the story of an african farm-第22章

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when　the　poor；　dark　soul　shut　its　eyes　on　earth　it　opened　them　in　the　still

light　of　heaven？　that　there　is　no　wrath　where　God's　face　is？　that　if　one

could　once　creep　to　the　footstool　of　God；　there　is　everlasting　peace　there；

like　the　fresh　stillness　of　the　early　morning？　　While　the　atheist　lay

wondering　and　afraid；　God　bent　down　and　said：　　〃My　child；　here　I　amI；

whom　you　have　not　known；　I；　whom　you　have　not　believed　in；　I　am　here。　　I

sent　My　messenger；　the　white　sheet…lightning；　to　call　you　home。　　I　am

here。〃



Then　the　poor　soul　turned　to　the　lightits　weakness　and　pain　were　gone

forever。



Have　they　not　known；　have　they　not　heard；　who　it　is　rules？



〃For　a　little　moment　have　I　hidden　my　face　from　thee；　but　with　everlasting

kindness　will　I　have　mercy　upon　thee；　saith　the　Lord　thy　Redeemer。〃



We　mutter　on　to　ourselves；　till　some　one　pulls　us　violently　by　the　arm　to

remind　us　we　are　in　church。　　We　see　nothing　but　our　own　ideas。



Presently　every　one　turns　to　pray。　　There　are　six　hundred　souls　lifting

themselves　to　the　Everlasting　light。



Behind　us　sit　two　pretty　ladies；　one　hands　her　scent…bottle　softly　to　the

other；　and　a　mother　pulls　down　her　little　girl's　frock。　　One　lady　drops　her

handkerchief；　a　gentleman　picks　it　up；　she　blushes。　　The　women　in　the　choir

turn　softly　the　leaves　of　their　tune…books；　to　be　ready　when　the　praying　is

done。　　It　is　as　though　they　thought　more　of　the　singing　than　the

Everlasting　Father。　　Oh；　would　it　not　be　more　worship　of　Him　to　sit　alone

in　the　karoo　and　kiss　one　little　purple　flower　that　he　had　made？　　Is　it　not

mockery？　　Then　the　thought　comes；　〃What　doest　thou　here；　Elijah？〃　　We　who

judge；　what　are　we　better　than　they？rather　worse。　　Is　it　any　excuse　to

say；　〃I　am　but　a　child　and　must　come？〃　　Does　God　allow　any　soul　to　step　in

between　the　spirit　he　made　and　himself？　　What　do　we　there　in　that　place；

where　all　the　words　are　lies　against　the　All　Father？　　Filled　with　horror；

we　turn　and　flee　out　of　the　place。　　On　the　pavement　we　smite　our　foot；　and

swear　in　our　child's　soul　never　again　to　enter　those　places　where　men　come

to　sing　and　pray。　　We　are　questioned　afterward。　　Why　was　it　we　went　out　of

the　church。



How　can　we　explain？we　stand　silent。　　Then　we　are　pressed　further；　and　we

try　to　tell。　　Then　a　head　is　shaken　solemnly　at　us。　　No　one　can　think　it

wrong　to　go　to　the　house　of　the　Lord；　it　is　the　idle　excuse　of　a　wicked

boy。　　When　will　we　think　seriously　of　our　souls；　and　love　going　to　church？

We　are　wicked；　very　wicked。　　And　wewe　slink　away　and　go　alone　to　cry。　

Will　it　be　always　so？　　Whether　we　hate　and　doubt；　or　whether　we　believe　and

love；　to　our　dearest；　are　we　to　seem　always　wicked？



We　do　not　yet　know　that　in　the　soul's　search　for　truth　the　bitterness　lies

here；　the　striving　cannot　always　hide　itself　among　the　thoughts；　sooner　or

later　it　will　clothe　itself　in　outward　action；　then　it　steps　in　and　divides

between　the　soul　and　what　it　loves。　　All　things　on　earth　have　their　price；

and　for　truth　we　pay　the　dearest。　　We　barter　it　for　love　and　sympathy。　　The

road　to　honour　is　paved　with　thorns；　but　on　the　path　to　truth；　at　every

step　you　set　your　foot　down　on　your　own　heart。



VI。



Then　at　last　a　new　timethe　time　of　waking；　short；　sharp；　and　not

pleasant；　as　wakings　often　are。



Sleep　and　dreams　exist　on　this　conditionthat　no　one　wake　the　dreamer。



And　now　life　takes　us　up　between　her　finger　and　thumb；　shakes　us　furiously；

till　our　poor　nodding　head　is　well…nigh　rolled　from　our　shoulders；　and　she

sets　us　down　a　little　hard　on　the　bare　earth；　bruised　and　sore；　but

preternaturally　wide　awake。



We　have　said　in　our　days　of　dreaming；　〃Injustice　and　wrong　are　a　seeming；

pain　is　a　shadow。　　Our　God；　He　is　real；　He　who　made　all　things；　and　He　only

is　Love。〃



Now　life　takes　us　by　the　neck　and　shows　us　a　few　other　things；new…made

graves　with　the　red　sand　flying　about　them；　eyes　that　we　love　with　the

worms　eating　them；　evil　men　walking　sleek　and　fat；　the　whole　terrible

hurly…burly　of　the　thing　called　life；and　she　says；　〃What　do　you　think　of

these？〃　　We　dare　not　say　〃Nothing。〃　　We　feel　them；　they　are　very　real。　　But

we　try　to　lay　our　hands　about　and　feel　that　other　thing　we　felt　before。　　In

the　dark　night　in　the　fuel…room　we　cry　to　our　Beautiful　dream…god：　　〃Oh；

let　us　come　near　you；　and　lay　our　head　against　your　feet。　　Now　in　our　hour

of　need　be　near　us。〃　　But　He　is　not　there；　He　is　gone　away。　　The　old

questioning　devil　is　there。



We　must　have　been　awakened　sooner　or　later。　　The　imagination　cannot　always

triumph　over　reality；　the　desire　over　truth。　　We　must　have　been　awakened。　

If　it　was　done　a　little　sharply；　what　matter？　　It　was　done　thoroughly；　and

it　had　to　be　done。



VII。



And　a　new　life　begins　for　usa　new　time；　a　life　as　cold　as　that　of　a　man

who　sits　on　the　pinnacle　of　an　iceberg　and　sees　the　glittering　crystals　all

about　him。　　The　old　looks　indeed　like　a　long　hot　delirium；　peopled　with

phantasies。　　The　new　is　cold　enough。



Now　we　have　no　God。　　We　have　had　two：　　the　old　God　that　our　fathers　handed

down　to　us；　that　we　hated；　and　never　liked：　　the　new　one　that　we　made　for

ourselves；　that　we　loved；　but　now　he　has　flitted　away　from　us；　and　we　see

what　he　was　made　ofthe　shadow　of　our　highest　ideal；　crowned　and　throned。

Now　we　have　no　God。



〃The　fool　hath　said　in　his　heart；　There　is　no　God。〃　　It　may　be　so。　　Most

things　said　or　written　have　been　the　work　of　fools。



This　thing　is　certainhe　is　a　fool　who　says；　〃No　man　hath　said　in　his

heart；　There　is　no　God。〃



It　has　been　said　many　thousand　times　in　hearts　with　profound　bitterness　of

earnest　faith。



We　do　not　cry　and　weep：　　we　sit　down　with　cold　eyes　and　look　at　the　world。

We　are　not　miserable。　　Why　should　we　be？　　We　eat　and　drink；　and　sleep　all

night；　but　the　dead　are　not　colder。



And　we　say　it　slowly；　but　without　sighing；　〃Yes；　we　see　it　now；　there　is　no

God。〃



And；　we　add；　growing　a　little　colder　yet。　　〃There　is　no　justice。　　The　ox

dies　in　the　yoke；　beneath　its　master's　whip；　it　turns　its　anguish…filled

eyes　on　the　sunlight；　but　there　is　no　sign　of　recompense　to　be　made　it。　

The　black　man　is　shot　like　a　dog；　and　it　goes　well　with　the　shooter。　　The

innocent　are　accused　and　the　accuser　triumphs。　　If　you　will　take　the

trouble　to　scratch　the　surface　anywhere；　you　will　see　under　the　skin　a

sentient　being　writhing　in　impotent　anguish。〃



And；　we　say　further；　and　our　heart　is　as　the　heart　of　the　dead　for

coldness；　〃There　is　no　order：　　all　things　are　driven　about　by　a　blind

chance。〃



What　a　soul　drinks　in　with　its　mother's　milk　will　not　leave　it　in　a　day。　

From　our　earliest　hour　we　have　been　taught　that　the　thought　of　the　heart；

the　shaping　of　the　rain…cloud；　the　amount　of　wool　that　grows　on　a　sheep's

back；　the　length　of　a　drought；　and　the　growing　of　the　corn；　depend　on

nothing　that　moves　immutable；　at　the　heart　of　all　things；　but　on　the

changeable　will　of　a　changeable　being；　whom　our　prayers　can　alter。　　To　us；

from　the　beginning；　nature　has　been　but　a　poor　plastic　thing；　to　be　toyed

with　this　way　or　that；　as　man　happens　to　please　his　deity　or　not；　to　go　to

church　or　not；　to　say　his　prayers　right　or　not；　to　travel　on　a　Sunday　or

not。　　Was　it　possible　for　us　in　an　instant　to　see　Nature　as　she　isthe

flowing　vestment　of　an　unchanging　reality？　　When　the　soul　breaks　free　from

the　arms　of　a　superstition；　bits　of　the　claws　and　talons　break　themselves

off　in　him。　　It　is　not　the　work　of　a　day　to　squeeze　them　out。



And　so；　for　us；　the　human…like　driver　and　guide　being　gone；　all　existence；

as　we　look　out　at　it　with　our　chilled；　wondering　eyes；　is　an　aimless　rise

and　swell　of　shifting　waters。　　In　all　that　weltering　chaos　we　can　see　no

spot　so　large　as　a　man's　hand　on　which　we　may　plant　our　foot。



Whether　a　man　believes　in　a　human…like　God　or　no　is　a　small　thing。　　Whether

he　looks　into　the　mental　and　physical　world　and　sees　no　relation　between

cause　and　effect；　no　order；　but　a　blind　chance　sporting；　this　is　the

mightiest　fact　that　can　be　recorded　in　any　spiritual　existence。　　It　were

almost　a　mercy　to　cut　his　throat；　if　indeed　he　does　not　do　it　for　himself。



We；　however；　do　not　cut　our　throats。　　To　do　so　would　imply　some　desire　and

feeling；　and　we　have　no　desire　and　no　feeling；　we　are　only　cold。　　We　do　not

wish　to　live；　and　we　do　not　wish　to　die。　　One　day　a　snake　curls　itself

round　the　waist　of　a　Kaffer　woman。　　We　take　it　in　our　hand；　swing　it　round

and　round；　and　fling　it　on　the　grounddead。　　Every　one　looks　at　us　with

eyes　of　admiration。　　We　almost　laugh。　　Is　it　wonderful　to　risk　that　for

which　we　care　nothing？



In　truth；　nothing　matters。　　This　dirty　little　world　full　of　confusion；　and

the　blue　rag；　stretched　overhead　for　a　sky；　is　so　low　we　could　touch　it

with　our　hand。



Existence　is　a　great　pot；　and　the　old　Fate　who　stirs　it　round　cares　nothing

what　rises　to　the　top　and　what　goes　down；　and　laughs　when　the　bubbles

burst。　　And　we　do　not　care。　　Let　it　boil　about。　　Why　should　we　trouble

ourselves？　　Nevertheless　the　physical　sensations　are　real。　　Hunger　hurts；

and　thirst；　therefore　we　eat　and　drink：　　inaction　pains　us；　therefore　we

work　like　galley…slaves。　　No　one　demands　it；　but　we　set　ourselves　to　build

a　great　dam　in　red　sand　beyond　the　graves。　　In　the　grey　dawn　before　the

sheep　are　let　out　we　work　at　it。　　All　day；　while　the　young　ostriches　we

tend　feed　about　us；　we　work　on　through　the　fiercest　heat。　　The　people

wonder　what　new　spirit　has　seized　us　now。　　They　do　not　know　we　are　working

for　life。　　We　bear　the　greatest　stones；　and　feel　a　satisfaction　when　we

stagger　under　them；　and　are　hurt　by　a　pang　that　shoots　through　our　chest。　

While　we　eat　our　dinner　we　carry　on　baskets　full　of　earth；　as　though　the

devil　drove　us。　　The　Kaffer　servants　have　a　story　that　at　night　a　witch　and

two　white　oxen　come　to　help　us。　　No　wall；　they　say；　could　grow　so　quickly

under　one　man's　hands。



At　night；　alone　in　our　cabin；　we　sit　no　more　brooding　over　the　fire。　　What

should　we　think　of　now？　　All　is　emptiness。　　So　we　take　the　old　arithmetic；

and　the　multiplication　table；　which　with　so　much　pains　we　learnt　long　ago

and　forgot　directly；　we　learn　now　in　a　few　hours；　and　never　forget　again。　

We　take　a　strange　satisfaction　in　working　arithmetical　problems。　　We　pause

in　our　building　to　cover　the　stones　with　figures　and　calculations。　　We　save

money　for　a　Latin　Grammar　and　Algebra；　and　carry　them　about　in　our　pockets；

poring　over　them　as　over　our　Bible　of　old。　　We　have　thought　we　were　utterly

stupid；　incapable　of　remembering　anything；　of　learning　anything。　　Now　we

find　that　all　is　easy。　　Has　a　new　soul　crept　into　this　old　body；　that　even

our　intellectual　faculties　are　changed？　　We　marvel；　not　perceiving　that

what　a　man　expends　in　prayer　and　ecstasy　he　cannot　have　over　for　acquiring

knowledge。　　You　never　shed　a　tear；　or　create　a　beautiful　image；　or　quiver

wi