memories and portraits- 第6部分

II





I　would　fain　strike　a　note　that　should　be　more　heroical；　but　the　

ground　of　all　youth's　suffering；　solitude；　hysteria；　and　haunting　

of　the　grave；　is　nothing　else　than　naked；　ignorant　selfishness。　　It　

is　himself　that　he　sees　dead；　those　are　his　virtues　that　are　

forgotten；　his　is　the　vague　epitaph。　　Pity　him　but　the　more；　if　

pity　be　your　cue；　for　where　a　man　is　all　pride；　vanity；　and　

personal　aspiration；　he　goes　through　fire　unshielded。　　In　every　

part　and　corner　of　our　life；　to　lose　oneself　is　to　be　gainer；　to　

forget　oneself　is　to　be　happy；　and　this　poor；　laughable　and　tragic　

fool　has　not　yet　learned　the　rudiments；　himself；　giant　Prometheus；　

is　still　ironed　on　the　peaks　of　Caucasus。　　But　by…and…by　his　truant　

interests　will　leave　that　tortured　body；　slip　abroad　and　gather　

flowers。　　Then　shall　death　appear　before　him　in　an　altered　guise；　

no　longer　as　a　doom　peculiar　to　himself；　whether　fate's　crowning　

injustice　or　his　own　last　vengeance　upon　those　who　fail　to　value　

him；　but　now　as　a　power　that　wounds　him　far　more　tenderly；　not　

without　solemn　compensations；　taking　and　giving；　bereaving　and　yet　

storing　up。



The　first　step　for　all　is　to　learn　to　the　dregs　our　own　ignoble　

fallibility。　　When　we　have　fallen　through　storey　after　storey　of　

our　vanity　and　aspiration；　and　sit　rueful　among　the　ruins；　then　it　

is　that　we　begin　to　measure　the　stature　of　our　friends：　how　they　

stand　between　us　and　our　own　contempt；　believing　in　our　best；　how；　

linking　us　with　others；　and　still　spreading　wide　the　influential　

circle；　they　weave　us　in　and　in　with　the　fabric　of　contemporary　

life；　and　to　what　petty　size　they　dwarf　the　virtues　and　the　vices　

that　appeared　gigantic　in　our　youth。　　So　that　at　the　last；　when　

such　a　pin　falls　out　…　when　there　vanishes　in　the　least　breath　of　

time　one　of　those　rich　magazines　of　life　on　which　we　drew　for　our　

supply　…　when　he　who　had　first　dawned　upon　us　as　a　face　among　the　

faces　of　the　city；　and；　still　growing；　came　to　bulk　on　our　regard　

with　those　clear　features　of　the　loved　and　living　man；　falls　in　a　

breath　to　memory　and　shadow；　there　falls　along　with　him　a　whole　

wing　of　the　palace　of　our　life。





III





One　such　face　I　now　remember；　one　such　blank　some　half…a…dozen　of　

us　labour　to　dissemble。　　In　his　youth　he　was　most　beautiful　in　

person；　most　serene　and　genial　by　disposition；　full　of　racy　words　

and　quaint　thoughts。　　Laughter　attended　on　his　coming。　　He　had　the　

air　of　a　great　gentleman；　jovial　and　royal　with　his　equals；　and　to　

the　poorest　student　gentle　and　attentive。　　Power　seemed　to　reside　

in　him　exhaustless；　we　saw　him　stoop　to　play　with　us；　but　held　him　

marked　for　higher　destinies；　we　loved　his　notice；　and　I　have　rarely　

had　my　pride　more　gratified　than　when　he　sat　at　my　father's　table；　

my　acknowledged　friend。　　So　he　walked　among　us；　both　hands　full　of　

gifts；　carrying　with　nonchalance　the　seeds　of　a　most　influential　

life。



The　powers　and　the　ground　of　friendship　is　a　mystery；　but；　looking　

back；　I　can　discern　that；　in　part；　we　loved　the　thing　he　was；　for　

some　shadow　of　what　he　was　to　be。　　For　with　all　his　beauty；　power；　

breeding；　urbanity　and　mirth；　there　was　in　those　days　something　

soulless　in　our　friend。　　He　would　astonish　us　by　sallies；　witty；　

innocent　and　inhumane；　and　by　a　misapplied　Johnsonian　pleasantry；　

demolish　honest　sentiment。　　I　can　still　see　and　hear　him；　as　he　

went　his　way　along　the　lamplit　streets；　LA　CI　DAREM　LA　MANO　on　his　

lips；　a　noble　figure　of　a　youth；　but　following　vanity　and　

incredulous　of　good；　and　sure　enough；　somewhere　on　the　high　seas　of　

life；　with　his　health；　his　hopes；　his　patrimony　and　his　self…

respect；　miserably　went　down。



From　this　disaster；　like　a　spent　swimmer；　he　came　desperately　

ashore；　bankrupt　of　money　and　consideration；　creeping　to　the　family　

he　had　deserted；　with　broken　wing；　never　more　to　rise。　　But　in　his　

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　on