the lifted veil(揭起的面纱)-第3章
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the very reverse of my own。 I shall call him Charles Meunier； his real
surnamean English one； for he was of English extractionhaving since
become celebrated。 He was an orphan； who lived on a miserable pittance
while he pursued the medical studies for which he had a special genius。
Strange！ that with my vague mind； susceptible and unobservant； hating
inquiry and given up to contemplation； I should have been drawn towards
a youth whose strongest passion was science。 But the bond was not an
intellectual one； it came from a source that can happily blend the stupid
with the brilliant； the dreamy with the practical： it came from
community of feeling。 Charles was poor and ugly； derided by Genevese
gamins； and not acceptable in drawing…rooms。 I saw that he was isolated；
as I was； though from a different cause； and； stimulated by a sympathetic
resentment； I made timid advances towards him。 It is enough to say that
there sprang up as much comradeship between us as our different habits
would allow； and in Charles's rare holidays we went up the Saleve
together； or took the boat to Vevay； while I listened dreamily to the
monologues in which he unfolded his bold conceptions of future
experiment and discovery。 I mingled them confusedly in my thought
with glimpses of blue water and delicate floating cloud； with the notes of
birds and the distant glitter of the glacier。 He knew quite well that my
mind was half absent； yet he liked to talk to me in this way； for don't we
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talk of our hopes and our projects even to dogs and birds； when they love
us？ I have mentioned this one friendship because of its connexion with a
strange and terrible scene which I shall have to narrate in my subsequent
life。
This happier life at Geneva was put an end to by a severe illness；
which is partly a blank to me； partly a time of dimly…remembered
suffering； with the presence of my father by my bed from time to time。
Then came the languid monotony of convalescence； the days gradually
breaking into variety and distinctness as my strength enabled me to take
longer and longer drives。 On one of these more vividly remembered
days； my father said to me； as he sat beside my sofa …
〃When you are quite well enough to travel； Latimer； I shall take you
home with me。 The journey will amuse you and do you good； for I shall
go through the Tyrol and Austria； and you will see many new places。
Our neighbours； the Filmores； are come； Alfred will join us at Basle； and
we shall all go together to Vienna； and back by Prague〃 。 。 。
My father was called away before he had finished his sentence； and he
left my mind resting on the word PRAGUE； with a strange sense that a
new and wondrous scene was breaking upon me： a city under the broad
sunshine； that seemed to me as if it were the summer sunshine of a long…
past century arrested in its courseunrefreshed for ages by dews of night；
or the rushing rain…cloud； scorching the dusty； weary； time…eaten grandeur
of a people doomed to live on in the stale repetition of memories； like
deposed and superannuated kings in their regal gold…inwoven tatters。
The city looked so thirsty that the broad river seemed to me a sheet of
metal； and the blackened statues； as I passed under their blank gaze； along
the unending bridge； with their ancient garments and their saintly crowns；
seemed to me the real inhabitants and owners of this place； while the busy；
trivial men and women； hurrying to and fro； were a swarm of ephemeral
visitants infesting it for a day。 It is such grim； stony beings as these； I
thought； who are the fathers of ancient faded children； in those tanned
time…fretted dwellings that crowd the steep before me； who pay their court
in the worn and crumbling pomp of the palace which stretches its
monotonous length on the height； who worship wearily in the stifling air
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of the churches； urged by no fear or hope； but compelled by their doom to
be ever old and undying； to live on in the rigidity of habit； as they live on
in perpetual midday； without the repose of night or the new birth of
morning。
A stunning clang of metal suddenly thrilled through me； and I became
conscious of the objects in my room again： one of the fire… irons had
fallen as Pierre opened the door to bring me my draught。 My heart was
palpitating violently； and I begged Pierre to leave my draught beside me； I
would take it presently。
As soon as I was alone again； I began to ask myself whether I had
been sleeping。 Was this a dreamthis wonderfully distinct vision… …
minute in its distinctness down to a patch of rainbow light on the
pavement； transmitted through a coloured lamp in the shape of a starof a
strange city； quite unfamiliar to my imagination？ I had seen no picture of
Prague： it lay in my mind as a mere name； with vaguely…remembered
historical associationsill…defined memories of imperial grandeur and
religious wars。
Nothing of this sort had ever occurred in my dreaming experience
before； for I had often been humiliated because my dreams were only
saved from being utterly disjointed and commonplace by the frequent
terrors of nightmare。 But I could not believe that I had been asleep； for I
remembered distinctly the gradual breaking…in of the vision upon me； like
the new images in a dissolving view； or the growing distinctness of the
landscape as the sun lifts up the veil of the morning mist。 And while I
was conscious of this incipient vision； I was also conscious that Pierre
came to tell my father Mr。 Filmore was waiting for him； and that my father
hurried out of the room。 No； it was not a dream； was itthe thought was
full of tremulous exultationwas it the poet's nature in me； hitherto only a
troubled yearning sensibility； now manifesting itself suddenly as
spontaneous creation？ Surely it was in this way that Homer saw the
plain of Troy； that Dante saw the abodes of the departed； that Milton saw
the earthward flight of the Tempter。 Was it that my illness had wrought
some happy change in my organizationgiven a firmer tension to my
nervescarried off some dull obstruction？ I had often read of such
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effectsin works of fiction at least。 Nay； in genuine biographies I had
read of the subtilizing or exalting influence of some diseases on the mental
powers。 Did not Novalis feel his inspiration intensified under the
progress of consumption？
When my mind had dwelt for some time on t
