english stories-london-第14章

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had　left　off　work　and　were　refreshing　themselves　with　lunch　and

conversation。　There　was　one　old　worker　who　had　not　stirred　from　his

place；　but　he　had　put　down　his　brush；　and　had　taken　from　his　pocket　a

small　book；　which　was　like　its　ownerthin　and　shabby　of　covering。　He

seemed　to　find　pleasure　in　reading　it；　for　he　turned　over　its　pages

with　all　the　tenderness　characteristic　of　one　who　loves　what　he　reads。

Now　and　again　he　glanced　at　his　unfinished　copy　of　the　beautiful

portrait　of　Andrea　del　Sarto；　and　once　his　eyes　rested　on　another　copy

next　to　his；　better　and　truer　than　his；　and　once　he　stopped　to　pick　up

a　girl's　prune…coloured　tie；　which　had　fallen　from　the　neighbouring

easel。　After　this　he　seemed　to　become　unconscious　of　his　surroundings；

as　unconscious；　indeed；　as　any　one　of　the　pictures　near　him。　Any　one

might　have　been　justified　in　mistaking　him　for　the　portrait　of　a　man；

but　that　his　lips　moved；　for　it　was　his　custom　to　read　softly　to

himself。



The　students　passed　back　to　their　places；　not　troubling　to　notice　him；

because　they　knew　from　experience　that　he　never　noticed　them；　and　that

all　greetings　were　wasted　on　him　and　all　words　were　wanton　expenditure

of　breath。　They　had　come　to　regard　him　very　much　in　the　same　way　as

many　of　us　regard　the　wonders　of　nature；　without　astonishment；　without

any　questionings；　and　often　without　any　interest。　One　girl；　a　new…

comer；　did　chance　to　say　to　her　companion：



〃How　ill　that　old　man　looks！〃



〃Oh；　he　always　looks　like　that；〃　was　the　answer。　〃You　will　soon　get

accustomed　to　him。　Come　along！　I　must　finish　my　'Blind　Beggar'　this

afternoon。〃



In　a　few　minutes　most　of　the　workers　were　busy　again；　although　there

were　some　who　continued　to　chat　quietly；　and　several　young　men　who

seemed　reluctant　to　leave　their　girl　friends；　and　who　were　by　no　means

encouraged　to　go！　One　young　man　came　to　claim　his　book　and　pipe；　which

he　had　left　in　the　charge　of　a　bright…eyed　girl；　who　was　copying　Sir

Joshua's　〃Angels。〃　She　gave　him　his　treasures；　and　received　in

exchange　a　dark…red　rose；　which　she　fastened　in　her　belt；　and　then　he

returned　to　his　portrait　of　Mrs。　Siddons。　But　there　was　something　in

his　disconsolate　manner　which　made　one　suspect　that　he　thought　less　of

Mrs。　Siddons's　beauty　than　of　the　beauty　of　the　girl　who　was　wearing

the　dark…red　rose！　The　strangers；　strolling　through　the　rooms；　stopped

now　and　again　to　peer　curiously　at　the　students'　work。　They　were

stared　at　indignantly　by　the　students　themselves；　but　they　made　no

attempt　to　move　away；　and　even　ventured　sometimes　to　pass　criticisms

of　no　tender　character　on　some　of　the　copies。　The　fierce…looking　man

who　was　copying　〃The　Horse　Fair〃　deliberately　put　down　his　brushes；

folded　his　arms；　and　waited　defiantly　until　they　had　gone　by；　but

others；　wiser　in　their　generation；　went　on　painting　calmly。　Several

workers　were　painting　the　new　Raphael；　one　of　them　was　a　white…haired

old　gentlewoman；　whose　hand　was　trembling；　and　yet　skilful　still。　More

than　once　she　turned　to　give　a　few　hints　to　the　young　girl　near　her；

who　looked　in　some　distress　and　doubt。　Just　the　needful　help　was

given；　and　then　the　girl　plied　her　brush　merrily；　smiling　the　while

with　pleasure　and　gratitude。　There　seemed　to　be　a　genial；　kindly

influence　at　work；　a　certain　homeliness　too；　which　must　needs　assert

itself　where　many　are　gathered　together；　working　side　by　side。　All

made　a　harmony；　the　wonderful　pictures；　collected　from　many　lands　and

many　centuries；　each　with　its　meaning　and　its　message　from　the　past；

the　ever…present　memories　of　the　painters　themselves；　who　had　worked

and　striven　and　conquered；　and　the　living　human　beings；　each　with　his

wealth　of　earnest　endeavour　and　hope。



Meanwhile　the　old　man　read　on　uninterruptedly　until　two　hands　were　put

over　his　book　and　a　gentle　voice　said：



〃Mr。　Lindall；　you　have　had　no　lunch　again。　Do　you　know；　I　begin　to

hate　Lucretius。　He　always　makes　you　forget　your　food。〃



The　old　man　looked　up；　and　something　like　a　smile　passed　over　his

joyless　face　when　he　saw　Helen　Stanley　bending　over　him。



〃Ah；〃　he　answered；　〃you　must　not　hate　Lucretius。　I　have　had　more

pleasant　hours　with　him　than　with　any　living　person。〃



He　rose　and　came　forward　to　examine　her　copy　of　Andrea　del　Sarto's

portrait。



〃Yours　is　better　than　mine；〃　he　said；　critically；　〃in　fact；　mine　is　a

failure。　I　think　I　shall　only　get　a　small　price　for　mine；　indeed；　I

doubt　whether　I　shall　get　sufficient　to　pay　for　my　funeral。〃



〃You　speak　dismally；〃　she　answered；　smiling。



〃I　missed　you　yesterday；〃　he　continued；　half　dreamily。　〃I　left　my

work；　and　I　wandered　through　the　rooms；　and　I　did　not　even　read

Lucretius。　Something　seemed　to　have　gone　from　my　life。　At　first　I

thought　it　must　be　my　favourite　Raphael；　or　the　Murillo；　but　it　was

neither　the　one　nor　the　other；　it　was　you。　That　was　strange；　wasn't

it？　But　you　know　we　get　accustomed　to　anything；　and　perhaps　I　should

have　missed　you　less　the　second　day；　and　by　the　end　of　a　week　I　should

not　have　missed　you　at　all。　Mercifully；　we　have　in　us　the　power　of

forgetting。〃



〃I　do　not　wish　to　plead　for　myself；〃　she　said；　〃but　I　do　not　believe

that　you　or　any　one　could　really　forget。　That　which　outsiders　call

forgetfulness　might　be　called　by　the　better　name　of　resignation。〃



〃I　don't　care　about　talking　any　more　now；〃　he　said；　suddenly；　and　he

went　to　his　easel　and　worked　silently　at　his　picture；　and　Helen

Stanley　glanced　at　him；　and　thought　she　had　never　seen　her　old

companion　look　so　forlorn　and　desolate　as　he　did　to…day。　He　looked　as

if　no　gentle　hand　had　ever　been　placed　on　him　in　kindliness　and

affection；　and　that　seemed　to　her　a　terrible　thing；　for　she　was　one　of

those　prehistorically　minded　persons　who　persist　in　believing　that

affection　is　as　needful　to　human　life　as　rain　to　flower　life。　When

first　she　came　to　work　at　the　gallerysome　twelve　months　agoshe　had

noticed　this　old　man；　and　had　wished　for　his　companionship；　she　was

herself　lonely　and　sorrowful；　and；　although　young；　had　to　fight　her

own　battles；　and　had　learned　something　of　the　difficulties　of

fighting；　and　this　had　given　her　an　experience　beyond　her　years。　She

was　not　more　than　twenty…four　years　of　age；　but　she　looked　rather

older；　and；　though　she　had　beautiful　eyes；　full　of　meaning　and

kindness；　her　features　were　decidedly　plain　as　well　as　unattractive。

There　were　some　in　the　gallery　who　said　among　themselves　that；　as　Mr。

Lindall　had　waited　so　many　years　before　talking　to　any　one；　he　might

have　chosen　some　one　better　worth　the　waiting　for！　But　they　soon

became　accustomed　to　seeing　Helen　Stanley　and　Mr。　Lindall　together；

and　they　laughed　less　than　before；　and　meanwhile　the　acquaintance

ripened　into　a　sort　of　friendship；　half　sulky　on　his　part　and　wholly

kind　on　her　part。　He　told　her　nothing　about　himself；　and　he　asked

nothing　about　herself；　for　weeks　he　never　even　knew　her　name。

Sometimes　he　did　not　speak　at　all；　and　the　two　friends　would　work

silently　side　by　side　until　it　was　time　to　go；　and　then　he　waited

until　she　was　ready；　and　walked　with　her　across　Trafalgar　Square；

where　they　parted　and　went　their　own　ways。



But　occasionally；　when　she　least　expected　it；　he　would　speak　with

glowing　enthusiasm　on　art；　then　his　eyes　seemed　to　become　bright；　and

his　bent　figure　more　erect；　and　his　whole　bearing　proud　and　dignified。

There　were　times；　too；　when　he　would　speak　on　other　subjects：　on　the

morality　of　free　thoughton　Bruno；　of　blessed　memory；　on　him；　and

scores　of　others　too。　He　would　speak　of　the　different　schools　of

philosophy；　he　would　laugh　at　himself；　and　at　all　who；　having　given

time　and　thought　to　the　study　of　life's　complicated　problems；　had　not

reached　one　step　further　than　the　Old…World　thinkers。　Perhaps　he　would

quote　one　of　his　favourite　philosophers；　and　then　suddenly　relapse

into　silence；　returning　to　his　wonted　abstraction　and　to　his

indifference　to　his　surroundings。　Helen　Stanley　had　learned　to

understand　his　ways　and　to　appreciate　his　mind；　and；　without　intruding

on　him　in　any　manner；　had　put　herself　gently　into　his　life　as　his

quiet　champion　and　his　friend。　No　one　in　her　presence　dared　speak

slightingly　of　the　old　man；　or　to　make　fun　of　his　tumble…down

appearance；　or　of　his　worn…out　silk　hat　with　a　crack　in　the　side；　or

of　his　rag　of　a　black　tie；　which；　together　with　his　overcoat；　had

〃seen　better　days。〃　Once　she　brought　her　needle　and　thread；　and　darned

the　torn　sleeve　during　her　lunch…time；　and；　though　he　never　knew　it；

it　was　a　satisfaction　to　her　to　have　helped　him。



To…day　she　noticed　that　he　was　painting　badly；　and　that　he　seemed　to

take　no　interest　in　his　work；　but　she　went　on　busily　with　her　own

picture；　and　was　so　engrossed　in　it　that　she　did　not　at　first　observe

that　he　had　packed　up　his　brushes　and　was　preparing　to　go　home。



〃Three　more　strokes；〃　he　said；　quietly；　〃and　you　will　have　finished

your　picture。　I　shall　never　finish　mine；　perhaps　you　will　be　good

enough　to　set　it　right　for　me。　I　am　not　coming　here　again。　I　don't

seem　to　have　caught　the　true　expression；　what　do　you　think？　But　I　am

not　going　to　let　it　worry　me；　for　I　am　sure　you　will　promise　to　do

your　best　for　me。　See；　I　will　hand　over　these　colours　and　these

brushes　to　you；　and　no　doubt　you　will　accept　the　palette　as　well。　I

have　no　further　use　for　it。〃



Helen　Stanley　took　the　palette　which　he　held　out　toward　her；　and

looked　at　him　as　though　she　would　wish　to　question　him。



〃It　is　very　hot　here；〃　he　continued；　〃and　I　am　going　out。　I　am　tired

of　work。〃



He　hesitated；　and　then　added；　〃I　should　like　you　to　come　with　me；　if

you　can　spare　the　time。〃



She　packed　up　her　things　at　once；　and　the　two　friends　moved　slowly

away；　he　gazing　absently　at　the　pictures；　and　she　wondering　in　her

mind　as　to　the　meaning　of　his　strange　mood。



When　they　were　on　the　steps　inside　the　building；　he　turned　to　Helen

Stanley　and　said：



〃I　should　like　to　go　back　to　the　pictures　once　more。　I　feel　as　if　I

must　stand　among　them　just　a　little　longer。　They　have　been　my

companions　for　so　long　that　they　are　almost　part　of　myself。　I　can

close　my　eyes　and　recall　them　faithfully。　But　I　want　to　take　a　last

look　at　them；　I　want　to　feel　once　more　the　presence　of　the　great

masters；　and　to　refresh　my　mind　with　their　genius。　When　I　look　at

their　work　I　think　of　their　life；　and　can　only　wonder　at　their　death。

It　was　so　strange　that　they　should　die。〃



They　went　back　together；　and　he　took　her　to　his　favourite　pictures；

but　remained　speechless　before　them；　and　she　did　not　disturb　his

thoughts。　At　last　he　said：



〃I　am　ready　to　go。　I　have　said　farewell　to　them　all。　I　know　nothing

more　wonderful　than　being　among　a　number　of　fine　pictures。　It　is

almost　overwhelming。　Once　expects　nature　to　be　grand；　but　one　does　not

expect　man　to　be　grand。〃



〃You　know　we　don't　agree　there；〃　she　answ