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第69章

the notch on the ax and on being found out-第69章

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repelled such a thought; but the uneasy sense of some mystery about
him; coupled with the accessories of disguise; and the aspect of
the servant; gave rise to dim; shadowy forebodings which ever and
anon passed across my mind。

Did it ever occur to you; reader; to reflect on the depths of
deceit which lie still and dark even in the honestest minds?
Society reposes on a thin crust of convention; underneath which lie
fathomless possibilities of crime; and consequently suspicions of
crime。  Friendship; however close and dear; is not free from its
reserves; unspoken beliefs; more or less suppressed opinions。  The
man whom you would indignantly defend against any accusation
brought by another; so confident are you in his unshakable
integrity; you may yourself momentarily suspect of crimes far
exceeding those which you repudiate。  Indeed; I have known
sagacious men hold that perfect frankness in expressing the
thoughts is a sure sign of imperfect friendship; something is
always suppressed; and it is not he who loves you that 〃tells you
candidly what he thinks〃 of your person; your pretensions; your
children; or your poems。  Perfect candor is dictated by envy; or
some other unfriendly feeling; making friendship a stalking…horse;
under cover of which it shoots the arrow which will rankle。
Friendship is candid only when the candor is urgentmeant to avert
impending danger or to rectify an error。  The candor which is an
impertinence never springs from friendship。  Love is sympathetic。

I do not; of course; mean to intimate that my feeling for Bourgonef
was of that deep kind which justifies the name of friendship。  I
only want to say that in our social relations we are constantly
hiding from each other; under the smiles and courtesies of friendly
interest; thoughts which; if expressed; would destroy all possible
communionand that; nevertheless; we are not insincere in our
smiles and courtesies; and therefore there is nothing paradoxical
in my having felt great admiration for Bourgonef; and great
pleasure in his society; while all the time there was deep down in
the recesses of my thoughts an uneasy sense of a dark mystery which
possibly connected him with a dreadful crime。

This feeling was roused into greater activity by an incident which
now occurred。  One morning I went to Bourgonef's room; which was at
some distance from mine on the same floor; intending to propose a
visit to the sculpture at the Glyptothek。  To my surprise I found
Ivan the serf standing before the closed door。  He looked at me
like a mastiff about to spring; and intimated by significant
gestures that I was not allowed to enter the room。  Concluding that
his master was occupied in some way; and desired not to be
disturbed; I merely signified by a nod that my visit was of no
consequence; and went out。  On returning about an hour afterwards I
saw Ivan putting three pink letters into the letter…box of the
hotel。  I attached no significance to this very ordinary fact at
the time; but went up to my room and began writing my letters; one
of which was to my lawyer; sending him an important receipt。  The
dinner…bell sounded before I had half finished this letter; but I
wrote on; determined to have done with it at once; in case the
afternoon should offer any expedition with Bourgonef。

At dinner he quietly intimated that Ivan had informed him of my
visit; and apologized for not having been able to see me。  I; of
course; assured him that no apology was necessary; and that we had
plenty of time to visit sculpture together without intruding on his
private hours。  He informed me that he was that afternoon going to
pay a visit to Schwanthaler; the sculptor; and if I desired it; he
would ask permission on another occasion to take me with him。  I
jumped at the proposal; as may be supposed。

Dinner over; I strolled into the Englische Garten; and had my
coffee and cigar there。  On my return I was vexed to find that in
the hurry of finishing my letters I had sealed the one to my
lawyer; and had not enclosed the receipt which had been the object
of writing。  Fortunately it was not too late。  Descending to the
bureau of the hotel; I explained my mistake to the head…waiter; who
unlocked the letter…box to search for my letter。  It was found at
once; for there were only seven or eight in the box。  Among these
my eye naturally caught the three pink letters which I had that
morning seen Ivan drop into the box; but although they were SEEN by
me they were not NOTICED at the time; my mind being solely occupied
with rectifying the stupid blunder I had made。

Once more in my own room a sudden revelation startled me。  Everyone
knows what it is to have details come under the eye which the mind
first interprets long after the eye ceases to rest upon them。  The
impressions are received passively; but they are registered; and
can be calmly read whenever the mind is in activity。  It was so
now。  I suddenly; as if now for the first time; saw that the
addresses on Bourgonef's letters were written in a fluent; masterly
hand; bold in character; and with a certain sweep which might have
come from a painter。  The thrill which this vision gave will be
intelligible when you remember that Bourgonef had lost or pretended
to have lost his right arm; and was; as I before intimated; far
from dexterous with his left。  That no man recently thrown upon the
use of a left hand could have written those addresses was too
evident。  What; then; was the alternative?  The empty sleeve was an
imposture!  At once the old horrible suspicion returned; and this
time with tenfold violence; and with damnatory confirmation。

Pressing my temples between my hands; I tried to be calm and to
survey the evidence without precipitation; but for some time the
conflict of thoughts was too violent。  Whatever might be the
explanation; clear it was that Bourgonef; for some purposes; was
practising a deception; and had; as I knew; other means of
disguising his appearance。  This; on the most favorable
interpretation; branded him with suspicion。  This excluded him from
the circle of honest men。

But did it connect him with the murder of Lieschen Lehfeldt?  In my
thought it did so indubitably; but I was aware of the difficulty of
making this clear to anyone else。


VI

FIRST LOVE


If the reader feels that my suspicions were not wholly unwarranted;
were indeed inevitable; he will not laugh at me on learning that
once more these suspicions were set aside; and the factthe
damnatory fact; as I regarded itdiscovered by me so accidentally;
and; I thought; providentially; was robbed of all its significance
by Bourgonef himself casually and carelessly avowing it in
conversation; just as one may avow a secret infirmity; with some
bitterness; but without any implication of deceit in its
concealment。

I was the more prepared for this revulsion of feeling; by the
difficulty I felt in maintaining my suspicions in the presence of
one so gentle and so refined。  He had come into my room that
evening to tell me of his visit to Schwanthaler; and of the
sculptor's flattering desire to make my personal acquaintance。  He
spoke of Schwanthaler; and his earnest efforts in art; with so much
enthusiasm; and was altogether so charming; that I felt abashed
before him; incapable of ridding myself of the dreadful suspicions;
yet incapable of firmly believing him to be what I thought。  But
more than this; there came the new interest awakened in me by his
story; and when; in the course of his story; he accidentally
disclosed the fact that he had not lost his arm; all my suspicions
vanished at once。

We had got; as usual; upon politics; and were differing more than
usual; because he gave greater prominence to his sympathy with the
Red Republicans。  He accused me of not being 〃thorough…going;〃
which I admitted。  This he attributed to the fact of my giving a
divided heart to politicsa condition natural enough at my age;
and with my hopes。  〃Well;〃 said I; laughing; 〃you don't mean to
take a lofty stand upon your few years' seniority。  If my age
renders it natural; does yours profoundly alter such a conviction?〃

〃My age; no。  But you have the hope

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