四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第7章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ade　a　dinner　of　bread　and　butter　I　gloated　over　the　pages。
In　this　Tibullus　I　found　pencilled　on　the　last　page：　〃Perlegi；　Oct。　4；　1792。〃　Who　was　that　possessor　of　the　book；　nearly　a　hundred　years　ago？　There　was　no　other　inscription。　I　like　to　imagine　some　poor　scholar；　poor　and　eager　as　I　myself；　who　bought　the　volume　with　drops　of　his　blood；　and　enjoyed　the　reading　of　it　even　as　I　did。　How　much　THAT　was　I　could　not　easily　say。　Gentle…hearted　Tibullus！…　…of　whom　there　remains　to　us　a　poet's　portrait　more　delightful；　I　think；　than　anything　of　the　kind　in　Roman　literature。
An　tacitum　silvas　inter　reptare　salubres；　Curantem　quidquid　dignum　sapiente　bonoque　est？
So　with　many　another　book　on　the　thronged　shelves。　To　take　them　down　is　to　recall；　how　vividly；　a　struggle　and　a　triumph。　In　those　days　money　represented　nothing　to　me；　nothing　I　cared　to　think　about；　but　the　acquisition　of　books。　There　were　books　of　which　I　had　passionate　need；　books　more　necessary　to　me　than　bodily　nourishment。　I　could　see　them；　of　course；　at　the　British　Museum；　but　that　was　not　at　all　the　same　thing　as　having　and　holding　them；　my　own　property；　on　my　own　shelf。　Now　and　then　I　have　bought　a　volume　of　the　raggedest　and　wretchedest　aspect；　dishonoured　with　foolish　scribbling；　torn；　blotted……no　matter；　I　liked　better　to　read　out　of　that　than　out　of　a　copy　that　was　not　mine。　But　I　was　guilty　at　times　of　mere　self…indulgence；　a　book　tempted　me；　a　book　which　was　not　one　of　those　for　which　I　really　craved；　a　luxury　which　prudence　might　bid　me　forego。　As；　for　instance；　my　Jung…Stilling。　It　caught　my　eye　in　Holywell　Street；　the　name　was　familiar　to　me　in　Wahrheit　und　Dichtung；　and　curiosity　grew　as　I　glanced　over　the　pages。　But　that　day　I　resisted；　in　truth；　I　could　not　afford　the　eighteen…pence；　which　means　that　just　then　I　was　poor　indeed。　Twice　again　did　I　pass；　each　time　assuring　myself　that　Jung…Stilling　had　found　no　purchaser。　There　came　a　day　when　I　was　in　funds。　I　see　myself　hastening　to　Holywell　Street　（in　those　days　my　habitual　pace　was　five　miles　an　hour）；　I　see　the　little　grey　old　man　with　whom　I　transacted　my　business……what　was　his　name？……the　bookseller　who　had　been；　I　believe；　a　Catholic　priest；　and　still　had　a　certain　priestly　dignity　about　him。　He　took　the　volume；　opened　it；　mused　for　a　moment；　then；　with　a　glance　at　me；　said；　as　if　thinking　aloud：　〃Yes；　I　wish　I　had　time　to　read　it。〃
Sometimes　I　added　the　labour　of　a　porter　to　my　fasting　endured　for　the　sake　of　books。　At　the　little　shop　near　Portland　Road　Station　I　came　upon　a　first　edition　of　Gibbon；　the　price　an　absurdity……I　think　it　was　a　shilling　a　volume。　To　possess　those　clean…paged　quartos　I　would　have　sold　my　coat。　As　it　happened；　I　had　not　money　enough　with　me；　but　sufficient　at　home。　I　was　living　at　Islington。　Having　spoken　with　the　bookseller；　I　walked　home；　took　the　cash；　walked　back　again；　and……carried　the　tomes　from　the　west　end　of　Euston　Road　to　a　street　in　Islington　far　beyond　the　Angel。　I　did　it　in　two　journeys……this　being　the　only　time　in　my　life　when　I　thought　of　Gibbon　in　avoirdupois。　Twice……three　times；　reckoning　the　walk　for　the　money……did　I　descend　Euston　Road　and　climb　Pentonville　on　that　occasion。　Of　the　season　and　the　weather　I　have　no　recollection；　my　joy　in　the　purchase　I　had　made　drove　out　every　other　thought。　Except；　indeed；　of　the　weight。　I　had　infinite　energy；　but　not　much　muscular　strength；　and　the　end　of　the　last　journey　saw　me　upon　a　chair；　perspiring；　flaccid；　aching……exultant！
The　well…to…do　person　would　hear　this　story　with　astonishment。　Why　did　I　not　get　the　bookseller　to　send　me　the　volumes？　Or；　if　I　could　not　wait；　was　there　no　omnibus　along　that　London　highway？　How　could　I　make　the　well…to…do　person　understand　that　I　did　not　feel　able　to　afford；　that　day；　one　penny　more　than　I　had　spent　on　the　book？　No；　no；　such　labour…saving　expenditure　did　not　e　within　my　scope；　whatever　I　enjoyed　I　earned　it；　literally；　by　the　sweat　of　my　brow。　In　those　days　I　hardly　knew　what　it　was　to　travel　by　omnibus。　I　have　walked　London　streets　for　twelve　and　fifteen　hours　together　without　ever　a　thought　of　saving　my　legs；　or　my　time；　by　paying　for　waftage。　Being　poor　as　poor　can　be；　there　were　certain　things　I　had　to　renounce；　and　this　was　one　of　them。
Years　after；　I　sold　my　first　edition　of　Gibbon　for　even　less　than　it　cost　me；　it　went　with　a　great　many　other　fine　books　in　folio　and　quarto；　which　I　could　not　drag　about　with　me　in　my　constant　removals；　the　man　who　bought　them　spoke　of　them　as　〃tomb…stones。〃　Why　has　Gibbon　no　market　value？　Often　has　my　heart　ached　with　regret　for　those　quartos。　The　joy　of　reading　the　Decline　and　Fall　in　that　fine　type！　The　page　was　appropriate　to　the　dignity　of　the　subject；　the　mere　sight　of　it　tuned　one's　mind。　I　suppose　I　could　easily　get　another　copy　now；　but　it　would　not　be　to　me　what　that　other　was；　with　its　memory　of　dust　and　toil。
XIII
There　must　be　several　men　of　spirit　and　experiences　akin　to　mine　who　remember　that　little　book…shop　opposite　Portland　Road　Station。　It　had　a　peculiar　character；　the　books　were　of　a　solid　kind……chiefly　theology　and　classics……and　for　the　most　part　those　old　editions　which　are　called　worthless；　which　have　no　bibliopolic　value；　and　have　been　supplanted　for　practical　use　by　modern　issues。　The　bookseller　was　very　much　a　gentleman；　and　this　singular　fact；　together　with　the　extremely　low　prices　at　which　his　volumes　were　marked；　sometimes　inclined　me　to　think　that　he　kept　the　shop　for　mere　love　of　letters。　Things　in　my　eyes　inestimable　I　have　purchased　there　for　a　few　pence；　and　I　don't　think　I　ever　gave　more　than　a　shilling　for　any　volume。　As　I　once　had　the　opportunity　of　perceiving；　a　young　man　fresh　from　class…rooms　could　only　look　with　wondering　contempt　on　the　antiquated　stuff　which　it　rejoiced　me　to　gather　from　that　kindly　stall；　or　from　the　richer　shelves　within。　My　Cicero's　Letters　for　instance：　podgy　volumes　in　parchment；　with　all　the　notes　of　Graevius；　Gronovius；　and　I　know　not　how　many　other　old　scholars。　Pooh！　Hopelessly　out　of　date。　But　I　could　never　feel　that。　I　have　a　deep　affection　for　Graevius　and　Gronovius　and　the　rest；　and　if　I　knew　as　much　as　they　did；　I　should　be　well　satisfied　to　rest　under　the　young　man's　disdain。　The　zeal　of　learning　is　never　out　of　date；　the　example……were　there　no　more……　burns　before　one　as　a　sacred　fire；　for　ever　unquenchable。　In　what　modern　editor　shall　I　find　such　love　and　enthusiasm　as　glows　in　the　annotations　of　old　scholars？
Even　the　best　editions　of　our　day　have　so　much　of　the　mere　schoolbook；　you　feel　so　often　that　the　man　does　not　regard　his　author　as　literature；　but　simply　as　text。　Pedant　for　pedant；　the　old　is　better　than　the　new。
XIV
To…day's　newspaper　contains　a　yard　or　so　of　reading　about　a　spring　horse…race。　The　sight　of　it　fills　me　with　loathing。　It　brings　to　my　mind　that　placard　I　saw　at　a　station　in　Surrey　a　year　or　two　ago；　advertising　certain　races　in　the　neighbourhood。　Here　is　the　poster；　as　I　copied　it　into　my　note…book：
〃Engaged　by　the　Executive　to　ensure　order　and　fort　to　the　public　attending　this　meeting：…
14　detectives　（racing）；　15　detectives　（Scotland　Yard）；　7　police　inspectors；　9　police　sergeants；　76　police；　and　a　supernumerary　contingent　of　specially　selected　men　from　the　Army　Reserve　and　the　Corps　of　missionaires。
The　above　force　will　be　employed　solely　for　the　purpose　of　maintaining　order　and　excluding　bad　characters；　etc。　They　will　have　the　assistance　also　of　a　strong　force　of　the　Surrey　Constabulary。〃
I　remember；　once；　when　I　let　fall　a　remark　on　the　subject　of　horse…　racing　among　friends　chatting　together；　I　was　voted　〃morose。〃　Is　it　really　morose　to　object　to　public　gatherings　which　their　own　promoters　declare　to　be　dangerous　for　all　decent　folk？　Every　one　knows　that　horse…racing　is　carried　on　mainly　for　the　delight　and　profit　of　fools；　ruffians；　and　thieves。　That　intelligent　men　allow　themselves　to　take　part　in　the　affair；　and　defend　their　conduct　by　declaring　that　their　presence　〃maintains　the　character　of　a　sport　essentially　noble；〃　merely　shows　that　intelligence　can　easily　enough　divest　itself　of　sense　and　decency。
XV
Midway　in　my　long　walk　yesterday；　I　lunched　at　a　wayside　inn。　On　the　table　lay　a　copy　of　a　popular　magazine。　Glan