the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第2章
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PLEASURES OF EXTRA…ILLUSTRATION ON THE ODORS
WHICH MY BOOKS EXHALE ELZEVIRS AND DIVERS OTHER
MATTERS A BOOK THAT BRINGS SOLACE AND CHEER THE
MALADY CALLED CATALOGITIS THE NAPOLEONIC
RENAISSANCE MY WORKSHOP AND OTHERS OUR DEBT TO
MONKISH MEN
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I
MY FIRST LOVE
At this moment； when I am about to begin the most important
undertaking of my life； I recall the sense of abhorrence with which I have
at different times read the confessions of men famed for their prowess in
the realm of love。 These boastings have always shocked me； for I
reverence love as the noblest of the passions； and it is impossible for me to
conceive how one who has truly fallen victim to its benign influence can
ever thereafter speak flippantly of it。
Yet there have been； and there still are； many who take a seeming
delight in telling you how many conquests they have made； and they not
infrequently have the bad taste to explain with wearisome prolixity the
ways and the means whereby those conquests were wrought； as； forsooth；
an unfeeling huntsman is forever boasting of the game he has slaughtered
and is forever dilating upon the repulsive details of his butcheries。
I have always contended that one who is in love （and having once been
in love is to be always in love） has； actually； no confession to make。
Love is so guileless； so proper； so pure a passion as to involve none of
those things which require or which admit of confession。 He； therefore；
who surmises that in this exposition of my affaires du coeur there is to be
any betrayal of confidences； or any discussion； suggestion； or hint likely
either to shame love or its votaries or to bring a blush to the cheek of the
fastidioushe is grievously in error。
Nor am I going to boast； for I have made no conquests。 I am in no
sense a hero。 For many； very many years I have walked in a pleasant
garden； enjoying sweet odors and soothing spectacles； no predetermined
itinerary has controlled my course； I have wandered whither I pleased； and
very many times I have strayed so far into the tangle… wood and thickets as
almost to have lost my way。 And now it is my purpose to walk that
pleasant garden once more； inviting you to bear me company and to share
with me what satisfaction may accrue from an old man's return to old…time
places and old…time loves。
As a child I was serious…minded。 I cared little for those sports which
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usually excite the ardor of youth。 To out…of…door games and exercises I
had particular aversion。 I was born in a southern latitude； but at the age
of six years I went to live with my grandmother in New Hampshire； both
my parents having fallen victims to the cholera。 This change from the
balmy temperature of the South to the rigors of the North was not
agreeable to me； and I have always held it responsible for that delicate
health which has attended me through life。
My grandmother encouraged my disinclination to play； she recognized
in me that certain seriousness of mind which I remember to have heard her
say I inherited from her； and she determined to make of me what she had
failed to make of any of her own sonsa professional expounder of the
only true faith of Congregationalism。 For this reason； and for the further
reason that at the tender age of seven years I publicly avowed my desire to
become a clergyman； an ambition wholly sincere at that time for these
reasons was I duly installed as prime favorite in my grandmother's
affections。
As distinctly as though it were but yesterday do I recall the time when
I met my first love。 It was in the front room of the old homestead； and
the day was a day in spring。 The front room answered those purposes
which are served by the so…called parlor of the present time。 I remember
the low ceiling； the big fireplace； the long； broad mantelpiece； the andirons
and fender of brass； the tall clock with its jocund and roseate moon； the
bellows that was always wheezy； the wax flowers under a glass globe in
the corner； an allegorical picture of Solomon's temple； another picture of
little Samuel at prayer； the high； stiff…back chairs； the foot…stool with its
gayly embroidered top； the mirror in its gilt…and…black frameall these
things I remember well； and with feelings of tender reverence； and yet that
day I now recall was well…nigh threescore and ten years ago！
Best of all I remember the case in which my grandmother kept her
books； a mahogany structure； massive and dark； with doors composed of
diamond…shaped figures of glass cunningly set in a framework of lead。 I
was in my seventh year then； and I had learned to read I know not when。
The back and current numbers of the ‘‘Well… Spring'' had fallen prey to my
insatiable appetite for literature。 With the story of the small boy who
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stole a pin； repented of and confessed that crime； and then became a good
and great man； I was as familiar as if I myself had invented that ingenious
and instructive tale； I could lisp the moral numbers of Watts and the
didactic hymns of Wesley； and the annual reports of the American Tract
Society had already revealed to me the sphere of usefulness in which my
grandmother hoped I would ultimately figure with discretion and zeal。
And yet my heart was free； wholly untouched of that gentle yet deathless
passion which was to become my delight； my inspiration； and my solace；
it awaited the coming of its first love。
Upon one of those shelves yonderit is the third shelf from the top；
fourth compartment to the rightis that old copy of the ‘‘New England
Primer；'' a curious little； thin； square book in faded blue board covers。 A
good many times I have wondered whether I ought not to have the
precious little thing sumptuously attired in the finest style known to my
binder； indeed； I have often been tempted to exchange the homely blue
board covers for flexible levant； for it occurred to me that in this way I
could testify to my regard for the treasured volume。 I spoke of this one
day to my friend Judge Methuen； for I have great respect for his judgment。
‘‘It would be a desecration；'' said he； ‘‘to deprive the book of its
original binding。 What！ Would you tear off and cast away the covers
which have felt the caressing pressure of the hands of those whose
memory you revere？ The most sacred of sentiments should forbid that
act of vandalism！''
I never think or speak of the ‘‘New England Primer'' that I do not
recall Captivity Waite； for it was Captivity who introduced me to the
Primer that day in the springtime of sixty…three years ago。 She was of
my age； a bright； pretty girla very pretty； an exceptionally pretty girl； as
girls go。 We belonged to the same Sunday…school class。 I remember
that upon this particular day she brought me a russet apple。 It was she
who discovered the Primer in the mahogany case； and what was not our
joy as we turned over the tiny pages together and feasted our eyes upon
the vivid pictures and perused the absorbingly interesting text！ What
wonder that together we wept tears of sympathy at the harrowing recital of
the fate of John Rogers！
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Even at this remote date I cannot recall that experience with Captivity；
involving as it did the wood…cut representing the unfortunate Rogers
standing in an impossible bonfire and being consumed thereby in the
presence of his wife and their numerous progeny； strung along in a pitiful
line across the picture for artistic effecteven now； I say； I cannot
contemplate that experience and that wood…cut without feeling lumpy in
my throat and moist about my eyes。
How lasting are the impressions made upon the youthful mind！
Through the many busy years that have elapsed since first I tasted the
thrilling sweets of that miniature Primer I have not forgotten that ‘‘young
Obadias； David； Josias； all were pious''； that ‘‘Zaccheus he did climb the
Tree our Lord to see''； and that ‘‘Vashti for Pride was set aside''； and still
with many a sympathetic shudder and tingle do I recall Captivity's
overpowering sense of horror； and mine； as we lingered long over the
portraitures of Timothy flying from Sin； of Xerxes laid out in funeral garb；
and of proud Korah's troop partly submerged。
My Book and Heart
Must never part。
So runs one of the couplets in this little Primer…book； and right truly
can I say that from the springtime day sixty…odd years ago； when first my
heart went out in love to this little book； no change of scene or of custom
no allurement of fashion； no demand of mature years； has abated that love。
And herein is exemplified the advantage which the love of books has over
the other kinds of love。 Women are by nature fickle； and so are men； their
friendships are liable to dissipation at the merest provocation or the
slightest pretext。
Not so； however； with books； for books cannot
