suggested this one。 Here is the whole of the thing as it is printed
here；〃 he said； and read the following：
LOVE'S TWILIGHT
I am dreaming； loved one； dreaming
Of the sweet and beauteous past
When the world was as its seeming；
Ere the fatal shaft was cast。
I am sobbing； sad…eyed； sobbing；
At the darkly sullen west；
Of the smile of ignorance robbing
The pale face against the breast。
I am smiling； tear…stained； smiling；
As the sun glints on the crest
Of the troubled wave； beguiling
Shipwrecked Hope to its long rest。
I am parting； broken； parting；
From a soul that I hold dear；
And the music of whose beauty
Fades a dead strain on my ear。
I am dying； sweetheart； dying；
Drips life's gold through palsied hands； …=20
See； the dead'ning Sun is sighing
His last note in red'ning bands。
So I'm sighing； sinking； sighing；
Flows life's river to the sea。
Death my throbbing heart is tying
With the strings that ache for thee。
〃Yes；〃 I said； when he had finished。 〃I shall have to admit that
immediately suggests Higginson's poem and Cleopatra's name。 But
here； try this；〃 and I threw an old copy of the Atlantic Monthly
upon the table。 Maitland opened it and laughed。 〃This may be mere
chance； Doc；〃 he said； 〃but it is remarkable； none the less。 See
here！〃 He held the magazine toward me； and I read： 〃Cleopatra's
Needle。 The Historic Significance of Central Park's New Monument。
Some of the Difficulties that Attended its Transportation and
Erection。 By James Theodore Wright； Ph。 D。〃 I was dumfounded。
Things were indeed getting interesting。
〃Magazines and newspapers；〃 I said； 〃seem to be altogether too much
in your line。 We'll try a book this time。 Here；〃 and I pulled the
first one that came to hand； 〃is a copy of Tennyson's Poems I fancy
it will trouble you to find your reference in that。〃 Maitland took
it in silence； and； opening it at random； began to read。 The result
surprised him even more than it did me。 He had chanced upon these
verses from 〃A Dream of Fair Women〃：
〃'We drank the Libyan Sun to sleep； and lit
Lamps which outburn'd Canopus。 0 my life
In Egypt！ 0 the dalliance and the wit；
The flattery and the strife。
〃'And the wild kiss when fresh from war's alarms；
My Hercules； my Roman Antony；
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms；
Contented there to die！
〃'And there he died！ And when I heard my name
Sigh'd forth with life； I would not brook my fear
Of the other！ With a worm I balked his fame。
What else was left？ look here！'
〃With that she tore her robe apart and half
The polished argent of her breast to sight
Laid bare。 Thereto she pointed with a laugh；
Showing the aspic's bite。〃
〃There is no doubt about that；〃 I said； as he laid the book upon the
table。 〃I want to try this thing once more。 Here is Pascal； if you
can find any reference to the 'Serpent of the Nile' in that； you
needn't go any farther； I shall be satisfied；〃 and I passed the book
to him。 He turned the pages over in silence for half a minute； or
so； and then said： 〃I guess this counts as a failure； … no； though；
by Jove！ Look here！〃 His face was of almost deathly pallor； and
his finger trembled upon the passage it indicated as he held the
book toward me。 I glanced with some anxiety from his face to the
book； and read； as nearly as I now can remember： 〃If Cleopatra's
nose had been shorter； the entire face of the world would have been
changed。〃
It was some minutes before Maitland fully regained his composure；
and during that time neither of us spoke。 〃Well； Doc；〃 he said at
length； and his manner was decidedly grave； even for him：
〃What do you make of it？〃 I didn't know what to make of it； and
I admitted my ignorance with a frankness at which； considering my
profession； I have often since had occasion to marvel。 I told
him that I could scarcely account for it on the ground of mere
coincidence； and I called his attention to that part of 〃The Mystery
of Marie Roget；〃 where Poe figures out the mathematical likelihood
of a certain combination of peculiarities of clothing being found
to obtain in the case of two young women who were unknown to each
other。 If the finding of a single reference to Cleopatra had been
a thing of so infrequent occurrence as to at once challenge
Maitland's attention； what was to be said when； all of a sudden； her
name； or some reference to her； seemed to stare at him from every
page he read？
〃'There is something in this more than natural；
If philosophy could find it out；'〃=20
murmured Maitland； more to himself than to me。 〃Come； what do you
say？〃 and he turned abruptly to me with one of those searching looks
so peculiar to him in moments of excitement。 〃I see；〃 I replied；
〃that you are determined I shall give my opinion now and here；
without a moment's reflection。 Very well； you have just quoted
'Hamlet'； I will do likewise：
〃'There are more things in Heaven and Earth； Horatio；
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy I'
〃You seem in some strange way to be dominated by the shade of
Cleopatra。 Now； if I believed in metempsychosis； I should think you
were Mark Antony brought down to date。 There； with that present
sober air of yours； you'd pass anywhere for such an anachronism。
But to be serious； and to give you advice which is positively bilious
with gravity； I should say； investigate this thing fully； make a
study of this ancient charmer。 By the way； why not begin by going
to see Davenport in Sardou's 'Cleopatra'？ You have never seen her
in it； have you？〃
In this way。 I succeeded in getting him out of his depressed state。
We got into an argument concerning the merits of Miss Davenport's
work。 I know of nothing Maitland would sooner do than argue； and；
if attacked on a subject upon which he feels strongly； he is； for
the time being； totally oblivious of everything else。 For this
reason I trapped him into this argument。 I abominate what is now
known as 〃realism〃 just as much as he does； but you don't have much
of an argument without some apparent difference of opinion； so； for
the nonce； I became a realist of whom Zola himself would have been
proud。 〃Why； man；〃 I said； 〃realism is truth。 You certainly can't
have any quarrel with that。〃 I knew this would have the effect of
a red rag flaunted in the face of a bull。
〃Truth！ Bah！〃 he exclaimed excitedly。 〃I have no patience with
such aesthetic hod…carriers！ Truth； indeed！ Is there no other truth
in art but that coarse verisimilitude； that vulgar trickery； which
appeals to the eyes and the ears of the rabble？ Are there not
psychological truths of immensely greater importance？ What sane man
imagines for a moment that the pleasure he derives from seeing that
greatest of all tragedians； Edwin Booth； in one of Shakespeare's
matchless tragedies； is dependent upon his believing that this or
that character is actually killed？ Why； even the day of the
cranberry…juice dagger is long since passed。 When Miss Davenport
shrieks in 'Fedora；' the shriek is literal … 'real；' you would call
it … and you find yourself instinctively saying； 'Don't！ … don't！'
and wishing you were out of the house。 When Mr。 Booth； as 'Shylock'
shrieks at 'Tubal's' news； the cry is not real； is not literal； but
is suggestive； and you see at once the fiendish glee of which it is
the expression。 The difference between the two is the difference
between vocal cords and grey matter。〃
〃But surely；〃 I rejoined； 〃one doesn't want untruth； one wants … 〃
but he did not let me finish。
〃Always that cry of truth！〃 he retorted。 〃Do you not see how absurd
it is； as used by your exponents of realism？ With a bit of charcoal
some Raphael draws a face with five lines； and some photographer
snaps a camera at the same face。 Which would any sane man choose as
the best work of art？ The five…line face； of course。 Why？ Is the
work of the camera unreal？ Is it not more accurate in drawing； more
subtle in gradation than the less mechanical picture？ To be sure。
What； then； makes the superiority of the few lines of our Raphael？
That which makes the superiority of all noble art … its truth；； not
on a low； but on a high； plane： its power of interpreting。 See！〃
he said； fairly aglow with excitement。 〃What does your realist do；
even assuming that he has reached that never…tobe…attained
perfection which is the lifelong Mecca of his desires？ He gives
you； by his absolutely realistic goes with you； and interprets its
grandeur to you。 Stand before his canvas and enjoy it as you would
Nature herself if there。 Surely； you say； nothing more could be
desired； and you clap your hands； and shout； 'Bravo！' But wait a
bit； the other side is yet to be heard from。 What does the true
artist do for you by his picture of Yosemite Valley？ He not only
gives you a free conveyance to it； but he goes with you； and
interprets its grandeur to you。 He translates into the language of
your consciousness beauties which； without h