the lifted veil-第3章
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crowns； seemed to me the real inhabitants and owners of this place；
while the busy； trivial men and women； hurrying to and fro； were a
swarm of ephemeral visitants infesting it for a day。 It is such
grim； stony beings as these； I thought； who are the fathers of
ancient faded children； in those tanned time…fretted dwellings that
crowd the steep before me； who pay their court in the worn and
crumbling pomp of the palace which stretches its monotonous length
on the height； who worship wearily in the stifling air of the
churches； urged by no fear or hope； but compelled by their doom to
be ever old and undying； to live on in the rigidity of habit； as
they live on in perpetual midday； without the repose of night or
the new birth of morning。
A stunning clang of metal suddenly thrilled through me； and I
became conscious of the objects in my room again： one of the fire…
irons had fallen as Pierre opened the door to bring me my draught。
My heart was palpitating violently； and I begged Pierre to leave my
draught beside me； I would take it presently。
As soon as I was alone again； I began to ask myself whether I had
been sleeping。 Was this a dreamthis wonderfully distinct vision…
…minute in its distinctness down to a patch of rainbow light on the
pavement； transmitted through a coloured lamp in the shape of a
starof a strange city； quite unfamiliar to my imagination？ I had
seen no picture of Prague： it lay in my mind as a mere name； with
vaguely…remembered historical associationsill…defined memories of
imperial grandeur and religious wars。
Nothing of this sort had ever occurred in my dreaming experience
before； for I had often been humiliated because my dreams were only
saved from being utterly disjointed and commonplace by the frequent
terrors of nightmare。 But I could not believe that I had been
asleep； for I remembered distinctly the gradual breaking…in of the
vision upon me； like the new images in a dissolving view； or the
growing distinctness of the landscape as the sun lifts up the veil
of the morning mist。 And while I was conscious of this incipient
vision； I was also conscious that Pierre came to tell my father Mr。
Filmore was waiting for him； and that my father hurried out of the
room。 No； it was not a dream； was itthe thought was full of
tremulous exultationwas it the poet's nature in me； hitherto only
a troubled yearning sensibility； now manifesting itself suddenly as
spontaneous creation？ Surely it was in this way that Homer saw the
plain of Troy； that Dante saw the abodes of the departed； that
Milton saw the earthward flight of the Tempter。 Was it that my
illness had wrought some happy change in my organizationgiven a
firmer tension to my nervescarried off some dull obstruction？ I
had often read of such effectsin works of fiction at least。 Nay；
in genuine biographies I had read of the subtilizing or exalting
influence of some diseases on the mental powers。 Did not Novalis
feel his inspiration intensified under the progress of consumption？
When my mind had dwelt for some time on this blissful idea； it
seemed to me that I might perhaps test it by an exertion of my
will。 The vision had begun when my father was speaking of our
going to Prague。 I did not for a moment believe it was really a
representation of that city； I believedI hoped it was a picture
that my newly liberated genius had painted in fiery haste； with the
colours snatched from lazy memory。 Suppose I were to fix my mind
on some other placeVenice； for example； which was far more
familiar to my imagination than Prague： perhaps the same sort of
result would follow。 I concentrated my thoughts on Venice； I
stimulated my imagination with poetic memories； and strove to feel
myself present in Venice； as I had felt myself present in Prague。
But in vain。 I was only colouring the Canaletto engravings that
hung in my old bedroom at home； the picture was a shifting one； my
mind wandering uncertainly in search of more vivid images； I could
see no accident of form or shadow without conscious labour after
the necessary conditions。 It was all prosaic effort； not rapt
passivity； such as I had experienced half an hour before。 I was
discouraged； but I remembered that inspiration was fitful。
For several days I was in a state of excited expectation； watching
for a recurrence of my new gift。 I sent my thoughts ranging over
my world of knowledge； in the hope that they would find some object
which would send a reawakening vibration through my slumbering
genius。 But no； my world remained as dim as ever； and that flash
of strange light refused to come again； though I watched for it
with palpitating eagerness。
My father accompanied me every day in a drive； and a gradually
lengthening walk as my powers of walking increased； and one evening
he had agreed to come and fetch me at twelve the next day； that we
might go together to select a musical box； and other purchases
rigorously demanded of a rich Englishman visiting Geneva。 He was
one of the most punctual of men and bankers； and I was always
nervously anxious to be quite ready for him at the appointed time。
But； to my surprise； at a quarter past twelve he had not appeared。
I felt all the impatience of a convalescent who has nothing
particular to do； and who has just taken a tonic in the prospect of
immediate exercise that would carry off the stimulus。
Unable to sit still and reserve my strength； I walked up and down
the room； looking out on the current of the Rhone； just where it
leaves the dark…blue lake； but thinking all the while of the
possible causes that could detain my father。
Suddenly I was conscious that my father was in the room； but not
alone： there were two persons with him。 Strange！ I had heard no
footstep； I had not seen the door open； but I saw my father； and at
his right hand our neighbour Mrs。 Filmore； whom I remembered very
well； though I had not seen her for five years。 She was a
commonplace middle…aged woman； in silk and cashmere； but the lady
on the left of my father was not more than twenty； a tall； slim；
willowy figure； with luxuriant blond hair； arranged in cunning
braids and folds that looked almost too massive for the slight
figure and the small…featured； thin…lipped face they crowned。 But
the face had not a girlish expression： the features were sharp；
the pale grey eyes at once acute； restless； and sarcastic。 They
were fixed on me in half…smiling curiosity； and I felt a painful
sensation as if a sharp wind were cutting me。 The pale…green
dress； and the green leaves that seemed to form a border about her
pale blond hair； made me think of a Water…Nixiefor my mind was
full of German lyrics； and this pale； fatal…eyed woman； with the
green weeds； looked like a birth from some cold sedgy stream； the
daughter of an aged river。
〃Well； Latimer； you thought me long；〃 my father said 。 。 。
But while the last word was in my ears； the whole group vanished；
and there was nothing between me and the Chinese printed folding…
screen that stood before the door。 I was cold and trembling； I
could only totter forward and throw myself on the sofa。 This
strange new power had manifested itself again 。 。 。 But WAS it a
power？ Might it not rather be a diseasea sort of intermittent
delirium； concentrating my energy of brain into moments of
unhealthy activity； and leaving my saner hours all the more barren？
I felt a dizzy sense of unreality in what my eye rested on； I
grasped the bell convulsively； like one trying to free himself from
nightmare； and rang it twice。 Pierre came with a look of alarm in
his face。
〃Monsieur ne se trouve pas bien？〃 he said anxiously。
〃I'm tired of waiting； Pierre；〃 I said； as distinctly and
emphatically as I could； like a man determined to be sober in spite
of wine； 〃I'm afraid something has happened to my fatherhe's
usually so punctual。 Run to the Hotel des Bergues and see if he is
there。〃
Pierre left the room at once； with a soothing 〃Bien； Monsieur〃； and
I felt the better for this scene of simple； waking prose。 Seeking
to calm myself still further； I went into my bedroom； adjoining the
salon； and opened a case of eau…de…Cologne； took out
