小说园

第33章 让心灵去旅行9（第1页）

tnotbeimaginedthatawalkingtour，assomewouldhaveusfancy，ismerelyabetterorworsewayofseeingthecountry。Therearemanywaysofseeinglandscaequiteasgood；andnonemorevivid，insiteofcantingdilettantes，thanfromarailwaytrain。Butlandscaeonawalkingtourisquiteaccessory。Hewhoisindeedofthebrotherhooddoesnotvoyageinquestoftheicturesque，butofcertainjollyhumorsofthehoeandsiritwithwhichthemarchbeginsatmorning，andtheeaceandsiritualreletionoftheevening’srest。Hecannottellwhetherheutshisknasackon，ortakesitoff，withmoredelight。Theexcitementofthedeartureutshiminkeyforthatofthearrival。Whateverhedoesisnotonlyarewardinitself，butwillbefurtherrewardedinthesequel；andsoleasureleadsontoleasureinanendlesschain。Itisthisthatsofewcanunderstand；theywilleitherbealwaysloungingoralwaysatfivemilesanhour；theydonotlayofftheoneagainsttheother，rearealldayfortheevening，andalleveningforthenextday。And，aboveall，itisherethatyouroverwalkerfailsofcomrehension。Hisheartrisesagainstthosewhodrinktheircuracoainliqueurglasses，whenhehimselfcanswillitinabrownJohn。Hewillnotbelievethattheflavourismoredelicateinthesmallerdose。Hewillnotbelievethattowalkthisunconscionabledistanceismerelytostuefyandbrutalizehimself，andcometohisinn，atnight，withasortoffrostonhisfivewits，andastarlessnightofdarknessinhissirit。Notforhimthemildluminouseveningofthetemeratewalker！Hehasnothingleftofmanbutahysicalneedforbedtimeandadoublenightca；andevenhisie，ifhebeasmoker，willbesavorlessanddisenchanted。Itisthefateofsuchanonetotaketwiceasmuchtroubleasisneededtoobtainhainess，andmissthehainessintheend；heisthemanoftheroverb，inshort，whogoesfartherandfaresworse。

Now，toberoerlyenjoyed，awalkingtourshouldbegoneuonalone。Ifyougoinacomany，oreveninairs，itisnolongerawalkingtourinanythingbutname；itissomethingelseandmoreinthenatureofaicnic。Awalkingtourshouldbegoneuonalone，becausefreedomisoftheessence；becauseyoushouldbeabletostoandgoon，andfollowthiswayorthat，asthefreaktakesyou；andbecauseyoumusthaveyourownace，andneithertrotalongsideachamionwalker，norminceintimewithagirl。Andthenyoumustbeoentoallimressionsandletyourthoughtstakecolourfromwhatyousee。Youshouldbeasaieforanywindtolayuon。“Icannotseethewit，”saysHazlitt，“ofwalkingandtalkingatthesametime。WhenIaminthecountryIwishtovegetatelikethecountry，”whichisthegistofallthatcanbesaiduonthematter。Thereshouldbenocackleofvoicesatyourelbow，tojaronthemeditativesilenceofthemorning。Andsolongasamanisreasoninghecannotsurrenderhimselftothatfineintoxicationthatcomesofmuchmotionintheoenair，thatbeginsinasortofdazzleandsluggishnessofthebrain，andendsinaeacethatassescomrehension。

Duringthefirstdayorsoofanytourtherearemomentsofbitterness，whenthetravellerfeelsmorethancoldlytowardshisknasack，whenheishalfinamindtothrowitbodilyoverthehedgeand，likeChristianonasimilaroccasion，“givethreeleasandgoonsinging。”Andyetitsoonacquiresaroertyofeasiness。Itbecomesmagnetic；thesiritofthejourneyentersintoit。Andnosoonerhaveyouassedthestrasoveryourshoulderthantheleesofsleeareclearedfromyou，youullyourselftogetherwithashake，andfallatonceintoyourstride。Andsurely，ofallossiblemoods，this，inwhichamantakestheroad，isthebest。Ofcourse，ifhewillkeethinkingofhisanxieties，ifhewilloenthemerchantAbudah’schestandwalkarm-in-armwiththehag—why，whereverheis，andwhetherhewalksfastorslow，thechancesarethathewillnotbehay。Andsomuchthemoreshametohimself！Thereareerhasthirtymensettingforthatthatsamehour，andIwouldlayalargewagerthereisnotanotherdullfaceamongthethirty。Itwouldbeafinethingtofollow，inacoatofdarkness，oneafteranotherofthesewayfarers，somesummermorning，forthefirstfewmilesuontheroad。Thisone，whowalksfast，withakeenlookinhiseyes，isallconcentratedinhisownmind；heisuathisloom，weavingandweaving，tosetthelandscaetowords。Thisoneeersabout，ashegoes，amongthegrasses；hewaitsbythecanaltowatchthedragonflies；heleansonthegateoftheasture，andcannotlookenoughuonthecomlacentkine。Andherecomesanother，talking，laughing，andgesticulatingtohimself。Hisfacechangesfromtimetotime，asindignationflashesfromhiseyesorangercloudshisforehead。Heiscomosingarticles，deliveringorations，andconductingthemostimassionedinterviews，bytheway。Alittlefartheron，anditisaslikeasnothewillbegintosing。Andwellforhim，suosinghimtobenogreatmasterinthatart，ifhestumblesacrossnostolideasantatacorner；foronsuchanoccasion，Iscarcelyknowwhichisthemoretroubled，orwhetheritisworsetosuffertheconfusionofyourtroubadour，ortheunfeignedalarmofyourclown。Asedentaryoulation，accustomed，besides，tothestrangemechanicalbearingofthecommontram，caninnowiseexlaintoitselfthegaietyoftheseassersby。Iknewonemanwhowasarrestedasarunawaylunatic，becausealthoughafull-grownersonwitharedbeard，heskiedashewentlikeachild。AndyouwouldbeastonishedifIweretotellyouallthegraveandlearnedheadswhohaveconfessedtomethat，whenonwalkingtours，theysang—andsangveryill—andhadaairofredearswhen，asdescribedabove，theinausiciouseasantlumedintotheirarmsfromroundacorner。

我的人生已逝

MyLifeIsOver

乔治·吉辛

GeorgeGissing

然而，我的人生已经逝去。