the story of an african farm-第27节

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between　the　soul　and　what　it　loves。　　All　things　on　earth　have　their　price；

and　for　truth　we　pay　the　dearest。　　We　barter　it　for　love　and　sympathy。　　The

road　to　honour　is　paved　with　thorns；　but　on　the　path　to　truth；　at　every

step　you　set　your　foot　down　on　your　own　heart。



VI。



Then　at　last　a　new　timethe　time　of　waking；　short；　sharp；　and　not

pleasant；　as　wakings　often　are。



Sleep　and　dreams　exist　on　this　conditionthat　no　one　wake　the　dreamer。



And　now　life　takes　us　up　between　her　finger　and　thumb；　shakes　us　furiously；

till　our　poor　nodding　head　is　well…nigh　rolled　from　our　shoulders；　and　she

sets　us　down　a　little　hard　on　the　bare　earth；　bruised　and　sore；　but

preternaturally　wide　awake。



We　have　said　in　our　days　of　dreaming；　〃Injustice　and　wrong　are　a　seeming；

pain　is　a　shadow。　　Our　God；　He　is　real；　He　who　made　all　things；　and　He　only

is　Love。〃



Now　life　takes　us　by　the　neck　and　shows　us　a　few　other　things；new…made

graves　with　the　red　sand　flying　about　them；　eyes　that　we　love　with　the

worms　eating　them；　evil　men　walking　sleek　and　fat；　the　whole　terrible

hurly…burly　of　the　thing　called　life；and　she　says；　〃What　do　you　think　of

these？〃　　We　dare　not　say　〃Nothing。〃　　We　feel　them；　they　are　very　real。　　But

we　try　to　lay　our　hands　about　and　feel　that　other　thing　we　felt　before。　　In

the　dark　night　in　the　fuel…room　we　cry　to　our　Beautiful　dream…god：　　〃Oh；

let　us　come　near　you；　and　lay　our　head　against　your　feet。　　Now　in　our　hour

of　need　be　near　us。〃　　But　He　is　not　there；　He　is　gone　away。　　The　old

questioning　devil　is　there。



We　must　have　been　awakened　sooner　or　later。　　The　imagination　cannot　always

triumph　over　reality；　the　desire　over　truth。　　We　must　have　been　awakened。　

If　it　was　done　a　little　sharply；　what　matter？　　It　was　done　thoroughly；　and

it　had　to　be　done。



VII。



And　a　new　life　begins　for　usa　new　time；　a　life　as　cold　as　that　of　a　man

who　sits　on　the　pinnacle　of　an　iceberg　and　sees　the　glittering　crystals　all

about　him。　　The　old　looks　indeed　like　a　long　hot　delirium；　peopled　with

phantasies。　　The　new　is　cold　enough。



Now　we　have　no　God。　　We　have　had　two：　　the　old　God　that　our　fathers　handed

down　to　us；　that　we　hated；　and　never　liked：　　the　new　one　that　we　made　for

ourselves；　that　we　loved；　but　now　he　has　flitted　away　from　us；　and　we　see

what　he　was　made　ofthe　shadow　of　our　highest　ideal；　crowned　and　throned。

Now　we　have　no　God。



〃The　fool　hath　said　in　his　heart；　There　is　no　God。〃　　It　may　be　so。　　Most

things　said　or　written　have　been　the　work　of　fools。



This　thing　is　certainhe　is　a　fool　who　says；　〃No　man　hath　said　in　his

heart；　There　is　no　God。〃



It　has　been　said　many　thousand　times　in　hearts　with　profound　bitterness　of

earnest　faith。



We　do　not　cry　and　weep：　　we　sit　down　with　cold　eyes　and　look　at　the　world。

We　are　not　miserable。　　Why　should　we　be？　　We　eat　and　drink；　and　sleep　all

night；　but　the　dead　are　not　colder。



And　we　say　it　slowly；　but　without　sighing；　〃Yes；　we　see　it　now；　there　is　no

God。〃



And；　we　add；　growing　a　little　colder　yet。　　〃There　is　no　justice。　　The　ox

dies　in　the　yoke；　beneath　its　master's　whip；　it　turns　its　anguish…filled

eyes　on　the　sunlight；　but　there　is　no　sign　of　recompense　to　be　made　it。　

The　black　man　is　shot　like　a　dog；　and　it　goes　well　with　the　shooter。　　The

innocent　are　accused　and　the　accuser　triumphs。　　If　you　will　take　the

trouble　to　scratch　the　surface　anywhere；　you　will　see　under　the　skin　a

sentient　being　writhing　in　impotent　anguish。〃



And；　we　say　further；　and　our　heart　is　as　the　heart　of　the　dead　for

coldness；　〃There　is　no　order：　　all　things　are　driven　about　by　a　blind

chance。〃



What　a　soul　drinks　in　with　its　mother's　milk　will　not　leave　it　in　a　day。　

From　our　earliest　hour　we　have　been　taught　that　the　thought　of　the　heart；

the　shaping　of　the　rain…cloud；　the　amount　of　wool　that　grows　on　a　sheep's

back；　the　length　of　a　drought；　and　the　growing　of　the　corn；　depend　on

nothing　that　moves　immutable；　at　the　heart　of　all　things；　but　on　the

changeable　will　of　a　changeable　being；　whom　our　prayers　can　alter。　　To　us；

from　the　beginning；　nature　has　been　but　a　poor　plastic　thing；　to　be　toyed

with　this　way　or　that；　as　man　happens　to　please　his　deity　or　not；　to　go　to

church　or　not；　to　say　his　prayers　right　or　not；　to　travel　on　a　Sunday　or

not。　　Was　it　possible　for　us　in　an　instant　to　see　Nature　as　she　isthe

flowing　vestment　of　an　unchanging　reality？　　When　the　soul　breaks　free　from

the　arms　of　a　superstition；　bits　of　the　claws　and　talons　break　themselves

off　in　him。　　It　is　not　the　work　of　a　day　to　squeeze　them　out。



And　so；　for　us；　the　human…like　driver　and　guide　being　gone；　all　existence；

as　we　look　out　at　it　with　our　chilled；　wondering　eyes；　is　an　aimless　rise

and　swell　of　shifting　waters。　　In　all　that　weltering　chaos　we　can　see　no

spot　so　large　as　a　man's　hand　on　which　we　may　plant　our　foot。



Whether　a　man　believes　in　a　human…like　God　or　no　is　a　small　thing。　　Whether

he　looks　into　the　mental　and　physical　world　and　sees　no　relation　between

cause　and　effect；　no　order；　but　a　blind　chance　sporting；　this　is　the

mightiest　fact　that　can　be　recorded　in　any　spiritual　existence。　　It　were

almost　a　mercy　to　cut　his　throat；　if　indeed　he　does　not　do　it　for　himself。



We；　however；　do　not　cut　our　throats。　　To　do　so　would　imply　some　desire　and

feeling；　and　we　have　no　desire　and　no　feeling；　we　are　only　cold。　　We　do　not

wish　to　live；　and　we　do　not　wish　to　die。　　One　day　a　snake　curls　itself

round　the　waist　of　a　Kaffer　woman。　　We　take　it　in　our　hand；　swing　it　round

and　round；　and　fling　it　on　the　grounddead。　　Every　one　looks　at　us　with

eyes　of　admiration。　　We　almost　laugh。　　Is　it　wonderful　to　risk　that　for

which　we　care　nothing？



In　truth；　nothing　matters。　　This　dirty　little　world　full　of　confusion；　and

the　blue　rag；　stretched　overhead　for　a　sky；　is　so　low　we　could　touch　it

with　our　hand。



Existence　is　a　great　pot；　and　the　old　Fate　who　stirs　it　round　cares　nothing

what　rises　to　the　top　and　what　goes　down；　and　laughs　when　the　bubbles

burst。　　And　we　do　not　care。　　Let　it　boil　about。　　Why　should　we　trouble

ourselves？　　Nevertheless　the　physical　sensations　are　real。　　Hunger　hurts；

and　thirst；　therefore　we　eat　and　drink：　　inaction　pains　us；　therefore　we

work　like　galley…slaves。　　No　one　demands　it；　but　we　set　ourselves　to　build

a　great　dam　in　red　sand　beyond　the　graves。　　In　the　grey　dawn　before　the

sheep　are　let　out　we　work　at　it。　　All　day；　while　the　young　ostriches　we

tend　feed　about　us；　we　work　on　through　the　fiercest　heat。　　The　people

wonder　what　new　spirit　has　seized　us　now。　　They　do　not　know　we　are　working

for　life。　　We　bear　the　greatest　stones；　and　feel　a　satisfaction　when　we

stagger　under　them；　and　are　hurt　by　a　pang　that　shoots　through　our　chest。　

While　we　eat　our　dinner　we　carry　on　baskets　full　of　earth；　as　though　the

devil　drove　us。　　The　Kaffer　servants　have　a　story　that　at　night　a　witch　and

two　white　oxen　come　to　help　us。　　No　wall；　they　say；　could　grow　so　quickly

under　one　man's　hands。



At　night；　alone　in　our　cabin；　we　sit　no　more　brooding　over　the　fire。　　What

should　we　think　of　now？　　All　is　emptiness。　　So　we　take　the　old　arithmetic；

and　the　multiplication　table；　which　with　so　much　pains　we　learnt　long　ago

and　forgot　directly；　we　learn　now　in　a　few　hours；　and　never　forget　again。　

We　take　a　strange　satisfaction　in　working　arithmetical　problems。　　We　pause

in　our　building　to　cover　the　stones　with　figures　and　calculations。　　We　save

money　for　a　Latin　Grammar　and　Algebra；　and　carry　them　about　in　our　pockets；

poring　over　them　as　over　our　Bible　of　old。　　We　have　thought　we　were　utterly

stupid；　incapable　of　remembering　anything；　of　learning　anything。　　Now　we

find　that　all　is　easy。　　Has　a　new　soul　crept　into　this　old　body；　that　even

our　intellectual　faculties　are　changed？　　We　marvel；　not　perceiving　that

what　a　man　expends　in　prayer　and　ecstasy　he　cannot　have　over　for　acquiring

knowledge。　　You　never　shed　a　tear；　or　create　a　beautiful　image；　or　quiver

with　emotion；　but　you　pay　for　it　at　the　practical；　calculating　end　of　your

nature。　　You　have　just　so　much　force：　　when　the　one　channel　runs　over　the

other　runs　dry。



And　now　we　turn　to　Nature。　　All　these　years　we　have　lived　beside　her；　and

we　have　never　seen　her；　and　now　we　open　our　eyes　and　look　at　her。



The　rocks　have　been　to　us　a　blur　of　brown：　　we　bend　over　them；　and　the

disorganised　masses　dissolve　into　a　many…coloured；　many…shaped；　carefully…

arranged　form　of　existence。　　Here　masses　of　rainbow…tinted　crystals；　half…

fused　together；　there　bands　of　smooth　grey　and　red　methodically　overlying

each　other。　　This　rock　here　is　covered　with　a　delicate　silver　tracery；　in

some　mineral；　resembling　leaves　and　branches；　there　on　the　flat　stone；　on

which　we　so　often　have　sat　to　weep　and　pray；　we　look　down；　and　see　it

covered　with　the　fossil　footprints　of　great　birds；　and　the　beautiful

skeleton　of　a　fish。　　We　have　often　tried　to　picture　in　our　min