the professor at the breakfast table-第40章

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this　young　girl　has　at　once　the　beauty　of　feature　and　the　unspoken

mystery　of　expression。　　Can　she　tell　me　anything？



Is　her　life　a　complement　of　mine；　with　the　missing　element　in　it

which　I　have　been　groping　after　through　so　many　friendships　that　I

have　tired　of；　and　throughHush！　　Is　the　door　fast？　　Talking　loud

is　a　bad　trick　in　these　curious　boarding…houses。



You　must　have　sometimes　noted　this　fact　that　I　am　going　to　remind

you　of　and　to　use　for　a　special　illustration。　　Riding　along　over　a

rocky　road；　suddenly　the　slow　monotonous　grinding　of　the　crushing

gravel　changes　to　a　deep　heavy　rumble。　　There　is　a　great　hollow

under　your　feet；a　huge　unsunned　cavern。　　Deep；　deep　beneath　you　in

the　core　of　the　living　rock；　it　arches　its　awful　vault；　and　far　away

it　stretches　its　winding　galleries；　their　roofs　dripping　into

streams　where　fishes　have　been　swimming　and　spawning　in　the　dark

until　their　scales　are　white　as　milk　and　their　eyes　have　withered

out；　obsolete　and　useless。



So　it　is　in　life。　　We　jog　quietly　along；　meeting　the　same　faces；

grinding　over　the　same　thoughts；　the　gravel　of　the　soul's　highway；

now　and　then　jarred　against　an　obstacle　we　cannot　crush；　but　must

ride　over　or　round　as　we　best　may；　sometimes　bringing　short　up

against　a　disappointment；　but　still　working　along　with　the　creaking

and　rattling　and　grating　and　jerking　that　belong　to　the　journey　of

life；　even　in　the　smoothest…rolling　vehicle。　　Suddenly　we　hear　the

deep　underground　reverberation　that　reveals　the　unsuspected　depth　of

some　abyss　of　thought　or　passion　beneath　us。



I　wish　the　girl　would　go。　　I　don't　like　to　look　at　her　so　much；　and

yet　I　cannot　help　it。　　Always　that　same　expression　of　something　that

I　ought　to　know；something　that　she　was　made　to　tell　and　I　to

hear；lying　there　ready　to　fall　off　from　her　lips；　ready　to　leap

out　of　her　eyes　and　make　a　saint　of　me；　or　a　devil　or　a　lunatic；　or

perhaps　a　prophet　to　tell　the　truth　and　be　hated　of　men；　or　a　poet

whose　words　shall　flash　upon　the　dry　stubble…field　of　worn…out

thoughts　and　burn　over　an　age　of　lies　in　an　hour　of　passion。



It　suddenly　occurs　to　me　that　I　may　have　put　you　on　the　wrong　track。

The　Great　Secret　that　I　refer　to　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　Three

Words。　　Set　your　mind　at　ease　about　that；there　are　reasons　I　could

give　you　which　settle　all　that　matter。　　I　don't　wonder；　however；

that　you　confounded　the　Great　Secret　with　the　Three　Words。



I　LOVE　YOU　is　all　the　secret　that　many；　nay；　most　women　have　to

tell。　　When　that　is　said；　they　are　like　China…crackers　on　the

morning　of　the　fifth　of　July。　　And　just　as　that　little　patriotic

implement　is　made　with　a　slender　train　which　leads　to　the　magazine

in　its　interior；　so　a　sharp　eye　can　almost　always　see　the　train

leading　from　a　young　girl's　eye　or　lip　to　the　〃I　love　you〃　in　her

heart。　　But　the　Three　Words　are　not　the　Great　Secret　I　mean。　　No；

women's　faces　are　only　one　of　the　tablets　on　which　that　is　written

in　its　partial；　fragmentary　symbols。　　It　lies　deeper　than　Love；

though　very　probably　Love　is　a　part　of　it。　　Some；　I　think；

Wordsworth　might　be　one　of　them；spell　out　a　portion　of　it　from

certain　beautiful　natural　objects；　landscapes；　flowers；　and　others。

I　can　mention　several　poems　of　his　that　have　shadowy　hints　which

seem　to　me　to　come　near　the　region　where　I　think　it　lies。　　I　have

known　two　persons　who　pursued　it　with　the　passion　of　the　old

alchemists；all　wrong　evidently；　but　infatuated；　and　never　giving

up　the　daily　search　for　it　until　they　got　tremulous　and　feeble；　and

their　dreams　changed　to　visions　of　things　that　ran　and　crawled　about

their　floor　and　ceilings；　and　so　they　died。　　The　vulgar　called　them

drunkards。



I　told　you　that　I　would　let　you　know　the　mystery　of　the　effect　this

young　girl's　face　produces　on　me。　　It　is　akin　to　those　influences　a

friend　of　mine　has　described；　you　may　remember；　as　coming　from

certain　voices。　　I　cannot　translate　it　into　words；only　into

feelings；　and　these　I　have　attempted　to　shadow　by　showing　that　her

face　hinted　that　revelation　of　something　we　are　close　to　knowing；

which　all　imaginative　persons　are　looking　for　either　in　this　world

or　on　the　very　threshold　of　the　next。



You　shake　your　head　at　the　vagueness　and　fanciful

incomprehensibleness　of　my　description　of　the　expression　in　a　young

girl's　face。　　You　forget　what　a　miserable　surface…matter　this

language　is　in　which　we　try　to　reproduce　our　interior　state　of

being。　　Articulation　is　a　shallow　trick。　　From　the　light　Poh！　which

we　toss　off　from　our　lips　as　we　fling　a　nameless　scribbler's

impertinence　into　our　waste…baskets；　to　the　gravest　utterances　which

comes　from　our　throats　in　our　moments　of　deepest　need；　is　only　a

space　of　some　three　or　four　inches。　　Words；　which　are　a　set　of

clickings；　hissings；　lispings；　and　so　on；　mean　very　little；　compared

to　tones　and　expression　of　the　features。　　I　give　it　up；　I　thought　I

could　shadow　forth　in　some　feeble　way；　by　their　aid；　the　effect　this

young　girl's　face　produces　on　my　imagination；　but　it　is　of　no　use。

No　doubt　your　head　aches；　trying　to　make　something　of　my

description。　　If　there　is　here　and　there　one　that　can　make　anything

intelligible　out　of　my　talk　about　the　Great　Secret；　and　who　has

spelt　out　a　syllable　or　two　of　it　on　some　woman's　face；　dead　or

living；　that　is　all　I　can　expect。　　One　should　see　the　person　with

whom　he　converses　about　such　matters。　　There　are　dreamy…eyed　people

to　whom　I　should　say　all　these　things　with　a　certainty　of　being

understood；



　　　　　　　　　　That　moment　that　his　face　I　see；

　　　　　　　　　　I　know　the　man　that　must　hear　me

　　　　　　　　　　To　him　my　tale　I　teach。



I　am　afraid　some　of　them　have　not　got　a　spare　quarter　of　a　dollar

for　this　August　number；　so　that　they　will　never　see　it。



Let　us　start　again；　just　as　if　we　had　not　made　this　ambitious

attempt；　which　may　go　for　nothing；　and　you　can　have　your　money

refunded；　if　you　will　make　the　change。



This　young　girl；　about　whom　I　have　talked　so　unintelligibly；　is　the

unconscious　centre　of　attraction　to　the　whole　solar　system　of　our

breakfast…table。　　The　Little　Gentleman　leans　towards　her；　and　she

again　seems　to　be　swayed　as　by　some　invisible　gentle　force　towards

him。　　That　slight　inclination　of　two　persons　with　a　strong　affinity

towards　each　other；　throwing　them　a　little　out　of　plumb　when　they

sit　side　by　side；　is　a　physical　fact　I　have　often　noticed。　　Then

there　is　a　tendency　in　all　the　men's　eyes　to　converge　on　her；　and　I

do　firmly　believe；　that；　if　all　their　chairs　were　examined；　they

would　be　found　a　little　obliquely　placed；　so　as　to　favor　the

direction　in　which　their　occupants　love　to　look。



That　bland；　quiet　old　gentleman；　of　whom　I　have　spoken　as　sitting

opposite　to　me；　is　no　exception　to　the　rule。　　She　brought　down　some

mignonette　one　morning；　which　she　had　grown　in　her　chamber。　　She

gave　a　sprig　to　her　little　neighbor；　and　one　to　the　landlady；　and

sent　another　by　the　hand　of　Bridget　to　this　old　gentleman。



Sarvant；　Ma'am　I　Much　obleeged；he　said；　and　put　it　gallantly　in

his　button…hole。　After　breakfast　he　must　see　some　of　her　drawings。

Very　fine　performances；very　fine！　truly　elegant　productions；

truly　elegant！　Had　seen　Miss　Linwood's　needlework　in　London；　in

the　year　（eighteen　hundred　and　little　or　nothing；　I　think　he　said；）…

patronized　by　the　nobility　and　gentry；　and　Her　Majesty；elegant；

truly　elegant　productions；　very　fine　performances；　these　drawings

reminded　him　of　them；wonderful　resemblance　to　Nature；　an

extraordinary　art；　painting；　Mr。　Copley　made　some　very　fine　pictures

that　he　remembered　seeing　when　he　was　a　boy。　　Used　to　remember　some

lines　about　a　portrait　Written　by　Mr。　Cowper；　beginning；



　　　　　　　　　　Oh　that　those　lips　had　language！　Life　has　pass'd

　　　　　　　　　　With　me　but　roughly　since　I　heard　thee　last。〃



And　with　this　the　old　gentleman　fell　to　thinking　about　a　dead　mother

of　his　that　he　remembered　ever　so　much　younger　than　he　now　was；　an