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the story of an african farm-第43章

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not one came。  He said; at last:



〃These Boer dances are very low things;〃 and then; as soon as it had gone

from him; he thought it was not a clever remark; and wished it back。



Before Lyndall replied Em looked in at the door。



〃Oh; come;〃 she said; 〃they are going to have the cushion…dance。  I do not

want to kiss any of these fellows。  Take me quickly。〃



She slipped her hand into Gregory's arm。



〃It is so dusty; Em; do you care to dance any more?〃 he asked; without

rising。



〃Oh; I do not mind the dust; and the dancing rests me。〃



But he did not move。



〃I feel tired; I do not think I shall dance again;〃 he said。



Em withdrew her hand; and a young farmer came to the door and bore her off。



〃I have often imagined;〃 remarked Gregorybut Lyndall had risen。



〃I am tired;〃 she said。  〃I wonder where Waldo is; he must take me home。 

These people will not leave off till morning; I suppose; it is three

already。〃



She made her way past the fiddlers; and a bench full of tired dancers; and

passed out at the front door。  On the stoep a group of men and boys were

smoking; peeping in at the windows; and cracking coarse jokes。  Waldo was

certainly not among them; and she made her way to the carts and wagons

drawn up at some distance from the homestead。



〃Waldo;〃 she said; peering into a large cart; 〃is that you?  I am so dazed

with the tallow candles; I see nothing。〃



He had made himself a place between the two seats。  She climbed up and sat

on the sloping floor in front。



〃I thought I should find you here;〃 she said; drawing her skirt up about

her shoulders。  〃You must take me home presently; but not now。〃



She leaned her head on the seat near to his; and they listened in silence

to the fitful twanging of the fiddles as the night…wind bore it from the

farmhouse; and to the ceaseless thud of the dancers; and the peals of gross

laughter。  She stretched out her little hand to feel for his。



〃It is so nice to lie here and hear that noise;〃 she said。  〃I like to feel

that strange life beating up against me。  I like to realise forms of life

utterly unlike mine。〃  She drew a long breath。  〃When my own life feels

small; and I am oppressed with it; I like to crush together; and see it in

a picture; in an instant; a multitude of disconnected unlike phases of

human lifea mediaeval monk with his string of beads pacing the quiet

orchard; and looking up from the grass at his feet to the heavy fruit…

trees; little Malay boys playing naked on a shining sea…beach; a Hindoo

philosopher alone under his banyan tree; thinking; thinking; thinking; so

that in the thought of God he may lose himself; a troop of Bacchanalians

dressed in white; with crowns of vine…leaves; dancing along the Roman

streets; a martyr on the night of his death looking through the narrow

window to the sky; and feeling that already he has the wings that shall

bear him up〃 (she moved her hand dreamily over her face); 〃an epicurean

discoursing at a Roman bath to a knot of his disciples on the nature of

happiness; a Kaffer witchdoctor seeking for herbs by moonlight; while from

the huts on the hillside come the sound of dogs barking; and the voices of

women and children; a mother giving bread…and…milk to her children in

little wooden basins and singing the evening song。  I like to see it all; I

feel it run through methat life belongs to me; it makes my little life

larger; it breaks down the narrow walls that shut me in。〃



She sighed; and drew a long breath。



〃Have you made any plans?〃 she asked him presently。



〃Yes;〃 he said; the words coming in jets; with pauses between; 〃I will take

the grey mareI will travel firstI will see the worldthen I will find

work。〃



〃What work?〃



〃I do not know。〃



She made a little impatient movement。



〃That is no plan; travelsee the worldfind work!  If you go into the

world aimless; without a definite object; dreamingdreaming; you will be

definitely defeated; bamboozled; knocked this way and that。  In the end you

will stand with your beautiful life all spent; and nothing to show。  They

talk of geniusit is nothing but this; that a man knows what he can do

best; and does it; and nothing else。  Waldo;〃 she said; knitting her little

fingers closer among his; 〃I wish I could help you; I wish I could make you

see that you must decide what you will be and do。  It does not matter what

you choosebe a farmer; businessman; artist; what you willbut know your

aim; and live for that one thing。  We have only one life。  The secret of

success is concentration; wherever there has been a great life; or a great

work; that has gone before。  Taste everything a little; look at everything

a little; but live for one thing。  Anything is possible to a man who knows

his end and moves straight for it; and for it alone。  I will show you what

I mean;〃 she said; concisely; 〃words are gas till you condense them into

pictures。〃



〃Suppose a woman; young; friendless as I am; the weakest thing on God's

earth。  But she must make her way through life。  What she would be she

cannot be because she is a woman; so she looks carefully at herself and the

world about her; to see where her path must be made。



〃There is no one to help her; she must help herself。  She looks。  These

things she hasa sweet voice; rich in subtile intonations; a fair; very

fair face; with a power of concentrating in itself; and giving expression

to; feelings that otherwise must have been dissipated in words; a rare

power of entering into other lives unlike her own; and intuitively reading

them aright。  These qualities she has。  How shall she use them?  A poet; a

writer; needs only the mental; what use has he for a beautiful body that

registers clearly mental emotions?  And the painter wants an eye for form

and colour; and the musician an ear for time and tune; and the mere drudge

has no need for mental gifts。



〃But there is one art in which all she has would be used; for which they

are all necessarythe delicate expressive body; the rich voice; the power

of mental transposition。  The actor; who absorbs and then reflects from

himself other human lives; needs them all; but needs not much more。  This

is her end; but how to reach it?  Before her are endless difficulties: 

seas must be crossed; poverty must be endured; loneliness; want。  She must

be content to wait long before she can even get her feet upon the path。  If

she has made blunders in the past; if she has weighted herself with a

burden which she must bear to the end; she must but bear the burden

bravely; and labour on。  There is no use in wailing and repentance here: 

the next world is the place for that; this life is too short。  By our

errors we see deeper into life。  They help us。〃  She waited for a while。 

〃If she does all thisif she waits patiently; if she is never cast down;

never despairs; never forgets her end; moves straight toward it; bending

men and things most unlikely to her purposeshe must succeed at last。  Men

and things are plastic; they part to the right and left when one comes

among them moving in a straight line to one end。  I know it by my own

little experience;〃 she said。  〃Long years ago I resolved to be sent to

school。  It seemed a thing utterly out of my power; but I waited; I

watched; I collected clothes; I wrote; took my place at the school; when

all was ready I bore with my full force on the Boer…woman; and she sent me

at last。  It was a small thing; but life is made up of small things; as a

body is built up of cells。  What has been done in small things can be done

in large。  Shall be;〃 she said softly。



Waldo listened。  To him the words were no confession; no glimpse into the

strong; proud; restless heart of the woman。  They were general words with a

general application。  He looked up into the sparkling sky with dull eyes。



〃Yes;〃 he said; 〃but when we lie and think; and think; we see that there is

nothing worth doing。  The universe is so large; and man is so small〃



She shook her head quickly。



〃But we must not think so far; it is madness; it is a disease。  We know

that no man's work is great; and stands forever。  Moses is dead; and the

prophets and the books that our grandmothers fed on the mould is eating。 

Your poet and painter and actor;before the shouts that applaud them have

died their names grow strange; they are milestones that the world has

passed。  Men have set their mark on mankind forever; as they thought; but

time has washed it out as it has washed out mountains and continents。〃  She

raised herself on her elbow。  〃And what if we could help mankind; and leave

the traces of our work upon it to the end?  Mankind is only an ephemeral

blossom on the tree of time; there were others before it opened; there will

be others after it has fallen。  Where was man in the time of the

dicynodont; and when hoary monsters wallowed in the mud?  Will he be found

in the aeons that are to com
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