the story of an african farm-第26章

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for　a　yearonly　a　few。　　He　sang　no　more；　he　said　no　more；　'I　will　do　this

or　that'he　only　worked。　　And　at　night；　when　the　twilight　settled　down；

there　looked　out　at　him　from　the　holes　and　crevices　in　the　rocks　strange

wild　faces。



〃'Stop　your　work；　you　lonely　man；　and　speak　to　us；'　they　cried。



〃'My　salvation　is　in　work；　if　I　should　stop　but　for　one　moment　you　would

creep　down　upon　me；'　he　replied。　　And　they　put　out　their　long　necks

further。



〃'Look　down　into　the　crevice　at　your　feet；'　they　said。　　'See　what　lie

therewhite　bones！　　As　brave　and　strong　a　man　as　you　climbed　to　these

rocks。'　　And　he　looked　up。　　He　saw　there　was　no　use　in　striving；　he　would

never　hold　Truth；　never　see　her；　never　find　her。　　So　he　lay　down　here；　for

he　was　very　tired。　　He　went　to　sleep　forever。　　He　put　himself　to　sleep。　

Sleep　is　very　tranquil。　　You　are　not　lonely　when　you　are　asleep；　neither　do

your　hands　ache；　nor　your　heart。　　And　the　hunter　laughed　between　his　teeth。



〃'Have　I　torn　from　my　heart　all　that　was　dearest；　have　I　wandered　alone　in

the　land　of　night；　have　I　resisted　temptation；　have　I　dwelt　where　the　voice

of　my　kind　is　never　heard；　and　laboured　alone；　to　lie　down　and　be　food　for

you；　ye　harpies？'



〃He　laughed　fiercely；　and　the　Echoes　of　Despair　slunk　away；　for　the　laugh

of　a　brave；　strong　heart　is　as　a　death　blow　to　them。



〃Nevertheless　they　crept　out　again　and　looked　at　him。



〃'Do　you　know　that　your　hair　is　white？'　they　said；　'that　your　hands　begin

to　tremble　like　a　child's？　　Do　you　see　that　the　point　of　your　shuttle　is

gone？it　is　cracked　already。　　If　you　should　ever　climb　this　stair；'　they

said；　'it　will　be　your　last。　　You　will　never　climb　another。'



〃And　he　answered；　'I　know　it！'　and　worked　on。



〃The　old；　thin　hands　cut　the　stones　ill　and　jaggedly；　for　the　fingers　were

stiff　and　bent。　　The　beauty　and　the　strength　of　the　man　was　gone。



〃At　last；　an　old；　wizened；　shrunken　face　looked　out　above　the　rocks。　　It

saw　the　eternal　mountains　rise　with　walls　to　the　white　clouds；　but　its　work

was　done。



〃The　old　hunter　folded　his　tired　hands　and　lay　down　by　the　precipice　where

he　had　worked　away　his　life。　　It　was　the　sleeping　time　at　last。　　Below　him

over　the　valleys　rolled　the　thick　white　mist。　　Once　it　broke；　and　through

the　gap　the　dying　eyes　looked　down　on　the　trees　and　fields　of　their

childhood。　　From　afar　seemed　borne　to　him　the　cry　of　his　own　wild　birds；

and　he　heard　the　noise　of　people　singing　as　they　danced。　　And　he　thought　he

heard　among　them　the　voices　of　his　old　comrades；　and　he　saw　far　off　the

sunlight　shine　on　his　early　home。　　And　great　tears　gathered　in　the　hunter's

eyes。



〃'Ah！　　They　who　die　there　do　not　die　alone；'　he　cried。



〃Then　the　mists　rolled　together　again；　and　he　turned　his　eyes　away。



〃'I　have　sought；'　he　said；　'for　long　years　I　have　laboured；　but　I　have　not

found　her。　　I　have　not　rested；　I　have　not　repined；　and　I　have　not　seen　her；

now　my　strength　is　gone。　　Where　I　lie　down　worn　out　other　men　will　stand；

young　and　fresh。　　By　the　steps　that　I　have　cut　they　will　climb；　by　the

stairs　that　I　have　built　they　will　mount。　　They　will　never　know　the　name　of

the　man　who　made　them。　　At　the　clumsy　work　they　will　laugh；　when　the　stones

roll　they　will　curse　me。　　But　they　will　mount；　and　on　my　work；　they　will

climb；　and　by　my　stair！　　They　will　find　her；　and　through　me！　　And　no　man

liveth　to　himself　and　no　man　dieth　to　himself。'



〃The　tears　rolled　from　beneath　the　shrivelled　eyelids。　　If　Truth　had

appeared　above　him　in　the　clouds　now　he　could　not　have　seen　her；　the　mist

of　death　was　in　his　eyes。



〃'My　soul　hears　their　glad　step　coming；'　he　said；　'and　they　shall　mount！

they　shall　mount！'　　He　raised　his　shrivelled　hand　to　his　eyes。



〃Then　slowly　from　the　white　sky　above；　through　the　still　air；　came

something　falling；　falling；　falling。　　Softly　it　fluttered　down；　and　dropped

on　to　the　breast　of　the　dying　man。　　He　felt　it　with　his　hands。　　It　was　a

feather。　　He　died　holding　it。〃



The　boy　had　shaded　his　eyes　with　his　hand。　　On　the　wood　of　the　carving

great　drops　fell。　　The　stranger　must　have　laughed　at　him；　or　remained

silent。　　He　did　so。



〃How　did　you　know　it？〃　the　boy　whispered　at　last。　　〃It　is　not　written

therenot　on　that　wood。　　How　did　you　know　it？〃



〃Certainly；〃　said　the　stranger；　〃the　whole　of　the　story　is　not　written

here；　but　it　is　suggested。　　And　the　attribute　of　all　true　art；　the　highest

and　the　lowest；　is　thisthat　it　rays　more　than　it　says；　and　takes　you　away

from　itself。　　It　is　a　little　door　that　opens　into　an　infinite　hall　where

you　may　find　what　you　please。　　Men；　thinking　to　detract；　say：　　'People　read

more　in　this　or　that　work　of　genius　than　was　ever　written　in　it；'　not

perceiving　that　they　pay　the　highest　compliment。　　If　we　pick　up　the　finger

and　nail　of　a　real　man；　we　can　decipher　a　whole　storycould　almost

reconstruct　the　creature　again；　from　head　to　foot。　　But　half　the　body　of　a

Mumboo…jumbow　idol　leaves　us　utterly　in　the　dark　as　to　what　the　rest　was

like。　　We　see　what　we　see；　but　nothing　more。　　There　is　nothing　so

universally　intelligible　as　truth。　　It　has　a　thousand　meanings；　and

suggests　a　thousand　more。〃



He　turned　over　the　wooden　thing。



〃Though　a　man　should　carve　it　into　matter　with　the　least　possible

manipulative　skill；　it　will　yet　find　interpreters。　　It　is　the　soul　that

looks　out　with　burning　eyes　through　the　most　gross　fleshly　filament。　

Whosoever　should　portray　truly　the　life　and　death　of　a　little　flowerits

birth；　sucking　in　of　nourishment；　reproduction　of　its　kind；　withering　and

vanishingwould　have　shaped　a　symbol　of　all　existence。　　All　true　facts　of

nature　or　the　mind　are　related。　　Your　little　carving　represents　some　mental

facts　as　they　really　are；　therefore　fifty　different　true　stories　might　be

read　from　it。　　What　your　work　wants　is　not　truth；　but　beauty　of　external

form；　the　other　half　of　art。〃　　He　leaned　almost　gently　toward　the　boy。　

〃Skill　may　come　in　time；　but　you　will　have　to　work　hard。　　The　love　of

beauty　and　the　desire　for　it　must　be　born　in　a　man；　the　skill　to　reproduce

it　he　must　make。　　He　must　work　hard。〃



〃All　my　life　I　have　longed　to　see　you；〃　the　boy　said。



The　stranger　broke　off　the　end　of　his　cigar；　and　lit　it。　　The　boy　lifted

the　heavy　wood　from　the　stranger's　knee　and　drew　yet　nearer　him。　　In　the

dog…like　manner　of　his　drawing　near　there　was　something　superbly

ridiculous；　unless　one　chanced　to　view　it　in　another　light。　　Presently　the

stranger　said；　whiffing；　〃Do　something　for　me。〃



The　boy　started　up。



〃No；　stay　where　you　are。　　I　don't　want　you　to　go　anyowhere；　I　want　you　to

talk　to　me。　　Tell　me　what　you　have　been　doing　all　your　life。〃



The　boy　slunk　down　again。　　Would　that　the　man　had　asked　him　to　root　up

bushes　with　his　hands　for　his　horse　to　feed　on；　or　to　run　to　the　far　end　of

the　plain　for　the　fossils　that　lay　there；　or　to　gather　the　flowers　that

grew　on　the　hills　at　the　edge　of　the　plain；　he　would　have　run　and　been　back

quicklybut　now！



〃I　have　never　done　anything；〃　he　said。



〃Then　tell　me　of　that　nothing。　　I　like　to　know　what　other　folks　have　been

doing　whose　word　I　can　believe。　　It　is　interesting。　　What　was　the　first

thing　you　ever　wanted　very　much？〃



The　boy　waited　to　remember；　then　began　hesitatingly；　but　soon　the　words

flowed。　　In　the　smallest　past　we　find　an　inexhaustible　mine　when　once　we

begin　to　dig　at　it。



A　confused；　disordered　storythe　little　made　large　and　the　large　small；

and　nothing　showing　its　inward　meaning。　　It　is　not　till　the　past　has

receded　many　steps　that　before　the　clearest　eyes　it　falls　into　co…ordinate

pictures。　　It　is　not　till　the　I　we　tell　of　has　ceased　to　exist　that　it

takes　its　place　among　other　objective　realities；　and　finds　its　true　niche

in　the　picture。　　The　present　and　the　near　past　is　a　confusion；　whose

meaning　flashes　on　us　as　it　slinks　away　into　the　distance。



The　stranger　lit　one　cigar　from　the　end　of　another；　and　puffed　and　listened

with　half…closed　eyes。



〃I　will　remember　more　to　tell　you　if　you　like；〃　said　the　boy。



He　spoke　with　that　extreme　gravity　common　to　all　very　young　things　who　feel

deeply。　　It　is　not　till　twenty　that　we　learn　to　be　in　deadly　earnest　and　to

laugh。　　The　stranger　nodded；　while　the　fellow　sought　for　something　more　to

relate。　　He　would　tell　all　to　this　man　of　hisall　that　he　knew；　all　that

he　had　felt；　his　inmost　sorest　thought。　　Suddenly　the　stranger　turned　upon

him。



〃Boy；〃　he　said；　〃you　are　happy　to　be　here。〃



Waldo　looked　at　him。　　Was　his　delightful　one　ridiculing　him？　　Here；　with

this　brown　earth　and　these　low　hills；　while　the　rare　wonderful　world　lay

all　beyond。　　Fortunate　to　be　here？



The　stranger　read　his　glance。



〃Yes；〃　he　said；　〃here　with　the　karoo…bushes　and　red　sand。　　Do　you　wonder

what　I　mean？　　To　all　who　have　been　born　in　the　old　faith　there　comes　a　time

of　danger；　when　the　old　slips　from　us；　and　we　have　not　yet　planted　our　feet

on　the　new。　　We　hear　the　voice　from　Sinai　thundering　no　more；　and　the　still

small　voice　of　reason　is　not　yet　heard。　　We　have　proved　the　religion　our

mothers　fed　us　on　to　be　a　delusion；　in　our　bewilderment　we　see　no　rule　by

which　to　guide　our　steps　day　by　day；　and　yet　every　day　we　must　step

somewhere。〃



The　stranger　leaned　forward　and　spoke　more　quickly。　　〃We　have　never　once

been　taught　by　word　or　act　to　distinguish　between　religion　and　the　moral

laws　on　which　it　has　artfully　fastened　itself；　and　from　which　it　has　sucked

its　vitality。　　When　we　have　dragged　down　the　weeds　and　creepers　that

covered　the　solid　wall　and　have　found　them　to　be　rotten　wood；　we　imagine

the　wall　itself　to　be　rotten　wood　too。　　We　find　it　is　solid　and　standing

only　when　we　fall　headlong　against　it。　　We　have　been　taught　that　all　right

and　wrong　originate　in　the　will　of　an　irresponsible　being。　　It　is　some　time

before　we　see　how　the　inexorable　'Thou　shalt　and　shalt　not；'　are　carved

into　the　nature　of　things。　　This　is　the　time　of　danger。〃



His　dark；　misty　eyes　looked　into　the　boy's。



〃In　the　end　experience　will　inevitably　teach　us　that　the　laws　for　a　wise

and　noble　life　have　a　foundation　infinitely　deeper　than　the　fiat　of　any

being；　God　or　man；　even　in　the　groundwork　of　human　nature。



〃She　will　teach　us　that　whoso　sheddeth　man's　blood；　though　by　man　his　blood

be　not　shed；　though　no　man　avenge　and　no　hell　await；　yet　every　drop　shall

blister　on　his　soul　and　eat　in　the　name　of　the　dead。　　She　will　teach　that

whoso　takes　a　love　not　lawfully　his　own；　gathers　a　flower　with　a　poison　on

its　petals；　that　whoso　revenges；　strikes　with　a　sword　that　has　two　edges

one　for　his　adversary；　one　for　himself；　that　who　lives　to　himself　is　dead；

though　the　ground　is　not　yet　on　him；　that　who　wrongs　another　clouds　his　own

sun；　and　that　who　sins　in　secret　stands　accursed　and　condemned　before　the

one　Judge　who　deals　eternal　justicehis　own　all…knowing　self。