Never in the palmiest days of chivalry[228] had knight8 been more constant to his mistress than Gottfried to his books. Without these, life would have been to him a blank, and the world a desert. What to him were the companionship of friends, the charms of social intercourse9? He recognized no friends but his books; and with them alone he held intercourse. He had cultivated his intellect to the neglect of his heart: beneath his fostering care, the former had swelled11 into the proportions of a giant; the latter, like an untilled garden, had been abandoned to the rank growth of weeds, which had already overshadowed it, and checked the growth of kind feelings and human affections.
But of this defect Gottfried was not conscious; or, at least, he would not have acknowledged it to be such. With all his wisdom, he knew not the meaning of virtue12; for he was perpetually confounding it with learning; so that with him the philosophy[229] of life might be said to consist in these few words: “To be learned is to be virtuous13.” Thus it was, that, in the pride of his attainments, he looked down upon other men as immeasurably his inferiors, and was even half convinced that they were of a different nature from himself.
He aspired14 to become in the world of intellect what Alexander was in the physical world, and, like that monarch15, sighed to think that there were no more worlds to conquer,—no more victories to be gained.
Gottfried had just written the concluding paragraph of a treatise16 upon some abstruse17 subject, which possessed18 an interest only for scholars like himself. His pen dropped wearily from his fingers, and he passed his hand across his eyes.
“Yes,” said he, musingly19, and a smile lighted up his face, “at length it is finished, the labor of many years. But the reward is to come. My fame as a scholar, already great[230] among men, will become greater still. Fame, bright goddess of my youthful dreams! how through weary years have I toiled20 for thee! How willingly have I resigned those objects on which other men set their affections! Wealth, pleasure, love,—I have sacrificed them all to this one engrossing21 pursuit. Who shall say that I have lived in vain?”
Gottfried had labored22 for many hours without rest. He took down his scholar’s cap and cloak from the wall against which they were suspended, and attired23 himself for a walk.
It was a beautiful day. The sun had passed the meridian24, and was shining with softened25 splendor26 on fields decorated with the green carpet which Nature so bounteously27 provides. Here a group of cattle reposed28 in tranquil29 enjoyment30 beneath the spreading branches of trees, which afforded a grateful shelter from the sun’s heat. A[231] little farther on, a tiny stream was seen rippling31 on its way. Beside it were childish figures playfully plucking the flowers that grew upon the banks, and tossing them into the water, where they were soon borne down the quick current. Children, however small, have an eye to the beautiful; and the little group sang and shouted in all the exuberance32 of their spirits. The smile of outward nature was reflected upon the faces of these little ones.
As Gottfried passed by, one of them, supposing that all must share in her feelings, plucked a flower, and, holding it up, exclaimed, “Is it not pretty?”
“What is pretty?” asked Gottfried, looking up.
The flower was held up in answer. “Poh! child: it is only a buttercup.”
The child drew back abashed33, and Gottfried pursued his way. He regarded not the fair landscape which like a dream of[232] beauty opened upon his steps. His mind was still at home among his books. Indeed, it rarely passed beyond those four dark walls wherein all that he cared for in life was enclosed. With the laws of Nature, so far as they had been ascertained34 by human wisdom, he was thoroughly35 conversant36; but for Nature itself he cared little. He could tell you all that science has discovered of the mysterious courses of the heavenly bodies; but the finest evening that ever looked down with its thousand glittering eyes from the blue vault37 above vainly tempted38 him forth39 from his study. He would have regarded it as a mere40 weakness to yield to such an impulse. He at least was in no danger of yielding; for he never felt the impulse.
Gottfried passed on, plunged41 as before in deep thought, of which the treatise which he had just completed was the absorbing subject.
[233]
A woman with a babe in her arms, whose melancholy42 face and tattered43 garb44 spoke45 sadly of unhappiness and destitution46, stood in the path. He would not have noticed her, had she not timidly touched the hem10 of his garment.
“Why do you disturb me?” he asked impatiently, as he looked up. “You have interrupted the current of my thoughts. What would you have?”
“I hope, sir,” said the woman, in a low tone, “you will pardon the interruption. I would not willingly intrude47; but you see my situation. I am left destitute48, and without friends. For myself, I care not. Perhaps it is well that I should die; but my child,—I would live for him.”
Gottfried listened with an unmoved countenance49, and as one who but half comprehended what he heard.
“If you are poor and in distress,” he said at length, “you can apply to the proper[234] authorities. I have matters of more importance to attend to.”
“Of more importance than the life of a fellow-creature?” interrupted a rough-looking man, in a farmer’s dress, who had just stepped up. “Nay, then, I have not. Come with me, my poor woman. I live in the cottage yonder. It is but a poor place; but it will afford you food and shelter.”
“Such men,” mused50 Gottfried, “do not estimate the superiority of science over the trivial objects upon which most waste their lives to little purpose. But how should they? They pass their lives in a round of petty duties and petty employments, above and beyond which they care not to look.”
Such were the meditations51 of Gottfried. Ah! thou that canst see the mote52 in thy brother’s eye, and dost not discern the beam that is in thine own!
Gottfried was approaching his study on his return from the walk, when his meditations[235] were disturbed by a cry which always makes the blood course more quickly through the veins,—the fearful cry of “Fire!” Voice after voice took up the cry till it swelled into a terrible and confused clamor. Fire! Gottfried looked up, and, to his inexpressible consternation53, beheld54 the flames rapidly consuming his own dwelling55. The conviction flashed upon him, with the speed of lightning, that he had left a candle burning which he had lighted for the purpose of sealing a letter. Undoubtedly56 it had come in contact with the loose papers which lay about it, and this was the result.
“My books! my treatise!” exclaimed Gottfried with anguish57, as he contemplated58 the probability of their destruction. “They will all be consumed!”
He hurried to the scene of disaster. The firemen were plying59 their utmost efforts to bring the flames under. But the fire had[236] already made such headway that they struggled against hope.
Gottfried lent his aid with the energy of despair. Finally, unable to conceal60 from himself that the building must be consumed, he rushed into the crackling flames, in the hope of at least rescuing the manuscript of which he had written that day the concluding paragraphs.
It was a mad effort, such as nothing but despair could prompt. The smoke stifled61 him; the flames scorched62 and burned him. He was dragged out by main force, having succeeded in passing but a few feet beyond the threshold. Luckily he was in a state of insensibility, so that the last scenes in the conflagration63 passed without his knowledge.
The weeks that succeeded were a blank to Gottfried, for he was plunged in the delirium64 of a brain fever. When, at length, he awoke to consciousness, it was in a small and poorly-furnished chamber65. At the bedside[237] was seated a woman, coarsely but neatly66 attired.
“Where am I?” he inquired, bewildered. “What has happened to me?”
“You are at length better, thank Heaven,” said the woman, earnestly, “since the delirium has left you.”
“Delirium!” said Gottfried, raising himself on his elbow in surprise. “Oh, yes! I now recall the fearful calamity67 which has befallen me. My books,—are they all gone? Is there not one left?”
“Yes, one was saved.”
“What is it? Bring it to me.”
From a shelf near by, the attendant took down a small volume which had been scorched, but not otherwise injured, by the flames.
He opened it. It proved to be the New Testament68 in the original tongue. Perhaps out of his whole library this was the book which he had least studied. Now, however,[238] that it was all that was left him, he passed hours in its perusal69. Gradually, as he read, a light broke in upon him; and he began to perceive, at first by glimpses, but after a while with all the clearness of light, that his life had been a mistake, and that learning was not, as he had fancied, the great end of existence. He perceived that in its attainment6 he had neglected what were of infinitely70 more importance,—his duties to God and his fellow-men. With a feeling of humiliation71, he could not but confess that his life had been in vain.
One day, as he was rapidly approaching recovery, he turned to his nurse, and said, abruptly,—
“Where have I met you before? Your face looks familiar.”
“On the day of the fire,” was the reply, “you met me and my little one. We were destitute, and implored72 charity.”
“Which I denied. Yet you nurse me[239] with all the devotedness73 of one who is serving a benefactor74. How is this?”
“I am only doing my duty. But it is not to me you are indebted: it is to the good farmer whose hospitality we both alike share.”
“Is it possible?” said Gottfried, with humiliation. “It is, then, he over whom I triumphed in fancied superiority. With all the learning which I have gathered from books, I feel, that, in the true wisdom of life, I am vastly inferior to you both.”
On his recovery, Gottfried again applied75 himself to his studies; but henceforth he never sought to elevate mere worldly knowledge above “that wisdom which passeth all understanding.”
点击收听单词发音
1 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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2 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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3 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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4 fertilizing | |
v.施肥( fertilize的现在分词 ) | |
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5 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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6 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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7 attainments | |
成就,造诣; 获得( attainment的名词复数 ); 达到; 造诣; 成就 | |
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8 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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9 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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10 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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11 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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12 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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13 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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14 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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16 treatise | |
n.专著;(专题)论文 | |
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17 abstruse | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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18 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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19 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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20 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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21 engrossing | |
adj.使人全神贯注的,引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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22 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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23 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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25 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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26 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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27 bounteously | |
adv.慷慨地,丰富地 | |
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28 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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30 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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31 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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32 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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33 abashed | |
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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34 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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36 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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37 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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38 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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39 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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40 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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41 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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42 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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43 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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44 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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45 spoke | |
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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46 destitution | |
n.穷困,缺乏,贫穷 | |
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47 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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48 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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49 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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50 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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51 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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52 mote | |
n.微粒;斑点 | |
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53 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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54 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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55 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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56 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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57 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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58 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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59 plying | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的现在分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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60 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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61 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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62 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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63 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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64 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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65 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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66 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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67 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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68 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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69 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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70 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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71 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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72 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73 devotedness | |
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74 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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75 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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