And then, while I yet waited in suspense7, I heard the sound of footsteps and knew that my cousin was returning. In a flash I realised how stupid I had been to remain in the room, when I might have hidden myself in some far corner of the attic8 and appeared no more until my shame had been forgotten. My legs trembled in sudden panic, and it seemed to me that my face was ticking like a clock. I received my first p. 163critic with my head buried in the cushions of the sofa.
Looking back, I perceive that the Olympians rose to the occasion, but at the time I could hardly believe my good-fortune. Long after my cousin had gone away I lay on the sofa turning over the pleasant message in my mind—and the magic half-crown in my hand. Praise I had desired, if not expected; but that the Olympians—whose function in life was to divert our tips into a savings-bank account that meant nothing to us, that these stern financiers should give me a whole half-crown in one sum, unhindered by any restrictions9 in the spending, was incredible. Yet I could feel its rough edge in the dark; and considering its source, I formed an erroneous idea of the influence of the arts on the minds of sane10 grown-up people, from which even now I am not wholly delivered.
After a while, with a mind strangely confused between pride and modesty11, I stole into the room where the others were sitting. But with a quick sense of disappointment I saw that I need not have concerned p. 164myself at all with the proper attitude for a young poet to adopt. The Olympians, engaged in one of their meaningless discussions, did not notice my entrance, and only my brothers were interested when I crept silently into their midst.
“What are you going to spend it on?” they whispered.
Oddly, for I was the youngest of four, this success of mine was responsible for a literary outburst in our normally uncultured schoolroom, and one of the fruits of that intellectual disturbance12, in the shape of a manuscript magazine, lies before me. It contains an editorial address to the “friendly reader,” two short stories full of murders, a quantity of didactic verse, and the first instalment of a serial13, which commences gravely: “My father was a bootmaker of considerable richness.” Of literary achievement or even promise it would be hard to find a trace in these yellowing pages, but there is an enthusiasm behind every line of them that the critic would seek in vain in modern journalism14. Indeed, those were the days in which to write, when paper and p. 165pencil and half an hour never failed to produce a masterpiece, and the finished work invariably thrilled the artist with “out-landish pride.” I cannot recall that any further half-crowns rewarded our efforts, and possibly that is the reason why three of the four boys who wrote that magazine are now regenerate15 and write no more.
And even the fourth must own to having lost that fine, careless trick of throwing off masterpieces, and to regretting, in moments of depression, the generous Olympian impulse that enabled him to barter16 his birthright of common sense for a silver coin with a rough edge. And the Olympians—they, too, have regretted it, I suppose, for the goddess of letters is an exacting17 mistress, and we do not willingly see our children engaging in her irregular service. Yet I do not see what else they could have done at the time.
A little while ago I discovered a small girl, to whom I act as a kind of illegal uncle, in the throes of lyrical composition. With soft words and flattering phrases, borrowed, perhaps, from the cousin of the past, I won the paper from her grasp. It was like all p. 166the poetry that children have ever written, and I was preparing to banter18 the young author when I saw that she was regarding me with curious intentness, and that her face turned red and white by turns. Even if my intentions had been honourable19 I could not have disregarded her signs of distress20. “I think it’s very nice indeed,” I said; “I’ll give you half a crown for it.”
As her fingers closed on the coin I felt inclined to raise a shout of triumph. For now that I had paid the half-crown back I should be able gradually—for, of course, the habit of years is not broken in a minute—to stop writing. My only fear is that my conscience may have gone to sleep in my long years of aloofness21 from simplicity22; for though I already detect a note of vagueness in the eyes of my niece, and her mother complains that she is becoming untidy, I hold my peace, and offer no explanation. For I feel sure that if I did I should recover my half-crown.
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1 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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2 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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3 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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4 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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5 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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6 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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7 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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8 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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9 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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10 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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11 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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12 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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13 serial | |
n.连本影片,连本电视节目;adj.连续的 | |
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14 journalism | |
n.新闻工作,报业 | |
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15 regenerate | |
vt.使恢复,使新生;vi.恢复,再生;adj.恢复的 | |
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16 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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17 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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18 banter | |
n.嘲弄,戏谑;v.取笑,逗弄,开玩笑 | |
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19 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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20 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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21 aloofness | |
超然态度 | |
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22 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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