We did not realize how accurately—and perhaps a trifle grimly—the strong, friendly face behind the desk was searching us and sizing us up. He knew us for what we were—a group of nice boys, too sleek6, too cheerfully secure, to show the ambition of the true student. There was among us no specimen7 of the lean and dogged [24]crusader of learning that kindles8 the eye of the master: no fanatical Scot, such as rejoices the Oxford9 or Cambridge don; no liquid-orbed and hawk-faced Hebrew with flushed cheek bones, such as sets the pace in the class-rooms of our large universities. No: we were a hopelessly mediocre10, well-fed, satisfied, and characteristically Quakerish lot. As far as the battle for learning goes, we were pacifists—conscientious objectors.
It is doubtful whether any really great scholar ever gave the best years of his life to so meagrely equipped a succession of youngsters! I say this candidly11, and it is well it should be said, for it makes apparent the true genius of Doctor Gummere's great gift. He turned this following of humble12 plodders into lovers and zealots of the great regions of English letters. There was something knightly13 about him—he, the great scholar, who would never stoop to scoff14 at the humblest of us. It might have been thought that his shining gifts were wasted in a small country college, where not one in fifty of his pupils could follow him into the enchanted15 lands of the imagination where he was fancy-free. But it was not so. One may meet man after man, old pupils of his, who have gone on into the homely16 drudging rounds of business, the law, journalism—men whose faces will light up with affection and remembrance when Doctor Gummere's name is mentioned. We may have forgotten much of our Chaucer, our Milton, our Ballads17—though I am sure we have none of us forgotten the deep and thrilling vivacity18 of his voice reciting:
[25]
O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?
I hae been to the wild wood; mither, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting and fain wald lie doun.
But what we learned from him lay in the very charm of his personality. It was a spell that no one in his class-room could escape. It shone from his sparkling eye; it spoke19 in his irresistible20 humour; it moved in every line of that well-loved face, in his characteristic gesture of leaning forward and tilting21 his head a little to one side as he listened, patiently, to whatever juvenile surmises22 we stammered23 to express. It was the true learning of which his favourite Sir Philip Sidney said:
This purifying of wit, this enriching of memory, enabling of judgment24, and enlarging of conceit25, which commonly we call learning, under what name soever it come forth26 or to what immediate27 end soever it be directed, the final end is to lead and draw us to as high a perfection as our degenerate28 souls, made worse by their clay lodgings29, can be capable of.
Indeed, just to listen to him was a purifying of wit, an enriching of memory, an enabling of judgment, an enlarging of imagination. He gave us "so sweet a prospect30 into the way as will entice31 any man to enter into it."
He moved among all human contacts with unerring grace. He was never the teacher, always the comrade. It was his way to pretend that we knew far more than we did; so with perfect courtesy and gravity, he would ask our opinion on some [26]matter of which we knew next to nothing; and we knew it was only his exquisiteness32 of good manners that impelled33 the habit; and we knew he knew the laughableness of it; yet we adored him for it. He always suited his strength to our weakness; would tell us things almost with an air of apology for seeming to know more than we; pretending that we doubtless had known it all along, but it had just slipped our memory. Marvellously he set us on our secret honour to do justice to this rare courtesy. To fail him in some task he had set became, in our boyish minds, the one thing most abhorrent35 in dealing36 with such a man—a discourtesy. He was a man of the rarest and most delicate breeding, the finest and truest gentleman we had known. Had he been nothing else, how much we would have learnt from that alone.
What a range, what a grasp, there was in his glowing, various mind! How open it was on all sides, how it teemed37 with interests, how different from the scholar of silly traditional belief! We used to believe that he could have taught us history, science, economics, philosophy—almost anything; and so indeed he did. He taught us to go adventuring among masterpieces on our own account, which is the most any teacher can do. Luckiest of all were those who, on one pretext38 or another, found their way to his fireside of an evening. To sit entranced, smoking one of his cigars,* to hear him talk of Stevenson, Meredith, or Hardy—(his favourites among the moderns) to marvel34 anew at the infinite [27]scope and vivacity of his learning—this was to live on the very doorsill of enchantment39. Homeward we would go, crunching40 across the snow to where Barclay crowns the slope with her evening blaze of lights, one glimpse nearer some realization41 of the magical colours and tissues of the human mind, the rich perplexity and many-sided glamour42 of life.
* It was characteristic of him that he usually smoked Robin43 Hood44, that admirable 5-cent cigar, because the name, and the picture of an outlaw45 on the band, reminded him of the 14th century Ballads he knew by heart.
It is strange (as one reviews all the memories of that good friend and master) to think that there is now a new generation beginning at Haverford that will never know his spell. There is a heavy debt on his old pupils. He made life so much richer and more interesting for us. Even if we never explored for ourselves the fields of literature toward which he pointed46, his radiant individuality remains47 in our hearts as a true exemplar of what scholarship can mean. We can never tell all that he meant to us. Gropingly we turn to little pictures in memory. We see him crossing Cope Field in the green and gold of spring mornings, on his way to class. We see him sitting on the verandah steps of his home on sunny afternoons, full of gay and eager talk on a thousand diverse topics. He little knew, I think, how we hung upon his words. I can think of no more genuine tribute than this: that in my own class—which was a notoriously cynical48 and scoffish band of young sophisters—when any question of religious doubt or dogma arose for discussion among some midnight group, someone was sure to say, "I wish I knew what Doctor Gummere thought about it!" We felt instinctively49 that what he thought would have been convincing enough for us.
[28]He was a truly great man. A greater man than we deserved, and there is a heavy burden upon us to justify50 the life that he gave to our little college. He has passed into the quiet and lovely tradition that surrounds and nourishes that place we all love so well. Little by little she grows, drawing strength and beauty from human lives around her, confirming herself in honour and remembrance. The teacher is justified51 by his scholars. Doctor Gummere might have gone elsewhere, surrounded by a greater and more ambitiously documented band of pupils. He whom we knew as the greatest man we had ever seen, moved little outside the world of learning. He gave himself to us, and we are the custodians52 of his memory.
Every man who loved our vanished friend must know with what realization of shamed incapacity one lays down the tributary53 pen. He was so strong, so full of laughter and grace, so truly a man, his long vacation still seems a dream, and we feel that somewhere on the well-beloved campus we shall meet him and feel that friendly hand. In thinking of him I am always reminded of that fine old poem of Sir Henry Wotton, a teacher himself, the provost of Eton, whose life has been so charmingly written by another Haverfordian—(Logan Pearsall Smith).
The Character of a Happy Life
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
And simple truth his utmost skill!
[29]
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death
Not tied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend;
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
Such was the Happy Man as Sir Henry Wotton described him. Such, I think, was the life of our friend. I think it must have been a happy life, for he gave so much happiness to others.
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1
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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kindles
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的第三人称单数 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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15
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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23
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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29
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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entice
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| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
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exquisiteness
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33
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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35
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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37
teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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38
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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39
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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40
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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41
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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42
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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43
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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44
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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45
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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46
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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47
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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48
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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50
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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51
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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52
custodians
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| n.看守人，保管人( custodian的名词复数 ) | |
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53
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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54
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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55
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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56
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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