april hopes-第13章

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which　these　points　had　been　touched。

〃That's　what　men　like；　what　they　fall　in　love　with；　what　Mr。　Mavering's
in　love　with　this　instant。　　It's　no　use　women's　flattering　themselves
that　they　don't；　for　they　do。　　The　rest　of　the　virtues　and　graces　and
charms　are　for　women。　　If　that　serious　girl　could　only　know　the　silly
things　that　that　amiable　simpleton　is　taken　with　in　her；　she'd〃

〃Never　speak　to　him　again？〃　suggested　Miss　Cotton。

〃No；　I　don't　say　that。　　But　she　would　think　twice　before　marrying　him。〃

〃And　then　do　it；〃　said　Mrs。　Stamwell　pensively；　with　eyes　that　seemed
looking　far　into　the　past。

〃Yes；　and　quite　right　to　do　it；〃　said　Mrs。　Brinkley。　　〃I　don't　know　that
we　should　be　very　proud　ourselves　if　we　confessed　just　what　caught　our
fancy　in　our　husbands。　　For　my　part　I　shouldn't　like　to　say　how　much　a
light　hat　that　Mr。　Brinkley　happened　to　be　wearing　had　to　do　with　the
matter。〃

The　ladies　broke　into　another　laugh；　and　then　checked　themselves；　so　that
Mrs。　Pasmer；　coming　out　of　the　corridor　upon　them；　naturally　thought　they
were　laughing　at　her。　　She　reflected　that　if　she　had　been　in　their　place
she　would　have　shown　greater　tact　by　not　stopping　just　at　that　instant。

But　she　did　not　mind。　　She　knew　that　they　talked　her　over；　but　having　a
very　good　conscience；　she　simply　talked　them　over　in　return。　　〃Have　you
seen　my　daughter　within　a　few　minutes？〃　she　asked。

〃She　was　with　Mr。　Mavering　at　the　end　of　the　piazza　a　moment　ago；〃　said
Mrs。　Brinkley。　　〃They　must　leave　just　gone　round　the　corner　of　the
building。〃

〃Oh；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer。　　She　had　a　novel；　with　her　finger　between　its
leaves；　pressed　against　her　heart；　after　the　manner　of　ladies　coming　out
on　hotel　piazzas。　　She　sat　down　and　rested　it　on　her　knee；　with　her　hand
over　the　top。

Miss　Cotton　bent　forward；　and　Mrs。　Pasmer　lifted　her　fingers　to　let　her
see　the　name　of　the　book。

〃Oh　yes；〃　said　Miss　Cotton。　　〃But　he's　so　terribly　pessimistic；　don't　you
think？〃

〃What　is　it？〃　asked　Mrs。　Brinkley。

〃Fumee；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer；　laying　the　book　title　upward　on　her　lap　for
every　one　to　see。

〃Oh　yes；〃　said　Mrs。　Brinkley；　fanning　herself。　　〃Tourguenief。　　That　man
gave　me　the　worst　quarter　of　an　hour　with　his　'Lisa'　that　I　ever　had。〃

〃That's　the　same　as　the　'Nichee　des　Gentilshommes'；　isn't　it？〃　asked　Mrs。
Pasmer；　with　the　involuntary　superiority　of　a　woman　who　reads　her
Tourguenief　in　French。

〃I　don't　know。　　I　had　it　in　English。　　I　don't　build　my　ships　to　cross　the
sea　in；　as　Emerson　says；　I　take　those　I　find　built。〃

〃Ah！　　I　was　already　on　the　other　side；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer　softly。　　She
added：　〃I　must　get　Lisa。　　I　like　a　good　heart…break；　don't　you？　　If
that's　what　gave　you　the　bad　moment。〃

〃Heart…break？　　Heart…crush！　　Where　Lavretsky　comes　back　old　to　the　scene
of　his　love　for　Lisa；　and　strikes　that　chord　on　the　pianowell；　I　simply
wonder　that　I'm　alive　to　recommend　the　book　to　you。

〃Do　you　know；〃　said　Miss　Cotton；　very　deferentially；　〃that　your　daughter
always　made　me　think　of　Lisa？〃

〃Indeed！〃　cried　Mrs。　Pasmer；　not　wholly　pleased；　but　gratified　that　she
was　able　to　hide　her　displeasure。　　〃You　make　me　very　curious。〃

〃Oh；　I　doubt　if　you'll　see　more　than　a　mere　likeness　of　temperament；〃
Mrs。　Brinkley　interfered　bluntly。　　〃All　the　conditions　are　so　different。
There　couldn't　be　an　American　Lisa。　　That's　the　charm　of　these　Russian
tragedies。　　You　feel　that　they're　so　perfectly　true　there；　and　so
perfectly　impossible　here。　　Lavretsky　would　simply　have　got　himself
divorced　from　Varvara　Pavlovna；　and　no　clergyman　could　have　objected　to
marrying　him　to　Lisa。〃

〃That's　what　I　mean　by　his　pessimism；〃　said　Miss　Cotton。　　〃He　leaves　you
no　hope。　　And　I　think　that　despair　should　never　be　used　in　a　novel　except
for　some　good　purpose；　don't　you；　Mrs。　Brinkley？〃

〃Well；〃　said　Mrs。　Brinkley；　〃I　was　trying　to　think　what　good　purpose
despair　could　be　put　to；　in　a　book　or　out　of　it。〃

〃I　don't　think；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer；　referring　to　the　book　in　her　lap；
〃that　he　leaves　you　altogether　in　despair　here；　unless　you'd　rather　he'd
run　off　with　Irene　than　married　Tatiana。〃

〃Oh；　I　certainly　didn't　wish　that；〃　said　Miss　Cotton；　in　self…defence；　as
if　the　shot　had　been　aimed　at　her。

〃The　book　ends　with　a　marriage；　there's　no　denying　that；〃　said　Mrs。
Brinkley；　with　a　reserve　in　her　tone　which　caused　Mrs。　Pasmer　to　continue
for　her

〃And　marriage　means　happinessin　a　book。〃

〃I'm　not　sure　that　it　does　in　this　case。　　The　time　would　come；　after
Litvinof　had　told　Tatiana　everything；　when　she　would　have　to　ask　herself；
and　not　once　only；　what　sort　of　man　it　really　was　who　was　willing　to
break　his　engagement　and　run　off　with　another　man's　wife；　and　whether　he
could　ever　repent　enough　for　it。　　She　could　make　excuses　for　him；　and
would；　but　at　the　bottom　of　her　heartNo；　it　seems　to　me　that　there；
almost　for　the　only　time；　Tourguenief　permitted　himself　an　amiable
weakness。　　All　that　part　of　the　book　has　the　air　of　begging　the
question。〃

〃But　don't　you　see；〃　said　Miss　Cotton；　leaning　forward　in　the　way　she　had
when　very　earnest；　〃that　he　means　to　show　that　her　love　is　strong　enough
for　all　that？〃

〃But　he　doesn't；　because　it　isn't。　　Love　isn't　strong　enough　to　save
people　from　unhappiness　through　each　other's　faults。　　Do　you　suppose　that
so　many　married　people　are　unhappy　in　each　other　because　they　don't　love
each　other？　　No；　it's　because　they　do　love　each　other　that　their　faults
are　such　a　mutual　torment。　　If　they　were　indifferent；　they　wouldn't　mind
each　other's　faults。　　Perhaps　that's　the　reason　why　there　are　so　many
American　divorces；　if　they　didn't　care；　like　Europeans；　who　don't　marry
for　love；　they　could　stand　it。〃

〃Then　the　moral　is；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer；　at　her　lightest　through　the
surrounding　gravity；　〃that　as　all　Americans　marry　for　love；　only
Americans　who　have　been　very　good　ought　to　get　married。〃

〃I'm　not　sure　that　the　have…been　goodness　is　enough　either；〃　said　Mrs。
Brinkley；　willing　to　push　it　to　the　absurd。　　〃You　marry　a　man's　future　as
well　as　his　past。〃

〃Dear　me！　　You　are　terribly　exigeante；　Mrs。　Brinkley；〃　said　Mrs。　Pasmer。

〃One　can　afford　to　be　soin　the　abstract；〃　answered　Mrs。　Brinkley。

They　all　stopped　talking　and　looked　at　John　Munt；　who　was　coming　toward
them；　and　each　felt　a　longing　to　lay　the　matter　before　him。

There　was　probably　not　a　woman　among　them　but　had　felt　more；　read　more；
and　thought　more　than　John　Munt；　but　he　was　a　man；　and　the　mind　of　a　man
is　the　court　of　final　appeal　for　the　wisest　women。　　Till　some　man　has
pronounced　upon　their　wisdom；　they　do　not　know　whether　it　is　wisdom　or
not。

Munt　drew　up　his　chair；　and　addressed　himself　to　the　whole　group　through
Mrs。　Pasmer：　〃We　are　thinking　of　getting　up　a　little　picnic　to…morrow。




XIV。

The　day　of　the　picnic　struggled　till　ten　o'clock　to　peer　through　the　fog
that　wrapt　it　with　that　remote　damp　and　coolness　and　that　nearer　drouth
and　warmth　which　some　fogs　have。　　The　low　pine　groves　hung　full　of　it；
and　it　gave　a　silvery　definition　to　the　gossamer　threads　running　from　one
grass　spear　to　another　in　spacious　networks　over　the　open　levels　of　the
old　fields　that　stretch　back　from　the　bluff　to　the　woods。　　At　last　it
grew　thinner；　somewhere　over　the　bay；　then　you　could　see　the　smooth　water
through　it；　then　it　drifted　off　in　ragged　fringes　before　a　light　breeze：
when　you　looked　landward　again　it　was　all　gone　there；　and　seaward　it　had
gathered　itself　in　a　low；　dun　bank　along　the　horizon。　　It　was　the　kind　of
fog　that　people　interested　in　Campobello　admitted　as　apt　to　be　common
there；　but　claimed　as　a　kind　of　local　virtue　when　it　began　to　break　away。
They　said　that　it　was　a　very　dry　fog；　not　like　Newport；　and　asked　you　to
notice　that　it　did　not　wet　you　at　all。

Four　or　five　carriages；　driven　by　the　gentlemen　of　the　party；　held　the
picnic；　which　was　destined　for　that　beautiful　cove　on　the　Bay　of　Fundy
where　the　red　granite　ledges；　smooth…washed　by　ages　of　storm　and　sun；
lend　themselves　to　such　festivities　as　if　they　had　been　artificially
fashioned　into　shelves　and　tables。　　The　whole　place　is　yet　so　new　to　men
that　this　haunt　has　not　acquired　that　air　of　repulsive　custom　which　the
egg　shells　and　broken　bottles　and　sardine　boxes　of　many　seasons　give。　　Or
perhaps　the　winter　tempests　heap　the　tides　of　the　bay　over　the　ledge；　and
wash　it　clean　of　these　vulgar　traces　of　human　resort；　and　enable　it　to
offer　as　fresh　a　welcome　to　the　picnics　of　each　successive　summer　as　if
there　had　never　been　a　picnic　in　that　place　before。

This　was　the　sense　that　Mavering　professed　to　have　received　from　it；　when
he　jumped　out　of　the　beach　wagon　in　which　he　had　preceded　the　other
carriages　through　the　weird　forest　lying　between　the　fringe　of　farm
fields　and　fishing…villages　on　the　western　shore　of　the　island　and　these
lonely　coasts　of　the　bay。　　As　far　as　the　signs　of　settled　human
habitation　last；　tho　road　is　the　good　hard　country　road　of　New　England；
climbing　steep　little　hills；　and　presently　leading　through　long　tracts　of
woodland。　　But　at　a　certain　point　beyond　the　furthest　cottage　you　leave
it；　and　plunge　deep　into　the　heart　of　the　forest；　vaguely　traversed　by
the　wheel…path　carried　through　since　the　island　was　opened　to　summer
sojourn。　　Road　you　can　hardly　call　it；　remembering　its　curious　pauses　and
hesitations　when　confronted　with　stretches　of　marshy　ground；　and　its
staggering　progress　over　the　thick　stubble　of　saplings　through　which　it
is　cut。　　The　progress　of　teams　over　it　is　slow；　but　there　is　such　joy　of
wildness　in　the　solitudes　it　penetrates　that；　if　the　horses　had　any　gait
slower　than　a　walk；　one　might　still　wish　to　stay　them。　　It　is　a　Northern
forest；　with　the　air　of　having　sprang　quickly　up　in　the　fierce　heat　and
haste　of　the　Northern　summers。　　The　small　firs　are　set　almost　as　dense　as
rye　in　a　field；　and　in　their　struggle　to　the　light　they　have　choked　one
another　so　that　there　is　a　strange　blight　of　death　and　defeat　on　all　that
vigour　of　life。　　Few　of　the　trees　have　won　any　lofty　growth；　they　seem　to
have　died　and　fallen　when　they　were　about　to　outstrip　the　others　in　size；
and　from　their　decay　a　new　sylvan　generation　riots　rankly　upward。　　The
surface　of　the　ground　is　thinly　clothed　with　a　deciduous　undergrowth；
above　which　are　the　bare；　spare　stems　of　the　evergreens；　and　then　their
limbs　thrusting　into　one　another　in　a　sombre　tangle；　with　locks　of　long
yellowish…white　moss；　like　the　grey　pendants　of　the　Southern　pines；
dripping　from　them　and　draining　their　brief　life。

In　such　a　place　you　must　surrender　yourself　to　its　influences；　profoundly
yet　vaguely　melancholy；　or　you　must　resist　them　with　whatever　gaiety　is
in　you；　or　may　be　conjured　out　of　others。　　It　was　conceded　that　Mavering
was　the　life　of　the　party；　as　the　phrase　goes。　　His　light…heartedness；　as
kindly　and　sympathetic　as　it　was　inexhaustible；　served　to　carry　them　over
the　worst　places　in　the　road　of　itself。　　He　jumped　down　and　ran　back；
when　he　had　passed　a　bad　bit；　to　see　if　the　others　were　getting　through
safely；　the　least　interesting　of　the　party　had　some　proof　of　his
impartial　friendliness；　he　promised　an　early　and　triumphant　emergence
from　all　difficulties；　he　started　singin