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memories and portraits-第24章

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circuit; for he stuck to his duties like a chief part of his 

existence; and I remember it as the only occasion on which he ever 

soiled his lips with slang … a thing he loathed。  We were both 

Roberts; and as we took our places at table; he addressed me with a 

twinkle: 〃We are just what you would call two bob。〃  He offered me 

port; I remember; as the proper milk of youth; spoke of 〃twenty…

shilling notes〃; and throughout the meal was full of old…world 

pleasantry and quaintness; like an ancient boy on a holiday。  But 

what I recall chiefly was his confession that he had never read 

OTHELLO to an end。  Shakespeare was his continual study。  He loved 

nothing better than to display his knowledge and memory by adducing 

parallel passages from Shakespeare; passages where the same word 

was employed; or the same idea differently treated。  But OTHELLO 

had beaten him。  〃That noble gentleman and that noble lady … h'm … 

too painful for me。〃  The same night the hoardings were covered 

with posters; 〃Burlesque of OTHELLO;〃 and the contrast blazed up in 

my mind like a bonfire。  An unforgettable look it gave me into that 

kind man's soul。  His acquaintance was indeed a liberal and pious 

education。  All the humanities were taught in that bare dining…room 

beside his gouty footstool。  He was a piece of good advice; he was 

himself the instance that pointed and adorned his various talk。  

Nor could a young man have found elsewhere a place so set apart 

from envy; fear; discontent; or any of the passions that debase; a 

life so honest and composed; a soul like an ancient violin; so 

subdued to harmony; responding to a touch in music … as in that 

dining…room; with Mr。 Hunter chatting at the eleventh hour; under 

the shadow of eternity; fearless and gentle。



The second class of old people are not anecdotic; they are rather 

hearers than talkers; listening to the young with an amused and 

critical attention。  To have this sort of intercourse to 

perfection; I think we must go to old ladies。  Women are better 

hearers than men; to begin with; they learn; I fear in anguish; to 

bear with the tedious and infantile vanity of the other sex; and we 

will take more from a woman than even from the oldest man in the 

way of biting comment。  Biting comment is the chief part; whether 

for profit or amusement; in this business。  The old lady that I 

have in my eye is a very caustic speaker; her tongue; after years 

of practice; in absolute command; whether for silence or attack。  

If she chance to dislike you; you will be tempted to curse the 

malignity of age。  But if you chance to please even slightly; you 

will be listened to with a particular laughing grace of sympathy; 

and from time to time chastised; as if in play; with a parasol as 

heavy as a pole…axe。  It requires a singular art; as well as the 

vantage…ground of age; to deal these stunning corrections among the 

coxcombs of the young。  The pill is disguised in sugar of wit; it 

is administered as a compliment … if you had not pleased; you would 

not have been censured; it is a personal affair … a hyphen; A TRAIT 

D'UNION; between you and your censor; age's philandering; for her 

pleasure and your good。  Incontestably the young man feels very 

much of a fool; but he must be a perfect Malvolio; sick with self…

love; if he cannot take an open buffet and still smile。  The 

correction of silence is what kills; when you know you have 

transgressed; and your friend says nothing and avoids your eye。  If 

a man were made of gutta…percha; his heart would quail at such a 

moment。  But when the word is out; the worst is over; and a fellow 

with any good…humour at all may pass through a perfect hail of 

witty criticism; every bare place on his soul hit to the quick with 

a shrewd missile; and reappear; as if after a dive; tingling with a 

fine moral reaction; and ready; with a shrinking readiness; one…

third loath; for a repetition of the discipline。



There are few women; not well sunned and ripened; and perhaps 

toughened; who can thus stand apart from a man and say the true 

thing with a kind of genial cruelty。  Still there are some … and I 

doubt if there be any man who can return the compliment。  The class 

of man represented by Vernon Whitford in THE EGOIST says; indeed; 

the true thing; but he says it stockishly。  Vernon is a noble 

fellow; and makes; by the way; a noble and instructive contrast to 

Daniel Deronda; his conduct is the conduct of a man of honour; but 

we agree with him; against our consciences; when he remorsefully 

considers 〃its astonishing dryness。〃  He is the best of men; but 

the best of women manage to combine all that and something more。  

Their very faults assist them; they are helped even by the 

falseness of their position in life。  They can retire into the 

fortified camp of the proprieties。  They can touch a subject and 

suppress it。  The most adroit employ a somewhat elaborate reserve 

as a means to be frank; much as they wear gloves when they shake 

hands。  But a man has the full responsibility of his freedom; 

cannot evade a question; can scarce be silent without rudeness; 

must answer for his words upon the moment; and is not seldom left 

face to face with a damning choice; between the more or less 

dishonourable wriggling of Deronda and the downright woodenness of 

Vernon Whitford。



But the superiority of women is perpetually menaced; they do not 

sit throned on infirmities like the old; they are suitors as well 

as sovereigns; their vanity is engaged; their affections are too 

apt to follow; and hence much of the talk between the sexes 

degenerates into something unworthy of the name。  The desire to 

please; to shine with a certain softness of lustre and to draw a 

fascinating picture of oneself; banishes from conversation all that 

is sterling and most of what is humorous。  As soon as a strong 

current of mutual admiration begins to flow; the human interest 

triumphs entirely over the intellectual; and the commerce of words; 

consciously or not; becomes secondary to the commencing of eyes。  

But even where this ridiculous danger is avoided; and a man and 

woman converse equally and honestly; something in their nature or 

their education falsifies the strain。  An instinct prompts them to 

agree; and where that is impossible; to agree to differ。  Should 

they neglect the warning; at the first suspicion of an argument; 

they find themselves in different hemispheres。  About any point of 

business or conduct; any actual affair demanding settlement; a 

woman will speak and listen; hear and answer arguments; not only 

with natural wisdom; but with candour and logical honesty。  But if 

the subject of debate be something in the air; an abstraction; an 

excuse for talk; a logical Aunt Sally; then may the male debater 

instantly abandon hope; he may employ reason; adduce facts; be 

supple; be smiling; be angry; all shall avail him nothing; what the 

woman said first; that (unless she has forgotten it) she will 

repeat at the end。  Hence; at the very junctures when a talk 

between men grows brighter and quicker and begins to promise to 

bear fruit; talk between the sexes is menaced with dissolution。  

The point of difference; the point of interest; is evaded by the 

brilliant woman; under a shower of irrelevant conversational 

rockets; it is bridged by the discreet woman with a rustle of silk; 

as she passes smoothly forward to the nearest point of safety。  And 

this sort of prestidigitation; juggling the dangerous topic out of 

sight until it can be reintroduced with safety in an altered shape; 

is a piece of tactics among the true drawing…room queens。



The drawing…room is; indeed; an artificial place; it is so by our 

choice and for our sins。  The subjection of women; the ideal 

imposed upon them from the cradle; and worn; like a hair…shirt; 

with so much constancy; their motherly; superior tenderness to 

man's 

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