the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第3章
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the corner； an allegorical picture of Solomon's temple； another picture of
little Samuel at prayer； the high； stiff…back chairs； the foot…stool with its
gayly embroidered top； the mirror in its gilt…and…black frameall these
things I remember well； and with feelings of tender reverence； and yet that
day I now recall was well…nigh threescore and ten years ago！
Best of all I remember the case in which my grandmother kept her
books； a mahogany structure； massive and dark； with doors composed of
diamond…shaped figures of glass cunningly set in a framework of lead。 I
was in my seventh year then； and I had learned to read I know not when。
The back and current numbers of the ‘‘Well… Spring'' had fallen prey to my
insatiable appetite for literature。 With the story of the small boy who
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
stole a pin； repented of and confessed that crime； and then became a good
and great man； I was as familiar as if I myself had invented that ingenious
and instructive tale； I could lisp the moral numbers of Watts and the
didactic hymns of Wesley； and the annual reports of the American Tract
Society had already revealed to me the sphere of usefulness in which my
grandmother hoped I would ultimately figure with discretion and zeal。
And yet my heart was free； wholly untouched of that gentle yet deathless
passion which was to become my delight； my inspiration； and my solace；
it awaited the coming of its first love。
Upon one of those shelves yonderit is the third shelf from the top；
fourth compartment to the rightis that old copy of the ‘‘New England
Primer；'' a curious little； thin； square book in faded blue board covers。 A
good many times I have wondered whether I ought not to have the
precious little thing sumptuously attired in the finest style known to my
binder； indeed； I have often been tempted to exchange the homely blue
board covers for flexible levant； for it occurred to me that in this way I
could testify to my regard for the treasured volume。 I spoke of this one
day to my friend Judge Methuen； for I have great respect for his judgment。
‘‘It would be a desecration；'' said he； ‘‘to deprive the book of its
original binding。 What！ Would you tear off and cast away the covers
which have felt the caressing pressure of the hands of those whose
memory you revere？ The most sacred of sentiments should forbid that
act of vandalism！''
I never think or speak of the ‘‘New England Primer'' that I do not
recall Captivity Waite； for it was Captivity who introduced me to the
Primer that day in the springtime of sixty…three years ago。 She was of
my age； a bright； pretty girla very pretty； an exceptionally pretty girl； as
girls go。 We belonged to the same Sunday…school class。 I remember
that upon this particular day she brought me a russet apple。 It was she
who discovered the Primer in the mahogany case； and what was not our
joy as we turned over the tiny pages together and feasted our eyes upon
the vivid pictures and perused the absorbingly interesting text！ What
wonder that together we wept tears of sympathy at the harrowing recital of
the fate of John Rogers！
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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF A BIBLIOMANIAC
Even at this remote date I cannot recall that experience with Captivity；
involving as it did the wood…cut representing the unfortunate Rogers
standing in an impossible bonfire and being consumed thereby in the
presence of his wife and their numerous progeny； strung along in a pitiful
line across the picture for artistic effecteven now； I say； I cannot
contemplate that experience and that wood…cut without feeling lumpy in
my throat and moist about my eyes。
How lasting are the impressions made upon the youthful mind！
Through the many busy years that have elapsed since first I tasted the
thrilling sweets of that miniature Primer I have not forgotten that ‘‘young
Obadias； David； Josias； all were pious''； that ‘‘Zaccheus he did climb the
Tree our Lord to see''； and that ‘‘Vashti for Pride was set aside''； and still
with many a sympathetic shudder and tingle do I recall Captivity's
overpowering sense of horror； and mine； as we lingered long over the
portraitures of Timothy flying from Sin； of Xerxes laid out in funeral garb；
and of proud Korah's troop partly submerged。
My Book and Heart
Must never part。
So runs one of the couplets in this little Primer…book； and right truly
can I say that from the springtime day sixty…odd years ago； when first my
heart went out in love to this little book； no change of scene or of custom
no allurement of fashion； no demand of mature years； has abated that love。
And herein is exemplified the advantage which the love of books has over
the other kinds of love。 Women are by nature fickle； and so are men； their
friendships are liable to dissipation at the merest provocation or the
slightest pretext。
Not so； however； with books； for books cannot change。 A thousand
years hence they are what you find them to…day； speaking the same words；
holding forth the same cheer； the same promise； the same comfort； always
constant； laughing with those who laugh and weeping with those who
weep。
Captivity Waite was an exception to the rule governing her sex。 In all
candor I must say that she approached closely to a realization of the ideals
of a booka sixteenmo； if you please； fair to look upon； of clear； clean
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type； well ordered and well edited； amply margined； neatly bound； a
human look whose text； as represented by her disposition and her mind；
corresponded felicitously with the comeliness of her exterior。 This child
was the great…great…granddaughter of Benjamin Waite； whose family was
carried off by Indians in 1677。 Benjamin followed the party to Canada；
and after many months of search found and ransomed the captives。
The historian has properly said that the names of Benjamin Waite and
his companion in their perilous journey through the wilderness to Canada
should ‘‘be memorable in all the sad or happy homes of this Connecticut
valley forever。'' The child who was my friend in youth； and to whom I
may allude occasionally hereafter in my narrative； bore the name of one of
the survivors of this Indian outrage； a name to be revered as a
remembrancer of sacrifice and heroism。
II
THE BIRTH OF A NEW PASSION
When I was thirteen years old I went to visit my Uncle Cephas。 My
grandmother would not have parted with me even for that fortnight had
she not actually been compelled to。
