"Imperial Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,
May stop a hole to keep the wind away;"
not less can it trace the noble thoughts of great men, till it finds them mouldered8 into the common dust of conversation, and used to stop men's mouths, and patch up theories, to keep out the flaws of opinion. Such, for example, are all popular adages9 and wise proverbs, which are now resolved into the common mass of thought; their authors forgotten, and having no more an individual being among men.
It is better, therefore, that men should soon make up their minds to be forgotten, and look about them, or within them, for some higher motive10, in what they do, than the approbation11 of men, which is Fame; namely, their duty; that they should be constantly and quietly at work, each in his sphere, regardless of effects, and leaving their fame to take care of itself. Difficult must this indeed be, in our imperfection; impossible perhaps to achieve it wholly. Yet the resolute12, the indomitable will of man can achieve much,--at times even this victory over himself; being persuaded, that fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable13 as destiny, for it is destiny.
It has become a common saying, that men of genius are always in advance of their age; which is true. There is something equally true, yet not so common; namely, that, of these men of genius, the best and bravest are in advance not only of their own age, but of every age. As the German prose-poet says, every possible future is behind them. We cannot suppose, that a period of time will ever come, when the world, or any considerable portion of it shall have come up abreast14 with these great minds, so as fully15 to comprehend them.
And oh! how majestically16 they walk in history; some like the sun, with all his travelling glories round him; others wrapped in gloom, yet glorious as a night with stars. Through the else silent darkness of the past, the spirit hears their slow and solemn footsteps. Onward17 they pass, like those hoary18 elders seen in the sublime19 vision of an earthly Paradise, attendant angels bearing golden lights before them, and, above and behind, the whole air painted with seven listed colors, as from the trail of pencils!
And yet, on earth, these men were not happy,--not all happy, in the outward circumstance of their lives. They were in want, and in pain, and familiar with prison-bars, and the damp, weeping walls of dungeons20! Oh, I have looked with wonder upon those, who, in sorrow and privation, and bodily discomfort21, and sickness, which is the shadow of death, have worked right on to the accomplishment22 of their great purposes; toiling23 much, enduring much, fulfilling much;--and then, with shattered nerves, and sinews all unstrung, have laid themselves down in the grave, and slept the sleep of death,--and the world talks of them, while they sleep!
It would seem, indeed, as if all their sufferings had but sanctified them! As if the death-angel, in passing, had touched them with the hem6 of his garment, and made them holy! As if the hand of disease had been stretched out over them only to make the sign of the cross upon their souls! And as in the sun's eclipse we can behold24 the great stars shining in the heavens, so in this life eclipse have these men beheld25 the lights of the great eternity26, burning solemnly and forever!
"An angel is flying over the house!--Here; in this goblet28, fragrant29 as the honey of Hymettus, fragrant as the wild flowers in the Angel's Meadow, I drink to the divinity of thy dreams."
"This is all sunshine," said Flemming, as he drank. "The wine of the Prince, and the Prince of wines. By the way, did you ever read that brilliant Italian dithyrambic, Redi's Bacchus in Tuscany? an ode which seems to have been poured out of the author's soul, as from a golden pitcher30,
`Filled with the wine
Of the vine
That flames so red in Sansavine.'
He calls the Montepulciano the king of all wines."
"Prince Metternich," said the Baron, "is greater than any king in Italy; and I wonder, that this precious wine has never inspired a German poet to write a Bacchus on the Rhine. Many little songs we have on this theme, but none very extraordinary. The best are Max Schenkendorf's Song of the Rhine, and the Song of Rhine Wine, by Claudius, a poet who never drank Rhenish without sugar. We will drink for him a blessing32 on the Rhine."
And again the crystal lips of the goblets33 kissed each other, with a musical chime, as of evening bells at vintage-time from the villages on the Rhine. Of a truth, I do not much wonder, that the Germanpoet Schiller loved to write by candle-light with a bottle of Rhine-wine upon the table. Nor do I wonder at the worthy34 schoolmaster Roger Ascham, when he says, in one of his letters from Germany to Mr. John Raven35, of John's College; `Tell Mr. Maden I will drink with him now a carouse36 of wine; and would to God he had a vessel37 of Rhenish wine; and perchance, when I come to Cambridge, I will so provide here, that every year I will have a little piece of Rhenish wine.' Nor, in fine, do I wonder at the German Emperor of whom he speaks in another letter to the same John Raven, and says, `The Emperor drank the best that I ever saw; he had his head in the glass five times as long as any of us, and never drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish wine.' These were scholars and gentlemen.
"But to resume our old theme of scholars and their whereabout," said the Baron, with an unusual glow, caught no doubt from the golden sunshine, imprisoned38, like the student Anselmus, in the glass bottle; "where should the scholar live? In solitudeor in society? In the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of nature beat, or in the dark, gray city, where he can hear and feel the throbbing39 heart of man? I will make answer for him, and say, in the dark, gray city. Oh, they do greatly err40, who think, that the stars are all the poetry which cities have; and therefore that the poet's only dwelling41 should be in sylvan42 solitudes43, under the green roof of trees. Beautiful, no doubt, are all the forms of Nature, when transfigured by the miraculous44 power of poetry; hamlets and harvest-fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under the forest, vast and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds of rural life. But after all, what are these but the decorations and painted scenery in the great theatre of human life? What are they but the coarse materials of the poet's song? Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us. There lies the Land of Song; there lies the poet's native land. The river of life, that flows through streets tumultuous, bearingalong so many gallant45 hearts, so many wrecks46 of humanity;--the many homes and households, each a little world in itself, revolving47 round its fireside, as a central sun; all forms of human joy and suffering, brought into that narrow compass;--and to be in this and be a part of this; acting48, thinking, rejoicing, sorrowing, with his fellow-men;--such, such should be the poet's life. If he would describe the world, he should live in the world. The mind of the scholar, also, if you would have it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. It is better that his armour49 should be somewhat bruised50 even by rude encounters, than hang forever rusting51 on the wall. Nor will his themes be few or trivial, because apparently52 shut in between the walls of houses, and having merely the decorations of street scenery. A ruined character is as picturesque54 as a ruined castle. There are dark abysses and yawning gulfs in the human heart, which can be rendered passable only by bridging them over with iron nerves and sinews, as Challey bridged the Savine in Switzerland, and Telford the sea between Anglesea and England, with chain bridges. These are the great themes of human thought; not green grass, and flowers, and moonshine. Besides, the mere53 external forms of Nature we make our own, and carry with us into the city, by the power of memory."
"I fear, however," interrupted Flemming, "that in cities the soul of man grows proud. He needs at times to be sent forth55, like the Assyrian monarch56, into green fields, `a wonderous wretch57 and weedless,' to eat green herbs, and be wakened and chastised58 by the rain-shower and winter's bitter weather. Moreover, in cities there is danger of the soul's becoming wed59 to pleasure, and forgetful of its high vocation60. There have been souls dedicated61 to heaven from childhood and guarded by good angels as sweet seclusions62 for holy thoughts, and prayers, and all good purposes; wherein pious63 wishes dwelt like nuns64, and every image was a saint; and yet in life's vicissitudes65, by the treachery of occasion, by the thronging66 passionsof great cities, have become soiled and sinful. They resemble those convents on the river Rhine, which have been changed to taverns67; from whose chambers68 the pious inmates69 have long departed, and in whose cloisters70 the footsteps of travellers have effaced the images of buried saints, and whose walls are written over with ribaldry and the names of strangers, and resound71 no more with holy hymns72, but with revelry and loud voices."
"Both town and country have their dangers," said the Baron; "and therefore, wherever the scholar lives, he must never forget his high vocation. Other artists give themselves up wholly to the study of their art. It becomes with them almost religion. For the most part, and in their youth, at least, they dwell in lands, where the whole atmosphere of the soul is beauty; laden73 with it as the air may be with vapor74, till their very nature is saturated75 with the genius of their art. Such, for example, is the artist's life in Italy."
"I agree with you," exclaimed Flemming; "and such should be the Poet's everywhere; forhe has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world,--and the glories of a modern one,--his Apollo and Transfiguration. He must neither forget nor undervalue his vocation; but thank God that he is a poet; and everywhere be true to himself, and to `the vision and the faculty77 divine' he feels within him."
"But, at any rate, a city life is most eventful," continued the Baron. "The men who make, or take, the lives of poets and scholars, always complain that these lives are barren of incidents. Hardly a literary biography begins without some such apology, unwisely made. I confess, however, that it is not made without some show of truth; if, by incidents, we mean only those startling events, which suddenly turn aside the stream of Time, and change the world's history in an hour. There is certainly a uniformity, pleasing or unpleasing, in literary life, which for the most part makes to-day seem twin-born with yesterday. But if, byincidents, you mean events in the history of the human mind, (and why not?) noiseless events, that do not scar the forehead of the world as battles do, yet change it not the less, then surely the lives of literary men are most eventful. The complaint and the apology are both foolish. I do not see why a successful book is not as great an event as a successful campaign; only different in kind, and not easily compared."
"Indeed," interrupted Flemming, "in no sense is the complaint strictly78 true, though at times apparently so. Events enough there are, were they all set down. A life, that is worth writing at all, is worth writing minutely. Besides, all literary men have not lived in silence and solitude;--not all in stillness, not all in shadow. For many have lived in troubled times, in the rude and adverse79 fortunes of the state and age, and could say with Wallenstein,
`Our life was but a battle and a march;
And, like the wind's blast, never-resting, homeless,
We stormed across the war convulsed earth.'
Of such examples history has recorded many; Dante, Cervantes, Byron, and others; men of iron; men who have dared to breast the strong breath of public opinion, and, like spectre-ships, come sailing right against the wind. Others have been puffed80 out by the first adverse wind that blew; disgraced and sorrowful, because they could not please others. Truly `the tears live in an onion, that should water such a sorrow.' Had they been men, they would have made these disappointments their best friends, and learned from them the needful lesson of self-reliance."
"To confess the truth," added the Baron, "the lives of literary men, with their hopes and disappointments, and quarrels and calamities81, present a melancholy82 picture of man's strength and weakness. On that very account the scholar can make them profitable for encouragement,--consolation,--warning."
"And after all," continued Flemming, "perhaps the greatest lesson, which the lives of literary men teach us, is told in a single word; Wait!--Every man must patiently bide83 his time. He must wait. More particularly in lands, like my native land, where the pulse of life beats with such feverish84 and impatient throbs85, is the lesson needful. Our national character wants the dignity of repose86. We seem to live in the midst of a battle,--there is such a din,--such a hurrying to and fro. In the streets of a crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly. You feel the rushing of the crowd, and rush with it onward. In the press of our life it is difficult to be calm. In this stress of wind and tide, all professions seem to drag their anchors, and are swept out into the main. The voices of the Present say, Come! But the voices of the Past say, Wait! With calm and solemn footsteps the rising tide bears against the rushing torrent87 up stream, and pushes back the hurrying waters. With no less calm and solemn footsteps, nor less certainly, does a great mind bear up against public opinion, and push back its hurrying stream. Therefore should every man wait;--should bide his time. Not in listless idleness,--not in uselesspastime,--not in querulous dejection; but in constant, steady, cheerful endeavours, always willing and fulfilling, and accomplishing his task, that, when the occasion comes, he may be equal to the occasion. And if it never comes, what matters it? What matters it to the world whether I, or you, or another man did such a deed, or wrote such a book, sobeit the deed and book were well done! It is the part of an indiscreet and troublesome ambition, to care too much about fame,--about what the world says of us. To be always looking into the faces of others for approval;--to be always anxious for the effect of what we do and say; to be always shouting to hear the echo of our own voices! If you look about you, you will see men, who are wearing life away in feverish anxiety of fame, and the last we shall ever hear of them will be the funeral bell, that tolls88 them to their early graves! Unhappy men, and unsuccessful! because their purpose is, not to accomplish well their task, but to clutch the `trick and fantasy of fame'; and they go to their graveswith purposes unaccomplished and wishes unfulfilled. Better for them, and for the world in their example, had they known how to wait! Believe me, the talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well; and doing well whatever you do,--without a thought of fame. If it come at all, it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after. And, moreover, there will be no misgivings,--no disappointment,--no hasty, feverish, exhausting excitement."
Thus endeth the First Book of Hyperion. I make no record of the winter. Paul Flemming buried himself in books; in old, dusty books. He studied diligently89 the ancient poetic90 lore76 of Germany, from Frankish Legends of Saint George, and Saxon Rhyme-Chronicles, down through Nibelungen Lieds, and Helden-Buchs, and Songs of the Minnesingers and Mastersingers, and Ships of Fools, and Reinecke Foxes, and Death-Dancesand Lamentations of Damned Souls, into the bright, sunny land of harvests, where, amid the golden grain and the blue corn-flowers, walk the modern bards91, and sing.
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1
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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7
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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mouldered
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| v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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adages
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| n.谚语，格言( adage的名词复数 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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11
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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14
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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23
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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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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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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41
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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47
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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48
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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50
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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51
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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52
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
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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55
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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56
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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57
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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58
chastised
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的过去式 ) | |
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59
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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seclusions
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| n.隔绝，隔离，隐居( seclusion的名词复数 ) | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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66
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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bards
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| n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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