father and son-第3部分

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The　peculiarities　of　a　family　life；　founded　upon　such　principles；　are；　in　relation　to　a　little　child；　obvious；　but　I　may　be　permitted　to　recapitulate　them。　Here　was　perfect　purity；　perfect　intrepidity；　perfect　abnegation；　yet　there　was　also　narrowness；　isolation；　an　absence　of　perspective；　let　it　be　boldly　admitted；　an　absence　of　humanity。　And　there　was　a　curious　mixture　of　humbleness　and　arrogance；　entire　resignation　to　the　will　of　God　and　not　less　entire　disdain　of　the　judgement　and　opinion　of　man。　My　parents　founded　every　action；　every　attitude；　upon　their　interpretation　of　the　Scriptures；　and　upon　the　guidance　of　the　Divine　Will　as　revealed　to　them　by　direct　answer　to　prayer。　Their　ejaculation　in　the　face　of　any　dilemma　was；　'Let　us　cast　it　before　the　Lord！'

So　confident　were　they　of　the　reality　of　their　intercourse　with　God；　that　they　asked　for　no　other　guide。　They　recognized　no　spiritual　authority　among　men；　they　subjected　themselves　to　no　priest　or　minister；　they　troubled　their　consciences　about　no　current　manifestation　of　'religious　opinion'。　They　lived　in　an　intellectual　cell；　bounded　at　its　sides　by　the　walls　of　their　own　house；　but　open　above　to　the　very　heart　of　the　uttermost　heavens。

This；　then；　was　the　scene　in　which　the　soul　of　a　little　child　was　planted；　not　as　in　an　ordinary　open　flower…border　or　carefully　tended　social　parterre；　but　as　on　a　ledge；　split　in　the　granite　of　some　mountain。　The　ledge　was　hung　between　night　and　the　snows　on　one　hand；　and　the　dizzy　depths　of　the　world　upon　the　other；　was　furnished　with　just　soil　enough　for　a　gentian　to　struggle　skywards　and　open　its　stiff　azure　stars；　and　offered　no　lodgement；　no　hope　of　salvation；　to　any　rootlet　which　should　stray　beyond　its　inexorable　limits。


CHAPTER　II

OUT　of　the　darkness　of　my　infancy　there　comes　only　one　flash　of　memory。　I　am　seated　alone；　in　my　baby…chair；　at　a　dinner…table　set　for　several　people。　Somebody　brings　in　a　leg　of　mutton；　puts　it　down　close　to　me；　and　goes　out。　I　am　again　alone；　gazing　at　two　low　windows；　wide　open　upon　a　garden。　Suddenly；　noiselessly；　a　large；　long　animal　（obviously　a　greyhound）　appears　at　one　window…sill；　slips　into　the　room；　seizes　the　leg　of　mutton　and　slips　out　again。　When　this　happened　I　could　not　yet　talk。　The　accomplishment　of　speech　came　to　me　very　late；　doubtless　because　I　never　heard　young　voices。　Many　years　later；　when　I　mentioned　this　recollection；　there　was　a　shout　of　laughter　and　surprise：　'That；　then；　was　what　became　of　the　mutton！　It　was　not　you；　who；　as　your　Uncle　A。　pretended；　ate　it　up；　in　the　twinkling　of　an　eye；　bone　and　all！'

I　suppose　that　it　was　the　startling　intensity　of　this　incident　which　stamped　it　upon　a　memory　from　which　all　other　impressions　of　this　early　date　have　vanished。

The　adventure　of　the　leg　of　mutton　occurred；　evidently；　at　the　house　of　my　Mother's　brothers；　for　my　parents；　at　this　date；　visited　no　other。　My　uncles　were　not　religious　men；　but　they　had　an　almost　filial　respect　for　my　Mother；　who　was　several　years　senior　to　the　elder　of　them。　When　the　catastrophe　of　my　grandfather's　fortune　had　occurred；　they　had　not　yet　left　school。　My　Mother；　in　spite　of　an　extreme　dislike　of　teaching；　which　was　native　to　her；　immediately　accepted　the　situation　of　a　governess　in　the　family　of　an　Irish　nobleman。　The　mansion　was　only　to　be　approached；　as　Miss　Edgeworth　would　have　said；　'through　eighteen　sloughs；　at　the　imminent　peril　of　one's　life'；　and　when　one　had　reached　it；　the　mixture　of　opulence　and　squalor；　of　civility　and　savagery；　was　unspeakable。　But　my　Mother　was　well　paid；　and　she　stayed　in　this　distasteful　environment；　doing　the　work　she　hated　most；　while　with　the　margin　of　her　salary　she　helped　first　one　of　her　brothers　and　then　the　other　through　his　Cambridge　course。　They　studied　hard　and　did　well　at　the　university。　At　length　their　sister　received；　in　her　'ultima　Thule'；　news　that　her　younger　brother　had　taken　his　degree；　and　then　and　there；　with　a　sigh　of　intense　relief；　she　resigned　her　situation　and　came　straight　back　to　England。

It　is　not　to　be　wondered　at；　then；　that　my　uncles　looked　up　to　their　sister　with　feelings　of　especial　devotion。　They　were　not　inclined；　they　were　hardly　in　a　position；　to　criticize　her　modes　of　thought。　They　were　easy…going；　cultured　and　kindly　gentlemen；　rather　limited　in　their　views；　without　a　trace　of　their　sister's　force　of　intellect　or　her　strenuous　temper。　E。　resembled　her　in　person；　he　was　tall；　fair；　with　auburn　curls；　he　cultivated　a　certain　tendency　to　the　Byronic　type；　fatal　and　melancholy。　A。　was　short；　brown　and　jocose；　with　a　pretension　to　common　sense；　bluff　and　chatty。　As　a　little　child；　I　adored　my　Uncle　E。；　who　sat　silent　by　the　fireside　holding　me　against　his　knee；　saying　nothing；　but　looking　unutterably　sad；　and　occasionally　shaking　his　warm…coloured　tresses。　With　great　injustice；　on　the　other　hand；　I　detested　my　Uncle　A。；　because　he　used　to　joke　in　a　manner　very　displeasing　to　me；　and　because　he　would　so　far　forget　himself　as　to　chase；　and　even；　if　it　will　be　credited；　to　tickle　me。　My　uncles；　who　remained　bachelors　to　the　end　of　their　lives；　earned　a　comfortable　living；　E。　by　teaching；　A。　as　'something　in　the　City'；　and　they　rented　an　old　rambling　house　in　Clapton；　that　same　in　which　I　saw　the　greyhound。　Their　house　had　a　strange；　delicious　smell；　so　unlike　anything　I　smelt　anywhere　else；　that　it　used　to　fill　my　eyes　with　tears　of　mysterious　pleasure。　I　know　now　that　this　was　the　odour　of　cigars；　tobacco　being　a　species　of　incense　tabooed　at　home　on　the　highest　religious　grounds。

It　has　been　recorded　that　I　was　slow　in　learning　to　speak。　I　used　to　be　told　that　having　met　all　invitations　to　repeat　such　words　as　'Papa'　and　'Mamma'　with　gravity　and　indifference；　I　one　day　drew　towards　me　a　volume；　and　said　'book'　with　startling　distinctness。　I　was　not　at　all　precocious；　but　at　a　rather　early　age；　I　think　towards　the　beginning　of　my　fourth　year；　I　learned　to　read。　I　cannot　recollect　a　time　when　a　printed　page　of　English　was　closed　to　me。　But　perhaps　earlier　still　my　Mother　used　to　repeat　to　me　a　poem　which　I　have　always　taken　for　granted　that　she　had　herself　composed；　a　poem　which　had　a　romantic　place　in　my　early　mental　history。　It　ran　thus；　I　think：

O　pretty　Moon；　you　shine　so　bright！　I'll　go　to　bid　Mamma　good…night；　And　then　I'll　lie　upon　my　bed　And　watch　you　move　above　my　head。

Ah！　there；　a　cloud　has　hidden　you！　But　I　can　see　your　light　shine　thro'；　It　tries　to　hide　youquite　in　vain；　Forthere　you　quickly　come　again！

It's　God；　I　know；　that　makes　you　shine　Upon　this　little　bed　of　mine；　But　I　shall　all　about　you　know　When　I　can　read　and　older　grow。

Long；　long　after　the　last　line　had　become　an　anachronism；　I　used　to　shout　this　poem　from　my　bed　before　I　went　to　sleep；　whether　the　night　happened　to　be　moonlit　or　no。

It　must　have　been　my　Father　who　taught　me　my　letters。　To　my　Mother；　as　I　have　said；　it　was　distasteful　to　teach；　though　she　was　so　prompt　and　skillful　to　learn。　My　Father；　on　the　contrary；　taught　cheerfully；　by　fits　and　starts。　In　particular；　he　had　a　scheme　for　rationalizing　geography；　which　I　think　was　admirable。　I　was　to　climb　upon　a　chair；　while；　standing　at　my　side；　with　a　pencil　and　a　sheet　of　paper；　he　was　to　draw　a　chart　of　the　markings　on　the　carpet。　Then；　when　I　understood　the　system；　another　chart　on　a　smaller　scale　of　the　furniture　in　the　room；　then　of　a　floor　of　the　house；　then　of　the　back…garden；　then　of　a　section　of　the　street。　The　result　of　this　was　that　geography　came　to　me　of　itself；　as　a　perfectly　natural　miniature　arrangement　of　objects；　and　to　this　day　has　always　been　the　science　which　gives　me　least　difficulty。　My　father　also　taught　me　the　simple　rules　of　arithmetic；　a　little　natural　history；　and　the　elements　of　drawing；　and　he　laboured　long　and　unsuccessfully　to　make　me　learn　by　heart　hymns；　psalms　and　chapters　of　Scripture；　in　which　I　always　failed　ignominiously　and　with　tears。　This　puzzled　and　vexed　him；　for　he　himself　had　an　extremely　retentive　textual　memory。　He　could　not　help　thinking　that　I　was　naughty；　and　would　not　learn　the　chapters；　until　at　last　he　gave　up　the　effort。　All　this　sketch　of　an　education　began；　I　believe；　in　my　fourth　year；　and　was　not　advanced　or　modified　during　the　rest　of　my　Mother's　life。

Meanwhile；　capable　as　I　was　of　reading；　I　found　my　greatest　pleasure　in　the　pages　of　books。　The　range　of　these　was　limited；　for　story…books　of　every　description　were　sternly　excluded。　No　fiction　of　any　kind；　religious　or　secular；　was　admitted　into　the　house。　In　this　it　was　to　my　Mother；　not　to　my　Father；　that　the　prohibition　was　due。　She　had　a　remarkable；　I　confess　to　me　still　somewhat　unaccountable　impression　that　to　'tell　a　story'；　that　is；　to　compose　fictitious　narrative　of　any　kind；　was　a　sin。　She　carried　this　conviction　to　extreme　lengths。　My　Father；　in　later　years；　gave　me　some　interesting　examples　of　her　firmness。　As　a　young　man　in　America；　he　had　been　deeply　impressed　by　'Salathiel'；　a　pious　prose　romance　by　that　then　popular　writer；　the　Rev。　George　Croly。　When　he　first　met　my　Mother；　he　recommended　it　to　her；　but　she　would　not　consent　to　open　it。　Nor　would　she　read　the　chivalrous　tales　in　verse　of　Sir　Walter　Scott；　obstinately　alleging　that　they　were　not　'true'。　She　would　read　none　but　lyrical　and　subjective　poetry。　Her　secret　diary　reveals　the　history　of　this　singular　aversion　to　the　fictitious；　although　it　cannot　be　said　to　explain　the　cause　of　it。　As　a　child；　however；　she　had　possessed　a　passion　for　making　up　stories；　and　so　considerable　a　skill　in　it　that　she　was　constantly　being　begged　to　indulge　others　with　its　exercise。　But　I　will；　on　so　curious　a　point；　leave　her　to　speak　for　herself：

'When　I　was　a　very　little　child；　I　used　to　amuse　myself　and　my　brothers　with　inventing　stories；　such　as　I　read。　Having；　as　I　suppose；　naturally　a　restless　mind　and　busy　imagination；　this　soon　became　the　chief　pleasure　of　my　life。　Unfortunately；　my　brothers　were　always　fond　of　encouraging　this　propensity；　and　I　found　in　Taylor；　my　maid；　a　still　greater　tempter。　I　had　not　known　there　was　any　harm　in　it；　until　Miss　Shore　＇a　Calvinist　governess＇；　finding　it　out；　lectured　me　severely；　and　told　me　it　was　wicked。　From　that　time　forth　I　considered　that　to　invent　a　story