a personal record- 第21部分

be　set　down；　the　glimpses　of　strange　beasts；　the　dangers　of　flood



and　field；　the　hairbreadth　escapes；　and　the　sufferings　（oh；　the



sufferings；　too！　　I　have　no　doubt　of　the　sufferings）　of　the



traveller　being　carefully　kept　out；　no　shady　spot；　no　fruitful



plant　being　ever　mentioned　either；　so　that　the　whole　performance



looks　like　a　mere　feat　of　agility　on　the　part　of　a　trained　pen



running　in　a　desert。　　A　cruel　spectaclea　most　deplorable



adventure！　　〃Life；〃　in　the　words　of　an　immortal　thinker　of；　I



should　say；　bucolic　origin；　but　whose　perishable　name　is　lost　to



the　worship　of　posterity〃life　is　not　all　beer　and　skittles。〃　



Neither　is　the　writing　of　novels。　　It　isn't；　really。　　Je　vous



donne　ma　parole　d'honneur　that　itisnot。　　Not　ALL。　　I　am　thus



emphatic　because　some　years　ago；　I　remember；　the　daughter　of　a



general。　。　。　。







Sudden　revelations　of　the　profane　world　must　have　come　now　and



then　to　hermits　in　their　cells；　to　the　cloistered　monks　of　middle



ages；　to　lonely　sages；　men　of　science；　reformers；　the　revelations



of　the　world's　superficial　judgment；　shocking　to　the　souls



concentrated　upon　their　own　bitter　labour　in　the　cause　of



sanctity；　or　of　knowledge；　or　of　temperance；　let　us　say；　or　of



art；　if　only　the　art　of　cracking　jokes　or　playing　the　flute。　　And



thus　this　general's　daughter　came　to　meor　I　should　say　one　of



the　general's　daughters　did。　　There　were　three　of　these　bachelor



ladies；　of　nicely　graduated　ages；　who　held　a　neighbouring



farm…house　in　a　united　and　more　or　less　military　occupation。　　The



eldest　warred　against　the　decay　of　manners　in　the　village



children；　and　executed　frontal　attacks　upon　the　village　mothers



for　the　conquest　of　courtesies。　　It　sounds　futile；　but　it　was



really　a　war　for　an　idea。　　The　second　skirmished　and　scouted　all



over　the　country；　and　it　was　that　one　who　pushed　a　reconnaissance



right　to　my　very　tableI　mean　the　one　who　wore　stand…up　collars。







She　was　really　calling　upon　my　wife　in　the　soft　spirit　of



afternoon　friendliness；　but　with　her　usual　martial　determination。



She　marched　into　my　room　swinging　her　stick　。　。　。　but　noI



mustn't　exaggerate。　　It　is　not　my　specialty。　　I　am　not　a



humoristic　writer。　　In　all　soberness；　then；　all　I　am　certain　of



is　that　she　had　a　stick　to　swing。







No　ditch　or　wall　encompassed　my　abode。　　The　window　was　open；　the



door；　too；　stood　open　to　that　best　friend　of　my　work；　the　warm；



still　sunshine　of　the　wide　fields。　　They　lay　around　me　infinitely



helpful；　but；　truth　to　say；　I　had　not　known　for　weeks　whether　the



sun　shone　upon　the　earth　and　whether　the　stars　above　still　moved



on　their　appointed　courses。　　I　was　just　then　giving　up　some　days



of　my　allotted　span　to　the　last　chapters　of　the　novel　〃Nostromo；〃



a　tale　of　an　imaginary　（but　true）　seaboard；　which　is　still



mentioned　now　and　again；　and　indeed　kindly；　sometimes　in



connection　with　the　word　〃failure〃　and　sometimes　in　conjunction



with　the　word　〃astonishing。〃　　I　have　no　opinion　on　this



discrepancy。　　It's　the　sort　of　difference　that　can　never　be



settled。　　All　I　know　is　that；　for　twenty　months；　neglecting　the



common　joys　of　life　that　fall　to　the　lot　of　the　humblest　on　this



earth；　I　had；　like　the　prophet　of　old；　〃wrestled　with　the　Lord〃



for　my　creation；　for　the　headlands　of　the　coast；　for　the　darkness



of　the　Placid　Gulf；　the　light　on　the　snows；　the　clouds　in　the



sky；　and　for　the　breath　of　life　that　had　to　be　blown　into　the



shapes　of　men　and　women；　of　Latin　and　Saxon；　of　Jew　and　Gentile。　



These　are；　perhaps；　strong　words；　but　it　is　difficult　to



characterize　other　wise　the　intimacy　and　the　strain　of　a　creative



effort　in　which　mind　and　will　and　conscience　are　engaged　to　the



full；　hour　after　hour；　day　after　day；　away　from　the　world；　and　to



the　exclusion　of　all　that　makes　life　really　lovable　and



gentlesomething　for　which　a　material　parallel　can　only　be　found



in　the　everlasting　sombre　stress　of　the　westward　winter　passage



round　Cape　Horn。　　For　that；　too；　is　the　wrestling　of　men　with　the



might　of　their　Creator；　in　a　great　isolation　from　the　world；



without　the　amenities　and　consolations　of　life；　a　lonely　struggle



under　a　sense　of　overmatched　littleness；　for　no　reward　that　could



be　adequate；　but　for　the　mere　winning　of　a　longitude。　　Yet　a



certain　longitude；　once　won；　cannot　be　disputed。　　The　sun　and　the



stars　and　the　shape　of　your　earth　are　the　witnesses　of　your　gain；



whereas　a　handful　of　pages；　no　matter　how　much　you　have　made　them



your　own；　are　at　best　but　an　obscure　and　questionable　spoil。　



Here　they　are。　　〃Failure〃〃Astonishing〃：　take　your　choice；　or



perhaps　both；　or　neithera　mere　rustle　and　flutter　of　pieces　of



paper　settling　down　in　the　night；　and　undistinguishable；　like　the



snowflakes　of　a　great　drift　destined　to　melt　away　in　sunshine。







〃How　do　you　do？〃







It　was　the　greeting　of　the　general's　daughter。　　I　had　heard



nothingno　rustle；　no　footsteps。　　I　had　felt　only　a　moment



before　a　sort　of　premonition　of　evil；　I　had　the　sense　of　an



inauspicious　presencejust　that　much　warning　and　no　more；　and



then　came　the　sound　of　the　voice　and　the　jar　as　of　a　terrible



fall　from　a　great　heighta　fall；　let　us　say；　from　the　highest　of



the　clouds　floating　in　gentle　procession　over　the　fields　in　the



faint　westerly　air　of　that　July　afternoon。　　I　picked　myself　up



quickly；　of　course；　in　other　words；　I　jumped　up　from　my　chair



stunned　and　dazed；　every　nerve　quivering　with　the　pain　of　being



uprooted　out　of　one　world　and　flung　down　into　anotherperfectly



civil。







〃Oh！　　How　do　you　do？　　Won't　you　sit　down？〃







That's　what　I　said。　　This　horrible　but；　I　assure　you；　perfectly



true　reminiscence　tells　you　more　than　a　whole　volume　of



confessions　a　la　Jean　Jacques　Rousseau　would　do。　　Observe！　　I



didn't　howl　at　her；　or　start　up　setting　furniture；　or　throw



myself　on　the　floor　and　kick；　or　allow　myself　to　hint　in　any



other　way　at　the　appalling　magnitude　of　the　disaster。　　The　whole



world　of　Costaguana　（the　country；　you　may　remember；　of　my



seaboard　tale）；　men；　women；　headlands；　houses；　mountains；　town；



campo（there　was　not　a　single　brick；　stone；　or　grain　of　sand　of



its　soil　I　had　not　placed　in　position　with　my　own　hands）；　all　the



history；　geography；　politics；　finance；　the　wealth　of　Charles



Gould's　silver…mine；　and　the　splendour　of　the　magnificent　Capataz



de　Cargadores；　whose　name；　cried　out　in　the　night　（Dr。　Monygham



heard　it　pass　over　his　headin　Linda　Viola's　voice）；　dominated



even　after　death　the　dark　gulf　containing　his　conquests　of



treasure　and　loveall　that　had　come　down　crashing　about　my　ears。







I　felt　I　could　never　pick　up　the　piecesand　in　that　very　moment



I　was　saying；　〃Won't　you　sit　down？〃







The　sea　is　strong　medicine。　　Behold　what　the　quarter…deck



training　even　in　a　merchant　ship　will　do！　　This　episode　should



give　you　a　new　view　of　the　English　and　Scots　seamen　（a



much…caricatured　folk）　who　had　the　last　say　in　the　formation　of



my　character。　　One　is　nothing　if　not　modest；　but　in　this　disaster



I　think　I　have　done　some　honour　to　their　simple　teaching。　　〃Won't



you　sit　down？〃　　Very　fair；　very　fair；　indeed。　　She　sat　down。　Her



amused　glance　strayed　all　over　the　room。







There　were　pages　of　MS。　on　the　table　and　under　the　table；　a　batch



of　typed　copy　on　a　chair；　single　leaves　had　fluttered　away　into



distant　corners；　there　were　there　living　pages；　pages　scored　and



wounded；　dead　pages　that　would　be　burned　at　the　end　of　the



daythe　litter　of　a　cruel　battle…field；　of　a　long；　long；　and



desperate　fray。　　Long！　　I　suppose　I　went　to　bed　sometimes；　and



got　up　the　same　number　of　times。　　Yes；　I　suppose　I　slept；　and　ate



the　food　put　before　me；　and　talked　connectedly　to　my　household　on



suitable　occasions。　　But　I　had　never　been　aware　of　the　even　flow



of　daily　life；　made　easy　and　noiseless　for　me　by　a　silent；



watchful；　tireless　affection。　　Indeed；　it　seemed　to　me　that　I　had



been　sitting　at　that　table　surrounded　by　the　litter　of　a



desperate　fray　for　days　and　nights　on　end。　　It　seemed　so；　because



of　the　intense　weariness　of　which　that　interruption　had　made　me



awarethe　awful　disenchantment　of　a　mind　realizing　suddenly　the



futility　of　an　enormous　task；　joined　to　a　bodily　fatigue　such　as



no　ordinary　amount　of　fairly　heavy　physical　labour　could　ever



account　for。　　I　have　carried　bags　of　wheat　on　my　back；　bent



almost　double　under　a　ship's　deck…beams；　from　six　in　the　morning



till　six　in　the　evening　（with　an　hour　and　a　half　off　for　meals）；



so　I　ought　to　know。







And　I　love　letters。　　I　am　jealous　of　their　honour　and　concerned



for　the　dignity　and　comeliness　of　their　service。　　I　was；　most



likely；　the　only　writer　that　neat　lady　had　ever　caught　in　the



exercise　of　his　craft；　and　it　distressed　me　not　to　be　able　to



remember　when　it　was　that　I　dressed　myself　last；　and　how。　　No



doubt　that　would　be　all　right　in　essentials。　　The　fortune　of　the



house　included　a　pair　of　gray…blue　watchful　eyes　that　would　see



to　that。　　But　I　felt；　somehow；　as　grimy　as　a　Costaguana　lepero



after　a　day's　fighting　in　the　streets；　rumpled　all　over　and



dishevelled　down　to　my　very　heels。　　And　I　am　afraid　I　blinked



stupidly。　　All　this　was　bad　for　the　honour　of　letters　and　the



dignity　of　their　service。　　Seen　indistinctly　through　the　dust　of



my　collapsed　universe；　the　good　lady　glanced　about　the　room　with



a　slightly　amused　serenity。　　And　she　was　smiling。　　What　on　earth