Perhaps it is making a good deal of a slight matter, to tell the internal conflicts in the heart of a quiet person something more than juvenile and something less than senile, as to whether he should be guilty of an impropriety, and, if he were, whether he would get caught in his indiscretion.And yet the memory of the kiss that Margaret of Scotland gave to Alain Chartier has lasted four hundred years, and put it into the head of many an ill-favored poet, whether Victoria, or Eugenie, would do as much by him, if she happened to pass him when he was asleep.And have we ever forgotten that the fresh cheek of the young John Milton tingled under the lips of some high-born Italian beauty, who, I believe, did not think to leave her card by the side of the slumbering youth, but has bequeathed the memory of her pretty deed to all coming time? The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a deal longer.
There is one disadvantage which the man of philosophical habits of mind suffers, as compared with the man of action.While he is taking an enlarged and rational view of the matter before him, he lets his chance slip through his fingers.Iris woke up, of her own accord, before I had made up my mind what I was going to do about it.
When I remember how charmingly she looked, I don't blame myself at all for being tempted; but if I had been fool enough to yield to the impulse, I should certainly have been ashamed to tell of it.She did not know what to make of it, finding herself there alone, in such guise, and me staring at her.She looked down at her white robe and bare feet, and colored,--then at the goblet she held in her hand, then at the taper; and at last her thoughts seemed to clear up.
I know it all,--she said.--He is going to die, and I must go and sit by him.Nobody will care for him as I shall, and I have nobody else to care for.
I assured her that nothing was needed for him that night but rest, and persuaded her that the excitement of her presence could only do harm.Let him sleep, and he would very probably awake better in the morning.There was nothing to be said, for I spoke with authority;and the young girl glided away with noiseless step and sought her own chamber.
The tremor passed away from my limbs, and the blood began to burn in my cheeks.The beautiful image which had so bewitched me faded gradually from my imagination, and I returned to the still perplexing mysteries of my little neighbor's chamber.
All was still there now.No plaintive sounds, no monotonous murmurs, no shutting of windows and doors at strange hours, as if something or somebody were coming in or going out, or there was something to be hidden in those dark mahogany presses.Is there an inner apartment that I have not seen? The way in which the house is built might admit of it.As I thought it over, I at once imagined a Bluebeard's chamber.Suppose, for instance, that the narrow bookshelves to the right are really only a masked door, such as we remember leading to the private study of one of our most distinguished townsmen, who loved to steal away from his stately library to that little silent cell.If this were lighted from above, a person or persons might pass their days there without attracting attention from the household, and wander where they pleased at night,--to Copp's-Hill burial-ground, if they liked,--Isaid to myself, laughing, and pulling the bed-clothes over my head.
There is no logic in superstitious-fancies any more than in dreams.
A she-ghost wouldn't want an inner chamber to herself.A live woman, with a valuable soprano voice, wouldn't start off at night to sprain her ankles over the old graves of the North-End cemetery.
It is all very easy for you, middle-aged reader, sitting over this page in the broad daylight, to call me by all manner of asinine and anserine unchristian names, because I had these fancies running through my head.I don't care much for your abuse.The question is not, what it is reasonable for a man to think about, but what he actually does think about, in the dark, and when be is alone, and his whole body seems but one great nerve of hearing, and he sees the phosphorescent flashes of his own eyeballs as they turn suddenly in the direction of the last strange noise,--what he actually does think about, as he lies and recalls all the wild stories his head is full of, his fancy hinting the most alarming conjectures to account for the simplest facts about him, his common-sense laughing them to scorn the next minute, but his mind still returning to them, under one shape or another, until he gets very nervous and foolish, and remembers how pleasant it used to be to have his mother come and tuck him up and go and sit within call, so that she could hear him at any minute, if he got very much scared and wanted her.Old babies that we are!
Daylight will clear up all that lamp-light has left doubtful.Ilonged for the morning to come, for I was more curious than ever.
So, between my fancies and anticipations, I had but a poor night of it, and came down tired to the breakfast-table.My visit was not to be made until after this morning hour; there was nothing urgent, so the servant was ordered to tell me.
It was the first breakfast at which the high chair at the side of Iris had been unoccupied.--You might jest as well take away that chair,--said our landlady,--he'll never want it again.He acts like a man that 's struck with death, 'n' I don't believe he 'll ever come out of his chamber till he 's laid out and brought down a corpse.--These good women do put things so plainly! There were two or three words in her short remark that always sober people, and suggest silence or brief moral reflections.
--Life is dreadful uncerting,--said the Poor Relation,--and pulled in her social tentacles to concentrate her thoughts on this fact of human history.