a bundle of letters-第4部分

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French；　we　are　English；　we　are　American；　we　are　German；　and；　I

believe；　there　are　some　Russians　and　Hungarians　expected。　　I　am　much

interested　in　the　study　of　national　types；　in　comparing；　contrasting；

seizing　the　strong　points；　the　weak　points；　the　point　of　view　of

each。　　It　is　interesting　to　shift　one's　point　of　viewto　enter　into

strange；　exotic　ways　of　looking　at　life。



The　American　types　here　are　not；　I　am　sorry　to　say；　so　interesting　as

they　might　be；　and；　excepting　myself；　are　exclusively　feminine。　　We

are　THIN；　my　dear　Harvard；　we　are　pale；　we　are　sharp。　　There　is

something　meagre　about　us；　our　line　is　wanting　in　roundness；　our

composition　in　richness。　　We　lack　temperament；　we　don't　know　how　to

live；　nous　ne　savons　pas　vivre；　as　they　say　here。　　The　American

temperament　is　represented　（putting　myself　aside；　and　I　often　think

that　my　temperament　is　not　at　all　American）　by　a　young　girl　and　her

mother；　and　another　young　girl　without　her　motherwithout　her　mother

or　any　attendant　or　appendage　whatever。　　These　young　girls　are　rather

curious　types；　they　have　a　certain　interest；　they　have　a　certain

grace；　but　they　are　disappointing　too；　they　don't　go　far；　they　don't

keep　all　they　promise；　they　don't　satisfy　the　imagination。　　They　are

cold；　slim；　sexless；　the　physique　is　not　generous；　not　abundant；　it

is　only　the　drapery；　the　skirts　and　furbelows　（that　is；　I　mean　in　the

young　lady　who　has　her　mother）　that　are　abundant。　　They　are　very

different：　　one　of　them　all　elegance；　all　expensiveness；　with　an　air

of　high　fashion；　from　New　York；　the　other　a　plain；　pure；　clear…eyed；

straight…waisted；　straight…stepping　maiden　from　the　heart　of　New

England。　　And　yet　they　are　very　much　alike　toomore　alike　than　they

would　care　to　think　themselves　for　they　eye　each　other　with　cold；

mistrustful；　deprecating　looks。　　They　are　both　specimens　of　the

emancipated　young　American　girlpractical；　positive；　passionless；

subtle；　and　knowing；　as　you　please；　either　too　much　or　too　little。

And　yet；　as　I　say；　they　have　a　certain　stamp；　a　certain　grace；　I　like

to　talk　with　them；　to　study　them。



The　fair　New　Yorker　is；　sometimes；　very　amusing；　she　asks　me　if　every

one　in　Boston　talks　like　meif　every　one　is　as　〃intellectual〃　as

your　poor　correspondent。　　She　is　for　ever　throwing　Boston　up　at　me；　I

can't　get　rid　of　Boston。　　The　other　one　rubs　it　into　me　too；　but　in　a

different　way；　she　seems　to　feel　about　it　as　a　good　Mahommedan　feels

toward　Mecca；　and　regards　it　as　a　kind　of　focus　of　light　for　the

whole　human　race。　　Poor　little　Boston；　what　nonsense　is　talked　in　thy

name！　　But　this　New　England　maiden　is；　in　her　way；　a　strange　type：

she　is　travelling　all　over　Europe　alone〃to　see　it；〃　she　says；　〃for

herself。〃　　For　herself！　　What　can　that　stiff　slim　self　of　hers　do

with　such　sights；　such　visions！　　She　looks　at　everything；　goes

everywhere；　passes　her　way；　with　her　clear　quiet　eyes　wide　open；

skirting　the　edge　of　obscene　abysses　without　suspecting　them；　pushing

through　brambles　without　tearing　her　robe；　exciting；　without　knowing

it；　the　most　injurious　suspicions；　and　always　holding　her　course；

passionless；　stainless；　fearless；　charmless！　　It　is　a　little　figure

in　which；　after　all；　if　you　can　get　the　right　point　of　view；　there　is

something　rather　striking。



By　way　of　contrast；　there　is　a　lovely　English　girl；　with　eyes　as　shy

as　violets；　and　a　voice　as　sweet！　　She　has　a　sweet　Gainsborough　head；

and　a　great　Gainsborough　hat；　with　a　mighty　plume　in　front　of　it；

which　makes　a　shadow　over　her　quiet　English　eyes。　　Then　she　has　a

sage…green　robe；　〃mystic；　wonderful；〃　all　embroidered　with　subtle

devices　and　flowers；　and　birds　of　tender　tint；　very　straight　and

tight　in　front；　and　adorned　behind；　along　the　spine；　with　large；

strange；　iridescent　buttons。　　The　revival　of　taste；　of　the　sense　of

beauty；　in　England；　interests　me　deeply；　what　is　there　in　a　simple

row　of　spinal　buttons　to　make　one　dreamto　donnor　a　rever；　as　they

say　here？　　I　think　that　a　great　aesthetic　renascence　is　at　hand；　and

that　a　great　light　will　be　kindled　in　England；　for　all　the　world　to

see。　　There　are　spirits　there　that　I　should　like　to　commune　with；　I

think　they　would　understand　me。



This　gracious　English　maiden；　with　her　clinging　robes；　her　amulets

and　girdles；　with　something　quaint　and　angular　in　her　step；　her

carriage　something　mediaeval　and　Gothic；　in　the　details　of　her　person

and　dress；　this　lovely　Evelyn　Vane　（isn't　it　a　beautiful　name？）　is

deeply；　delightfully　picturesque。　　She　is　much　a　womanelle　est　bien

femme；　as　they　say　here；　simpler；　softer；　rounder；　richer　than　the

young　girls　I　spoke　of　just　now。　　Not　much　talka　great；　sweet

silence。　　Then　the　violet　eyethe　very　eye　itself　seems　to　blush；

the　great　shadowy　hat；　making　the　brow　so　quiet；　the　strange；

clinging；　clutching；　pictured　raiment！　　As　I　say；　it　is　a　very

gracious；　tender　type。　　She　has　her　brother　with　her；　who　is　a

beautiful；　fair…haired；　gray…eyed　young　Englishman。　　He　is　purely

objective；　and　he；　too；　is　very　plastic。







CHAPTER　V







FROM　MIRANDA　HOPE　TO　HER　MOTHER。



September　26th。



You　must　not　be　frightened　at　not　hearing　from　me　oftener；　it　is　not

because　I　am　in　any　trouble；　but　because　I　am　getting　on　so　well。　　If

I　were　in　any　trouble　I　don't　think　I　should　write　to　you；　I　should

just　keep　quiet　and　see　it　through　myself。　　But　that　is　not　the　case

at　present　and；　if　I　don't　write　to　you；　it　is　because　I　am　so　deeply

interested　over　here　that　I　don't　seem　to　find　time。　　It　was　a　real

providence　that　brought　me　to　this　house；　where；　in　spite　of　all

obstacles；　I　am　able　to　do　much　good　work。　　I　wonder　how　I　find　the

time　for　all　I　do；　but　when　I　think　that　I　have　only　got　a　year　in

Europe；　I　feel　as　if　I　wouldn't　sacrifice　a　single　hour。



The　obstacles　I　refer　to　are　the　disadvantages　I　have　in　learning

French；　there　being　so　many　persons　around　me　speaking　English；　and

that；　as　you　may　say；　in　the　very　bosom　of　a　French　family。　　It　seems

as　if　you　heard　English　everywhere；　but　I　certainly　didn't　expect　to

find　it　in　a　place　like　this。　　I　am　not　discouraged；　however；　and　I

talk　French　all　I　can；　even　with　the　other　English　boarders。　　Then　I

have　a　lesson　every　day　from　Miss　Maisonrouge　（the　elder　daughter　of

the　lady　of　the　house）；　and　French　conversation　every　evening　in　the

salon；　from　eight　to　eleven；　with　Madame　herself；　and　some　friends　of

hers　that　often　come　in。　　Her　cousin；　Mr。　Verdier；　a　young　French

gentleman；　is　fortunately　staying　with　her；　and　I　make　a　point　of

talking　with　him　as　much　as　possible。　　I　have　EXTRA　PRIVATE　LESSONS

from　him；　and　I　often　go　out　to　walk　with　him。　　Some　night；　soon；　he

is　to　accompany　me　to　the　opera。　　We　have　also　a　most　interesting

plan　of　visiting　all　the　galleries　in　Paris　together。　　Like　most　of

the　French；　he　converses　with　great　fluency；　and　I　feel　as　if　I

should　really　gain　from　him。　　He　is　remarkably　handsome；　and

extremely　politepaying　a　great　many　compliments；　which；　I　am

afraid；　are　not　always　SINCERE。　　When　I　return　to　Bangor　I　will　tell

you　some　of　the　things　he　has　said　to　me。　　I　think　you　will　consider

them　extremely　curious；　and　very　beautiful　IN　THEIR　WAY。



The　conversation　in　the　parlour　（from　eight　to　eleven）　is　often

remarkably　brilliant；　and　I　often　wish　that　you；　or　some　of　the

Bangor　folks；　could　be　there　to　enjoy　it。　　Even　though　you　couldn't

understand　it　I　think　you　would　like　to　hear　the　way　they　go　on；　they

seem　to　express　so　much。　　I　sometimes　think　that　at　Bangor　they　don't

express　enough　（but　it　seems　as　if　over　there；　there　was　less　to

express）。　　It　seems　as　if；　at　Bangor；　there　were　things　that　folks

never　tried　to　say；　but　here；　I　have　learned　from　studying　French

that　you　have　no　idea　what　you　can　say；　before　you　try。　　At　Bangor

they　seem　to　give　it　up　beforehand；　they　don't　make　any　effort。　　（I

don't　say　this　in　the　least　for　William　Platt；　in　particular。



I　am　sure　I　don't　know　what　they　will　think　of　me　when　I　get　back。

It　seems　as　if；　over　here；　I　had　learned　to　come　out　with　everything。

I　suppose　they　will　think　I　am　not　sincere；　but　isn't　it　more　sincere

to　come　out　with　things　than　to　conceal　them？　　I　have　become　very

good　friends　with　every　one　in　the　housethat　is　（you　see；　I　AM

sincere）；　with　ALMOST　every　one。　　It　is　the　most　interesting　circle　I

ever　was　in。　　There's　a　girl　here；　an　American；　that　I　don't　like　so

much　as　the　rest；　but　that　is　only　because　she　won't　let　me。　　I

should　like　to　like　her；　ever　so　much；　because　she　is　most　lovely　and

most　attractive；　but　she　doesn't　seem　to　want　to　know　me　or　to　like

me。　　She　comes　from　New　York；　and　she　is　remarkably　pretty；　with

beautiful　eyes　and　the　most　delicate　features；　she　is　also　remarkably

elegantin　this　respect　would　bear　comparison　with　any　one　I　have

seen　over　here。　　But　it　seems　as　if　she　didn't　want　to　recognise　me

or　associate　with　me；　as　if　she　wanted　to　make　a　difference　between

us。　　It　is　like　people　they　call　〃haughty〃　in　books。　　I　have　never

seen　any　one　like　that　beforeany　one　that　wanted　to　make　a

difference；　and　at　first　I　was　right　down　interested；　she　seemed　to

me　so　like　a　proud　young　lady　in　a　novel。　　I　kept　saying　to　myself

all　day；　〃haughty；　haughty；〃　and　I　wished　she　would　keep　on　so。　　But

she　did　keep　on；　she　kept　on　too　long；　and　then　I　began　to　feel　hurt。

I　couldn't　think　what　I　have　done；　and　I　can't　think　yet。　　It's　as　if

she　had　got　some　idea　about　me；　or　had　heard　some　one　say　something。

If　some　girls　should　behave　like　that　I　shouldn't　make　any　account　of

it；　but　this　one　is　so　refined；　and　looks　as　if　she　might　be　so

interesting　if　I　once　got　to　know　her；　that　I　think　about　it　a　good

deal。　　I　am　bound　to　find　out　what　her　reason　isfor　of　course　she

has　got　some　reason；　I　am　right　down　curious　to　know。



I　went　up　to　her　to　ask　her　the　day　before　yesterday；　I　thought　that

was　the　best　way。