the professor at the breakfast table-第16部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



suspected　individual　just　ten　minutes　before　dinner。　　If　this　is

eagerly　accepted　and　devoured；　the　fact　of　youth　is　established。　　If

the　subject　of　the　question　starts　back　and　expresses　surprise　and

incredulity；　as　if　you　could　not　possibly　be　in　earnest；　the　fact　of

maturity　is　no　less　clear。





Excuse　me；I　return　to　my　story　of　the　Commons…table。　Young

fellows　being　always　hungry；　and　tea　and　dry　toast　being　the　meagre

fare　of　the　evening　meal；　it　was　a　trick　of　some　of　the　Boys　to

impale　a　slice　of　meat　upon　a　fork；　at　dinner…time；　and　stick　the

fork　holding　it　beneath　the　table；　so　that　they　could　get　it　at　tea…

time。　　The　dragons　that　guarded　this　table　of　the　Hesperides　found

out　the　trick　at　last；　and　kept　a　sharp　look…out　for　missing　forks；

they　knew　where　to　find　one；　if　it　was　not　in　its　place。　Now　the

odd　thing　was；　that；　after　waiting　so　many　years　to　hear　of　this

college　trick；　I　should　hear　it　mentioned　a　second　time　within　the

same　twenty…four　hours　by　a　college　youth　of　the　present　generation。

Strange；　but　true。　　And　so　it　has　happened　to　me　and　to　every　person；

often　and　often；　to　be　hit　in　rapid　succession　by　these　twinned　facts

or　thoughts；　as　if　they　were　linked　like　chain…shot。



I　was　going　to　leave　the　simple　reader　to　wonder　over　this；　taking　it

as　an　unexplained　marvel。　　I　think；　however；　I　will　turn　over　a

furrow　of　subsoil　in　it。　The　explanation　is；　of　course；　that　in　a

great　many　thoughts　there　must　be　a　few　coincidences；　and　these

instantly　arrest　our　attention。　　Now　we　shall　probably　never　have　the

least　idea　of　the　enormous　number　of　impressions　which　pass　through

our　consciousness；　until　in　some　future　life　we　see　the　photographic

record　of　our　thoughts　and　the　stereoscopic　picture　of　our　actions。

There　go　more　pieces　to　make　up　a　conscious　life　or　a　living　body

than　you　think　for。　　Why；　some　of　you　were　surprised　when　a　friend　of

mine　told　you　there　were　fifty…eight　separate　pieces　in　a　fiddle。

How　many　〃swimming　glands〃solid；　organized；　regularly　formed；

rounded　disks　taking　an　active　part　in　all　your　vital　processes；　part

and　parcel；　each　one　of　them；　of　your　corporeal　beingdo　you　suppose

are　whirled　along；　like　pebbles　in　a　stream；　with　the　blood　which

warms　your　frame　and　colors　your　cheeks？A　noted　German　physiologist

spread　out　a　minute　drop　of　blood；　under　the　microscope；　in　narrow

streaks；　and　counted　the　globules；　and　then　made　a　calculation。　　The

counting　by　the　micrometer　took　him　a　week。　You　have；　my　full…grown

friend；　of　these　little　couriers　in　crimson　or　scarlet　livery；

running　on　your　vital　errands　day　and　night　as　long　as　you　live；

sixty…five　billions；　five　hundred　and　seventy　thousand　millions。

Errors　excepted。　Did　I　hear　some　gentleman　say；　〃Doubted？　〃I　am

the　Professor。　　I　sit　in　my　chair　with　a　petard　under　it　that　will

blow　me　through　the　skylight　of　my　lecture…room；　if　I　do　not　know

what　I　am　talking　about　and　whom　I　am　quoting。



Now；　my　dear　friends；　who　are　putting　your　hands　to　your　foreheads；

and　saying　to　yourselves　that　you　feel　a　little　confused；　as　if　you

had　been　waltzing　until　things　began　to　whirl　slightly　round　you；　is

it　possible　that　you　do　not　clearly　apprehend　the　exact　connection　of

all　that　I　have　been　saying；　and　its　bearing　on　what　is　now　to　come？

Listen；　then。　　The　number　of　these　living　elements　in　our　bodies

illustrates　the　incalculable　multitude　of　our　thoughts；　the　number　of

our　thoughts　accounts　for　those　frequent　coincidences　spoken　of；

these　coincidences　in　the　world　of　thought　illustrate　those　which　we

constantly　observe　in　the　world　of　outward　events；　of　which　the

presence　of　the　young　girl　now　at　our　table；　and　proving　to　be　the

daughter　of　an　old　acquaintance　some　of　us　may　remember；　is　the

special　example　which　led　me　through　this　labyrinth　of　reflections；

and　finally　lands　me　at　the　commencement　of　this　young　girl's　story；

which；　as　I　said；　I　have　found　the　time　and　felt　the　interest　to

learn　something　of；　and　which　I　think　I　can　tell　without　wronging　the

unconscious　subject　of　my　brief　delineation。







IRIS。



You　remember；　perhaps；　in　some　papers　published　awhile　ago；　an　odd

poem　written　by　an　old　Latin　tutor？　　He　brought　up　at　the　verb　amo；　I

love；　as　all　of　us　do；　and　by　and　by　Nature　opened　her　great　living

dictionary　for　him　at　the　word　；　filia；　a　daughter。　　The　poor　man　was

greatly　perplexed　in　choosing　a　name　for　her。　　Lucretia　and　Virginia

were　the　first　that　he　thought　of；　but　then　came　up　those　pictured

stories　of　Titus　Livius；　which　he　could　never　read　without　crying；

though　he　had　read　them　a　hundred　times。



Lucretia　sending　for　her　husband　and　her　father；　each　to　bring　one

friend　with　him；　and　awaiting　them　in　her　chamber。　　To　them　her

wrongs　briefly。　　Let　them　see　to　the　wretch；she　will　take　care　of

herself。　　Then　the　hidden　knife　flashes　out　and　sinks　into　her　heart。

She　slides　from　her　seat；　and　falls　dying。　　〃Her　husband　and　her

father　cry　aloud。〃No；　not　Lucretia。



…Virginius；a　brown　old　soldier；　father　of　a　nice　girl。　　She　engaged

to　a　very　promising　young　man。　　Decemvir　Appius　takes　a　violent　fancy

to　her；must　have　her　at　any　rate。　　Hires　a　lawyer　to　present　the

arguments　in　favor　of　the　view　that　she　was　another　man's　daughter。

There　used　to　be　lawyers　in　Rome　that　would　do　such　things。　All

right。　　　There　are　two　sides　to　everything。　　Audi　alteram　partem。

The　legal　gentleman　has　no　opinion；he　only　states　the　evidence。

A　doubtful　case。　　Let　the　young　lady　be　under　the　protection　of　the

Honorable　Decemvir　until　it　can　be　looked　up　thoroughly。　Father

thinks　it　best；　on　the　whole；　to　give　in。　　Will　explain　the　matter；

if　the　young　lady　and　her　maid　will　step　this　way。　　That　is　the

explanation；a　stab　with　a　butcher's　knife；　snatched　from　a　stall；

meant　for　other　lambs　than　this　poor　bleeding　Virginia



The　old　man　thought　over　the　story。　　Then　he　must　have　one　look　at

the　original。　　So　he　took　down　the　first　volume　and　read　it　over。

When　he　came　to　that　part　where　it　tells　how　the　young　gentleman　she

was　engaged　to　and　a　friend　of　his　took　up　the　poor　girl's　bloodless

shape　and　carried　it　through　the　street；　and　how　all　the　women

followed；　wailing；　and　asking　if　that　was　what　their　daughters　were

coming　to；if　that　was　what　they　were　to　get　for　being　good　girls；

he　melted　down　into　his　accustomed　tears　of　pity　and　grief；　and；

through　them　all；　of　delight　at　the　charming　Latin　of　the　narrative。

But　it　was　impossible　to　call　his　child　Virginia。　　He　could　never

look　at　her　without　thinking　she　had　a　knife　sticking　in　her　bosom。



Dido　would　be　a　good　name；　and　a　fresh　one。　　She　was　a　queen；　and　the

founder　of　a　great　city。　　Her　story　had　been　immortalized　by　the

greatest　of　poets；for　the　old　Latin　tutor　clove　to　〃Virgilius

Maro；〃　as　he　called　him；　as　closely　as　ever　Dante　did　in　his

memorable　journey。　　So　he　took　down　his　Virgil；　it　was　the　smooth…

leafed；　open…lettered　quarto　of　Basker