the story of an african farm-第32节

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on　to　the　breast　of　the　dying　man。　　He　felt　it　with　his　hands。　　It　was　a

feather。　　He　died　holding　it。〃



The　boy　had　shaded　his　eyes　with　his　hand。　　On　the　wood　of　the　carving

great　drops　fell。　　The　stranger　must　have　laughed　at　him；　or　remained

silent。　　He　did　so。



〃How　did　you　know　it？〃　the　boy　whispered　at　last。　　〃It　is　not　written

therenot　on　that　wood。　　How　did　you　know　it？〃



〃Certainly；〃　said　the　stranger；　〃the　whole　of　the　story　is　not　written

here；　but　it　is　suggested。　　And　the　attribute　of　all　true　art；　the　highest

and　the　lowest；　is　thisthat　it　rays　more　than　it　says；　and　takes　you　away

from　itself。　　It　is　a　little　door　that　opens　into　an　infinite　hall　where

you　may　find　what　you　please。　　Men；　thinking　to　detract；　say：　　'People　read

more　in　this　or　that　work　of　genius　than　was　ever　written　in　it；'　not

perceiving　that　they　pay　the　highest　compliment。　　If　we　pick　up　the　finger

and　nail　of　a　real　man；　we　can　decipher　a　whole　storycould　almost

reconstruct　the　creature　again；　from　head　to　foot。　　But　half　the　body　of　a

Mumboo…jumbow　idol　leaves　us　utterly　in　the　dark　as　to　what　the　rest　was

like。　　We　see　what　we　see；　but　nothing　more。　　There　is　nothing　so

universally　intelligible　as　truth。　　It　has　a　thousand　meanings；　and

suggests　a　thousand　more。〃



He　turned　over　the　wooden　thing。



〃Though　a　man　should　carve　it　into　matter　with　the　least　possible

manipulative　skill；　it　will　yet　find　interpreters。　　It　is　the　soul　that

looks　out　with　burning　eyes　through　the　most　gross　fleshly　filament。　

Whosoever　should　portray　truly　the　life　and　death　of　a　little　flowerits

birth；　sucking　in　of　nourishment；　reproduction　of　its　kind；　withering　and

vanishingwould　have　shaped　a　symbol　of　all　existence。　　All　true　facts　of

nature　or　the　mind　are　related。　　Your　little　carving　represents　some　mental

facts　as　they　really　are；　therefore　fifty　different　true　stories　might　be

read　from　it。　　What　your　work　wants　is　not　truth；　but　beauty　of　external

form；　the　other　half　of　art。〃　　He　leaned　almost　gently　toward　the　boy。　

〃Skill　may　come　in　time；　but　you　will　have　to　work　hard。　　The　love　of

beauty　and　the　desire　for　it　must　be　born　in　a　man；　the　skill　to　reproduce

it　he　must　make。　　He　must　work　hard。〃



〃All　my　life　I　have　longed　to　see　you；〃　the　boy　said。



The　stranger　broke　off　the　end　of　his　cigar；　and　lit　it。　　The　boy　lifted

the　heavy　wood　from　the　stranger's　knee　and　drew　yet　nearer　him。　　In　the

dog…like　manner　of　his　drawing　near　there　was　something　superbly

ridiculous；　unless　one　chanced　to　view　it　in　another　light。　　Presently　the

stranger　said；　whiffing；　〃Do　something　for　me。〃



The　boy　started　up。



〃No；　stay　where　you　are。　　I　don't　want　you　to　go　anyowhere；　I　want　you　to

talk　to　me。　　Tell　me　what　you　have　been　doing　all　your　life。〃



The　boy　slunk　down　again。　　Would　that　the　man　had　asked　him　to　root　up

bushes　with　his　hands　for　his　horse　to　feed　on；　or　to　run　to　the　far　end　of

the　plain　for　the　fossils　that　lay　there；　or　to　gather　the　flowers　that

grew　on　the　hills　at　the　edge　of　the　plain；　he　would　have　run　and　been　back

quicklybut　now！



〃I　have　never　done　anything；〃　he　said。



〃Then　tell　me　of　that　nothing。　　I　like　to　know　what　other　folks　have　been

doing　whose　word　I　can　believe。　　It　is　interesting。　　What　was　the　first

thing　you　ever　wanted　very　much？〃



The　boy　waited　to　remember；　then　began　hesitatingly；　but　soon　the　words

flowed。　　In　the　smallest　past　we　find　an　inexhaustible　mine　when　once　we

begin　to　dig　at　it。



A　confused；　disordered　storythe　little　made　large　and　the　large　small；

and　nothing　showing　its　inward　meaning。　　It　is　not　till　the　past　has

receded　many　steps　that　before　the　clearest　eyes　it　falls　into　co…ordinate

pictures。　　It　is　not　till　the　I　we　tell　of　has　ceased　to　exist　that　it

takes　its　place　among　other　objective　realities；　and　finds　its　true　niche

in　the　picture。　　The　present　and　the　near　past　is　a　confusion；　whose

meaning　flashes　on　us　as　it　slinks　away　into　the　distance。



The　stranger　lit　one　cigar　from　the　end　of　another；　and　puffed　and　listened

with　half…closed　eyes。



〃I　will　remember　more　to　tell　you　if　you　like；〃　said　the　boy。



He　spoke　with　that　extreme　gravity　common　to　all　very　young　things　who　feel

deeply。　　It　is　not　till　twenty　that　we　learn　to　be　in　deadly　earnest　and　to

laugh。　　The　stranger　nodded；　while　the　fellow　sought　for　something　more　to

relate。　　He　would　tell　all　to　this　man　of　hisall　that　he　knew；　all　that

he　had　felt；　his　inmost　sorest　thought。　　Suddenly　the　stranger　turned　upon

him。



〃Boy；〃　he　said；　〃you　are　happy　to　be　here。〃



Waldo　looked　at　him。　　Was　his　delightful　one　ridiculing　him？　　Here；　with

this　brown　earth　and　these　low　hills；　while　the　rare　wonderful　world　lay

all　beyond。　　Fortunate　to　be　here？



The　stranger　read　his　glance。



〃Yes；〃　he　said；　〃here　with　the　karoo…bushes　and　red　sand。　　Do　you　wonder

what　I　mean？　　To　all　who　have　been　born　in　the　old　faith　there　comes　a　time

of　danger；　when　the　old　slips　from　us；　and　we　have　not　yet　planted　our　feet

on　the　new。　　We　hear　the　voice　from　Sinai　thundering　no　more；　and　the　still

small　voice　of　reason　is　not　yet　heard。　　We　have　proved　the　religion　our

mothers　fed　us　on　to　be　a　delusion；　in　our　bewilderment　we　see　no　rule　by

which　to　guide　our　steps　day　by　day；　and　yet　every　day　we　must　step

somewhere。〃



The　stranger　leaned　forward　and　spoke　more　quickly。　　〃We　have　never　once

been　taught　by　word　or　act　to　distinguish　between　religion　and　the　moral

laws　on　which　it　has　artfully　fastened　itself；　and　from　which　it　has　sucked

its　vitality。　　When　we　have　dragged　down　the　weeds　and　creepers　that

covered　the　solid　wall　and　have　found　them　to　be　rotten　wood；　we　imagine

the　wall　itself　to　be　rotten　wood　too。　　We　find　it　is　solid　and　standing

only　when　we　fall　headlong　against　it。　　We　have　been　taught　that　all　right

and　wrong　originate　in　the　will　of　an　irresponsible　being。　　It　is　some　time

before　we　see　how　the　inexorable　'Thou　shalt　and　shalt　not；'　are　carved

into　the　nature　of　things。　　This　is　the　time　of　danger。〃



His　dark；　misty　eyes　looked　into　the　boy's。



〃In　the　end　experience　will　inevitably　teach　us　that　the　laws　for　a　wise

and　noble　life　have　a　foundation　infinitely　deeper　than　the　fiat　of　any

being；　God　or　man；　even　in　the　groundwork　of　human　nature。



〃She　will　teach　us　that　whoso　sheddeth　man's　blood；　though　by　man　his　blood

be　not　shed；　though　no　man　avenge　and　no　hell　await；　yet　every　drop　shall

blister　on　his　soul　and　eat　in　the　name　of　the　dead。　　She　will　teach　that

whoso　takes　a　love　not　lawfully　his　own；　gathers　a　flower　with　a　poison　on

its　petals；　that　whoso　revenges；　strikes　with　a　sword　that　has　two　edges

one　for　his　adversary；　one　for　himself；　that　who　lives　to　himself　is　dead；

though　the　ground　is　not　yet　on　him；　that　who　wrongs　another　clouds　his　own

sun；　and　that　who　sins　in　secret　stands　accursed　and　condemned　before　the

one　Judge　who　deals　eternal　justicehis　own　all…knowing　self。



〃Experience　will　teach　us　this；　and　reason　will　show　us　why　it　must　be　so；

but　at　first　the　world　swings　before　our　eyes；　and　no　voice　cries　out；

'This　is　the　way；　walk　ye　in　it！'　　You　are　happy　to　be　here；　boy！　　When　the

suspense　fills　you　with　pain　you　build　stone　walls　and　dig　earth　for

relief。　　Others　have　stood　where　you　stand　today；　and　have　felt　as　you

feel；　and　another　relief　has　been　offered　them；　and　they　have　taken　it。



〃When　the　day　has　come　when　they　have　seen　the　path　in　which　they　might

walk；　they　have　not　the　strength　to　follow　it。　　Habits　have　fastened　on

them　from　which　nothing　but　death　can　free　them；　which　cling　closer　than

his　sacerdotal　sanctimony　to　a　priest；　which　feed　on　the　intellect　like　a

worm；　sapping　energy；　hope；　creative　power；　all　that　makes　a　man　higher

than　a　beastleaving　only　the　power　to　yearn；　to　regret；　and　to　sink　lower

in　the　abyss。



〃Boy；〃　he　said；　and　the　listener　was　not　more　unsmiling　now　than　the

speaker；　〃you　are　happy　to　be　here！　　Stay　where　you　are。　　If　you　ever　pray；

let　it　be　only　the　one　old　prayer'Lead　us　not　into　temptation。'　　Live　on

here　quietly。　　The　time　may　yet　come　when　you　will　be　that　which　other　men

have　hoped　to　be　and　never　will　be　now。〃



The　stranger　rose；　shook　the　dust　from　his　sleeve；　and　ashamed　at　his　own

earnestness；　looked　across　the　bushes　for　his　horse。



〃We　should　have　been　on　our　way　already；〃　he　said。　　〃We　shall　have　a　long

ride　in　the　dark　tonight。〃



Waldo　hastened　to　fetch　the　animal；　but　he　returned　leading　it　slowly。　　The

sooner　it　came　the　sooner　would　its　rider　be　gone。



The　stranger　was　opening　his　saddlebag；　in　which　were　a　bright　French　novel

and　an　old　brown　volume。　　He　took　the　last　and　held　it　out　to　the　boy。



〃It　may　be　of　some　help　to　you；〃　he　said；　carelessly。　　〃It　was　a　gospel　to

me　when　I　first　fell　on　it。　　You　must　not　expect　too　much；　but　it　may　give

you　a　centre　round　which