More Jonathan Papers Part 1

More Jonathan Papers.

by Elisabeth Woodbridge.

I

The Searchings of Jonathan

What I find it hard to understand is, why a person who can see a spray of fringed gentian in the middle of a meadow cant see a book on the sitting-room table.

The reason why I can see the gentian, said Jonathan, is because the gentian is there.

So is the book, I responded.

Which table? he asked.

The one with the lamp on it. Its a red book, about _so_ big.

It isnt there; but, just to satisfy you, Ill look again.

He returned in a moment with an argumentative expression of countenance.

It isnt there, he said firmly. Will anything else do instead?

No, I wanted you to read that special thing. Oh, dear! And I have all these things in my lap! And I know it _is_ there.

And I _know_ it isnt. He stretched himself out in the hammock and watched me as I rather ostentatiously laid down thimble, scissors, needle, cotton, and material and set out for the sitting-room table. There were a number of books on it, to be sure. I glanced rapidly through the piles, fingered the lower books, pushed aside a magazine, and pulled out from beneath it the book I wanted. I returned to the hammock and handed it over. Then, after possessing myself, again rather ostentatiously, of material, cotton, needle, scissors, and thimble, I sat down.

Its the second essay I specially thought wed like, I said.

Just for curiosity, said Jonathan, with an impersonal air, where did you find it?

Find what? I asked innocently.

The book.

Oh! On the table.

Which table?

The one with the lamp on it.

I should like to know where.

Whyjust thereon the table. There was an Atlantic on top of it, to be sure.

I saw the Atlantic. Blest if it looked as though it had anything under it! Besides, I was looking for it on top of things. You said you laid it down there just before luncheon, and I didnt think it could have crawled in under so quick.

When youre looking for a thing, I said, you mustnt think, you must look. Now go ahead and read.

If this were a single instance, or even if it were one of many ill.u.s.trating a common human frailty, it would hardly be worth setting down. But the frailty under consideration has come to seem to me rather particularly masculine. Are not all the Jonathans in the world continually being sent to some sitting-room table for something, and coming back to a.s.sert, with more or less pleasantness, according to their temperament, that it is not there? The incident, then, is not isolated; it is typical of a vast group. For Jonathan, read Everyman; for the red book, read any particular thing that you want Him to bring; for the sitting-room table, read the place where you know it is and Everyman says it isnt.

This, at least, is my thesis. It is not, however, unchallenged. Jonathan has challenged it when, from time to time, as occasion offered, I have lightly sketched it out for him. Sometimes he argues that my instances are really isolated cases and that their evidence is not c.u.mulative, at others he takes refuge in a _tu quoque_in itself a confession of weaknessand alludes darkly to top shelves and bottom drawers. But let us have no mysteries. These phrases, considered as arguments, have their origin in certain incidents which, that all the evidence may be in, I will here set down.

Once upon a time I asked Jonathan to get me something from the top shelf in the closet. He went, and failed to find it. Then I went, and took it down. Jonathan, watching over my shoulder, said, But that wasnt the top shelf, I suppose you will admit.

Sure enough! There was a shelf above. Oh, yes; but I dont count that shelf. We never use it, because n.o.body can reach it.

How do you expect me to know which shelves you count and which you dont?

Of course, anatomicallystructurallyit is one, but functionally it isnt there at all.

I see, said Jonathan, so contentedly that I knew he was filing this affair away for future use.

On another occasion I asked him to get something for me from the top drawer of the old high-boy in the dining-room. He was gone a long while, and at last, growing impatient, I followed. I found him standing on an old wooden-seated chair, screw-driver in hand. A drawer on a level with his head was open, and he had hanging over his arm a gaudy collection of ancient table-covers and embroidered scarfs, mostly in shades of magenta.

She stuck, but Ive got her open now. I dont see any pillow-cases, though. Its all full of these things. He pumped his laden arm up and down, and the table-covers wagged gayly.

I sank into the chair and laughed. Oh! Have you been prying at that all this time? Of _course_ theres nothing in _that_ drawer.

Theres where youre wrong. Theres a great deal in it; I havent taken out half. If you want to see

I _dont_ want to see! Theres nothing I want less! What I mean isI never put anything there.

Its the top drawer. He was beginning to lay back the table-covers.

But I cant reach it. And its been stuck for ever so long.

You said the top drawer.

Yes, I suppose I did. Of course what I meant was the top one of the ones I use.

I see, my dear. When you say top shelf you dont mean top shelf, and when you say top drawer you dont mean top drawer; in fact, when you say top you dont mean top at allyou mean the height of your head. Everything above that doesnt count.

Jonathan was so pleased with this formulation of my att.i.tude that he was not in the least irritated to have put out unnecessary work. And his satisfaction was deepened by one more incident. I had sent him to the bottom drawer of my bureau to get a shawl. He returned without it, and I was puzzled. Now, Jonathan, its there, and its the top thing.

The real top, murmured Jonathan, or just what you call top?

Its right in front, I went on; and I dont see how even a man could fail to find it.

He proceeded to enumerate the contents of the drawer in such strange fashion that I began to wonder where he had been.

I said my bureau.

I went to your bureau.

The bottom drawer.

The bottom drawer. There was nothing but a lot of little boxes and