the professor at the breakfast table-第24部分

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acts　of　consciousness　which　make　up　your　past　life？　　What　should　you

most　dislike　to　tell　your　nearest　friend？Be　so　good　as　to　pause　for

a　brief　space；　and　shut　the　volume　you　hold　with　your　finger　between

the　pages。　Oh；　that　is　it！



What　a　confessional　I　have　been　sitting　at；　with　the　inward　ear　of　my

soul　open；　as　the　multitudinous　whisper　of　my　involuntary　confidants

came　back　to　me　like　the　reduplicated　echo　of　a　cry　among　the　craggy

bills！



At　the　house　of　a　friend　where　I　once　passed　the　night　was　one　of

those　stately　upright　cabinet　desks　and　cases　of　drawers　which　were

not　rare　in　prosperous　families　during　the　last　century。　　It　had　held

the　clothes　and　the　books　and　the　papers　of　generation　after

generation。　　The　hands　that　opened　its　drawers　had　grown　withered；

shrivelled；　and　at　last　been　folded　in　death。　　The　children　that

played　with　the　lower　handles　had　got　tall　enough　to　open　the　desk；

to　reach　the　upper　shelves　behind　the　folding…doors；grown　bent

after　a　while；and　then　followed　those　who　had　gone　before；　and　left

the　old　cabinet　to　be　ransacked　by　a　new　generation。



A　boy　of　ten　or　twelve　was　looking　at　it　a　few　years　ago；　and；　being

a　quick…witted　fellow；　saw　that　all　the　space　was　not　accounted　for

by　the　smaller　drawers　in　the　part　beneath　the　lid　of　the　desk。

Prying　about　with　busy　eyes　and　fingers；　he　at　length　came　upon　a

spring；　on　pressing　which；　a　secret　drawer　flew　from　its　hiding…

place。　　It　had　never　been　opened　but　by　the　maker。　　The　mahogany

shavings　and　dust　were　lying　in　it　as　when　the　artisan　closed　it；

and　when　I　saw　it；　it　was　as　fresh　as　if　that　day　finished。



Is　there　not　one　little　drawer　in　your　soul；　my　sweet　reader；　which

no　hand　but　yours　has　ever　opened；　and　which　none　that　have　known　you

seem　to　have　suspected？　　What　does　it　hold？A　sin？I　hope　not。

What　a　strange　thing　an　old　dead　sin　laid　away　in　a　secret　drawer　of

the　soul　is！　　Must　it　some　time　or　other　be　moistened　with　tears；

until　it　comes　to　life　again　and　begins　to　stir　in　our

consciousness；as　the　dry　wheel…animalcule；　looking　like　a　grain　of

dust；　becomes　alive；　if　it　is　wet　with　a　drop　of　water？



Or　is　it　a　passion？　　There　are　plenty　of　withered　men　and　women

walking　about　the　streets　who　have　the　secret　drawer　in　their　hearts；

which；　if　it　were　opened；　would　show　as　fresh　as　it　was　when　they

were　in　the　flush　of　youth　and　its　first　trembling　emotions。



What　it　held　will；　perhaps；　never　be　known；　until　they　are　dead　and

gone；　and　same　curious　eye　lights　on　an　old　yellow　letter　with　the

fossil　footprints　of　the　extinct　passion　trodden　thick　all　over　it。



There　is　not　a　boarder　at　our　table；　I　firmly　believe；　excepting　the

young　girl；　who　has　not　a　story　of　the　heart　to　tell；　if　one　could

only　get　the　secret　drawer　open。　　Even　this　arid　female；　whose　armor

of　black　bombazine　looks　stronger　against　the　shafts　of　love　than　any

cuirass　of　triple　brass；　has　had　her　sentimental　history；　if　I　am　not

mistaken。　　I　will　tell　you　my　reason　for　suspecting　it。



Like　many　other　old　women；　she　shows　a　great　nervousness　and

restlessness　whenever　I　venture　to　express　any　opinion　upon　a　class

of　subjects　which　can　hardly　be　said　to　belong　to　any　man　or　set　of

men　as　their　strictly　private　property；not　even　to　the　clergy；　or

the　newspapers　commonly　called　〃religious。〃　　Now；　although　it　would

be　a　great　luxury　to　me　to　obtain　my　opinions　by　contract；　ready…

made；　from　a　professional　man；　and　although　I　have　a　constitutional

kindly　feeling　to　all　sorts　of　good　people　which　would　make　me　happy

to　agree　with　all　their　beliefs；　if　that　were　possible；　still　I　must

have　an　idea；　now　and　then；　as　to　the　meaning　of　life；　and　though　the

only　condition　of　peace　in　this　world　is　to　have　no　ideas；　or；　at

least；　not　to　express　them；　with　reference　to　such　subjects；　I　can't

afford　to　pay　quite　so　much　as　that　even　for　peace。



I　find　that　there　is　a　very　prevalent　opinion　among　the　dwellers　on

the　shores　of　Sir　Isaac　Newton's　Ocean　of　Truth；　that　salt；　fish；

which　have　been　taken　from　it　a　good　while　ago；　split　open；　cured　and

dried；　are　the　only　proper　and　allowable　food　for　reasonable　people。

I　maintain；　on　the　other　hand；　that　there　are　a　number　of　live　fish

still　swimming　in　it；　and　that　every　one　of　us　has　a　right　to　see　if

he　cannot　catch　some　of　them。　　Sometimes　I　please　myself　with　the

idea　that　I　have　landed　an　actual　living　fish；　small；　perhaps；　but

with　rosy　gills　and　silvery　scales。　　Then　I　find　the　consumers　of

nothing　but　the　salted　and　dried　article　insist　that　it　is　poisonous；

simply　because　it　is　alive；　and　cry　out　to　people　not　to　touch　it。　　I

have　not　found；　however；　that　people　mind　them　much。



The　poor　boarder　in　bombazine　is　my　dynamometer。　　I　try　every

questionable　proposition　on　her。　　If　she　winces；　I　must　be　prepared

for　an　outcry　from　the　other　old　women。　　I　frightened　her；　the　other

day；　by　saying　that　faith；　as　an　intellectual　state；　was　self…

reliance；　which；　if　you　have　a　metaphysical　turn；　you　will　find　is

not　so　much　of　a　paradox　as　it　sounds　at　first。　　So　she　sent　me　a

book　to　read　which　was　to　cure　me　of　that　error。　　It　was　an　old　book；

and　looked　as　if　it　had　not　been　opened　for　a　long　time。　　What　should

drop　out　of　it；　one　day；　but　a　small　heart…shaped　paper；　containing　a

lock　of　that　straight；　coarse；　brown　hair　which　sets　off　the　sharp

faces　of　so　many　thin…flanked；　large…handed　bumpkins！　　I　read　upon

the　paper　the　name　〃Hiram。〃　Love！　love！　love！everywhere！

everywhere！under　diamonds　and　housemaids'　〃jewelry；〃lifting　the

marrowy　camel's…hair；　and　rustling　even　the　black　bombazine！　No；

no；I　think　she　never　was　pretty；　but　she　was　young　once；　and　wore

bright　ginghams；　and；　perhaps；　gay　merinos。　　We　shall　find　that　the

poor　little　crooked　man　has　been　in　love；　or　is　in　love；　or　will　be

in　love　before　we　have　done　with　him；　for　aught　that　I　know！



Romance！　　Was　there　ever　a　boarding…house　in　the　world　where　the

seemingly　prosaic　table　had　not　a　living　fresco　for　its　background；

where　you　could　see；　if　you　had　eyes；　the　smoke　and　fire　of　some

upheaving　sentiment；　or　the　dreary　craters　of　smouldering　or　burnt…

out　passions？　　You　look　on　the　black　bombazine　and　high…necked

decorum　of　your　neighbor；　and　no　more　think　of　the　real　life　that

underlies　this　despoiled　and　dismantled　womanhood　than　you　think　of　a

stone　trilobite　as　having　once　been　full　of　the　juices　and　the

nervous　thrills　of　throbbing　and　self…conscious　being。　　There　is　a

wild　creature　under　that　long　yellow　pin　which　serves　as　brooch　for

the　bombazine　cuirass；a　wild　creature；　which　I　venture　to　say　would

leap　in　his　cage；　if　I　should　stir　him；　quiet　as　you　think　him。　　A

heart　which　has　been　domesticated　by　matrimony　and　maternity　is　as

tranquil　as　a　tame　bullfinch；　but　a　wild　heart　which　has　never　been

fairly　broken　in　flutters　fiercely　long　after　you　think　time　has

tamed　it　down；like　that　purple　finch　I　had　the　other　day；　whic