友情提示:如果本网页打开太慢或显示不完整,请尝试鼠标右键“刷新”本网页!
the professor at the breakfast table-第48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!
mate?and the deep; cunningly wrought arm…chair in which Lord Percy
used to sit while his hair was dressing;he was a gentleman; and
always had it covered with a large peignoir; to save the silk
covering my grandmother embroidered。 Then the little room
downstairs from which went the orders to throw up a bank of earth on
the hill yonder; where you may now observe a granite obelisk;〃the
study〃 in my father's time; but in those days the council…chamber of
armed men;sometimes filled with soldiers; come with me; and I will
show you the 〃dents〃 left by the butts of their muskets all over the
floor。 With all these suggestive objects round me; aided by the
wild stories those awful country…boys that came to live in our
service brought with them;of contracts written in blood and left
out over night; not to be found the next morning; (removed by the
Evil One; who takes his nightly round among our dwellings; and filed
away for future use;)of dreams coming true;of death…signs;of
apparitions; no wonder that my imagination got excited; and I was
liable to superstitious fancies。
Jeremy Bentham's logic; by which he proved that he couldn't possibly
see a ghost is all very well…in the day…time。 All the reason in the
world will never get those impressions of childhood; created by just
such circumstances as I have been telling; out of a man's head。
That is the only excuse I have to give for the nervous kind of
curiosity with which I watch my little neighbor; and the obstinacy
with which I lie awake whenever I hear anything going on in his
chamber after midnight。
But whatever further observations I may have made must be deferred
for the present。 You will see in what way it happened that my
thoughts were turned from spiritual matters to bodily ones; and how
I got my fancy full of material images;faces; heads; figures;
muscles; and so forth;in such a way that I should have no chance
in this number to gratify any curiosity you may feel; if I had the
means of so doing。
Indeed; I have come pretty near omitting my periodical record this
time。 It was all the work of a friend of mine; who would have it
that I should sit to him for my portrait。 When a soul draws a body
in the great lottery of life; where every one is sure of a prize;
such as it is; the said soul inspects the said body with the same
curious interest with which one who has ventured into a 〃gift
enterprise〃 examines the 〃massive silver pencil…case〃 with the
coppery smell and impressible tube; or the 〃splendid gold ring〃 with
the questionable specific gravity; which it has been his fortune to
obtain in addition to his purchase。
The soul; having studied the article of which it finds itself
proprietor; thinks; after a time; it knows it pretty well。 But
there is this difference between its view and that of a person
looking at us:we look from within; and see nothing but the mould
formed by the elements in which we are incased; other observers look
from without; and see us as living statues。 To be sure; by the aid
of mirrors; we get a few glimpses of our outside aspect; but this
occasional impression is always modified by that look of the soul
from within outward which none but ourselves can take。 A portrait
is apt; therefore; to be a surprise to us。 The artist looks only
from without。 He sees us; too; with a hundred aspects on our faces
we are never likely to see。 No genuine expression can be studied by
the subject of it in the looking…glass。
More than this; he sees us in a way in which many of our friends or
acquaintances never see us。 Without wearing any mask we are
conscious of; we have a special face for each friend。 For; in the
first place; each puts a special reflection of himself upon us; on
the principle of assimilation you found referred to in my last
record; if you happened to read that document。 And secondly; each
of our friends is capable of seeing just so far; and no farther;
into our face; and each sees in it the particular thing that he
looks for。 Now the artist; if he is truly an artist; does not take
any one of these special views。 Suppose he should copy you as you
appear to the man who wants your name to a subscription…list; you
could hardly expect a friend who entertains you to recognize the
likeness to the smiling face which sheds its radiance at his board。
Even within your own family; I am afraid there is a face which the
rich uncle knows; that is not so familiar to the poor relation。 The
artist must take one or the other; or something compounded of the
two; or something different from either。 What the daguerreotype and
photograph do is to give the features and one particular look; the
very look which kills all expression; that of self…consciousness。
The artist throws you off your guard; watches you in movement and in
repose; puts your face through its exercises; observes its
transitions; and so gets the whole range of its expression。 Out of
all this he forms an ideal portrait; which is not a copy of your
exact look at any one time or to any particular person。 Such a
portrait cannot be to everybody what the ungloved call 〃as nat'ral
as life。〃 Every good picture; therefore; must be considered wanting
in resemblance by many persons。
There is one strange revelation which comes out; as the artist
shapes your features from his outline。 It is that you resemble so
many relatives to whom you yourself never had noticed any particular
likeness in your countenance。
He is at work at me now; when I catch some of these resemblances;
thus:
There! that is just the look my father used to have sometimes; I
never thought I had a sign of it。 The mother's eyebrow and grayish…
blue eye; those I knew I had。 But there is a something which
recalls a smile that faded away from my sister's lipshow many
years ago! I thought it so pleasant in her; that I love myself
better for having a trace of it。
Are we not young? Are we not fresh and blooming? Wait; a bit。 The
artist takes a mean little brush and draws three fine lines;
diverging outwards from the eye over the temple。 Five years。 The
artist draws one tolerably distinct and two faint lines;
perpendicularly between the eyebrows。 Ten years。 The artist
breaks up the contours round the mouth; so that they look a little
as a hat does that has been sat upon and recovered itself; ready; as
one would say; to crumple up again in the same creases; on smiling
or other change of feature。 Hold on! Stop that! Give a young
fellow a chance! Are we not whole years short of that interesting
period of life when Mr。 Balzac says that a man; etc。; etc。; etc。?
There now! That is ourself; as we look after finishing an article;
getting a three…mile pull with the ten…foot sculls; redressing the
wrongs of the toilet; and standing with the light of hope in our eye
and the reflection of a red curtain on our cheek。 Is he not a POET
that painted us?
〃Blest be the art that can
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!
温馨提示: 温看小说的同时发表评论,说出自己的看法和其它小伙伴们分享也不错哦!发表书评还可以获得积分和经验奖励,认真写原创书评 被采纳为精评可以获得大量金币、积分和经验奖励哦!