the story of an african farm-第40部分

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yawned。　　Here　and　there　he　saw　a　sheen　of　white　bones。　　Now　too　the　path

began　to　grow　less　and　less　marked；　then　it　became　a　mere　trace；　with　a

footmark　here　and　there；　then　it　ceased　altogether。　　He　sang　no　more；　but

struck　forth　a　path　for　himself；　until　it　reached　a　mighty　wall　of　rock；

smooth　and　without　break；　stretching　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see。　　'I　will

rear　a　stair　against　it；　and；　once　this　wall　climbed；　I　shall　be　almost

there；'　he　said　bravely；　and　worked。　　With　his　shuttle　of　imagination　he

dug　out　stones；　but　half　of　them　would　not　fit；　and　half　a　month's　work

would　roll　down　because　those　below　were　ill　chosen。　　But　the　hunter　worked

on；　saying　always　to　himself；　'Once　this　wall　climbed；　I　shall　be　almost

there。　　This　great　work　ended！'



〃At　last　he　came　out　upon　the　top；　and　he　looked　about　him。　　Far　below

rolled　the　white　mist　over　the　valleys　of　superstition；　and　above　him

towered　the　mountains。　　They　had　seemed　low　before；　they　were　of　an

immeasurable　height　now；　from　crown　to　foundation　surrounded　by　walls　of

rock；　that　rose　tier　above　tier　in　mighty　circles。　　Upon　them　played　the

eternal　sunshine。　　He　uttered　a　wild　cry。　　He　bowed　himself　on　to　the

earth；　and　when　he　rose　his　face　was　white。　　In　absolute　silence　he　walked

on。　　He　was　very　silent　now。　　In　those　high　regions　the　rarefied　air　is

hard　to　breathe　by　those　born　in　the　valleys；　every　breath　he　drew　hurt

him；　and　the　blood　oozed　out　from　the　tips　of　his　fingers。　　Before　the　next

wall　of　rock　he　began　to　work。　　The　height　of　this　seemed　infinite；　and　he

said　nothing。　　The　sound　of　his　tool　rang　night　and　day　upon　the　iron　rocks

into　which　he　cut　steps。　　Years　passed　over　him；　yet　he　worked　on；　but　the

wall　towered　up　always　above　him　to　heaven。　　Sometimes　he　prayed　that　a

little　moss　or　lichen　might　spring　up　on　those　bare　walls　to　be　a　companion

to　him；　but　it　never　came。〃　　The　stranger　watched　the　boy's　face。



〃And　the　years　rolled　on；　he　counted　them　by　the　steps　he　had　cuta　few

for　a　yearonly　a　few。　　He　sang　no　more；　he　said　no　more；　'I　will　do　this

or　that'he　only　worked。　　And　at　night；　when　the　twilight　settled　down；

there　looked　out　at　him　from　the　holes　and　crevices　in　the　rocks　strange

wild　faces。



〃'Stop　your　work；　you　lonely　man；　and　speak　to　us；'　they　cried。



〃'My　salvation　is　in　work；　if　I　should　stop　but　for　one　moment　you　would

creep　down　upon　me；'　he　replied。　　And　they　put　out　their　long　necks

further。



〃'Look　down　into　the　crevice　at　your　feet；'　they　said。　　'See　what　lie

therewhite　bones！　　As　brave　and　strong　a　man　as　you　climbed　to　these

rocks。'　　And　he　looked　up。　　He　saw　there　was　no　use　in　striving；　he　would

never　hold　Truth；　never　see　her；　never　find　her。　　So　he　lay　down　here；　for

he　was　very　tired。　　He　went　to　sleep　forever。　　He　put　himself　to　sleep。　

Sleep　is　very　tranquil。　　You　are　not　lonely　when　you　are　asleep；　neither　do

your　hands　ache；　nor　your　heart。　　And　the　hunter　laughed　between　his　teeth。



〃'Have　I　torn　from　my　heart　all　that　was　dearest；　have　I　wandered　alone　in

the　land　of　night；　have　I　resisted　temptation；　have　I　dwelt　where　the　voice

of　my　kind　is　never　heard；　and　laboured　alone；　to　lie　down　and　be　food　for

you；　ye　harpies？'



〃He　laughed　fiercely；　and　the　Echoes　of　Despair　slunk　away；　for　the　laugh

of　a　brave；　strong　heart　is　as　a　death　blow　to　them。



〃Nevertheless　they　crept　out　again　and　looked　at　him。



〃'Do　you　know　that　your　hair　is　white？'　they　said；　'that　your　hands　begin

to　tremble　like　a　child's？　　Do　you　see　that　the　point　of　your　shuttle　is

gone？it　is　cracked　already。　　If　you　should　ever　climb　this　stair；'　they

said；　'it　will　be　your　last。　　You　will　never　climb　another。'



〃And　he　answered；　'I　know　it！'　and　worked　on。



〃The　old；　thin　hands　cut　the　stones　ill　and　jaggedly；　for　the　fingers　were

stiff　and　bent。　　The　beauty　and　the　strength　of　the　man　was　gone。



〃At　last；　an　old；　wizened；　shrunken　face　looked　out　above　the　rocks。　　It

saw　the　eternal　mountains　rise　with　walls　to　the　white　clouds；　but　its　work

was　done。



〃The　old　hunter　folded　his　tired　hands　and　lay　down　by　the　precipice　where

he　had　worked　away　his　life。　　It　was　the　sleeping　time　at　last。　　Below　him

over　the　valleys　rolled　the　thick　white　mist。　　Once　it　broke；　and　through

the　gap　the　dying　eyes　looked　down　on　the　trees　and　fields　of　their

childhood。　　From　afar　seemed　borne　to　him　the　cry　of　his　own　wild　birds；

and　he　heard　the　noise　of　people　singing　as　they　danced。　　And　he　thought　he

heard　among　them　the　voices　of　his　old　comrades；　and　he　saw　far　off　the

sunlight　shine　on　his　early　home。　　And　great　tears　gathered　in　the　hunter's

eyes。



〃'Ah！　　They　who　die　there　do　not　die　alone；'　he　cried。



〃Then　the　mists　rolled　together　again；　and　he　turned　his　eyes　away。



〃'I　have　sought；'　he　said；　'for　long　years　I　have　laboured；　but　I　have　not

found　her。　　I　have　not　rested；　I　have　not　repined；　and　I　have　not　seen　her；

now　my　strength　is　gone。　　Where　I　lie　down　worn　out　other　men　will　stand；

young　and　fresh。　　By　the　steps　that　I　have　cut　they　will　climb；　by　the

stairs　that　I　have　built　they　will　mount。　　They　will　never　know　the　name　of

the　man　who　made　them。　　At　the　clumsy　work　they　will　laugh；　when　the　stones

roll　they　will　curse　me。　　But　they　will　mount；　and　on　my　work；　they　will

climb；　and　by　my　stair！　　They　will　find　her；　and　through　me！　　And　no　man

liveth　to　himself　and　no　man　dieth　to　himself。'



〃The　tears　rolled　from　beneath　the　shrivelled　eyelids。　　If　Truth　had

appeared　above　him　in　the　clouds　now　he　could　not　have　seen　her；　the　mist

of　death　was　in　his　eyes。



〃'My　soul　hears　their　glad　step　coming；'　he　said；　'and　they　shall　mount！

they　shall　mount！'　　He　raised　his　shrivelled　hand　to　his　eyes。



〃Then　slowly　from　the　white　sky　above；　through　the　still　air；　came

something　falling；　falling；　falling。　　Softly　it　fluttered　down；　and　dropped

on　to　the　breast　of　the　dying　man。　　He　felt　it　with　his　hands。　　It　was　a

feather。　　He　died　holding　it。〃



The　boy　had　shaded　his　eyes　with　his　hand。　　On　the　wood　of　the　carving

great　drops　fell。　　The　stranger　must　have　laughed　at　him；　or　remained

silent。　　He　did　so。



〃How　did　you　know　it？〃　the　boy　whispered　at　last。　　〃It　is　not　written

therenot　on　that　wood。　　How　did　you　know　it？〃



〃Certainly；〃　said　the　stranger；　〃the　whole　of　the　story　is　not　written

here；　but　it　is　suggested。　　And　the　attribute　of　all　true　art；　the　highest

and　the　lowest；　is　thisthat　it　rays　more　than　it　says；　and　takes　you　away

from　itself。　　It　is　a　little　door　that　opens　into　an　infinite　hall　where

you　may　find　what　you　please。　　Men；　thinking　to　detract；　say：　　'People　read

more　in　this　or　that　work　of　genius　than　was　ever　written　in　it；'　not

perceiving　that　they　pay　the　highest　compliment。　　If　we　pick　up　the　finger

and　nail　of　a　real　man；　we　can　decipher　a　whole　storycould　almost

reconstruct　the　creature　again；　from　head　to　foot。　　But　half　the　body　of　a

Mumboo…jumbow　idol　lea