九味书屋 > 文学经管电子书 > 四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版) >

第24部分

四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第24部分


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!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!



 Evening〃 and that 〃Elegy〃 which; unsurpassed for beauty of thought and nobility of utterance in all the treasury of our lyrics; remains perhaps the most essentially English poem ever written。
This attribute of our national mind availed even to give rise to an English school of painting。 It came late; that it ever came at all is remarkable enough。 A people apparently less apt for that kind of achievement never existed。 So profound is the English joy in meadow and stream and hill; that; unsatisfied at last with vocal expression; it took up the brush; the pencil; the etching tool; and created a new form of art。 The National Gallery represents only in a very imperfect way the richness and variety of our landscape work。 Were it possible to collect; and suitably to display; the very best of such work in every vehicle; I know not which would be the stronger emotion in an English heart; pride or rapture。
One obvious reason for the long neglect of Turner lies in the fact that his genius does not seem to be truly English。 Turner's landscape; even when it presents familiar scenes; does not show them in the familiar light。 Neither the artist nor the intelligent layman is satisfied。 He gives us glorious visions; we admit the glory……but we miss something which we deem essential。 I doubt whether Turner tasted rural England; I doubt whether the spirit of English poetry was in him; I doubt whether the essential significance of the mon things which we call beautiful was revealed to his soul。 Such doubt does not affect his greatness as a poet in colour and in form; but I suspect that it has always been the cause why England could not love him。 If any man whom I knew to be a man of brains confessed to me that he preferred Birket Foster; I should smile……but I should understand。
V
A long time since I wrote in this book。 In September I caught a cold; which meant three weeks' illness。
I have not been suffering; merely feverish and weak and unable to use my mind for anything but a daily hour or two of the lightest reading。 The weather has not favoured my recovery; wet winds often blowing; and not much sun。 Lying in bed; I have watched the sky; studied the clouds; which……so long as they are clouds indeed; and not a mere waste of grey vapour……always have their beauty。 Inability to read has always been my horror; once; a trouble of the eyes all but drove me mad with fear of blindness; but I find that in my present circumstances; in my own still house; with no intrusion to be dreaded; with no task or care to worry me; I can fleet the time not unpleasantly even without help of books。 Reverie; unknown to me in the days of bondage; has brought me solace; I hope it has a little advanced me in wisdom。
For not; surely; by deliberate effort of thought does a man grow wise。 The truths of life are not discovered by us。 At moments unforeseen; some gracious influence descends upon the soul; touching it to an emotion which; we know not how; the mind transmutes into thought。 This can happen only in a calm of the senses; a surrender of the whole being to passionless contemplation。 I understand; now; the intellectual mood of the quietist。
Of course my good housekeeper has tended me perfectly; with the minimum of needless talk。 Wonderful woman!
If the evidence of a well…spent life is necessarily seen in 〃honour; love; obedience; troops of friends;〃 mine; it is clear; has fallen short of a moderate ideal。 Friends I have had; and have; but very few。 Honour and obedience……why; by a stretch; Mrs。 M… may perchance represent these blessings。 As for love……?
Let me tell myself the truth。 Do I really believe that at any time of my life I have been the kind of man who merits affection? I think not。 I have always been much too self…absorbed; too critical of all about me; too unreasonably proud。 Such men as I live and die alone; however much in appearance acpanied。 I do not repine at it; nay; lying day after day in solitude and silence; I have felt glad that it was so。 At least I give no one trouble; and that is much。 Most solemnly do I hope that in the latter days no long illness a this life of quiet enjoyment to the final peace。 So shall no one think of me with pained sympathy or with weariness。 One……two……even three may possibly feel regret; e the end how it may; but I do not flatter myself that to them I am more than an object of kindly thought at long intervals。 It is enough; it signifies that I have not erred wholly。 And when I think that my daily life testifies to an act of kindness such as I could never have dreamt of meriting from the man who performed it; may I not be much more than content?
VI
How I envy those who bee prudent without thwackings of experience! Such men seem to be not unmon。 I don't mean cold… blooded calculators of profit and loss in life's possibilities; nor yet the plodding dull; who never have imagination enough to quit the beaten track of security; but bright…witted and large…hearted fellows who seem always to be led by mon sense; who go steadily from stage to stage of life; doing the right; the prudent things; guilty of no vagaries; winning respect by natural progress; seldom needing aid themselves; often helpful to others; and; through all; good…tempered; deliberate; happy。 How I envy them!
For of myself it might be said that whatever folly is possible to a moneyless man; that folly I have at one time or another mitted。 Within my nature there seemed to be no faculty of rational self… guidance。 Boy and man; I blundered into every ditch and bog which lay within sight of my way。 Never did silly mortal reap such harvest of experience; never had any one so many bruises to show for it。 Thwack; thwack! No sooner had I recovered from one sound drubbing than I put myself in the way of another。 〃Unpractical〃 I was called by those who spoke mildly; 〃idiot〃……I am sure……by many a ruder tongue。 And idiot I see myself; whenever I glance back over the long; devious road。 Something; obviously; I lacked from the beginning; some balancing principle granted to most men in one or another degree。 I had brains; but they were no help to me in the mon circumstances of life。 But for the good fortune which plucked me out of my mazes and set me in paradise; I should no doubt have blundered on to the end。 The last thwack of experience would have laid me low just when I was being really a prudent man。
VII
This morning's sunshine faded amid slow…gathering clouds; but something of its light seems still to linger in the air; and to touch the rain which is falling softly。 I hear a pattering upon the still leafage of the garden; it is a sound which lulls; and tunes the mind to calm thoughtfulness。
I have a letter to…day from my old friend in Germany; E。 B。 For many and many a year these letters have made a pleasant incident in my life; more than that; they have often brought me help and fort。 It must be a rare thing for friendly correspondence to go on during the greater part of a lifetime between men of different nationalities who see each other not twice in two decades。 We were young men when we first met in London; poor; struggling; full of hopes and ideals; now we look back upon those far memories from the autumn of life。 B。 writes to…day in a vein of quiet contentment; which does me good。 He quotes Goethe: 〃Was man in der Jugend begehrt hat man im Alter die Fulle。〃
These words of Goethe's were once a hope to me; later; they made me shake my head incredulously; now I smile to think how true they have proved in my own case。 But what; exactly; do they mean? Are they merely an expression of the optimistic spirit? If so; optimism has to content itself with rather doubtful generalities。 Can it truly be said that most men find the wishes of their youth satisfied in later life? Ten years ago; I should have utterly denied it; and could have brought what seemed to me abundant evidence in its disproof。 And as regards myself; is it not by mere happy accident that I pass my latter years in such enjoyment of all I most desired? Accident……but there is no such thing。 I might just as well have called it an accident had I succeeded in earning the money on which now I live。
From the beginning of my manhood; it is true; I longed for bookish leisure; that; assuredly; is seldom even one of th

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的