the letters-1-第47部分
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JNO。 BUNYAN。
Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN
LA SOLITUDE; HYERES…LES…PALMIERS; VAR; 9TH MARCH 1884。
MY DEAR S。 C。; … You will already have received a not very sane
note from me; so your patience was rewarded … may I say; your
patient silence? However; now comes a letter; which on receipt; I
thus acknowledge。
I have already expressed myself as to the political aspect。 About
Grahame; I feel happier; it does seem to have been really a good;
neat; honest piece of work。 We do not seem to be so badly off for
commanders: Wolseley and Roberts; and this pile of Woods;
Stewarts; Alisons; Grahames; and the like。 Had we but ONE
statesman on any side of the house!
Two chapters of OTTO do remain: one to rewrite; one to create; and
I am not yet able to tackle them。 For me it is my chief o' works;
hence probably not so for others; since it only means that I have
here attacked the greatest difficulties。 But some chapters towards
the end: three in particular … I do think come off。 I find them
stirring; dramatic; and not unpoetical。 We shall see; however; as
like as not; the effort will be more obvious than the success。
For; of course; I strung myself hard to carry it out。 The next
will come easier; and possibly be more popular。 I believe in the
covering of much paper; each time with a definite and not too
difficult artistic purpose; and then; from time to time; drawing
oneself up and trying; in a superior effort; to combine the
facilities thus acquired or improved。 Thus one progresses。 But;
mind; it is very likely that the big effort; instead of being the
masterpiece; may be the blotted copy; the gymnastic exercise。 This
no man can tell; only the brutal and licentious public; snouting in
Mudie's wash…trough; can return a dubious answer。
I am to…day; thanks to a pure heaven and a beneficent; loud…
talking; antiseptic mistral; on the high places as to health and
spirits。 Money holds out wonderfully。 Fanny has gone for a drive
to certain meadows which are now one sheet of jonquils: sea…bound
meadows; the thought of which may freshen you in Bloomsbury。 'Ye
have been fresh and fair; Ye have been filled with flowers' … I
fear I misquote。 Why do people babble? Surely Herrick; in his
true vein; is superior to Martial himself; though Martial is a very
pretty poet。
Did you ever read St。 Augustine? The first chapters of the
CONFESSIONS are marked by a commanding genius。 Shakespearian in
depth。 I was struck dumb; but; alas! when you begin to wander into
controversy; the poet drops out。 His description of infancy is
most seizing。 And how is this: 'Sed majorum nugae negotia
vocantur; puerorum autem talia cum sint puniuntur a majoribus。'
Which is quite after the heart of R。 L。 S。 See also his splendid
passage about the 'luminosus limes amicitiae' and the 'nebulae de
limosa concupiscentia carnis'; going on 'UTRUMQUE in confuso
aestuabat et rapiebat imbecillam aetatem per abrupta cupiditatum。'
That 'Utrumque' is a real contribution to life's science。 Lust
ALONE is but a pigmy; but it never; or rarely; attacks us single…
handed。
Do you ever read (to go miles off; indeed) the incredible Barbey
d'Aurevilly? A psychological Poe … to be for a moment Henley。 I
own with pleasure I prefer him with all his folly; rot; sentiment;
and mixed metaphors; to the whole modern school in France。 It
makes me laugh when it's nonsense; and when he gets an effect
(though it's still nonsense and mere Poery; not poesy) it wakens
me。 CE QUI NE MEURT PAS nearly killed me with laughing; and left
me … well; it left me very nearly admiring the old ass。 At least;
it's the kind of thing one feels one couldn't do。 The dreadful
moonlight; when they all three sit silent in the room … by George;
sir; it's imagined … and the brief scene between the husband and
wife is all there。 QUANT AU FOND; the whole thing; of course; is a
fever dream; and worthy of eternal laughter。 Had the young man
broken stones; and the two women been hard…working honest
prostitutes; there had been an end of the whole immoral and
baseless business: you could at least have respected them in that
case。
I also read PETRONIUS ARBITER; which is a rum work; not so immoral
as most modern works; but singularly silly。 I tackled some Tacitus
too。 I got them with a dreadful French crib on the same page with
the text; which helps me along and drives me mad。 The French do
not even try to translate。 They try to be much more classical than
the classics; with astounding results of barrenness and tedium。
Tacitus; I fear; was too solid for me。 I liked the war part; but
the dreary intriguing at Rome was too much。
R。 L。 S。
Letter: TO MR。 DICK
LA SOLITUDE; HYERES; VAR; 12TH MARCH 1884。
MY DEAR MR。 DICK; … I have been a great while owing you a letter;
but I am not without excuses; as you have heard。 I overworked to
get a piece of work finished before I had my holiday; thinking to
enjoy it more; and instead of that; the machinery near hand came
sundry in my hands! like Murdie's uniform。 However; I am now; I
think; in a fair way of recovery; I think I was made; what there is
of me; of whipcord and thorn…switches; surely I am tough! But I
fancy I shall not overdrive again; or not so long。 It is my theory
that work is highly beneficial; but that it should; if possible;
and certainly for such partially broken…down instruments as the
thing I call my body; be taken in batches; with a clear break and
breathing space between。 I always do vary my work; laying one
thing aside to take up another; not merely because I believe it
rests the brain; but because I have found it most beneficial to the
result。 Reading; Bacon says; makes a full man; but what makes me
full on any subject is to banish it for a time from all my
thoughts。 However; what I now propose is; out of every quarter; to
work two months' and rest the third。 I believe I shall get more
done; as I generally manage; on my present scheme; to have four
months' impotent illness and two of imperfect health … one before;
one after; I break down。 This; at least; is not an economical
division of the year。
I re…read the other day that heartbreaking book; the LIFE OF SCOTT。
One should read such works now and then; but O; not often。 As I
live; I feel more and more that literature should be cheerful and
brave…spirited; even if it cannot be made beautiful and pious and
heroic。 We wish it to be a green place; the WAVERLEY NOVELS are
better to re…read than the over…true life; fine as dear Sir Walter
was。 The Bible; in most parts; is a cheerful book; it is our
little piping theologies; tracts; and sermons that are dull and
dowie; and even the Shorter Catechism; which is scarcely a work of
consolation; opens with the best and shortest and completest sermon
ever written … upon Man's chief end。 … Believe me; my dear Mr。
Dick; very sincerely yours;
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON。
P。S。 … You see I have changed my hand。 I was threatened apparently
with scrivener's cramp; and at any rate had got to write so small;
that the revisal of my MS。 tried my eyes; hence my signature alone
remains upon the old model; for it appears that if I changed that;
I should be cut off from my 'vivers。'
R。 L。 S。
Letter: TO COSMO MONKHOUSE
LA SOLITUDE; HYERES…LES…PALMIERS; VAR; MARCH 16; 1884。
MY DEAR MONKHOUSE; … You see with what promptitude I plunge into
correspondence; but the truth is; I am condemned to a complete
inaction; stagnate dismally; and love a letter。 Yours; which would
have been welcome at any time; was thus doubly precious。
Dover sounds somewhat shiveringly in my ears。 You should see the
weather I have … cloudless; clear as crystal; with just a punkah…
draft of the most aromatic air; all pine and gum tree。 You would
be ashamed of Dover; you would scruple to refer; sir; to a spot so
paltry。 To be idle at Dover is a strange pretension; pray; how do
you warm yourself? If I were there I should grind knives or write
blank verse; or … But at least you do not bathe? It is idle to
deny it: I have … I may say I nourish … a growing jealousy of the
robust; large…legged; healthy Britain…dwellers; patient of grog;
scorners of the timid umbrella; innocuously breathing fog: all
which I once was; and I am ashamed to say liked it。 How ignorant
is youth! grossly rolling among unselected pleasures; and how
nobler; purer; sweeter; and lighter; to sip the choice tonic; to
recline in the luxurious invalid chair; and to tread; well…shawled;
the little round of the constitutional。 Seriously; do you like to
repose? Ye gods; I hate it。 I never rest with any acceptation; I
do not know what people mean who say they like sleep and that
damned bedtime which; since long ere I was breeched; has rung a
knell to all my day's doings and beings。 And when a man; seemingly
sane; tells me he has 'fallen in love with stagnation;' I can only
say to him; 'You will never be a Pirate!' This may not cause any
regret to Mrs。 Monkhouse; but in your own soul it will clang hollow
… think of it! Never! After all boyhood's aspirations and youth's
immoral day…dreams; you are condemned to sit down; grossly draw in
your chair to the fat board; and be a beastly Burgess till you die。
Can it be? Is there not some escape; some furlough from the Moral
Law; some holiday jaunt contrivable into a Better Land? Shall we
never shed blood? This prospect is too grey。
'Here lies a man who never did
Anything but what he was bid;
Who lived his life in paltry ease;
And died of commonplace disease。'
To confess plainly; I had intended to spend my life (or any leisure
I might have from Piracy u