when god laughs and other stories(当上帝发笑时)-第2节
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〃A pat answer；〃 he said； 〃machine…made like a piece of cotton…drill。
The world's judgment！ And much the world knows about it。 Like you；
she fled from life。 She was beaten。 She flung out the white flag of
fatigue。 And no beleaguered city ever flew that flag in such bitterness
and tears。
〃Now I shall tell you the whole tale； and you must believe me； for I
know。 They had pondered the problem of satiety。 They loved Love。
They knew to the uttermost farthing the value of Love。 They loved him
so well that they were fain to keep him always； warm and a…thrill in their
hearts。 They welcomed his coming； they feared to have him depart。
〃Love was desire； they held； a delicious pain。 He was ever seeking
easement； and when he found that for which he sought； he died。 Love
denied was Love alive； Love granted was Love deceased。 Do you follow
me？ They saw it was not the way of life to be hungry for what it has。
To eat and still be hungryman has never accomplished that feat。 The
problem of satiety。 That is it。 To have and to keep the sharp famine…
edge of appetite at the groaning board。 This was their problem； for they
loved Love。 Often did they discuss it； with all Love's sweet ardours
brimming in their eyes； his ruddy blood spraying their cheeks； his voice
playing in and out with their voices； now hiding as a tremolo in their
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
throats； and again shading a tone with that ineffable tenderness which he
alone can utter。
〃How do I know all this？ I sawmuch。 More I learned from her
diary。 This I found in it； from Fiona Macleod： 'For； truly； that wandering
voice； that twilight…whisper； that breath so dewy…sweet； that flame…winged
lute… player whom none sees but for a moment； in a rainbow…shimmer of
joy； or a sudden lightning…flare of passion； this exquisite mystery we call
Amor； comes； to some rapt visionaries at least； not with a song upon the
lips that all may hear； or with blithe viol of public music； but as one
wrought by ecstasy； dumbly eloquent with desire。'
〃How to keep the flame…winged lute…player with his dumb eloquence
of desire？ To feast him was to lose him。 Their love for each other was
a great love。 Their granaries were overflowing with plenitude； yet they
wanted to keep the sharp famine…edge of their love undulled。
〃Nor were they lean little fledglings theorizing on the threshold of
Love。 They were robust and realized souls。 They had loved before； with
others； in the days before they met； and in those days they had throttled
Love with caresses； and killed him with kisses； and buried him in the pit of
satiety。
〃They were not cold wraiths； this man and woman。 They were warm
human。 They had no Saxon soberness in their blood。 The colour of it
was sunset… red。 They glowed with it。 Temperamentally theirs was the
French joy in the flesh。 They were idealists； but their idealism was
Gallic。 It was not tempered by the chill and sombre fluid that for the
English serves as blood。 There was no stoicism about them。 They were
Americans； descended out of the English； and yet the refraining and self…
denying of the English spirit…groping were not theirs。
〃They were all this that I have said； and they were made for joy； only
they achieved a concept。 A curse on concepts！ They played with logic；
and this was their logic。But first let me tell you of a talk we had one
night。 It was of Gautier's Madeline de Maupin。 You remember the
maid？ She kissed once； and once only； and kisses she would have no
more。 Not that she found kisses were not sweet； but that she feared with
repetition they would cloy。 Satiety again！ She tried to play without
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
stakes against the gods。 Now this is contrary to a rule of the game the
gods themselves have made。 Only the rules are not posted over the table。
Mortals must play in order to learn the rules。
〃Well； to the logic。 The man and the woman argued thus： Why kiss
once only？ If to kiss once were wise； was it not wiser to kiss not at all？
Thus could they keep Love alive。 Fasting； he would knock forever at
their hearts。
〃Perhaps it was out of their heredity that they achieved this unholy
concept。 The breed will out and sometimes most fantastically。 Thus in
them did cursed Albion array herself a scheming wanton； a bold； cold…
calculating； and artful hussy。 After all； I do not know。 But this I know：
it was out of their inordinate desire for joy that they forewent joy。
〃As he said （I read it long afterward in one of his letters to her）： 'To
hold you in my arms； close； and yet not close。 To yearn for you； and
never to have you； and so always to have you。' And she： 'For you to be
always just beyond my reach。 To be ever attaining you； and yet never
attaining you； and for this to last forever； always fresh and new； and
always with the first flush upon us。
〃That is not the way they said it。 On my lips their love…philosophy is
mangled。 And who am I to delve into their soul…stuff？ I am a frog； on
the dank edge of a great darkness； gazing goggle…eyed at the mystery and
wonder of their flaming souls。
〃And they were right； as far as they went。 Everything is good 。 。 。 as
long as it is unpossessed。 Satiety and possession are Death's horses； they
run in span。
〃'And time could only tutor us to eke Our rapture's warmth with
custom's afterglow。'
〃They got that from a sonnet of Alfred Austin's。 It was called 'Love's
Wisdom。' It was the one kiss of Madeline de Maupin。 How did it run？
〃'Kiss we and part； no further can we go； And better death than we
from high to low Should dwindle； or decline from strong to weak。'
〃But they were wiser。 They would not kiss and part。 They would
not kiss at all； and thus they planned to stay at Love's topmost peak。
They married。 You were in England at the time。 And never was there
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
such a marriage。 They kept their secret to themselves。 I did not know；
then。 Their rapture's warmth did not cool。 Their love burned with
increasing brightness。 Never was there anything like it。 The time
passed； the months； the years； and ever the flame…winged lute…player grew
more resplendent。
〃Everybody marvelled。 They became the wonderful lovers； and they
were greatly envied。 Sometimes women pitied her because she was
childless； it is the form the envy of such creatures takes。
〃And I did not know their secret。 I pondered and I marvelled。 As
first I had expected； subconsciously I imagine； the passing of their love。
Then I became aware that it was Time that passed and Love that remained。
Then I became curious。 What was their secret？ What were the magic
fetters with which they bound Love to them？ How did they hold the
graceless elf？ What elixir of eternal love had they drunk together as had
Tristram and Iseult of old time？ And whose hand had brewed the fairy
drink？
〃As I say； I was curious； and I watched them。 They were love…mad。
They lived in an unending revel of Love。 They made a pomp and
ceremonial of it。 They saturated themselves in the art and poetry of Love。
No； they were not neurotics。 They were sane and healthy； and they were
artists。 But they had accomplished the impossible。 They had achieved
deathless des
