some short stories-第1部分

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Some　Short　Stories

by　Henry　James




Contents：

Brooksmith
The　Real　Thing
The　Story　of　It
Flickerbridge
Mrs。　Medwin





BROOKSMITH




We　are　scattered　now；　the　friends　of　the　late　Mr。　Oliver　Offord；
but　whenever　we　chance　to　meet　I　think　we　are　conscious　of　a
certain　esoteric　respect　for　each　other。　　〃Yes；　you　too　have　been
in　Arcadia；〃　we　seem　not　too　grumpily　to　allow。　　When　I　pass　the
house　in　Mansfield　Street　I　remember　that　Arcadia　was　there。　　I
don't　know　who　has　it　now；　and　don't　want　to　know；　it's　enough　to
be　so　sure　that　if　I　should　ring　the　bell　there　would　be　no　such
luck　for　me　as　that　Brooksmith　should　open　the　door。　　Mr。　Offord；
the　most　agreeable；　the　most　attaching　of　bachelors；　was　a　retired
diplomatist；　living　on　his　pension　and　on　something　of　his　own　over
and　above；　a　good　deal　confined；　by　his　infirmities；　to　his
fireside　and　delighted　to　be　found　there　any　afternoon　in　the　year；
from　five　o'clock　on；　by　such　visitors　as　Brooksmith　allowed　to
come　up。　　Brooksmith　was　his　butler　and　his　most　intimate　friend；
to　whom　we　all　stood；　or　I　should　say　sat；　in　the　same　relation　in
which　the　subject　of　the　sovereign　finds　himself　to　the　prime
minister。　　By　having　been　for　years；　in　foreign　lands；　the　most
delightful　Englishman　any　one　had　ever　known；　Mr。　Offord　had　in　my
opinion　rendered　signal　service　to　his　country。　　But　I　suppose　he
had　been　too　much　likedliked　even　by　those　who　didn't　like　ITso
that　as　people　of　that　sort　never　get　titles　or　dotations　for　the
horrid　things　they've　NOT　done；　his　principal　reward　was　simply
that　we　went　to　see　him。

Oh　we　went　perpetually；　and　it　was　not　our　fault　if　he　was　not
overwhelmed　with　this　particular　honour。　　Any　visitor　who　came　once
came　again；　to　come　merely　once　was　a　slight　nobody；　I'm　sure；　had
ever　put　upon　him。　　His　circle　therefore　was　essentially　composed
of　habitues；　who　were　habitues　for　each　other　as　well　as　for　him；
as　those　of　a　happy　salon　should　be。　　I　remember　vividly　every
element　of　the　place；　down　to　the　intensely　Londonish　look　of　the
grey　opposite　houses；　in　the　gap　of　the　white　curtains　of　the　high
windows；　and　the　exact　spot　where；　on　a　particular　afternoon；　I　put
down　my　tea…cup　for　Brooksmith；　lingering　an　instant；　to　gather　it
up　as　if　he　were　plucking　a　flower。　　Mr。　Offord's　drawing…room　was
indeed　Brooksmith's　garden；　his　pruned　and　tended　human　parterre；
and　if　we　all　flourished　there　and　grew　well　in　our　places　it　was
largely　owing　to　his　supervision。

Many　persons　have　heard　much；　though　most　have　doubtless　seen
little；　of　the　famous　institution　of　the　salon；　and　many　are　born
to　the　depression　of　knowing　that　this　finest　flower　of　social　life
refuses　to　bloom　where　the　English　tongue　is　spoken。　　The
explanation　is　usually　that　our　women　have　not　the　skill　to
cultivate　itthe　art　to　direct　through　a　smiling　land；　between
suggestive　shores；　a　sinuous　stream　of　talk。　　My　affectionate；　my
pious　memory　of　Mr。　Offord　contradicts　this　induction　only；　I　fear；
more　insidiously　to　confirm　it。　　The　sallow　and　slightly　smoked
drawing…room　in　which　he　spent　so　large　a　portion　of　the　last　years
of　his　life　certainly　deserved　the　distinguished　name；　but　on　the
other　hand　it　couldn't　be　said　at　all　to　owe　its　stamp　to　any
intervention　throwing　into　relief　the　fact　that　there　was　no　Mrs。
Offord。　　The　dear　man　had　indeed；　at　the　most；　been　capable　of　one
of　those　sacrifices　to　which　women　are　deemed　peculiarly　apt：　　he
had　recognisedunder　the　influence；　in　some　degree；　it　is　true；　of
physical　infirmitythat　if　you　wish　people　to　find　you　at　home　you
must　manage　not　to　be　out。　　He　had　in　short　accepted　the　truth
which　many　dabblers　in　the　social　art　are　slow　to　learn；　that　you
must　really；　as　they　say；　take　a　line；　and　that　the　only　way　as　yet
discovered　of　being　at　home　is　to　stay　at　home。　　Finally　his　own
fireside　had　become　a　summary　of　his　habits。　　Why　should　he　ever
have　left　it？since　this　would　have　been　leaving　what　was
notoriously　pleasantest　in　London；　the　compact　charmed　cluster
（thinning　away　indeed　into　casual　couples）　round　the　fine　old　last…
century　chimney…piece　which；　with　the　exception　of　the　remarkable
collection　of　miniatures；　was　the　best　thing　the　place　contained。
Mr。　Offord　wasn't　rich；　he　had　nothing　but　his　pension　and　the　use
for　life　of　the　somewhat　superannuated　house。

When　I'm　reminded　by　some　opposed　discomfort　of　the　present　hour
how　perfectly　we　were　all　handled　there；　I　ask　myself　once　more
what　had　been　the　secret　of　such　perfection。　　One　had　taken　it　for
granted　at　the　time；　for　anything　that　is　supremely　good　produces
more　acceptance　than　surprise。　　I　felt　we　were　all　happy；　but　I
didn't　consider　how　our　happiness　was　managed。　　And　yet　there　were
questions　to　be　asked；　questions　that　strike　me　as　singularly
obvious　now　that　there's　nobody　to　answer　them。　　Mr。　Offord　had
solved　the　insoluble；　he　had；　without　feminine　helpsave　in　the
sense　that　ladies　were　dying　to　come　to　him　and　that　he　saved　the
lives　of　severalestablished　a　salon；　but　I　might　have　guessed
that　there　was　a　method　in　his　madness；　a　law　in　his　success。　　He
hadn't　hit　it　off　by　a　mere　fluke。　　There　was　an　art　in　it　all；　and
how　was　the　art　so　hidden？　　Who　indeed　if　it　came　to　that　was　the
occult　artist？　　Launching　this　inquiry　the　other　day　I　had　already
got　hold　of　the　tail　of　my　reply。　　I　was　helped　by　the　very　wonder
of　some　of　the　conditions　that　came　back　to　methose　that　used　to
seem　as　natural　as　sunshine　in　a　fine　climate。

How　was　it　for　instance　that　we　never　were　a　crowd；　never　either
too　many　or　too　few；　always　the　right　people　WITH　the　right　people…
…there　must　really　have　been　no　wrong　people　at　allalways　coming
and　going；　never　sticking　fast　nor　overstaying；　yet　never　popping
in　or　out　with　an　indecorous　familiarity？　　How　was　it　that　we　all
sat　where　we　wanted　and　moved　when　we　wanted　and　met　whom　we　wanted
and　escaped　whom　we　wanted；　joining；　according　to　the　accident　of
inclination；　the　general　circle　or　falling　in　with　a　single　talker
on　a　convenient　sofa？　　Why　were　all　the　sofas　so　convenient；　the
accidents　so　happy；　the　talkers　so　ready；　the　listeners　so　willing；
the　subjects　presented　to　you　in　a　rotation　as　quickly　foreordained
as　the　courses　at　dinner？　　A　dearth　of　topics　would　have　been　as
unheard　of　as　a　lapse　in　the　service。　　These　speculations　couldn't
fail　to　lead　me　to　the　fundamental　truth　that　Brooksmith　had　been
somehow　at　the　bottom　of　the　mystery。　　If　he　hadn't　established　the
salon　at　least　he　had　carried　it　on。　　Brooksmith　in　short　was　the
artist！

We　felt　this　covertly　at　the　time；　without　formulating　it；　and　were
conscious；　as　an　ordered　and　prosperous　community；　of　his　even…
handed　justice；　all　untainted　with　flunkeyism。　　He　had　none　of　that
vulgarityhis　touch　was　infinitely　fine。　　The　delicacy　of　it　was
clear　to　me　on　the　first　occasion　my　eyes　rested；　as　they　were　so
often　to　rest　again；　on　the　domestic　revealed；　in　the　turbid　light
of　the　street；　by　the　opening　of　the　house…door。　　I　saw　on　the　spot
that　though　he　had　plenty　of　school　he　carried　it　without
arrogancehe　had　remained　articulate　and　human。　　L'Ecole　Anglaise
Mr。　Offord　used　laughingly　to　call　him　when；　later　on；　it　happened
more　than　once　that　we　had　some　conversation　about　him。　　But　I
remember　accusing　Mr。　Offord　of　not　doing　him　quite　ideal　justice。
That　he　wasn't　one　of　the　giants　of　the　school；　however；　was
admitted　by　my　old　friend；　who　really　understood　him　perfectly　and
was　devoted　to　him；　as　I　shall　show；　which　doubtless　poor
Brooksmith　had　himself　felt；　to　his　cost；　when　his　value　in　the
market　was　originally　determined。　　The　utility　of　his　class　in
general　is　estimated　by　the　foot　and　the　inch；　and　poor　Brooksmith
had　only　about　five　feet　three　to　put　into　circulation。　　He
acknowledged　the　inadequacy　of　this　provision；　and　I'm　sure　was
penetrated　with　the　everlasting　fitness　of　the　relation　between
service　and　stature。　　If　HE　had　been　Mr。　Offord　he　certainly　would
have　found　Brooksmith　wanting；　and　indeed　the　laxity　of　his
employer　on　this　score　was　one　of　many　things　he　had　had　to　condone
and　to　which　he　had　at　last　indulgently　adapted　himself。

I　remember　the　old　man's　saying　to　me：　　〃Oh　my　servants；　if　they
can　live　with　me　a　fortnight　they　can　live　with　me　for　ever。　　But
it's　the　first　fortnight　that　tries　'em。〃　　It　was　in　the　first
fortnight　for　instance　that　Brooksmith　had　had　to　learn　that　he　was
exposed　to　being　addressed　as　〃my　dear　fellow〃　and　〃my　poor　child。〃
Strange　and　deep　must　such　a　probation　have　been　to　him；　and　he
doubtless　emerged　from　it　tempered　and　purified。　　This　was　written
to　a　certain　extent　in　his　appearance；　in　his　spare　brisk　little
person；　in　his　cloistered　white　face　and　extraordinarily　polished
hair；　which　told　of　responsibility；　looked　as　if　it　were　kept　up　to
the　same　high　standard　as　the　plate；　in　his　small　clear　anxious
eyes；　even　in　the　permitted；　though　not　exactly　encouraged；　tuft　on
his　chin。　　〃He　thinks　me　rather　mad；　but　I've　broken　him　in；　and
now　he　likes　the　place；　he　likes　the　company；〃　said　the　old　man。　　I
embraced　this　fully　after　I　had　become　aware　that　Brooksmith's　main
characteristic　was　a　deep　and　shy　refinement；　though　I　remember　I
was　rather　puzzled　when；　on　another　occasion；　Mr。　Offord　remarked：
〃What　he　likes　is　the　talkmingling　in　the　conversation。〃　　I　was
conscious　I　had　never　seen　Brooksmith　permit　himself　this　freedom；
but　I　guessed　in　a　moment　that　what　Mr。　Offord　alluded　to　was　a
participation　more　intense　than　any　speech　could　have　represented
that　of　being　perpetually　present　on　a　hundred　legitimate　pretexts；
errands；　necessities；　and　breathing　the　very　atmosphere　of
criticism；　the　famous　criticism　of　life。　　〃Quite　an　education；　sir；
isn't　it；　sir？〃　he　said　to　me　one　day　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs
when　he　was　letting　me　out；　and　I've　always　remembered　the　words
and　the　tone　as　the　first　sign　of　the　quickening　drama　of　poor
Brooksmith's　fate。　　It　was　indeed　an　education；　but　to　what　was
this　sensitive　young　man　of　thirty…five；　of　the　servile　class；
being　educated？

Practically　and　inevitably；　for　the　time；　t