BEAUTY OF FORM AND BEAUTY OF MIND故事

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　　BEAUTY OF FORM AND BEAUTY OF MIND故事
　　    THERE was once a sculptor, named Alfred, who having won
　　    the large gold medal and obtained a travelling scholarship,
　　    went to Italy, and then came back to his native land. He was
　　    young at that time- indeed, he is young still, although he is
　　    ten years older than he was then. On his return, he went to
　　    visit one of the little towns in the island of Zealand. The
　　    whole town knew who the stranger was; and one of the richest
　　    men in the place gave a party in his honor, and all who were
　　    of any consequence, or who possessed some property, were
　　    invited. It was quite an event, and all the town knew of it,
　　    so that it was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum.
　　    Apprentice-boys, children of the poor, and even the poor
　　    people themselves, stood before the house, watching the
　　    lighted windows; and the watchman might easily fancy he was
　　    giving a party also, there were so many people in the streets.
　　    There was quite an air of festivity about it, and the house
　　    was full of it; for Mr. Alfred, the sculptor, was there. He
　　    talked and told anecdotes, and every one listened to him with
　　    pleasure, not unmingled with awe; but none felt so much
　　    respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval officer.
　　    She seemed, so far as Mr. Alfred was concerned, to be like a
　　    piece of fresh blotting-paper that absorbed all he said and
　　    asked for more. She was very appreciative, and incredibly
　　    ignorant- a kind of female Gaspar Hauser.
　　    "I should like to see Rome," she said; "it must be a
　　    lovely city, or so many foreigners would not be constantly
　　    arriving there. Now, do give me a description of Rome. How
　　    does the city look when you enter in at the gate?"
　　    "I cannot very well describe it," said the sculptor; "but
　　    you enter on a large open space, in the centre of which stands
　　    an obelisk, which is a thousand years old."
　　    "An organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never heard the
　　    word 'obelisk.' Several of the guests could scarcely forbear
            
            

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　　    laughing, and the sculptor would have had some difficulty in
　　    keeping his countenance, but the smile on his lips faded away;
　　    for he caught sight of a pair of dark-blue eyes close by the
　　    side of the inquisitive lady. They belonged to her daughter;
　　    and surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly. The
　　    mother was like a fountain of questions; and the daughter, who
　　    listened but never spoke, might have passed for the beautiful
　　    maid of the fountain. How charming she was! She was a study
　　    for the sculptor to contemplate, but not to converse with; for
　　    she did not speak, or, at least, very seldom.
　　    "Has the pope a great family?" inquired the lady.
　　    The young man answered considerately, as if the question
　　    had been a different one, "No; he does not come from a great
　　    family."
　　    "That is not what I asked," persisted the widow; "I mean,
　　    has he a wife and children?"
　　    "The pope is not allowed to marry," replied the gentleman.
　　    "I don't like that," was the lady's remark.
　　    She certainly might have asked more sensible questions;
　　    but if she had not been allowed to say just what she liked,
　　    would her daughter have been there, leaning so gracefully on
　　    her shoulder, and looking straight before her, with a smile
　　    that was almost mournful on her face?
　　    Mr. Alfred again spoke of Italy, and of the glorious
　　    colors in Italian scenery; the purple hills, the deep blue of
　　    the Mediterranean, the azure of southern skies, whose
　　    brightness and glory could only be surpassed in the north by
　　    the deep-blue eyes of a maiden; and he said this with a
　　    peculiar intonation; but she who should have understood his
　　    meaning looked quite unconscious of it, which also was
　　    charming.
　　p;  "Beautiful Italy!" sighed some of the guests.
　　    "Oh, to travel there!" exclaimed others.
　　    "Charming! Charming!" echoed from every voice.
　　    "I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the
　　    lottery," said the naval officer's widow; "and if I do, we
            
            

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　　    will travel- I and my daughter; and you, Mr. Alfred, must be
　　    our guide. We can all three travel together, with one or two
　　    more of our good friends." And she nodded in such a friendly
　　    way at the company, that each imagined himself to be the
　　    favored person who was to accompany them to Italy. "Yes, we
　　    must go," she continued; "but not to those parts where there
　　    are robbers. We will keep to Rome. In the public roads one is
　　    always safe."
　　    The daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be
　　    in a sigh, or attributed to it! The young man attributed a
　　    great deal of meaning to this sigh. Those deep-blue eyes,
　　    which had been lit up this evening in honor of him, must
　　    conceal treasures, treasures of heart and mind, richer than
　　    all the glories of Rome; and so when he left the party that
　　    night, he had lost it completely to the young lady. The house
　　    of the naval officer's widow was the one most constantly
　　    visited by Mr. Alfred, the sculptor. It was soon understood
　　    that his visits were not intended for that lady, though they
　　    were the persons who kept up the conversation. He came for the
　　    sake of the daughter. They called her Kaela. Her name was
　　    really Karen Malena, and these two names had been contracted
　　    into the one name Kaela. She was really beautiful; but some
　　    said she was rather dull, and slept late of a morning.
　　    "She has been accustomed to that," her mother said. "She
　　    is a beauty, and they are always easily tired. She does sleep
　　    rather late; but that makes her eyes so clear."
　　    What power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes!
　　    The young man felt the truth of the proverb, "Still waters run
　　    deep:" and his heart had sunk into their depths. He often
　　    talked of his adventures, and the mamma was as simple and
　　    eager in her questions as on the first evening they met. It
　　    was a pleasure to hear Alfred describe anything. He showed
　　    them colored plates of Naples, and spoke of excursions to
　　    Mount Vesuvius, and the eruptions of fire from it. The naval
            
            

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　　    officer's widow had never heard of them before.
　　    "Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "So that is a burning
　　    mountain; but is it not very dangerous to the people who live
　　    near it?"
　　    "Whole cities have been destroyed," he replied; "for
　　    instance, Herculaneum and Pompeii."
　　    "Oh, the poor people! And you saw all that with your own
　　    eyes?"
　　    "No; I did not see any of the eruptions which are
　　    represented in those pictures; but I will show you a sketch of
　　    my own, which represents an eruption I once saw."
　　    He placed a pencil sketch on the table; and mamma, who had
　　    been over-powered with the appearance of the colored plates,
　　    threw a glance at the pale drawing and cried in astonishment,
　　    "What, did you see it throw up white fire?"
　　    For a moment, Alfred's respect for Kaela's mamma underwent
　　    a sudden shock, and lessened considerably; but, dazzled by the
　　    light which surrounded Kaela, he soon found it quite natural
　　    that the old lady should have no eye for color. After all, it
　　    was of very little consequence; for Kaela's mamma had the best
　　    of all possessions; namely, Kaela herself.
　　    Alfred and Kaela were betrothed, which was a very natural
　　    result; and the betrothal was announced in the newspaper of
　　    the little town. Mama purchased thirty copies of the paper,
　　    that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends
　　    and acquaintances. The betrothed pair were very happy, and the
　　  mother was happy too. She said it seemed like connecting
　　    herself with Thorwalsden.
　　    "You are a true successor of Thorwalsden," she said to
　　    Alfred; and it seemed to him as if, in this instance, mamma
　　    had said a clever thing. Kaela was silent; but her eyes shone,
　　    her lips smiled, every movement was graceful,- in fact, she
　　    was beautiful; that cannot be repeated too often. Alfred
　　    decided to take a bust of Kaela as well as of her mother. They
　　    sat to him accordingly, and saw how he moulded and formed the
　　    soft clay with his fingers.
            
            

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　　    "I suppose it is only on our account that you perform this
　　    common-place work yourself, instead of leaving it to your
　　    servant to do all that sticking together."
　　    "It is really necessary that I should mould the clay
　　    myself," he replied.
　　    "Ah, yes, you are always so polite," said mamma, with a
　　    smile; and Kaela silently pressed his hand, all soiled as it
　　    was with the clay.
　　    Then he unfolded to them both the beauties of Nature, in
　　    all her works; he pointed out to them how, in the scale of
　　    creation, inanimate matter was inferior to animate nature; the
　　    plant above the mineral, the animal above the plant, and man
　　    above them all. He strove to show them how the beauty of the
　　    mind could be displayed in the outward form, and that it was
　　    the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression,
　　    and produce it in his works. Kaela stood silent, but nodded in
　　    approbation of what he said, while mamma-in-law made the
　　    following confession:-
　　    "It is difficult to follow you; but I go hobbling along
　　    after you with my thoughts, though what you say makes my head
　　    whirl round and round. Still I contrive to lay hold on some of
　　    it."
　　    Kaela's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his
　　    soul, and held a mastery over him. Beauty beamed from Kaela's
　　    every feature, glittered in her eyes, lurked in the corners of
　　    her mouth, and pervaded every movement of her agile fingers.
　　    Alfred, the sculptor, saw this. He spoke only to her, thought
　　    only of her, and the two became one; and so it may be said she
　　    spoke much, for he was always talking to her; and he and she
　　    were one. Such was the betrothal, and then came the wedding,
　　    with bride's-maids and wedding presents, all duly mentioned in
　　    the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set up Thorwalsden's bust
　　    at the end of the table, attired in a dressing-gown; it was
　　    her fancy that he should be a guest. Songs were sung, and
　　    cheers given; for it was a gay wedding, and they were a
            
            

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分页标题#e#　　    handsome pair. "Pygmalion loved his Galatea," said one of the
　　    songs.
　　    "Ah, that is some of your mythologies," said mamma-in-law.
　　    Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen, where
　　    they were to live; mamma-in-law accompanied them, to attend to
　　    the "coarse work," as she always called the domestic
　　    arrangements. Kaela looked like a doll in a doll's house, for
　　    everything was bright and new, and so fine. There they sat,
　　    all three; and as for Alfred, a proverb may describe his
　　    position- he looked like a swan amongst the geese. The magic
　　    of form had enchanted him; he had looked at the casket without
　　    caring to inquire what it contained, and that omission often
　　    brings the greatest unhappiness into married life. The casket
　　    may be injured, the gilding may fall off, and then the
　　    purchaser regrets his bargain.
　　    In a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button
　　    giving way, with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is
　　    worse still in a large company to be conscious that your wife
　　    and mother-in-law are talking nonsense, and that you cannot
　　    depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry
　　    off the stupidity of the whole affair.
　　    The young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he
　　    would talk, but she could only now and then let fall a word in
　　    the same melodious voice, the same bell-like tones. It was a
　　    mental relief when Sophy, one of her friends, came to pay them
　　    a visit. Sophy was not, pretty. She was, however, quite free
　　    from any physical deformity, although Kaela used to say she
　　    was a little crooked; but no eye, save an intimate
　　    acquaintance, would have noticed it. She was a very sensible
　　    girl, yet it never occurred to her that she might be a
　　    dangerous person in such a house. Her appearance created a new
　　    atmosphere in the doll's house, and air was really required,
　　    they all owned that. They felt the want of a change of air,
　　    and consequently the young couple and their mother travelled
　　    to Italy.
            
            

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　　    "Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four
　　    walls," said mamma-in-law and daughter both, on their return
　　    after a year's absence.
　　    "There is no real pleasure in travelling," said mamma; "to
　　    tell the truth, it's very wearisome; I beg pardon for saying
　　    so. I was soon very tired of it, although I had my children
　　    with me; and, besides, it's very expensive work travelling,
　　    very expensive. And all those galleries one is expected to
　　    see, and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after!
　　    It must be done, for very shame; you are sure to be asked when
　　    you come back if you have seen everything, and will most
　　    likely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth
　　    seeing of all. I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas;
　　    I began to think I was turning into a Madonna myself."
　　    "And then the living, mamma," said Kaela.
　　    "Yes, indeed," she replied, "no such a thing as a
　　    respectable meat soup- their cookery is miserable stuff."
　　    The journey had also tired Kaela; but she was always
　　    fatigued, that was the worst of it. So they sent for Sophy,
　　    and she was taken into the house to reside with them, and her
　　    presence there was a great advantage. Mamma-in-law
　　    acknowledged that Sophy was not only a clever housewife, but
　　    well-informed and accomplished, though that could hardly be
　　    expected in a person of her limited means. She was also a
　　    generous-hearted, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughly
　　    while Kaela lay sick, fading away. When the casket is
　　    everything, the casket should be strong, or else all is over.
　　    And all was over with the casket, for Kaela died.
　　    "She was beautiful," said her mother; "she was quite
　　    different from the beauties they call 'antiques,' for they are
　　    so damaged. A beauty ought to be perfect, and Kaela was a
　　    perfect beauty."
　　    Alfred wept, and mamma wept, and they both wore mourning.
　　    The black dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning
　　    the longest. She had also to experience another grief in
            
            

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　　    seeing Alfred marry again, marry Sophy, who was nothing at all
　　    to look at. "He's gone to the very extreme," said
　　    mamma-in-law; "he has gone from the most beautiful to the
　　    ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. Men have no
　　    constancy. My husband was a very different man,- but then he
　　    died before me."
　　    "'Pygmalion loved his Galatea,' was in the song they sung
　　    at my first wedding," said Alfred; "I once fell in love with a
　　    beautiful statue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the
　　    kindred soul, which is a gift from heaven, the angel who can
　　    feel and sympathize with and elevate us, I have not found and
　　    won till now. You came, Sophy, not in the glory of outward
　　    beauty, though you are even fairer than is necessary. The
　　    chief thing still remains. You came to teach the sculptor that
　　    his work is but dust and clay only, an outward form made of a
　　    material that decays, and that what we should seek to obtain
　　    is the ethereal essence of mind and spirit. Poor Kaela! our
　　    life was but as a meeting by the way-side; in yonder world,
　　    where we shall know each other from a union of mind, we shall
　　    be but mere acquaintances."
　　    "That was not a loving speech," said Sophy, "nor spoken
　　    like a Christian. In a future state, where there is neither
　　    marrying nor giving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls
　　    are attracted to each other by sympathy; there everything
　　    beautiful develops itself, and is raised to a higher state of
　　    existence: her soul will acquire such completeness that it may
　　    harmonize with yours, even more than mine, and you will then
　　    once more utter your first rapturous exclamation of your love,
　　    'Beautiful, most beautiful!'"
　　    THE END