sartor resartus-第52章
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d…revealing Miracle lies in this; that I can stretch forth my hand at all; that I have free Force to clutch aught therewith? Innumerable other of this sort are the deceptions; and wonder…hiding stupefactions; which Space practices on us。
〃Still worse is it with regard to Time。 Your grand anti…magician; and universal wonder…hider; is this same lying Time。 Had we but the Time…annihilating Hat; to put on for once only; we should see ourselves in a World of Miracles; wherein all fabled or authentic Thaumaturgy; and feats of Magic; were outdone。 But unhappily we have not such a Hat; and man; poor fool that he is; can seldom and scantily help himself without one。
〃Were it not wonderful; for instance; had Orpheus; or Amphion; built the walls of Thebes by the mere sound of his Lyre? Yet tell me; Who built these walls of Weissnichtwo; summoning out all the sandstone rocks; to dance along from the _Steinbruch_ (now a huge Troglodyte Chasm; with frightful green…mantled pools); and shape themselves into Doric and Ionic pillars; squared ashlar houses and noble streets? Was it not the still higher Orpheus; or Orpheuses; who; in past centuries; by the divine Music of Wisdom; succeeded in civilizing Man? Our highest Orpheus walked in Judea; eighteen hundred years ago: his sphere…melody; flowing in wild native tones; took captive the ravished souls of men; and; being of a truth sphere…melody; still flows and sounds; though now with thousand…fold accompaniments; and rich symphonies; through all our hearts; and modulates; and divinely leads them。 Is that a wonder; which happens in two hours; and does it cease to be wonderful if happening in two million? Not only was Thebes built by the music of an Orpheus; but without the music of some inspired Orpheus was no city ever built; no work that man glories in ever done。
〃Sweep away the Illusion of Time; glance; if thou have eyes; from the near moving…cause to its far distant Mover: The stroke that came transmitted through a whole galaxy of elastic balls; was it less a stroke than if the last ball only had been struck; and sent flying? Oh; could I (with the Time…annihilating Hat) transport thee direct from the Beginnings; to the Endings; how were thy eyesight unsealed; and thy heart set flaming in the Light…sea of celestial wonder! Then sawest thou that this fair Universe; were it in the meanest province thereof; is in very deed the star…domed City of God; that through every star; through every grass…blade; and most through every Living Soul; the glory of a present God still beams。 But Nature; which is the Time…vesture of God; and reveals Him to the wise; hides Him from the foolish。
〃Again; could anything be more miraculous than an actual authentic Ghost? The English Johnson longed; all his life; to see one; but could not; though he went to Cock Lane; and thence to the church…vaults; and tapped on coffins。 Foolish Doctor! Did he never; with the mind's eye as well as with the body's; look round him into that full tide of human Life he so loved; did he never so much as look into Himself? The good Doctor was a Ghost; as actual and authentic as heart could wish; well…nigh a million of Ghosts were travelling the streets by his side。 Once more I say; sweep away the illusion of Time; compress the threescore years into three minutes: what else was he; what else are we? Are we not Spirits; that are shaped into a body; into an Appearance; and that fade away again into air and Invisibility? This is no metaphor; it is a simple scientific _fact_: we start out of Nothingness; take figure; and are Apparitions; round us; as round the veriest spectre; is Eternity; and to Eternity minutes are as years and aeons。 Come there not tones of Love and Faith; as from celestial harp…strings; like the Song of beatified Souls? And again; do not we squeak and gibber (in our discordant; screech…owlish debatings and recriminatings); and glide bodeful; and feeble; and fearful; or uproar (_poltern_); and revel in our mad Dance of the Dead;till the scent of the morning air summons us to our still Home; and dreamy Night becomes awake and Day? Where now is Alexander of Macedon: does the steel Host; that yelled in fierce battle…shouts at Issus and Arbela; remain behind him; or have they all vanished utterly; even as perturbed Goblins must? Napoleon too; and his Moscow Retreats and Austerlitz Campaigns! Was it all other than the veriest Spectre…hunt; which has now; with its howling tumult that made Night hideous; flitted away? Ghosts! There are nigh a thousand million walking the Earth openly at noontide; some half…hundred have vanished from it; some half…hundred have arisen in it; ere thy watch ticks once。
〃O Heaven; it is mysterious; it is awful to consider that we not only carry each a future Ghost within him; but are; in very deed; Ghosts! These Limbs; whence had we them; this stormy Force; this life…blood with its burning Passion? They are dust and shadow; a Shadow…system gathered round our ME: wherein; through some moments or years; the Divine Essence is to be revealed in the Flesh。 That warrior on his strong war…horse; fire flashes through his eyes; force dwells in his arm and heart: but warrior and war…horse are a vision; a revealed Force; nothing more。 Stately they tread the Earth; as if it were a firm substance: fool! the Earth is but a film; it cracks in twain; and warrior and war…horse sink beyond plummet's sounding。 Plummet's? Fantasy herself will not follow them。 A little while ago; they were not; a little while; and they are not; their very ashes are not。
〃So has it been from the beginning; so will it be to the end。 Generation after generation takes to itself the Form of a Body; and forth issuing from Cimmerian Night; on Heaven's mission APPEARS。 What Force and Fire is in each he expends: one grinding in the mill of Industry; one hunter…like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science; one madly dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife; in war with his fellow:and then the Heaven…sent is recalled; his earthly Vesture falls away; and soon even to Sense becomes a vanished Shadow。 Thus; like some wild…flaming; wild…thundering train of Heaven's Artillery; does this mysterious MANKIND thunder and flame; in long…drawn; quick…succeeding grandeur; through the unknown Deep。 Thus; like a God…created; fire…breathing Spirit…host; we emerge from the Inane; haste stormfully across the astonished Earth; then plunge again into the Inane。 Earth's mountains are levelled; and her seas filled up; in our passage: can the Earth; which is but dead and a vision; resist Spirits which have reality and are alive? On the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped in; the last Rear of the host will read traces of the earliest Van。 But whence?O Heaven whither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not; only that it is through Mystery to Mystery; from God and to God。
'We _are such stuff_ As Dreams are made of; and our little Life Is rounded with a sleep!'〃
CHAPTER IX。 CIRCUMSPECTIVE。
Here; then; arises the so momentous question: Have many British Readers actually arrived with us at the new promised country; is the Philosophy of Clothes now at last opening around them? Long and adventurous has the journey been: from those outmost vulgar; palpable Woollen Hulls of Man; through his wondrous Flesh…Garments; and his wondrous Social Garnitures; inwards to the Garments of his very Soul's Soul; to Time and Space themselves! And now does the spiritual; eternal Essence of Man; and of Mankind; bared of such wrappages; begin in any measure to reveal itself? Can many readers discern; as through a glass darkly; in huge wavering outlines; some primeval rudiments of Man's Being; what is changeable divided from what is unchangeable? Does that Earth…Spirit's speech in _Faust_;
〃'Tis thus at the roaring Loom of Time I ply; And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by; 〃
or that other thousand…times repeated speech of the Magician; Shakespeare;
〃And like the baseless fabric of this vision; The cloud…capt Towers; the gorgeous Palaces; The solemn Temples; the great Globe itself; And all which it inherit; shall dissolve; And like t