I pore over the abstract of title of the vineyard called Tokay on the rancho called Petaluma. It is a sad long list of the names of men, beginning with Manuel Micheltoreno, one time Mexican "Governor, Commander-in-Chief, and Inspector3 of the Department of the Californias," who deeded ten square leagues of stolen Indian land to Colonel Don Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo for services rendered his country and for moneys paid by him for ten years to his soldiers.
Immediately this musty record of man's land lust4 assumes the formidableness of a battle—the quick struggling with the dust. There are deeds of trust, mortgages, certificates of release, transfers, judgments5, foreclosures, writs6 of attachment7, orders of sale, tax liens8, petitions for letters of administration, and decrees of distribution. It is like a monster ever unsubdued, this stubborn land that drowses in this Indian summer weather and that survives them all, the men who scratched its surface and passed.
Who was this James King of William, so curiously9 named? The oldest surviving settler in the Valley of the Moon knows him not. Yet only sixty years ago he loaned Mariano G. Vallejo eighteen thousand dollars on security of certain lands including the vineyard yet to be and to be called Tokay. Whence came Peter O'Connor, and whither vanished, after writing his little name of a day on the woodland that was to become a vineyard? Appears Louis Csomortanyi, a name to conjure10 with. He lasts through several pages of this record of the enduring soil.
Comes old American stock, thirsting across the Great American Desert, mule-backing across the Isthmus11, wind-jamming around the Horn, to write brief and forgotten names where ten thousand generations of wild Indians are equally forgotten—names like Halleck, Hastings, Swett, Tait, Denman, Tracy, Grimwood, Carlton, Temple. There are no names like those to-day in the Valley of the Moon.
The names begin to appear fast and furiously, flashing from legal page to legal page and in a flash vanishing. But ever the persistent13 soil remains14 for others to scrawl15 themselves across. Come the names of men of whom I have vaguely16 heard but whom I have never known. Kohler and Frohling—who built the great stone winery on the vineyard called Tokay, but who built upon a hill up which other vineyardists refused to haul their grapes. So Kohler and Frohling lost the land; the earthquake of 1906 threw down the winery; and I now live in its ruins.
La Motte—he broke the soil, planted vines and orchards17, instituted commercial fish culture, built a mansion18 renowned19 in its day, was defeated by the soil, and passed. And my name of a day appears. On the site of his orchards and vine-yards, of his proud mansion, of his very fish ponds, I have scrawled20 myself with half a hundred thousand eucalyptus21 trees.
Cooper and Greenlaw—on what is called the Hill Ranch2 they left two of their dead, "Little Lillie" and "Little David," who rest to-day inside a tiny square of hand-hewn palings. Also, Cooper and Greenlaw in their time cleared the virgin22 forest from three fields of forty acres. To-day I have those three fields sown with Canada peas, and in the spring they shall be ploughed under for green manure23.
Haska—a dim legendary24 figure of a generation ago, who went back up the mountain and cleared six acres of brush in the tiny valley that took his name. He broke the soil, reared stone walls and a house, and planted apple trees. And already the site of the house is undiscoverable, the location of the stone walls may be deduced from the configuration25 of the landscape, and I am renewing the battle, putting in angora goats to browse26 away the brush that has overrun Haska's clearing and choked Haska's apple trees to death. So I, too, scratch the land with my brief endeavour and flash my name across a page of legal script ere I pass and the page grows musty.
"But surely the striving was not altogether vain," I contend.
"It was based on illusion and is a lie."
"A vital lie," I retort.
"And pray what is a vital lie but a lie?" the White Logic challenges. "Come. Fill your glass and let us examine these vital liars28 who crowd your bookshelves. Let us dabble29 in William James a bit."
"A man of health," I say. "From him we may expect no philosopher's stone, but at least we will find a few robust30 tonic31 things to which to tie."
"Rationality gelded to sentiment," the White Logic grins. "At the end of all his thinking he still clung to the sentiment of immortality32. Facts transmuted33 in the alembic of hope into terms of faith. The ripest fruit of reason the stultification34 of reason. From the topmost peak of reason James teaches to cease reasoning and to have faith that all is well and will be well—the old, oh, ancient old, acrobatic flip35 of the metaphysicians whereby they reasoned reason quite away in order to escape the pessimism36 consequent upon the grim and honest exercise of reason.
"Is this flesh of yours you? Or is it an extraneous37 something possessed38 by you? Your body—what is it? A machine for converting stimuli39 into reactions. Stimuli and reactions are remembered. They constitute experience. Then you are in your consciousness these experiences. You are at any moment what you are thinking at that moment. Your I is both subject and object; it predicates things of itself and is the things predicated. The thinker is the thought, the knower is what is known, the possessor is the things possessed.
"After all, as you know well, man is a flux40 of states of consciousness, a flow of passing thoughts, each thought of self another self, a myriad41 thoughts, a myriad selves, a continual becoming but never being, a will-of-the-wisp flitting of ghosts in ghostland. But this, man will not accept of himself. He refuses to accept his own passing. He will not pass. He will live again if he has to die to do it.
"He shuffles42 atoms and jets of light, remotest nebulae, drips of water, prick-points of sensation, slime-oozings and cosmic bulks, all mixed with pearls of faith, love of woman, imagined dignities, frightened surmises43, and pompous44 arrogances, and of the stuff builds himself an immortality to startle the heavens and baffle the immensities. He squirms on his dunghill, and like a child lost in the dark among goblins, calls to the gods that he is their younger brother, a prisoner of the quick that is destined45 to be as free as they—monuments of egotism reared by the epiphenomena; dreams and the dust of dreams, that vanish when the dreamer vanishes and are no more when he is not.
"It is nothing new, these vital lies men tell themselves, muttering and mumbling46 them like charms and incantations against the powers of Night. The voodoos and medicine men and the devil-devil doctors were the fathers of metaphysics. Night and the Noseless One were ogres that beset47 the way of light and life. And the metaphysicians would win by if they had to tell lies to do it. They were vexed48 by the brazen49 law of the Ecclesiast that men die like the beasts of the field and their end is the same. Their creeds50 were their schemes, their religions their nostrums51, their philosophies their devices, by which they half-believed they would outwit the Noseless One and the Night.
"Bog-lights, vapours of mysticism, psychic52 overtones, soul orgies, wailings among the shadows, weird53 gnosticisms, veils and tissues of words, gibbering subjectivisms, gropings and maunderings, ontological fantasies, pan-psychic hallucinations—this is the stuff, the phantasms of hope, that fills your bookshelves. Look at them, all the sad wraiths54 of sad mad men and passionate55 rebels—your Schopenhauers, your Strindbergs, your Tolstois and Nietzsches.
"Come. Your glass is empty. Fill and forget."
I obey, for my brain is now well a-crawl with the maggots of alcohol, and as I drink to the sad thinkers on my shelves I quote Richard Hovey:
Offer themselves to us on their own terms,
Before we be accepted by the worms,"
"I will cap you," cries the White Logic.
"No," I answer, while the maggots madden me. "I know you for what you are, and I am unafraid. Under your mask of hedonism you are yourself the Noseless One and your way leads to the Night. Hedonism has no meaning. It, too, is a lie, at best the coward's smug compromise."
"Now will I cap you!" the White Logic breaks in.
"But if you would not this poor life fulfil,
Lo, you are free to end it when you will,
Without the fear of waking after death."
And I laugh my defiance58; for now, and for the moment, I know the White Logic to be the arch-impostor of them all, whispering his whispers of death. And he is guilty of his own unmasking, with his own genial59 chemistry turning the tables on himself, with his own maggots biting alive the old illusions, resurrecting and making to sound again the old voice from beyond of my youth, telling me again that still are mine the possibilities and powers which life and the books had taught me did not exist.
And the dinner gong sounds to the reversed bottom of my glass. Jeering60 at the White Logic, I go out to join my guests at table, and with assumed seriousness to discuss the current magazines and the silly doings of the world's day, whipping every trick and ruse61 of controversy62 through all the paces of paradox63 and persiflage64. And, when the whim65 changes, it is most easy and delightfully66 disconcerting to play with the respectable and cowardly bourgeois67 fetishes and to laugh and epigram at the flitting god-ghosts and the debaucheries and follies68 of wisdom.
The clown's the thing! The clown! If one must be a philosopher, let him be Aristophanes. And no one at the table thinks I am jingled69. I am in fine fettle, that is all. I tire of the labour of thinking, and, when the table is finished, start practical jokes and set all playing at games, which we carry on with bucolic70 boisterousness71.
And when the evening is over and good-night said, I go back through my book-walled den12 to my sleeping porch and to myself and to the White Logic which, undefeated, has never left me. And as I fall to fuddled sleep I hear youth crying, as Harry72 Kemp heard it:
"I heard Youth calling in the night:
'Gone is my former world-delight;
It dare not stand a moment still
But must the world with light fulfil.
More evanescent than the rose
My sudden rainbow comes and goes,
Yea, I am Youth because I die!'"
点击收听单词发音
1 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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2 ranch | |
n.大牧场,大农场 | |
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3 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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4 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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5 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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6 writs | |
n.书面命令,令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
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7 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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8 liens | |
n.留置权,扣押权( lien的名词复数 ) | |
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9 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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10 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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11 isthmus | |
n.地峡 | |
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12 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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13 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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14 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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15 scrawl | |
vt.潦草地书写;n.潦草的笔记,涂写 | |
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16 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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17 orchards | |
(通常指围起来的)果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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18 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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19 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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20 scrawled | |
乱涂,潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 eucalyptus | |
n.桉树,桉属植物 | |
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22 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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23 manure | |
n.粪,肥,肥粒;vt.施肥 | |
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24 legendary | |
adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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25 configuration | |
n.结构,布局,形态,(计算机)配置 | |
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26 browse | |
vi.随意翻阅,浏览;(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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27 chuckles | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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28 liars | |
说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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29 dabble | |
v.涉足,浅赏 | |
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30 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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31 tonic | |
n./adj.滋补品,补药,强身的,健体的 | |
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32 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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33 transmuted | |
v.使变形,使变质,把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 stultification | |
n.使显得愚笨,使变无效 | |
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35 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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36 pessimism | |
n.悲观者,悲观主义者,厌世者 | |
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37 extraneous | |
adj.体外的;外来的;外部的 | |
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38 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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39 stimuli | |
n.刺激(物) | |
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40 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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41 myriad | |
adj.无数的;n.无数,极大数量 | |
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42 shuffles | |
n.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的名词复数 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的第三人称单数 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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43 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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44 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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45 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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46 mumbling | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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47 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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48 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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49 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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50 creeds | |
(尤指宗教)信条,教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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51 nostrums | |
n.骗人的疗法,有专利权的药品( nostrum的名词复数 );妙策 | |
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52 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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53 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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54 wraiths | |
n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 );(传说中人在将死或死后不久的)显形阴魂 | |
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55 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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56 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
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57 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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58 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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59 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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60 jeering | |
adj.嘲弄的,揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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61 ruse | |
n.诡计,计策;诡计 | |
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62 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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63 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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64 persiflage | |
n.戏弄;挖苦 | |
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65 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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66 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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67 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
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68 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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69 jingled | |
喝醉的 | |
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70 bucolic | |
adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
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71 boisterousness | |
n.喧闹;欢跃;(风暴)狂烈 | |
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72 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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73 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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74 suffuses | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75 plunging | |
adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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