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The Unbearable Bassington-Part2_H.H.Munro(Saki)(1870-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the handsome, half-mocking, half-petulant face. With a strain of

sourness in him Comus might have been leavened into something



creative and masterful; fate had fashioned him with a certain

whimsical charm, and left him all unequipped for the greater



purposes of life. Perhaps no one would have called him a lovable

character, but in many respects he was adorable; in all respects he



was certainly damned.

Rutley, his companion of the moment, sat watching him and



wondering, from the depths of a very ordinary brain, whether he

liked or hated him; it was easy to do either.



"It's not really your turn to cane," he said.

"I know it's not," said Comus, fingering a very serviceable-looking



cane as lovingly as a pious violinist might handle his Strad. "I

gave Greyson some mint-chocolate to let me toss whether I caned or



him, and I won. He was rather decent over it and let me have half

the chocolate back."



The droll lightheartedness which won Comus Bassington such measure

of popularity as he enjoyed among his fellows did not materially



help to endear him to the succession of masters with whom he came

in contact during the course of his schooldays. He amused and



interested such of them as had the saving grace of humour at their

disposal, but if they sighed when he passed from their immediate



responsibility it was a sigh of relief rather than of regret. The

more enlightened and experienced of them realised that he was



something outside the scope of the things that they were called

upon to deal with. A man who has been trained to cope with storms,



to foresee their coming, and to minimise their consequences, may be

pardoned if he feels a certain reluctance to measure himself



against a tornado.

Men of more limitedoutlook and with a correspondingly larger



belief in their own powers were ready to tackle the tornado had

time permitted.



"I think I could tame young Bassington if I had your

opportunities," a form-master once remarked to a colleague whose



House had the embarrassing distinction of numbering Comus among its

inmates.



"Heaven forbid that I should try," replied the housemaster.

"But why?" asked the reformer.



"Because Nature hates any interference with her own arrangements,

and if you start in to tame the obviously untameable you are taking



a fearfulresponsibility on yourself."

"Nonsense; boys are Nature's raw material."



"Millions of boys are. There are just a few, and Bassington is one

of them, who are Nature's highly finished product when they are in



the schoolboy stage, and we, who are supposed to be moulding raw

material, are quite helpless when we come in contact with them."



"But what happens to them when they grow up?"

"They never do grow up," said the housemaster; "that is their



tragedy. Bassington will certainly never grow out of his present

stage."



"Now you are talking in the language of Peter Pan," said the form-

master.



"I am not thinking in the manner of Peter Pan," said the other.

"With all reverence for the author of that masterpiece I should say



he had a wonderful and tender insight into the child mind and knew

nothing whatever about boys. To make only one criticism on that



particular work, can you imagine a lot of British boys, or boys of

any country that one knows of, who would stay contentedly playing



children's games in an underground cave when there were wolves and

pirates and Red Indians to be had for the asking on the other side



of the trap door?"

The form-master laughed. "You evidently think that the 'Boy who



would not grow up' must have been written by a 'grown-up who could




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