the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第13章
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
‘‘Angling；'' says our revered St。 Izaak； ‘‘angling is somewhat like
poetrymen are to be born so。''
Doubtless there are poets who are not anglers； but doubtless there
never was an angler who was not also a poet。 Christopher North was a
famous fisherman； he began his career as such when he was a child of
three years。 With his thread line and bent…pin hook the wee tot set out to
make his first cast in ‘‘a wee burnie'' he had discovered near his home。
He caught his fish； too； and for the rest of the day he carried the miserable
little specimen about on a plate； exhibiting it triumphantly。 With that
first experience began a life which I am fain to regard as one glorious song
in praise of the beauty and the beneficence of nature。
My bookseller once took me angling with him in a Wisconsin lake
which was the property of a club of anglers to which my friend belonged。
As we were to be absent several days I carried along a box of books； for I
esteem appropriate reading to be a most important adjunct to an angling
expedition。 My bookseller had with him enough machinery to stock a
whaling expedition； and I could not help wondering what my old Walton
would think； could he drop down into our company with his modest
equipment of hooks； flies； and gentles。
The lake whither we went was a large and beautiful expanse； girt by a
landscape which to my fancy was the embodiment of poetic delicacy and
suggestion。 I began to inquire about the chub； dace； and trouts； but my
bookseller lost no time in telling me that the lake had been rid of all cheap
fry； and had been stocked with game fish； such as bass and pike。
I did not at all relish this covert sneer at traditions which I have always
reverenced； and the better acquainted I became with my bookseller's
modern art of angling the less I liked it。 I have little love for that kind of
angling which does not admit of a simultaneous enjoyment of the
surrounding beauties of nature。 My bookseller enjoined silence upon me；
but I did not heed the injunction； for I must； indeed； have been a mere
wooden effigy to hold my peace amid that picturesque environment of hill；
valley； wood； meadow； and arching sky of clear blue。
It was fortunate for me that I had my ‘‘Noctes Ambrosianae'' along；
for when I had exhausted my praise of the surrounding glories of nature；
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
my bookseller would not converse with me； so I opened my book and read
to him that famous passage between Kit North and the Ettrick Shepherd；
wherein the shepherd discourses boastfully of his prowess as a piscator of
sawmon。
As the sun approached midheaven and its heat became insupportable； I
raised my umbrella； to this sensible proceeding my bookseller objectedin
fact； there was hardly any reasonable suggestion I had to make for
beguiling the time that my bookseller did not protest against it； and when
finally I produced my ‘‘Newcastle Fisher's Garlands'' from my basket； and
began to troll those spirited lines beginning
Away wi' carking care and gloom That make life's
pathway weedy O！ A cheerful glass makes flowers to bloom
And lightsome hours fly speedy O！
he gathered in his rod and tackle； and declared that it was no use trying
to catch fish while Bedlam ran riot。
As for me； I had a delightful time of it； I caught no fish； to be sure： but
what of that？ I COULD have caught fish had I so desired； but； as I have
already intimated to you and as I have always maintained and always shall；
the mere catching of fish is the least of the many enjoyments
comprehended in the broad； gracious art of angling。
Even my bookseller was compelled to admit ultimately that I was a
worthy disciple of Walton； for when we had returned to the club house and
had partaken of our supper I regaled the company with many a cheery
tale and merry song which I had gathered from my books。 Indeed； before
I returned to the city I was elected an honorary member of the club by
acclamation not for the number of fish I had expiscated （for I did not
catch one）； but for that mastery of the science of angling and the literature
and the traditions and the religion and the philosophy thereof which； by
the grace of the companionship of books； I had achieved。
It is said that； with his feet over the fender； Macaulay could discourse
learnedly of French poetry； art； and philosophy。 Yet he never visited
Paris that he did not experience the most exasperating difficulties in
making himself understood by the French customs officers。
In like manner I am a fender…fisherman。 With my shins toasting
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
before a roaring fire； and with Judge Methuen at my side； I love to exploit
the joys and the glories of angling。 The Judge is ‘‘a brother of the angle；''
as all will allow who have heard him tell Father Prout's story of the bishop
and the turbots or heard him sing
With angle rod and lightsome heart； Our conscience clear； we
gay depart To pebbly brooks and purling streams； And ne'er a care
to vex our dreams。
And how could the lot of the fender…fisherman be happier？ No
colds； quinsies or asthmas follow his incursions into the realms of fancy
where in cool streams and peaceful lakes a legion of chubs and trouts and
sawmon await him； in fancy he can hie away to the far…off Yalrow and
once more share the benefits of the companionship of Kit North； the
Shepherd； and that noble Edinburgh band； in fancy he can trudge the
banks of the Blackwater with the sage of Watergrasshill； in fancy he can
hear the music of the Tyne and feel the wind sweep cool and fresh o'er
Coquetdale； in fancy； too； he knows the friendships which only he can
knowthe friendships of the immortals whose spirits hover where human
love and sympathy attract them。
How well I love ye； O my precious books my Prout； my Wilson； my
Phillips； my Berners； my Doubleday； my Roxby； my Chatto； my
Thompson； my Crawhall！ For ye are full of joyousness and cheer； and
your songs uplift me and make me young and strong again。
And thou； homely little brown thing with worn leaves； yet more
precious to me than all jewels of the earthcome； let me take thee from
thy shelf and hold thee lovingly in my hands and press thee tenderly to this
aged and slow…pulsing heart of mine！ Dost thou remember how I found
thee half a century ago all tumbled in a lot of paltry trash？ Did I not
joyously possess thee for a sixpence； and have I not cherished thee full
sweetly all these years？ My Walton； soon must we part forever； when I
am gone say unto him who next shall have thee to his own that
