四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第9部分

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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　of　beauty　and　interest　that　I　have　not　seen；　and　I　grudge　to　close　my　eyes　on　this　beloved　home　of　ours；　leaving　any　corner　of　it　unvisited。　Often　I　wander　in　fancy　over　all　the　parts　I　know；　and　grow　restless　with　desire　at　familiar　names　which　bring　no　picture　to　memory。　My　array　of　county　guide…books　（they　have　always　been　irresistible　to　me　on　the　stalls）　sets　me　roaming；　the　only　dull　pages　in　them　are　those　that　treat　of　manufacturing　towns。　Yet　I　shall　never　start　on　that　pilgrimage。　I　am　too　old；　too　fixed　in　habits。　I　dislike　the　railway；　I　dislike　hotels。　I　should　grow　homesick　for　my　library；　my　garden；　the　view　from　my　windows。　And　then……I　have　such　a　fear　of　dying　anywhere　but　under　my　own　roof。
As　a　rule；　it　is　better　to　re…visit　only　in　imagination　the　places　which　have　greatly　charmed　us；　or　which；　in　the　retrospect；　seem　to　have　done　so。　Seem　to　have　charmed　us；　I　say；　for　the　memory　we　form；　after　a　certain　lapse　of　time；　of　places　where　we　lingered；　often　bears　but　a　faint　resemblance　to　the　impression　received　at　the　time；　what　in　truth　may　have　been　very　moderate　enjoyment；　or　enjoyment　greatly　disturbed　by　inner　or　outer　circumstances；　shows　in　the　distance　as　a　keen　delight；　or　as　deep；　still　happiness。　On　the　other　hand；　if　memory　creates　no　illusion；　and　the　name　of　a　certain　place　is　associated　with　one　of　the　golden　moments　of　life；　it　were　rash　to　hope　that　another　visit　would　repeat　the　experience　of　a　by…gone　day。　For　it　was　not　merely　the　sights　that　one　beheld　which　were　the　cause　of　joy　and　peace；　however　lovely　the　spot；　however　gracious　the　sky；　these　things　external　would　not　have　availed；　but　for　contributory　movements　of　mind　and　heart　and　blood；　the　essentials　of　the　man　as　then　he　was。
Whilst　I　was　reading　this　afternoon　my　thoughts　strayed；　and　I　found　myself　recalling　a　hillside　in　Suffolk；　where；　after　a　long　walk　I　rested　drowsily　one　midsummer　day　twenty　years　ago。　A　great　longing　seized　me；　I　was　tempted　to　set　off　at　once；　and　find　again　that　spot　under　the　high　elm　trees；　where；　as　I　smoked　a　delicious　pipe；　I　heard　about　me　the　crack；　crack；　crack　of　broom…pods　bursting　in　the　glorious　heat　of　the　noontide　sun。　Had　I　acted　upon　the　impulse；　what　chance　was　there　of　my　enjoying　such　another　hour　as　that　which　my　memory　cherished？　No；　no；　it　is　not　the　PLACE　that　I　remember；　it　is　the　time　of　life；　the　circumstances；　the　mood；　which　at　that　moment　fell　so　happily　together。　Can　I　dream　that　a　pipe　smoked　on　that　same　hillside；　under　the　same　glowing　sky；　would　taste　as　it　then　did；　or　bring　me　the　same　solace？　Would　the　turf　be　so　soft　beneath　me？　Would　the　great　elm…branches　temper　so　delightfully　the　noontide　rays　beating　upon　them？　And；　when　the　hour　of　rest　was　over；　should　I　spring　to　my　feet　as　then　I　did；　eager　to　put　forth　my　strength　again？　No；　no；　what　I　remember　is　just　one　moment　of　my　earlier　life；　linked　by　accident　with　that　picture　of　the　Suffolk　landscape。　The　place　no　longer　exists；　it　never　existed　save　for　me。　For　it　is　the　mind　which　creates　the　world　about　us；　and；　even　though　we　stand　side　by　side　in　the　same　meadow；　my　eyes　will　never　see　what　is　beheld　by　yours；　my　heart　will　never　stir　to　the　emotions　with　which　yours　is　touched。
XI
I　awoke　a　little　after　four　o'clock。　There　was　sunlight　upon　the　blind；　that　pure　gold　of　the　earliest　beam　which　always　makes　me　think　of　Dante's　angels。　I　had　slept　unusually　well；　without　a　dream；　and　felt　the　blessing　of　rest　through　all　my　frame；　my　head　was　clear；　my　pulse　beat　temperately。　And；　when　I　had　lain　thus　for　a　few　minutes；　asking　myself　what　book　I　should　reach　from　the　shelf　that　hangs　near　my　pillow；　there　came　upon　me　a　desire　to　rise　and　go　forth　into　the　early　morning。　On　the　moment　I　bestirred　myself。　The　drawing　up　of　the　blind；　the　opening　of　the　window；　only　increased　my　zeal；　and　I　was　soon　in　the　garden；　then　out　in　the　road；　walking　light…heartedly　I　cared　not　whither。
How　long　is　it　since　I　went　forth　at　the　hour　of　summer　sunrise？　It　is　one　of　the　greatest　pleasures；　physical　and　mental；　that　any　man　in　moderate　health　can　grant　himself；　yet　hardly　once　in　a　year　do　mood　and　circumstance　bine　to　put　it　within　one's　reach。　The　habit　of　lying　in　bed　hours　after　broad　daylight　is　strange　enough；　if　one　thinks　of　it；　a　habit　entirely　evil；　one　of　the　most　foolish　changes　made　by　modern　system　in　the　healthier　life　of　the　old　time。　But　that　my　energies　are　not　equal　to　such　great　innovation；　I　would　begin　going　to　bed　at　sunset　and　rising　with　the　beam　of　day；　ten　to　one；　it　would　vastly　improve　my　health；　and　undoubtedly　it　would　add　to　the　pleasures　of　my　existence。
When　travelling；　I　have　now　and　then　watched　the　sunrise；　and　always　with　an　exultation　unlike　anything　produced　in　me　by　other　aspects　of　nature。　I　remember　daybreak　on　the　Mediterranean；　the　shapes　of　islands　growing　in　hue　after　hue　of　tenderest　light；　until　they　floated　amid　a　sea　of　glory。　And　among　the　mountains……that　crowning　height；　one　moment　a　cold　pallor；　the　next　soft…glowing　under　the　touch　of　the　rosy…fingered　goddess。　These　are　the　things　I　shall　never　see　again；　things；　indeed；　so　perfect　in　memory　that　I　should　dread　to　blur　them　by　a　newer　experience。　My　senses　are　so　much　duller；　they　do　not　show　me　what　once　they　did。
How　far　away　is　that　school…boy　time；　when　I　found　a　pleasure　in　getting　up　and　escaping　from　the　dormitory　whilst　all　the　others　were　still　asleep。　My　purpose　was　innocent　enough；　I　got　up　early　only　to　do　my　lessons。　I　can　see　the　long　school…room；　lighted　by　the　early　sun；　I　can　smell　the　school…room　odour……a　blend　of　books　and　slates　and　wall…maps　and　I　know　not　what。　It　was　a　mental　peculiarity　of　mine　that　at　five　o'clock　in　the　morning　I　could　apply　myself　with　gusto　to　mathematics；　a　subject　loathsome　to　me　at　any　other　time　of　the　day。　Opening　the　book　at　some　section　which　was　wont　to　scare　me；　I　used　to　say　to　myself：　〃e　now；　I'm　going　to　tackle　this　this　morning！　If　other　boys　can　understand　it；　why　shouldn't　I？〃　And　in　a　measure　I　succeeded。　In　a　measure　only；　there　was　always　a　limit　at　which　my　powers　failed　me；　strive　as　I　would。
In　my　garret…days　it　was　seldom　that　I　rose　early：　with　the　exception　of　one　year……or　the　greater　part　of　a　twelvemonth……during　which　I　was　regularly　up　at　half…past　five　for　a　special　reason。　I　had　undertaken　to　〃coach〃　a　man　for　the　London　matriculation；　he　was　in　business；　and　the　only　time　he　could　conveniently　give　to　his　studies　was　before　breakfast。　I；　just　then；　had　my　lodgings　near　Hampstead　Road；　my　pupil　lived　at　Knightsbridge；　I　engaged　to　be　with　him　every　morning　at　half…past　six；　and　the　walk；　at　a　brisk　pace；　took　me　just　about　an　hour。　At　that　time　I　saw　no　severity　in　the　arrangement；　and　I　was　delighted　to　earn　the　modest　fee　which　enabled　me　to　write　all　day　long　without　fear　of　hunger；　but　one　inconvenience　attached　to　it。　I　had　no　watch；　and　my　only　means　of　knowing　the　time　was　to　hear　the　striking　of　a　clock　in　the　neighbourhood。　As　a　rule；　I　awoke　just　when　I　should　have　done；　the　clock　struck　five；　and　up　I　sprang。　But　occasionally……and　this　when　the　mornings　had　grown　dark……my　punctual　habit　failed　me；　I　would　hear　the　clock　chime　some　fraction　of　the　hour；　and　could　not　know　whether　I　had　awoke　too　soon　or　slept　too　long。　The　horror　of　unpunctuality；　which　has　always　been　a　craze　with　me；　made　it　impossible　to　lie　waiting；　more　than　once　I　dressed　and　went　out　into　the　street　to　discover　as　best　I　could　what　time　it　was；　and　one　such　expedition；　I　well　remember；　took　place　between　two　and　three　o'clock　on　a　morning　of　foggy　rain。
It　happened　now　and　then　that；　on　reaching　the　house　at　Knightsbridge；　I　was　informed　that　Mr。……felt　too　tired　to　rise。　This　concerned　me　little；　for　it　meant　no　deduction　of　fee；　I　had　the　two　hours'　walk；　and　was　all　the　better　for　it。　Then　the　appetite　with　which　I　sat　down　to　breakfast；　whether　I　had　done　my　coaching　or　not！　Bread　and　butter　and　coffee……such　coffee！……made　the　meal；　and　I　ate　like　a　navvy。　I　was　in　magnificent　spirits。　All　the　way　home　I　had　been　thinking　of　my　day's　work；　and　the　morning　brain；　clarified　and　whipped　to　vigour　by　that　brisk　exercise；　by　that　wholesome　hunger；　wrought　its　best。　The　last　mouthful　swallowed；　I　was　seated　at　my　writing…table；　aye；　and　there　I　sat　for　seven　or　eight　hours；　with　a　short　munching　interval；　working　as　only　few　men　worked　in　all　London；　with　pleasure；　zeal；　hope。　。　。　。
Yes；　yes；　those　were　the　good　days。　They　did　not　last　long；　before　and　after　them　were　cares；　miseries；　endurance　multiform。　I　have　always　felt　grateful　to　Mr。……of　Knightsbridge；　he　gave　me　a　year　of　health；　and　almost　of　peace。
XII
A　whole　day's　walk　yesterday　with　no　plan；　just　a　long　ramble　of　hour　after　hour；　entirely　enjoyable。　It　ended　at　Topsham；　where　I　sat　on　the　little　churchyard　terrace；　and　watched　the　evening　tide　e　up　the　broad　estuary。　I　have　a　great　liking　for　Topsham；　and　that　churchyard；　overlooking　ore　than　river；　is　one　of　the　most　restful　spots　I　know。　Of　course　the　association　with　old　Chaucer；　who　speaks　of　Topsham　sailors；　helps　my　mood。　I　came　home　very　tired；　but　I　am　not　yet　decrepit；　and　for　that　I　must　be　thankful。
The　unspeakable　blessedness　of　having　a　HOME！　Much　as　my　imagination　has　dwelt　upon　it　for　thirty　years；　I　never　knew　how　deep　and　exquisite　a　joy　could　lie　in　the　assurance　that　one　is　AT　HOME　for　ever。　Again　and　again　I　e　back　upon　this　thought；　nothing　but　Death　can　oust　me　from　my　abiding　place。　And　Death　I　would　fain　learn　to　regard　as　a　friend；　who　will　but　intensify　the　peace　I　now　relish。
When　one　is　at　home；　how　one's　affections　grow　about　everything　in　the　neighbourhood！　I　always　thought　with　fondness　of　this　corner　of　Devon；　but　what　was　that　pared　with　the　love　which　now　strengthens　in　me　day　by　day！　Beginning　with　my　house；　every　stick　and　stone　of　it　is　dear　to　me　as　my　heart's　blood；　I　find　myself　laying　an　affectionate　hand　on　the　door…post；　giving　a　pat；　as　I　go　by；　to　the　garden　gate。　Every　tree　and　shrub　in　the　garden　is　my　beloved　friend；　I　touch　them；　when　need　is；　very　tenderly；　as　though　carelessness　might　pain；　or　roughness　injure　them。　If　I　pull　up　a　weed　in　the　walk；　I　look　at　it　with　a　certain　sadness　before　throwing　it　away；　it　belongs　to　my　home。
And　all　the　country　round　about。　These　villages；　how　delightful　are　their　names　to　my　ear！　I　find　myself　reading　with　interest　all　the　local　news　in　the　Exeter　paper。　Not　that　I　care　about　the　people；　with　barely　one　or　two　exceptions；　the　people　are　nothing　to　me；　and　the　less　I　see　of　them　the　better　I　am　pleased。　But　the　PLACES　grow　ever　more　dear　to　me。　I　like　to　know　of　anything　that　has　happened　at　Heavitree；　or　Brampford　Speke；　or　Newton　St。　Cyres。　I　begin　to　pride　myself　on　knowing　every　road　and　lane；　every　bridle　path　and　foot…way　for　miles　about。　I　like　to　learn　the　names　of　farms　and　of　fields。　And　all　this　because　here　is　my　abiding　place；　because　I　am　home　for　ever。
It　seems　to　me　that　the　very　clouds　that　pass　above　my　house　are　more　interesting　and　beautiful　than　clouds　elsewhere。
And　to　think　that　at　one　time　I　called　myself　a　socialist；　munist；　anything　you　like　of　the　revolutionary　kind！　Not　for　long；　to　be　sure；　and　I　suspect　that　there　was　always　something　in　me　that　scoffed　when　my　lips　uttered　such　things。　Why；　no　man　living　has　a　more　profound　sense　of　property　than　I；　no　man　ever　lived；　who　was；　in　every　fibre；　more　vehemently　an　individualist。
XIII
In　this　high　summertide；　I　remember　with　a　strange　feeling　that　there　are　people　who；　of　their　free　choice；　spend　day　and　night　in　cities；　who　throng　to　the　gabble　of　drawing…rooms；　make　festival　in　public　eating…houses；　sweat　in　the　glare　of　the　theatre。　They　call　it　life；　they　call　it　enjoyment。　Why；　so　it　is；　for　them；　they　are　so　made。　The　folly　is　mine；　to　wonder　that　they　fulfil　their　destiny。
But　with　what　deep　and　quiet　thanksgiving　do　I　remind　myself　that　never　shall　I　mingle　with　that　well…millinered　and　tailored　herd！　Happily；　I　never　saw　much　of　them。　Certain　occasions　I　recall　when　a　supposed　necessity　took　me　into　their　dismal　precincts；　a　sick　buzzing　in　the　brain；　a　languor　as　of　exhausted　limbs；　es　upon　me　with　the　memory。　The　relief　with　which　I　stepped　out　into　the　street　again；　when　all　was　over！　Dear　to　me　then　was　poverty；　which　for　the　moment　seemed　to　make　me　a　free　man。　Dear　to　me　was　the　labour　at　my　desk；　which；　by　parison；　enabled　me　to　respect　myself。
Never　again　shall　I　shake　hands　with　man　or　woman　who　is　not　in　truth　my　friend。　Never　again　shall　I　go　to　see　acquaintances　with　y　brothers？　Nay；　thank　Heaven；　that　they　are　not！　I　will　do　harm；　if　I　can　help　it；　to　no　one；　I　will　wish　good　to　all；　but　I　will　make　no　pretence　of　personal　kindliness　where；　in　the　nature　of　things；　it　cannot　be　felt。　I　have　grimaced　a　smile　and　pattered　unmeaning　words　to　many　a　person　whom　I　despised　or　from　whom　in　heart　I　shrank；　I　did　so　because　I　had　not　courage　to　do　otherwise。　For　a　man　conscious　of　such　weakness；　the　best　is　to　live　apart　from　the　world。　Brave　Samuel　Johnson！　One　such　truth…teller　is　worth　all　the　moralists　and　preachers　who　ever　laboured　to　humanise　mankind。　Had　HE　withdrawn　into　solitude；　it　would　have　been　a　national　loss。　Every　one　of　his　blunt；　fearless　words　had　more　value　than　a　whole　evangel　on　the　lips　of　a　timidly　good　man。　It　is　thus　that　the　monalty；　however　well　clad；　should　be　treated。　So　seldom　does　the　fool　or　the　ruffian　in　broadcloth　hear　his　just　designation；　so　seldom　is　the　man　found　who　has　a　right　to　address　him　by　it。　By　the　bandying　of　insults　we　profit　nothing；　there　can　be　no　useful　rebuke　which　is　exposed　to　a　tu　quoque。　But；　as　the　world　is；　an　honest　and　wise　man　should　have　a　rough　tongue。　Let　him　speak　and　spare　not！
XIV
Vituperation　of　the　English　climate　is　foolish。　A　better　climate　does　not　exist……for　healthy　people；　and　it　is　always　as　regards　the　average　native　in　sound　health　that　a　climate　must　be　judged。　Invalids　have　no　right　whatever　to　talk　petulantly　of　the　natural　changes　of　the　sky；　Nature　has　not　THEM　in　view；　let　them　（if　they　can）　seek　exceptional　conditions　for　their　exceptional　state；　leaving　behind　them　many　a　million　of　sound；　hearty　men　and　women　who　take　the　seasons　as　they　e；　and　profit　by　each　in　turn。　In　its　freedom　from　extremes；　in　its　mon　clemency；　even　in　its　caprice；　which　at　the　worst　time　holds　out　hope；　our　island　weather　pares　well　with　that　of　other　lands。　Who　enjoys　the　fine　day　of　spring；　summer；　autumn；　or　winter　so　much　as　an　Englishman？　His　perpetual　talk　of　the　weather　is　testimony　to　his　keen　relish　for　most　of　what　it　offers　him；　in　lands　of　blue　monotony；　even　as　where　climatic　conditions　are　plainly　evil；　such　talk　does　not　go　on。　So；　granting　that　we　have　bad　days　not　a　few；　that　the　east　wind　takes　us　by　the　throat；　that　the　mists　get　at　our　joints；　that　the　sun　hides　his　glory　too　often　and　too　long；　it　is　plain　that　the　result　of　all　es　to　good；　that　it　engenders　a　mood　of　zest　under　the　most　various　aspects　of　heaven；　keeps　an　edge　on　our　appetite　for　open…air　life。
I；　of　course；　am　one　of　the　weaklings　who；　in　grumbling　at　the　weather；　merely　invite　passion。　July；　this　year；　i