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