the mirror of the sea-第7章

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！




sincerity；　which；　like　a　law　of　Nature；　rules　an　infinity　of



different　phenomena。　　Your　endeavour　must　be　single…minded。　　You



would　talk　differently　to　a　coal…heaver　and　to　a　professor。　　But　is



this　duplicity？　　I　deny　it。　　The　truth　consists　in　the　genuineness



of　the　feeling；　in　the　genuine　recognition　of　the　two　men；　so



similar　and　so　different；　as　your　two　partners　in　the　hazard　of



life。　　Obviously；　a　humbug；　thinking　only　of　winning　his　little



race；　would　stand　a　chance　of　profiting　by　his　artifices。　　Men；



professors　or　coal…heavers；　are　easily　deceived；　they　even　have　an



extraordinary　knack　of　lending　themselves　to　deception；　a　sort　of



curious　and　inexplicable　propensity　to　allow　themselves　to　be　led



by　the　nose　with　their　eyes　open。　　But　a　ship　is　a　creature　which



we　have　brought　into　the　world；　as　it　were　on　purpose　to　keep　us　up



to　the　mark。　　In　her　handling　a　ship　will　not　put　up　with　a　mere



pretender；　as；　for　instance；　the　public　will　do　with　Mr。　X；　the



popular　statesman；　Mr。　Y；　the　popular　scientist；　or　Mr。　Z；　the



popular　…　what　shall　we　say？　…　anything　from　a　teacher　of　high



morality　to　a　bagman　…　who　have　won　their　little　race。　　But　I　would



like　（though　not　accustomed　to　betting）　to　wager　a　large　sum　that



not　one　of　the　few　first…rate　skippers　of　racing　yachts　has　ever



been　a　humbug。　　It　would　have　been　too　difficult。　　The　difficulty



arises　from　the　fact　that　one　does　not　deal　with　ships　in　a　mob；



but　with　a　ship　as　an　individual。　　So　we　may　have　to　do　with　men。



But　in　each　of　us　there　lurks　some　particle　of　the　mob　spirit；　of



the　mob　temperament。　　No　matter　how　earnestly　we　strive　against



each　other；　we　remain　brothers　on　the　lowest　side　of　our　intellect



and　in　the　instability　of　our　feelings。　　With　ships　it　is　not　so。



Much　as　they　are　to　us；　they　are　nothing　to　each　other。　　Those



sensitive　creatures　have　no　ears　for　our　blandishments。　　It　takes



something　more　than　words　to　cajole　them　to　do　our　will；　to　cover



us　with　glory。　　Luckily；　too；　or　else　there　would　have　been　more



shoddy　reputations　for　first…rate　seamanship。　　Ships　have　no　ears；



I　repeat；　though；　indeed；　I　think　I　have　known　ships　who　really



seemed　to　have　had　eyes；　or　else　I　cannot　understand　on　what　ground



a　certain　1；000…ton　barque　of　my　acquaintance　on　one　particular



occasion　refused　to　answer　her　helm；　thereby　saving　a　frightful



smash　to　two　ships　and　to　a　very　good　man's　reputation。　　I　knew　her



intimately　for　two　years；　and　in　no　other　instance　either　before　or



since　have　I　known　her　to　do　that　thing。　　The　man　she　had　served　so



well　（guessing；　perhaps；　at　the　depths　of　his　affection　for　her）　I



have　known　much　longer；　and　in　bare　justice　to　him　I　must　say　that



this　confidence…shattering　experience　（though　so　fortunate）　only



augmented　his　trust　in　her。　　Yes；　our　ships　have　no　ears；　and　thus



they　cannot　be　deceived。　　I　would　illustrate　my　idea　of　fidelity　as



between　man　and　ship；　between　the　master　and　his　art；　by　a



statement　which；　though　it　might　appear　shockingly　sophisticated；



is　really　very　simple。　　I　would　say　that　a　racing…yacht　skipper　who



thought　of　nothing　else　but　the　glory　of　winning　the　race　would



never　attain　to　any　eminence　of　reputation。　　The　genuine　masters　of



their　craft　…　I　say　this　confidently　from　my　experience　of　ships　…



have　thought　of　nothing　but　of　doing　their　very　best　by　the　vessel



under　their　charge。　　To　forget　one's　self；　to　surrender　all



personal　feeling　in　the　service　of　that　fine　art；　is　the　only　way



for　a　seaman　to　the　faithful　discharge　of　his　trust。







Such　is　the　service　of　a　fine　art　and　of　ships　that　sail　the　sea。



And　therein　I　think　I　can　lay　my　finger　upon　the　difference　between



the　seamen　of　yesterday；　who　are　still　with　us；　and　the　seamen　of



to…morrow；　already　entered　upon　the　possession　of　their



inheritance。　　History　repeats　itself；　but　the　special　call　of　an



art　which　has　passed　away　is　never　reproduced。　　It　is　as　utterly



gone　out　of　the　world　as　the　song　of　a　destroyed　wild　bird。



Nothing　will　awaken　the　same　response　of　pleasurable　emotion　or



conscientious　endeavour。　　And　the　sailing　of　any　vessel　afloat　is



an　art　whose　fine　form　seems　already　receding　from　us　on　its　way　to



the　overshadowed　Valley　of　Oblivion。　　The　taking　of　a　modern



steamship　about　the　world　（though　one　would　not　minimize　its



responsibilities）　has　not　the　same　quality　of　intimacy　with　nature；



which；　after　all；　is　an　indispensable　condition　to　the　building　up



of　an　art。　　It　is　less　personal　and　a　more　exact　calling；　less



arduous；　but　also　less　gratifying　in　the　lack　of　close　communion



between　the　artist　and　the　medium　of　his　art。　　It　is；　in　short；



less　a　matter　of　love。　　Its　effects　are　measured　exactly　in　time



and　space　as　no　effect　of　an　art　can　be。　　It　is　an　occupation　which



a　man　not　desperately　subject　to　sea…sickness　can　be　imagined　to



follow　with　content；　without　enthusiasm；　with　industry；　without



affection。　　Punctuality　is　its　watchword。　　The　incertitude　which



attends　closely　every　artistic　endeavour　is　absent　from　its



regulated　enterprise。　　It　has　no　great　moments　of　self…confidence；



or　moments　not　less　great　of　doubt　and　heart…searching。　　It　is　an



industry　which；　like　other　industries；　has　its　romance；　its　honour



and　its　rewards；　its　bitter　anxieties　and　its　hours　of　ease。　　But



such　sea…going　has　not　the　artistic　quality　of　a　single…handed



struggle　with　something　much　greater　than　yourself；　it　is　not　the



laborious　absorbing　practice　of　an　art　whose　ultimate　result



remains　on　the　knees　of　the　gods。　　It　is　not　an　individual；



temperamental　achievement；　but　simply　the　skilled　use　of　a　captured



force；　merely　another　step　forward　upon　the　way　of　universal



conquest。















IX。















Every　passage　of　a　ship　of　yesterday；　whose　yards　were　braced　round



eagerly　the　very　moment　the　pilot；　with　his　pockets　full　of



letters；　had　got　over　the　side；　was　like　a　race　…　a　race　against



time；　against　an　ideal　standard　of　achievement　outstripping　the



expectations　of　common　men。　　Like　all　true　art；　the　general　conduct



of　a　ship　and　her　handling　in　particular　cases　had　a　technique



which　could　be　discussed　with　delight　and　pleasure　by　men　who　found



in　their　work；　not　bread　alone；　but　an　outlet　for　the　peculiarities



of　their　temperament。　　To　get　the　best　and　truest　effect　from　the



infinitely　varying　moods　of　sky　and　sea；　not　pictorially；　but　in



the　spirit　of　their　calling；　was　their　vocation；　one　and　all；　and



they　recognised　this　with　as　much　sincerity；　and　drew　as　much



inspiration　from　this　reality；　as　any　man　who　ever　put　brush　to



canvas。　　The　diversity　of　temperaments　was　immense　amongst　those



masters　of　the　fine　art。







Some　of　them　were　like　Royal　Academicians　of　a　certain　kind。　　They



never　startled　you　by　a　touch　of　originality；　by　a　fresh　audacity



of　inspiration。　　They　were　safe；　very　safe。　　They　went　about



solemnly　in　the　assurance　of　their　consecrated　and　empty



reputation。　　Names　are　odious；　but　I　remember　one　of　them　who　might



have　been　their　very　president；　the　P。R。A。　of　the　sea…craft。　　His



weather…beaten　and　handsome　face；　his　portly　presence；　his　shirt…



fronts　and　broad　cuffs　and　gold　links；　his　air　of　bluff



distinction；　impressed　the　humble　beholders　（stevedores；　tally



clerks；　tide…waiters）　as　he　walked　ashore　over　the　gangway　of　his



ship　lying　at　the　Circular　Quay　in　Sydney。　　His　voice　was　deep；



hearty；　and　authoritative　…　the　voice　of　a　very　prince　amongst



sailors。　　He　did　everything　with　an　air　which　put　your　attention　on



the　alert　and　raised　your　expectations；　but　the　result　somehow　was



always　on　stereotyped　lines；　unsuggestive；　empty　of　any　lesson　that



one　could　lay　to　heart。　　He　kept　his　ship　in　apple…pie　order；　which



would