IDOnotknowapleasuremoreaffectingthantorangeatwilloverthedesertedapartmentsofsomefineoldfamilymansion.Thetracesofextinctgrandeuradmitofabetterpassionthanenvy:andcontemplationsonthegreatandgood,whomwefancyinsuccessiontohavebeenitsinhabitants,weaveforusillusions,inpatiblewiththebustleofmodernoccupancy,andvanitiesoffoolishpresentaristocracy.Thesamedifferenceoffeeling,Ithink,attendsusbetweenenteringanemptyandacrowdedchurch.Inthelatteritischancebutsomepresenthumanfrailty——anactofinattentiononthepartofsomeoftheauditory——oratraitofaffectation,orworse,vain-gloryonthatofthepreacher——putsusbyourbestthoughts,disharmonisingtheplaceandtheoccasion.Butwouldstthouknowthebeautyofholiness?——goaloneonsomeweek-day,borrowingthekeysofgoodMasterSexton,traversethecoolaislesofsomecountrychurch:thinkofthepietythathaskneeledthere——thecongregations,oldandyoung,thathavefoundconsolationthere——themeekpastor——thedocileparishioner.Withnodisturbingemotions,nocrossconflictingparisons,drinkinthetranquillityoftheplace,tillthouthyselfbeeasfixedandmotionlessasthemarbleeffigiesthatkneelandweeparoundthee.
Journeyingnorthwardlately,IcouldnotresistgoingsomefewmilesoutofmyroadtolookupontheremainsofanoldgreathousewithwhichIhadbeenimpressedinthiswayininfancy.Iwasapprisedthattheownerofithadlatelypulleditdown:stillIhadavaguenotionthatitcouldnotallhaveperished,thatsomuchsoliditywithmagnificencecouldnothavebeencrushedallatonceintothemeredustandrubbishwhichIfoundit.
Theworkofruinhadproceededwithaswifthandindeed,andthedemolitionofafewweekshadreduceditto——anantiquity.
Iwasastonishedattheindistinctionofeverything.Wherehadstoodthegreatgates?Whatboundedthecourt-yard?Whereaboutdidtheout-housesmence?afewbricksonlylayasrepresentativesofthatwhichwassostatelyandsospacious.
Deathdoesnotshrinkuphishumanvictimatthisrate.Theburntashesofamanweighmoreintheirproportion.
HadIseenthesebrick-and-mortarknavesattheirprocessofdestruction,atthepluckingofeverypannelIshouldhavefeltthevarletsatmyheart.Ishouldhavecriedouttothemtospareaplankatleastoutofthecheerfulstore-room,inwhosehotwindow-seatIusedtositandreadCowley,withthegrass-platbefore,andthehumandflappingsofthatonesolitarywaspthateverhaunteditaboutme——itisinmineearsnow,asoftassummerreturns;orapanneloftheyellowroom.
Why,everyplankandpannelofthathouseformehadmagicinit,Thetapestriedbed-rooms——tapestrysomuchbetterthanpainting——notadorningmerely,butpeoplingthewainscot——atwhichchildhoodeverandanonwouldstealalook,shiftingitscoverlid(replacedasquickly)toexerciseitstendercourageinamomentaryeye-encounterwiththosesternbrightvisages,staringreciprocally——allOvidonthewalls,incoloursvividerthanhisdescriptions.Actaeoninmidsprout,withtheunappeasablepruderyofDiana,andthestillmoreprovoking,andalmostculinarycoolnessofDanPhoebus,eel-fashion,deliberatelydivestingofMarsyas.
Then,thathauntedroom——inwhicholdMrs.Battledied——whereintoIhavecrept,butalwaysintheday-time,withapassionoffear,andasneakingcuriosity,terror-tainted,toholdmunicationwiththepast——Howshalltheybuilditupagain?
Itwasnoolddesertedplace,yetnotsolongdesertedbutthattracesofthesplendourofpastinmateswereeverywhereapparent.Itsfurniturewasstillstanding——eventothetarnishedgiltleatherbattledores,andcrumblingfeathersofshuttlecocksinthenursery,whichtoldthatchildrenhadonceplayedthere.ButIwasalonelychild,andhadtherangeatwillofeveryapartment,kneweverynookandcorner,wonderedandworshippedeverywhere.
Thesolitudeofchildhoodisnotsomuchthemotherofthought,asitisthefeederoflove,andsilence,andadmiration.Sostrangeapassionfortheplacepossessedmeinthoseyearsthat,thoughtherelay——Ishametosayhowfewroodsdistancefromthemansion——halfhidbytrees,whatIjudgedsomeromanticlake,suchwasthespellwhichboundmetothehouse,andsuchmycarefulnessnottopassitsstrictandproperprecincts,thattheidlewaterslayunexploredforme,andnottilllateinlife,curiosityprevailingoverelderdevotion,Ifound,tomyastonishment,aprettybrawlingbrookhadbeentheLacusIncognitusofmyinfancy.Variegatedviews,extensiveprospects——andthoseatnotgreatdistancefromthehouse——Iwastoldofsuch——whatweretheytome,beingoutoftheboundariesofmyEden?Sofarfromawishtoroam,Iwouldhavedrawn,methought,stillcloserthefencesofmychosenprison,andhavebeenhemmedinbyayetsecurercinctureofthoseexcludinggardenwalls.Icouldhaveexclaimedwiththatgarden-lovingpoet——
Bindme,yewoodbines,inyourtwines,
Curlmeabout,yegaddingvines,
Andohsocloseyourcircleslace
ThatImayneverleavethisplace
But,lestyourfettersprovetooweak,
EreIyoursilkenbondagebreak,
Doyou,Obrambleschainmetoo,
And,courteousbriars,nailmethrough!
Iwashereasinalonelytemple.Snugfiresides——low-builtroof-parlourstenfeetbyten——frugalboards,andallthehomelinessofhome——theseweretheconditionofmybirth——thewholesomesoilwhichIwasplantedin.Yet,withoutimpeachmenttotheirtenderestlessons,Iamnotsorrytohavehadglancesofsomethingbeyond;andtohavetaken,ifbutapeep,inchildhood,atthecontrastingaccidentsofagreatfortune.
Tohavethefeelingofgentility,itisnotnecessarytohavebeenborngentle.Theprideofancestrymaybehadoncheapertermsthantobeobligedtoanimportunateraceofancestors;andthecoatlessantiquaryinhisunemblazonedcell,revolvingthelonglineofaMowbraysorDeCliffordspedigree,atthosesoundingnamesmaywarmhimselfintoasgayavanityasthosewhodoinheritthem.Theclaimsofbirthareidealmerely,andwhatheraldshallgoabouttostripmeofanidea?Isittrenchanttotheirswords?canitbehackedoffasaspurcan?ortornawaylikeatarnishedgarter?
What,else,werethefamiliesofthegreattous?whatpleasureshouldwetakeintheirtediousgenealogies,ortheircapitulatorybrassmonuments?Whattoustheuninterruptedcurrentoftheirbloods,ifourowndidnotanswerwithinustoacognateandcorrespondentelevation?
Orwherefore,else,Otatteredanddiminished`Scutcheonthathunguponthetime-wornwallsofthyprincelystairs,BLAKESMOOR!haveIinchildhoodsooftstoodporinguponthymysticcharacters——thyemblematicsupporters,withtheirprophetic"Resurgam"——till,everydregofpeasantrypurgingoff,IreceivedintomyselfVeryGentility?Thouwertfirstinmymorningeyes;andofnights,hastdetainedmystepsfrombedward,tillitwasbutastepfromgazingattheetodreamingonthee.
Thisistheonlytruegentrybyadoption;theveritablechangeofblood,andnot,asempiricshavefabled,bytransfusion.
Whoitwasbydyingthathadearnedthesplendidtrophy,Iknownot,Iinquirednot;butitsfadingrags,andcolourscobweb-stained,toldthatitssubjectwasoftwocenturiesback.
AndwhatifmyancestoratthatdatewassomeDamoetasfeedingflocks,nothisown,uponthehillsofLincoln——didIinlessearnestvindicatetomyselfthefamilytrappingsofthisonceproudAegon?——repayingbyabackwardtriumphtheinsultshemightpossiblyhaveheapedinhislife-timeuponmypoorpastoralprogenitor.
Ifitwerepresumptionsotospeculate,thepresentownersofthemansionhadleastreasontoplain.Theyhadlongforsakentheoldhouseoftheirfathersforanewertrifle;andIwaslefttoappropriatetomyselfwhatimagesIcouldpickup,toraisemyfancy,ortosoothevanity.
IwasthetruedescendentofthoseoldW——s;andnotthepresentfamilyofthatname,whohadfledtheoldwasteplaces.
Minewasthatgalleryofgoodoldfamilyportraits,whichasIhavegoneover,givingtheminfancymyownfamilyname,one——andthenanother——wouldseemtosmile,reachingforwardfromthecanvas,torecognisethenewrelationship;whiletherestlookedgrave,asitseemed,atthevacancyintheirdwelling,andthoughtsoffledposterity.
Thatbeautywiththecoolbluepastoraldrapery,andalamb——thathungneatthegreatbaywindow——withthebrightyellowH——shirehair,andeyeofwatchethue——solikemyAlice!——IampersuadedshewasatrueElia——MildredElia,Itakeit.
Minetoo,BLAKESMOOR,wasthynobleMarbleHall,withitsmosaicpavements,anditsTwelveCaesars——statelybustsinmarblerangedround:ofwhosecountenances,youngreaderoffacesasIwas,thefrowningbeautyofNero,Iremember,hadmostofmywonderbutthemildGalbahadmylove.Theretheystoodinthecoldnessofdeath,yetfreshnessofimmortality.
Minetoo,thyloftyJusticeHall,withitsonechairofauthority,high-backedandwickered,oncetheterroroflucklesspoacher,orself-forgetfulmaiden——somonsince,thatbatshaveroostedinit.
Minetoo——whoseelse?——thycostlyfruit-garden,withitssun-bakedsouthernwall;theamplerpleasure-garden,risingbackwardsfromthehouseintripleterraces,withflower-potsnowofpalestlead,savethataspeckhereandthere,savedfromtheelements,bespaketheirpristinestatetohavebeengiltandglittering;theverdantquartersbackwarderstill;and,stretchingstillbeyond,inoldformality,thyfirrywilderness,thehauntofthesquirrel,andtheday-longmurmuringwoodpigeon,withthatantiqueimageinthecentre,GodorGoddessIwistnot;butchildofAthensoroldRomepaidneverasincererworshiptoPanortoSylvanusintheirnativegroves,thanItothatfragmentalmystery.
Wasitforthis,thatIkissedmychildishhandstooferventlyinyouridolworship,walksandwindingsofBlakesmoor!forthis,orwhatsinofmine,hastheploughpassedoveryourpleasantplaces?Isometimesthinkthatasmen,whentheydie,donotdieall,sooftheirextinguishedhabitationstheremaybeahope——agermtoberevivified.
wＷw．xiＡoshＵotxt.neｔT?xt＿小＿说天\堂