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Poems of Rupert Brooke-Part14_Rupert C.Brooke(1887-1915)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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a passing phase of vegetarianism, and with the ferment of youth



working headily within him he could hardly escape the charge

of being a crank, but "a crank, if a little thing, makes revolutions,"



and Brooke's youthful extravagances were utterly untinged with decadence.

He took his classical tripos in 1909, and after spending some time



as a student in Munich, returned to live near Cambridge

at the Old Vicarage in "the lovely hamlet, Grantchester." "It was there,"



writes Mr. Raglan H. E. H. Somerset in a letter I am privileged to quote,

"that I used to wake him on Sunday mornings to bathe in the dam



above Byron's Pool. His bedroom was always littered with books,

English, French, and German, in wild disorder. About his bathing



one thing stands out; time after time he would try to dive;

he always failed and came absolutely flat, but seemed to like it,



although it must have hurt excessively." (This was only

when he was learning. Later he became an accomplished diver.)



"Then we used to go back and feed, sometimes in the Orchard and sometimes

in the Old Vicarage Garden, on eggs and that particular brand of honey



referred to in the `Grantchester' poem. In those days he always dressed

in the same way: cricket shirt and trousers and no stockings; in fact,



`Rupert's mobile toes' were a subject for the admiration of his friends."

Brooke occupied himself mainly with writing. Poems, remarkable for



a happy spontaneity such as characterized the work of T. E. Brown,

the Manx poet, appeared in the `Gownsman', the `Cambridge Review',



the `Nation', the `English Review', and the `Westminster Gazette'.

Students of the "Problem Page" in the `Saturday Westminster'



knew him as a brilliantcompetitor who infused the purely academic

with the very spirit of youth.



To all who knew him, the man himself was at least as important as his work.

"As to his talk" -- I quote again from Mr. Somerset --



"he was a spendthrift. I mean that he never saved anything up

as those writer fellows so often do. He was quite inconsequent



and just rippled on, but was always ready to attack a careless thinker.

On the other hand, he was extremelytolerant of fools, even bad poets



who are the worst kind of fools -- or rather the hardest to bear --

but that was kindness of heart."



Of his personal appearance a good deal has been said. "One who knew him,"

writing in one of the daily papers, said that "to look at, he was part



of the youth of the world. He was one of the handsomest Englishmen

of his time. His moods seemed to be merely a disguise for the radiance



of an early summer's day."

Mr. Edward Thomas speaks of him as "a golden young Apollo"



who made friends, admirers, adorers, wherever he went.

"He stretched himself out, drew his fingers through his waved fair hair,



laughed, talked indolently, and admired as much as he was admired. . . .

He was tall, broad, and easy in his movements. Either he stooped,



or he thrust his head forward unusually much to look at you

with his steady blue eyes."



On Mr. H. W. Nevinson, who, in a fleetingeditorialcapacity, sent for

Brooke to come and discuss his poems, he made a similar impression:



"Suddenly he came -- an astonishingapparition in any newspaper office:

loose hair of deep, browny-gold; smooth, ruddy face;



eyes not gray or bluish-white, but of living blue, really like the sky,

and as frankly open; figure not very tall, but firm and strongly made,



giving the sense of weight rather than of speed and yet

so finely fashioned and healthy that it was impossible not to think



of the line about `a pard-like spirit'. He was dressed

just in the ordinary way, except that he wore a low blue collar,



and blue shirt and tie, all uncommon in those days.

Evidently he did not want to be conspicuous, but the whole effect



was almost ludicrously beautiful."

Notions of height are always comparative, and it will be noticed



that Mr. Nevinson and Mr. Thomas differ in their ideas.

Mr. Edward Marsh, however, Brooke's executor and one of his



closest friends -- indeed the friend of all young poets --

tells me that he was about six feet, so that all doubt on this minor point



may be set at rest.

He had been in Munich, Berlin, and in Italy, and in May, 1913,



he left England again for a wander year, passing through

the United States and Canada on his way to the South Seas.



Perhaps some of those who met him in Boston and elsewhere

will some day contribute their quota to the bright record of his life.



His own letters to the `Westminster Gazette', though naturally




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