Chapter 36 Literati's study (1)

Where women seldom condescend to drive, As you know it's always a mess, There we alone have the glory of heaven, And they always bring worldly troubles. For bookworm husbands like you and me, There are always few benevolent women like this: Knowing our tastes and not being angry, Said it was Dibdin's ghost that haunted me. Why women, as a category of human beings, are the enemy of books, and especially of bookworms, has never been explained to my satisfaction.Occasional exceptions only confirm the rule.Judge Methuen claimed that bibliophobia has only one symptom, and that is jealousy.A man's wife hates his book simply because she fears that her husband has fallen or will fall in love with his research partner.Imagine if Methuen's books were not folios, quartos, octavos, and the like, but plump, vivacious maidens, Mrs. May's jealousy of the attention the judge gave More in the current situation.On one occasion Mrs May found His Honor sitting alone in the library for two consecutive afternoons, with Pliny on her knees, the brave lady snatching the insidious volume from her husband's arms , locked it in the kitchen pantry.If the judge does not solemnly promise to be more prudent from now on, and bring back a silk dress and a very beautiful millinery to further appease his wife's anger, there is no hope that Mrs May will release the man who made her angry. unpleasant stuff.

Another instance of a similar character amply demonstrates Mrs. Methuen's profound distaste for those books.To these books my wise and learned friend is willing to spare him a surplus of tenderness.Years ago, Judge Methuen had to resort to all sorts of tricks and tricks to smuggle new books into his study furtively.Had he not been imbued with the bookworm's devotion to loyalty, he might have been overwhelmed by the ruthless tyranny of his vindictive wife. When I reflect on myself, and look at the ruthless persecution that makes book lovers bow down to their wives, I thank Fortune for throwing me among the ranks of celibates.Of course, one of the few serious questions I have yet to answer is: Can a man be faithful to his wife and a bibliophile at the same time?Both are stern hostesses, and neither will tolerate the presence of a rival.

Dr. Aurel has a theory that the trouble with most wives is that you don't catch them young enough.He cites Dr. Johnson's judicious comment on this influence: "Many men can be made to be a Scotchman, if taken from childhood." Dr. Orel asserts that the same is true of women.Mrs. Aurel was only a girl when she married the doctor, and the result of thirty years of experience has left this exemplary woman with a deep sympathy for the tastes of her excellent husband, and even a feeling for those who never She dismissed the wives who had never heard of Father Prout or Christopher North and objected to their husbands smoking in bed.

With what genuine enthusiasm I recall that I once heard that this eminent lady rewarded Dr. Orel not with a bounty, but with a set of Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Church, with detailed notes, Twelve volumes in octavo, printed on a colored foxhunting paper.My heartfelt admiration for this exemplary wife cannot be expressed in other words. I jumped out of my chair, wrapped my arms around her tightly, and stamped a warm and respectful letter on her forehead. kiss. When I stopped by the doctor's house, and saw from the porch the doctor's family assembled after supper in his library, it is hard to imagine a more beautiful picture than that which came to my eyes.The doctor himself, nestled comfortably in a large easy chair, was smoking his heather pipe and admiring Propertius [Sextus Propertius (50?-15 BC) ?), Roman elegiac poet whose surviving works include Cynthia, an elegy for his old lover. ]; his wife, sitting in the rocking chair next to him, smiling knowingly at the humor of Mrs. Gaskell's "Cranford"; Mahoney Methuen is fascinated by Wilson's "Frontier Tales"; his brother Russell Ronier is equally immersed in the tragic tale of "The Man Without a Country"; daughter Letitia Landon Methuen, weeping quietly at the tragedy of Evangeline; in the high chair sat a round, fat boy, Berlanger Methuen , is enjoying an illustrated version of the ancient masterpiece "Children's Puzzle Poems for Two Teenagers".

For a moment, I stood there bewilderedly, facing such a breathtaking scene, tongue-tied and ecstatic. "Hey, how lucky you are, bookworm." I thought, "Scattered in this happy circle, how elegant they are. In it, you can see not only adults, but also teenagers, and even children and brats. The babes of the world drink freely and joyfully from the fountain of joy." Dr. Aurel's library is one of the most charming rooms I know.Deep in it, you can see a variety of different scenery.Dr. Aurel had constructed, at great expense, a light iron frame, from which hung the landscapes and seas of the seasons, skillfully painted on canvas with an expressive force equal to that of the fanciest imagination.

In the stillness of winter the doctor often wishes for a pleasant view.So, by doing a simple operation on a keyboard, a panorama stretches out, and what is in front of you is: a hillside full of green grass, a meadow with flowers in full bloom, sheep grazing pasture, and a farmer playing a piccolo .The landscape is so natural that you can almost hear the melodious notes of the reed flute and imagine yourself in a fairyland of Taoyuan.If it is midsummer, when the heat is oppressive and life seems to be overwhelmed, at once another canvas is unfurled, and the splendor of the Alps is presented, or a blue sea, or a corner of a primeval forest.