before　the　clock

at　this　moment。



Gone！　Yes；　I　said　to　myself；　gone；its　record　made　up　to　be　opened

in　eternity。



I　stood　still；　staring　vaguely　at　the　dial　as　in　a　trance。　　And　as

the　next　hour　creeps　stealthily　up；　it　starts　all　at　once；　and　cries

aloud；　Gone！　Gone！　　The　sun　sinks　lower；　the　hour…hand　creeps

downward　with　it；　until　I　hear　the　thrice…repeated　monosyllable；

Gone！　Gone！　Gone！　　Soon　through　the　darkening　hours；　until　at　the

dead　of　night　the　long　roll　is　called；　and　with　the　last　Gone！　the

latest　of　the　long　procession　that　filled　the　day　follows　its　ghostly

companions　into　the　stillness　and　darkness　of　the　past。



I　silenced　the　striking　part　of　the　works。　　Still；　the　escapement

kept　repeating；　Quick！　　Quick！　　Quick！　　Still　the　long　minute…hand；

like　the　dart　in　the　grasp　of　Death；　as　we　see　it　in　Roubiliac's

monument　to　Mrs。　Nightingale；　among　the　tombs　of　Westminster　Abbey；

stretched　itself　out；　ready　to　transfix　each　hour　as　it　passed；　and

make　it　my　last。　　I　sat　by　the　clock　to　watch　the　leap　from　one　day

of　the　week　to　the　next。　　Then　would　come；　in　natural　order；　the　long

stride　from　one　month　to　the　following　one。



I　could　endure　it　no　longer。　　〃Take　that　clock　away！〃　I　said。　　They

took　it　away。　　They　took　me　away；　too；they　thought　I　needed　country

air。　　The　sounds　and　motions　still　pursued　me　in　imagination。　　I　was

very　nervous　when　I　came　here。　　The　walks　are　pleasant；　but　the　walls

seem　to　me　unnecessarily　high。　　The　boarders　are　numerous；　a　little

miscellaneous；　I　think。　　But　we　have　the　Queen；　and　the　President　of

the　United　States；　and　several　other　distinguished　persons；　if　we　may

trust　what　they　tell　about　themselves。



After　we　had　listened　to　Number　Five's　story；　I　was　requested　to　read

a　couple　of　verses　written　by　me　when　the　guest　of　my　friends；　whose

name　is　hinted　by　the　title　prefixed　to　my　lines。



　　　　　　　　　　LA　MAISON　D'OR。



　　　　　　　　　　　BAR　HARBOR。



》From　this　fair　home　behold　on　either　side

The　restful　mountains　or　the　restless　sea：

So　the　warm　sheltering　walls　of　life　divide

Time　and　its　tides　from　still　eternity。



Look　on　the　waves：　their　stormy　voices　teach

That　not　on　earth　may　toil　and　struggle　cease。

Look　on　the　mountains：　better　far　than　speech

Their　silent　promise　of　eternal　peace。









VIII。



I　had　intended　to　devote　this　particular　report　to　an　account　of　my

replies　to　certain　questions　which　have　been　addressed　to　me；

questions　which　I　have　a　right　to　suppose　interest　the　public；　and

which；　therefore；　I　was　justified　in　bringing　before　The　Teacups；　and

presenting　to　the　readers　of　these　articles。



Some　may　care　for　one　of　these　questions；　and　some　for　another。　　A

good　many　young　people　think　nothing　about　life　as　it　presents　itself

in　the　far　horizon；　bounded　by　the　snowy　ridges　of　threescore　and　the

dim　peaks　beyond　that　remote　barrier。　　Again；　there　are　numbers　of

persons　who　know　nothing　at　all　about　the　Jews；　while；　on　the　other

hand；　there　are　those　who　can；　or　think　they　can；　detect　the

Israelitish　blood　in　many　of　their　acquaintances　who　believe

themselves　of　the　purest　Japhetic　origin；　and　are　full　of　prejudices

about　the　Semitic　race。



I　do　not　mean　to　be　cheated　out　of　my　intentions。　　I　propose　to

answer　my　questioners　on　the　two　points　just　referred　to；　but　I　find

myself　so　much　interested　in　the　personal　affairs　of　The　Teacups　that

I　must　deal　with　them　before　attacking　those　less　exciting　subjects。

There　is　no　use；　let　me　say　here；　in　addressing　to　me　letters　marked

〃personal；〃　〃private；〃　〃confidential；〃　and　so　forth；　asking　me　how　I

came　to　know　what　happened　in　certain　conversations　of　which　I　shall

give　a　partial　account。　　If　there　is　a　very　sensitive　phonograph

lying　about　here　and　there　in　unsuspected　corners；　that　might　account

for　some　part　of　my　revelations。　　If　Delilah；　whose　hearing　is　of

almost　supernatural　delicacy；　reports　to　me　what　she　overhears；　it

might　explain　a　part　of　the　mystery。　　I　do　not　want　to　accuse

Delilah；　but　a　young　person　who　assures　me　she　can　hear　my　watch

ticking　in　my　pocket；　when　I　am　in　the　next　room；　might　undoubtedly

tell　many　secrets；　if　so　disposed。　　Number　Five　is　pretty　nearly

omniscient；　and　she　and　I　are　on　the　best　terms　with　each　other。

These　are　all　the　hints　I　shall　give　you　at　present。



The　Teacups　of　whom　the　least　has　been　heard　at　our　table　are　the

Tutor　and　the　Musician。　　The　Tutor　is　a　modest　young　man；　kept　down　a

little；　I　think；　by　the　presence　of　older　persons；　like　the　Professor

and　myself。　　I　have　met　him　several　times；　of　late；　walking　with

different　lady　Teacups：　once　with　the　American　Annex；　twice　with　the

English　Annex；　once　with　the　two　Annexes　together；　once　with　Number

Five。



I　have　mentioned　the　fact　that　the　Tutor　is　a　poet　as　among　his

claims　to　our　attention。　　I　must　add　that　I　do　not　think　any　the

worse　of　him　for　expressing　his　emotions　and　experiences　in　verse。

For　though　rhyming　is　often　a　bad　sign　in　a　young　man；　especially　if

he　is　already　out　of　his　teens；　there　are　those　to　whom　it　is　as

natural；　one　might　almost　say　as　necessary；　as　it　is　to　a　young　bird

to　fly。　　One　does　not　care　to　see　barnyard　fowls　tumbling　about　in

trying　to　use　their　wings。　　They　have　a　pair　of　good；　stout

drumsticks；　and　had　better　keep　to　them；　for　the　most　part。　　But　that

feeling　does　not　apply　to　young　eagles；　or　even　to　young　swallows　and

sparrows。　　The　Tutor　is　by　no　means　one　of　those　ignorant；　silly；

conceited　phrase…tinklers；　who　live　on　the　music　of　their　own

jingling　syllables　and　the　flattery　of　their　foolish　friends。　　I

think　Number　Five　must　appreciate　him。　　He　is　sincere；　warmhearted；

his　poetry　shows　that；not　in　haste　to　be　famous；　and　he　looks　to　me

as　if　he　only　wanted　love　to　steady　him。　　With　one　of　those　two　young

girls　he　ought　certainly　to　be　captivated；　if　he　is　not　already。

Twice　walking　with　the　English　Annex；　I　met　him；　and　they　were　so

deeply　absorbed　in　conversation　they　hardly　noticed　me。　　He　has　been

talking　over　the