四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第18部分

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ates；　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　the　pen；　which　cheats　my　sense　of　time　wasted。
I　think　of　fogs　in　London；　fogs　of　murky　yellow　or　of　sheer　black；　such　as　have　often　made　all　work　impossible　to　me；　and　held　me；　a　sort　of　dyspeptic　owl；　in　moping　and　blinking　idleness。　On　such　a　day；　I　remember；　I　once　found　myself　at　an　end　both　of　coal　and　of　lamp…oil；　with　no　money　to　purchase　either；　all　I　could　do　was　to　go　to　bed；　meaning　to　lie　there　till　the　sky　once　more　became　visible。　But　a　second　day　found　the　fog　dense　as　ever。　I　rose　in　darkness；　I　stood　at　the　window　of　my　garret；　and　saw　that　the　street　was　illumined　as　at　night；　lamps　and　shop…fronts　perfectly　visible；　with　folk　going　about　their　business。　The　fog；　in　fact；　had　risen；　but　still　hung　above　the　house…tops；　impermeable　by　any　heavenly　beam。　My　solitude　being　no　longer　endurable；　I　went　out；　and　walked　the　town　for　hours。　When　I　returned；　it　was　with　a　few　coins　which　permitted　me　to　buy　warmth　and　light。　I　had　sold　to　a　second…hand　bookseller　a　volume　which　I　prized；　and　was　so　much　the　poorer　for　the　money　in　my　pocket。
Years　after　that；　I　recall　another　black　morning。　As　usual　at　such　times；　I　was　suffering　from　a　bad　cold。　After　a　sleepless　night；　I　fell　into　a　torpor；　which　held　me　unconscious　for　an　hour　or　two。　Hideous　cries　aroused　me；　sitting　up　in　the　dark；　I　heard　men　going　along　the　street；　roaring　news　of　a　hanging　that　had　just　taken　place。　〃Execution　of　Mrs。〃……I　forget　the　name　of　the　murderess。　〃Scene　on　the　scaffold！〃　It　was　a　little　after　nine　o'clock；　the　enterprising　paper　had　promptly　got　out　its　gibbet　edition。　A　morning　of　midwinter；　roofs　and　ways　covered　with　soot…grimed　snow　under　the　ghastly　fog…pall；　and；　whilst　I　lay　there　in　my　bed；　that　woman　had　been　led　out　and　hanged……hanged。　I　thought　with　horror　of　the　possibility　that　I　might　sicken　and　die　in　that　wilderness　of　houses；　nothing　above　me　but　〃a　foul　and　pestilent　congregation　of　vapours。〃　Overe　with　dread；　I　rose　and　bestirred　myself。　Blinds　drawn；　lamp　lit；　and　by　a　blazing　fire；　I　tried　to　make　believe　that　it　was　kindly　night。
V
Walking　along　the　road　after　nightfall；　I　thought　all　at　once　of　London　streets；　and；　by　a　freak　of　mind；　wished　I　were　there。　I　saw　the　shining　of　shop…fronts；　the　yellow　glistening　of　a　wet　pavement；　the　hurrying　people；　the　cabs；　the　omnibuses……and　I　wished　I　were　amid　it　all。
What　did　it　mean；　but　that　I　wished　I　were　young　again？　Not　seldom　I　have　a　sudden　vision　of　a　London　street；　perhaps　the　dreariest　and　ugliest；　which　for　a　moment　gives　me　a　feeling　of　home…sickness。　Often　it　is　the　High　Street　of　Islington；　which　I　have　not　seen　for　a　quarter　of　a　century；　at　least；　no　thoroughfare　in　all　London　less　attractive　to　the　imagination；　one　would　say；　but　I　see　myself　walking　there……walking　with　the　quick；　light　step　of　youth；　and　there；　of　course；　is　the　charm。　I　see　myself；　after　a　long　day　of　work　and　loneliness；　setting　forth　from　my　lodging。　For　the　weather　I　care　nothing；　rain；　wind；　fog……what　does　it　matter！　The　fresh　air　fills　my　lungs；　my　blood　circles　rapidly；　I　feel　my　muscles；　and　have　a　pleasure　in　the　hardness　of　the　stone　I　tread　upon。　Perhaps　I　have　money　in　my　pocket；　I　am　going　to　the　theatre；　and；　afterwards；　I　shall　treat　myself　to　supper……sausage　and　mashed　potatoes；　with　a　pint　of　foaming　ale。　The　gusto　with　which　I　look　forward　to　each　and　every　enjoyment！　At　the　pit…door；　I　shall　roll　and　hustle　amid　the　throng；　and　find　it　amusing。　Nothing　tires　me。　Late　at　night；　I　shall　walk　all　the　way　back　to　Islington；　most　likely　singing　as　I　go。　Not　because　I　am　happy……nay；　I　am　anything　but　that；　but　my　age　is　something　and　twenty；　I　am　strong　and　well。
Put　me　in　a　London　street　this　chill；　damp　night；　and　I　should　be　lost　in　barren　disfort。　But　in　those　old　days；　if　I　am　not　mistaken；　I　rather　preferred　the　seasons　of　bad　weather；　I　had；　in　fact；　the　true　instinct　of　townsfolk；　which　finds　pleasure　in　the　triumph　of　artificial　circumstance　over　natural　conditions；　delighting　in　a　glare　and　tumult　of　busy　life　under　hostile　heavens　which；　elsewhere；　would　mean　shivering　ill…content。　The　theatre；　at　such　a　time；　is　doubly　warm　and　bright；　every　shop　is　a　happy　harbour　of　refuge……there；　behind　the　counter；　stand　persons　quite　at　their　ease；　ready　to　chat　as　they　serve　you；　the　supper　bars　make　tempting　display　under　their　many　gas…jets；　the　public　houses　are　full　of　people　who　all　have　money　to　spend。　Then　clangs　out　the　piano…organ……and　what　could　be　cheerier！
I　have　much　ado　to　believe　that　I　really　felt　so。　But　then；　if　life　had　not　somehow　made　itself　tolerable　to　me；　how　should　I　have　lived　through　those　many　years？　Human　creatures　have　a　marvellous　power　of　adapting　themselves　to　necessity。　Were　I；　even　now；　thrown　back　into　squalid　London；　with　no　choice　but　to　abide　and　work　there……　should　I　not　abide　and　work？　Notwithstanding　thoughts　of　the　chemist's　shop；　I　suppose　I　should。
VI
One　of　the　shining　moments　of　my　day　is　that　when；　having　returned　a　little　weary　from　an　afternoon　walk；　I　exchange　boots　for　slippers；　out…of…doors　coat　for　easy；　familiar；　shabby　jacket；　and；　in　my　deep；　soft…elbowed　chair；　await　the　tea…tray。　Perhaps　it　is　while　drinking　tea　that　I　most　of　all　enjoy　the　sense　of　leisure。　In　days　gone　by；　I　could　but　gulp　down　the　refreshment；　hurried；　often　harassed；　by　the　thought　of　the　work　I　had　before　me；　often　I　was　quite　insensible　of　the　aroma；　the　flavour；　of　what　I　drank。　Now；　how　delicious　is　the　soft　yet　perating　odour　which　floats　into　my　study；　with　the　appearance　of　the　teapot！　What　solace　in　the　first　cup；　what　deliberate　sipping　of　that　which　follows！　What　a　glow　does　it　bring　after　a　walk　in　chilly　rain！　The　while；　I　look　around　at　my　books　and　pictures；　tasting　the　happiness　of　their　tranquil　possession。　I　cast　an　eye　towards　my　pipe；　perhaps　I　prepare　it；　with　seeming　thoughtfulness；　for　the　reception　of　tobacco。　And　never；　surely；　is　tobacco　more　soothing；　more　suggestive　of　humane　thoughts；　than　when　it　es　just　after　tea……itself　a　bland　inspirer。
In　nothing　is　the　English　genius　for　domesticity　more　notably　declared　than　in　the　institution　of　this　festival……almost　one　may　call　it　so……of　afternoon　tea。　Beneath　simple　roofs；　the　hour　of　tea　has　something　in　it　of　sacred；　for　it　marks　the　end　of　domestic　work　and　worry；　the　beginning　of　restful；　sociable　evening。　The　mere　chink　of　cups　and　saucers　tunes　the　mind　to　happy　repose。　I　care　nothing　for　your　five　o'clock　tea　of　modish　drawing…rooms；　idle　and　wearisome　like　all　else　in　which　that　world　has　part；　I　speak　of　tea　where　one　is　at　home　in　quite　another　than　the　worldly　sense。　To　admit　mere　strangers　to　your　tea…table　is　profanation；　on　the　other　hand；　English　hospitality　has　here　its　kindliest　aspect；　never　is　friend　more　wele　than　when　he　drops　in　for　a　cup　of　tea。　Where　tea　is　really　a　meal；　with　nothing　between　it　and　nine　o'clock　supper；　it　is……again　in　the　true　sense……the　homeliest　meal　of　the　day。　Is　it　believable　that　the　Chinese；　in　who　knows　how　many　centuries；　have　derived　from　tea　a　millionth　part　of　the　pleasure　or　the　good　which　it　has　brought　to　England　in　the　past　one　hundred　years？
I　like　to　look　at　my　housekeeper　when　she　carries　in　the　tray。　Her　mien　is　festal；　yet　in　her　smile　there　is　a　certain　gravity；　as　though　she　performed　an　office　which　honoured　her。　She　has　dressed　for　the　evening；　that　is　to　say；　her　clean　and　seemly　attire　of　working　hours　is　exchanged　for　garments　suitable　to　fireside　leisure；　her　cheeks　are　warm；　for　she　has　been　making　fragrant　toast。　Quickly　her　eye　glances　about　my　room；　but　only　to　have　the　pleasure　of　noting　that　all　is　in　order；　inconceivable　that　anything　serious　should　need　doing　at　this　hour　of　the　day。　She　brings　the　little　table　within　the　glow　of　the　hearth；　so　that　I　can　help　myself　without　changing　my　easy　position。　If　she　speaks；　it　will　only　be　a　pleasant　word　or　two；　should　she　have　anything　important　to　say；　the　moment　will　be　AFTER　tea；　not　before　it；　this　she　knows　by　instinct。　Perchance　she　may　just　stoop　to　sweep　back　a　cinder　which　has　fallen　since；　in　my　absence；　she　looked　after　the　fire；　it　is　done　quickly　and　silently。　Then；　still　smiling；　she　withdraws；　and　I　know　that　she　is　going　to　enjoy　her　own　tea；　her　own　toast；　in　the　warm；　fortable；　sweet…smelling　kitchen。
VII
One　has　heard　much　condemnation　of　the　English　kitchen。　Our　typical　cook　is　spoken　of　as　a　gross；　unimaginative　creature；　capable　only　of　roasting　or　seething。　Our　table　is　said　to　be　such　as　would　weary　or　revolt　any　but　gobbet…bolting　carnivores。　We　are　told　that　our　bread　is　the　worst　in　Europe；　an　indigestible　paste；　that　our　vegetables　are　diet　rather　for　the　hungry　animal　than　for　discriminative　man；　that　our　warm　beverages；　called　coffee　and　tea；　are　so　carelessly　or　ignorantly　brewed　that　they　preserve　no　simple　virtue　of　the　drink　as　it　is　known　in　other　lands。　To　be　sure；　there　is　no　lack　of　evidence　to　explain　such　censure。　The　class　which　provides　our　servants　is　undeniably　coarse　and　stupid；　and　its　handiwork　of　every　kind　too　often　bears　the　native　stamp。　For　all　that；　English　victuals　are；　in　quality；　the　best　in　the　world；　and　English　cookery　is　the　wholesomest　and　the　most　appetizing　known　to　any　temperate　clime。
As　in　so　many　other　of　our　good　points；　we　have　achieved　this　thing　unconsciously。　Your　ordinary　Englishwoman　engaged　in　cooking　probably　has　no　other　thought　than　to　make　the　food　masticable；　but　reflect　on　the　results；　when　the　thing　is　well　done；　and　there　appears　a　culinary　principle。　Nothing　could　be　simpler；　yet　nothing　more　right　and　reasonable。　The　aim　of　English　cooking　is　so　to　deal　with　the　raw　material　of　man's　nourishment　as　to　bring　out；　for　the　healthy　palate；　all　its　natural　juices　and　savours。　And　in　this；　when　the　cook　has　any　measure　of　natural　or　acquired　skill；　we　most　notably　succeed。　Our　beef　is　veritably　beef；　at　its　best；　such　beef　as　can　be　eaten　in　no　other　country　under　the　sun；　our　mutton　is　mutton　in　its　purest　essence……think　of　a　shoulder　of　Southdown　at　the　moment　when　the　first　jet　of　gravy　starts　under　the　carving　knife！　Each　of　our　vegetables　yields　its　separate　and　characterist