英语天堂-第87章

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　they　can　go　to　church　when　they　like；　though　they　don’t　understand　a　word　of　the　sermon；　more　than　so　many　pigs；—so　it　isn’t　of　any　great　use　for　them　to　go；　as　I　see；　but　they　do　go；　and　so　they　have　every　chance；　but；　as　I　said　before；　they　are　a　degraded　race；　and　always　will　be；　and　there　isn’t　any　help　for　them；　you　can’t　make　anything　of　them；　if　you　try。　You　see；　Cousin　Ophelia；　I’ve　tried；　and　you　haven’t；　I　was　born　and　bred　among　them；　and　I　know。”
Miss　Ophelia　thought　she　had　said　enough；　and　therefore　sat　silent。　St。　Clare　whistled　a　tune。
“St。　Clare；　I　wish　you　wouldn’t　whistle；”　said　Marie；　“it　makes　my　head　worse。”
“I　won’t；”　said　St。　Clare。　“Is　there　anything　else　you　wouldn’t　wish　me　to　do？”
“I　wish　you　would　have　some　kind　of　sympathy　for　my　trials；　you　never　have　any　feeling　for　me。”
“My　dear　acomusing　angel！”　said　St。　Clare。
“It’s　provoking　to　be　talked　to　in　that　way。”
“Then；　how　will　you　be　talked　to？　I’ll　talk　to　order；—any　way　you’ll　mention；—only　to　give　satisfaction。”
A　gay　laugh　from　the　court　rang　through　the　silken　curtains　of　the　verandah。　St。　Clare　stepped　out；　and　lifting　up　the　curtain；　laughed　too。
“What　is　it？”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　coming　to　the　railing。
There　sat　Tom；　on　a　little　mossy　seat　in　the　court；　every　one　of　his　button…holes　stuck　full　of　cape　jessamines；　and　Eva；　gayly　laughing；　was　hanging　a　wreath　of　roses　round　his　neck；　and　then　she　sat　down　on　his　knee；　like　a　chip…sparrow；　still　laughing。
“O；　Tom；　you　look　so　funny！”
Tom　had　a　sober；　benevolent　smile；　and　seemed；　in　his　quiet　way；　to　be　enjoying　the　fun　quite　as　much　as　his　little　mistress。　He　lifted　his　eyes；　when　he　saw　his　master；　with　a　half…deprecating；　apologetic　air。
“How　can　you　let　her？”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“Why　not？”　said　St。　Clare。
“Why；　I　don’t　know；　it　seems　so　dreadful！”
“You　would　think　no　harm　in　a　child’s　caressing　a　large　dog；　even　if　he　was　black；　but　a　creature　that　can　think；　and　reason；　and　feel；　and　is　immortal；　you　shudder　at；　confess　it；　cousin。　I　know　the　feeling　among　some　of　you　northerners　well　enough。　Not　that　there　is　a　particle　of　virtue　in　our　not　having　it；　but　custom　with　us　does　what　Christianity　ought　to　do；—obliterates　the　feeling　of　personal　prejudice。　I　have　often　noticed；　in　my　travels　north；　how　much　stronger　this　was　with　you　than　with　us。　You　loathe　them　as　you　would　a　snake　or　a　toad；　yet　you　are　indignant　at　their　wrongs。　You　would　not　have　them　abused；　but　you　don’t　want　to　have　anything　to　do　with　them　yourselves。　You　would　send　them　to　Africa；　out　of　your　sight　and　smell；　and　then　send　a　missionary　or　two　to　do　up　all　the　self…denial　of　elevating　them　compendiously。　Isn’t　that　it？”
“Well；　cousin；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　thoughtfully；　“there　may　be　some　truth　in　this。”
“What　would　the　poor　and　lowly　do；　without　children？”　said　St。　Clare；　leaning　on　the　railing；　and　watching　Eva；　as　she　tripped　off；　leading　Tom　with　her。　“Your　little　child　is　your　only　true　democrat。　Tom；　now　is　a　hero　to　Eva；　his　stories　are　wonders　in　her　eyes；　his　songs　and　Methodist　hymns　are　better　than　an　opera；　and　the　traps　and　little　bits　of　trash　in　his　pocket　a　mine　of　jewels；　and　he　the　most　wonderful　Tom　that　ever　wore　a　black　skin。　This　is　one　of　the　roses　of　Eden　that　the　Lord　has　dropped　down　expressly　for　the　poor　and　lowly；　who　get　few　enough　of　any　other　kind。”
“It’s　strange；　cousin；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　“one　might　almost　think　you　were　a　professor；　to　hear　you　talk。”
“A　professor？”　said　St。　Clare。
“Yes；　a　professor　of　religion。”
“Not　at　all；　not　a　professor；　as　your　town…folks　have　it；　and；　what　is　worse；　I’m　afraid；　not　a　practiser；　either。”
“What　makes　you　talk　so；　then？”
“Nothing　is　easier　than　talking；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I　believe　Shakespeare　makes　somebody　say；　‘I　could　sooner　show　twenty　what　were　good　to　be　done；　than　be　one　of　the　twenty　to　follow　my　own　showing。’1　Nothing　like　division　of　labor。　My　forte　lies　in　talking；　and　yours；　cousin；　lies　in　doing。”
In　Tom’s　external　situation；　at　this　time；　there　was；　as　the　world　says；　nothing　to　complain　of　Little　Eva’s　fancy　for　him—the　instinctive　gratitude　and　loveliness　of　a　noble　nature—had　led　her　to　petition　her　father　that　he　might　be　her　especial　attendant；　whenever　she　needed　the　escort　of　a　servant；　in　her　walks　or　rides；　and　Tom　had　general　orders　to　let　everything　else　go；　and　attend　to　Miss　Eva　whenever　she　wanted　him；—orders　which　our　readers　may　fancy　were　far　from　disagreeable　to　him。　He　was　kept　well　dressed；　for　St。　Clare　was　fastidiously　particular　on　this　point。　His　stable　services　were　merely　a　sinecure；　and　consisted　simply　in　a　daily　care　and　inspection；　and　directing　an　under…servant　in　his　duties；　for　Marie　St。　Clare　declared　that　she　could　not　have　any　smell　of　the　horses　about　him　when　he　came　near　her；　and　that　he　must　positively　not　be　put　to　any　service　that　would　make　him　unpleasant　to　her；　as　her　nervous　system　was　entirely　inadequate　to　any　trial　of　that　nature；　one　snuff　of　anything　disagreeable　being；　acomording　to　her　acomount；　quite　sufficient　to　close　the　scene；　and　put　an　end　to　all　her　earthly　trials　at　once。　Tom；　therefore；　in　his　well…brushed　broadcloth　suit；　smooth　beaver；　glossy　boots；　faultless　wristbands　and　collar；　with　his　grave；　good…natured　black　face；　looked　respectable　enough　to　be　a　Bishop　of　Carthage；　as　men　of　his　color　were；　in　other　ages。
Then；　too；　he　was　in　a　beautiful　place；　a　consideration　to　which　his　sensitive　race　was　never　indifferent；　and　he　did　enjoy　with　a　quiet　joy　the　birds；　the　flowers；　the　fountains；　the　perfume；　and　light　and　beauty　of　the　court；　the　silken　hangings；　and　pictures；　and　lustres；　and　statuettes；　and　gilding；　that　made　the　parlors　within　a　kind　of　Aladdin’s　palace　to　him。
If　ever　Africa　shall　show　an　elevated　and　cultivated　race；—and　come　it　must；　some　time；　her　turn　to　figure　in　the　great　drama　of　human　improvement。—life　will　awake　there　with　a　gorgeousness　and　splendor　of　which　our　cold　western　tribes　faintly　have　conceived。　In　that　far…off　mystic　land　of　gold；　and　gems；　and　spices；　and　waving　palms；　and　wondrous　flowers；　and　miraculous　fertility；　will　awake　new　forms　of　art；　new　styles　of　splendor；　and　the　negro　race；　no　longer　despised　and　trodden　down；　will；　perhaps；　show　forth　some　of　the　latest　and　most　magnificent　revelations　of　human　life。　Certainly　they　will；　in　their　gentleness；　their　lowly　docility　of　heart；　their　aptitude　to　repose　on　a　superior　mind　and　rest　on　a　higher　power；　their　childlike　simplicity　of　affection；　and　facility　of　forgiveness。　In　all　these　they　will　exhibit　the　highest　form　of　the　peculiarly　Christian　life；　and；　perhaps；　as　God　chasteneth　whom　he　loveth；　he　hath　chosen　poor　Africa　in　the　furnace　of　affliction；　to　make　her　the　highest　and　noblest　in　that　kingdom　which　he　will　set　up；　when　every　other　kingdom　has　been　tried；　and　failed；　for　the　first　shall　be　last；　and　the　last　first。
Was　this　what　Marie　St。　Clare　was　thinking　of；　as　she　stood；　gorgeously　dressed；　on　the　verandah；　on　Sunday　morning；　clasping　a　diamond　bracelet　on　her　slender　wrist？　Most　likely　it　was。　Or；　if　it　wasn’t　that；　it　was　something　else；　for　Marie　patronized　good　things；　and　she　was　going　now；　in　full　force；—diamonds；　silk；　and　lace；　and　jewels；　and　all；—to　a　fashionable　church；　to　be　very　religious。　Marie　always　made　a　point　to　be　very　pious　on　Sundays。　There　she　stood；　so　slender；　so　elegant；　so　airy　and　undulating　in　all　her　motions；　her　lace　scarf　enveloping　her　like　a　mist。　She　looked　a　graceful　creature；　and　she　felt　very　good　and　very　elegant　indeed。　Miss　Ophelia　stood　at　her　side；　a　perfect　contrast。　It　was　not　that　she　had　not　as　handsome　a　silk　dress　and　shawl；　and　as　fine　a　pocket…handkerchief；　but　stiffness　and　squareness；　and　bolt…uprightness；　enveloped　her　with　as　indefinite　yet　appreciable　a　presence　as　did　grace　her　elegant　neighbor；　not　the　grace　of　God；　however；—that　is　quite　another　thing！
“Where’s　Eva？”　said　Marie。
“The　child　stopped　on　the　stairs；　to　say　something　to　Mammy。”
And　what　was　Eva　saying　to　Mammy　on　the　stairs？　Listen；　reader；　and　you　will　hear；　though　Marie　does　not。
“Dear　Mammy；　I　know　your　head　is　aching　dre