classic mystery and detective stories-第64章

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The　general　verdict　received　my　assent。　　I　had　never　met　those

delightful　people；　but　was　always　expecting　to　meet　them。　　Hitherto

they　had　been　conspicuous　by　their　absence。　　According　to　my

experience　in　Spain；　France；　and　Germany；　such　dinners　had　been

dreary　or　noisy　and　vapid。　　If　the　guests　were　English；　they　were

chillingly　silent；　or　surlily　monosyllabic：　to　their　neighbors　they

were　frigid；　amongst　each　other　they　spoke　in　low　undertones。　　And

if　the　guests　were　foreigners；　they　were　noisy；　clattering；　and

chattering；　foolish　for　the　most　part；　and　vivaciously　commonplace。

I　don't　know　which　made　me　feel　most　dreary。　　The　predominance　of

my　countrymen　gave　the　dinner　the　gayety　of　a　funeral；　the

predominance　of　the　Mossoo　gave　it　the　fatigue　of　got…up

enthusiasm；　of　trivial　expansiveness。　　To　hear　strangers　imparting

the　scraps　of　erudition　and　connoisseurship　which　they　had　that

morning　gathered　from　their　valets　de　place　and　guide…books；　or

describing　the　sights　they　had　just　seen；　to　you；　who　either　saw

them　yesterday；　or　would　see　them　to…morrow；　could　not　be

permanently　attractive。　　My　mind　refuses　to　pasture　on　such　food

with　gusto。　　I　cannot　be　made　to　care　what　the　Herr　Baron's

sentiments　about　Albert　Durer　or　Lucas　Cranach　may　be。　　I　can

digest　my　rindfleisch　without　the　aid　of　the　commis　voyageur's

criticisms　on　Gothic　architecture。　　This　may　be　my　misfortune。　　In

spite　of　the　Italian　blood　which　I　inherit；　I　am　a　shy　manshy　as

the　purest　Briton。　　But；　like　other　shy　men；　I　make　up　in　obstinacy

what　may　be　deficient　in　expansiveness。　　I　can　be　frightened　into

silence；　but　I　won't　be　dictated　to。　　You　might　as　well　attempt　the

persuasive　effect　of　your　eloquence　upon　a　snail　who　has　withdrawn

into　his　shell　at　your　approach；　and　will　not　emerge　till　his

confidence　is　restored。　　To　be　told　that　I　MUST　see　this；　and　ought

to　go　there；　because　my　casual　neighbor　was　charme；　has　never

presented　itself　to　me　as　an　adequate　motive。



From　this　you　readily　gather　that　I　am　severely　taciturn　at　a　table

d'hote。　　I　refrain　from　joining　in　the　〃delightful　conversation〃

which　flies　across　the　table；　and　know　that　my　reticence　is

attributed　to　〃insular　pride。〃　　It　is　really　and　truly　nothing　but

impatience　of　commonplace。　　I　thoroughly　enjoy　good　talk；　but；　ask

yourself；　what　are　the　probabilities　of　hearing　that　rare　thing　in

the　casual　assemblage　of　forty　or　fifty　people；　not　brought

together　by　any　natural　affinities　or　interests；　but　thrown

together　by　the　accident　of　being　in　the　same　district；　and　in　the

same　hotel？　　They　are　not　〃forty　feeding　like　one；〃　but　like　forty。

They　have　no　community；　except　the　community　of　commonplace。　　No；

tables　d'hote　are　not　delightful；　and　do　not　gather　interesting

people　together。



Such　has　been　my　extensive　experience。　　But　this　at　Nuremberg　is　a

conspicuous　exception。　　At　that　table　there　was　one　guest　who；　on

various　grounds；　personal　and　incidental；　remains　the　most

memorable　man　I　ever　met。　　From　the　first　he　riveted　my　attention

in　an　unusual　degree。　　He　had　not；　as　yet；　induced　me　to　emerge

from　my　habitual　reserve；　for　in　truth；　although　he　riveted　my

attention；　he　inspired　me　with　a　strange　feeling　of　repulsion。　　I

could　scarcely　keep　my　eyes　from　him；　yet；　except　the　formal　bow　on

sitting　down　and　rising　from　the　table；　I　had　interchanged　no　sign

of　fellowship　with　him。　　He　was　a　young　Russian；　named　Bourgonef；

as　I　at　once　learned；　rather　handsome；　and　peculiarly　arresting　to

the　eye；　partly　from　an　air　of　settled　melancholy；　especially　in

his　smile；　the　amiability　of　which　seemed　breaking　from　under

clouds　of　grief；　and　still　more　so　from　the　mute　appeal　to　sympathy

in　the　empty　sleeve　of　his　right　arm；　which　was　looped　to　the

breast…button　of　his　coat。　　His　eyes　were　large　and　soft。　　He　had

no　beard　or　whisker；　and　only　delicate　moustaches。　　The　sorrow；

quiet　but　profound；　the　amiable　smile　and　the　lost　arm；　were

appealing　details　which　at　once　arrested　attention　and　excited

sympathy。　　But　to　me　this　sympathy　was　mingled　with　a　vague

repulsion；　occasioned　by　a　certain　falseness　in　the　amiable　smile；

and　a　furtiveness　in　the　eyes；　which　I　sawor　fanciedand　which；

with　an　inexplicable　reserve；　forming　as　it　were　the　impregnable

citadel　in　the　center　of　his　outwardly　polite　and　engaging　manner；

gave　me　something　of　that　vague　impression　which　we　express　by　the

words　〃instinctive　antipathy。〃



It　was；　when　calmly　considered；　eminently　absurd。　　To　see　one　so

young；　and　by　his　conversation　so　highly　cultured　and　intelligent；

condemned　to　early　helplessness；　his　food　cut　up　for　him　by　a

servant；　as　if　he　were　a　child；　naturally　engaged　pity；　and；　on　the

first　day；　I　cudgeled　my　brains　during　the　greater　part　of　dinner

in　the　effort　to　account　for　his　lost　arm。　　He　was　obviously　not　a

military　man；　the　unmistakable　look　and　stoop　of　a　student　told

that　plainly　enough。　　Nor　was　the　loss　one　dating　from　early　life：

he　used　his　left　arm　too　awkwardly　for　the　event　not　to　have　had　a

recent　date。　　Had　it　anything　to　do　with　his　melancholy？　　Here　was

a　topic　for　my　vagabond　imagination；　and　endless　were　the　romances

woven　by　it　during　my　silent　dinner。　　For　the　reader　must　be　told

of　one　peculiarity　in　me；　because　to　it　much　of　the　strange

complications　of　my　story　are　due；　complications　into　which　a　mind

less　active　in　weaving　imaginary　hypotheses　to　interpret　casual　and

trifling　facts　would　never　have　been　drawn。　　From　my　childhood　I

have　been　the　victim　of　my　constructive　imagination；　which　has　led

me　into　many　mistakes　and　some　scrapes；　because；　instead　of

contenting　myself　with　plain；　obvious　evidence；　I　have　allowed

myself　to　frame　hypothetical　interpretations；　which；　to　acts　simple

in　themselves；　and　explicable　on　ordinary　motives；　render　the

simple…seeming　acts　portentous。　　With　bitter　pangs　of　self…reproach

I　have　at　times　discovered　that　a　long　and　plausible　history

constructed　by　me；　relating　to　personal　friends；　has　crumpled　into

a　ruin　of　absurdity；　by　the　disclosure　of　the　primary　misconception

on　which　the　whole　history　was　based。　　I　have　gone；　let　us　say；　on

the　supposition　that　two　people　were　secretly　lovers；　on　this

supposition　my　imagination　has　constructed　a　whole　scheme　to

explain　certain　acts；　and　one　fine　day　I　have　discovered

indubitably　that　the　supposed　lovers　were　not　lovers；　but

confidants　of　their　passions　in　other　directions；　and；　of　course；

all　my　conjectures　have　been　utterly　false。　　The　secret　flush　of

shame　at　failure　has　not；　however；　prevented　my　falling　into

similar　mistakes　immediately　after。



When；　therefore；　I　hereafter　speak　of　my　〃constructive

imagination；〃　the　reader　will　know　to　what　I　am　alluding。　　It　was

already　busy　with　Bourgonef。　　To　it　must　be　added　that　vague

repulsion；　previously　mentioned。　　This　feeling　abated　on　the　second

day；　but；　although　lessened；　it　remained　powerful　enough　to　prevent

my　speaking　to　him。　　Whether　it　would　have　continued　to　abate　until

it　disappeared；　as　such　antipathies　often　disappear；　under　the

familiarities　of　prolonged　intercourse；　without　any　immediate

appeal　to　my　amour　propre；　I　know　not；　but　every　reflective　mind；

conscious　of　being　accessible　to　antipathies；　will　remember　that

one　certain　method　of　stifling　them　is　for　the　object　to　make　some

appeal　to　our　interest　or　our　vanity：　in　the　engagement　of　these

more　powerful　feelings；　the　antipathy　is　quickly　strangled。　　At　any

rate　it　is　so　in　my　case；　and　was　so　now。



On　the　third　day；　the　conversation　at　table　happening　to　turn；　as

it　often　turned；　upon　St。　Sebald's　Church；　a　young　Frenchman；　who

was　criticising　its　architecture　with　fluent　dogmatism；　drew

Bourgonef　into　the　discussion；　and　thereby　elicited　such　a　display

of　accurate　and　extensive　knowledge；　no　less　than　delicacy　of

appreciation；　that　we　were　all　listening　spellbound。　　In　the　midst

of　this　triumphant　exposition　t