the poet at the breakfast table-第37章
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And steal a moment's freedom from the beak；
The clinging talons and the shadowing plumes；
Then comes the false enchantress； with her song；
〃Thou wouldst not lay thy forehead in the dust
Like the base herd that feeds and breeds and dies！
Lo； the fair garlands that I weave for thee；
Unchanging as the belt Orion wears；
Bright as the jewels of the seven…starred Crown；
The spangled stream of Berenice's hair！〃
And so she twines the fetters with the flowers
Around my yielding limbs； and the fierce bird
Stoops to his quarry；then to feed his rage
Of ravening hunger I must drain my blood
And let the dew…drenched； poison…breeding night
Steal all the freshness from my fading cheek；
And leave its shadows round my caverned eyes。
All for a line in some unheeded scroll；
All for a stone that tells to gaping clowns；
〃Here lies a restless wretch beneath a clod
Where squats the jealous nightmare men call Fame！〃
I marvel not at him who scorns his kind
And thinks not sadly of the time foretold
When the old hulk we tread shall be a wreck；
A slag； a cinder drifting through the sky
Without its crew of fools！ We live too long
And even so are not content to die；
But load the mould that covers up our bones
With stones that stand like beggars by the road
And show death's grievous wound and ask for tears；
Write our great books to teach men who we are；
Sing our fine songs that tell in artful phrase
The secrets of our lives； and plead and pray
For alms of memory with the after time；
Those few swift seasons while the earth shall wear
Its leafy summers； ere its core grows cold
And the moist life of all that breathes shall die；
Or as the new…born seer； perchance more wise；
Would have us deem； before its growing mass；
Pelted with stardust； atoned with meteor…balls；
Heats like a hammered anvil； till at last Man
and his works and all that stirred itself
Of its own motion； in the fiery glow
Turns to a flaming vapor； and our orb
Shines a new sun for earths that shall be born。
I am as old as Egypt to myself；
Brother to them that squared the pyramids
By the same stars I watch。 I read the page
Where every letter is a glittering world；
With them who looked from Shinar's clay…built towers；
Ere yet the wanderer of the Midland sea
Had missed the fallen sister of the seven。
I dwell in spaces vague； remote； unknown；
Save to the silent few； who； leaving earth；
Quit all communion with their living time。
I lose myself in that ethereal void；
Till I have tired my wings and long to fill
My breast with denser air； to stand； to walk
With eyes not raised above my fellow…men。
Sick of my unwalled； solitary realm；
I ask to change the myriad lifeless worlds
I visit as mine own for one poor patch
Of this dull spheroid and a little breath
To shape in word or deed to serve my kind。
Was ever giant's dungeon dug so deep；
Was ever tyrant's fetter forged so strong；
Was e'er such deadly poison in the draught
The false wife mingles for the trusting fool；
As he whose willing victim is himself；
Digs； forges； mingles； for his captive soul？
VII
I was very sure that the old Master was hard at work about
something；he is always very busy with something；but I mean
something particular。
Whether it was a question of history or of cosmogony； or whether he
was handling a test…tube or a blow…pipe； what he was about I did not
feel sure； but I took it for granted that it was some crucial
question or other he was at work on； some point bearing on the
thought of the time。 For the Master； I have observed； is pretty
sagacious in striking for the points where his work will be like to
tell。 We all know that class of scientific laborers to whom all
facts are alike nourishing mental food； and who seem to exercise no
choice whatever； provided only they can get hold of these same
indiscriminate facts in quantity sufficient。 They browse on them； as
the animal to which they would not like to be compared browses on his
thistles。 But the Master knows the movement of the age he belongs
to； and if he seems to be busy with what looks like a small piece of
trivial experimenting； one may feel pretty sure that he knows what he
is about； and that his minute operations are looking to a result that
will help him towards attaining his great end in life；an insight；
so far as his faculties and opportunities will allow； into that order
of things which he believes he can study with some prospect of taking
in its significance。
I became so anxious to know what particular matter he was busy with；
that I had to call upon him to satisfy my curiosity。 It was with a
little trepidation that I knocked at his door。 I felt a good deal as
one might have felt on disturbing an alchemist at his work； at the
very moment； it might be； when he was about to make projection。
Come in！ said the Master in his grave； massive tones。
I passed through the library with him into a little room evidently
devoted to his experiments。
You have come just at the right moment；he said。 Your eyes are
better than mine。 I have been looking at this flask； and I should
like to have you look at it。
It was a small matrass； as one of the elder chemists would have
called it； containing a fluid； and hermetically sealed。 He held it
up at the window； perhaps you remember the physician holding a flask
to the light in Gerard Douw's 〃Femme hydropique〃； I thought of that
fine figure as I looked at him。 Look！ said he；is it clear or
cloudy？
You need not ask me that；I answered。 It is very plainly turbid。
I should think that some sediment had been shaken up in it。 What is
it； Elixir Vitae or Aurum potabile？
Something that means more than alchemy ever did！ Boiled just three
hours； and as clear as a bell until within the last few days； since
then has been clouding up。
I began to form a pretty shrewd guess at the meaning of all this；
and to think I knew very nearly what was coming next。 I was right in
my conjecture。 The Master broke off the sealed end of his little
flask； took out a small portion of the fluid on a glass rod； and
placed it on a slip of glass in the usual way for a microscopic
examination。
One thousand diameters；he said； as he placed it on the stage of
the microscope。…We shall find signs of life； of course。 He bent
over the instrument and looked but an instant。
There they are！he exclaimed；look in。
I looked in and saw some objects：
The straight linear bodies were darting backward and forward in every
direction。 The wavy ones were wriggling about like eels or water…
snakes。 The round ones were spinning on their axes and rolling in
every direction。 All of them were in a state of incessant activity；
as if perpetually seeking something and never finding it。
They are tough； the germs of these little bodies； said the Master。…
Three hours' boiling has n't killed 'em。 Now； then； let us see what
has been the effect of six hours' boiling。
He took up another flask just like the first； containing fluid and
hermetically sealed in the same way。
Boiled just three hours longer than the other； he said；six hours
in all。 This is the experimentum crucis。 Do you see any cloudiness
in it？
Not a sign of it； it is as clear as crystal； except that there may
be a little sediment at the bottom。
That is nothing。 The liquid is clear。 We shall find no signs of
life。…He put a minute drop of the liquid under the microscope as
before。 Nothing stirred。 Nothing to be seen but a clear circle of
light。 We looked at it again and again； but with the same result。
Six hours kill 'em all； according to this experiment；said the
Master。…Good as far as it goes。 One more negative result。 Do you
know what would have happened if that liquid had been clouded； and we
had found life in the sealed flask？ Sir； if that liquid had held
life in it the Vatican would have trembled to hear it； and there
would have been anxious questionings and ominous whisperings in the
halls of Lambeth palace！ The accepted cosmogonies on trial； sir！
Traditions； sanctities； creeds； ecclesiastical establishments； all
shaking to know whether my little sixpenny flask of fluid looks muddy
or not！ I don't know whether to laugh or shudd
