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