the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第24节
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be instructed by the Interpreter in the House Beautiful； all of us bear the
same burden； all of us need the same armor in our fight with Apollyon； all
of us have to pass through the Wicket Gateto pass through the dark river；
and for all of us （if God so will） there wait the shining ones at the gates of
the Celestial City！ Who does not love to linger over the life story of the
‘immortal dreamer' as one of those characters for whom man has done so
little and God so much？''
About my favorite copy of the ‘‘Pilgrim's Progress'' many a pleasant
reminiscence lingers； for it was one of the books my grandmother gave my
father when he left home to engage in the great battle of life； when my
father died this thick； dumpy little volume； with its rude cuts and poorly
printed pages； came into my possession。 I do not know what part this
book played in my father's life； but I can say for myself that it has brought
me solace and cheer a many times。
The only occasion upon which I felt bitterly toward Dr。 O'Rell was
when that personage observed in my hearing one day that Bunyan was a
dyspeptic； and that had he not been one he would doubtless never have
written the ‘‘Pilgrim's Progress。''
I took issue with the doctor on this point； whereupon he cited those
visions and dreams； which； according to the light of science as it now
shines； demonstrate that Bunyan's digestion must have been morbid。
And； forthwith； he overwhelmed me with learned instances from Galen
and Hippocrates； from Spurzheim and Binns； from Locke and Beattie；
from Malebranche and Bertholini； from Darwin and Descartes； from
Charlevoix and Berkeley； from Heraclitus and Blumenbach； from Priestley
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and Abercrombie； in fact； forsooth； he quoted me so many authorities that
it verily seemed to me as though the whole world were against me！
I did not know until then that Dr。 O'Rell had made a special study of
dreams； of their causes and of their signification。 I had always supposed
that astrology was his particular hobby； in which science I will concede
him to be deeply learned； even though he has never yet proved to my
entire satisfaction that the reason why my copy of Justinian has faded from
a royal purple to a pale blue is； first； because the binding was renewed at
the wane of the moon and when Sirius was in the ascendant； and； secondly；
because （as Dr。 O'Rell has discovered） my binder was born at a moment
fifty…six years ago when Mercury was in the fourth house and Herschel
and Saturn were aspected in conjunction； with Sol at his northern
declination。
Dr。 O'Rell has frequently expressed surprise that I have never wearied
of and drifted away from the book…friendships of my earlier years。 Other
people； he says； find； as time elapses； that they no longer discover those
charms in certain books which attracted them so powerfully in youth。
‘‘We have in our earlier days；'' argues the doctor； ‘‘friendships so dear to
us that we would repel with horror the suggestion that we could ever
become heedless or forgetful of them； yet； alas； as we grow older we
gradually become indifferent to these first friends； and we are weaned
from them by other friendships； there even comes a time when we actually
wonder how it were possible for us to be on terms of intimacy with such
or such a person。 We grow away from people； and in like manner and for
similar reasons we grow away from books。''
Is it indeed possible for one to become indifferent to an object he has
once loved？ I can hardly believe so。 At least it is not so with me； and；
even though the time may come when I shall no longer be able to enjoy
the uses of these dear old friends with the old…time enthusiasm； I should
still regard them with that tender reverence which in his age the poet
Longfellow expressed when looking round upon his beloved books：
Sadly as some old mediaeval knight Gazed at the arms he
could no longer wield The sword two…handed and the shining
shield Suspended in the hall and full in sight； While secret longings
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for the lost delight Of tourney or adventure in the field
Came over him； and tears but half concealed Trembled and fell upon
his beard of white； So I behold these books upon their shelf My
ornaments and arms of other days； Not wholly useless；
though no longer used； For they remind me of my other self
Younger and stronger； and the pleasant ways In which I
walked； now clouded and confused。
If my friend O'Rell's theory be true； how barren would be Age！
Lord Bacon tells us in his ‘‘Apothegms'' that Alonzo of Aragon was wont
to say； in commendation of Age； that Age appeared to be best in four
things： Old wood best to burn； old wine to drink； old friends to trust； and
old authors to read。 Sir John Davys recalls that ‘‘a French writer （whom
I love well） speaks of three kinds of companions： Men； women and
books；'' and my revered and beloved poet…friend； Richard Henry Stoddard；
has wrought out this sentiment in a poem of exceeding beauty； of which
the concluding stanza runs in this wise：
Better than men and women； friend； That are dust；
though dear in our joy and pain； Are the books their cunning hands
have penned； For they depart； but the books remain； Through
these they speak to us what was best In the loving heart and the
noble mind； All their royal souls possessed Belongs forever to
all mankind！ When others fail him； the wise man looks To the sure
companionship of books。
If ever； O honest friends of mine； I should forget you or weary of
your companionship； whither would depart the memories and the
associations with which each of you is hallowed！ Would ever the modest
flowers of spring…time； budding in pathways where I no longer wander；
recall to my failing sight the vernal beauty of the Puritan maid； Captivity？
In what reverie of summer…time should I feel again the graciousness of thy
presence； Yseult？
And Fanchonettesweet； timid little Fanchonette！ would ever thy
ghost come back from out those years away off yonder ？ Be hushed； my
Beranger； for a moment； another song hath awakened softly responsive
echoes in my heart！ It is a song of Fanchonette：
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In vain； in vain； we meet no more； Nor dream what
fates befall； And long upon the stranger's shore My voice on
thee may call； When years have clothed the line in moss That
tells thy name and days； And withered； on thy simple cross；
The wreaths of Pere la Chaise！
XVI
THE MALADY CALLED CATALOGITIS
Judge Methuen tells me that one of the most pleasing delusions he has
experienced in his long and active career as a bibliomaniac is that which is
born of the catalogue habit。 Presuming that there are among my readers
many laymen；for I preach salvation to the heathen；I will explain for
their information that the catalogue habit； so called； is a practice to which
the confirmed lover of books is likely to become addicted。 It is a custom
of many publishers and dealers to publish and to disseminate at certain
periods lists of their wares； in the hope of thereby enticing readers to buy
t
