the professor at the breakfast table-第67章

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the　cabinet　and　unlocked　the　door。　　A　deep　recess　appeared；　lined

with　black　velvet；　against　which　stood　in　white　relief　an　ivory

crucifix。　　A　silver　lamp　hung　over　it。　　She　lighted　the　lamp　and

came　back　to　the　bedside。　　The　dying　man　fixed　his　eyes　upon　the

figure　of　the　dying　Saviour。　Give　me　your　hand；　he　said；　and　Iris

placed　her　right　hand　in　his　left。　　So　they　remained；　until

presently　his　eyes　lost　their　meaning；　though　they　still　remained

vacantly　fixed　upon　the　white　image。　　Yet　he　held　the　young　girl's

hand　firmly；　as　if　it　were　leading　him　through　some　deep…shadowed

valley　and　it　was　all　he　could　cling　to。　　But　presently　an

involuntary　muscular　contraction　stole　over　him；　and　his　terrible

dying　grasp　held　the　poor　girl　as　if　she　were　wedged　in　an　engine　of

torture。　　She　pressed　her　lips　together　and　sat　still。　　The

inexorable　hand　held　her　tighter　and　tighter；　until　she　felt　as　if

her　own　slender　fingers　would　be　crushed　in　its　gripe。　　It　was　one

of　the　tortures　of　the　Inquisition　she　was　suffering；　and　she　could

not　stir　from　her　place。　　Then；　in　her　great　anguish；　she；　too；　cast

her　eyes　upon　that　dying　figure；　and；　looking　upon　its　pierced　hands

and　feet　and　side　and　lacerated　forehead；　she　felt　that　she　also

must　suffer　uncomplaining。　　In　the　moment　of　her　sharpest　pain　she

did　not　forget　the　duties　of　her　under　office；　but　dried　the　dying

man's　moist　forehead　with　her　handkerchief；　even　while　the　dews　of

agony　were　glistening　on　her　own。　　How　long　this　lasted　she　never

could　tell。　　Time　and　thirst　are　two　things　you　and　I　talk　about；

but　the　victims　whom　holy　men　and　righteous　judges　used　to　stretch

on　their　engines　knew　better　what　they　meant　than　you　or　I！　What

is　that　great　bucket　of　water　for？　　said　the　Marchioness　de

Brinvilliers；　before　she　was　placed　on　the　rack。　For　you　to

drink；said　the　torturer　to　the　little　woman。　She　could　not　think

that　it　would　take　such　a　flood　to　quench　the　fire　in　her　and　so

keep　her　alive　for　her　confession。　　The　torturer　knew　better　than

she。



After　a　time　not　to　be　counted　in　minutes；　as　the　clock　measures；

without　any　warning；there　came　a　swift　change　of　his　features；　his

face　turned　white；　as　the　waters　whiten　when　a　sudden　breath　passes

over　their　still　surface；　the　muscles　instantly　relaxed；　and　Iris；

released　at　once　from　her　care　for　the　sufferer　and　from　his

unconscious　grasp；　fell　senseless；　with　a　feeble　cry；the　only

utterance　of　her　long　agony。



Perhaps　you　sometimes　wander　in　through　the　iron　gates　of　the　Copp's

Hill　burial…ground。　　You　love　to　stroll　round　among　the　graves　that

crowd　each　other　in　the　thickly　peopled　soil　of　that　breezy　summit。

You　love　to　lean　on　the　freestone　slab　which　lies　over　the　bones　of

the　Mathers；to　read　the　epitaph　of　stout　William　Clark；　〃Despiser

of　Sorry　Persons　and　little　Actions；〃to　stand　by　the　stone　grave

of　sturdy　Daniel　Malcolm　and　look　upon　the　splintered　slab　that

tells　the　old　rebel's　story；to　kneel　by　the　triple　stone　that　says

how　the　three　Worthylakes；　father；　mother；　and　young　daughter；　died

on　the　same　day　and　lie　buried　there；　a　mystery；　the　subject　of　a

moving　ballad；　by　the　late　BENJAMIN　FRANKLIN；　as　may　be　seen　in　his

autobiography；　which　will　explain　the　secret　of　the　triple

gravestone；　though　the　old　philosopher　has　made　a　mistake；　unless

the　stone　is　wrong。



Not　very　far　from　that　you　will　find　a　fair　mound；　of　dimensions　fit

to　hold　a　well…grown　man。　　I　will　not　tell　you　the　inscription　upon

the　stone　which　stands　at　its　head；　for　I　do　not　wish　you　to　be　sure

of　the　resting…place　of　one　who　could　not　bear　to　think　that　he

should　be　known　as　a　cripple　among　the　dead；　after　being　pointed　at

so　long　among　the　living。　　There　is　one　sign；　it　is　true；　by　which；

if　you　have　been　a　sagacious　reader　of　these　papers；　you　will　at

once　know　it；　but　I　fear　you　read　carelessly；　and　must　study　them

more　diligently　before　you　will　detect　the　hint　to　which　I　allude。



The　Little　Gentleman　lies　where　he　longed　to　lie；　among　the　old

names　and　the　old　bones　of　the　old　Boston　people。　　At　the　foot　of

his　resting…place　is　the　river；　alive　with　the　wings　and　antennae　of

its　colossal　water…insects；　over　opposite　are　the　great　war…ships；

and　the　heavy　guns；　which；　when　they　roar；　shake　the　soil　in　which

he　lies；　and　in　the　steeple　of　Christ　Church；　hard　by；　are　the　sweet

chimes　which　are　the　Boston　boy's　Ranz　des　Vaches；　whose　echoes

follow　him　all　the　world　over。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　In　Pace！



I；　told　you　a　good　while　ago　that　the　Little　Gentleman　could　not　do

a　better　thing　than　to　leave　all　his　money；　whatever　it　might　be；　to

the　young　girl　who　has　since　that　established　such　a　claim　upon　him。

He　did　not；　however。　　A　considerable　bequest　to　one　of　our　public

institutions　keeps　his　name　in　grateful　remembrance。　　The　telescope

through　which　he　was　fond　of　watching　the　heavenly　bodies；　and　the

movements　of　which　had　been　the　source　of　such　odd　fancies　on　my

part；　is　now　the　property　of　a　Western　College。　　You　smile　as　you

think　of　my　taking　it　for　a　fleshless　human　figure；　when　I　saw　its

tube　pointing　to　the　sky；　and　thought　it　was　an　arm；　under　the　white

drapery　thrown　over　it　for　protection。　　So　do　I　smile　now；　I　belong

to　the　numerous　class　who　are　prophets　after　the　fact；　and　hold　my

nightmares　very　cheap　by　daylight



I　have　received　many　letters　of　inquiry　as　to　the　sound　resembling　a

woman's　voice；　which　occasioned　me　so　many　perplexities。　　Some

thought　there　was　no　question　that　he　had　a　second　apartment；　in

which　he　had　made　an　asylum　for　a　deranged　female　relative。　　Others

were　of　opinion　that　he　was；　as　I　once　suggested；　a　〃Bluebeard〃　with

patriarchal　tendencies；　and　I　have　even　been　censured　for

introducing　so　Oriental　an　element　into　my　record　of　boarding…house

experience。



Come　in　and　see　me；　the　Professor；　some　evening　when　I　have　nothing

else　to　do；　and　ask　me　to　play　you　Tartini's　Devil's　Sonata　on　that

extraordinary　instrument　in　my　possession；　well　known　to　amateurs　as

one　of　the　masterpieces　of　Joseph　Guarnerius。　　The　vox　humana　of　the

great　Haerlem　organ　is　very　lifelike；　and　the　same　stop　in　the　organ

of　the　Cambridge　chapel　might　be　mistaken　in　some　of　its　tones　for　a

human　voice；　but　I　think　you　never　heard　anything　come　so　near　the

cry　of　a　prima　donna　as　the　A　string　and　the　E　string　of　this

instrument。　　A　single　fact　will　illustrate　the　resemblance。　　I　was

executing　some　tours　de　force　upon　it　one　evening；　when　the

policeman　of　our　district　rang　the　bell　sharply；　and　asked　what　was

the　matter　in　the　house。　　He　had　heard　a　woman's　screams；he　was

sure　of　it。　　I　had　to　make　the　instrument　sing　before　his　eyes

before　he　could　be　satisfied　that　he　had　not　heard　the　cries　of　a

woman。　　The　instrument　was　bequeathed　to　me　by　the　Little　Gentleman。

Whether　it　had　anything　to　do　with　the　sounds　I　heard　coming　from

his　chamber；　you　can　form　your　own　opinion；I　have　no　other

conjecture　to　offer。　　It　is　not　true　that　a　second　apartment　with　a

secret　entrance　was　found；　and　the　story　of　the　veiled　lady　is　the

invention　of　one　of　the　Reporters。



Bridget；　the　housemaid；　always　insisted　that　he　died　a　Catholic。

She　had　seen　the　crucifix；　and　believed　that　he　prayed　on　his　knees

before　it。　　The　last　circumstance　is　very　probably　true；　indeed；

there　was　a　spot　worn　on　the　carpet　just　before　this　cabinet　which

might　be　thus　accounted　for。　　Why　he；　whose　whole　life　was　a

crucifixion；　should　not　love　to　look　on　that　divine　image　of

blameless　suffering；　I　cannot　see；　on　the　contrary；　it　seems　to　me

the　most　natural　thing　in　the　world　that　he　should。　　But　there　are

those　who　want　to　make　private　property　of　everything；　and　can't

make　up　their　minds　that　people　who　don't　think　as　they　do　should

claim　any　interest　in　that　infinite　compassion　expressed　in　the

central　figure　of　the　Christendom　which　includes　us　all。



The　divinity…student　expre