the professor at the breakfast table-第45部分

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middling…class　household　like　ours。　　Do　as　you　like。　　But　here　is

that　terrible　fact　to　begin　with；a　beautiful　young　girl；　with　the

blood　and　the　nerve…fibre　that　belong　to　Nature's　women；　turned

loose　among　live　men。



…Terrible　fact？



Very　terrible。　　Nothing　more　so。　　Do　you　forget　the　angels　who　lost

heaven　for　the　daughters　of　men？　　Do　you　forget　Helen；　and　the　fair

women　who　made　mischief　and　set　nations　by　the　ears　before　Helen　was

born？　　If　jealousies　that　gnaw　men's　hearts　out　of　their　bodies；if

pangs　that　waste　men　to　shadows　and　drive　them　into　raving　madness

or　moping　melancholy；if　assassination　and　suicide　are　dreadful

possibilities；　then　there　is　always　something　frightful　about　a

lovely　young　woman。　I　love　to　look　at　this　〃Rainbow；〃　as　her

father　used　sometimes　to　call　her；　of　ours。　　Handsome　creature　that

she　is　in　forms　and　colors；the　very　picture；　as　it　seems　to　me；　of

that　〃golden　blonde〃　my　friend　whose　book　you　read　last　year　fell　in

love　with　when　he　was　a　boy；　（as　you　remember；　no　doubt；）handsome

as　she　is；　fit　for　a　sea…king's　bride；　it　is　not　her　beauty　alone

that　holds　my　eyes　upon　her。　　Let　me　tell　you　one　of　my　fancies；　and

then　you　will　understand　the　strange　sort　of　fascination　she　has　for

me。



It　is　in　the　hearts　of　many　men　and　womenlet　me　add　childrenthat

there　is　a　Great　Secret　waiting　for　them；a　secret　of　which　they

get　hints　now　and　then；　perhaps　oftener　in　early　than　in　later

years。　　These　hints　come　sometimes　in　dreams；　sometimes　in　sudden

startling　flashes；second　wakings；　as　it　were；a　waking　out　of　the

waking　state；　which　last　is　very　apt　to　be　a　half…sleep。　　I　have

many　times　stopped　short　and　held　my　breath；　and　felt　the　blood

leaving　my　cheeks；　in　one　of　these　sudden　clairvoyant　flashes。　　Of

course　I　cannot　tell　what　kind　of　a　secret　this　is；　but　I　think　of

it　as　a　disclosure　of　certain　relations　of　our　personal　being　to

time　and　space；　to　other　intelligences；　to　the　procession　of　events；

and　to　their　First　Great　Cause。　　This　secret　seems　to　be　broken　up；

as　it　were；　into　fragments；　so　that　we　find　here　a　word　and　there　a

syllable；　and　then　again　only　a　letter　of　it；　but　it　never　is

written　out　for　most　of　us　as　a　complete　sentence；　in　this　life。　　I

do　not　think　it　could　be；　for　I　am　disposed　to　consider　our　beliefs

about　such　a　possible　disclosure　rather　as　a　kind　of　premonition　of

an　enlargement　of　our　faculties　in　some　future　state　than　as　an

expectation　to　be　fulfilled　for　most　of　us　in　this　life。　　Persons；

however；　have　fallen　into　trances；as　did　the　Reverend　William

Tennent；　among　many　others；and　learned　some　things　which　they

could　not　tell　in　our　human　words。



Now　among　the　visible　objects　which　hint　to　us　fragments　of　this

infinite　secret　for　which　our　souls　are　waiting；　the　faces　of　women

are　those　that　carry　the　most　legible　hieroglyphics　of　the　great

mystery。　　There　are　women's　faces；　some　real；　some　ideal；　which

contain　something　in　them　that　becomes　a　positive　element　in　our

creed；　so　direct　and　palpable　a　revelation　is　it　of　the　infinite

purity　and　love。　　I　remember　two　faces　of　women　with　wings；　such　as

they　call　angels；　of　Fra　Angelico；and　I　just　now　came　across　a

print　of　Raphael's　Santa　Apollina；　with　something　of　the　same

quality；which　I　was　sure　had　their　prototypes　in　the　world　above

ours。　　No　wonder　the　Catholics　pay　their　vows　to　the　Queen　of

Heaven！　　The　unpoetical　side　of　Protestantism　is；　that　it　has　no

women　to　be　worshipped。



But　mind　you；　it　is　not　every　beautiful　face　that　hints　the　Great

Secret　to　us；　nor　is　it　only　in　beautiful　faces　that　we　find　traces

of　it。　　Sometimes　it　looks　out　from　a　sweet　sad　eye；　the　only　beauty

of　a　plain　countenance；　sometimes　there　is　so　much　meaning　in　the

lips　of　a　woman；　not　otherwise　fascinating；　that　we　know　they　have　a

message　for　us；　and　wait　almost　with　awe　to　hear　their　accents。　　But

this　young　girl　has　at　once　the　beauty　of　feature　and　the　unspoken

mystery　of　expression。　　Can　she　tell　me　anything？



Is　her　life　a　complement　of　mine；　with　the　missing　element　in　it

which　I　have　been　groping　after　through　so　many　friendships　that　I

have　tired　of；　and　throughHush！　　Is　the　door　fast？　　Talking　loud

is　a　bad　trick　in　these　curious　boarding…houses。



You　must　have　sometimes　noted　this　fact　that　I　am　going　to　remind

you　of　and　to　use　for　a　special　illustration。　　Riding　along　over　a

rocky　road；　suddenly　the　slow　monotonous　grinding　of　the　crushing

gravel　changes　to　a　deep　heavy　rumble。　　There　is　a　great　hollow

under　your　feet；a　huge　unsunned　cavern。　　Deep；　deep　beneath　you　in

the　core　of　the　living　rock；　it　arches　its　awful　vault；　and　far　away

it　stretches　its　winding　galleries；　their　roofs　dripping　into

streams　where　fishes　have　been　swimming　and　spawning　in　the　dark

until　their　scales　are　white　as　milk　and　their　eyes　have　withered

out；　obsolete　and　useless。



So　it　is　in　life。　　We　jog　quietly　along；　meeting　the　same　faces；

grinding　over　the　same　thoughts；　the　gravel　of　the　soul's　highway；

now　and　then　jarred　against　an　obstacle　we　cannot　crush；　but　must

ride　over　or　round　as　we　best　may；　sometimes　bringing　short　up

against　a　disappointment；　but　still　working　along　with　the　creaking

and　rattling　and　grating　and　jerking　that　belong　to　the　journey　of

life；　even　in　the　smoothest…rolling　vehicle。　　Suddenly　we　hear　the

deep　underground　reverberation　that　reveals　the　unsuspected　depth　of

some　abyss　of　thought　or　passion　beneath　us。



I　wish　the　girl　would　go。　　I　don't　like　to　look　at　her　so　much；　and

yet　I　cannot　help　it。　　Always　that　same　expression　of　something　that

I　ought　to　know；something　that　she　was　made　to　tell　and　I　to

hear；lying　there　ready　to　fall　off　from　her　lips；　ready　to　leap

out　of　her　eyes　and　make　a　saint　of　me；　or　a　devil　or　a　lunatic；　or

perhaps　a　prophet　to　tell　the　truth　and　be　hated　of　men；　or　a　poet

whose　words　shall　flash　upon　the　dry　stubble…field　of　worn…out

thoughts　and　burn　over　an　age　of　lies　in　an　hour　of　passion。



It　suddenly　occurs　to　me　that　I　may　have　put　you　on　the　wrong　track。

The　Great　Secret　that　I　refer　to　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　Three

Words。　　Set　your　mind　at　ease　about　that；there　are　reasons　I　could

give　you　which　settle　all　that　matter。　　I　don't　wonder；　however；

that　you　confounded　the　Great　Secret　with　the　Three　Words。



I　LOVE　YOU　is　all　the　secret　that　many；　nay；　most　women　have　to

tell。　　When　that　is　said；　they　are　like　China…crackers　on　the

morning　of　the　fifth　of　July。　　And　just　as　that　little　patriotic

implement　is　made　with　a　slender　train　which　leads　to　the　magazine

in　its　interior；　so　a　sharp　eye　can　almost　always　see　the　train

leading　from　a　young　girl's　eye　or　lip　to　the　〃I　love　you〃　in　her

heart。　　But　the　Three　Words　are　not　the　Great　Secret　I　mean。　　No；

women's　faces　are　only　one　of　the　tablets　on　which　that　is　written

in　its　partial；　fragmentary　symbols。　　It　lies　deeper　than　Love；

though　very　probably　Love　is　a　part　of　it。　　S