a far country-第11章

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time　that　I　began　to　be　impressed　with　the　power　of　wealth；　the　adulation
and　reverence　it　commanded；　the　importance　in　which　it　clothed　all　who
shared　in　it。。。。

The　private　school　I　attended　in　the　company　of　other　boys　with　whom　I
was　brought　up　was　called　Densmore　Academy；　a　large；　square　building　of　a
then　hideous　modernity；　built　of　smooth；　orange…red　bricks　with　threads
of　black　mortar　between　them。　　One　reads　of　happy　school　days；　yet　I　fail
to　recall　any　really　happy　hours　spent　there；　even　in　the　yard；　which　was
covered　with　black　cinders　that　cut　you　when　you　fell。　　I　think　of　it　as
a　penitentiary；　and　the　memory　of　the　barred　lower　windows　gives
substance　to　this　impression。

I　suppose　I　learned　something　during　the　seven　years　of　my　incarceration。
All　of　value；　had　its　teachers　known　anything　of　youthful　psychology；　of
natural　bent；　could　have　been　put　into　me　in　three。　　At　least　four
criminally　wasted　years；　to　say　nothing　of　the　benumbing　and　desiccating
effect　of　that　old　system　of　education！　　Chalk　and　chalk…dust！　　The
Mediterranean　a　tinted　portion　of　the　map；　Italy　a　man's　boot　which　I
drew　painfully；　with　many　yawns；　history　no　glorious　epic　revealing　as　it
unrolls　the　Meaning　of　Things；　no　revelation　of　that　wondrous
distillation　of　the　Spirit　of　man；　but　an　endless　marching　and　counter…
marching　up　and　down　the　map；　weary　columns　of　figures　to　be　learned　by
rote　instantly　to　be　forgotten　again。　　〃On　June　the　7th　General　So…and…so
proceeded　with　his　whole　army〃　where？　　What　does　it　matter？　　One　little
chapter　of　Carlyle；　illuminated　by　a　teacher　of　understanding；　were　worth
a　million　such　text…books。　　Alas；　for　the　hatred　of　Virgil！　　〃Paret〃　（a
shiver）；　〃begin　at　the　one　hundred　and　thirtieth　line　and　translate！〃　　I
can　hear　myself　droning　out　in　detestable　English　a　meaningless　portion
of　that　endless　journey　of　the　pious　AEneas；　can　see　Gene　Hollister；　with
heart…rending　glances　of　despair；　stumbling　through　Cornelius　Nepos　in　an
unventilated　room　with　chalk…rubbed　blackboards　and　heavy　odours　of　ink
and　stale　lunch。　　And　I　graduated　from　Densmore　Academy；　the　best　school
in　our　city；　in　the　80's；　without　having　been　taught　even　the　rudiments
of　citizenship。

Knowledge　was　presented　to　us　as　a　corpse；　which　bit　by　bit　we　painfully
dissected。　　We　never　glimpsed　the　living；　growing　thing；　never
experienced　the　Spirit；　the　same　spirit　that　was　able　magically　to　waft
me　from　a　wintry　Lyme　Street　to　the　South　Seas；　the　energizing；
electrifying　Spirit　of　true　achievement；　of　life；　of　God　himself。　　Little
by　little　its　flames　were　smothered　until　in　manhood　there　seemed　no
spark　of　it　left　alive。　　Many　years　were　to　pass　ere　it　was　to　revive
again；　as　by　a　miracle。　　I　travelled。　　Awakening　at　dawn；　I　saw；　framed
in　a　port…hole；　rose…red　Seriphos　set　in　a　living　blue　that　paled　the
sapphire；　the　seas　Ulysses　had　sailed；　and　the　company　of　the　Argonauts。
My　soul　was　steeped　in　unimagined　colour；　and　in　the　memory　of　one
rapturous　instant　is　gathered　what　I　was　soon　to　see　of　Greece；　is
focussed　the　meaning　of　history；　poetry　and　art。　　I　was　to　stand　one
evening　in　spring　on　the　mound　where　heroes　sleep　and　gaze　upon　the　plain
of　Marathon　between　darkening　mountains　and　the　blue　thread　of　the　strait
peaceful　now；　flushed　with　pink　and　white　blossoms　of　fruit　and　almond
trees；　to　sit　on　the　cliff…throne　whence　a　Persian　King　had　looked　down
upon　a　Salamis　fought　and　lost。。。。　　In　that　port…hole　glimpse　a
Themistocles　was　revealed；　a　Socrates；　a　Homer　and　a　Phidias；　an
AEschylus；　and　a　Pericles；　yes；　and　a　John　brooding　Revelations　on　his
sea…girt　rock　as　twilight　falls　over　the　waters。。。。

I　saw　the　Roman　Empire；　that　Scarlet　Woman　whose　sands　were　dyed　crimson
with　blood　to　appease　her　harlotry；　whose　ships　were　laden　with　treasures
from　the　immutable　East；　grain　from　the　valley　of　the　Nile；　spices　from
Arabia；　precious　purple　stuffs　from　Tyre；　tribute　and　spoil；　slaves　and
jewels　from　conquered　nations　she　absorbed；　and　yet　whose　very　emperors
were　the　unconscious　instruments　of　a　Progress　they　wot　not　of；　preserved
to　the　West　by　Marathon　and　Salamis。　　With　Caesar's　legions　its　message
went　forth　across　Hispania　to　the　cliffs　of　the　wild　western　ocean；
through　Hercynian　forests　to　tribes　that　dwelt　where　great　rivers　roll　up
their　bars　by　misty；　northern　seas；　and　even　to　Celtic　fastnesses　beyond
the　Wall。。。。




IV。

In　and　out　of　my　early　memories　like　a　dancing　ray　of　sunlight　flits　the
spirit　of　Nancy。　　I　was　always　fond　of　her；　but　in　extreme　youth　I
accepted　her　incense　with　masculine　complacency　and　took　her　allegiance
for　granted；　never　seeking　to　fathom　the　nature　of　the　spell　I　exercised
over　her。　　Naturally　other　children　teased　me　about　her；　but　what　was
worse；　with　that　charming　lack　of　self…consciousness　and　consideration
for　what　in　after　life　are　called　the　finer　feelings；　they　teased　her
about　me　before　me；　my　presence　deterring　them　not　at　all。　　I　can　see
them　hopping　around　her　in　the　Peters　yard　crying　out：

〃Nancy's　in　love　with　Hugh！　　Nancy's　in　love　with　Hugh！〃

A　sufficiently　thrilling　pastime；　this；　for　Nancy　could　take　care　of
herself。　　I　was　a　bungler　beside　her　when　it　came　to　retaliation；　and　not
the　least　of　her　attractions　for　me　was　her　capacity　for　anger：　fury
would　be　a　better　term。　　She　would　fly　at　themeven　as　she　flew　at　the
head…hunters　when　the　Petrel　was　menaced；　and　she　could　run　like　a　deer。
Woe　to　the　unfortunate　victim　she　overtook！　　Masculine　strength；
exercised　apologetically；　availed　but　little；　and　I　have　seen　Russell
Peters　and　Gene　Hollister　retire　from　such　encounters　humiliated　and
weeping。　　She　never　caught　Ralph；　his　methods　of　torture　were　more
intelligent　and　subtle　than　Gene's　and　Russell's；　but　she　was　his　equal
when　it　came　to　a　question　of　tongues。

〃I　know　what's　the　matter　with　you；　Ralph　Hambleton；〃　she　would　say。
〃You're　jealous。〃　　An　accusation　that　invariably　put　him　on　the
defensive。　　〃You　think　all　the　girls　are　in　love　with　you；　don't　you？〃

These　scenes　I　found　somewhat　embarrassing。　　Not　so　Nancy。　　After
discomfiting　her　tormenters；　or　wounding　and　scattering　them；　she　would
return　to　my　side。。。。　　In　spite　of　her　frankly　expressed　preference　for
me　she　had　an　elusiveness　that　made　a　continual　appeal　to　my　imagination。
She　was　never　obvious　or　commonplace；　and　long　before　I　began　to
experience　the　discomforts　and　sufferings　of　youthful　love　I　was
fascinated　by　a　nature　eloquent　with　contradictions　and　inconsistencies。
She　was　a　tomboy；　yet　her　own　sex　was　enhanced　rather　than　overwhelmed　by
contact　with　the　other：　and　no　matter　how　many　trees　she　climbed　she
never　seemed　to　lose　her　daintiness。　　It　was　innate。

She　could；　at　times；　be　surprisingly　demure。　　These　impressions　of　her
daintiness　and　demureness　are　particularly　vivid　in　a　picture　my　memory
has　retained　of　our　walking　together；　unattended；　to　Susan　Blackwood's
birthday　party。　　She　must　have　been　about　twelve　years　old。　　It　was　the
first　time　I　had　escorted　her　or　any　other　girl　to　a　party；　Mrs。　Willett
had　smiled　over　the　proceeding；　but　Nancy　and　I　took　it　most　seriously；
as　symbolic　of　things　to　come。　　I　can　see　Powell　Street；　where　Nancy
lived；　at　four　o'clock　on　a　mild　and　cloudy　December　afternoon；　the
decorous；　retiring　houses；　Nancy　on　one　side　of　the　pavement　by　the　iron
fences　and　I　on　the　other　by　the　tree　boxes。　　I　can't　remember　her　dress；
only　the　exquisite　sense　of　her　slimness　and　daintiness　comes　back　to　me；
of　her　dark　hair　in　a　long　braid　tied　with　a　red　ribbon；　of　her　slender
legs　clad　in　black　stockings　of　shining　silk。　　We　felt　the　occasion　to　be
somehow　too　significant；　too　eloquent　for　words。。。。

In　silence　we　climbed　the　flight　of　stone　steps　that　led　up　to　the
Blackwood　mansion；　when　suddenly　the　door　was　opened；　letting　out　sounds
of　music　and　revelry。　　Mr。　Blackwood's　coloured　butler；　Ned；　beamed　at　us
hospitably；　inviting　us　to　enter　the　brightness　within。　　The　shades　were
drawn；　the　carpets　were　covered　with　festal　canvas；　the　folding　doors
between　the　square　rooms　were　flung　back；　the　prisms　of　the　big
chandeliers　flung　their　lig