lavengro-第26章

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fulfil　the　inscrutable　decrees　of　thy　Creator；　and　how　dost　thou　

know　that　this　dark　principle　is　not；　after　all；　thy　best　friend；　

that　it　is　not　that　which　tempers　the　whole　mass　of　thy　corruption？　　

It　may　be；　for　what　thou　knowest；　the　mother　of　wisdom；　and　of　

great　works：　　it　is　the　dread　of　the　horror　of　the　night　that　makes　

the　pilgrim　hasten　on　his　way。　　When　thou　feelest　it　nigh；　let　thy　

safety　word　be　'Onward'；　if　thou　tarry；　thou　art　overwhelmed。　　

Courage！　build　great　works　…　'tis　urging　thee　…　it　is　ever　nearest　

the　favourites　of　God　…　the　fool　knows　little　of　it。　　Thou　wouldst　

be　joyous；　wouldst　thou？　then　be　a　fool。　　What　great　work　was　ever　

the　result　of　joy；　the　puny　one？　　Who　have　been　the　wise　ones；　the　

mighty　ones；　the　conquering　ones　of　this　earth？　the　joyous？　　I　

believe　not。　　The　fool　is　happy；　or　comparatively　so　…　certainly　

the　least　sorrowful；　but　he　is　still　a　fool：　　and　whose　notes　are　

sweetest；　those　of　the　nightingale；　or　of　the　silly　lark？



'What　ails　you；　my　child？'　said　a　mother　to　her　son；　as　he　lay　on　a　

couch　under　the　influence　of　the　dreadful　one；　'what　ails　you？　you　

seem　afraid！'



BOY。　　And　so　I　am；　a　dreadful　fear　is　upon　me。



MOTHER。　　But　of　what？　　There　is　no　one　can　harm　you；　of　what　are　

you　apprehensive？



BOY。　　Of　nothing　that　I　can　express；　I　know　not　what　I　am　afraid　

of；　but　afraid　I　am。



MOTHER。　　Perhaps　you　see　sights　and　visions；　I　knew　a　lady　once　who　

was　continually　thinking　that　she　saw　an　armed　man　threaten　her；　

but　it　was　only　an　imagination；　a　phantom　of　the　brain。



BOY。　　No　armed　man　threatens　me；　and　'tis　not　a　thing　like　that　

would　cause　me　any　fear。　　Did　an　armed　man　threaten　me；　I　would　get　

up　and　fight　him；　weak　as　I　am；　I　would　wish　for　nothing　better；　

for　then；　perhaps；　I　should　lose　this　fear；　mine　is　a　dread　of　I　

know　not　what；　and　there　the　horror　lies。



MOTHER。　　Your　forehead　is　cool；　and　your　speech　collected。　　Do　you　

know　where　you　are？



BOY。　　I　know　where　I　am；　and　I　see　things　just　as　they　are；　you　are　

beside　me；　and　upon　the　table　there　is　a　book　which　was　written　by　

a　Florentine；　all　this　I　see；　and　that　there　is　no　ground　for　being　

afraid。　　I　am；　moreover；　quite　cool；　and　feel　no　pain　…　but；　but　…



And　then　there　was　a　burst　of　'gemiti；　sospiri　ed　alti　guai。'　　

Alas；　alas；　poor　child　of　clay！　as　the　sparks　fly　upward；　so　wast　

thou　born　to　sorrow　…　Onward！







CHAPTER　XIX







Agreeable　delusions　…　Youth　…　A　profession　…　Ab　Gwilym　…　Glorious　

English　law　…　There　they　pass　…　My　dear　old　master　…　The　deal　desk　

…　Language　of　the　tents　…　Where　is　Morfydd？　…　Go　to　…　only　once。



IT　has　been　said　by　this　or　that　writer；　I　scarcely　know　by　whom；　

that；　in　proportion　as　we　grow　old；　and　our　time　becomes　short；　the　

swifter　does　it　pass；　until　at　last；　as　we　approach　the　borders　of　

the　grave；　it　assumes　all　the　speed　and　impetuosity　of　a　river　

about　to　precipitate　itself　into　an　abyss；　this　is　doubtless　the　

case；　provided　we　can　carry　to　the　grave　those　pleasant　thoughts　

and　delusions；　which　alone　render　life　agreeable；　and　to　which　even　

to　the　very　last　we　would　gladly　cling；　but　what　becomes　of　the　

swiftness　of　time；　when　the　mind　sees　the　vanity　of　human　pursuits？　

which　is　sure　to　be　the　case　when　its　fondest；　dearest　hopes　have　

been　blighted　at　the　very　moment　when　the　harvest　was　deemed　

secure。　　What　becomes　from　that　moment；　I　repeat；　of　the　shortness　

of　time？　　I　put　not　the　question　to　those　who　have　never　known　that　

trial；　they　are　satisfied　with　themselves　and　all　around　them；　with　

what　they　have　done；　and　yet　hope　to　do；　some　carry　their　delusions　

with　them　to　the　borders　of　the　grave；　ay；　to　the　very　moment　when　

they　fall　into　it；　a　beautiful　golden　cloud　surrounds　them　to　the　

last；　and　such　talk　of　the　shortness　of　time：　　through　the　medium　

of　that　cloud　the　world　has　ever　been　a　pleasant　world　to　them；　

their　only　regret　is　that　they　are　so　soon　to　quit　it；　but　oh；　ye　

dear　deluded　hearts；　it　is　not　every　one　who　is　so　fortunate！



To　the　generality　of　mankind　there　is　no　period　like　youth。　　The　

generality　are　far　from　fortunate；　but　the　period　of　youth；　even　to　

the　least　so；　offers　moments　of　considerable　happiness；　for　they　

are　not　only　disposed　but　able　to　enjoy　most　things　within　their　

reach。　　With　what　trifles　at　that　period　are　we　content；　the　things　

from　which　in　after…life　we　should　turn　away　in　disdain　please　us　

then；　for　we　are　in　the　midst　of　a　golden　cloud；　and　everything　

seems　decked　with　a　golden　hue。　　Never　during　any　portion　of　my　

life　did　time　flow　on　more　speedily　than　during　the　two　or　three　

years　immediately　succeeding　the　period　to　which　we　arrived　in　the　

preceding　chapter：　　since　then　it　has　flagged　often　enough；　

sometimes　it　has　seemed　to　stand　entirely　still；　and　the　reader　may　

easily　judge　how　it　fares　at　the　present；　from　the　circumstance　of　

my　taking　pen　in　hand；　and　endeavouring　to　write　down　the　passages　

of　my　life　…　a　last　resource　with　most　people。　　But　at　the　period　

to　which　I　allude　I　was　just；　as　I　may　say；　entering　upon　life；　I　

had　adopted　a　profession；　and；　to　keep　up　my　character；　

simultaneously　with　that　profession　…　the　study　of　a　new　language。　　

I　speedily　became　a　proficient　in　the　one；　but　ever　remained　a　

novice　in　the　other：　　a　novice　in　the　law；　but　a　perfect　master　in　

the　Welsh　tongue。



Yes；　very　pleasant　times　were　those；　when　within　the　womb　of　a　

lofty　deal　desk；　behind　which　I　sat　for　some　eight　hours　every　day；　

transcribing　（when　I　imagined　eyes　were　upon　me）　documents　of　every　

description　in　every　possible　hand；　Blackstone　kept　company　with　Ab　

Gwilym　…　the　polished　English　lawyer　of　the　last　century；　who　wrote　

long　and　prosy　chapters　on　the　rights　of　things　…　with　a　certain　

wild　Welshman；　who　some　four　hundred　years　before　that　time　indited　

immortal　cowydds　and　odes　to　the　wives　of　Cambrian　chieftains　…　

more　particularly　to　one　Morfydd；　the　wife　of　a　certain　hunchbacked　

dignitary　called　by　the　poet　facetiously　Bwa　Bach　…　generally　

terminating　with　the　modest　request　of　a　little　private　parlance　

beneath　the　greenwood　bough；　with　no　other　witness　than　the　eos；　or　

nightingale；　a　request　which；　if　the　poet　himself　may　be　believed；　

rather　a　doubtful　point；　was　seldom；　very　seldom；　denied。　　And　by　

what　strange　chance　had　Ab　Gwilym　and　Blackstone；　two　personages　so　

exceedingly　different；　been　thus　brought　together？　　From　what　the　

reader　already　knows　of　me；　he　may　be　quite　prepared　to　find　me　

reading　the　former；　but　what　could　have　induced　me　to　take　up　

Blackstone；　or　rather　the　law？



I　have　ever　loved　to　be　as　explicit　as　possible；　on　which　account；　

perhaps；　I　never　attained　to　any　proficiency　in　the　law；　the　

essence　of　which　is　said　to　be　ambiguity；　most　questions　may　be　

answered　in　a　few　words；　and　this　among　the　rest；　though　connected　

with　the　law。　　My　parents　deemed　it　necessary　that　I　should　adopt　

some　profession；　they　named　the　law；　the　law　was　as　agreeable　to　me　

as　any　other　profession　within　my　reach；　so　I　adopted　the　law；　and　

the　consequence　was；　that　Blackstone；　probably　for　the　first　time；　

found　himself　in　company　with　Ab　Gwilym。　　By　adopting　the　law　I　had　

not　ceased　to　be　Lavengro。



So　I　sat　behind　a　desk　many　hours　in　the　day；　ostensibly　engaged　in　

transcribing　documents　of　various　kinds；　the　scene　of　my　labours　

was　a　strange　old　house；　occupying　one　side　of　a　long　and　narrow　

court；　into　which；　however；　the　greater　number　of　the　windows　

looked　not；　but　into　an　extensive　garden；　filled　with　fruit　trees；　

in　the　rear　of　a　large；　handsome　house；　belonging　to　a　highly　

respectable　gentleman；　who；　moyennant　un　douceur　considerable；　had　

consented　to　instruct　my　father's　youngest　son　in　the　mysteries　of　

glorious　English　law。　　Ah！　would　that　I　could　describe　the　good　

gentleman　in　the　manner　which　he　deserves；　he　has　long　since　sunk　

to　his　place　in　a　respectable　vault；　in　the　aisle　of　a　very　

respectable　church；　whilst　an　exceedingly　respectable　marble　slab　

against　the　neighbouring　wall　tells　on　a　Sunday　some　eye　wandering　

from　its　prayer…book　that　his　dust　lies　below；　to　secure　such　

respectabilities　in　death；　he　passed　a　most　respectable　life。　　Let　

no　one　sneer；　he　accomplished　much；　his　life　was　peaceful；　so　was　

his　death。　　Are　these　trifles？　　I　wish　I　could　describe　him；　for　I　

loved　the　man；　and　with　reason；　for　he　was　ever　kind　to　me；　to　whom　

kindness　has　not　always　been　shown；　and　he　was；　moreover；　a　choice　

specimen　of　a　class　which　no　longer　exists　…　a　gentleman　lawyer　of　

the　old　school。　　I　would　fain　describe　him；　but　figures　with　which　

he　has　nought　to　do　press　forward　and　keep　him　from　my　mind's　eye；　

there　they　pass；　Spaniard　and　Moor；　Gypsy；　Turk；　and　livid　Jew。　　

But　who　is　that？　what　that　thick　pursy　man　in　the　loose；　snuff…

coloured　greatcoat；　with　the　white　stockings；　drab　breeches；　and　

silver　buckles　on　his　shoes；　that　man　with　the　bull　neck；　and　

singular　head；　immense　in　the　lower　part；　especially　about　the　

jaws；　but　tapering　upward　like　a　pear；　the　man　with　the　bushy　

brows；　small　gray　eyes　replete　with　catlike　expression；　whose　

grizzled　hair　is　cut　close；　and　whose　ear…lobes　are　pierced　with　

small　golden　rings？　　Oh！　that　is　not　my　dear　old　master；　but　a　

widely　different　personage。　　Bon　jour；　Monsieur　Vidocq！　expressions　

de　ma　part　a　Monsieur　Le　Baron　Taylor。　　But　here　he　comes　at　last；　

my　veritable　old　master！



A　more　respectable…looking　individual　was　never　seen；　he　really　

looked　what　he　was；　a　gentleman　of　the　law　…　there　was　nothing　of　

the　pettifogger　about　him：　　somewhat　under　the　middle　size；　and　

somewhat　rotund　in　person；　he　was　always　dressed　in　a　full　suit　of　

black；　never　worn　long　enough　to　become　threadbare。　　His　face　was　

rubicund；　and　not　without　keenness；　but　the　most　remarkable　thing　

about　him　was　the　crown　of　his　head；　which　was　bald；　and　shone　like　

polished　ivory；　nothing　more　white；　smooth；　and　lustrous。　　Some　

people　have　said　that　he　wore　false　calves；　probably　because　his　

black　silk　stockings　never　exhibited　a　wrinkle；　they　might　just　as　

well　have　said　that　he　waddled；　because　his　shoes　creaked；　for　

these　last；　which　were　always　without　a　speck；　and　polished　as　his　

crown；　though　of　a　different　hue；　did　creak；　as　he　walked　rather　

slowly。　　I　cannot　say　that　I　ever　saw　him　walk　fast。



He　had　a　handsome　practice；　and　might　have　died　a　very　rich　man；　

much　richer　than　he　did；　had　he　not　been　in　the　habit　of　giving　

rather　expensive　dinners　to　certain　great　people；　who　gave　him　

nothing　in　return　except　their　company；　I　could　never　discover　his　

reasons　for　doing　so；　as　he　always　appeared　to　me　a　remarkably　

quiet　man；　by　nature　averse　to　noise　and　bustle；　but　in　all　

dispositions　there　are　anomalies：　　I　have　a