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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft-Part24_George Gissing(1857-1903)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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than a hundred years ago, power passed from the south of England to



the north. The vigorous race on the other side of Trent only found

its opportunity when the age of machinery began; its civilization,



long delayed, differs in obvious respects from that of older

England. In Sussex or in Somerset, however dull and clownish the



typical inhabitant, he plainly belongs to an ancient order of

things, represents an immemorial subordination. The rude man of the



north is--by comparison--but just emerged from barbarism, and under

any circumstances would show less smooth a front. By great



misfortune, he has fallen under the harshest lordship the modern

world has known--that of scientific industrialism, and all his



vigorous qualities are subdued to a scheme of life based upon the

harsh, the ugly, the sordid. His racialheritage, of course, marks



him to the eye; even as ploughman or shepherd, he differs notably

from him of the same calling in the weald or on the downs. But the



frank brutality of the man in all externals has been encouraged,

rather than mitigated, by the course his civilization has taken, and



hence it is that, unless one knows him well enough to respect him,

he seems even yet stamped with the half-savagery of his folk as they



were a century and a half ago. His fierce shyness, his arrogant

self-regard, are notes of a primitive state. Naturally, he never



learnt to house himself as did the Southerner, for climate, as well

as social circumstance, was unfavourable to all the graces of life.



And now one can only watch the encroachment of his rule upon that

old, that true England whose strength and virtue were so differently



manifested. This fair broad land of the lovely villages signifies

little save to the antiquary, the poet, the painter. Vainly,



indeed, should I show its beauty and its peace to the observant

foreigner; he would but smile, and, with a glance at the traction-



engine just coming along the road, indicate the direction of his

thoughts.



XV

Nothing in all Homer pleases me more than the bedstead of Odysseus.



I have tried to turn the passage describing it into English verse,

thus:-



Here in my garth a goodly olive grew;

Thick was the noble leafage of its prime,



And like a carven column rose the trunk.

This tree about I built my chamber walls,



Laying great stone on stone, and roofed them well,

And in the portal set a comely door,



Stout-hinged and tightly closing. Then with axe

I lopped the leafy olive's branching head,



And hewed the bole to four-square shapeliness,

And smoothed it, craftsmanlike, and grooved and pierced,



Making the rooted timber, where it grew,

A corner of my couch. Labouring on,



I fashioned all the bed-frame; which complete,

The wood I overlaid with shining gear



Of gold, of silver, and of ivory.

And last, between the endlong beams I stretched



Stout thongs of ox-hide, dipped in purple dye.

Odyssey, xxiii. 190-201.



Did anyone ever imitate the admirableprecedent? Were I a young

man, and an owner of land, assuredly I would do so. Choose some



goodly tree, straight-soaring; cut away head and branches; leave

just the clean trunk and build your house about it in such manner



that the top of the rooted timber rises a couple of feet above your

bedroom floor. The trunk need not be manifest in the lower part of



the house, but I should prefer to have it so; I am a tree-

worshipper; it should be as the visible presence of a household god.



And how could one more nobly symbolize the sacredness of Home?

There can be no home without the sense of permanence, and without



home there is no civilization--as England will discover when the




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