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An Inland Voyage-Part3_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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looking little man, as well as I can remember; but with a spark of



something human in his soul. He had heard of our little journey,

and came to me at once in envioussympathy. How he longed to



travel! he told me. How he longed to be somewhere else, and see

the round world before he went into the grave! 'Here I am,' said



he. 'I drive to the station. Well. And then I drive back again

to the hotel. And so on every day and all the week round. My God,



is that life?' I could not say I thought it was - for him. He

pressed me to tell him where I had been, and where I hoped to go;



and as he listened, I declare the fellow sighed. Might not this

have been a brave African traveller, or gone to the Indies after



Drake? But it is an evil age for the gypsily inclined among men.

He who can sit squarest on a three-legged stool, he it is who has



the wealth and glory.

I wonder if my friend is still driving the omnibus for the Grand



Cerf? Not very likely, I believe; for I think he was on the eve of

mutiny when we passed through, and perhaps our passage determined



him for good. Better a thousand times that he should be a tramp,

and mend pots and pans by the wayside, and sleep under trees, and



see the dawn and the sunset every day above a new horizon. I think

I hear you say that it is a respectable position to drive an



omnibus? Very well. What right has he who likes it not, to keep

those who would like it dearly out of this respectable position?



Suppose a dish were not to my taste, and you told me that it was a

favourite amongst the rest of the company, what should I conclude



from that? Not to finish the dish against my stomach, I suppose.

Respectability is a very good thing in its way, but it does not



rise superior to all considerations. I would not for a moment

venture to hint that it was a matter of taste; but I think I will



go as far as this: that if a position is admittedly unkind,

uncomfortable, unnecessary, and superfluously useless, although it



were as respectable as the Church of England, the sooner a man is

out of it, the better for himself, and all concerned.



ON THE SAMBRE CANALISED

TO QUARTES



ABOUT three in the afternoon the whole establishment of the GRAND

CERF accompanied us to the water's edge. The man of the omnibus



was there with haggard eyes. Poor cage-bird! Do I not remember

the time when I myself haunted the station, to watch train after



train carry its complement of freemen into the night, and read the

names of distant places on the time-bills with indescribable



longings?

We were not clear of the fortifications before the rain began. The



wind was contrary, and blew in furious gusts; nor were the aspects

of nature any more clement than the doings of the sky. For we



passed through a stretch of blighted country, sparsely covered with

brush, but handsomely enough diversified with factory chimneys. We



landed in a soiled meadow among some pollards, and there smoked a

pipe in a flaw of fair weather. But the wind blew so hard, we



could get little else to smoke. There were no natural objects in

the neighbourhood, but some sordid workshops. A group of children



headed by a tall girl stood and watched us from a little distance

all the time we stayed. I heartily wonder what they thought of us.



At Hautmont, the lock was almost impassable; the landing-place

being steep and high, and the launch at a long distance. Near a



dozen grimy workmen lent us a hand. They refused any reward; and,

what is much better, refused it handsomely, without conveying any



sense of insult. 'It is a way we have in our countryside,' said

they. And a very becoming way it is. In Scotland, where also you



will get services for nothing, the good people reject your money as

if you had been trying to corrupt a voter. When people take the



trouble to do dignified acts, it is worth while to take a little

more, and allow the dignity to be common to all concerned. But in



our brave Saxon countries, where we plod threescore years and ten

in the mud, and the wind keeps singing in our ears from birth to



burial, we do our good and bad with a high hand and almost

offensively; and make even our alms a witness-bearing and an act of






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