green mansions-第2章
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n England were made to read him； and I would that you in America would take him to heart。 He is a tonic； a deep refreshing drink； with a strange and wonderful flavour； he is a mine of new interests； and ways of thought instinctively right。 As a simple narrator he is well…nigh unsurpassed； as a stylist he has few； if any； living equals。 And in all his work there is an indefinable freedom from any thought of after… benefit… …even from the desire that we should read him。 He puts down what he sees and feels； out of sheer love of the thing seen； and the emotion felt； the smell of the lamp has not touched a single page that he ever wrote。 That alone is a marvel to us who know that to write well； even to write clearly； is a wound business； long to learn； hard to learn； and no gift of the angels。 Style should not obtrude between a writer and his reader； it should be servant； not master。 To use words so true and simple that they oppose no obstacle to the flow of thought and feeling from mind to mind； and yet by juxtaposition of word…sounds set up in the recipient continuing emotion or gratificationthis is the essence of style； and Hudson's writing has pre…eminently this double quality。 From almost any page of his books an example might be taken。 Here is one no better than a thousand others； a description of two little girls on a beach： 〃They were dressed in black frocks and scarlet blouses； which set off their beautiful small dark faces； their eyes sparkled like black diamonds； and their loose hair was a wonder to see； a black mist or cloud about their heads and necks composed of threads fine as gossamer； blacker than jet and shining like spun glasshair that looked as if no comb or brush could ever tame its beautiful wildness。 And in spirit they were what they seemed： such a wild； joyous； frolicsome spirit； with such grace and fleetness； one does not look for in human beings； but only in birds or in some small bird…like volatile mammala squirrel or a spider…monkey of the tropical forest； or the chinchilla of the desolate mountain slopes； the swiftest； wildest； loveliest； most airy； and most vocal of small beauties。〃 Or this； as the quintessence of a sly remark： 〃After that Mantel got on to his horse and rode away。 It was black and rainy； but he had never needed moon or lantern to find what he sought by night； whether his own house； or a fat cowalso his own； perhaps。〃 So one might go on quoting felicity for ever from this writer。 He seems to touch every string with fresh and uninked fingers； and the secret of his power lies； I suspect； in the fact that his words： 〃Life being more than all else to me 。 。 。〃 are so utterly true。
I do not descant on his love for simple folk and simple things； his championship of the weak； and the revolt against the cagings and cruelties of life； whether to men or birds or beasts； that springs out of him as if against his will； because； having spoken of him as one with a vital philosophy or faith； I don't wish to draw red herrings across the main trail of his worth to the world。 His work is a vision of natural beauty and of human life as it might be； quickened and sweetened by the sun and the wind and the rain； and by fellowship with all the other forms of life… …the truest vision now being given to us； who are more in want of it than any generation has ever been。 A very great writer； andto my thinkingthe most valuable our age possesses。
JOHN GALSWORTHY
September 1915 Manaton： Devon
Green Mansions by W。 H。 Hudson
PROLOGUE
It is a cause of very great regret to me that this task has taken so much longer a time than I had expected for its completion。 It is now many monthsover a year； in factsince I wrote to Georgetown announcing my intention of publishing； IN A VERY FEW MONTHS； the whole truth about Mr。 Abel。 Hardly less could have been looked for from his nearest friend； and I had hoped that the discussion in the newspapers would have ceased； at all events； until the appearance of the promised book。 It has not been so； and at this distance from Guiana I was not aware of how much conjectural matter was being printed week by week in the local press； some of which must have been painful reading to Mr。 Abel's friends。 A darkened chamber； the existence of which had never been suspected in that familiar house in Main Street； furnished only with an ebony stand on which stood a cinerary urn； its surface ornamented with flower and leaf and thorn； and winding through it all the figure of a serpent； an inscription； too； of seven short words which no one could understand or rightly interpret； and finally the disposal of the mysterious ashesthat was all there was relating to an untold chapter in a man's life for imagination to work on。 Let us hope that now； at last； the romance…weaving will come to an end。 It was； however； but natural that the keenest curiosity should have been excited； not only because of that peculiar and indescribable charm of the man； which all recognized and which won all hearts； but also because of that hidden chapterthat sojourn in the desert； about which he preserved silence。 It was felt in a vague way by his intimates that he had met with unusual experiences which had profoundly affected him and changed the course of his life。 To me alone was the truth known； and I must now tell； briefly as possible； how my great friendship and close intimacy with him came about。
When； in 1887； I arrived in Georgetown to take up an appointment in a public office； I found Mr。 Abel an old resident there； a man of means and a favourite in society。 Yet he was an alien； a Venezuelan； one of that turbulent people on our border whom the colonists have always looked on as their natural enemies。 The story told to me was that about twelve years before that time he had arrived at Georgetown from some remote district in the interior； that he had journeyed alone on foot across half the continent to the coast； and had first appeared among them； a young stranger； penniless； in rags； wasted almost to a skeleton by fever and misery of all kinds； his face blackened by long exposure to sun and wind。 Friendless； with but little English； it was a hard struggle for him to live； but he managed somehow； and eventually letters from Caracas informed him that a considerable property of which he had been deprived was once more his own； and he was also invited to return to his country to take his part in the government of the Republic。 But Mr。 Abel； though young； had already outlived political passions and aspirations； and； apparently； even the love of his country； at all events； he elected to stay where he washis enemies； he would say smilingly； were his best friendsand one of the first uses he made of his fortune was to buy that house in Main Street which was afterwards like a home to me。
I must state here that my friend's full name was Abel Guevez de Argensola； but in his early days in Georgetown he was called by his Christian name only； and later he wished to be known simply as 〃Mr。 Abel。〃
I had no sooner made his acquaintance than I ceased to wonder at the esteem and even affection with which he； a Venezuelan； was regarded in this British colony。 All knew and liked him； and the reason of it was the personal charm of the man； his kindly disposition； his manner with women； which pleased them and excited no man's jealousynot even the old hot…tempered planter's； with a very young and pretty and light…headed wifehis love of little children； of all wild creatures； of nature； and of whatsoever was furthest removed from the common material interests and concerns of a purely commercial community。 The things which excited other menpolitics； sport； and the price of crystalswere outside of his thoughts； and when men had done with them for a season； when like the tempest they had 〃blown their fill〃 in office and club…room and house and wanted a change； it was a relief to turn to Mr。 Abel and get him to discourse of his worldthe world of nature and of the spirit。
It was； all felt； a good thing to have a Mr。 Abel in Georgetown。 That it was indeed good for me I quickly discovered。 I had certainly not expected to meet in such a place with any person to share my tastesthat love of poetry whic
