tea-table talk-第8章

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ongrush　is　enthusing　over　cricket　or　football。　　He　is　always　up…to…　date。　　The　last　new　Shakespeare；　the　latest　scandal；　the　man　of　the　hour；　the　next　nine　days'　wonderby　the　evening　Longrush　has　his　roller　ready。　　In　my　early　days　of　journalism　I　had　to　write　each　evening　a　column　for　a　provincial　daily；　headed　'What　People　are　Saying。'　　The　editor　was　precise　in　his　instructions。　　'I　don't　want　your　opinions；　I　don't　want　you　to　be　funny；　never　mind　whether　the　thing　appears　to　you　to　be　interesting　or　not。　　I　want　it　to　be　real；　the　things　people　ARE　saying。'　　I　tried　to　be　conscientious。　Each　paragraph　began　with　'That。'　　I　wrote　the　column　because　I　wanted　the　thirty　shillings。　　Why　anybody　ever　read　it；　I　fail　to　understand　to　this　day；　but　I　believe　it　was　one　of　the　popular　features　of　the　paper。　　Longrush　invariably　brings　back　to　my　mind　the　dreary　hours　I　spent　penning　that　fatuous　record。〃

〃I　think　I　know　the　man　you　mean；〃　said　the　Philosopher。　　〃I　had　forgotten　his　name。〃

〃I　thought　it　possible　you　might　have　met　him；〃　I　replied。　　〃Well；　my　cousin　Edith　was　arranging　a　dinner…party　the　other　day；　and；　as　usual；　she　did　me　the　honour　to　ask　my　advice。　　Generally　speaking；　I　do　not　give　advice　nowadays。　　As　a　very　young　man　I　was　generous　with　it。　　I　have　since　come　to　the　conclusion　that　responsibility　for　my　own　muddles　and　mistakes　is　sufficient。　　However；　I　make　an　exception　in　Edith's　case；　knowing　that　never　by　any　chance　will　she　follow　it。〃

〃Speaking　of　editors；〃　said　the　Philosopher；　〃Bates　told　me　at　the　club　the　other　night　that　he　had　given　up　writing　the　'Answers　to　Correspondents'　personally；　since　discovery　of　the　fact　that　he　had　been　discussing　at　some　length　the　attractive　topic；　'Duties　of　a　Father；'　with　his　own　wife；　who　is　somewhat　of　a　humorist。〃

〃There　was　the　wife　of　a　clergyman　my　mother　used　to　tell　of；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃who　kept　copies　of　her　husband's　sermons。　She　would　read　him　extracts　from　them　in　bed；　in　place　of　curtain　lectures。　　She　explained　it　saved　her　trouble。　　Everything　she　felt　she　wanted　to　say　to　him　he　had　said　himself　so　much　more　forcibly。〃

〃The　argument　always　appears　to　me　weak；〃　said　the　Philosopher。　　〃If　only　the　perfect　may　preach；　our　pulpits　would　remain　empty。　　Am　I　to　ignore　the　peace　that　slips　into　my　soul　when　perusing　the　Psalms；　to　deny　myself　all　benefit　from　the　wisdom　of　the　Proverbs；　because　neither　David　nor　Solomon　was　a　worthy　casket　of　the　jewels　that　God　had　placed　in　them？　　Is　a　temperance　lecturer　never　to　quote　the　self…reproaches　of　poor　Cassio　because　Master　Will　Shakespeare；　there　is　evidence　to　prove；　was　a　gentleman；　alas！　much　too　fond　of　the　bottle？　　The　man　that　beats　the　drum　may　be　himself　a　coward。　　It　is　the　drum　that　is　the　important　thing　to　us；　not　the　drummer。〃

〃Of　all　my　friends；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃the　one　who　has　the　most　trouble　with　her　servants　is　poor　Jane　Meredith。〃

〃I　am　exceedingly　sorry　to　hear　it；〃　observed　the　Philosopher；　after　a　slight　pause。　　〃But　forgive　me；　I　really　do　not　see〃

〃I　beg　your　pardon；〃　answered　the　Woman　of　the　World。　　〃I　thought　everybody　knew　'Jane　Meredith。'　　She　writes　'The　Perfect　Home'　column　for　The　Woman's　World。〃

〃It　will　always　remain　a　riddle；　one　supposes；〃　said　the　Minor　Poet。　〃Which　is　the　real　egoI；　the　author　of　'The　Simple　Life；'　fourteenth　edition；　three　and　sixpence　net〃

〃Don't；〃　pleaded　the　Old　Maid；　with　a　smile；　〃please　don't。〃

〃Don't　what？〃　demanded　the　Minor　Poet。

〃Don't　ridicule　itmake　fun　of　it；　even　though　it　may　happen　to　be　your　own。　　There　are　parts　of　it　I　know　by　heart。　　I　say　them　over　to　myself　when　Don't　spoil　it　for　me。〃　　The　Old　Maid　laughed；　but　nervously。

〃My　dear　lady；〃　reassured　her　the　Minor　Poet；　〃do　not　be　afraid。　　No　one　regards　that　poem　with　more　reverence　than　do　I。　　You　can　have　but　small　conception　what　a　help　it　is　to　me　also。　　I；　too；　so　often　read　it　to　myself；　and　when　We　understand。　　As　one　who　turns　his　back　on　scenes　of　riot　to　drink　the　moonlight　in　quiet　ways；　I　go　to　it　for　sweetness　and　for　peace。　　So　much　do　I　admire　the　poem；　I　naturally　feel　desire　and　curiosity　to　meet　its　author；　to　know　him。　I　should　delight；　drawing　him　aside　from　the　crowded　room；　to　grasp　him　by　the　hand；　to　say　to　him：　　'My　dearmy　very　dear　Mr。　Minor　Poet；　I　am　so　glad　to　meet　you！　　I　would　I　could　tell　you　how　much　your　beautiful　work　has　helped　me。　　This；　my　dear　sirthis　is　indeed　privilege！'　　But　I　can　picture　so　vividly　the　bored　look　with　which　he　would　receive　my　gush。　　I　can　imagine　the　contempt　with　which　he；　the　pure　liver；　would　regard　me　did　he　know　meme；　the　liver　of　the　fool's　hot　days。〃

〃A　short　French　story　I　once　read　somewhere；〃　I　said；　〃rather　impressed　me。　　A　poet　or　dramatistI　am　not　sure　whichhad　married　the　daughter　of　a　provincial　notary。　　There　was　nothing　particularly　attractive　about　her　except　her　dot。　　He　had　run　through　his　own　small　fortune　and　was　in　some　need。　　She　worshipped　him　and　was；　as　he　used　to　boast　to　his　friends；　the　ideal　wife　for　a　poet。　　She　cooked　admirablya　useful　accomplishment　during　the　first　half…　dozen　years　of　their　married　life；　and　afterwards；　when　fortune　came　to　him；　managed　his　affairs　to　perfection；　by　her　care　and　economy　keeping　all　worldly　troubles　away　from　his　study　door。　　An　ideal　Hausfrau；　undoubtedly；　but　of　course　no　companion　for　our　poet。　　So　they　went　their　ways；　till；　choosing　as　in　all　things　the　right　moment；　when　she　could　best　be　spared；　the　good　lady　died　and　was　buried。

〃And　here　begins　the　interest　of　the　story；　somewhat　late。　　One　article　of　furniture；　curiously　out　of　place　among　the　rich　appointments　of　their　fine　hotel；　the　woman　had　insisted　on　retaining；　a　heavy；　clumsily　carved　oak　desk　her　father　had　once　used　in　his　office；　and　which　he　had　given　to　her　for　her　own　as　a　birthday　present　back　in　the　days　of　her　teens。

〃You　must　read　the　story　for　yourselves　if　you　would　enjoy　the　subtle　sadness　that　surrounds　it；　the　delicate　aroma　of　regret　through　which　it　moves。　　The　husband　finding　after　some　little　difficulty　the　right　key；　fits　it　into　the　lock　of　the　bureau。　　As　a　piece　of　furniture；　plain；　solid；　squat；　it　has　always　jarred　upon　his　artistic　sense。　　She　too；　his　good；　affectionate　Sara；　had　been　plain；　solid；　a　trifle　squat。　　Perhaps　that　was　why　the　poor　woman　had　clung　so　obstinately　to　the　one　thing　in　the　otherwise　perfect　house　that　was　quite　out　of　place　there。　　Ah；　well！　she　is　gone　now；　the　good　creature。　　And　the　bureauno；　the　bureau　shall　remain。　Nobody　will　need　to　come　into　this　room；　no　one　ever　did　come　there　but　the　woman　herself。　　Perhaps　she　had　not　been　altogether　so　happy　as　she　might　have　been。　　A　husband　less　intellectualone　from　whom　she　would　not　have　lived　so　far　apartone　who　could　have　entered　into　her　simple；　commonplace　life！　it　might　have　been　better　for　both　of　them。　　He　draws　down　the　lid；　pulls　out　the　largest　drawer。　It　is　full　of　manuscripts；　folded　and　tied　neatly　with　ribbons　once　gay；　now　faded。　　He　thinks　at　first　they　are　his　own　writings　things　begun　and　discarded；　reserved　by　her　with　fondness。　　She　thought　so　much　of　him；　the　good　soul！　Really；　she　could　not　have　been　so　dull　as　he　had　deemed　her。　　The　power　to　appreciate　rightly…　…this；　at　least；　she　must　have　possessed。　　He　unties　the　ribbon。　No；　the　writing　is　her　own；　corrected；　altered；　underlined。　　He　opens　a　second；　a　third。　　Then　with　a　smile　he　sits　down　to　read。　What　can　they　be　like；　these　poems；　these　stories？　　He　laughs；　smoothing　the　crumpled　paper；　foreseeing　the　trite　commonness；　the　shallow　sentiment。　　The　poor　child！　　So　she　likewise　would　have　been　a　litterateure。　　Even　she　had　her　ambition；　her　dream。

〃The　sunshine　climbs　the　wall　behind　him；　creeps　stealthily　across　the　ceiling　of　the　room；　slips　out　softly　by　the　window；　leaving　him　alone。　　All　these　years　he　had　been　living　with　a　fellow　poet。　　They　should　have　been　comrades；　and　they　had　never　spoken。　　Why　had　she　hidden　herself？　　Why　had　she　left　him；　never　revealing　herself？　Years　ago；　when　they　were　first　marriedhe　remembers　nowshe　had　slipped　little　blue…bound　copy…books　into　his　pocket；　laughing；　blushing；　asking　him　to　read　them。