the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第28节
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It has never been explained to my satisfaction why women； as a class；
are the enemies of books； and are particularly hostile to bibliomania。 The
exceptions met with now and then simply prove the rule。 Judge Methuen
declares that bibliophobia is but one phase of jealousy； that one's wife
hates one's books because she fears that her husband is in love； or is going
to be in love； with those companions of his student hours。 If； instead of
being folios； quartos； octavos； and the like； the Judge's books were buxom；
blithe maidens； his wife could hardly be more jealous of the Judge's
attentions to them than she is under existing circumstances。 On one
occasion； having found the Judge on two successive afternoons sitting
alone in the library with Pliny in his lap； this spirited lady snatched the
insidious volume from her husband's embraces and locked it up in one of
the kitchen pantries； nor did she release the object of her displeasure until
the Judge had promised solemnly to be more circumspect in the future；
and had further mollified his wife's anger by bringing home a new silk
dress and a bonnet of exceptional loveliness。
Other instances of a similar character have demonstrated that Mrs。
Methuen regards with implacable antipathy the volumes upon which my
learned and ingenious friend would fain lavish the superabundance of his
affection。 Many years ago the Judge was compelled to resort to every
kind of artifice in order to sneak new books into his house； and had he not
been imbued with the true afflatus of bibliomania he would long ago have
broken down under the heartless tyranny of his vindictive spouse。
When I look around me and survey the persecution to which book…
lovers are subjected by their wives； I thank the goddess Fortune that she
has cast my lot among the celibates； indeed； it is still one of the few
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serious questions I have not yet solved； viz。： whether a man can at the
same time be true to a wife and to bibliomania。 Both are exacting
mistresses； and neither will tolerate a rival。
Dr。 O'Rell has a theory that the trouble with most wives is that they are
not caught young enough； he quotes Dr。 Johnson's sage remark to the
effect that ‘‘much can be made of a Scotchman if caught young；'' and he
asserts that this is equally true of woman。 Mrs。 O'Rell was a mere girl
when she wedded with the doctor； and the result of thirty years' experience
and training is that this model woman sympathizes with her excellent
husband's tastes； and actually has a feeling of contempt for other wives
who have never heard of Father Prout and Kit North； and who object to
their husbands' smoking in bed。
I recall with what enthusiasm I once heard this superior creature
commend the doctor for having accepted in lieu of a fee a set of Calvin's
‘‘Institutes；'' with copious notes； in twelve octavo volumes； and a portfolio
of colored fox…hunting prints。 My admiration for this model wife could
find expression in no other way； I jumped from my chair； seized her in my
arms； and imprinted upon her brow a fervent but respectful kiss。
It would be hard to imagine a prettier picture than that presented to my
vision as I looked in from the porch of the doctor's residence upon the
doctor's family gathered together in the library after dinner。 The doctor
himself； snuggled down in a vast easy…chair； was dividing his attention
between a brier pipe and the odes of Propertius； his wife； beside him in her
rocker； smiled and smiled again over the quaint humor of Mrs。 Gaskell's
‘‘Cranford''； upon yonder settee； Francis Mahony Methuen； the oldest son；
was deep in the perusal of Wilson's ‘‘Tales of the Border''； his brother；
Russell Lowell； was equally absorbed in the pathetic tale of ‘‘The Man
without a Country''； Letitia Landon Methuen； the daughter； was quietly
sobbing over the tragedy of ‘‘Evangeline''； in his high chair sat the chubby
baby boy； Beranger Methuen； crowing gleefully over an illustrated copy of
that grand old classic； ‘‘Poems for Infant Minds by Two Young Persons。''
For several moments I stood spellbound； regarding with ineffable
rapture this inspiring spectacle。 ‘‘How manifold are thy blessings； O
Bibliomania；'' thought I； ‘‘and how graciously they are distributed in this
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joyous circle； wherein it is permitted to see not only the maturer members；
but； alas； the youth and even the babes and sucklings drinking freely and
gratefully at the fountain…head of thy delights！''
Dr。 O'Rell's library is one of the most charming apartments I know of。
It looks out upon every variety of scenery； for Dr。 O'Rell has had
constructed at considerable expense a light iron framework from which are
suspended at different times cunningly painted canvases representing
landscapes and marines corresponding to the most whimsical fancy。
In the dead of winter； the doctor often has a desire to look out upon a
cheery landscape； thereupon； by a simple manipulation of a keyboard；
there is unrolled a panorama of velvety hillsides and flowery meads； of
grazing sheep； and of piping rustics； so natural is the spectacle that one
can almost hear the music of the reeds； and fancy himself in Arcadia。 If
in midsummer the heat is oppressive and life seems burthensome；
forthwith another canvas is outspread； and the glories of the Alps appear；
or a stretch of blue sea； or a corner of a primeval forest。
So there is an outlook for every mood； and I doubt not that this
ingenious provision contributes potently towards promoting bibliomaniac
harmony and prosperity in my friend's household。 It is true that I myself
am not susceptible to external influences when once I am surrounded by
books； I do not care a fig whether my library overlooks a garden or a
desert； give me my dear companions in their dress of leather； cloth； or
boards； and it matters not to me whether God sends storm or sunshine；
flowers or hail； light or darkness； noise or calm。 Yet I know and admit
that environment means much to most people； and I do most heartily
applaud Dr。 O'Rell's versatile device。
I have always thought that De Quincey's workshop would have given
me great delight。 The particular thing that excited De Quincey's choler
was interference with his books and manuscripts； which he piled atop of
one another upon the floor and over his desk； until at last there would be
but a narrow little pathway from the desk to the fireplace and from the
fireplace to the door； and his writing…tablegracious！ what a Pelion upon
Ossa of confusion it must have been！
Yet De Quincey insisted that he knew ‘‘just where everything was；''
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and he merely exacted that the servants attempt no such vandalism as
‘‘cleaning up'' in his workshop。 Of course there would presently come a
time when there was no more room on the table and when the little
pathway to the fireplace and the door would be no longer visible； then；
with a sigh； De Quincey would lock the door of that room and betake
himself to other quarters； which in turn would eventually become quite as
littered up； cluttered up； and impassable as the first rooms。
From all that can be gathered upon the subject it would appear that De
Quincey was careless in his treatment of books； I have read somewhere
（but I forget where） that he used his forefinger as a paper…cutter and that
he did
