a wagner matinee- 第1部分

A　Wagner　Matinee







I　received　one　morning　a　letter；　written　in　pale　ink　on



glassy；　blue…lined　notepaper；　and　bearing　the　postmark　of　a



little　Nebraska　village。　　This　communication；　worn　and　rubbed；



looking　as　though　it　had　been　carried　for　some　days　in　a　coat



pocket　that　was　none　too　clean；　was　from　my　Uncle　Howard　and



informed　me　that　his　wife　had　been　left　a　small　legacy　by　a



bachelor　relative　who　had　recently　died；　and　that　it　would　be



necessary　for　her　to　go　to　Boston　to　attend　to　the　settling　of



the　estate。　　He　requested　me　to　meet　her　at　the　station　and



render　her　whatever　services　might　be　necessary。　　On　examining



the　date　indicated　as　that　of　her　arrival　I　found　it　no　later



than　tomorrow。　　He　had　characteristically　delayed　writing　until；



had　I　been　away　from　home　for　a　day；　I　must　have　missed　the　good



woman　altogether。







The　name　of　my　Aunt　Georgiana　called　up　not　alone　her　own



figure；　at　once　pathetic　and　grotesque；　but　opened　before　my　feet



a　gulf　of　recollection　so　wide　and　deep　that；　as　the　letter



dropped　from　my　hand；　I　felt　suddenly　a　stranger　to　all　the



present　conditions　of　my　existence；　wholly　ill　at　ease　and　out　of



place　amid　the　familiar　surroundings　of　my　study。　　I　became；　in



short；　the　gangling　farm　boy　my　aunt　had　known；　scourged　with



chilblains　and　bashfulness；　my　hands　cracked　and　sore　from　the



corn　husking。　　I　felt　the　knuckles　of　my　thumb　tentatively；　as



though　they　were　raw　again。　　I　sat　again　before　her　parlor　organ；



fumbling　the　scales　with　my　stiff；　red　hands；　while　she；　beside



me；　made　canvas　mittens　for　the　huskers。







The　next　morning；　after　preparing　my　landlady　somewhat；　I



set　out　for　the　station。　　When　the　train　arrived　I　had　some



difficulty　in　finding　my　aunt。　　She　was　the　last　of



the　passengers　to　alight；　and　it　was　not　until　I　got　her　into　the



carriage　that　she　seemed　really　to　recognize　me。　　She　had　come



all　the　way　in　a　day　coach；　her　linen　duster　had　become　black



with　soot；　and　her　black　bonnet　gray　with　dust；　during　the



journey。　　When　we　arrived　at　my　boardinghouse　the　landlady　put



her　to　bed　at　once　and　I　did　not　see　her　again　until　the　next



morning。







Whatever　shock　Mrs。　Springer　experienced　at　my　aunt's



appearance　she　considerately　concealed。　　As　for　myself；　I　saw　my



aunt's　misshapen　figure　with　that　feeling　of　awe　and　respect　with



which　we　behold　explorers　who　have　left　their　ears　and　fingers



north　of　Franz　Josef　Land；　or　their　health　somewhere　along　the



Upper　Congo。　　My　Aunt　Georgiana　had　been　a　music　teacher　at　the



Boston　Conservatory；　somewhere　back　in　the　latter　sixties。　　One



summer；　while　visiting　in　the　little　village　among　the　Green



Mountains　where　her　ancestors　had　dwelt　for　generations；　she　had



kindled　the　callow　fancy　of　the　most　idle　and　shiftless　of　all



the　village　lads；　and　had　conceived　for　this　Howard　Carpenter　one



of　those　extravagant　passions　which　a　handsome　country　boy　of



twenty…one　sometimes　inspires　in　an　angular；　spectacled　woman　of



thirty。　　When　she　returned　to　her　duties　in　Boston；　Howard



followed　her；　and　the　upshot　of　this　inexplicable　infatuation　was



that　she　eloped　with　him；　eluding　the　reproaches　of　her　family



and　the　criticisms　of　her　friends　by　going　with　him　to　the



Nebraska　frontier。　　Carpenter；　who；　of　course；　had　no　money；　had



taken　a　homestead　in　Red　Willow　County；　fifty　miles　from　the



railroad。　　There　they　had　measured　off　their　quarter　section



themselves　by　driving　across　the　prairie　in　a　wagon；　to　the　wheel



of　which　they　had　tied　a　red　cotton　handkerchief；　and　counting



off　its　revolutions。　　They　built　a　dugout　in　the　red　hillside；



one　of　those　cave　dwellings　whose　inmates　so　often　reverted　to



primitive　conditions。　　Their　water　they　got　from　the　lagoons



where　the　buffalo　drank；　and　their　slender　stock　of　provisions



was　always　at　the　mercy　of　bands　of　roving　Indians。　　For　thirty



years　my　aunt　had　not　been　further　than　fifty　miles　from　the



homestead。







But　Mrs。　Springer　knew　nothing　of　all　this；　and　must　have



been　considerably　shocked　at　what　was　left　of　my　kinswoman。　



Beneath　the　soiled　linen　duster　which；　on　her　arrival；　was　the　most



conspicuous　feature　of　her　costume；　she　wore　a　black　stuff　dress；



whose　ornamentation　showed　that　she　had　surrendered　herself



unquestioningly　into　the　hands　of　a　country　dressmaker。　　My　poor



aunt's　figure；　however；　would　have　presented　astonishing



difficulties　to　any　dressmaker。　　Originally　stooped；　her　shoulders



were　now　almost　bent　together　over　her　sunken　chest。　　She　wore　no



stays；　and　her　gown；　which　trailed　unevenly　behind；　rose　in　a　sort



of　peak　over　her　abdomen。　　She　wore　ill…fitting　false　teeth；　and



her　skin　was　as　yellow　as　a　Mongolian's　from　constant　exposure　to



a　pitiless　wind　and　to　the　alkaline　water　which　hardens　the　most



transparent　cuticle　into　a　sort　of　flexible　leather。







I　owed　to　this　woman　most　of　the　good　that　ever　came　my　way



in　my　boyhood；　and　had　a　reverential　affection　for　her。　　During



the　years　when　I　was　riding　herd　for　my　uncle；　my　aunt；　after



cooking　the　three　mealsthe　first　of　which　was　ready　at　six



o'clock　in　the　morning…and　putting　the　six　children　to　bed；　would



often　stand　until　midnight　at　her　ironing　board；　with　me　at　the



kitchen　table　beside　her；　hearing　me　recite　Latin　declensions　and



conjugations；　gently　shaking　me　when　my　drowsy　head　sank　down



over　a　page　of　irregular　verbs。　　It　was　to　her；　at　her　ironing　or



mending；　that　I　read　my　first　Shakespeare'；　and　her　old　textbook



on　mythology　was　the　first　that　ever　came　into　my　empty　hands。　



She　taught　me　my　scales　and　exercises；　tooon　the　little　parlor



organ；　which　her　husband　had　bought　her　after　fifteen　years；



during　which　she　had　not　so　much　as　seen　any　instrument；　but　an



accordion　that　belonged　to　one　of　the　Norwegian　farmhands。　　She



would　sit　beside　me　by　the　hour；　darning　and　counting　while　I



struggled　with　the　〃Joyous　Farmer；〃　but　she　seldom　talked　to　me



about　music；　and　I　understood　why。　　She　was　a　pious　woman；　she



had　the　consolations　of　religion　and；　to　her　at　least；　her



martyrdom　was　not　wholly　sordid。　　Once　when　I　had　been　doggedly



beating　out　some　easy　passages　from　an　old　score　of



Euryanthe　I　had　found　among　her　music　books；　she　came　up　to



me　and；　putting　her　hands　over　my　eyes；　gently　drew　my　head　back



upon　her　shoulder；　saying　tremulously；　〃Don't　love　it　so　well；



Clark；　or　it　may　be　taken　from　you。　　Oh；　dear　boy；　pray　that



whatever　your　sacrifice　may　be；　it　be　not　that。〃







When　my　aunt　appeared　on　the　morning　after　her　arrival　she



was　still　in　a　semi…somnambulant　state。　　She　seemed　not　to　realize



that　she　was　in　the　city　where　she　had　spent　her　youth；　the　place



longed　for　hungrily　half　a　lifetime。　　She　had　been　so　wretchedly



train…sick　throughout　the　journey　that　she　bad　no　recollection　of



anything　but　her　discomfort；　and；　to　all　intents　and　purposes；



there　were　but　a　few　hours　of　nightmare　between　the　farm　in　Red



Willow　County　and　my　study　on　Newbury　Street。　　I　had　planned　a



little　pleasure　for　her　that　afternoon；　to　repay　her　for　some　of



the　glorious　moments　she　had　given　me　when　we　used　to　milk



together　in　the　straw…thatched　cowshed　and　she；　because　I　was



more　than　usually　tired；　or　because　her　husband　had　spoken



sharply　to　me；　would　tell　me　of　the　splendid　performance　of　the



Huguenots　she　had　seen　in　Paris；　in　her　youth。　　At　two



o'clock　the　Symphony　Orchestra　was　to　give　a　Wagner　program；　and　I



intended　to　take　my　aunt；　though；　as　I　conversed　with　her　I　grew



doubtful　about　her　enjoyment　of　it。　　Indeed；　for　her　own　sake；　I



could　only　wish　her　taste　for　such　things　quite　dead；　and　the



long　struggle　mercifully　ended　at　last。　　I　suggested　our　visiting



the　Conservatory　and　the　Common　before　lunch；　but　she　seemed



altogether　too　timid　to　wish　to　venture　out。　　She　questioned　me



absently　about　various　changes　in　the　city；　but　she　was　chiefly



concerned　that　she　had　forgotten　to　leave　instructions　about



feeding　half…skimmed　milk　to　a　certain　weakling　calf；　〃old



Maggie's　calf；　you　know；　Clark；〃　she　explained；　evidently　having



forgotten　how　long　I　had　been　away。　　She　was　further　troubled



because　she　had　neglected　to　tell　her　daughter　about　the　freshly



opened　kit　of　mackerel　in　the　cellar；　which　would　spoil　if　it



were　not　used　directly。







I　asked　her　whether　she　had　ever　heard　any　of　the　Wagnerian



operas　and　found　that　she　had　not；　though　she　was　perfectly



familiar　with　their　respective　situations；　and　had　once　possessed



the　piano　score　of　The　Flying　Dutchman。　　I　began　to　think　it



would　have　been　best　to　get　her　back　to　Red　Willow　County　without



waking　her；　and　regretted　having　suggested　the　concert。







From　the　time　we　entered　the　concert　hall；　however；　she　was



a　trifle　less　passive　and　inert；　and　for　the　first　time　seemed　to



perceive　her　surroundings。　　I　had　felt　some　trepidation　lest　she



might　become　aware　of　the　absurdities　of　her　attire；　or　might



experience　some　painful　embarrassment　at　stepping　suddenly　into



the　world　to　which　she　had　been　dead　for　a　quarter　of　a　century。　



But；　again；　I　found　how　superficially　I　had　judged　her。　　She　sat



looking　about　her　with　eyes　as　impersonal；　almost　as　stony；　as



those　with　which　the　granite　Rameses　in　a　museum　watches　the



froth　and　fret　that　ebbs　and　flows　about　his　pedestal…separated