There is a sense in which those mists never rose from off our journey; and from that time forth1 they lie very densely2 in my note- book. As long as the Oise was a small rural river, it took us near by people's doors, and we could hold a conversation with natives in the riparian fields. But now that it had grown so wide, the life along shore passed us by at a distance. It was the same difference as between a great public highway and a country by-path that wanders in and out of cottage gardens. We now lay in towns, where nobody troubled us with questions; we had floated into civilised life, where people pass without salutation. In sparsely3 inhabited places, we make all we can of each encounter; but when it comes to a city, we keep to ourselves, and never speak unless we have trodden on a man's toes. In these waters we were no longer strange birds, and nobody supposed we had travelled farther than from the last town. I remember, when we came into L'Isle Adam, for instance, how we met dozens of pleasure-boats outing it for the afternoon, and there was nothing to distinguish the true voyager from the amateur, except, perhaps, the filthy5 condition of my sail. The company in one boat actually thought they recognised me for a neighbour. Was there ever anything more wounding? All the romance had come down to that. Now, on the upper Oise, where nothing sailed as a general thing but fish, a pair of canoeists could not be thus vulgarly explained away; we were strange and picturesque6 intruders; and out of people's wonder sprang a sort of light and passing intimacy7 all along our route. There is nothing but tit- for-tat in this world, though sometimes it be a little difficult to trace: for the scores are older than we ourselves, and there has never yet been a settling-day since things were. You get entertainment pretty much in proportion as you give. As long as we were a sort of odd wanderers, to be stared at and followed like a quack8 doctor or a caravan9, we had no want of amusement in return; but as soon as we sank into commonplace ourselves, all whom we met were similarly disenchanted. And here is one reason of a dozen, why the world is dull to dull persons.
In our earlier adventures there was generally something to do, and that quickened us. Even the showers of rain had a revivifying effect, and shook up the brain from torpor10. But now, when the river no longer ran in a proper sense, only glided11 seaward with an even, outright12, but imperceptible speed, and when the sky smiled upon us day after day without variety, we began to slip into that golden doze4 of the mind which follows upon much exercise in the open air. I have stupefied myself in this way more than once; indeed, I dearly love the feeling; but I never had it to the same degree as when paddling down the Oise. It was the apotheosis13 of stupidity.
We ceased reading entirely14. Sometimes when I found a new paper, I took a particular pleasure in reading a single number of the current novel; but I never could bear more than three instalments; and even the second was a disappointment. As soon as the tale became in any way perspicuous, it lost all merit in my eyes; only a single scene, or, as is the way with these feuilletons, half a scene, without antecedent or consequence, like a piece of a dream, had the knack15 of fixing my interest. The less I saw of the novel, the better I liked it: a pregnant reflection. But for the most part, as I said, we neither of us read anything in the world, and employed the very little while we were awake between bed and dinner in poring upon maps. I have always been fond of maps, and can voyage in an atlas16 with the greatest enjoyment17. The names of places are singularly inviting18; the contour of coasts and rivers is enthralling19 to the eye; and to hit, in a map, upon some place you have heard of before, makes history a new possession. But we thumbed our charts, on these evenings, with the blankest unconcern. We cared not a fraction for this place or that. We stared at the sheet as children listen to their rattle20; and read the names of towns or villages to forget them again at once. We had no romance in the matter; there was nobody so fancy-free. If you had taken the maps away while we were studying them most intently, it is a fair bet whether we might not have continued to study the table with the same delight.
About one thing we were mightily21 taken up, and that was eating. I think I made a god of my belly22. I remember dwelling23 in imagination upon this or that dish till my mouth watered; and long before we got in for the night my appetite was a clamant, instant annoyance24. Sometimes we paddled alongside for a while and whetted25 each other with gastronomical26 fancies as we went. Cake and sherry, a homely27 rejection28, but not within reach upon the Oise, trotted29 through my head for many a mile; and once, as we were approaching Verberie, the Cigarette brought my heart into my mouth by the suggestion of oyster-patties and Sauterne.
I suppose none of us recognise the great part that is played in life by eating and drinking. The appetite is so imperious that we can stomach the least interesting viands30, and pass off a dinner- hour thankfully enough on bread and water; just as there are men who must read something, if it were only Bradshaw's Guide. But there is a romance about the matter after all. Probably the table has more devotees than love; and I am sure that food is much more generally entertaining than scenery. Do you give in, as Walt Whitman would say, that you are any the less immortal31 for that? The true materialism32 is to be ashamed of what we are. To detect the flavour of an olive is no less a piece of human perfection than to find beauty in the colours of the sunset.
Canoeing was easy work. To dip the paddle at the proper inclination33, now right, now left; to keep the head down stream; to empty the little pool that gathered in the lap of the apron34; to screw up the eyes against the glittering sparkles of sun upon the water; or now and again to pass below the whistling tow-rope of the Deo Gratias of Conde, or the Four Sons of Aymon--there was not much art in that; certain silly muscles managed it between sleep and waking; and meanwhile the brain had a whole holiday, and went to sleep. We took in, at a glance, the larger features of the scene; and beheld35, with half an eye, bloused fishers and dabbling36 washerwomen on the bank. Now and again we might be half-wakened by some church spire37, by a leaping fish, or by a trail of river grass that clung about the paddle and had to be plucked off and thrown away. But these luminous38 intervals39 were only partially40 luminous. A little more of us was called into action, but never the whole. The central bureau of nerves, what in some moods we call Ourselves, enjoyed its holiday without disturbance41, like a Government Office. The great wheels of intelligence turned idly in the head, like fly- wheels, grinding no grist. I have gone on for half an hour at a time, counting my strokes and forgetting the hundreds. I flatter myself the beasts that perish could not underbid that, as a low form of consciousness. And what a pleasure it was! What a hearty42, tolerant temper did it bring about! There is nothing captious43 about a man who has attained44 to this, the one possible apotheosis in life, the Apotheosis of Stupidity; and he begins to feel dignified45 and longaevous like a tree.
There was one odd piece of practical metaphysics which accompanied what I may call the depth, if I must not call it the intensity46, of my abstraction. What philosophers call ME and NOT-ME, EGO47 and NON EGO, preoccupied48 me whether I would or no. There was less ME and more NOT-ME than I was accustomed to expect. I looked on upon somebody else, who managed the paddling; I was aware of somebody else's feet against the stretcher; my own body seemed to have no more intimate relation to me than the canoe, or the river, or the river banks. Nor this alone: something inside my mind, a part of my brain, a province of my proper being, had thrown off allegiance and set up for itself, or perhaps for the somebody else who did the paddling. I had dwindled49 into quite a little thing in a corner of myself. I was isolated50 in my own skull51. Thoughts presented themselves unbidden; they were not my thoughts, they were plainly some one else's; and I considered them like a part of the landscape. I take it, in short, that I was about as near Nirvana as would be convenient in practical life; and if this be so, I make the Buddhists52 my sincere compliments; 'tis an agreeable state, not very consistent with mental brilliancy, not exactly profitable in a money point of view, but very calm, golden, and incurious, and one that sets a man superior to alarms. It may be best figured by supposing yourself to get dead drunk, and yet keep sober to enjoy it. I have a notion that open-air labourers must spend a large portion of their days in this ecstatic stupor53, which explains their high composure and endurance. A pity to go to the expense of laudanum, when here is a better paradise for nothing!
This frame of mind was the great exploit of our voyage, take it all in all. It was the farthest piece of travel accomplished54. Indeed, it lies so far from beaten paths of language, that I despair of getting the reader into sympathy with the smiling, complacent55 idiocy56 of my condition; when ideas came and went like motes57 in a sunbeam; when trees and church spires58 along the bank surged up, from time to time into my notice, like solid objects through a rolling cloudland; when the rhythmical59 swish of boat and paddle in the water became a cradle-song to lull60 my thoughts asleep; when a piece of mud on the deck was sometimes an intolerable eyesore, and sometimes quite a companion for me, and the object of pleased consideration;--and all the time, with the river running and the shores changing upon either hand, I kept counting my strokes and forgetting the hundreds, the happiest animal in France.
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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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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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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enthralling
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| 迷人的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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gastronomical
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| adj.美食法的，美食学的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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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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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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beheld
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| 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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dabbling
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| v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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captious
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| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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49
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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Buddhists
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| n.佛教徒( Buddhist的名词复数 ) | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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