四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第4部分

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the　day's　delight。　I　went　bare…headed；　that　the　golden　beams　might　shed　upon　me　their　unstinted　blessing。　That　day　I　must　have　walked　some　thirty　miles；　yet　I　knew　not　fatigue。　Could　I　but　have　once　more　the　strength　which　then　supported　me！
I　had　stepped　into　a　new　life。　Between　the　man　I　had　been　and　that　which　I　now　became　there　was　a　very　notable　difference。　In　a　single　day　I　had　matured　astonishingly；　which　means；　no　doubt；　that　I　suddenly　entered　into　conscious　enjoyment　of　powers　and　sensibilities　which　had　been　developing　unknown　to　me。　To　instance　only　one　point：　till　then　I　had　cared　very　little　about　plants　and　flowers；　but　now　I　found　myself　eagerly　interested　in　every　blossom；　in　every　growth　of　the　wayside。　As　I　walked　I　gathered　a　quantity　of　plants；　promising　myself　to　buy　a　book　on　the　morrow　and　identify　them　all。　Nor　was　it　a　passing　humour；　never　since　have　I　lost　my　pleasure　in　the　flowers　of　the　field；　and　my　desire　to　know　them　all。　My　ignorance　at　the　time　of　which　I　speak　seems　to　me　now　very　shameful；　but　I　was　merely　in　the　case　of　ordinary　people；　whether　living　in　town　or　country。　How　many　could　give　the　familiar　name　of　half　a　dozen　plants　plucked　at　random　from　beneath　the　hedge　in　springtime？　To　me　the　flowers　became　symbolical　of　a　great　release；　of　a　wonderful　awakening。　My　eyes　had　all　at　once　been　opened；　till　then　I　had　walked　in　darkness；　yet　knew　it　not。
Well　do　I　remember　the　rambles　of　that　springtide。　I　had　a　lodging　in　one　of　those　outer　streets　of　Exeter　which　savour　more　of　country　than　of　town；　and　every　morning　I　set　forth　to　make　discoveries。　The　weather　could　not　have　been　more　kindly；　I　felt　the　influences　of　a　climate　I　had　never　known；　there　was　a　balm　in　the　air　which　soothed　no　less　than　it　exhilarated　me。　Now　inland；　now　seaward；　I　followed　the　windings　of　the　Exe。　One　day　I　wandered　in　rich；　warm　valleys；　by　orchards　bursting　into　bloom；　from　farmhouse　to　farmhouse；　each　more　beautiful　than　the　other；　and　from　hamlet　to　hamlet　bowered　amid　dark　evergreens；　the　next；　I　was　on　pine…clad　heights；　gazing　over　moorland　brown　with　last　year's　heather；　feeling　upon　my　face　a　wind　from　the　white…flecked　Channel。　So　intense　was　my　delight　in　the　beautiful　world　about　me　that　I　forgot　even　myself；　I　enjoyed　without　retrospect　or　forecast；　I；　the　egoist　in　grain；　forgot　to　scrutinize　my　own　emotions；　or　to　trouble　my　happiness　by　parison　with　others'　happier　fortune。　It　was　a　healthful　time；　it　gave　me　a　new　lease　of　life；　and　taught　me……in　so　far　as　I　was　teachable……how　to　make　use　of　it。
X
Mentally　and　physically；　I　must　be　much　older　than　my　years。　At　three…and…fifty　a　man　ought　not　to　be　brooding　constantly　on　his　vanished　youth。　These　days　of　spring　which　I　should　be　enjoying　for　their　own　sake；　do　but　turn　me　to　reminiscence；　and　my　memories　are　of　the　springs　that　were　lost。
Some　day　I　will　go　to　London　and　revisit　all　the　places　where　I　housed　in　the　time　of　my　greatest　poverty。　I　have　not　seen　them　for　a　quarter　of　a　century　or　so。　Not　long　ago；　had　any　one　asked　me　how　I　felt　about　these　memories；　I　should　have　said　that　there　were　certain　street　names；　certain　mental　images　of　obscure　London；　which　made　me　wretched　as　often　as　they　came　before　me；　but；　in　truth；　it　is　a　very　long　time　since　I　was　moved　to　any　sort　of　bitterness　by　that　retrospect　of　things　hard　and　squalid。　Now；　owning　all　the　misery　of　it　in　parison　with　what　should　have　been；　I　find　that　part　of　life　interesting　and　pleasant　to　look　back　upon……greatly　more　so　than　many　subsequent　times；　when　I　lived　amid　decencies　and　had　enough　to　eat。　Some　day　I　will　go　to　London；　and　spend　a　day　or　two　amid　the　dear　old　horrors。　Some　of　the　places；　I　know；　have　disappeared。　I　see　the　winding　way　by　which　I　went　from　Oxford　Street；　at　the　foot　of　Tottenham　Court　Road；　to　Leicester　Square；　and；　somewhere　in　the　labyrinth　（I　think　of　it　as　always　foggy　and　gas…lit）　was　a　shop　which　had　pies　and　puddings　in　the　window；　puddings　and　pies　kept　hot　by　steam　rising　through　perforated　metal。　How　many　a　time　have　I　stood　there；　raging　with　hunger；　unable　to　purchase　even　one　pennyworth　of　food！　The　shop　and　the　street　have　long　since　vanished；　does　any　man　remember　them　so　feelingly　as　I？　But　I　think　most　of　my　haunts　are　still　in　existence：　to　tread　again　those　pavements；　to　look　at　those　grimy　doorways　and　purblind　windows；　would　affect　me　strangely。
I　see　that　alley　hidden　on　the　west　side　of　Tottenham　Court　Road；　where；　after　living　in　a　back　bedroom　on　the　top　floor；　I　had　to　exchange　for　the　front　cellar；　there　was　a　difference；　if　I　remember　rightly；　of　sixpence　a　week；　and　sixpence；　in　those　days；　was　a　very　great　consideration……why；　it　meant　a　couple　of　meals。　（I　once　FOUND　sixpence　in　the　street；　and　had　an　exultation　which　is　vivid　in　me　at　this　moment。）　The　front　cellar　was　stone…floored；　its　furniture　was　a　table；　a　chair；　a　wash…stand；　and　a　bed；　the　window；　which　of　course　had　never　been　cleaned　since　it　was　put　in；　received　light　through　a　flat　grating　in　the　alley　above。　Here　I　lived；　here　I　WROTE。　Yes；　〃literary　work〃　was　done　at　that　filthy　deal　table；　on　which；　by　the　bye；　lay　my　Homer；　my　Shakespeare；　and　the　few　other　books　I　then　possessed。　At　night；　as　I　lay　in　bed；　I　used　to　hear　the　tramp；　tramp　of　a　posse　of　policemen　who　passed　along　the　alley　on　their　way　to　relieve　guard；　their　heavy　feet　sometimes　sounded　on　the　grating　above　my　window。
I　recall　a　tragi…ical　incident　of　life　at　the　British　Museum。　Once；　on　going　down　into　the　lavatory　to　wash　my　hands；　I　became　aware　of　a　notice　newly　set　up　above　the　row　of　basins。　It　ran　somehow　thus：　〃Readers　are　requested　to　bear　in　mind　that　these　basins　are　to　be　used　only　for　casual　ablutions。〃　Oh；　the　significance　of　that　inscription！　Had　I　not　myself；　more　than　once；　been　glad　to　use　this　soap　and　water　more　largely　than　the　sense　of　the　authorities　contemplated？　And　there　were　poor　fellows　working　under　the　great　dome　whose　need；　in　this　respect；　was　greater　than　mine。　I　laughed　heartily　at　the　notice；　but　it　meant　so　much。
Some　of　my　abodes　I　have　utterly　forgotten；　for　one　reason　or　another；　I　was　always　moving……an　easy　matter　when　all　my　possessions　lay　in　one　small　trunk。　Sometimes　the　people　of　the　house　were　intolerable。　In　those　days　I　was　not　fastidious；　and　I　seldom　had　any　but　the　slightest　intercourse　with　those　who　dwelt　under　the　same　roof；　yet　it　happened　now　and　then　that　I　was　driven　away　by　human　proximity　which　passed　my　endurance。　In　other　cases　I　had　to　flee　from　pestilential　conditions。　How　I　escaped　mortal　illness　in　some　of　those　places　（miserably　fed　as　I　always　was；　and　always　over…working　myself）　is　a　great　mystery。　The　worst　that　befell　me　was　a　slight　attack　of　diphtheria……traceable；　I　imagine；　to　the　existence　of　a　dust…bin　UNDER　THE　STAIRCASE。　When　I　spoke　of　the　matter　to　my　landlady；　she　was　at　first　astonished；　then　wrathful；　and　my　departure　was　expedited　with　many　insults。
On　the　whole；　however；　I　had　nothing　much　to　plain　of　except　my　poverty。　You　cannot　expect　great　fort　in　London　for　four…and…　sixpence　a　week……the　most　I　ever　could　pay　for　a　〃furnished　room　with　attendance〃　in　those　days　of　pretty　stern　apprenticeship。　And　I　was　easily　satisfied；　I　wanted　only　a　little　walled　space　in　which　I　could　seclude　myself；　free　from　external　annoyance。　Certain　forts　of　civilized　life　I　ceased　even　to　regret；　a　stair…carpet　I　regarded　as　rather　extravagant；　and　a　carpet　on　the　floor　of　my　room　was　luxury　undreamt　of。　My　sleep　was　sound；　I　have　passed　nights　of　dreamless　repose　on　beds　which　it　would　now　make　my　bones　ache　only　to　look　at。　A　door　that　locked；　a　fire　in　winter；　a　pipe　of　tobacco……these　were　things　essential；　and；　granted　these；　I　have　been　often　richly　contented　in　the　squalidest　garret。　One　such　lodging　is　often　in　my　memory；　it　was　at　Islington；　not　far　from　the　City　Road；　my　window　looked　upon　the　Regent's　Canal。　As　often　as　I　think　of　it；　I　recall　what　was　perhaps　the　worst　London　fog　I　ever　knew；　for　three　successive　days；　at　least；　my　lamp　had　to　be　kept　burning；　when　I　looked　through　the　window；　I　saw；　at　moments；　a　few　blurred　lights　in　the　street　beyond　the　Canal；　but　for　the　most　part　nothing　but　a　yellowish　darkness；　which　caused　the　glass　to　reflect　the　firelight　and　my　own　face。　Did　I　feel　miserable？　Not　a　bit　of　it。　The　enveloping　gloom　seemed　to　make　my　chimney…corner　only　the　more　cosy。　I　had　coals；　oil；　tobacco　in　sufficient　quantity；　I　had　a　book　to　read；　I　had　work　which　interested　me；　so　I　went　forth　only　to　get　my　meals　at　a　City　Road　coffee…shop；　and　hastened　back　to　the　fireside。　Oh；　my　ambitions；　my　hopes！　How　surprised　and　indignant　I　should　have　felt　had　I　known　of　any　one　who　pitied　me！
Nature　took　revenge　now　and　then。　In　winter　time　I　had　fierce　sore　throats；　sometimes　acpanied　by　long　and　savage　headaches。　Doctoring；　of　course；　never　occurred　to　me；　I　just　locked　my　door；　and；　if　I　felt　very　bad　indeed；　went　to　bed……to　lie　there；　without　food　or　drink；　till　I　was　able　to　look　after　myself　again。　I　could　never　ask　from　a　landlady　anything　which　was　not　in　our　bond；　and　only　once　or　twice　did　I　receive　spontaneous　offer　of　help。　Oh；　it　is　wonderful　to　think　of　all　that　youth　can　endure！　What　a　poor　feeble　wretch　I　now　seem　to　myself；　when　I　remember　thirty　years　ago！
XI
Would　I　live　it　over　again；　that　life　of　the　garret　and　the　cellar？　Not　with　the　assurance　of　fifty　years'　contentment　such　as　I　now　enjoy　to　follow　upon　it！　With　man's　infinitely　pathetic　power　of　resignation；　one　sees　the　thing　on　its　better　side；　forgets　all　the　worst　of　it；　makes　out　a　case　for　the　resolute　optimist。　Oh；　but　the　waste　of　energy；　of　zeal；　of　youth！　In　another　mood；　I　could　shed　tears　over　that　spectacle　of　rare　vitality　condemned　to　sordid　strife。　The　pity　of　it！　And……if　our　conscience　mean　anything　at　all……the　bitter　wrong！
Without　seeking　for　Utopia；　think　what　a　man's　youth　might　be。　I　suppose　not　one　in　every　thousand　uses　half　the　possibilities　of　natural　joy　and　delightful　effort　which　lie　in　those　years　between　seventeen　and　seven…and…twenty。　All　but　all　men　have　to　look　back　upon　beginnings　of　life　deformed　and　discoloured　by　necessity；　accident；　wantonness。　If　a　young　man　avoid　the　grosser　pitfalls；　if　he　keep　his　eye　fixed　steadily　on　what　is　called　the　main　chance；　if；　without　flagrant　selfishness；　he　prudently　subdue　every　interest　to　his　own　（by　〃interest〃　understanding　only　material　good）；　he　is　putting　his　youth　to　profit；　he　is　an　exemplar　and　a　subject　of　pride。　I　doubt　whether；　in　our　civilization；　any　other　ideal　is　easy　of　pursuit　by　the　youngster　face　to　face　with　life。　It　is　the　only　course　altogether　safe。　Yet　pare　it　with　what　might　be；　if　men　respected　manhood；　if　human　reason　were　at　the　service　of　human　happiness。　Some　few　there　are　who　can　look　back　upon　a　boyhood　of　natural　delights；　followed　by　a　decade　or　so　of　fine　energies　honourably　put　to　use；　blended　therewith；　perhaps；　a　memory　of　joy　so　exquisite　that　it　tunes　all　life　unto　the　end；　they　are　almost　as　rare　as　poets。　The　vast　majority　think　not　of　their　youth　at　all；　or；　glancing　backward；　are　unconscious　of　lost　opportunity；　unaware　of　degradation　suffered。　Only　by　contrast　with　this　thick…witted　multitude　can　I　pride