章节正文
'Mine, mine, my own!' he shall hear a voice--'Renounce! renounce! this is
not thine!'"
"He shall succeed?"
He said, "He shall fail. When he runs with others they shall reach the
goal before him. For strange voices shall call to him and strange lights
shall beckon him, and he must wait and listen. And this shall be the
strangest: far off across the burning sands where, to other men, there is
only the desert's waste, he shall see a blue sea! On that sea the sun
shines always, and the water is blue as burning amethyst, and the foam is
white on the shore. A great land rises from it, and he shall see upon the
mountain-tops burning gold."
The mother said, "He shall reach it?"
And he smiled curiously.
She said, "It is real?"
And he said, "What IS real?"
And she looked up between his half-closed eyelids, and said, "Touch."
And he leaned forward and laid his hand upon the sleeper, and whispered to
it, smiling; and this only she heard--"This shall be thy reward--that the
ideal shall be real to thee."
And the child trembled; but the mother slept on heavily and her brain-
picture vanished. But deep within her the antenatal thing that lay here
had a dream. In those eyes that had never seen the day, in that half-
shaped brain was a sensation of light! Light--that it never had seen.
Light--that perhaps it never should see. Light--that existed somewhere!
And already it had its reward: the Ideal was real to it.
London.
VII. IN A RUINED CHAPEL.
"I cannot forgive--I love."
There are four bare walls; there is a Christ upon the walls, in red,
carrying his cross; there is a Blessed Bambino with the face rubbed out;
there is Madonna in blue and red; there are Roman soldiers and a Christ
with tied hands. All the roof is gone; overhead is the blue, blue Italian
sky; the rain has beaten holes in the walls, and the plaster is peeling
from it. The chapel stands here alone upon the promontory, and by day and
by night the sea breaks at its feet. Some say that it was set here by the
monks from the island down below, that they might bring their sick here in
times of deadlyplague. Some say that it was set here that the passing
monks and friars, as they hurried by upon the roadway, might stop and say
their prayers here. Now no one stops to pray here, and the sick come no
more to be healed.
Behind it runs the old Roman road. If you climb it and come and sit there
alone on a hot sunny day you may almost hear at last the clink of the Roman
soldiers upon the pavement, and the sound of that older time, as you sit
there in the sun, when Hannibal and his men broke through the brushwood,
and no road was.
Now it is very quiet. Sometimes a peasant girl comes riding by between her
panniers, and you hear the mule's feet beat upon the bricks of the
pavement; sometimes an old woman goes past with a bundle of weeds upon her
head, or a brigand-looking man hurries by with a bundle of sticks in his
hand; but for the rest the Chapel lies here alone upon the promontory,
between the two bays and hears the sea break at its feet.
I came here one winter's day when the midday sun shone hot on the bricks of
the Roman road. I was weary, and the way seemed steep. I walked into the
chapel to the broken window, and looked out across the bay. Far off,
across the blue, blue water, were towns and villages, hanging white and red
dots, upon the mountain-sides, and the blue mountains rose up into the sky,
and now stood out from it and now melted back again.
The mountains seemed calling to me, but I knew there would never be a
bridge built from them to me; never, never, never! I shaded my eyes with
my hand and turned away. I could not bear to look at them.
I walked through the ruined Chapel, and looked at the Christ in red
carrying his cross, and the Blessed rubbed-out Bambino, and the Roman
soldiers, and the folded hands, and the reed; and I went and sat down in
the open porch upon a stone. At my feet was the small bay, with its white
row of houses buried among the olive trees; the water broke in a long,
thin, white line of foam along the shore; and I leaned my elbows on my
knees. I was tired, very tired; tired with a tiredness that seemed older
than the heat of the day and the shining of the sun on the bricks of the
Roman road; and I lay my head upon my knees; I heard the breaking of the
water on the rocks three hundred feet below, and the rustling of the wind
among the olive trees and the ruined arches, and then I fell asleep there.
I had a dream.
A man cried up to God, and God sent down an angel to help him; and the
angel came back and said, "I cannot help that man."
God said, "How is it with him?"
And the angel said, "He cries out continually that one has injured him; and
he would forgive him and he cannot."
God said, "What have you done for him?"
The angel said, "All--. I took him by the hand, and I said, 'See, when
other men speak ill of that man do you speak well of him; secretly, in ways
he shall not know, serve him; if you have anything you value share it with
him, so, serving him, you will at last come to feel possession in him, and
you will forgive.' And he said, 'I will do it.' Afterwards, as I passed
by in the dark of night, I heard one crying out, 'I have done all. It
helps nothing! My speaking well of him helps me nothing! If I share my
heart's blood with him, is the burning within me less? I cannot forgive; I
cannot forgive! Oh, God, I cannot forgive!'
"I said to him, 'See here, look back on all your past. See from your
childhood all smallness, all indirectness that has been yours; look well at
it, and in its light do you not see every man your brother? Are you so
sinless you have right to hate?'
"He looked, and said, 'Yes, you are right; I too have failed, and I forgive
my fellow. Go, I am satisfied; I have forgiven;' and he laid him down
peacefully and folded his hands on his breast, and I thought it was well
with him. But scarcely had my wings rustled and I turned to come up here,
when I heard one crying out on earth again, 'I cannot forgive! I cannot
forgive! Oh, God, God, I cannot forgive! It is better to die than to
hate! I cannot forgive! I cannot forgive!' And I went and stood outside
his door in the dark, and I heard him cry, 'I have not sinned so, not so!
If I have torn my fellows' flesh ever so little, I have kneeled down and
kissed the wound with my mouth till it was healed. I have not willed that
any soul shall be lost through hate of me. If they have but fancied that I
wronged them I have lain down on the ground before them that they might
tread on me, and so, seeing my humiliation, forgive and not be lost through
hating me; they have not cared that my soul should be lost; they have not
willed to save me; they have not tried that I should forgive them!'
"I said to him, 'See here, be thou content; do not forgive: forget this
soul and its injury; go on your way. In the next world perhaps--'
"He cried, 'Go from me, you understand nothing! What is the next world to
me! I am lost now, today. I cannot see the sunlight shine, the dust is in
my throat, the sand is in my eyes! Go from me, you know nothing! Oh, once
again before I die to see that the world is beautiful! Oh, God, God, I
cannot live and not love. I cannot live and hate. Oh, God, God, God!' So
I left him crying out and came back here."
God said, "This man's soul must be saved."
And the angel said "How?"
God said, "Go down you, and save it."
The angel said, "What more shall I do?"
Then God bent down and whispered in the angel's ear, and the angel spread
out its wings and went down to earth.
And partly I woke, sitting there upon the broken stone with my head on my
knee; but I was too weary to rise. I heard the wind roam through the olive
trees and among the ruined arches, and then I slept again.
The angel went down and found the man with the bitter heart and took him by
the hand, and led him to a certain spot.
Now the man wist not where it was the angel would take him nor what he
would show him there. And when they came the angel shaded the man's eyes
with his wing, and when he moved it the man saw somewhat on the earth
before them. For God had given it to that angel to unclothe a human soul;
to take from it all those outward attributes of form, and colour, and age,
and sex, whereby one man is known from among his fellows and is marked off
from the rest, and the soul lay before them, bare, as a man turning his eye
inwards beholds himself.
They saw its past, its childhood, the tiny life with the dew upon it; they
saw its youth when the dew was melting, and the creature raised its
Lilliputian mouth to drink from a cup too large for it, and they saw how
the water spilt; they saw its hopes that were never realized; they saw its
hours of intellectualblindness, men call sin; they saw its hours of all-
radiating insight, which men call righteousness; they saw its hour of
strength, when it leaped to its feet crying, "I am omnipotent;" its hour of
weakness, when it fell to the earth and grasped dust only; they saw what it
might have been, but never would be.
The man bent forward.
And the angel said, "What is it?"
He answered, "It is I! it is myself!" And he went forward as if he would
have lain his heart against it; but the angel held him back and covered his
eyes.
Now God had given power to the angel further to unclothe that soul, to take
from it all those outward attributes of time and place and circumstance
whereby the individual life is marked off from the life of the whole.
Again the angel uncovered the man's eyes, and he looked. He saw before him
that which in its tiny drop reflects the whole universe; he saw that which
marks within itself the step of the furthest star, and tells how the
crystal grows under ground where no eye has seen it; that which is where
the germ in the egg stirs; which moves the outstretched fingers of the
little newborn babe, and keeps the leaves of the trees pointing upward;
which moves where the jelly-fish sail alone on the sunny seas, and is where
the lichens form on the mountains' rocks.
And the man looked.
And the angel touched him.
But the man bowed his head and shuddered. He whispered--"It is God!"
And the angel re-covered the man's eyes. And when he uncovered them there
was one walking from them a little way off;--for the angel had re-clothed
the soul in its outward form and vesture--and the man knew who it was.
And the angel said, "Do you know him?"
And the man said, "I know him," and he looked after the figure.
And the angel said, "Have you forgiven him?"
But the man said, "How beautiful my brother is!"
And the angel looked into the man's eyes, and he shaded his own face with
his wing from the light. He laughed softly and went up to God.
But the men were together on earth.
I awoke.
The blue, blue sky was over my head, and the waves were breaking below on
the shore. I walked through the little chapel, and I saw the Madonna in
blue and red, and the Christ carrying his cross, and the Roman soldiers
with the rod, and the Blessed Bambino with its broken face; and then I
walked down the sloping rock to the brick pathway. The olive trees stood
up on either side of the road, their black berries and pale-green leaves
stood out against the sky; and the little ice-plants hung from the crevices
in the stone wall. It seemed to me as if it must have rained while I was
asleep. I thought I had never seen the heavens and the earth look so
beautiful before. I walked down the road. The old, old, old tiredness was
gone.
Presently there came a peasant boy down the path leading his ass; she had
two large panniers fastened to her sides; and they went down the road
before me.
I had never seen him before; but I should have liked to walk by him and to
have held his hand--only, he would not have known why.
Alassio, Italy.
VIII. LIFE'S GIFTS.
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreamt Life stood before her, and
held in each hand a gift--in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And she
said to the woman, "Choose!"
And the woman waited long: and she said, "Freedom!"
And Life said, "Thou hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, 'Love,' I would
have given thee that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee,
and returned to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return.
In that day I shall bear both gifts in one hand."
I heard the woman laugh in her sleep.
London.
IX. THE ARTIST'S SECRET.
not thine!'"
"He shall succeed?"
He said, "He shall fail. When he runs with others they shall reach the
goal before him. For strange voices shall call to him and strange lights
shall beckon him, and he must wait and listen. And this shall be the
strangest: far off across the burning sands where, to other men, there is
only the desert's waste, he shall see a blue sea! On that sea the sun
shines always, and the water is blue as burning amethyst, and the foam is
white on the shore. A great land rises from it, and he shall see upon the
mountain-tops burning gold."
The mother said, "He shall reach it?"
And he smiled curiously.
She said, "It is real?"
And he said, "What IS real?"
And she looked up between his half-closed eyelids, and said, "Touch."
And he leaned forward and laid his hand upon the sleeper, and whispered to
it, smiling; and this only she heard--"This shall be thy reward--that the
ideal shall be real to thee."
And the child trembled; but the mother slept on heavily and her brain-
picture vanished. But deep within her the antenatal thing that lay here
had a dream. In those eyes that had never seen the day, in that half-
shaped brain was a sensation of light! Light--that it never had seen.
Light--that perhaps it never should see. Light--that existed somewhere!
And already it had its reward: the Ideal was real to it.
London.
VII. IN A RUINED CHAPEL.
"I cannot forgive--I love."
There are four bare walls; there is a Christ upon the walls, in red,
carrying his cross; there is a Blessed Bambino with the face rubbed out;
there is Madonna in blue and red; there are Roman soldiers and a Christ
with tied hands. All the roof is gone; overhead is the blue, blue Italian
sky; the rain has beaten holes in the walls, and the plaster is peeling
from it. The chapel stands here alone upon the promontory, and by day and
by night the sea breaks at its feet. Some say that it was set here by the
monks from the island down below, that they might bring their sick here in
times of deadlyplague. Some say that it was set here that the passing
monks and friars, as they hurried by upon the roadway, might stop and say
their prayers here. Now no one stops to pray here, and the sick come no
more to be healed.
Behind it runs the old Roman road. If you climb it and come and sit there
alone on a hot sunny day you may almost hear at last the clink of the Roman
soldiers upon the pavement, and the sound of that older time, as you sit
there in the sun, when Hannibal and his men broke through the brushwood,
and no road was.
Now it is very quiet. Sometimes a peasant girl comes riding by between her
panniers, and you hear the mule's feet beat upon the bricks of the
pavement; sometimes an old woman goes past with a bundle of weeds upon her
head, or a brigand-looking man hurries by with a bundle of sticks in his
hand; but for the rest the Chapel lies here alone upon the promontory,
between the two bays and hears the sea break at its feet.
I came here one winter's day when the midday sun shone hot on the bricks of
the Roman road. I was weary, and the way seemed steep. I walked into the
chapel to the broken window, and looked out across the bay. Far off,
across the blue, blue water, were towns and villages, hanging white and red
dots, upon the mountain-sides, and the blue mountains rose up into the sky,
and now stood out from it and now melted back again.
The mountains seemed calling to me, but I knew there would never be a
bridge built from them to me; never, never, never! I shaded my eyes with
my hand and turned away. I could not bear to look at them.
I walked through the ruined Chapel, and looked at the Christ in red
carrying his cross, and the Blessed rubbed-out Bambino, and the Roman
soldiers, and the folded hands, and the reed; and I went and sat down in
the open porch upon a stone. At my feet was the small bay, with its white
row of houses buried among the olive trees; the water broke in a long,
thin, white line of foam along the shore; and I leaned my elbows on my
knees. I was tired, very tired; tired with a tiredness that seemed older
than the heat of the day and the shining of the sun on the bricks of the
Roman road; and I lay my head upon my knees; I heard the breaking of the
water on the rocks three hundred feet below, and the rustling of the wind
among the olive trees and the ruined arches, and then I fell asleep there.
I had a dream.
A man cried up to God, and God sent down an angel to help him; and the
angel came back and said, "I cannot help that man."
God said, "How is it with him?"
And the angel said, "He cries out continually that one has injured him; and
he would forgive him and he cannot."
God said, "What have you done for him?"
The angel said, "All--. I took him by the hand, and I said, 'See, when
other men speak ill of that man do you speak well of him; secretly, in ways
he shall not know, serve him; if you have anything you value share it with
him, so, serving him, you will at last come to feel possession in him, and
you will forgive.' And he said, 'I will do it.' Afterwards, as I passed
by in the dark of night, I heard one crying out, 'I have done all. It
helps nothing! My speaking well of him helps me nothing! If I share my
heart's blood with him, is the burning within me less? I cannot forgive; I
cannot forgive! Oh, God, I cannot forgive!'
"I said to him, 'See here, look back on all your past. See from your
childhood all smallness, all indirectness that has been yours; look well at
it, and in its light do you not see every man your brother? Are you so
sinless you have right to hate?'
"He looked, and said, 'Yes, you are right; I too have failed, and I forgive
my fellow. Go, I am satisfied; I have forgiven;' and he laid him down
peacefully and folded his hands on his breast, and I thought it was well
with him. But scarcely had my wings rustled and I turned to come up here,
when I heard one crying out on earth again, 'I cannot forgive! I cannot
forgive! Oh, God, God, I cannot forgive! It is better to die than to
hate! I cannot forgive! I cannot forgive!' And I went and stood outside
his door in the dark, and I heard him cry, 'I have not sinned so, not so!
If I have torn my fellows' flesh ever so little, I have kneeled down and
kissed the wound with my mouth till it was healed. I have not willed that
any soul shall be lost through hate of me. If they have but fancied that I
wronged them I have lain down on the ground before them that they might
tread on me, and so, seeing my humiliation, forgive and not be lost through
hating me; they have not cared that my soul should be lost; they have not
willed to save me; they have not tried that I should forgive them!'
"I said to him, 'See here, be thou content; do not forgive: forget this
soul and its injury; go on your way. In the next world perhaps--'
"He cried, 'Go from me, you understand nothing! What is the next world to
me! I am lost now, today. I cannot see the sunlight shine, the dust is in
my throat, the sand is in my eyes! Go from me, you know nothing! Oh, once
again before I die to see that the world is beautiful! Oh, God, God, I
cannot live and not love. I cannot live and hate. Oh, God, God, God!' So
I left him crying out and came back here."
God said, "This man's soul must be saved."
And the angel said "How?"
God said, "Go down you, and save it."
The angel said, "What more shall I do?"
Then God bent down and whispered in the angel's ear, and the angel spread
out its wings and went down to earth.
And partly I woke, sitting there upon the broken stone with my head on my
knee; but I was too weary to rise. I heard the wind roam through the olive
trees and among the ruined arches, and then I slept again.
The angel went down and found the man with the bitter heart and took him by
the hand, and led him to a certain spot.
Now the man wist not where it was the angel would take him nor what he
would show him there. And when they came the angel shaded the man's eyes
with his wing, and when he moved it the man saw somewhat on the earth
before them. For God had given it to that angel to unclothe a human soul;
to take from it all those outward attributes of form, and colour, and age,
and sex, whereby one man is known from among his fellows and is marked off
from the rest, and the soul lay before them, bare, as a man turning his eye
inwards beholds himself.
They saw its past, its childhood, the tiny life with the dew upon it; they
saw its youth when the dew was melting, and the creature raised its
Lilliputian mouth to drink from a cup too large for it, and they saw how
the water spilt; they saw its hopes that were never realized; they saw its
hours of intellectualblindness, men call sin; they saw its hours of all-
radiating insight, which men call righteousness; they saw its hour of
strength, when it leaped to its feet crying, "I am omnipotent;" its hour of
weakness, when it fell to the earth and grasped dust only; they saw what it
might have been, but never would be.
The man bent forward.
And the angel said, "What is it?"
He answered, "It is I! it is myself!" And he went forward as if he would
have lain his heart against it; but the angel held him back and covered his
eyes.
Now God had given power to the angel further to unclothe that soul, to take
from it all those outward attributes of time and place and circumstance
whereby the individual life is marked off from the life of the whole.
Again the angel uncovered the man's eyes, and he looked. He saw before him
that which in its tiny drop reflects the whole universe; he saw that which
marks within itself the step of the furthest star, and tells how the
crystal grows under ground where no eye has seen it; that which is where
the germ in the egg stirs; which moves the outstretched fingers of the
little newborn babe, and keeps the leaves of the trees pointing upward;
which moves where the jelly-fish sail alone on the sunny seas, and is where
the lichens form on the mountains' rocks.
And the man looked.
And the angel touched him.
But the man bowed his head and shuddered. He whispered--"It is God!"
And the angel re-covered the man's eyes. And when he uncovered them there
was one walking from them a little way off;--for the angel had re-clothed
the soul in its outward form and vesture--and the man knew who it was.
And the angel said, "Do you know him?"
And the man said, "I know him," and he looked after the figure.
And the angel said, "Have you forgiven him?"
But the man said, "How beautiful my brother is!"
And the angel looked into the man's eyes, and he shaded his own face with
his wing from the light. He laughed softly and went up to God.
But the men were together on earth.
I awoke.
The blue, blue sky was over my head, and the waves were breaking below on
the shore. I walked through the little chapel, and I saw the Madonna in
blue and red, and the Christ carrying his cross, and the Roman soldiers
with the rod, and the Blessed Bambino with its broken face; and then I
walked down the sloping rock to the brick pathway. The olive trees stood
up on either side of the road, their black berries and pale-green leaves
stood out against the sky; and the little ice-plants hung from the crevices
in the stone wall. It seemed to me as if it must have rained while I was
asleep. I thought I had never seen the heavens and the earth look so
beautiful before. I walked down the road. The old, old, old tiredness was
gone.
Presently there came a peasant boy down the path leading his ass; she had
two large panniers fastened to her sides; and they went down the road
before me.
I had never seen him before; but I should have liked to walk by him and to
have held his hand--only, he would not have known why.
Alassio, Italy.
VIII. LIFE'S GIFTS.
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreamt Life stood before her, and
held in each hand a gift--in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And she
said to the woman, "Choose!"
And the woman waited long: and she said, "Freedom!"
And Life said, "Thou hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, 'Love,' I would
have given thee that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee,
and returned to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return.
In that day I shall bear both gifts in one hand."
I heard the woman laugh in her sleep.
London.
IX. THE ARTIST'S SECRET.
- sensation [sen´seiʃən]
n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词) - reward [ri´wɔ:d] n.&v.报答；报酬；奖赏 (初中英语单词)
- christ [kraist] n.基督 int.天啊! (初中英语单词)
- overhead [´əuvə,hed] ad.当头 a.在头上的 (初中英语单词)
- beaten [´bi:tn] beat 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- chapel [´tʃæpəl] n.小教堂 (初中英语单词)
- deadly [´dedli] a.致命的 ad.死一般地 (初中英语单词)
- peasant [´pezənt] n.农民；庄稼人 (初中英语单词)
- bundle [´bʌndl] n.包，捆；包袱(裹) (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- injury [´indʒəri] n.伤害；毁坏；侮辱 (初中英语单词)
- sunlight [´sʌnlait] n.日光 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- childhood [´tʃaildhud] n.幼年(时代)；早期 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- sleeping [´sli:piŋ] n.&a.睡着(的) (初中英语单词)
- beckon [´bekən] v.召唤 (高中英语单词)
- plaster [´plɑ:stə] n.灰泥 vt.厚厚地涂抹 (高中英语单词)
- plague [pleig] n.瘟疫 vt.使...染疫 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- pavement [´peivmənt] n.路面；铺筑材料 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- continually [kən´tinjuəli] ad.不断地，频繁地 (高中英语单词)
- secretly [´si:kritli] ad.秘密地；隐蔽地 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- outward [´autwəd] a.外面的 ad.向外 (高中英语单词)
- intellectual [,inti´lektʃuəl] n.知识分子 (高中英语单词)
- universe [´ju:nivə:s] n.天地；全人类；银河系 (高中英语单词)
- blessed [´blesid] a.享福的；神圣的 (英语四级单词)
- midday [´middei] n.中午 (英语四级单词)
- whereby [weə´bai] ad.凭什么；靠那个 (英语四级单词)
- blindness [´blaindnis] n.失明；愚味，文盲 (英语四级单词)
- forgiven [fə´givn] forgive的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- pathway [´pɑ:θwei] n.小路 (英语四级单词)
- sleeper [´sli:pə] n.睡眠者；(铁路)枕木 (英语六级单词)
- madonna [mə´dɔnə] n.圣母玛利亚；圣母像 (英语六级单词)
- roadway [´rəudwei] n.车行道；路面 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- humiliation [hju:,mili´eiʃən] n.羞辱，屈辱 (英语六级单词)
- insight [´insait] n.洞悉；洞察力；见识 (英语六级单词)
- righteousness [raitʃəsnis] n.正直；正当；正义 (英语六级单词)
- outstretched [,aut´stretʃt] a.扩张的；伸长的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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