memories and portraits-第7节

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！



face　there　was　a　light　of　knowledge　that　was　new　to　it。　　Of　the　

wounds　of　his　body　he　was　never　healed；　died　of　them　gradually；　

with　clear…eyed　resignation；　of　his　wounded　pride；　we　knew　only　

from　his　silence。　　He　returned　to　that　city　where　he　had　lorded　it　

in　his　ambitious　youth；　lived　there　alone；　seeing　few；　striving　to　

retrieve　the　irretrievable；　at　times　still　grappling　with　that　

mortal　frailty　that　had　brought　him　down；　still　joying　in　his　

friend's　successes；　his　laugh　still　ready　but　with　kindlier　music；　

and　over　all　his　thoughts　the　shadow　of　that　unalterable　law　which　

he　had　disavowed　and　which　had　brought　him　low。　　Lastly；　when　his　

bodily　evils　had　quite　disabled　him；　he　lay　a　great　while　dying；　

still　without　complaint；　still　finding　interests；　to　his　last　step　

gentle；　urbane　and　with　the　will　to　smile。



The　tale　of　this　great　failure　is；　to　those　who　remained　true　to　

him；　the　tale　of　a　success。　　In　his　youth　he　took　thought　for　no　

one　but　himself；　when　he　came　ashore　again；　his　whole　armada　lost；　

he　seemed　to　think　of　none　but　others。　　Such　was　his　tenderness　for　

others；　such　his　instinct　of　fine　courtesy　and　pride；　that　of　that　

impure　passion　of　remorse　he　never　breathed　a　syllable；　even　regret　

was　rare　with　him；　and　pointed　with　a　jest。　　You　would　not　have　

dreamed；　if　you　had　known　him　then；　that　this　was　that　great　

failure；　that　beacon　to　young　men；　over　whose　fall　a　whole　society　

had　hissed　and　pointed　fingers。　　Often　have　we　gone　to　him；　red…hot　

with　our　own　hopeful　sorrows；　railing　on　the　rose…leaves　in　our　

princely　bed　of　life；　and　he　would　patiently　give　ear　and　wisely　

counsel；　and　it　was　only　upon　some　return　of　our　own　thoughts　that　

we　were　reminded　what　manner　of　man　this　was　to　whom　we　

disembosomed：　a　man；　by　his　own　fault；　ruined；　shut　out　of　the　

garden　of　his　gifts；　his　whole　city　of　hope　both　ploughed　and　

salted；　silently　awaiting　the　deliverer。　　Then　something　took　us　by　

the　throat；　and　to　see　him　there；　so　gentle；　patient；　brave　and　

pious；　oppressed　but　not　cast　down；　sorrow　was　so　swallowed　up　in　

admiration　that　we　could　not　dare　to　pity　him。　　Even　if　the　old　

fault　flashed　out　again；　it　but　awoke　our　wonder　that；　in　that　lost　

battle；　he　should　have　still　the　energy　to　fight。　　He　had　gone　to　

ruin　with　a　kind　of　kingly　ABANDON；　like　one　who　condescended；　but　

once　ruined；　with　the　lights　all　out；　he　fought　as　for　a　kingdom。　　

Most　men；　finding　themselves　the　authors　of　their　own　disgrace；　

rail　the　louder　against　God　or　destiny。　　Most　men；　when　they　

repent；　oblige　their　friends　to　share　the　bitterness　of　that　

repentance。　　But　he　had　held　an　inquest　and　passed　sentence：　MENE；　

MENE；　and　condemned　himself　to　smiling　silence。　　He　had　given　

trouble　enough；　had　earned　misfortune　amply；　and　foregone　the　right　

to　murmur。



Thus　was　our　old　comrade；　like　Samson；　careless　in　his　days　of　

strength；　but　on　the　coming　of　adversity；　and　when　that　strength　

was　gone　that　had　betrayed　him　…　〃for　our　strength　is　weakness〃　…　

he　began　to　blossom　and　bring　forth。　　Well；　now；　he　is　out　of　the　

fight：　the　burden　that　he　bore　thrown　down　before　the　great　

deliverer。　　We



〃In　the　vast　cathedral　leave　him；

God　accept　him；

Christ　receive　him！〃





IV





If　we　go　now　and　look　on　these　innumerable　epitaphs；　the　pathos　and　

the　irony　are　strangely　fled。　　They　do　not　stand　merely　to　the　

dead；　these　foolish　monuments；　they　are　pillars　and　legends　set　up　

to　glorify　the　difficult　but　not　desperate　life　of　man。　　This　

ground　is　hallowed　by　the　heroes　of　defeat。



I　see　the　indifferent　pass　before　my　friend's　last　resting…place；　

pause；　with　a　shrug　of　pity；　marvelling　that　so　rich　an　argosy　had　

sunk。　　A　pity；　now　that　he　is　done　with　suffering；　a　pity　most　

uncalled　for；　and　an　ignorant　wonder。　　Before　those　who　loved　him；　

his　memory　shines　like　a　reproach；　they　honour　him　for　silent　

lessons；　they　cherish　his　example；　and　in　what　remains　before　them　

of　their　toil；　fear　to　be　unworthy　of　the　dead。　　For　this　proud　man　

was　one　of　those　who　prospered　in　the　valley　of　humiliation；　…　of　

whom　Bunyan　wrote　that；　〃Though　Christian　had　the　hard　hap　to　meet　

in　the　valley　with　Apollyon；　yet　I　must　tell　you；　that　in　former　

times　men　have　met　with　angels　here；　have　found　pearls　here；　and　

have　in　this　place　found　the　words　of　life。〃









CHAPTER　IV。　A　COLLEGE　MAGAZINE





I





ALL　through　my　boyhood　and　youth；　I　was　known　and　pointed　out　for　

the　pattern　of　an　idler；　and　yet　I　was　always　busy　on　my　own　

private　end；　which　was　to　learn　to　write。　　I　kept　always　two　books　

in　my　pocket；　one　to　read；　one　to　write　in。　　As　I　walked；　my　mind　

was　busy　fitting　what　I　saw　with　appropriate　words；　when　I　sat　by　

the　roadside；　I　would　either　read；　or　a　pencil　and　a　penny　version…

book　would　be　in　my　hand；　to　note　down　the　features　of　the　scene　or　

commemorate　some　halting　stanzas。　　Thus　I　lived　with　words。　　And　

what　I　thus　wrote　was　for　no　ulterior　use；　it　was　written　

consciously　for　practice。　　It　was　not　so　much　that　I　wished　to　be　

an　author　（though　I　wished　that　too）　as　that　I　had　vowed　that　I　

would　learn　to　write。　　That　was　a　proficiency　that　tempted　me；　and　

I　practised　to　acquire　it；　as　men　learn　to　whittle；　in　a　wager　with　

myself。　　Description　was　the　principal　field　of　my　exercise；　for　to　

any　one　with　senses　there　is　always　something　worth　describing；　and　

town　and　country　are　but　one　continuous　subject。　　But　I　worked　in　

other　ways　also；　often　accompanied　my　walks　with　dramatic　

dialogues；　in　which　I　played　many　parts；　and　often　exercised　myself　

in　writing　down　conversations　from　memory。



This　was　all　excellent；　no　doubt；　so　were　the　diaries　I　sometimes　

tried　to　keep；　but　always　and　very　speedily　discarded；　finding　them　

a　school　of　posturing　and　melancholy　self…deception。　　And　yet　this　

was　not　the　most　efficient　part　of　my　training。　　Good　though　it　

was；　it　only　taught　me　（so　far　as　I　have　learned　them　at　all）　the　

lower　and　less　intellectual　elements　of　the　art；　the　choice　of　the　

essential　note　and　the　right　word：　things　that　to　a　happier　

constitution　had　perhaps　come　by　nature。　　And　regarded　as　training；　

it　had　one　grave　defect；　for　it　set　me　no　standard　of　achievement。　　

So　that　there　was　perhaps　more　profit；　as　there　was　certainly　more　

effort；　in　my　secret　labours　at　home。　　Whenever　I　read　a　book　or　a　

passage　that　particularly　pleased　me；　in　which　a　thing　was　said　or　

an　effect　rendered　with　propriety；　in　which　there　was　either　some　

conspicuous　force　or　some　happy　distinction　in　the　style；　I　must　

sit　down　at　once　and　set　myself　to　ape　that　quality。　　I　was　

unsuccessful；　and　I　knew　it；　and　tried　again；　and　was　again　

unsuccessful　and　always　unsuccessful；　but　at　least　in　these　vain　

bouts；　I　got　some　practice　in　rhythm；　in　harmony；　in　construction　

and　the　co…ordination　of　parts。　　I　have　thus　played　the　sedulous　

ape　to　Hazlitt；　to　Lamb；　to　Wordsworth；　to　Sir　Thomas　Browne；　to　

Defoe；　to　Hawthorne；　to　Montaigne；　to　Baudelaire　and　to　Obermann。　　

I　remember　one　of　these　monkey　tricks；　which　was　called　THE　VANITY　

OF　MORALS：　it　was　to　have　had　a　second　part；　THE　VANITY　OF　

KNOWLEDGE；　and　as　I　had　neither　morality　nor　scholarship；　the　names　

were　apt；　but　the　second　part　was　never　attempted；　and　the　first　

part　was　written　（which　is　my　reason　for　recalling　it；　ghost…like；　

from　its　ashes）　no　less　than　three　times：　first　in　the　manner　of　

Hazlitt；　second　in　the　manner　of　Ruskin；　who　had　cast　on　me　a　

passing　spell；　and　third；　in　a　laborious　pasticcio　of　Sir　Thomas　

Browne。　　So　with　my　other　works：　CAIN；　an　epic；　was　（save　the　

mark！）　an　imitation　of　SORDELLO：　ROBIN　HOOD；　a　tale　in　verse；　took　

an　eclectic　middle　course　among　the　fields　of　Keats；　Chaucer　and　

Morris：　in　MONMOUTH；　a　tragedy；　I　reclined　on　the　bosom　of　Mr。　

Swinburne；　in　my　innumerable　gouty…footed　lyrics；　I　followed　many　

masters；　in　the　first　draft　of　THE　KING'S　PARDON；　a　tragedy；　I　was　

on　the　trail　of　no　lesser　man　than　John　Webster；　in　the　second　

draft　of　the　same　piece；　with　staggering　versatility；　I　had　shifted　

my　allegiance　to　Congreve；　and　of　course　conceived　my　fable　in　a　

less　serious　vein　…　for　it　was　not　Congreve's　verse；　it　was　his　

exquisite　prose；　that　I　admired　and　sought　to　copy。　　Even　at　the　

age　of　thirteen　I　had　tried　to　do　justice　to　the　inhabitants　of　the　

famous　city　of　Peebles　in　the　style　of　the　BOOK　OF　SNOBS。　　So　I　

might　go　on　for　ever；　through　all　my　abortive　novels；　and　down　to　

my　later　plays；　of　which　I　think　more　tenderly；　for　they　were　not　

only　conceived　at　first　under　the　bracing　influence　of　old　Dumas；　

but　have　met　with　resurrection：　one；　strangely　bettered　by　another　

hand；　came　on　the　stage　itself　and　was　played　by　bodily　actors；　the　

other；　originally　known　as　SEMIRAMIS：　A　TRAGEDY；　I　have　observed　on　

bookstalls　under　the　ALIAS　of　Prince