Senator Tillman of South Carolina has been making a speech--day before yesterday--of frank and intimate criticism of the President--the President of the United States, as he calls him; whereas, so far as my knowledge goes, there has been no such functionary1 as President of the United States for forty years, perhaps, if we except Cleveland. I do not call to mind any other President of the United States--there may have been one or two--perhaps one or two, who were not always and persistently2 presidents of the Republican party, but were now and then for a brief interval3 really Presidents of the United States. Tillman introduces into this speech the matter of the expulsion of Mrs. Morris from the White House, and I think his arraignment4 of the President was a good and capable piece of work. At any rate, his handling of it suited me very well and tasted very good in my mouth. I was glad that there was somebody to take this matter up, whether from a generous motive5 or from an ungenerous one, and give it an airing. It was needed. The whole nation, and the entire press, have been sitting by in meek6 and slavish silence, everybody privately7 wishing--just as was my own case--that some person with some sense of the proprieties8 would rise up and denounce this outrage9 as it ought to be denounced. Tillman makes a point which charms me. I wanted to use it myself, days ago, but I was already arranging a scheme in another matter of public concern which may invite a brick or two in my direction, and one entertainment of this sort at a time is plenty for me. That point was this: that the President is always prodigal10 of letters and telegrams to Tom, Dick, and Harry11, about everything and nothing. He seems never to lack time from his real duties to attend to duties that do not exist. So, at the very time when he should have been throwing off one or two little lines to say to Mrs. Morris and her friends that, being a gentleman, he was hastening to say he was sorry that his assistant secretary had been turning the nation's official mansion12 into a sailor boarding-house, and that he would admonish13 Mr. Barnes, and the rest of the reception-room garrison14, to deal more gently with the erring15 in future, and to abstain16 from any conduct in the White House which would rank as disgraceful in any other respectable dwelling17 in the land. . . .
I don't like Tillman. His second cousin killed an editor, three years ago, without giving that editor a chance to defend himself. I recognize that it is almost always wise, and is often in a manner necessary, to kill an editor, but I think that when a man is a United States Senator he ought to require his second cousin to refrain as long as he can, and then do it in a handsome way, running some personal risk himself. I have not known Tillman to do many things that were greatly to his credit during his political life, but I am glad of the position which he has taken this time. The President has persistently refused to listen to such friends of his as are not insane--men who have tried to persuade him to disavow Mr. Barnes's conduct and express regret for that occurrence. And now Mr. Tillman uses that point which I spoke18 of a minute ago, and uses it with telling effect. He reminds the Senate that at the very time that the President's dignity would not allow him to send to Mrs. Morris or her friends a kindly19 and regretful line, he had time enough to send a note of compliment and admiration20 to a prize-fighter in the far West. If the President had been an unpopular person, that point would have been seized upon early, and much and disastrous21 notice taken of it. But, as I have suggested before, the nation and the newspapers have maintained a loyal and humiliated22 silence about it, and have waited prayerfully and hopefully for some reckless person to say the things which were in their hearts, and which they could not bear to utter. Mrs. Morris embarrasses the situation, and extends and keeps alive the discomfort23 of eighty millions of people, by lingering along near to death, yet neither rallying nor dying; to do either would relieve the tension. For the present, the discomfort must continue. Mr. Tillman certainly has not chloroformed it.
We buried John Malone this morning. His old friends of the Players' Club attended in a body. It was the second time in my life that I had been present at a Catholic funeral. And as I sat in the church my mind went back, by natural process, to that other one, and the contrast strongly interested me. That first one was the funeral of the Empress of Austria, who was assassinated24 six or eight years ago. There was a great concourse of the ancient nobility of the Austrian Empire; and as that patchwork25 of old kingdoms and principalities consists of nineteen states and eleven nationalities, and as these nobles came clothed in the costumes which their ancestors were accustomed to wear on state occasions three, four, or five centuries ago, the variety and magnificence of the costumes made a picture which cast far into the shade all the notions of splendor26 and magnificence which in the course of my life I had accumulated from the opera, the theater, the picture galleries, and from books. Gold, silver, jewels, silks, satins, velvets--they were all there in brilliant and beautiful confusion, and in that sort of perfect harmony which Nature herself observes and is master of, when she paints and groups her flowers and her forests and floods them with sunshine. The military and civic27 milliners of the Middle Ages knew their trade. Infinite as was the variety of the costumes displayed, there was not an ugly one, not one that was a discordant28 note in the harmony, or an offense29 to the eye. When those massed costumes were still, they were transcendently beautiful; when the mass stirred, the slightest movement set the jewels and metals and bright colors afire and swept it with flashing lights which sent a sort of ecstasy30 of delight through me.
But it was different this morning. This morning the clothes were all alike. They were simple and devoid31 of color. The Players were clothed as they are always clothed, except that they wore the high silk hat of ceremony. Yet, in its way, John Malone's funeral was as impressive as had been that of the Empress. There was no inequality between John Malone and the Empress except the artificial inequalities which have been invented and established by man's childish vanity. The Empress and John were just equals in the essentials of goodness of heart and a blameless life. Both passed by the onlooker32, in their coffins33, respected, esteemed34, honored; both traveled the same road from the church, bound for the same resting-place--according to Catholic doctrine35, Purgatory36--to be removed thence to a better land or to remain in Purgatory accordingly as the contributions of their friends, in cash or prayer, shall determine. The priest told us, in an admirably framed speech, about John's destination, and the terms upon which he might continue his journey or must remain in Purgatory. John was poor; his friends are poor. The Empress was rich; her friends are rich. John Malone's prospects37 are not good, and I lament38 it.
Perhaps I am in error in saying I have been present at only two Catholic funerals. I think I was present at one in Virginia City, Nevada, in the neighborhood of forty years ago--or perhaps it was down in Esmeralda, on the borders of California--but if it happened, the memory of it can hardly be said to exist, it is so indistinct. I did attend one or two funerals--maybe a dozen--out there; funerals of desperadoes who had tried to purify society by exterminating39 other desperadoes--and did accomplish the purification, though not according to the program which they had laid out for this office.
Also, I attended some funerals of persons who had fallen in duels--and maybe it was a duelist whom I helped to ship. But would a duelist be buried by the church? In inviting40 his own death, wouldn't he be committing suicide, substantially? Wouldn't that rule him out? Well, I don't remember how it was, now, but I think it was a duelist.
点击收听单词发音
1 functionary | |
n.官员;公职人员 | |
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2 persistently | |
ad.坚持地;固执地 | |
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3 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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4 arraignment | |
n.提问,传讯,责难 | |
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5 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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6 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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7 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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8 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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9 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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10 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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11 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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12 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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13 admonish | |
v.训戒;警告;劝告 | |
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14 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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15 erring | |
做错事的,错误的 | |
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16 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
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17 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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18 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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19 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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20 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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21 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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22 humiliated | |
感到羞愧的 | |
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23 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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24 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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25 patchwork | |
n.混杂物;拼缝物 | |
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26 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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27 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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28 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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29 offense | |
n.犯规,违法行为;冒犯,得罪 | |
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30 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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31 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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32 onlooker | |
n.旁观者,观众 | |
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33 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
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34 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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35 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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36 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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37 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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38 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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39 exterminating | |
v.消灭,根绝( exterminate的现在分词 ) | |
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40 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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