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Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow-Part9_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout leaning against the post out

there is immeasurably your intellectual superior? Do you know that



every little-minded, selfishscoundrel who lives by cheating and

tricking, who never did a gentle deed or said a kind word, who never



had a thought that was not mean and low or a desire that was not base,

whose every action is a fraud, whose every utterance is a lie--do you



know that these crawling skulks (and there are millions of them in the

world), do you know they are all as much superior to you as the sun is



superior to rushlight you honorable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute?

They are MEN, you know, and MEN are the greatest, and noblest, and



wisest, and best beings in the whole vast eternaluniverse. Any man

will tell you that.



Yes, poor doggie, you are very stupid, very stupid indeed, compared

with us clever men, who understand all about politics and philosophy,



and who know everything, in short, except what we are and where we

came from and whither we are going, and what everything outside this



tiny world and most things in it are.

Never mind, though, pussy and doggie, we like you both all the better



for your being stupid. We all like stupid things. Men can't bear

clever women, and a woman's ideal man is some one she can call a "dear



old stupid." It is so pleasant to come across people more stupid than

ourselves. We love them at once for being so. The world must be



rather a rough place for clever people. Ordinary folk dislike them,

and as for themselves, they hate each other most cordially.



But there, the clever people are such a very insignificant minority

that it really doesn't much matter if they are unhappy. So long as



the foolish people can be made comfortable the world, as a whole, will

get on tolerably well.



Cats have the credit of being more worldly wise than dogs--of looking

more after their own interests and being less blindlydevoted to those



of their friends. And we men and women are naturally shocked at such

selfishness. Cats certainly do love a family that has a carpet in the



kitchen more than a family that has not; and if there are many

children about, they prefer to spend their leisure time next door.



But, taken altogether, cats are libeled. Make a friend of one, and

she will stick to you through thick and thin. All the cats that I



have had have been most firm comrades. I had a cat once that used to

follow me about everywhere, until it even got quite embarrassing, and



I had to beg her, as a personal favor, not to accompany me any further

down the High Street. She used to sit up for me when I was late home



and meet me in the passage. It made me feel quite like a married man,

except that she never asked where I had been and then didn't believe



me when I told her.

Another cat I had used to get drunk regularly every day. She would



hang about for hours outside the cellar door for the purpose of

sneaking in on the first opportunity and lapping up the drippings from



the beer-cask. I do not mention this habit of hers in praise of the

species, but merely to show how almost human some of them are. If the



transmigration of souls is a fact, this animal was certainly

qualifying most rapidly for a Christian, for her vanity was only



second to her love of drink. Whenever she caught a particularly big

rat, she would bring it up into the room where we were all sitting,



lay the corpse down in the midst of us, and wait to be praised. Lord!

how the girls used to scream.



Poor rats! They seem only to exist so that cats and dogs may gain

credit for killing them and chemists make a fortune by inventing



specialties in poison for their destruction. And yet there is

something fascinating about them. There is a weirdness and



uncanniness attaching to them. They are so cunning and strong, so

terrible in their numbers, so cruel, so secret. They swarm in



deserted houses, where the broken casements hang rotting to the

crumbling walls and the doors swing creaking on their rusty hinges.



They know the sinking ship and leave her, no one knows how or whither.

They whisper to each other in their hiding-places how a doom will fall



upon the hall and the great name die forgotten. They do fearful deeds

in ghastly charnel-houses.



No tale of horror is complete without the rats. In stories of ghosts

and murderers they scamper through the echoing rooms, and the gnawing



of their teeth is heard behind the wainscot, and their gleaming eyes

peer through the holes in the worm-eaten tapestry, and they scream in






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