四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第26部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


pictures　on　my　walls；　restore　me　to　happy　consciousness；　happier　for　the　miserable　dream。　Now；　when　I　lie　thinking；　my　worst　trouble　is　wonder　at　the　mon　life　of　man。　I　see　it　as　a　thing　so　incredible　that　it　oppresses　the　mind　like　a　haunting　illusion。　Is　it　the　truth　that　men　are　fretting；　raving；　killing　each　other；　for　matters　so　trivial　that　I；　even　I；　so　far　from　saint　or　philosopher；　must　needs　fall　into　amazement　when　I　consider　them？　I　could　imagine　a　man　who；　by　living　alone　and　at　peace；　came　to　regard　the　everyday　world　as　not　really　existent；　but　a　creation　of　his　own　fancy　in　unsound　moments。　What　lunatic　ever　dreamt　of　things　less　consonant　with　the　calm　reason　than　those　which　are　thought　and　done　every　minute　in　every　munity　of　men　called　sane？　But　I　put　aside　this　reflection　as　soon　as　may　be；　it　perturbs　me　fruitlessly。　Then　I　listen　to　the　sounds　about　my　cottage；　always　soft；　soothing；　such　as　lead　the　mind　to　gentle　thoughts。　Sometimes　I　can　hear　nothing；　not　the　rustle　of　a　leaf；　not　the　buzz　of　a　fly；　and　then　I　think　that　utter　silence　is　best　of　all。
This　morning　I　was　awakened　by　a　continuous　sound　which　presently　shaped　itself　to　my　ear　as　a　multitudinous　shrilling　of　bird　voices。　I　knew　what　it　meant。　For　the　last　few　days　I　have　seen　the　swallows　gathering；　now　they　were　ranged　upon　my　roof；　perhaps　in　the　last　council　before　their　setting　forth　upon　the　great　journey。　I　know　better　than　to　talk　about　animal　instinct；　and　to　wonder　in　a　pitying　way　at　its　resemblance　to　reason。　I　know　that　these　birds　show　to　us　a　life　far　more　reasonable；　and　infinitely　more　beautiful；　than　that　of　the　masses　of　mankind。　They　talk　with　each　other；　and　in　their　talk　is　neither　malice　nor　folly。　Could　one　but　interpret　the　converse　in　which　they　make　their　plans　for　the　long　and　perilous　flight……and　then　pare　it　with　that　of　numberless　respectable　persons　who　even　now　are　projecting　their　winter　in　the　South！
XXV
Yesterday　I　passed　by　an　elm　avenue；　leading　to　a　beautiful　old　house。　The　road　between　the　trees　was　covered　in　all　its　length　and　breadth　with　fallen　leaves……a　carpet　of　pale　gold。　Further　on；　I　came　to　a　plantation；　mostly　of　larches；　it　shone　in　the　richest　aureate　hue；　with　here　and　there　a　splash　of　blood…red；　which　was　a　young　beech　in　its　moment　of　autumnal　glory。
I　looked　at　an　alder；　laden　with　brown　catkins；　its　blunt　foliage　stained　with　innumerable　shades　of　lovely　colour。　Near　it　was　a　horse…chestnut；　with　but　a　few　leaves　hanging　on　its　branches；　and　those　a　deep　orange。　The　limes；　I　see；　are　already　bare。
To…night　the　wind　is　loud；　and　rain　dashes　against　my　casement；　to…　morrow　I　shall　awake　to　a　sky　of　winter。

WINTER　

I　
Blasts　from　the　Channel；　with　raining　scud；　and　spume　of　mist　breaking　upon　the　hills；　have　kept　me　indoors　all　day。　Yet　not　for　a　moment　have　I　been　dull　or　idle；　and　now；　by　the　latter　end　of　a　sea…coal　fire；　I　feel　such　enjoyment　of　my　ease　and　tranquillity　that　I　must　needs　word　it　before　going　up　to　bed。
Of　course　one　ought　to　be　able　to　breast　weather　such　as　this　of　to…　day；　and　to　find　one's　pleasure　in　the　strife　with　it。　For　the　man　sound　in　body　and　serene　of　mind　there　is　no　such　thing　as　bad　weather；　every　sky　has　its　beauty；　and　storms　which　whip　the　blood　do　but　make　it　pulse　more　vigorously。　I　remember　the　time　when　I　would　have　set　out　with　gusto　for　a　tramp　along　the　wind…swept　and　rain…beaten　roads；　nowadays；　I　should　perhaps　pay　for　the　experiment　with　my　life。　All　the　more　do　I　prize　the　shelter　of　these　good　walls；　the　honest　workmanship　which　makes　my　doors　and　windows　proof　against　the　assailing　blast。　In　all　England；　the　land　of　fort；　there　is　no　room　more　fortable　than　this　in　which　I　sit。　fortable　in　the　good　old　sense　of　the　word；　giving　solace　to　the　mind　no　less　than　ease　to　the　body。　And　never　does　it　look　more　homely；　more　a　refuge　and　a　sanctuary；　than　on　winter　nights。
In　my　first　winter　here；　I　tried　fires　of　wood；　having　had　my　hearth　arranged　for　the　purpose；　but　that　was　a　mistake。　One　cannot　burn　logs　successfully　in　a　small　room；　either　the　fire；　being　kept　moderate；　needs　constant　attention；　or　its　triumphant　blaze　makes　the　room　too　hot。　A　fire　is　a　delightful　thing；　a　panion　and　an　inspiration。　If　my　room　were　kept　warm　by　some　wretched　modern　contrivance　of　water…pipes　or　heated　air；　would　it　be　the　same　to　me　as　that　beautiful　core　of　glowing　fuel；　which；　if　I　sit　and　gaze　into　it；　bees　a　world　of　wonders？　Let　science　warm　the　heaven…　forsaken　inhabitants　of　flats　and　hotels　as　effectually　and　economically　as　it　may；　if　the　choice　were　forced　upon　me；　I　had　rather　sit；　like　an　Italian；　wrapped　in　my　mantle；　softly　stirring　with　a　key　the　silver…grey　surface　of　the　brasier's　charcoal。　They　tell　me　we　are　burning　all　our　coal；　and　with　wicked　wastefulness。　I　am　sorry　for　it；　but　I　cannot　on　that　account　make　cheerless　perhaps　the　last　winter　of　my　life。　There　may　be　waste　on　domestic　hearths；　but　the　wickedness　is　elsewhere……too　blatant　to　call　for　indication。　Use　mon　sense；　by　all　means；　in　the　construction　of　grates；　that　more　than　half　the　heat　of　the　kindly　coal　should　be　blown　up　the　chimney　is　desired　by　no　one；　but　hold　by　the　open　fire　as　you　hold　by　whatever　else　is　best　in　England。　Because；　in　the　course　of　nature；　it　will　be　some　day　a　thing　of　the　past　（like　most　other　things　that　are　worth　living　for）；　is　that　a　reason　why　it　should　not　be　enjoyed　as　long　as　possible？　Human　beings　may　ere　long　take　their　nourishment　in　the　form　of　pills；　the　prevision　of　that　happy　economy　causes　me　no　reproach　when　I　sit　down　to　a　joint　of　meat。
See　how　friendly　together　are　the　fire　and　the　shaded　lamp；　both　have　their　part　alike　in　the　illumining　and　warming　of　the　room。　As　the　fire　purrs　and　softly　crackles；　so　does　my　lamp　at　intervals　utter　a　little　gurgling　sound　when　the　oil　flows　to　the　wick；　and　custom　has　made　this　a　pleasure　to　me。　Another　sound；　blending　with　both；　is　the　gentle　ticking　of　the　clock。　I　could　not　endure　one　of　those　bustling　little　clocks　which　tick　like　a　fever　pulse；　and　are　only　fit　for　a　stockbroker's　office；　mine　hums　very　slowly；　as　though　it　savoured　the　minutes　no　less　than　I　do；　and　when　it　strikes；　the　little　voice　is　silver…sweet；　telling　me　without　sadness　that　another　hour　of　life　is　reckoned；　another　of　the　priceless　hours　…
〃Quae　nobis　pereunt　et　imputantur。〃
After　extinguishing　the　lamp；　and　when　I　have　reached　the　door；　I　always　turn　to　look　back；　my　room　is　so　cosily　alluring　in　the　light　of　the　last　gleeds；　that　I　do　not　easily　move　away。　The　warm　glow　is　reflected　on　shining　wood；　on　my　chair；　my　writing…table；　on　the　bookcases；　and　from　the　gilt　title　of　some　stately　volume；　it　illumes　this　picture；　it　half　disperses　the　gloom　on　that。　I　could　imagine　that；　as　in　a　fairy　tale；　the　books　do　but　await　my　departure　to　begin　talking　among　themselves。　A　little　tongue　of　flame　shoots　up　from　a　dying　ember；　shadows　shift　upon　the　ceiling　and　the　walls。　With　a　sigh　of　utter　contentment；　I　go　forth；　and　shut　the　door　softly。
II
I　came　home　this　afternoon　just　at　twilight；　and；　feeling　tired　after　my　walk；　a　little　cold　too；　I　first　crouched　before　the　fire；　then　let　myself　drop　lazily　upon　the　hearthrug。　I　had　a　book　in　my　hand；　and　began　to　read　it　by　the　firelight。　Rising　in　a　few　minutes；　I　found　the　open　page　still　legible　by　the　pale　glimmer　of　day。　This　sudden　change　of　illumination　had　an　odd　effect　upon　me；　it　was　so　unexpected；　for　I　had　forgotten　that　dark　had　not　yet　fallen。　And　I　saw　in　the　queer　little　experience　an　intellectual　symbol。　The　book　was　verse。　Might　not　the　warm　rays　from　the　fire　exhibit　the　page　as　it　appears　to　an　imaginative　and　kindred　mind；　whilst　that　cold；　dull　light　from　the　window　showed　it　as　it　is　beheld　by　eyes　to　which　poetry　has　but　a　poor；　literal　meaning；　or　none　at　all？
III
It　is　a　pleasant　thing　enough　to　be　able　to　spend　a　little　money　without　fear　when　the　desire　for　some　indulgence　is　strong　upon　one；　but　how　much　pleasanter　the　ability　to　give　money　away！　Greatly　as　I　relish　the　forts　of　my　wonderful　new　life；　no　joy　it　has　brought　me　equals　that　of　ing　in　aid　to　another's　necessity。　The　man　for　ever　pinched　in　circumstances　can　live　only　for　himself。　It　is　all　very　well　to　talk　about　doing　moral　good；　in　practice；　there　is　little　scope　or　hope　for　anything　of　that　kind　in　a　state　of　material　hardship。　To…day　I　have　sent　S…　a　cheque　for　fifty　pounds；　it　will　e　as　a　very　boon　of　heaven；　and　assuredly　blesseth　him　that　gives　as　much　as　him　that　takes。　A　poor　fifty　pounds；　which　the　wealthy　fool　throws　away　upon　some　idle　or　base　fantasy；　and　never　thinks　of　it；　yet　to　S…　it　will　mean　life　and　light。　And　I；　to　whom　this　power　of　benefaction　is　such　a　nebling；　so　glad　and　proud　I　am。　In　the　days　gone　by；　I　have　sometimes　given　money；　but　with　trembling　of　another　kind；　it　was　as　likely　as　not　that　I　myself；　some　black　foggy　morning；　might　have　to　go　begging　for　my　own　dire　needs。　That　is　one　of　the　bitter　curses　of　poverty；　it　leaves　no　right　to　be　generous。　Of　my　abundance……abundance　to　me；　though　starveling　pittance　in　the　view　of　everyday　prosperity……I　can　give　with　happiest　freedom；　I　feel　myself　a　man；　and　no　crouching　slave　with　his　back　ever　ready　for　the　lash　of　circumstance。　There　are　those；　I　know；　who　thank　the　gods　amiss；　and　most　easily　does　this　happen　in　the　matter　of　wealth。　But　oh；　how　good　it　is　to　desire　little；　and　to　have　a　little　more　than　enough！
IV
After　two　or　three　days　of　unseasonable　and　depressing　warmth；　with　lowering　but　not　rainy　sky；　I　woke　this　morning　to　find　the　land　covered　with　a　dense　mist。　There　was　no　daybreak；　and；　till　long　after　the　due　hour；　no　light　save　a　pale；　sad　glimmer　at　the　window；　now；　at　mid…day；　I　begin　dimly　to　descry　gaunt　shapes　of　trees；　whilst　a　haunting　drip；　drip　on　the　garden　soil　tells　me　that　the　vapour　has　begun　to　condense；　and　will　pass　in　rain。　But　for　my　fire；　I　should　be　in　indifferent　spirits　on　such　a　day　as　this；　the　flame　sings　and　leaps；　and　its　red　beauty　is　reflected　in　the　window…glass。　I　cannot　give　my　thoughts　to　reading；　if　I　sat　unoccupied；　they　would　brood　with　melancholy　fixedness　on　I　know　not　what。　Better　to　betake　myself　to　the　old　mechanic　exercise　of　th