章节正文
everyday sanity. One common form of this detachment is the form
you have in those cases of people who are found wandering unaware
of their names, unaware of their places of residence, lost
altogether from themselves. They have not only lost their sense
of identity with themselves, but all the circumstances of their
lives have faded out of their minds like an idle story in a book
that has been read and put aside. I have looked into hundreds of
such cases. I don't think that loss of identity is a necessary
thing; it's just another side of the general weakening of the
grip upon reality, a kind of anaemia of the brain so that
interest fades and fails. There is no reason why you should
forget a story because you do not believe it--if your brain is
strong enough to hold it. But if your brain is tired and weak,
then so soon as you lose faith in your records, your mind is glad
to let them go. When you see these lost identity people that is
always your first impression, a tired brain that has let go."
The bishop felt extremely like letting go.
"But how does this apply to my case?"
"I come to that," said Dr. Dale, holding up a long large hand.
"What if we treat this case of yours in a new way? What if we
give you not narcotics but stimulants and tonics? What if we so
touch the blood that we increase your sense of physical
detachment while at the same time feeding up your senses to a new
and more vivid apprehension of things about you?" He looked at
his patient's hesitation and added: "You'd lose all that craving
feeling, that you fancy at present is just the need of a smoke.
The world might grow a trifle--transparent, but you'd keep
real. Instead of drugging oneself back to the old contentment--"
"You'd drug me on to the new," said the bishop.
"But just one word more!" said Dr. Dale. "Hear why I would do
this! It was easy and successful to rest and drug people back to
their old states of mind when the world wasn't changing, wasn't
spinning round in the wildest tornado of change that it has ever
been in. But now--Where can I send you for a rest? Where can I
send you to get you out of sight and hearing of the Catastrophe?
Of course old Brighton-Pomfrey would go on sending people away
for rest and a nice little soothing change if the Day of Judgment
was coming in the sky and the earth was opening and the sea was
giving up its dead. He'd send 'em to the seaside. Such things as
that wouldn't shake his faith in the Channel crossing. My idea is
that it's not only right for you to go through with this, but
that it's the only thing to do. If you go right on and right
through with these doubts and intimations--"
He paused.
"You may die like a madman," he said, "but you won't die like a
tame rabbit."
(4)
The bishop sat reflecting. What fascinated and attracted him
was the ending of all the cravings and uneasinesses and
restlessness that had distressed his life for over four years;
what deterred him was the personality of this gaunt young man
with his long grey face, his excited manner, his shock of black
hair. He wanted that tonic--with grave misgivings. "If you
think this tonic is the wiser course," he began. "I'd give it you
if you were my father," said Dr. Dale. "I've got everything for
it," he added.
"You mean you can make it up--without a prescription."
"I can't give you a prescription. The essence of it--It's a
distillate I have been trying. It isn't in the Pharmacopeia."
Again the bishop had a twinge of misgiving.
But in the end he succumbed. He didn't want to take the stuff,
but also he did not want to go without his promised comfort.
Presently Dale had given him a little phial--and was holding
up to the window a small medicine glass into which he was pouring
very carefully twenty drops of the precious fluid. "Take it
only," he said, "when you feel you must."
"It is the most golden of liquids," said the bishop, peering at
it.
"When you want more I will make you more. Later of course, it
will be possible to write a prescription. Now add the water--
so.
"It becomes opalescent. How beautifully the light plays in it!
"Take it."
The bishop dismissed his last discretion and drank.
"Well?" said Dr. Dale.
"I am still here," said the bishop, smiling, and feeling a
joyous tingling throughout his body. "It stirs me."
(5)
The bishop stood on the pavement outside Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey's
house. The massive door had closed behind him.
It had been an act of courage, of rashness if you will, to take
this draught. He was acutely introspective, ready for anything,
for the most disagreeable or the most bizarre sensations. He was
asking himself, Were his feet steady? Was his head swimming?
His doubts glowed into assurance.
Suddenly he perceived that he was sure of God.
Not perhaps of the God of Nicaea, but what did these poor
little quibblings and definitions of the theologians matter? He
had been worrying about these definitions and quibblings for four
long restless years. Now they were just failures to express--
what surely every one knew--and no one would ever express
exactly. Because here was God, and the kingdom of God was
manifestly at hand. The visible world hung before him as a mist
might hang before the rising sun. He stood proudly and
masterfully facing a universe that had heretofore bullied him
into doubt and apologetics, a universe that had hitherto been
opaque and was now betrayed translucent.
That was the first effect of the new tonic, complete
reassurance, complete courage. He turned to walk towards Mount
Street and Berkeley Square as a sultan might turn to walk among
his slaves.
But the tonic was only beginning.
Before he had gone a dozen steps he was aware that he seemed
more solid and larger than the people about him. They had all a
curious miniature effect, as though he was looking at them
through the wrong end of an opera glass. The houses on either
side of the street and the traffic shared this quality in an
equal measure. It was as if he was looking at the world through
apertures in a miniature cinematograph peep-show. This surprised
him and a little dashed his first glow of satisfaction.
He passed a man in khaki who, he fancied, looked at him with an
odd expression. He observed the next passers-by narrowly and
suspiciously, a couple of smartish young men, a lady with a
poodle, a grocer's boy with a basket, but none seemed to observe
anything remarkable about him. Then he caught the eye of a taxi-
driver and became doubtful again.
He had a feeling that this tonic was still coming in like a
tide. It seemed to be filling him and distending him, in spite of
the fact that he was already full. After four years of flaccidity
it was pleasant to be distended again, but already he felt more
filled than he had ever been before. At present nothing was
showing, but all his body seemed braced and uplifted. He must be
careful not to become inflated in his bearing.
And yet it was difficult not to betray a little inflation. He
was so filled with assurance that things were right with him and
that God was there with him. After all it was not mere fancy; he
was looking through the peepholes of his eyes at the world of
illusion and appearance. The world that was so intent upon its
immediate business, so regardless of eternal things, that had so
dominated him but a little while ago, was after all a thing more
mortal than himself.
Another man in khaki passed him.
For the first time he saw the war as something measurable, as
something with a beginning and an end, as something less than the
immortal spirit in man. He had been too much oppressed by it. He
perceived all these people in the street were too much oppressed
by it. He wanted to tell them as much, tell them that all was
well with them, bid them be of good cheer. He wanted to bless
them. He found his arm floating up towards gestures of
benediction. Self-control became increasingly difficult.
All the way down Berkeley Square the bishop was in full-bodied
struggle with himself. He was trying to control himself, trying
to keep within bounds. He felt that he was stepping too high,
that his feet were not properly reaching the ground, that he was
walking upon cushions of air.
The feeling of largeness increased, and the feeling of
transparency in things about him. He avoided collision with
passers-by--excessively. And he felt his attention was being
drawn more and more to something that was going on beyond the
veil of visible things. He was in Piccadilly now, but at the same
time Piccadilly was very small and he was walking in the presence
of God.
He had a feeling that God was there though he could not see
him. And at the same time he was in this transitory world, with
people going to and fro, men with umbrellas tucked dangerously
under their arms, men in a hurry, policemen, young women rattling
Red Cross collecting boxes, smart people, loafers. They
distracted one from God.
He set out to cross the road just opposite Prince's, and
jumping needlessly to give way to an omnibus had the narrowest
escape from a taxicab.
He paused on the pavement edge to recover himself. The shock of
his near escape had, as people say, pulled him together.
What was he to do? Manifestly this opalescent draught was
overpowering him. He ought never to have taken it. He ought to
have listened to the voice of his misgivings. It was clear that
he was not in a fit state to walk about the streets. He was--
what had been Dr. Dale's term?--losing his sense of reality.
What was he to do? He was alarmed but not dismayed. His thoughts
were as full-bodied as the rest of his being, they came throbbing
and bumping into his mind. What was he to do?
Brighton-Pomfrey ought never to have left his practice in the
hands of this wild-eyed experimenter.
Strange that after a lifetime of discretion and men's respect
one should be standing on the Piccadilly pavement--intoxicated!
It came into his head that he was not so very far from the
Athenaeum, and surely there if anywhere a bishop may recover his
sense of being--ordinary.
And behind everything, behind the tall buildings and the
swarming people there was still the sense of a wide illuminated
space, of a light of wonder and a Presence. But he must not give
way to that again! He had already given way altogether too much.
He repeated to himself in a whisper, "I am in Piccadilly."
If he kept tight hold upon himself he felt he might get to the
Athenaeum before--before anything more happened.
He murmured directions to himself. "Keep along the pavement.
Turn to the right at the Circus. Now down the hill. Easily down
the hill. Don't float! Junior Army and Navy Stores. And the
bookseller."
And presently he had a doubt of his name and began to repeat
it.
"Edward Princhester. Edward Scrope, Lord Bishop of
Princhester."
And all the while voices within him were asserting, "You are in
the kingdom of Heaven. You are in the presence of God. Place and
time are a texture of illusion and dreamland. Even now, you are
with God."
(6)
The porter of the Athenaeum saw him come in, looking well--
flushed indeed--but queer in expression; his blue eyes were
wide open and unusually vague and blue.
you have in those cases of people who are found wandering unaware
of their names, unaware of their places of residence, lost
altogether from themselves. They have not only lost their sense
of identity with themselves, but all the circumstances of their
lives have faded out of their minds like an idle story in a book
that has been read and put aside. I have looked into hundreds of
such cases. I don't think that loss of identity is a necessary
thing; it's just another side of the general weakening of the
grip upon reality, a kind of anaemia of the brain so that
interest fades and fails. There is no reason why you should
forget a story because you do not believe it--if your brain is
strong enough to hold it. But if your brain is tired and weak,
then so soon as you lose faith in your records, your mind is glad
to let them go. When you see these lost identity people that is
always your first impression, a tired brain that has let go."
The bishop felt extremely like letting go.
"But how does this apply to my case?"
"I come to that," said Dr. Dale, holding up a long large hand.
"What if we treat this case of yours in a new way? What if we
give you not narcotics but stimulants and tonics? What if we so
touch the blood that we increase your sense of physical
detachment while at the same time feeding up your senses to a new
and more vivid apprehension of things about you?" He looked at
his patient's hesitation and added: "You'd lose all that craving
feeling, that you fancy at present is just the need of a smoke.
The world might grow a trifle--transparent, but you'd keep
real. Instead of drugging oneself back to the old contentment--"
"You'd drug me on to the new," said the bishop.
"But just one word more!" said Dr. Dale. "Hear why I would do
this! It was easy and successful to rest and drug people back to
their old states of mind when the world wasn't changing, wasn't
spinning round in the wildest tornado of change that it has ever
been in. But now--Where can I send you for a rest? Where can I
send you to get you out of sight and hearing of the Catastrophe?
Of course old Brighton-Pomfrey would go on sending people away
for rest and a nice little soothing change if the Day of Judgment
was coming in the sky and the earth was opening and the sea was
giving up its dead. He'd send 'em to the seaside. Such things as
that wouldn't shake his faith in the Channel crossing. My idea is
that it's not only right for you to go through with this, but
that it's the only thing to do. If you go right on and right
through with these doubts and intimations--"
He paused.
"You may die like a madman," he said, "but you won't die like a
tame rabbit."
(4)
The bishop sat reflecting. What fascinated and attracted him
was the ending of all the cravings and uneasinesses and
restlessness that had distressed his life for over four years;
what deterred him was the personality of this gaunt young man
with his long grey face, his excited manner, his shock of black
hair. He wanted that tonic--with grave misgivings. "If you
think this tonic is the wiser course," he began. "I'd give it you
if you were my father," said Dr. Dale. "I've got everything for
it," he added.
"You mean you can make it up--without a prescription."
"I can't give you a prescription. The essence of it--It's a
distillate I have been trying. It isn't in the Pharmacopeia."
Again the bishop had a twinge of misgiving.
But in the end he succumbed. He didn't want to take the stuff,
but also he did not want to go without his promised comfort.
Presently Dale had given him a little phial--and was holding
up to the window a small medicine glass into which he was pouring
very carefully twenty drops of the precious fluid. "Take it
only," he said, "when you feel you must."
"It is the most golden of liquids," said the bishop, peering at
it.
"When you want more I will make you more. Later of course, it
will be possible to write a prescription. Now add the water--
so.
"It becomes opalescent. How beautifully the light plays in it!
"Take it."
The bishop dismissed his last discretion and drank.
"Well?" said Dr. Dale.
"I am still here," said the bishop, smiling, and feeling a
joyous tingling throughout his body. "It stirs me."
(5)
The bishop stood on the pavement outside Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey's
house. The massive door had closed behind him.
It had been an act of courage, of rashness if you will, to take
this draught. He was acutely introspective, ready for anything,
for the most disagreeable or the most bizarre sensations. He was
asking himself, Were his feet steady? Was his head swimming?
His doubts glowed into assurance.
Suddenly he perceived that he was sure of God.
Not perhaps of the God of Nicaea, but what did these poor
little quibblings and definitions of the theologians matter? He
had been worrying about these definitions and quibblings for four
long restless years. Now they were just failures to express--
what surely every one knew--and no one would ever express
exactly. Because here was God, and the kingdom of God was
manifestly at hand. The visible world hung before him as a mist
might hang before the rising sun. He stood proudly and
masterfully facing a universe that had heretofore bullied him
into doubt and apologetics, a universe that had hitherto been
opaque and was now betrayed translucent.
That was the first effect of the new tonic, complete
reassurance, complete courage. He turned to walk towards Mount
Street and Berkeley Square as a sultan might turn to walk among
his slaves.
But the tonic was only beginning.
Before he had gone a dozen steps he was aware that he seemed
more solid and larger than the people about him. They had all a
curious miniature effect, as though he was looking at them
through the wrong end of an opera glass. The houses on either
side of the street and the traffic shared this quality in an
equal measure. It was as if he was looking at the world through
apertures in a miniature cinematograph peep-show. This surprised
him and a little dashed his first glow of satisfaction.
He passed a man in khaki who, he fancied, looked at him with an
odd expression. He observed the next passers-by narrowly and
suspiciously, a couple of smartish young men, a lady with a
poodle, a grocer's boy with a basket, but none seemed to observe
anything remarkable about him. Then he caught the eye of a taxi-
driver and became doubtful again.
He had a feeling that this tonic was still coming in like a
tide. It seemed to be filling him and distending him, in spite of
the fact that he was already full. After four years of flaccidity
it was pleasant to be distended again, but already he felt more
filled than he had ever been before. At present nothing was
showing, but all his body seemed braced and uplifted. He must be
careful not to become inflated in his bearing.
And yet it was difficult not to betray a little inflation. He
was so filled with assurance that things were right with him and
that God was there with him. After all it was not mere fancy; he
was looking through the peepholes of his eyes at the world of
illusion and appearance. The world that was so intent upon its
immediate business, so regardless of eternal things, that had so
dominated him but a little while ago, was after all a thing more
mortal than himself.
Another man in khaki passed him.
For the first time he saw the war as something measurable, as
something with a beginning and an end, as something less than the
immortal spirit in man. He had been too much oppressed by it. He
perceived all these people in the street were too much oppressed
by it. He wanted to tell them as much, tell them that all was
well with them, bid them be of good cheer. He wanted to bless
them. He found his arm floating up towards gestures of
benediction. Self-control became increasingly difficult.
All the way down Berkeley Square the bishop was in full-bodied
struggle with himself. He was trying to control himself, trying
to keep within bounds. He felt that he was stepping too high,
that his feet were not properly reaching the ground, that he was
walking upon cushions of air.
The feeling of largeness increased, and the feeling of
transparency in things about him. He avoided collision with
passers-by--excessively. And he felt his attention was being
drawn more and more to something that was going on beyond the
veil of visible things. He was in Piccadilly now, but at the same
time Piccadilly was very small and he was walking in the presence
of God.
He had a feeling that God was there though he could not see
him. And at the same time he was in this transitory world, with
people going to and fro, men with umbrellas tucked dangerously
under their arms, men in a hurry, policemen, young women rattling
Red Cross collecting boxes, smart people, loafers. They
distracted one from God.
He set out to cross the road just opposite Prince's, and
jumping needlessly to give way to an omnibus had the narrowest
escape from a taxicab.
He paused on the pavement edge to recover himself. The shock of
his near escape had, as people say, pulled him together.
What was he to do? Manifestly this opalescent draught was
overpowering him. He ought never to have taken it. He ought to
have listened to the voice of his misgivings. It was clear that
he was not in a fit state to walk about the streets. He was--
what had been Dr. Dale's term?--losing his sense of reality.
What was he to do? He was alarmed but not dismayed. His thoughts
were as full-bodied as the rest of his being, they came throbbing
and bumping into his mind. What was he to do?
Brighton-Pomfrey ought never to have left his practice in the
hands of this wild-eyed experimenter.
Strange that after a lifetime of discretion and men's respect
one should be standing on the Piccadilly pavement--intoxicated!
It came into his head that he was not so very far from the
Athenaeum, and surely there if anywhere a bishop may recover his
sense of being--ordinary.
And behind everything, behind the tall buildings and the
swarming people there was still the sense of a wide illuminated
space, of a light of wonder and a Presence. But he must not give
way to that again! He had already given way altogether too much.
He repeated to himself in a whisper, "I am in Piccadilly."
If he kept tight hold upon himself he felt he might get to the
Athenaeum before--before anything more happened.
He murmured directions to himself. "Keep along the pavement.
Turn to the right at the Circus. Now down the hill. Easily down
the hill. Don't float! Junior Army and Navy Stores. And the
bookseller."
And presently he had a doubt of his name and began to repeat
it.
"Edward Princhester. Edward Scrope, Lord Bishop of
Princhester."
And all the while voices within him were asserting, "You are in
the kingdom of Heaven. You are in the presence of God. Place and
time are a texture of illusion and dreamland. Even now, you are
with God."
(6)
The porter of the Athenaeum saw him come in, looking well--
flushed indeed--but queer in expression; his blue eyes were
wide open and unusually vague and blue.
- residence [´rezidəns]
n.居住(期间)；住宅 (初中英语单词) - reality [ri´æliti] n.现实(性)；真实；逼真 (初中英语单词)
- impression [im´preʃən] n.印刷；印象；效果 (初中英语单词)
- bishop [´biʃəp] n.主教 (初中英语单词)
- extremely [ik´stri:mli] ad.极端地；非常地 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- channel [´tʃænəl] n.海峡；航道；途径 (初中英语单词)
- personality [,pə:sə´næliti] n.人；个性；人品；人物 (初中英语单词)
- restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- visible [´vizəbəl] a.可见的；明显的 (初中英语单词)
- proudly [´praudli] ad.骄傲地；傲慢地 (初中英语单词)
- traffic [´træfik] n.交通，运输 (初中英语单词)
- measure [´meʒə] n.量度；范围 vt.测量 (初中英语单词)
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl] a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词)
- betray [bi´trei] vt.背叛；辜负；暴露 (初中英语单词)
- intent [in´tent] a.专心致志的 n.意图 (初中英语单词)
- eternal [i´tə:nəl] a.永远的；永恒的 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- properly [´prɔpəli] ad.适当地；严格地 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- altogether [,ɔ:ltə´geðə] ad.完全；总而言之 (初中英语单词)
- whisper [´wispə] v.耳语 n.低语；沙沙声 (初中英语单词)
- junior [´dʒu:niə] a.年少的 n.年少者 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- everyday [´evridei] a.每日的，日常的 (高中英语单词)
- apprehension [,æpri´henʃən] n.理解；忧虑；逮捕 (高中英语单词)
- hesitation [,hezi´teiʃən] n.犹豫，踌躇 (高中英语单词)
- hearing [´hiəriŋ] n.听力；听证会；审讯 (高中英语单词)
- ending [´endiŋ] n.结尾，结局 (高中英语单词)
- pavement [´peivmənt] n.路面；铺筑材料 (高中英语单词)
- massive [´mæsiv] a.厚实的；魁伟的 (高中英语单词)
- draught [drɑ:ft] n.通风，通气；吸出 (高中英语单词)
- disagreeable [,disə´gri:əbl] a.令人不悦的 (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)
- hitherto [,hiðə´tu:] ad.至今，迄今 (高中英语单词)
- sultan [´sʌltən] n.苏丹 (高中英语单词)
- miniature [´miniətʃə] n.缩样 a.雏型的 (高中英语单词)
- doubtful [´dautful] a.怀疑的，可疑的 (高中英语单词)
- assurance [ə´ʃuərəns] n.保证；自信；信任 (高中英语单词)
- regardless [ri´gɑ:dləs] a.不留心的；不关心的 (高中英语单词)
- lifetime [´laiftaim] n.一生，终生，寿命 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- circus [´sə:kəs] n.马戏(团)；圆形广场 (高中英语单词)
- illusion [i´lu:ʒən] n.幻觉；幻影；错觉 (高中英语单词)
- porter [´pɔ:tə] n.守门人；勤杂工人 (高中英语单词)
- detachment [di´tætʃmənt] n.分开(离)；分遣队 (英语四级单词)
- unaware [,ʌnə´weə] a.不知道的；不觉察的 (英语四级单词)
- essence [´esəns] n.本质；要素；精华 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- beautifully [´bju:tifəli] ad.美丽地；优美地 (英语四级单词)
- discretion [di´skreʃən] n.谨慎；判断(力) (英语四级单词)
- heretofore [,hiətu´fɔ:] ad.以前，迄今为止 (英语四级单词)
- increasingly [in´kri:siŋli] ad.日益，愈加 (英语四级单词)
- texture [´tekstʃə] n.(织物等的)质地 (英语四级单词)
- unusually [ʌn´ju:ʒuəli] ad.异常地；非常 (英语四级单词)
- identity [ai´dentiti] n.身份；同一性；一致 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- narrowly [´nærəuli] ad.勉强地；严密地 (英语六级单词)
- self-control [,self´kəntrəul] n.自我克制 (英语六级单词)
- collision [kə´liʒən] n.碰幢；冲突；互撞事件 (英语六级单词)
- manifestly [´mænifestli] ad.明显的 (英语六级单词)
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