over the teacups-第35章

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independent　individualities；　taking　up　conscious　life　one　after　the

other；　are　brought　out　by　Mr。　James　and　the　authorities　to　which　he

refers　as　I　have　not　elsewhere　seen　them　developed。



Whether　we　shall　ever　find　the　exact　position　of　the　idiotic　centre

or　area　in　the　brain　（if　such　a　spot　exists）　is　uncertain。　　We　know

exactly　where　the　blind　spot　of　the　eye　is　situated；　and　can

demonstrate　it　anatomically　and　physiologically。　　But　we　have　only

analogy　to　lead　us　to　infer　the　possible　or　even　probable　existence

of　an　insensible　spot　in　the　thinking…centre。　　If　there　is　a　focal

point　where　consciousness　is　at　its　highest　development；　it　would　not

be　strange　if　near　by　there　should　prove　to　be　an　anaesthetic

district　or　limited　space　where　no　report　from　the　senses　was

intelligently　interpreted。　　But　all　this　is　mere　hypothesis。



Notwithstanding　the　fact　that　I　am　nominally　the　head　personage　of

the　circle　of　Teacups；　I　do　not　pretend　or　wish　to　deny　that　we　all

look　to　Number　Five　as　our　chief　adviser　in　all　the　literary

questions　that　come　before　us。　　She　reads　more　and　better　than　any　of

us。　　She　is　always　ready　to　welcome　the　first　sign　of　genius；　or　of

talent　which　approaches　genius。　　She　makes　short　work　with　all　the

pretenders　whose　only　excuse　for　appealing　to　the　public　is　that　they

〃want　to　be　famous。〃　　She　is　one　of　the　very　few　persons　to　whom　I　am

willing　to　read　any　one　of　my　own　productions　while　it　is　yet　in

manuscript；　unpublished。　　I　know　she　is　disposed　to　make　more　of　it

than　it　deserves；　but；　on　the　other　hand；　there　are　degrees　in　her

scale　of　judgment；　and　I　can　distinguish　very　easily　what　delights

her　from　what　pleases　only；　or　is；　except　for　her　kindly　feeling　to

the　writer；　indifferent；　or　open　to　severe　comment。　　What　is　curious

is　that　she　seems　to　have　no　literary　aspirations；　no　desire　to　be

known　as　a　writer。　　Yet　Number　Five　has　more　esprit；　more　sparkle；

more　sense　in　her　talk；　than　many　a　famous　authoress　from　whom　we

should　expect　brilliant　conversation。



There　are　mysteries　about　Number　Five。　　I　am　not　going　to　describe

her　personally。　　Whether　she　belongs　naturally　among　the　bright　young

people；　or　in　the　company　of　the　maturer　persons；　who　have　had　a　good

deal　of　experience　of　the　world；　and　have　reached　the　wisdom　of　the

riper　decades　without　losing　the　graces　of　the　earlier　ones；　it　would

be　hard　to　say。　　The　men　and　women；　young　and　old；　who　throng　about

her　forget　their　own　ages。　　〃There　is　no　such　thing　as　time　in　her

presence；〃　said　the　Professor；　the　other　day；　in　speaking　of　her。

Whether　the　Professor　is　in　love　with　her　or　not　is　more　than　I　can

say；　but　I　am　sure　that　he　goes　to　her　for　literary　sympathy　and

counsel；　just　as　I　do。　　The　reader　may　remember　what　Number　Five　said

about　the　possibility　of　her　getting　a　sprained　ankle；　and　her　asking

the　young　Doctor　whether　he　felt　equal　to　taking　charge　of　her　if　she

did。　　I　would　not　for　the　world　insinuate　that　he　wishes　she　would

slip　and　twist　her　foot　a　little；just　a　little；　you　know；　but　so

that　it　would　have　to　be　laid　on　a　pillow　in　a　chair；　and　inspected；

and　bandaged；　and　delicately　manipulated。　　There　was　a　banana…skin

which　she　might　naturally　have　trodden　on；　in　her　way　to　the　tea…

table。　　Nobody　can　suppose　that　it　was　there　except　by　the　most

innocent　of　accidents。　　There　are　people　who　will　suspect　everybody。

The　idea　of　the　Doctor's　putting　that　banana…skin　there！　　People　love

to　talk　in　that　silly　way　about　doctors。



Number　Five　had　promised　to　read　us　a　narrative　which　she　thought

would　interest　some　of　the　company。　　Who　wrote　it　she　did　not　tell

us；　but　I　inferred　from　various　circumstances　that　she　had　known　the

writer。　　She　read　the　story　most　effectively　in　her　rich；　musical

voice。　　I　noticed　that　when　it　came　to　the　sounds　of　the　striking

clock；　the　ringing　of　the　notes　was　so　like　that　which　reaches　us

from　some　far…off　cathedral　tower　that　we　wanted　to　bow　our　heads；　as

if　we　had　just　heard　a　summons　to　the　Angelus。　　This　was　the　short

story　that　Number　Five　read　to　The　Teacups：





I　have　somewhere　read　this　anecdote。　　Louis　the　Fourteenth　was

looking　out；　one　day；　from；　a　window　of　his　palace　of　Saint…Germain。

It　was　a　beautiful　landscape　which　spread　out　before　him；　and　the

monarch；　exulting　in　health；　strength；　and　the　splendors　of　his

exalted　position；　felt　his　bosom　swell　with　emotions　of　pride　and

happiness：　Presently　he　noticed　the　towers　of　a　church　in　the

distance；　above　the　treetops。　　〃What　building　is　that？〃　he　asked。

〃May　it　please　your　Majesty；　that　is　the　Church　of　St。　Denis；　where

your　royal　ancestors　have　been　buried　for　many　generations。〃　　The

answer　did　not　〃please　his　Royal　Majesty。〃　　There；　then；　was　the

place　where　he　too　was　to　lie　and　moulder　in　the　dust。　　He　turned；

sick　at　heart；　from　the　window；　and　was　uneasy　until　he　had　built　him

another　palace；　from　which　he　could　never　be　appalled　by　that　fatal

prospect。



Something　like　the　experience　of　Louis　the　Fourteenth　was　that　of　the

owner　of





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　TERRIBLE　CLOCK。



I　give　the　story　as　transcribed　from　the　original　manuscript：



The　clock　was　bequeathed　to　me　by　an　old　friend　who　had　recently

died。　　His　mind　had　been　a　good　deal　disordered　in　the　later　period

of　his　life。　　This　clock；　I　am　told；　seemed　to　have　a　strange

fascination　for　him。　　His　eyes　were　fastened　on　it　during　the　last

hours　of　his　life。　　He　died　just　at　midnight。　　The　clock　struck

twelve；　the　nurse　told　me；　as　he　drew　his　last　breath；　and　then；

without　any　known　cause；　stopped；　with　both　hands　upon　the　hour。



It　is　a　complex　and　costly　piece　of　mechanism。　　The　escapement　is　in

front；　so　that　every　tooth　is　seen　as　it　frees　itself。　　It　shows　the

phases　of　the　moon；　the　month　of　the　year；　the　day　of　the　month；　and

the　day　of　the　week；　as　well　as　the　hour　and　minute　of　the　day。



I　had　not　owned　it　a　week　before　I　began　to　perceive　the　same　kind　of

fascination　as　that　which　its　former　owner　had　experienced。　　This

gradually　grew　upon　me；　and　presently　led　to　trains　of　thought　which

became　at　first　unwelcome；　then　worrying；　and　at　last　unendurable。　　I

began　by　taking　offence　at　the　moon。　　I　did　not　like　to　see　that

〃something　large　and　smooth　and　round；〃　so　like　the　skull　which

little　Peterkin　picked　up　on　the　field　of　Blenheim。　　〃How　many

times；〃　I　kept　saying　to　myself；　〃is　that　wicked　old　moon　coming　up

to　stare　at　me？〃　　I　could　not　stand　it。　　I　stopped　a　part　of　the

machinery；　and　the　moon　went　into　permanent　eclipse。　　By　and　by　the

sounds　of　the　infernal　machine　began　to　trouble　and　pursue　me。　　They

talked　to　me；　more　and　more　their　language　became　that　of

articulately　speaking　men。　　They　twitted　me　with　the　rapid　flight　of

time。　　They　hurried　me；　as　if　I　had　not　a　moment　to　lose。　　Quick！

Quick！　Quick！　as　each　tooth　released　itself　from　the　escapement。　　And

as　I　looked　and　listened　there　could　not　be　any　mistake　about　it。　　I

heard　Quick！　Quick！　Quick！　as　plainly；　at　least；　as　I　ever　heard　a

word　from　the　phonograph。　　I　stood　watching　the　dial　one　day；it　was

near　one　o'clock；and　a　strange　attraction　held　me　fastened　to　the

spot。　　Presently　something　appeared　to　trip　or　stumble　inside　of　the

infernal　mechanism。　　I　waited　for　the　sound　I　knew　was　to　follow。

How　nervous　I　got！　　It　seemed　to　me　that　it　would　never　strike。　　At

last　the　minute…hand　reached　the　highest　point　of　the　dial。　　Then

there　was　a　little　stir　among　the　works；　as　there　is　in　a

congregation　as　it　rises　to　receive　the　benediction。　　It　was　no　form

of　blessing　which　rung　out　those　deep；　almost　sepulchral　tones。　　But

the　word　they　uttered　could　not　be　mistaken。　　I　can　hear　its

prolonged；　solemn　vibrations　as　if　I　were　standing　before　the　clock

at　this　moment。



Gone！　Yes；　I　said　to　myself；　gone；its　record　made　up　to　be　opened

in　eternity。



I　stood　still；　staring　vaguely　at　the　dial　as　in　a　trance。