贝壳电子书 > 英文原著电子书 > a mortal antipathy >

第21章

a mortal antipathy-第21章

小说: a mortal antipathy 字数: 每页4000字

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!




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

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的