the choir invisible-第32章

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andscape　had　begun　to　beckon　not　like　his　poor　little　frost…killed　field；　not　of　the　earth　at　all；　but　lifted　unattainable　into　the　air；　faint；　clear；　elusivethe　marriage　of　another　woman。　And　how　different　she！　He　felt　sure　that　no　winter's　rasure　would　ever　reach　that　land；　no　instability；　no　feebleness　of　nature　awaited　him　there；　the　loveliness　of　its　summer；　now　brooding　at　flood；　would　brood　unharmed　upon　it　to　the　natural　end。

He　buried　his　face　guiltily　in　his　hands　as　he　tried　to　shut　out　the　remembrance　of　how　persistently　of　late；　whithersoever　he　had　turned；　this　second　image　had　reappeared　before　him；　growing　always　clearer；　drawing　always　nearer；　summoning　him　more　luringly。　Already　he　had　begun　to　know　the　sensations　of　a　traveller　who　is　crossing　sands　with　a　parched　tongue　and　a　weary　foot；　crossing　toward　a　country　that　he　will　never　reach；　but　that　he　will　stagger　toward　as　long　as　he　has　strength　to　stand。　During　the　past　several　daysfollowing　his　last　interview　with　Amyhe　had　realized　for　the　first　time　how　long　and　how　plainly　the　figure　of　Mrs。　Falconer　had　been　standing　before　him　and　upon　how　much　loftier　a　level。　Many　a　time　of　old；　while　visiting　the　house；　he　had　grown　tired　of　Amy；　but　he　had　never　felt　wearied　by　her。　For　Amy　he　was　always　making　apologies　to　his　own　conscience；　she　needed　none。　He　had　secretly　hoped　that　in　time　Amy　would　become　more　what　he　wished　his　wife　to　be；　it　would　have　pained　him　to　think　of　her　as　altered。　Often　he　had　left　Amy's　company　with　a　grateful　sense　of　regaining　the　larger　liberty　of　his　own　mind；　by　her　he　always　felt　guided　to　his　better　self；　he　carried　away　her　ideas　with　the　hope　of　making　them　his　ideas；　he　was　set　on　fire　with　a　spiritual　passion　to　do　his　utmost　in　the　higher　strife　of　the　world。

For　this　he　had　long　paid　her　the　guiltless　tribute　of　his　reverence　and　affection。　And　between　his　reverence　and　affection　and　all　the　forbidden　that　lay　beyond　rose　a　barrier　which　not　even　his　imagination　had　ever　consciously　overleaped。　Now　the　forbidding　barrier　had　disappeared；　and　in　its　place　had　appeared　the　forbidden　bondhe　knew　not　how　or　when。　How　could　he？　Love；　the　Scarlet　Spider；　will　in　a　night　hang　between　two　that　have　been　apart　a　web　too　fine　for　either　to　see；　but　the　strength　of　both　will　never　avail　to　break　it。

Very　curiously　it　had　befallen　him　furthermore　that　just　at　the　time　when　all　these　changes　were　taking　place　around　him　and　within　him；　she　had　brought　him　the　book　that　she　had　pressed　with　emphasis　upon　his　attention。　In　the　backwoods　settlements　of　Pennsylvania　where　his　maternal　Scotch…Irish　ancestors　had　settled　and　his　own　life　been　spent；　very　few　volumes　had　fallen　into　his　hands。　After　coming　to　Kentucky　not　many　more　until　of　late：　so　that　of　the　world's　history　he　was　still　a　stinted　and　hungry　student。　When；therefore；　she　had　given　him　Malory's　〃LeMorte　D'Arthur；〃　it　was　the　first　time　that　the　ideals　of　chivalry　had　ever　flashed　their　glorious　light　upon　him；　for　the　first　time　the　models　of　Christian　manhood；　on　which　western　Europe　nourished　itself　for　centuries；　displayed　themselves　to　his　imagination　with　the　charm　of　story；　he　heard　of　Camelot；　of　the　king；　of　that　company　of　men　who　strove　with　each　other　in　arms；　but　strove　also　with　each　other　in　grace　of　life　and　for　the　immortal　mysteries　of　the　spirit。　She　had　said　that　he　should　have　read　this　book　long　before　but　that　henceforth　he　would　always　need　it　even　more　than　in　his　past：　that　here　were　some　things　he　had　looked　for　in　the　world　and　had　never　found；　characters　such　as　he　had　always　wished　to　grapple　to　himself　as　his　abiding　comrades：　that　if　he　would　love　the　best　that　it　loved；　hate　what　it　hated；　scorn　what　it　scorned；　it　would　help　him　in　the　pursuit　of　his　own　ideals　to　the　end。　Of　this　and　more　he　felt　at　once　the　truth；　since　of　all　earthly　books　known　to　him　this　contained　the　most　heavenly　revelation　of　what　a　man　may　be　in　manliness；　in　gentleness；　and　in　goodness。　　And　as　he　read　the　nobler　portions　of　the　book；　the　nobler　parts　of　his　nature　gave　out　their　immediate　response。　Hungrily　he　hurried　to　and　fro　across　the　harvest　of　those　fertile　pages；　gathering　of　the　white　wheat　of　the　spirit　many　a　lustrous　sheaf：　the　love　of　courage；　the　love　of　courtesy；　the　love　of　honour；　the　love　of　high　aims　and　great　actions；　the　love　of　the　poor　and　the　helpless；　the　love　of　a　spotless　name　and　a　spotless　life；　the　love　of　kindred；　the　love　of　friendship；　the　love　of　humility　of　spirit；　the　love　of　forgiveness；　the　love　of　beauty；　the　love　of　love；　the　love　of　God。　Surely；　he　said　to　himself；　within　the　band　of　these　virtues　lay　not　only　a　man's　noblest　life；　but　the　noblest　life　of　the　world。

While　fondling　these；　he　failed　not　to　notice　how　the　great　book；　as　though　it　were　a　living　mouth；　spat　its　deathless　scorn　upon　the　things　that　he　alsoin　the　imperfect　measure　of　his　powershad　always　hated：　all　cowardice　of　mind　or　body；　all　lying；　all　oppression；　all　unfaithfulness；　all　secret　revenge　and　hypocrisy　and　double…dealing：　the　smut　of　the　heart　and　mind。　But　ah！　the　other　things　besides　these。

Sown　among　the　white　wheat　of　the　spirit　were　the　red　tares　of　the　flesh；　and　as　he　strode　back　and　forth　through　the　harvest；　he　found　himself　plucking　these　also　with　feverish　vehemence。　There　were　things　here　that　he　had　never　seen　in　print：　words　that　he　had　never　even　named　to　his　secret　consciousness；　thoughts　and　desires　that　he　had　put　away　from　his　soul　with　many　a　struggle；　many　a　prayer；　stories　of　a　kind　that　he　had　always　declined　to　hear　when　told　in　companies　of　men：　all　here；　spelled　out；　barefaced；　without　apology；　without　shame：　the　deposits　of　those　old；　old　moral　voices　and　standards　long　since　buried　deep　under　the　ever　rising　level　of　the　world's　whitening　holiness。　With　utter　guilt　and　shame　he　did　not　leave　off　till　he　had　plucked　the　last　red　tare；　and　having　plucked　them；　he　had　hugged　the　whole　inflaming　bundle　against　his　bloodhis　blood　now　flushed　with　youth；　flushed　with　health；　flushed　with　summer。

And　finally；　in　the　midst　of　all　these　things；　perhaps　coloured　by　them；　there　had　come　to　him　the　first　great　awakening　of　his　life　in　a　love　that　was　forbidden。

He　upbraided　himself　the　more　bitterly　for　the　influence　of　the　book　because　it　was　she　who　had　placed　both　the　good　and　the　evil　in　his　hand　with　perfect　confidence　that　he　would　lay　hold　on　the　one　and　remain　unsoiled　by　the　other。　She　had　remained　spirit…proof　herself　against　the　influences　that　tormented　him；　out　of　her　own　purity　she　had　judged　him。　And　yet；　on　the　other　hand；　with　that　terrible　candour　of　mind　which　he　used　either　for　or　against　himself　as　rigidly　as　for　or　against　another　person；　he　pleaded　in　his　own　behalf　that　she　had　made　a　mistake　in　overestimating　his　strength；　in　underestimating　his　temptations。　　How　should　she　know　that　for　years　his　warfare　had　gone　on　direfully？　How　realize　that　almost　daily　he　had　stood　as　at　the　dividing　of　two　roads：　the　hard；　narrow　path　ascending　to　the　bleak　white　peaks　of　the　spirit；　the　broad；　sweet；　downward　vistas　of　the　flesh？　How　foresee；　therefore；　that　the　book　would　only　help　to　rend　him　in　twain　with　a　mightier　passion　for　each？

He　had　been　back　at　the　school　a　week　now。　He　had　never　dared　go　to　see　her。　Confront　that　luminous　face　with　his　darkened　one？　　Deal　such　a　soul　the　wound　of　such　dishonour？　He　knew　very　well　that　the　slightest　word　or　glance　of　self…betrayal　would　bring　on　the　immediate　severance　of　her　relationship　with　him：　her　wifehood　might　be　her　martyrdom；　but　it　was　martyrdom　inviolate。　And　yet　he　felt　that　if　he　were　once　with　her；　he　could　not　be　responsible　for　the　consequences：　he　could　foresee　no　degree　of　self…control　that　would　keep　him　from　telling　her　that　he　loved　her。　He　had　been　afraid　to　go。　But　ah；　how　her　image　drew　him　day　and　night；　day　and　night！　　Slipping　between　him　and　every　other　being；　every　other　desire。　　　　　Her　voice　kept　calling　to　him　to　come　to　hera　voice　new；　irresistible；　that　seemed　to　issue　from　the　deeps　of　Summer；　from　the　deeps　of　Life；　from　the　deeps　of　Love；　with　its　almighty　justification。

This　was　his　first　Saturday。　To…day　he