an inland voyage-第24部分

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l　along　our　route。　　There　is　nothing　but　tit…　for…tat　in　this　world；　though　sometimes　it　be　a　little　difficult　to　　trace：　　for　the　scores　are　older　than　we　ourselves；　and　there　has　　never　yet　been　a　settling…day　since　things　were。　　You　get　　entertainment　pretty　much　in　proportion　as　you　give。　　As　long　as　we　　were　a　sort　of　odd　wanderers；　to　be　stared　at　and　followed　like　a　　quack　doctor　or　a　caravan；　we　had　no　want　of　amusement　in　return；　　but　as　soon　as　we　sank　into　commonplace　ourselves；　all　whom　we　met　　were　similarly　disenchanted。　　And　here　is　one　reason　of　a　dozen；　　why　the　world　is　dull　to　dull　persons。

In　our　earlier　adventures　there　was　generally　something　to　do；　and　　that　quickened　us。　　Even　the　showers　of　rain　had　a　revivifying　　effect；　and　shook　up　the　brain　from　torpor。　　But　now；　when　the　　river　no　longer　ran　in　a　proper　sense；　only　glided　seaward　with　an　　even；　outright；　but　imperceptible　speed；　and　when　the　sky　smiled　　upon　us　day　after　day　without　variety；　we　began　to　slip　into　that　　golden　doze　of　the　mind　which　follows　upon　much　exercise　in　the　　open　air。　　I　have　stupefied　myself　in　this　way　more　than　once；　　indeed；　I　dearly　love　the　feeling；　but　I　never　had　it　to　the　same　　degree　as　when　paddling　down　the　Oise。　　It　was　the　apotheosis　of　　stupidity。

We　ceased　reading　entirely。　　Sometimes　when　I　found　a　new　paper；　I　　took　a　particular　pleasure　in　reading　a　single　number　of　the　　current　novel；　but　I　never　could　bear　more　than　three　instalments；　　and　even　the　second　was　a　disappointment。　　As　soon　as　the　tale　　became　in　any　way　perspicuous；　it　lost　all　merit　in　my　eyes；　only　a　　single　scene；　or；　as　is　the　way　with　these　FEUILLETONS；　half　a　　scene；　without　antecedent　or　consequence；　like　a　piece　of　a　dream；　　had　the　knack　of　fixing　my　interest。　　The　less　I　saw　of　the　novel；　　the　better　I　liked　it：　　a　pregnant　reflection。　　But　for　the　most　　part；　as　I　said；　we　neither　of　us　read　anything　in　the　world；　and　　employed　the　very　little　while　we　were　awake　between　bed　and　dinner　　in　poring　upon　maps。　　I　have　always　been　fond　of　maps；　and　can　　voyage　in　an　atlas　with　the　greatest　enjoyment。　　The　names　of　　places　are　singularly　inviting；　the　contour　of　coasts　and　rivers　is　　enthralling　to　the　eye；　and　to　hit；　in　a　map；　upon　some　place　you　　have　heard　of　before；　makes　history　a　new　possession。　　But　we　　thumbed　our　charts；　on　these　evenings；　with　the　blankest　unconcern。　　　We　cared　not　a　fraction　for　this　place　or　that。　　We　stared　at　the　　sheet　as　children　listen　to　their　rattle；　and　read　the　names　of　　towns　or　villages　to　forget　them　again　at　once。　　We　had　no　romance　　in　the　matter；　there　was　nobody　so　fancy…free。　　If　you　had　taken　　the　maps　away　while　we　were　studying　them　most　intently；　it　is　a　　fair　bet　whether　we　might　not　have　continued　to　study　the　table　　with　the　same　delight。

About　one　thing　we　were　mightily　taken　up；　and　that　was　eating。　　I　　think　I　made　a　god　of　my　belly。　　I　remember　dwelling　in　imagination　　upon　this　or　that　dish　till　my　mouth　watered；　and　long　before　we　　got　in　for　the　night　my　appetite　was　a　clamant；　instant　annoyance。　　　Sometimes　we　paddled　alongside　for　a　while　and　whetted　each　other　　with　gastronomical　fancies　as　we　went。　　Cake　and　sherry；　a　homely　　rejection；　but　not　within　reach　upon　the　Oise；　trotted　through　my　　head　for　many　a　mile；　and　once；　as　we　were　approaching　Verberie；　　the　CIGARETTE　brought　my　heart　into　my　mouth　by　the　suggestion　of　　oyster…patties　and　Sauterne。

I　suppose　none　of　us　recognise　the　great　part　that　is　played　in　　life　by　eating　and　drinking。　　The　appetite　is　so　imperious　that　we　　can　stomach　the　least　interesting　viands；　and　pass　off　a　dinner…　hour　thankfully　enough　on　bread　and　water；　just　as　there　are　men　　who　must　read　something；　if　it　were　only　BRADSHAW'S　GUIDE。　　But　　there　is　a　romance　about　the　matter　after　all。　　Probably　the　table　　has　more　devotees　than　love；　and　I　am　sure　that　food　is　much　more　　generally　entertaining　than　scenery。　　Do　you　give　in；　as　Walt　　Whitman　would　say；　that　you　are　any　the　less　immortal　for　that？　　　The　true　materialism　is　to　be　ashamed　of　what　we　are。　　To　detect　　the　flavour　of　an　olive　is　no　less　a　piece　of　human　perfection　than　　to　find　beauty　in　the　colours　of　the　sunset。

Canoeing　was　easy　work。　　To　dip　the　paddle　at　the　proper　　inclination；　now　right；　now　left；　to　keep　the　head　down　stream；　to　　empty　the　little　pool　that　gathered　in　the　lap　of　the　apron；　to　　screw　up　the　eyes　against　the　glittering　sparkles　of　sun　upon　the　　water；　or　now　and　again　to　pass　below　the　whistling　tow…rope　of　the　　DEO　GRATIAS　of　Conde；　or　the　FOUR　SONS　OF　AYMON　…　there　was　not　　much　art　in　that；　certain　silly　muscles　managed　it　between　sleep　　and　waking；　and　meanwhile　the　brain　had　a　whole　holiday；　and　went　　to　sleep。　　We　took　in；　at　a　glance；　the　larger　features　of　the　　scene；　and　beheld；　with　half　an　eye；　bloused　fishers　and　dabbling　　washerwomen　on　the　bank。　　Now　and　again　we　might　be　half…wakened　by　　some　church　spire；　by　a　leaping　fish；　or　by　a　trail　of　river　grass　　that　clung　about　the　paddle　and　had　to　be　plucked　off　and　thrown　　away。　　But　these　luminous　intervals　were　only　partially　luminous。　　　A　little　more　of　us　was　called　into　action；　but　never　the　whole。　　　The　central　bureau　of　nerves；　what　in　some　moods　we　call　Ourselves；　　enjoyed　its　holiday　without　disturbance；　like　a　Government　Office。　　　The　great　wheels　of　intelligence　turned　idly　in　the　head；　like　fly…　wheels；　grinding　no　grist。　　I　have　gone　on　for　half　an　hour　at　a　　time；　counting　my　strokes　and　forgetting　the　hundreds。　　I　flatter　　myself　the　beasts　that　perish　could　not　underbid　that；　as　a　low　　form　of　consciousness。　　And　what　a　pleasure　it　was！　　What　a　hearty；　　tolerant　temper　did　it　bring　about！　　There　is　nothing　captious　　about　a　man　who　has　attained　to　this；　the　one　possible　apotheosis　　in　life；　the　Apotheosis　of　Stupidity；　and　he　begins　to　feel　　dignified　and　longaevous　like　a　tree。

There　was　one　odd　piece　of　practical　metaphysics　which　accompanied　　what　I　may　call　the　depth；　if　I　must　not　call　it　the　intensity；　of　　my　abstraction。　　What　philosophers　call　ME　and　NOT…ME；　EGO　and　NON　　EGO；　preoccupied　me　whether　I　would　or　no。　　There　was　less　ME　and　　more　NOT…ME　than　I　was　accustomed　to　expect。　　I　looked　on　upon　　somebody　else；　who　managed　the　paddling；　I　was　aware　of　somebody　　else's　feet　against　the　stretcher；　my　own　body　seemed　to　have　no　　more　intimate　relation　to　me　than　the　canoe；　or　the　river；　or　the　　river　banks。　　Nor　this　alone：　　something　inside　my　mind；　a　part　of　　my　brain；　a　province　of　my　proper　being；　had　thrown　off　allegiance　　and　set　up　for　itself；　or　perhaps　for　the　somebody　else　who　did　the　　paddling。　　I　had　dwindled　into　quite　a　little　thing　in　a　corner　of　　myself。　　I　was　isolated　in　my　own　skull。　　Thoughts　presented　　themselves　unbidden；　they　were　not　my　thoughts；　they　were　plainly　　some　one　else's；　and　I　considered　them　like　a　part　of　the　　landscape。　　I　take　it；　in　short；　that　I　was　about　as　near　Nirvana　　as　would　be　convenient　in　practical　life；　and　if　this　be　so；　I　make　　the　Buddhists　my　sincere　compliments；　'tis　an　agreeable　state；　not　　very　consistent　with　mental　brilliancy；　not　exactly　profitable　in　a　　money　point　of　view；　but　very　calm；　golde