四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第8部分

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unds　about　my　sanctuary。　The　page　scarce　rustles　as　it　turns。
VI
Of　how　many　dwellings　can　it　be　said　that　no　word　of　anger　is　ever　heard　beneath　its　roof；　and　that　no　unkindly　feeling　ever　exists　between　the　inmates？　Most　men's　experience　would　seem　to　justify　them　in　declaring　that；　throughout　the　inhabited　world；　no　such　house　exists。　I；　knowing　at　all　events　of　one；　admit　the　possibility　that　there　may　be　more；　yet　I　feel　that　it　is　to　hazard　a　conjecture；　I　cannot　point　with　certainty　to　any　other　instance；　nor　in　all　my　secular　life　（I　speak　as　one　who　has　quitted　the　world）　could　I　have　named　a　single　example。
It　is　so　difficult　for　human　beings　to　live　together；　nay；　it　is　so　difficult　for　them　to　associate；　however　transitorily；　and　even　under　the　most　favourable　conditions；　without　some　shadow　of　mutual　offence。　Consider　the　differences　of　task　and　of　habit；　the　conflict　of　prejudices；　the　divergence　of　opinions　（though　that　is　probably　the　same　thing）；　selves　between　any　two　persons　brought　into　more　than　casual　contact；　and　think　how　much　self…subdual　is　implicit　whenever；　for　more　than　an　hour　or　two；　they　co…exist　in　seeming　harmony。　Man　is　not　made　for　peaceful　intercourse　with　his　fellows；　he　is　by　nature　self…assertive；　monly　aggressive；　always　critical　in　a　more　or　less　hostile　spirit　of　any　characteristic　which　seems　strange　to　him。　That　he　is　capable　of　profound　affections　merely　modifies　here　and　there　his　natural　contentiousness；　and　subdues　its　expression。　Even　love；　in　the　largest　and　purest　sense　of　the　word；　is　no　safeguard　against　perilous　irritation　and　sensibilities　inborn。　And　what　were　the　durability　of　love　without　the　powerful　alliance　of　habit？
Suppose　yourself　endowed　with　such　power　of　hearing　that　all　the　talk　going　on　at　any　moment　beneath　the　domestic　roofs　of　any　town　became　clearly　audible　to　you；　the　dominant　note　would　be　that　of　moods；　tempers；　opinions　at　jar。　Who　but　the　most　amiable　dreamer　can　doubt　it？　This；　mind　you；　is　not　the　same　thing　as　saying　that　angry　emotion　is　the　ruling　force　in　human　life；　the　facts　of　our　civilization　prove　the　contrary。　Just　because；　and　only　because；　the　natural　spirit　of　conflict　finds　such　frequent　scope；　does　human　society　hold　together；　and；　on　the　whole；　present　a　pacific　aspect。　In　the　course　of　ages　（one　would　like　to　know　how　many）　man　has　attained　a　remarkable　degree　of　self…control；　dire　experience　has　forced　upon　him　the　necessity　of　promise；　and　habit　has　inclined　him　（the　individual）　to　prefer　a　quiet；　orderly　life。　But　by　instinct　he　is　still　a　quarrelsome　creature；　and　he　gives　vent　to　the　impulse　as　far　as　it　is　patible　with　his　reasoned　interests……　often；　to　be　sure；　without　regard　for　that　limit。　The　average　man　or　woman　is　always　at　open　discord　with　some　one；　the　great　majority　could　not　live　without　oft…recurrent　squabble。　Speak　in　confidence　with　any　one　you　like；　and　get　him　to　tell　you　how　many　cases　of　coldness；　alienation；　or　downright　enmity；　between　friends　and　kinsfolk；　his　memory　registers；　the　number　will　be　considerable；　and　what　a　vastly　greater　number　of　everyday　〃misunderstandings〃　may　be　thence　inferred！　Verbal　contention　is；　of　course；　moner　among　the　poor　and　the　vulgar　than　in　the　class　of　well…bred　people　living　at　their　ease；　but　I　doubt　whether　the　lower　ranks　of　society　find　personal　association　much　more　difficult　than　the　refined　minority　above　them。　High　cultivation　may　help　to　self…mand；　but　it　multiplies　the　chances　of　irritative　contact。　In　mansion；　as　in　hovel；　the　strain　of　life　is　perpetually　felt……between　the　married；　between　parents　and　children；　between　relatives　of　every　degree；　between　employers　and　employed。　They　debate；　they　dispute；　they　wrangle；　they　explode……then　nerves　are　relieved；　and　they　are　ready　to　begin　over　again。　Quit　the　home　and　quarrelling　is　less　obvious；　but　it　goes　on　all　about　one。　What　proportion　of　the　letters　delivered　any　morning　would　be　found　to　be　written　in　displeasure；　in　petulance；　in　wrath？　The　postbag　shrieks　insults　or　bursts　with　suppressed　malice。　Is　it　not　wonderful……nay；　is　it　not　the　marvel　of　marvels……that　human　life　has　reached　such　a　high　point　of　public　and　private　organization？
And　gentle　idealists　utter　their　indignant　wonder　at　the　continuance　of　war！　Why；　it　passes　the　wit　of　man　to　explain　how　it　is　that　nations　are　ever　at　peace！　For；　if　only　by　the　rarest　good　fortune　do　individuals　associate　harmoniously；　there　would　seem　to　be　much　less　likelihood　of　mutual　understanding　and　good…will　between　the　peoples　of　alien　lands。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　no　two　nations　are　ever　friendly；　in　the　sense　of　truly　liking　each　other；　with　the　reciprocal　criticism　of　countries　there　always　mingles　a　sentiment　of　animosity。　The　original　meaning　of　hostis　is　merely　stranger；　and　a　stranger　who　is　likewise　a　foreigner　will　only　by　curious　exception　fail　to　stir　antipathy　in　the　average　human　being。　Add　to　this　that　a　great　number　of　persons　in　every　country　find　their　delight　and　their　business　in　exasperating　international　disrelish；　and　with　what　vestige　of　mon　sense　can　one　feel　surprise　that　war　is　ceaselessly　talked　of；　often　enough　declared。　In　days　gone　by；　distance　and　rarity　of　munication　assured　peace　between　many　realms。　Now　that　every　country　is　in　proximity　to　every　other；　what　need　is　there　to　elaborate　explanations　of　the　distrust；　the　fear；　the　hatred；　which　are　a　perpetual　theme　of　journalists　and　statesmen？　By　approximation；　all　countries　have　entered　the　sphere　of　natural　quarrel。　That　they　find　plenty　of　things　to　quarrel　about　is　no　cause　for　astonishment。　A　hundred　years　hence　there　will　be　some　possibility　of　perceiving　whether　international　relations　are　likely　to　obey　the　law　which　has　acted　with　such　beneficence　in　the　life　of　each　civilized　people；　whether　this　country　and　that　will　be　content　to　ease　their　tempers　with　bloodless　squabbling；　subduing　the　more　violent　promptings　for　the　mon　good。　Yet　I　suspect　that　a　century　is　a　very　short　time　to　allow　for　even　justifiable　surmise　of　such　an　oute。　If　by　any　chance　newspapers　ceased　to　exist　。　。　。
Talk　of　war；　and　one　gets　involved　in　such　utopian　musings！
VII
I　have　been　reading　one　of　those　prognostic　articles　on　international　politics　which　every　now　and　then　appear　in　the　reviews。　Why　I　should　so　waste　my　time　it　would　be　hard　to　say；　I　suppose　the　fascination　of　disgust　and　fear　gets　the　better　of　me　in　a　moment's　idleness。　This　writer；　who　is　horribly　perspicacious　and　vigorous；　demonstrates　the　certainty　of　a　great　European　war；　and　regards　it　with　the　peculiar　satisfaction　excited　by　such　things　in　a　certain　order　of　mind。　His　phrases　about　〃dire　calamity〃　and　so　on　mean　nothing；　the　whole　tenor　of　his　writing　proves　that　he　represents；　and　consciously；　one　of　the　forces　which　go　to　bring　war　about；　his　part　in　the　business　is　a　fluent　irresponsibility；　which　casts　scorn　on　all　who　reluct　at　the　〃inevitable。〃　Persistent　prophecy　is　a　familiar　way　of　assuring　the　event。
But　I　will　read　no　more　such　writing。　This　resolution　I　make　and　will　keep。　Why　set　my　nerves　quivering　with　rage；　and　spoil　the　calm　of　a　whole　day；　when　no　good　of　any　sort　can　e　of　it？　What　is　it　to　me　if　nations　fall　a…slaughtering　each　other？　Let　the　fools　go　to　it！　Why　should　they　not　please　themselves？　Peace；　after　all；　is　the　aspiration　of　the　few；　so　it　always；　was；　and　ever　will　be。　But　have　done　with　the　nauseous　cant　about　〃dire　calamity。〃　The　leaders　and　the　multitude　hold　no　such　view；　either　they　see　in　war　a　direct　and　tangible　profit；　or　they　are　driven　to　it；　with　heads　down；　by　the　brute　that　is　in　them。　Let　them　rend　and　be　rent；　let　them　paddle　in　blood　and　viscera　till……if　that　would　ever　happen……their　stomachs　turn。　Let　them　blast　the　cornfield　and　the　orchard；　fire　the　home。　For　all　that；　there　will　yet　be　found　some　silent　few；　who　go　their　way　amid　the　still　meadows；　who　bend　to　the　flower　and　watch　the　sunset；　and　these　alone　are　worth　a　thought。
VIII
In　this　hot　weather　I　like　to　walk　at　times　amid　the　full　glow　of　the　sun。　Our　island　sun　is　never　hot　beyond　endurance；　and　there　is　a　magnificence　in　the　triumph　of　high　summer　which　exalts　one's　mind。　Among　streets　it　is　hard　to　bear；　yet　even　there；　for　those　who　have　eyes　to　see　it；　the　splendour　of　the　sky　lends　beauty　to　things　in　themselves　mean　or　hideous。　I　remember　an　August　bank…　holiday；　when；　having　for　some　reason　to　walk　all　across　London；　I　unexpectedly　found　myself　enjoying　the　strange　desertion　of　great　streets；　and　from　that　passed　to　surprise　in　the　sense　of　something　beautiful；　a　charm　in　the　vulgar　vista；　in　the　dull　architecture；　which　I　had　never　known。　Deep　and　clear…marked　shadows；　such　as　one　only　sees　on　a　few　days　of　summer；　are　in　themselves　very　impressive；　and　bee　more　so　when　they　fall　upon　highways　devoid　of　folk。　I　remember　observing；　as　something　new；　the　shape　of　familiar　edifices；　of　spires；　monuments。　And　when　at　length　I　sat　down；　somewhere　on　the　Embankment；　it　was　rather　to　gaze　at　leisure　than　to　rest；　for　I　felt　no　weariness；　and　the　sun；　still　pouring　upon　me　its　noontide　radiance；　seemed　to　fill　my　veins　with　life。
That　sense　I　shall　never　know　again。　For　me　Nature　has　forts；　raptures；　but　no　more　invigoration。　The　sun　keeps　me　alive；　but　cannot；　as　in　the　old　days；　renew　my　being。　I　would　fain　learn　to　enjoy　without　reflecting。
My　walk　in　the　golden　hours　leads　me　to　a　great　horse…chestnut；　whose　root　offers　a　convenient　seat　in　the　shadow　of　its　foliage。　At　that　resting…place　I　have　no　wide　view　before　me；　but　what　I　see　is　enough……a　corner　of　waste　land；　over…flowered　with　poppies　and　charlock；　on　the　edge　of　a　field　of　corn。　The　brilliant　red　and　yellow　harmonize　with　the　glory　of　the　day。　Near　by；　too；　is　a　hedge　covered　with　great　white　blooms　of　the　bindweed。　My　eyes　do　not　soon　grow　weary。
A　little　plant　of　which　I　am　very　fond　is　the　rest…harrow。　When　the　sun　is　hot　upon　it；　the　flower　gives　forth　a　strangely　aromatic　scent；　very　delightful　to　me。　I　know　the　cause　of　this　peculiar　pleasure。　The　rest…harrow　sometimes　grows　in　sandy　ground　above　the　seashore。　In　my　childhood　I　have　many　a　time　lain　in　such　a　spot　under　the　glowing　sky；　and；　though　I　scarce　thought　of　it；　perceived　the　odour　of　the　little　rose…pink　flower　when　it　touched　my　face。　Now　I　have　but　to　smell　it；　and　those　hours　e　back　again。　I　see　the　shore　of　Cumberland；　running　north　to　St。　Bee's　Head；　on　the　sea　horizon　a　faint　shape　which　is　the　Isle　of　Man；　inland；　the　mountains；　which　for　me　at　that　time　guarded　a　region　of　unknown　wonder。　Ah；　how　long　ago！
IX
I　read　much　less　than　I　used　to　do；　I　think　much　more。　Yet　what　is　the　use　of　thought　which　can　no　longer　serve　to　direct　life？　Better；　perhaps；　to　read　and　read　incessantly；　losing　one's　futile　self　in　the　activity　of　other　minds。
This　summer　I　have　taken　up　no　new　book；　but　have　renewed　my　acquaintance　with　several　old　ones　which　I　had　not　opened　for　many　a　year。　One　or　two　have　been　books　such　as　mature　men　rarely　read　at　all……books　which　it　is　one's　habit　to　〃take　as　read〃；　to　presume　sufficiently　known　to　speak　of；　but　never　to　open。　Thus；　one　day　my　hand　fell　upon　the　Anabasis；　the　little　Oxford　edition　which　I　used　at　school；　with　its　boyish　sign…manual　on　the　fly…leaf；　its　blots　and　underlinings　and　marginal　scrawls。　To　my　shame　I　possess　no　other　edition；　yet　this　is　a　book　one　would　like　to　have　in　beautiful　form。　I　opened　it；　I　began　to　read……a　ghost　of　boyhood　stirring　in　my　heart……and　from　chapter　to　chapter　was　led　on；　until　after　a　few　days　I　had　read　the　whole。
I　am　glad　this　happened　in　the　summer…time；　I　like　to　link　childhood　with　these　latter　days；　and　no　better　way　could　I　have　found　than　this　return　to　a　school…book；　which；　even　as　a　school…book；　was　my　great　delight。
By　some　trick　of　memory　I　always　associate　school…boy　work　on　the　classics　with　a　sense　of　warm　and　sunny　days；　rain　and　gloom　and　a　chilly　atmosphere　must　have　been　far　the　more　frequent　conditions；　but　these　things　are　forgotten。　My　old　Liddell　and　Scott　still　serves　me；　and　if；　in　opening　it；　I　bend　close　enough　to　catch　the　SCENT　of　the　leaves；　I　am　back　again　at　that　day　of　boyhood　（noted　on　the　fly…leaf　by　the　hand　of　one　long　dead）　when　the　book　was　new　and　I　used　it　for　the　first　time。　It　was　a　day　of　summer；　and　perhaps　there　fell　upon　the　unfamiliar　page；　viewed　with　childish　tremor；　half　apprehension　and　half　delight；　a　mellow　sunshine；　which　was　to　linger　for　ever　in　my　mind。
But　I　am　thinking　of　the　Anabasis。　Were　this　the　sole　book　existing　in　Greek；　it　would　be　abundantly　worth　while　to　learn　the　language　in　order　to　read　it。　The　Anabasis　is　an　admirable　bination　of　concise　and　rapid　narrative　with　colour　and　picturesqueness。　Herodotus　wrote　a　prose　epic；　in　which　the　author's　personality　is　ever　before　us。　Xenophon；　with　curiosity　and　love　of　adventure　which　mark　him　of　the　same　race；　but　self…　forgetful　in　the　pursuit　of　a　new　artistic　virtue；　created　the　historical　romance。　What　a　world　of　wonders　in　this　little　book；　all　aglow　with　ambitions　and　conflicts；　with　marvels　of　strange　lands；　full　of　perils　and　rescues；　fresh　with　the　air　of　mountain　and　of　sea！　Think　of　it　for　a　moment　by　the　side　of　Caesar's　mentaries；　not　to　pare　things　inparable；　but　in　order　to　appreciate　the　perfect　art　which　shines　through　Xenophon's　mastery　of　language；　his　brevity　achieving　a　result　so　different　from　that　of　the　like　characteristic　in　the　Roman　writer。　Caesar's　conciseness　es　of　strength　and　pride；　Xenophon's；　of　a　vivid　imagination。　Many　a　single　line　of　the　Anabasis　presents　a　picture　which　deeply　stirs　the　emotions。　A　good　instance　occurs　in　the　fourth　book；　where　a　delightful　passage　of　unsurpassable　narrative　tells　how　the　Greeks　rewarded　and　dismissed　a　guide　who　had　led　them　through　dangerous　country。　The　man　himself　was　in　peril　of　his　life；　laden　with　valuable　things　which　the　soldiers　had　given　him　in　their　gratitude；　he　turned　to　make　his　way　through　the　hostile　region。　＇Greek　text　which　cannot　be　reproduced＇。　〃When　evening　came　he　took　leave　of　us；　and　went　his　way　by　night。〃　To　my　mind；　words　of　wonderful　suggestiveness。　You　see　the　wild；　eastern　landscape；　upon　which　the　sun　has　set。　There　are　the　Hellenes；　safe　for　the　moment　on　their　long　march；　and　there　the　mountain　tribesman；　the　serviceable　barbarian；　going　away；　alone；　with　his　tempting　guerdon；　into　the　hazards　of　the　darkness。
Also　in　the　fourth　book；　another　picture　moves　one　in　another　way。　Among　the　Carduchian　Hills　two　men　were　seized；　and　information　was　sought　from　them　about　the　track　to　be　followed。　〃One　of　them　would　say　nothing；　and　kept　silence　in　spite　of　every　threat；　so；　in　the　presence　of　his　panion；　he　was　slain。　Thereupon　that　other　made　known　the　man's　reason　for　refusing　to　point　out　the　way；　in　the　direction　the　Greeks　must　take　there　dwelt　a　daughter　of　his；　who　was　married。〃
It　would　not　be　easy　to　express　more　pathos　than　is　conveyed　in　these　few　words。　Xenophon　himself；　one　may　be　sure；　did　not　feel　it　quite　as　we　do；　but　he　preserved　the　incident　for　its　own　sake；　and　there；　in　a　line　or　two；　shines　something　of　human　love　and　sacrifice；　significant　for　all　time。
X
I　sometimes　think　I　will　go　and　spend　the　sunny　half　of　a　twelvemonth　in　wandering　about　the　British　Isles。　There　is　so　much