下载辰思小说免费APP
Heshowednoresentmentatmypatronage,butaself-sufficiencythatmademysympathyseemsuperfluous,givingtheimpressionofaninnerharmonyandcontentthatsurprisedme.
"Ineedn\'taskhowyou\'regettingalong,"hesaid
AttheendofthefreshmanyearweabandonedMrs.Bolton\'sformoredesirablequarters.
Ishallnotgodeeplyintomycollegecareer,recallingonlysuchincidentsas,seenintheretrospect,appeartohavehadsignificance.I
havementionedmyknackforsong-writing;butitwasnot,Ithink,untilmyjunioryeartherewasstartlinglyrenewedinmemyyouthfuldesiretowrite,tocreatesomethingworthwhile,thathadsolongbeendormant.
TheinspirationcamefromAlonzoCheyne,instructorinEnglish;aremarkableteacher,inspiteofthefinickymannerismswhichTomimitated.Andwhen,inreadingaloudcertainmagnificentpassages,heforgothisaffectations,hemanagedtoarousecravingsIthoughttohavedesertedmeforever.Wasitpossible,afterall,thatIhadbeenrightandmyfatherwrong?thatImightyetbegreatinliterature?
AmerehintfromAlonzoCheynewasmorehighlyprizedbythegrindsthanfulsomepraisefromanotherteacher.Andtohiscredititshouldberecordedthatthegrindsweretheonlyoneshetreatedwithanyseriousness;hetookpainstoanswertheirquestions;buttowardstherestofus,theChosen,heshowedathinlyveiledcontempt.Nonesoquickashetodetectasimulatedinterest,orawilyefforttomakehimridiculous;andfewtriedthisasecondtime,forhehadarapier-likegiftofreparteethattransfixedtheoffenderlikeamothonapin.Hehadawayofeyeingmeattimes,hisglassesinhishand,aqueersmileonhislips,asmuchastoimplythattherewasoneatleastamongthelostwhowasmadeforbetterthings.Notthatmyworkwaspoor,butI
knewthatitmighthavebeenbetter.Outofhisclasses,however,beyondtheimmediate,disturbinginfluenceofhispersonalityIwouldrelapseintoindifference
Returningoneeveningtoourquarters,whichwerenowinthe"Yard,"
IfoundTomseatedwithablanksheetbeforehim,thrustinghishandthroughhishairandbitingtheendofhispenholdertoapulp.Inhismuttering,whichwasmixedwiththecurious,stinglessprofanityofwhichhewasmaster,IcaughtthenameofCheyne,andIknewthathewasfacingthecrisisofafortnightlytheme.Thesubjectassignedwasanarrativeofsomepersonalexperience,anditwastobehandedinonthemorrow.
Myownthemewasalready,written.
"I\'vebeenholdingdownthischairforanhour,andIcan\'tseemtothinkofathing."Herosetoflinghimselfdownonthelounge."IwishIwasinCanada."
"WhyCanada?"
"TroutfishingwithUncleJakeatthatclubofhiswherehetookmelastsummer."Tomgazeddreamilyattheceiling."WheneverIhavesomedarnedfoolishthemelikethistowriteIwanttogofishing,andIwanttogolikethedevil.I\'llgetUncleJaketotakeyou,too,nextsummer."
"Iwishyouwould."
"Say,that\'slivingallright,Hughie,upthereamongthetamaracksandbalsams!"Andhebegan,forsomethinglikethethirtiethtime,torelatetheadventuresofthetrip.
Ashetalked,theideapresenteditselftomewithsuddenfascinationtousethisincidentasthesubjectofTom\'stheme;towriteitforhim,fromhispointofview,imitatingthedrollstylehewouldhavehadifhehadbeenabletowrite;for,whenhewasinterestedinanymatter,hisoralnarrativedidnotlackvividness.Ibegantoaskhimquestions:
whatwerethetreeslike,forinstance?HowdidtheFrench-Canadianguidestalk?Hehadthegiftofmimicry:aidedbyapartialknowledgeofFrenchIwrotedownafewsentencesastheysounded.Thecanoehadupsetandhehadcomeneardrowning.Imadehimdescribehissensations.
"I\'llwriteyourthemeforyou,"Iexclaimed,whenhehadfinished.
"Gee,notaboutthat!"
"Whynot?It\'sapersonalexperience."
HisgratitudewaspatheticBythistimeIwassofullofthesubjectthatitfairlyclamouredforexpression,andasIwrotethehoursflew.
OnceinawhileIpausedtoaskhimaquestionashesatwithhischairtiltedbackandhisfeetonthetable,readingadetectivestory.I
sketchedinthescenewithboldstrokes;thedesolateboisbruleonthemountainside,thepolishedcrystalsurfaceofthepoolbrokenhereandtherewiththecirclesleftbyrisingfish;IpicturedArmand,theguide,hispipebetweenhisteeth,holdingthecanoeagainstthecurrent;andI
seemedtosmellthesharptangofthebalsams,toheartheroaroftherapidsbelow.Thencamethesuddenhookingofthebigtrout,habitantoathsfromArmand,bouleversement,wetness,darkness,confusion;ahalf-
strangledfeeling,abriefglimpseofgreenthingsandsunlight,andthenstrangulation,orwhatseemedlikeit;strangulation,thesenseofbeingpickedupandhurledbyaterrificforcewhither?ablindingwhiteness,inwhichitwasimpossibletobreathe,onesharp,almostunbearablepain,thenanother,thenoblivionFinally,awakening,tobeconfrontedbyamuchworriedUncleJake.
Bythistimethedetectivestoryhadfallentothefloor,andTomwashuddledupinhischair,asleep.Hearoseobedientlyandwrappedawettowelaroundhishead,andbegantowrite.Oncehepausedlongenoughtomutter:——
"Yes,that\'saboutit,——that\'sthewayIfelt!"andsettoworkagain,mechanically,——allthepraiseIgotforwhatIdeemedaliteraryachievementofthehighestorder!Atthreeo\'clock,a.m.,hefinished,pulledoffhisclothesautomaticallyandtumbledintobed.Ihadnodesireforsleep.Mybrainwasracingmadly,likeanenginewithoutagovernor.Icouldwrite!Icouldwrite!Irepeatedthewordsoverandovertomyself.Allthecomplexitiesofmypresentlifewereblottedout,andIbeheldonlythelong,sweetvistaofthecareerforwhichI
wasnowconvincedthatnaturehadintendedme.Myimmediatefortunesbecameunimportant,immaterial.NojuiceofthegrapeIhadevertastedmademehalfsodrunkWiththemorning,ofcourse,camethereaction,andIsufferedtheaftersensationsofanorgie,awakingtoaworldofnecessity,coldandgreyandslushy,andnecessityalonemademerisefrommybed.Myexperienceofthenightbeforemighthavetaughtmethathappinessliesinthetrickoftransformingnecessity,butitdidnot.Thevisionhadfaded,——temporarily,atleast;andsuchwasthedistractionofthesucceedingdaysthatthesubjectofthethemepassedfrommymind
OnemorningTomwaslaterthanusualingettinghome.Iwaswritingaletterwhenhecamein,anddidnotnoticehim,yetIwasvaguelyawareofhisstandingoverme.WhenatlastIlookedupIgatheredfromhisexpressionthatsomethingserioushadhappened,somournfulwashisface,andyetsoutterlyludicrous.
"Say,Hugh,I\'minthedeuceofamess,"heannounced.
"What\'sthematter?"Iinquired.
Hesankdownonthetablewithagroan.
"It\'sAlonzo,"hesaid.
ThenIrememberedthetheme.
"What——what\'shedone?"Idemanded.
"HesaysImustbecomeawriter.Thinkofit,meawriter!HesaysI\'mayoungShakespeare,thatI\'vebeenlazyandhidmylightunderabushel!
HesaysheknowsnowwhatIcando,andifIdon\'tkeepupthequality,he\'llknowthereasonwhy,andwriteapersonallettertomyfather.Oh,hell!"
Inspiteofhisevidentanguish,Iwasseizedwithaconvulsivelaughter.
Tomstoodstaringatmemoodily.
"Youthinkit\'sfunny,——don\'tyou?Iguessitis,butwhat\'sgoingtobecomeofme?That\'swhatIwanttoknow.I\'vebeenintroublebefore,butneverinanylikethis.Andwhogotmeintoit?You!"
Herewasgratitude!
"You\'vegottogoonwriting\'em,now."Hisvoicebecamedesperatelypleading."Say,Hugh,oldman,youcantemper\'emdown——temper\'emdowngradually.Andbytheendoftheyear,let\'ssay,they\'llbeaboutnormalagain."
Heseemedactuallyshivering.
"Theendoftheyear!"Icried,thepredicamentstrikingmeforthefirsttimeinitsfulness."Say,you\'vegotacrust!"
"You\'lldoit,ifIhavetoholdagunoveryou,"heannouncedgrimly.
Mingledwithmyanxiety,whichwasreal,wasanexultationthatwouldnotdown.Nevertheless,theideaofdevelopingTomintoaShakespeare,——Tom,whohadnottheslightestdesiretobeoneIwasappalling,besideshavinginitanelementofuselessself-sacrificefromwhichIrecoiled.
Ontheotherhand,ifAlonzoshoulddiscoverthatIhadwrittenhistheme,therewerepenaltiesIdidnotcaretodwelluponWithsuchacloudhangingovermeIpassedarestlessnight.
AsluckwouldhaveittheverynexteveninginthelevellightundertheelmsoftheSquareIbeheldsaunteringtowardsmeadapperfigurewhichI
recognizedasthatofMr.Cheynehimself.AsIsalutedhimhegavemeanamusedandmostdisconcertingglance;andwhenIwascongratulatingmyselfthathehadpassedmehestopped.
"FineweatherforMarch,Paret,"heobserved.
"Yes,sir,"Iagreedinastrangevoice.
"Bytheway,"heremarked,contemplatingthebarebranchesaboveourheads,"thatwasanexcellentthemeyourroommatehandedin.Ihadnoideathathepossessedsuch——suchgenius.Didyou,byanychance,happentoreadit?"
"Yes,sir,——Ireadit."
"Weren\'tyousurprised?"inquiredMr.Cheyne.
"Well,yes,sir——thatis——Imeantosayhetalksjustlikethat,sometimes——thatis,whenit\'sanythinghecaresabout."
"Indeed!"saidMr.Cheyne."That\'sinteresting,mostinteresting.Inallmyexperience,Idonotrememberacaseinwhichagifthasbeendevelopedsorapidly.Idon\'twanttogivetheimpression——ahthatthereisnoroomforimprovement,butthethingwasverywelldone,foranundergraduate.ImustconfessInevershouldhavesuspecteditinPeters,andit\'smostinterestingwhatyousayabouthisclevernessinconversation."Hetwirledtheheadofhisstick,apparentlylostinreflection."Imaybewrong,"hewentonpresently,"Ihaveanideaitisyou——"Imustliterallyhavejumpedawayfromhim.Hepausedamoment,withoutapparentlynoticingmypanic,"thatitisyouwhohaveinfluencedPeters."
"Sir?"
"Iamwrong,then.Oristhismerelycommendablemodestyonyourpart?"
"Oh,no,sir."
"Thenmyhypothesisfallstotheground.Ihadgreatlyhoped,"headdedmeaningly,"thatyoumightbeabletothrowsomelightonthismystery.
Iwasdumb.
"Paret,"heasked,"haveyoutimetocomeovertomyroomsforafewminutesthisevening?"
"Certainly,sir."
HegavemehisnumberinBrattleStreet
LikeonerunninginanightmareandmakingnoprogressImademywayhome,onlytolearnfromHallam,——wholivedonthesamefloor,——thatTomhadinconsideratelygonetoBostonfortheevening,withfourotherwearyspiritsinsearchofrelaxation!Avoidingourclubtable,ItookwhatlittlenourishmentIcouldatamodestrestaurant,andrestlesslypacedthemoonlitstreetsuntileighto\'clock,whenIfoundmyselfinfrontofoneofthoselow-gabledcolonialhouseswhich,onlesssoul-shakingoccasions,hadexercisedagreatcharmonmyimagination.MyhandhungforaninstantoverthebellImusthaverungitviolently,forthereappearedalmostimmediatelyanoldladyinalacecap,whogreetedmewithgentlecourtesy,andknockedatalittledoorwithglisteningpanels.ThelatchwasliftedbyMr.Cheynehimself.
"Comein,Paret,"hesaid,inatonethatwasunexpectedlyhospitable.
Ihaverarelyseenamoreinvitingroom.Awoodfireburnedbrightlyonthebrassandirons,flingingitsglareonthebig,whitebeamthatcrossedtheceiling,andreddeningthesquarepanesofthewindowsintheirpanelledrecesses.Betweenthesewererowsofbooks,——attractivebooksinchasedbindings,redandblue;booksthatappealedtobetakendownandread.Therewasatablecoveredwithreviewsandmagazinesinneatpiles,andalampsoshadedastothrowitslightonlyonthewhiteblotterofthepad.Twoeasychairs,coveredwithfloweredchintz,wererangedbeforethefire,inoneofwhichIsank,muchbewildered,uponbeingurgedtodoso.
Iutterlyfailedtorecognize"Alonzo"inthisnewatmosphere.Andhehad,moreover,droppedthesubtlysarcasticmannerIwaswonttoassociatewithhim.
"Jollyoldhouse,isn\'tit?"heobserved,asthoughIhadcasuallydroppedinonhimforachat;andhestood,withhishandsbehindhimstretchedtotheblaze,lookingdownatme."ItwasbuiltbyacertainColonelDraper,whofoughtatLouisburg,andafterwardsfledtoEnglandatthetimeoftheRevolution.Hecouldn\'tstandthepatriots,I\'mnotsosurethatIblamehim,either.Areyouinterestedincolonialthings,Mr.Paret?"
IsaidIwas.IfthequestionhadconcernedAztecrelicsmyanswerwouldundoubtedlyhavebeenthesame.AndIwatchedhim,dazedly,whilehetookdownasilverporringerfromtheshallowmantelshelf.
"It\'snotaRevere,"hesaid,inaslightlyapologetictoneasthoughtoforestallacomment,"butit\'srathergood,Ithink.IpickeditupatasaleinDorchester.ButIhaveneverbeenabletoidentifythecoatofarms."
Heshowedmealadle,withthenamesof"PatienceandWilliamSimpson"
engravedquaintlythereon,andtookdownotherarticlesinwhichI
managedtofeignaninterest.Finallyheseatedhimselfinthechairopposite,crossedhisfeet,puttingthetipsofhisfingerstogetherandgazingintothefire.
"Soyouthoughtyoucouldfoolme,"hesaid,atlength.
Ibecameawareofthetickingofagreatclockinthecorner.Mymouthwasdry.
"Iamgoingtoforgiveyou,"hewenton,moregravely,"forseveralreasons.Idon\'tflatter,asyouknow.It\'sbecauseyoucarriedoutthethingsoperfectlythatIamledtothinkyouhaveagiftthatmaybecultivated,Paret.YouwrotethatthemeinthewayPeterswouldhavewrittenitifhehadnotbeen——whatshallIsay?——scripturallyinarticulate.AndItrustitmaydoyousomegoodifIsayitwassomethingofaliteraryachievement,ifnotamoralone."
"Thankyou,sir,"Ifaltered.
"Haveyouever,"heinquired,lapsingalittleintohislecture-roommanner,"seriouslythoughtofliteratureasacareer?Haveyoueverthoughtofanycareerseriously?"
"Ioncewishedtobeawriter,sir,"Irepliedtremulously,butrefrainedfromtellinghimofmyfather\'sopinionoftheprofession.Ambition——apurerambitionthanIhadknownforyears——leapedwithinmeathiswords.
He,AlonzoCheyne,haddetectedinmethePrometheanfire!
Isatthereuntilteno\'clocktalkingtotherealMr.Cheyne,ahumanMr.
Cheyneunknowninthelecture-room.NorhadIsuspectedoneinwhomcynicismanddistrustofundergraduates(ofmysort)seemedsoingrained,ofsuchidealism.Hedidnotpouritoutinpreaching;delicately,unobtrusivelyandonthewholeratherhumorouslyhemanagedtopresenttomeinamostdisillusionizinglightthatconceptionoftheuniversityheldbymeandmyintimateassociates.AfterIhadlefthimIwalkedthequietstreetstobeholdasthroughdissolvingmistsanotherHarvard,andtheretrembledinmysoullikethebirth-struggleofaflamesomethingofthevisionlatertobeimmortalizedbySt.Gaudens,thespiritofHarvardrespondingtothespiritoftheRepublic——tothecallofLincoln,whovoicedit.TheplaceofthatbronzeatthecornerofBostonCommonwasasyetempty,butIhavesincestoodbeforeittogazeinwonderatthelightshiningindarknessonmute,upliftedfaces,blackfaces!atHarvard\'ssonleadingthemonthatthelightmightliveandprevail.
I,too,longedforaCauseintowhichImightflingmyself,inwhichI
mightlosemyselfIhaltedonthesidewalktofindmyselfstaringfromtheoppositesideofthestreetatafamiliarhouse,myoldlandlady\'s,Mrs.Bolton\'s,andsummonedupbeforemewasthetired,smilingfaceofHermannKrebs.WasitbecausewhenhehadoncespokensocrudelyoftheUniversityIhadseenthereflectionofherspiritinhiseyes?Alightstillburnedintheextensionroof——Krebs\'slight;anothershonedimlythroughthegroundglassofthefrontdoor.Obeyingasuddenimpulse,Icrossedthestreet.
Mrs.Bolton,inthesky-bluewrapper,andlookingmoreforbiddingthanever,answeredthebell.Lifehadtaughthertobeindifferenttosurprises,anditwasIwhobecameabruptlyembarrassed.
"Oh,it\'syou,Mr.Paret,"shesaid,asthoughIhadbeenafrequentcaller.IhadneveroncedarkenedherthresholdsinceIhadleftherhouse.
"Yes,"Ianswered,andhesitated"IsMr.Krebsin?"
