father and son-第15部分

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My　Father　had　never　admired　Sir　Charles　Lyell。　I　think　that　the　famous　'Lord　Chancellor　manner'　of　the　geologist　intimidated　him；　and　we　undervalue　the　intelligence　of　those　whose　conversation　puts　us　at　a　disadvantage。　For　Darwin　and　Hooker；　on　the　other　hand；　he　had　a　profound　esteem；　and　I　know　not　whether　this　had　anything　to　do　with　the　fact　that　he　chose；　for　his　impetuous　experiment　in　reaction；　the　field　of　geology；　rather　than　that　of　zoology　or　botany。　Lyell　had　been　threatening　to　publish　a　book　on　the　geological　history　of　Man；　which　was　to　be　a　bombshell　flung　into　the　camp　of　the　catastrophists。　My　Father；　after　long　reflection；　prepared　a　theory　of　his　own；　which；　as　he　fondly　hoped；　would　take　the　wind　out　of　Lyell's　sails；　and　justify　geology　to　godly　readers　of　'Genesis'。　It　was；　very　briefly；　that　there　had　been　no　gradual　modification　of　the　surface　of　the　earth；　or　slow　development　of　organic　forms；　but　that　when　the　catastrophic　act　of　creation　took　place；　the　world　presented；　instantly；　the　structural　appearance　of　a　planet　on　which　life　had　long　existed。

The　theory；　coarsely　enough；　and　to　my　Father's　great　indignation；　was　defined　by　a　hasty　press　as　being　thisthat　God　hid　the　fossils　in　the　rocks　in　order　to　tempt　geologists　into　infidelity。　In　truth；　it　was　the　logical　and　inevitable　conclusion　of　accepting；　literally；　the　doctrine　of　a　sudden　act　of　creation；　it　emphasized　the　fact　that　any　breach　in　the　circular　course　of　nature　could　be　conceived　only　on　the　supposition　that　the　object　created　bore　false　witness　to　past　processes；　which　had　never　taken　place。　For　instance；　Adam　would　certainly　possess　hair　and　teeth　and　bones　in　a　condition　which　it　must　have　taken　many　years　to　accomplish；　yet　he　was　created　full…grown　yesterday。　He　would　certainlythough　Sir　Thomas　Browne　denied　itdisplay　an　'omphalos'；　yet　no　umbilical　cord　had　ever　attached　him　to　a　mother。

Never　was　a　book　cast　upon　the　waters　with　greater　anticipations　of　success　than　was　this　curious；　this　obstinate；　this　fanatical　volume。　My　Father　lived　in　a　fever　of　suspense；　waiting　for　the　tremendous　issue。　This　'Omphalos'　of　his；　he　thought；　was　to　bring　all　the　turmoil　of　scientific　speculation　to　a　close；　fling　geology　into　the　arms　of　Scripture；　and　make　the　lion　eat　grass　with　the　lamb。　It　was　not　surprising；　he　admitted；　that　there　had　been　experienced　an　ever…increasing　discord　between　the　facts　which　geology　brings　to　light　and　the　direct　statements　of　the　early　chapters　of　'Genesis'。　Nobody　was　to　blame　for　that。　My　Father；　and　my　Father　alone；　possessed　the　secret　of　the　enigma；　he　alone　held　the　key　which　could　smoothly　open　the　lock　of　geological　mystery。　He　offered　it；　with　a　glowing　gesture；　to　atheists　and　Christians　alike。　This　was　to　be　the　universal　panacea；　this　the　system　of　intellectual　therapeutics　which　could　not　but　heal　all　the　maladies　of　the　age。　But；　alas！　atheists　and　Christians　alike　looked　at　it；　and　laughed；　and　threw　it　away。

In　the　course　of　that　dismal　winter；　as　the　post　began　to　bring　in　private　letters；　few　and　chilly；　and　public　reviews；　many　and　scornful；　my　Father　looked　in　vain　for　the　approval　of　the　churches；　and　in　vain　for　the　acquiescence　of　the　scientific　societies；　and　in　vain　for　the　gratitude　of　those　'thousands　of　thinking　persons'；　which　he　had　rashly　assured　himself　of　receiving。　As　his　reconciliation　of　Scripture　statements　and　geological　deductions　was　welcomed　nowhere；　as　Darwin　continued　silent；　and　the　youthful　Huxley　was　scornful；　and　even　Charles　Kingsley；　from　whom　my　Father　had　expected　the　most　instant　appreciation；　wrote　that　he　could　not　'give　up　the　painful　and　slow　conclusion　of　five　and　twenty　years'　study　of　geology；　and　believe　that　God　has　written　on　the　rocks　one　enormous　and　superfluous　lie'；as　all　this　happened　or　failed　to　happen；　a　gloom；　cold　and　dismal；　descended　upon　our　morning　teacups。　It　was　what　the　poets　mean　by　an　'inspissated'　gloom；　it　thickened　day　by　day；　as　hope　and　self…confidence　evaporated　in　thin　clouds　of　disappointment。　My　Father　was　not　prepared　for　such　a　fate。　He　had　been　the　spoiled　darling　of　the　public；　the　constant　favourite　of　the　press；　and　now；　like　the　dark　angels　of　old；

　　　　　　　　　　so　huge　a　rout　Encumbered　him　with　ruin。

He　could　not　recover　from　amazement　at　having　offended　everybody　by　an　enterprise　which　had　been　undertaken　in　the　cause　of　universal　reconciliation。

During　that　grim　season；　my　Father　was　no　lively　companion；　and　circumstance　after　circumstance　combined　to　drive　him　further　from　humanity。　He　missed　more　than　ever　the　sympathetic　ear　of　my　Mother；　there　was　present　to　support　him　nothing　of　that　artful；　female　casuistry　which　insinuates　into　the　wounded　consciousness　of　a　man　the　conviction　that；　after　all；　he　is　right　and　all　the　rest　of　the　world　is　wrong。　My　Father　used　to　tramp　in　solitude　around　and　around　the　red　ploughed　field　which　was　going　to　be　his　lawn；　or　sheltering　himself　from　the　thin　Devonian　rain；　pace　up　and　down　the　still…naked　verandah　where　blossoming　creepers　were　to　be。　And　I　think　that　there　was　added　to　his　chagrin　with　all　his　fellow　mortals　a　first　tincture　of　that　heresy　which　was　to　attack　him　later　on。　It　was　now　that；　I　fancy；　he　began；　in　his　depression；　to　be　angry　with　God。　How　much　devotion　had　he　given；　how　many　sacrifices　had　he　made；　only　to　be　left　storming　around　this　red　morass　with　no　one　in　all　the　world　to　care　for　him　except　one　pale…faced　child　with　its　cheek　pressed　to　the　window！

After　one　or　two　brilliant　excursions　to　the　sea；　winter；　in　its　dampest；　muddiest；　most　languid　form；　had　fallen　upon　us　and　shut　us　in。　It　was　a　dreary　winter　for　the　wifeless　man　and　the　motherless　boy。　We　had　come　into　the　house；　in　precipitate　abandonment　to　that　supposed　answer　to　prayer；　a　great　deal　too　soon。　In　order　to　rake　together　the　lump　sum　for　buying　it；　my　Father　had　denuded　himself　of　almost　everything；　and　our　sticks　of　chairs　and　tables　filled　but　two　or　three　rooms。　Half　the　little　house；　or　'villa'　as　we　called　it；　was　not　papered；　two…　thirds　were　not　furnished。　The　workmen　were　still　finishing　the　outside　when　we　arrived；　and　in　that　connection　I　recall　a　little　incident　which　exhibits　my　Father's　morbid　delicacy　of　conscience。　He　was　accustomed　in　his　brighter　momentsand　this　was　before　the　publication　of　his　'Omphalos'occasionally　to　sing　loud　Dorsetshire　songs　of　his　early　days；　in　a　strange；　broad　Wessex　lingo　that　I　loved。　One　October　afternoon　he　and　I　were　sitting　on　the　verandah；　and　my　Father　was　singing；　just　around　the　corner；　out　of　sight；　two　carpenters　were　putting　up　the　framework　of　a　greenhouse。　In　a　pause；　one　of　them　said　to　his　fellow：　'He　can　zing　a　zong；　zo　well's　another；　though　he　be　a　minister。'　My　Father；　who　was　holding　my　hand　loosely；　clutched　it；　and　looking　up；　I　saw　his　eyes　darken。　He　never　sang　a　secular　song　again　during　the　whole　of　his　life。

Later　in　the　year；　and　after　his　literary　misfortune；　his　conscience　became　more　troublesome　than　ever。　I　think　he　considered　the　failure　of　his　attempt　at　the　reconciliation　of　science　with　religion　to　have　been　intended　by　God　as　a　punishment　for　something　he　had　done　or　left　undone。　In　those　brooding　tramps　around　and　around　the　garden；　his　soul　was　on　its　knees　searching　the　corners　of　his　conscience　for　some　sin　of　omission　or　commission；　and　one　by　one　every　pleasure；　every　recreation；　every　trifle　scraped　out　of　the　dust　of　past　experience；　was　magnified　into　a　huge　offence。　He　thought　that　the　smallest　evidence　of　levity；　the　least　unbending　to　human　instinct；　might　be　seized　by　those　around　him　as　evidence　of　inconsistency；　and　might　lead　the　weaker　brethren　into　offence。　The　incident　of　the　carpenters　and　the　comic　song　is　typical　of　a　condition　of　mind　which　now　possessed　my　Father；　in　which　act　after　act　became　taboo；　not　because　each　was　sinful　in　itself；　but　because　it　might　lead　others　into　sin。

I　have　the　conviction　that　Miss　Marks　was　now　mightily　afraid　of　my　Father。　Whenever　she　could；　she　withdrew　to　the　room　she　called　her　'boudoir'；　a　small；　chilly　apartment；　sparsely　furnished；　looking　over　what　was　in　process　of　becoming　the　vegetable　garden。　Very　properly；　that　she　might　have　some　sanctuary；　Miss　Marks　forbade　me　to　enter　this　virginal　bower；　which；　of　course；　became　to　me　an　object　of　harrowing　curiosity。　Through　the　key…hole　I　could　see　practically　nothing；　one　day　I　contrived　to　slip　inside；　and　discovered　that　there　was　nothing　to　see　but　a　plain　bedstead　and　a　toilet…table；　void　of　all　attraction。　In　this　'boudoir'；　on　winter　afternoons；　a　fire　would　be　lighted；　and　Miss　Marks　would　withdraw　to　it；　not　seen　by　us　anymore　between　high…tea　and　the　apocalyptic　exercise　known　as　'worship'　in　less　strenuous　households　much　less　austerely　practised　under　the　name　of　'family　prayers'。　Left　meanwhile　to　our　own　devices；　my　Father　would　mainly　be　reading　his　book　or　paper　held　close　up　to　the　candle；　while　his　lips　and　heavy　eyebrows　occasionally　quivered　and　palpitated；　with　literary　ardour；　in　a　manner　strangely　exciting　to　me。　Miss　Marks；　in　a　very　high　cap；　and　her　large　teeth　shining；　would　occasionally　appear　in　the　doorway；　desiring；　with　spurious　geniality；　to　know　how　we　were　'getting　on'。　But　on　these　occasions　neither　of　us　replied　to　Miss　Marks。

Sometimes　in　the　course　of　this　winter；　my　Father　and　I　had　long　cosy　talks　together　over　the　fire。　Our　favourite　subject　was　murders。　I　wonder　whether　little　boys　of　eight；　soon　to　go　upstairs　alone　at　night；　often　discuss　violent　crime　with　a　widower…papa？　The　practice；　I　cannot　help　thinking；　is　unusual；　it　was；　however；　consecutive　with　us。　We　tried　other　secular　subjects；　but　we　were　sure　to　come　around　at　last　to　'what　do　you　suppose　they　really　did　with　the　body？'　I　was　told；　a　thrilled　listener；　the　adventure　of　Mrs　Manning；　who　killed　a　gentleman　on　the　stairs　and　buried　him　in　quick…lime　in　the　back…kitchen；　and　it　was　at　this　time　that　I　learned　the　useful　historical　fact；　which　abides　with　me　after　half　a　century；　that　Mrs。　Manning　was　hanged　in　black　satin；　which　thereupon　went　wholly　out　of　fashion　in　England。　I　also　heard　about　Burke　and　Hare；　whose　story　nearly　froze　me　into　stone　with　h