贝壳电子书 > 英文原著电子书 > memories and portraits >

第32章

memories and portraits-第32章

小说: memories and portraits 字数: 每页4000字

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!




Dumas's。  And this is the particular crown and triumph of the 

artist … not to be true merely; but to be lovable; not simply to 

convince; but to enchant。



There is yet another point in the VICOMTE which I find 

incomparable。  I can recall no other work of the imagination in 

which the end of life is represented with so nice a tact。  I was 

asked the other day if Dumas made me laugh or cry。  Well in this my 

late fifth reading of the VICOMTE; I did laugh once at the small 

Coquelin de Voliere business; and was perhaps a thought surprised 

at having done so: to make up for it; I smiled continually。  But 

for tears; I do not know。  If you put a pistol to my throat; I must 

own the tale trips upon a very airy foot … within a measurable 

distance of unreality; and for those who like the big guns to be 

discharged and the great passions to appear authentically; it may 

even seem inadequate from first to last。  Not so to me; I cannot 

count that a poor dinner; or a poor book; where I meet with those I 

love; and; above all; in this last volume; I find a singular charm 

of spirit。  It breathes a pleasant and a tonic sadness; always 

brave; never hysterical。  Upon the crowded; noisy life of this long 

tale; evening gradually falls; and the lights are extinguished; and 

the heroes pass away one by one。  One by one they go; and not a 

regret embitters their departure; the young succeed them in their 

places; Louis Quatorze is swelling larger and shining broader; 

another generation and another France dawn on the horizon; but for 

us and these old men whom we have loved so long; the inevitable end 

draws near and is welcome。  To read this well is to anticipate 

experience。  Ah; if only when these hours of the long shadows fall 

for us in reality and not in figure; we may hope to face them with 

a mind as quiet!



But my paper is running out; the siege guns are firing on the Dutch 

frontier; and I must say adieu for the fifth time to my old comrade 

fallen on the field of glory。  ADIEU … rather AU REVOIR!  Yet a 

sixth time; dearest d'Artagnan; we shall kidnap Monk and take horse 

together for Belle Isle。









CHAPTER XV。 A GOSSIP ON ROMANCE





IN anything fit to be called by the name of reading; the process 

itself should be absorbing and voluptuous; we should gloat over a 

book; be rapt clean out of ourselves; and rise from the perusal; 

our mind filled with the busiest; kaleidoscopic dance of images; 

incapable of sleep or of continuous thought。  The words; if the 

book be eloquent; should run thenceforward in our ears like the 

noise of breakers; and the story; if it be a story; repeat itself 

in a thousand coloured pictures to the eye。  It was for this last 

pleasure that we read so closely; and loved our books so dearly; in 

the bright; troubled period of boyhood。  Eloquence and thought; 

character and conversation; were but obstacles to brush aside as we 

dug blithely after a certain sort of incident; like a pig for 

truffles。  For my part; I liked a story to begin with an old 

wayside inn where; 〃towards the close of the year 17…;〃 several 

gentlemen in three…cocked hats were playing bowls。  A friend of 

mine preferred the Malabar coast in a storm; with a ship beating to 

windward; and a scowling fellow of Herculean proportions striding 

along the beach; he; to be sure; was a pirate。  This was further 

afield than my home…keeping fancy loved to travel; and designed 

altogether for a larger canvas than the tales that I affected。  

Give me a highwayman and I was full to the brim; a Jacobite would 

do; but the highwayman was my favourite dish。  I can still hear 

that merry clatter of the hoofs along the moonlit lane; night and 

the coming of day are still related in my mind with the doings of 

John Rann or Jerry Abershaw; and the words 〃post…chaise;〃 the 

〃great North road;〃 〃ostler;〃 and 〃nag〃 still sound in my ears like 

poetry。  One and all; at least; and each with his particular fancy; 

we read story…books in childhood; not for eloquence or character or 

thought; but for some quality of the brute incident。  That quality 

was not mere bloodshed or wonder。  Although each of these was 

welcome in its place; the charm for the sake of which we read 

depended on something different from either。  My elders used to 

read novels aloud; and I can still remember four different passages 

which I heard; before I was ten; with the same keen and lasting 

pleasure。  One I discovered long afterwards to be the admirable 

opening of WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT: it was no wonder I was pleased 

with that。  The other three still remain unidentified。  One is a 

little vague; it was about a dark; tall house at night; and people 

groping on the stairs by the light that escaped from the open door 

of a sickroom。  In another; a lover left a ball; and went walking 

in a cool; dewy park; whence he could watch the lighted windows and 

the figures of the dancers as they moved。  This was the most 

sentimental impression I think I had yet received; for a child is 

somewhat deaf to the sentimental。  In the last; a poet; who had 

been tragically wrangling with his wife; walked forth on the sea…

beach on a tempestuous night and witnessed the horrors of a wreck。 

(8)  Different as they are; all these early favourites have a 

common note … they have all a touch of the romantic。



Drama is the poetry of conduct; romance the poetry of circumstance。  

The pleasure that we take in life is of two sorts … the active and 

the passive。  Now we are conscious of a great command over our 

destiny; anon we are lifted up by circumstance; as by a breaking 

wave; and dashed we know not how into the future。  Now we are 

pleased by our conduct; anon merely pleased by our surroundings。  

It would be hard to say which of these modes of satisfaction is the 

more effective; but the latter is surely the more constant。  

Conduct is three parts of life; they say; but I think they put it 

high。  There is a vast deal in life and letters both which is not 

immoral; but simply a…moral; which either does not regard the human 

will at all; or deals with it in obvious and healthy relations; 

where the interest turns; not upon what a man shall choose to do; 

but on how he manages to do it; not on the passionate slips and 

hesitations of the conscience; but on the problems of the body and 

of the practical intelligence; in clean; open…air adventure; the 

shock of arms or the diplomacy of life。  With such material as this 

it is impossible to build a play; for the serious theatre exists 

solely on moral grounds; and is a standing proof of the 

dissemination of the human conscience。  But it is possible to 

build; upon this ground; the most joyous of verses; and the most 

lively; beautiful; and buoyant tales。



One thing in life calls for another; there is a fitness in events 

and places。  The sight of a pleasant arbour puts it in our mind to 

sit there。  One place suggests work; another idleness; a third 

early rising and long rambles in the dew。  The effect of night; of 

any flowing water; of lighted cities; of the peep of day; of ships; 

of the open ocean; calls up in the mind an army of anonymous 

desires and pleasures。  Something; we feel; should happen; we know 

not what; yet we proceed in quest of it。  And many of the happiest 

hours of life fleet by us in this vain attendance on the genius of 

the place and moment。  It is thus that tracts of young fir; and low 

rocks that reach into deep soundings; particularly torture and 

delight me。  Something must have happened in such places; and 

perhaps ages back; to members of my race; and when I was a child I 

tried in vain to invent appropriate games for them; as I still try; 

just as vainly; to fit them with the proper story。  Some places 

speak distinctly。  Certain dank gardens cry aloud for a murder; 

certain old houses demand to be haunted; certain coasts are set 

apart for

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的