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the story of an african farm-第35部分
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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
with emotion; but you pay for it at the practical; calculating end of your
nature。 You have just so much force: when the one channel runs over the
other runs dry。
And now we turn to Nature。 All these years we have lived beside her; and
we have never seen her; and now we open our eyes and look at her。
The rocks have been to us a blur of brown: we bend over them; and the
disorganised masses dissolve into a many…coloured; many…shaped; carefully…
arranged form of existence。 Here masses of rainbow…tinted crystals; half…
fused together; there bands of smooth grey and red methodically overlying
each other。 This rock here is covered with a delicate silver tracery; in
some mineral; resembling leaves and branches; there on the flat stone; on
which we so often have sat to weep and pray; we look down; and see it
covered with the fossil footprints of great birds; and the beautiful
skeleton of a fish。 We have often tried to picture in our mind what the
fossiled remains of creatures must be like; and all the while we sat on
them; we have been so blinded by thinking and feeling that we have never
seen the world。
The flat plain has been to us a reach of monotonous red。 We look at it;
and every handful of sand starts into life。 That wonderful people; the
ants; we learn to know; see them make war and peace; play and work; and
build their huge palaces。 And that smaller people we make acquaintance
with; who live in the flowers。 The bitto flower has been for us a mere
blur of yellow; we find its heart composed of a hundred perfect flowers;
the homes of the tiny black people with red stripes; who move in and out in
that little yellow city。 Every bluebell has its inhabitant。 Every day the
karoo shows us a new wonder sleeping in its teeming bosom。
On our way back to work we pause and stand to see the ground…spider make
its trap; bury itself in the sand; and then wait for the falling in of its
enemy。
Further on walks a horned beetle; and near him starts open the door of a
spider; who peeps out carefully; and quickly pulls it down again。 On a
karoo…bush a green fly is laying her silver eggs。 We carry them home; and
see the shells pierced; the spotted grub come out; turn to a green fly; and
flit away。 We are not satisfied with what Nature shows us; and we see
something for ourselves。 Under the white hen we put a dozen eggs; and
break one daily; to see the white spot wax into the chicken。 We are not
excited or enthusiastic about it; but a man is not to lay his throat open;
he must think of something。 So we plant seeds in rows on our dam…wall; and
pull one up daily to see how it goes with them。 Alladeen buried her
wonderful stone; and a golden palace sprung up at her feet。 We do far
more。 We put a brown seed in the earth; and a living thing starts out
starts upwardwhy; no more than Alladeen can we saystarts upward; and
does not desist till it is higher than our heads
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