the darrow enigma-第32章

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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


without　a　moment's　reflection。　　Very　well；　you　have　just　quoted
'Hamlet'；　I　will　do　likewise：

　　　〃'There　are　more　things　in　Heaven　and　Earth；　Horatio；
　　　　　Than　are　dreamt　of　in　your　philosophy　I'


〃You　seem　in　some　strange　way　to　be　dominated　by　the　shade　of
Cleopatra。　　Now；　if　I　believed　in　metempsychosis；　I　should　think　you
were　Mark　Antony　brought　down　to　date。　　There；　with　that　present
sober　air　of　yours；　you'd　pass　anywhere　for　such　an　anachronism。
But　to　be　serious；　and　to　give　you　advice　which　is　positively　bilious
with　gravity；　I　should　say；　investigate　this　thing　fully；　make　a
study　of　this　ancient　charmer。　　By　the　way；　why　not　begin　by　going
to　see　Davenport　in　Sardou's　'Cleopatra'？　　You　have　never　seen　her
in　it；　have　you？〃

In　this　way。　　I　succeeded　in　getting　him　out　of　his　depressed　state。
We　got　into　an　argument　concerning　the　merits　of　Miss　Davenport's
work。　　I　know　of　nothing　Maitland　would　sooner　do　than　argue；　and；
if　attacked　on　a　subject　upon　which　he　feels　strongly；　he　is；　for
the　time　being；　totally　oblivious　of　everything　else。　　For　this
reason　I　trapped　him　into　this　argument。　　I　abominate　what　is　now
known　as　〃realism〃　just　as　much　as　he　does；　but　you　don't　have　much
of　an　argument　without　some　apparent　difference　of　opinion；　so；　for
the　nonce；　I　became　a　realist　of　whom　Zola　himself　would　have　been
proud。　　〃Why；　man；〃　I　said；　〃realism　is　truth。　　You　certainly　can't
have　any　quarrel　with　that。〃　　I　knew　this　would　have　the　effect　of
a　red　rag　flaunted　in　the　face　of　a　bull。

〃Truth！　　Bah！〃　he　exclaimed　excitedly。　　〃I　have　no　patience　with
such　aesthetic　hod…carriers！　　Truth；　indeed！　　Is　there　no　other　truth
in　art　but　that　coarse　verisimilitude；　that　vulgar　trickery；　which
appeals　to　the　eyes　and　the　ears　of　the　rabble？　　Are　there　not
psychological　truths　of　immensely　greater　importance？　　What　sane　man
imagines　for　a　moment　that　the　pleasure　he　derives　from　seeing　that
greatest　of　all　tragedians；　Edwin　Booth；　in　one　of　Shakespeare's
matchless　tragedies；　is　dependent　upon　his　believing　that　this　or
that　character　is　actually　killed？　　Why；　even　the　day　of　the
cranberry…juice　dagger　is　long　since　passed。　　When　Miss　Davenport
shrieks　in　'Fedora；'　the　shriek　is　literal　…　'real；'　you　would　call
it　…　and　you　find　yourself　instinctively　saying；　'Don't！　　…　don't！'
and　wishing　you　were　out　of　the　house。　　When　Mr。　Booth；　as　'Shylock'
shrieks　at　'Tubal's'　news；　the　cry　is　not　real；　is　not　literal；　but
is　suggestive；　and　you　see　at　once　the　fiendish　glee　of　which　it　is
the　expression。　　The　difference　between　the　two　is　the　difference
between　vocal　cords　and　grey　matter。〃

〃But　surely；〃　I　rejoined；　〃one　doesn't　want　untruth；　one　wants　…　〃
but　he　did　not　let　me　finish。

〃Always　that　cry　of　truth！〃　he　retorted。　　〃Do　you　not　see　how　absurd
it　is；　as　used　by　your　exponents　of　realism？　　With　a　bit　of　charcoal
some　Raphael　draws　a　face　with　five　lines；　and　some　photographer
snaps　a　camera　at　the　same　face。　　Which　would　any　sane　man　choose　as
the　best　work　of　art？　　The　five…line　face；　of　course。　　Why？　　Is　the
work　of　the　camera　unreal？　　Is　it　not　more　accurate　in　drawing；　more
subtle　in　gradation　than　the　less　mechanical　picture？　　To　be　sure。
What；　then；　makes　the　superiority　of　the　few　lines　of　our　Raphael？
That　which　makes　the　superiority　of　all　noble　art　…　its　truth；；　not
on　a　low；　but　on　a　high；　plane：　its　power　of　interpreting。　　See！〃
he　said；　fairly　aglow　with　excitement。　　〃What　does　your　realist　do；
even　assuming　that　he　has　reached　that　never…tobe…attained
perfection　which　is　the　lifelong　Mecca　of　his　desires？　　He　gives
you；　by　his　absolutely　realistic　goes　with　you；　and　interprets　its
grandeur　to　you。　Stand　before　his　canvas　and　enjoy　it　as　you　would
Nature　herself　if　there。　　Surely；　you　say；　nothing　more　could　be
desired；　and　you　clap　your　hands；　and　shout；　'Bravo！'　　But　wait　a
bit；　the　other　side　is　yet　to　be　heard　from。　　What　does　the　true
artist　do　for　you　by　his　picture　of　Yosemite　Valley？　　He　not　only
gives　you　a　free　conveyance　to　it；　but　he　goes　with　you；　and
interprets　its　grandeur　to　you。　　He　translates　into　the　language　of
your　consciousness　beauties　which；　without　him；　you　would　entirely
miss。　　It　is　this　very　capability　of　seeing　more　in　Nature　than　is
ever　perceived　by　the　common　throng　that　constitutes　the　especial
genius　of　the　artist；　and　a　work　that　is　not　aglow　with　its　creator's
personality　…　personality；　mind　you；　not　coarse　realism　…　can　never
rank　as　a　masterpiece。　　But；　come；　this　won't　do。　　Why　did　you　want
to　get　me　astride　my　hobby？〃

I　thought　it　advisable　to　answer　this　question　by　asking　another；
so　I　said：　〃But　how　about　Davenport？　　Will　you　go？〃

〃Yes；〃　he　replied。　　〃Anything　with　a　Cleopatra　to　it　interests　me。
I'll　go　now　and　see　about　the　tickets；〃　and　he　left　me。

I　have　related　Maitland's　aesthetic　views　as　expressed　to　me　upon
this　occasion；　not　because　they　have　any　particular　bearing　upon　the
mystery　I　am　narrating；　but　because　they　cast　a　strong　side…light
upon　the　young　man's　character；　and　also　for　the　reason　that　I
believe　his　personality　to　be　sufficiently　strong　and　unique　to　be
of　general　interest。

We　went　that　same　night　to　see　Sardou's　〃Cleopatra。〃　I　asked　Maitland
how　he　liked　the　piece；　and　the　only　reply　he　vouchsafed　was：　〃I　have
recently　read　Shakespeare's　treatment　of　the　same　theme。〃=20



CHAPTER　II


　　　If　events　spread　themselves　out　fanwise　from　the　past　into　the
　　　future；　then　must　the　occurrences　of　the　present　exhibit
　　　convergence　toward　some　historical　burning…point；　…　some　focal
　　　centre　whereat　the　potential　was　warmed=20into　the　kinetic。

It　was　nearly　a　week　after　the　events　last　narrated　before　I　saw
Maitland　again；　and　then　only　by　chance。　　We　happened　to　meet　in　the
Parker　House；　and；　as　he　had　some　business　pertaining　to　a　case　he
was　on；　to　transact　at　the　Court　House；　I　walked　up　Beacon　Street
with　him。　　　There　is　a　book　or　stationery　store；　on　Somerset　Street；
just　before　you　turn　down　toward　Pemberton　Square。　　As　we　were
passing　this　store；　Maitland　espied　a　large　photographic　reproduction
of　some　picture。

〃Let　us　cross　over　and　see　what　it　is；〃　he　said。　We　did　so。　　It　was
a　photograph　of　L。　Alma…Tadema's　painting　of　Antony　and　Cleopatra。
Maitland　started　a　little　as　he　read　the　title；　and　then　said
lightly：　〃Do　you　suppose；　Doc；　that　woman's　mummy　is　in　existence？
I　should　like　to　find　it。　　I've　an　idea　she　left　some　hieroglyphic
message　for　me　on　her　mummy…case；　and　doesn't　propose　to　let　me
rest　easy　until　I　find　and　translate　it。　　Now；　if　I　believed　in
transmigration　of　souls　…　do　you　see　any　mark　of　Antony　about　me？
Say；　though；　just　imagine　the　spirit　of　Marcus　Antonius　in　a　rubber
apron；　making　an　analysis　of　oleomargarine！　　But　here　we　are；
good…bye；〃　and　he　left　me　without　awaiting　any　reply。　　He　seemed　to
me　to　be　in　decidedly　better　spirits　than　formerly；　and　I　was　at
the　time　at　a　loss　to　account　for　it。　　The　cause　of　his　levity；
however；　was　soon　explained；　for　that　night；　as　Gwen；　my　sister；　and
I　were　sitting　cosily　in　the　study　according　to　our　usual　custom；
Maitland　walked　in；　unannounced。　　He　had　come　now　to　be　a　regular
visitor；　and　I　invented　not　a　few　subterfuges　to　get　him　to　call
even　oftener　than　he　otherwise　would；　for　I　perceived　that　his
coming　gave　pleasure　to　Gwen。　　She　exhibited　less　depression　when
in　his　presence　than　at　any　other　time。　　I　had　learned　that　hers
was　one　of　those　deep　natures　in　which　grief　crystallises　slowly；
but　with　an　unconquerable　persistence。　　Instead　of　her　forgetting
her　bereavement；　or　the　sense　thereof　waxing　weaker　by　time；　she
seemed　to　be　drifting　toward　that　ever…present　consciousness　of
loss　in　which　the　soul　feels　itself　gradually；　but　surely；　sinking
under　an　insupportable　burden　…　a　burden　so　long　borne；　so　well
known；　that　the　mind　no　longer　thinks　of　it。　　The　heart　beats
stolidly　under　its　load；　and　seems　to　forget　the　time　when　it　was
not　so　oppressed。　　No　one　knows　better　than　we　physicians　the　danger
of　this　autocracy　of　grief；　and　I　watched　Gwen　with　a　solicitude　at
times　almost　bordering　on　despair。　　But；　as　I　said　before；