a mortal antipathy-第21章
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muddled if anything came up requiring swift decision and off…hand
speech。 The Terror had schooled herself in the debating societies of
the Institute; and would set up the President; when he was floored by
an awkward question; as easily as if he were a ninepin which had been
bowled over。
It has been already mentioned that the Pansophian Society received
communications from time to time from writers outside of its own
organization。 Of late these had been becoming more frequent。 Many
of them were sent in anonymously; and as there were numerous visitors
to the village; and two institutions not far removed from it; both
full of ambitious and intelligent young persons; it was often
impossible to trace the papers to their authors。 The new Secretary
was alive with curiosity; and as sagacious a little body as one might
find if in want of a detective。 She could make a pretty shrewd guess
whether a paper was written by a young or old person; by one of her
own sex or the other; by an experienced hand or a novice。
Among the anonymous papers she received was one which exercised her
curiosity to an extraordinary degree。 She felt a strong suspicion
that 〃the Sachem;〃 as the boat…crews used to call him; 〃the Recluse;〃
〃the Night…Hawk;〃 〃the Sphinx;〃 as others named him; must be the
author of it。 It appeared to her the production of a young person of
a reflective; poetical turn of mind。 It was not a woman's way of
writing; at least; so thought the Secretary。 The writer had
travelled much; had resided in Italy; among other places。 But so had
many of the summer visitors and residents of Arrowhead Village。 The
handwriting was not decisive; it had some points of resemblance with
the pencilled orders for books which Maurice sent to the Library; but
there were certain differences; intentional or accidental; which
weakened this evidence。 There was an undertone in the essay which
was in keeping with the mode of life of the solitary stranger。 It
might be disappointment; melancholy; or only the dreamy sadness of a
young person who sees the future he is to climb; not as a smooth
ascent; but as overhanging him like a cliff; ready to crush him; with
all his hopes and prospects。 This interpretation may have been too
imaginative; but here is the paper; and the reader can form his own
opinion:
MY THREE COMPANIONS。
〃I have been from my youth upwards a wanderer。 I do not mean
constantly flitting from one place to another; for my residence has
often been fixed for considerable periods。 From time to time I have
put down in a notebook the impressions made upon me by the scenes
through which I have passed。 I have long hesitated whether to let
any of my notes appear before the public。 My fear has been that they
were too subjective; to use the metaphysician's term;that I have
seen myself reflected in Nature; and not the true aspects of Nature
as she was meant to be understood。 One who should visit the Harz
Mountains would seemight see; rather his own colossal image shape
itself on the morning mist。 But if in every mist that rises from the
meadows; in every cloud that hangs upon the mountain; he always finds
his own reflection; we cannot accept him as an interpreter of the
landscape。
〃There must be many persons present at the meetings of the Society to
which this paper is offered who have had experiences like that of its
author。 They have visited the same localities; they have had many of
the same thoughts and feelings。 Many; I have no doubt。 Not all;
no; not all。 Others have sought the companionship of Nature; I have
been driven to it。 Much of my life has been passed in that
communion。 These pages record some of the intimacies I have formed
with her under some of her various manifestations。
〃I have lived on the shore of the great ocean; where its waves broke
wildest and its voice rose loudest。
〃I have passed whole seasons on the banks of mighty and famous
rivers。
〃I have dwelt on the margin of a tranquil lake; and floated through
many a long; long summer day on its clear waters。
〃I have learned the 'various language' of Nature; of which poetry has
spoken;at least; I have learned some words and phrases of it。 I
will translate some of these as I best may into common speech。
〃The OCEAN says to the dweller on its shores:
You are neither welcome nor unwelcome。 I do not trouble myself with
the living tribes that come down to my waters。 I have my own people;
of an older race than yours; that grow to mightier dimensions than
your mastodons and elephants; more numerous than all the swarms that
fill the air or move over the thin crust of the earth。 Who are you
that build your palaces on my margin? I see your white faces as
I saw the dark faces of the tribes that came before you; as I shall
look upon the unknown family of mankind that will come after you。
And what is your whole human family but a parenthesis in a single
page of my history? The raindrops stereotyped themselves on my
beaches before a living creature left his footprints there。 This
horseshoe…crab I fling at your feet is of older lineage than your
Adam;perhaps; indeed; you count your Adam as one of his
descendants。 What feeling have I for you? Not scorn; not hatred;
not love;not loathing。 No!…indifference;blank indifference to
you and your affairs that is my feeling; say rather absence of
feeling; as regards you。…Oh yes; I will lap your feet; I will cool
you in the hot summer days; I will bear you up in my strong arms; I
will rock you on my rolling undulations; like a babe in his cradle。
Am I not gentle? Am I not kind? Am I not harmless? But hark! The
wind is rising; and the wind and I are rough playmates! What do you
say to my voice now? Do you see my foaming lips? Do you feel the
rocks tremble as my huge billows crash against them? Is not my anger
terrible as I dash your argosy; your thunder…bearing frigate; into
fragments; as you would crack an eggshell? No; not anger; deaf;
blind; unheeding indifference;that is all。 Out of me all things
arose; sooner or later; into me all things subside。 All changes
around me; I change not。 I look not at you; vain man; and your frail
transitory concerns; save in momentary glimpses: I look on the white
face of my dead mistress; whom I follow as the bridegroom follows the
bier of her who has changed her nuptial raiment for the shroud。
〃Ye whose thoughts are of eternity; come dwell at my side。
Continents and islands grow old; and waste and disappear。 The
hardest rock crumbles; vegetable and animal kingdoms come into being;
wax great; decline; and perish; to give way to others; even as human
dynasties and nations and races come and go。 Look on me! 〃Time
writes no wrinkle〃 on my forehead。 Listen to me! All tongues are
spoken on my shores; but I have only one language: the winds taught
me their vowels the crags and the sands schooled me in my rough or
smooth consonants。 Few words are mine but I have whispered them and
sung them and shouted them to men of all tribes from the time when
the first wild wanderer strayed into my awful presence。 Have you a
grief that gnaws at your heart…strings? Come with it to my shore; as
of old the priest of far…darting Apollo carried his rage and anguish
to the margin of the loud…roaring sea。 There; if anywhere you will
forget your private and short…lived woe; for my voice speaks to the
infinite and the eternal in your consciousness。'
〃To him who loves the pages of human history; who listens to the
voices of the world about him; who frequents the market and the
thoroughfare; who lives in the study of time and its accidents rather
than in the deeper emotions; in abstract speculation and spiritual
contemplation; the RIVER addresses itself as his natural companion。
〃Come live with me。 I am active; cheerful; communicative; a natural
talker and story…teller。 I am not noi