I could never think it surprising that the ancients worshiped trees; that groves1 were believed to be the dwelling3 places of the gods; that Xerxes delighted in the great plane-tree of Lydia; that he decked it with golden ornaments4 and appointed for it a sentry5, one of "the immortal6 ten thousand." Feelings of this kind are natural; among natural men they seem to have been well-nigh universal. The wonder is that any should be without them. For myself, I cannot recollect7 the day when I did not regard the Weymouth pine (the white pine I was taught to call it, but now, for reasons of my own, I prefer the English name) with something like reverence8. Especially was this true of one,—a tree of stupendous girth and [Pg 233] height, under which I played, and up which I climbed till my cap seemed almost to rub against the sky. That pine ought to be standing9 yet; I would go far to lie in its shadow. But alas10! no village Xerxes concerned himself for its safety, and long, long ago it was brought to earth, it and all its fair lesser11 companions. There is no wisdom in the grave, and it is nothing to them now that I remember them so kindly12. Some of them went to the making of boxes, I suppose, some to the kindling13 of kitchen fires. In like noble spirit did the illustrious Bobo, for the love of roast pig, burn down his father's house.
No such pines are to be seen now. I have said it for these twenty years, and mean no offense14, surely, to the one under which, in thankful mood, I happen at this moment to be reclining. Yet a murmur15 runs through its branches as I pencil the words. Perhaps it is saying to itself that giants are, and always have been, things of the past,—things gazed at over the beholder's shoulder and through the mists of years; and that this venerable monarch16 of my boyhood, this relic17 of times remote, has probably grown [Pg 234] faster since it was cut down than ever it did while standing. I care not to argue the point. Rather, let me be glad that a tree is a tree, whether large or small. What a wonder of wonders it would seem to unaccustomed eyes! As some lover of imaginative delights wished that he could forget Shakespeare and read him new, so I would cheerfully lose all memory of my king of Weymouth pines, if by that means I might for once look upon a tree as upon something I had never seen or dreamed of.
For that purpose, were it given me to choose, I would have one that had grown by itself; full of branches on all sides, but with no suggestion of primness18; in short, a perfect tree, a miracle hardly to be found in any forest, since the forest would be no better than a park if the separate members of it were allowed room to develop each after its own law. Nature is too cunning an artist to spoil the total effect of her picture by too fond a regard for the beauty of particular details.
I once passed a lazy, dreamy afternoon in a small clearing on a Canadian mountain-side, where the lumbermen had left standing [Pg 235] a few scattered19 butternuts. I can see them now,—misshapen giants, patriarchal monstrosities, their huge trunks leaning awkwardly this way and that, and each bearing at the top a ludicrously small, one-sided bunch of leafy boughs20. All about me was the ancient wood. For a week I had been wandering through it with delight. Such beeches21 and maples22, birches and butternuts! I had not thought of any imperfection. I had been in sympathy with the artist, and had enjoyed his work in the same spirit in which it had been wrought23. Now, however, with these unhappy butternuts in my eye, I began to look, not at the forest, but at the trees, and I found that the spared butternuts were in no sense exceptional. All the trees were deformed24. They had grown as they could, not as their innate25 proclivities26 would have led them. A tree is no better than a man; it cannot be itself if it stands too much in a crowd.
I set it down, unwillingly27, to the discredit28 of the Weymouth pine,—a symptom of some ancestral taint29, perhaps,—that it suffers less than most trees from being thus encroached upon. Yet it does not entirely30 [Pg 236] escape. True, it leans neither to left nor right, its trunk is seldom contorted; if it grow at all it must grow straight toward the zenith; but it is sadly maimed, nevertheless,—hardly more than a tall stick with a broom at the top. If you would see a typical white pine you must go elsewhere to look for it. I remember one such, standing by itself in a broad Concord31 River meadow; not remarkable32 for its size, but of a symmetry and beauty that make the traveler turn again and again, till he is a mile away, to gaze upon it. No pine-tree ever grew like that in a wood.
I go sometimes through a certain hamlet, which has sprung suddenly into being on a hill-top where formerly33 stood a pine grove2. The builders of the houses have preserved (doubtless they use that word) a goodly number of the trees. But though I have been wont34 to esteem35 the poorest tree as better than none, I am almost ready to forswear my opinion at sight of these slender trunks, so ungainly and unsupported. The first breeze, one would say, must bring them down upon the roofs they were never meant to shade. Poor naked things! I fancy they [Pg 237] look abashed36 at being dragged thus unexpectedly and inappropriately into broad daylight. If I were to see the householder lifting his axe37 against one of them I think I should not say, "Woodman, spare that tree!" Let it go to the fire, the sooner the better, and be out of its misery38.
Not that I blame the tree, or the power that made it what it is. The forest, like every other community, prospers—we may rather say exists—at the expense of individual perfection. But the expense is true economy, for, however it may be in ethics39, in ?sthetics the end justifies40 the means. The solitary41 pine, unhindered, symmetrical, green to its lowermost twig42, as it rises out of the meadow or stands a-tiptoe on the rocky ledge43, is a thing of beauty, a pleasure to every eye. A pity and a shame that it should not be more common! But the pine forest, dark, spacious44, slumberous45, musical! Here is something better than beauty, dearer than pleasure. When we enter this cathedral, unless we enter it unworthily, we speak not of such things. Every tree may be imperfect, with half its branches dead for want of room or want of sun, but until the [Pg 238] devotee turns critic—an easy step, alas, for half-hearted worshipers—we are conscious of no lack. Magnificence can do without prettiness, and a touch of solemnity is better than any amusement.
Where shall we hear better preaching, more searching comment upon life and death, than in this same cathedral? Verily, the pine is a priest of the true religion. It speaks never of itself, never its own words. Silent it stands till the Spirit breathes upon it. Then all its innumerable leaves awake and speak as they are moved. Then "he that hath ears to hear, let him hear." Wonderful is human speech,—the work of generations upon generations, each striving to express itself, its feelings, its thoughts, its needs, its sufferings, its joys, its inexpressible desires. Wonderful is human speech, for its complexity46, its delicacy47, its power. But the pine-tree, under the visitations of the heavenly influence, utters things incommunicable; it whispers to us of things we have never said and never can say,—things that lie deeper than words, deeper than thought. Blessed are our ears if we hear, for the message is not to be understood by [Pg 239] every comer, nor, indeed, by any, except at happy moments. In this temple all hearing is given by inspiration, for which reason the pine-tree's language is inarticulate, as Jesus spake in parables48.
The pine wood loves a clean floor, and is intolerant of undergrowth. Grasses and sedges, with all bushes, it frowns upon, as a model housekeeper49 frowns upon dirt. A plain brown carpet suits it best, with a modest figure of green—preferably of evergreen50—woven into it; a tracery of partridge-berry vine, or, it may be, of club moss51, with here and there a tuft of pipsissewa and pyrola. Its mood is sombre, its taste severe. Yet I please myself with noticing that the pine wood, like the rest of us, is not without its freak, its amiable52 inconsistency, its one "tender spot," as we say of each other. It makes a pet of one of our oddest, brightest, and showiest flowers, the pink lady's-slipper, and by some means or other has enticed53 it away from the peat bog54, where it surely should be growing, along with the calopogon, the pogonia, and the arethusa, and here it is, like some rare exotic, thriving in a bed of sand and on a mat of brown needles. Who [Pg 240] will undertake to explain the occult "elective affinity55" by which this rosy56 orchid57 is made so much at home under the heavy shadow of the Weymouth pine?
According to the common saying, there is no accounting58 for tastes. If by this is meant simply that we cannot account for them, the statement is true enough. But if we are to speak exactly, there are no likes nor dislikes except for cause. Every freak of taste, like every vagary59 of opinion, has its origin and history, and, with sufficient knowledge on our part, could be explained and justified60. The pine-tree and the orchid are not friends by accident, however the case may look to us who cannot see behind the present nor beneath the surface. There are no mysteries per se, but only to the ignorant. Yet ignorance itself, disparagingly61 as we talk of it, has its favorable side,—as it is pleasant sometimes to withdraw from the sun and wander for a season in the half-light of the forest. Perhaps we need be in no haste to reach a world where there is never any darkness. In some moods, at least, I go with the partridge-berry vine and the lady's-slipper. It is good, I think, to live awhile longer in the shadow; to see as through a [Pg 241] glass darkly; and to hear overhead, not plain words, but inarticulate murmurs62.
I am not to be understood as praising the pine at the expense of other trees. All things considered, no evergreen can be equal to a summer-green, on which we see the leaves budding, unfolding, ripening63, and falling,—a "worlde whiche neweth everie daie." What would winter be worth without the naked branches of maples and elms, beeches and oaks? We speak of them sadly:
But the sadness is of a pleasing sort, that could ill be spared by any who know the pleasures of sentiment and sober reflection. But though one tree differeth from another tree in glory, we may surely rejoice in them all. One ministers to our mood to-day, another to-morrow.
They seem to have no sympathy with Nature;
Winter and summer are alike to them."
So says Ternissa, in Landor's dialogue. I know what she means. But I do not "hate" an impassive, unchangeable temper, whether in a tree or in a man. I have so little of such a spirit myself that I am glad to see [Pg 242] some tokens of it—not too frequent, indeed, nor too self-assertive—in the world about me. And so I say, let me never be, for any long time together, where there are no Weymouth pines at which I may gaze from afar, or under which I may lie and listen. They boast not (rare stoics66!), but they set us a brave example. No "blasts that blow the poplar white" can cause the pine-tree to blanch67. No frost has power to strip it of a single leaf. Its wood is soft, but how dauntless its spirit!—a truly encouraging paradox68, lending itself, at our private need, to endless consolatory69 moralizings. The great majority of my brothers must be comforted, I think, by any fresh reminder70 that the battle is not to the strong.
For myself, then, like the lowly partridge-berry vine, I would be always the pine-tree's neighbor. Who knows but by lifelong fellowship with it I may absorb something of its virtue71? Summer and winter, its fragrant72 breath rises to heaven; and of it we may say, with more truth than Landor said of the over-sweet fragrance73 of the linden, "Happy the man whose aspirations74 are pure enough to mingle75 with it!"
The End
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1
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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13
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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primness
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| n.循规蹈矩，整洁 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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42
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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43
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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44
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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45
slumberous
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| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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47
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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48
parables
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| n.（圣经中的）寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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49
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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50
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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51
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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52
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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53
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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55
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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56
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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57
orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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58
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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59
vagary
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| n.妄想，不可测之事，异想天开 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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61
disparagingly
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| adv.以贬抑的口吻，以轻视的态度 | |
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62
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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63
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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64
choirs
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| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
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65
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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66
stoics
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| 禁欲主义者，恬淡寡欲的人，不以苦乐为意的人( stoic的名词复数 ) | |
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67
blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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68
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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69
consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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70
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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71
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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72
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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73
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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74
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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