the way of all flesh-第4章
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were at our own doors。 This lent colour to the view that the Day of
Judgement might indeed be nearer than we had thought； but nurse said
that was all right now； and she knew。 In those days the snow lay
longer and drifted deeper in the lanes than it does now； and the
milk was sometimes brought in frozen in winter； and we were taken
down into the back kitchen to see it。 I suppose there are rectories
up and down the country now where the milk comes in frozen sometimes
in winter； and the children go down to wonder at it； but I never see
any frozen milk in London； so I suppose the winters are warmer than
they used to be。
About one year after his wife's death Mr Pontifex also was gathered
to his fathers。 My father saw him the day before he died。 The old
man had a theory about sunsets； and had had two steps built up
against a wall in the kitchen garden on which he used to stand and
watch the sun go down whenever it was clear。 My father came on him
in the afternoon； just as the sun was setting； and saw him with his
arms resting on the top of the wall looking towards the sun over a
field through which there was a path on which my father was。 My
father heard him say 〃Good…bye； sun； good…bye； sun；〃 as the sun
sank； and saw by his tone and manner that he was feeling very
feeble。 Before the next sunset he was gone。
There was no dole。 Some of his grandchildren were brought to the
funeral and we remonstrated with them； but did not take much by
doing so。 John Pontifex； who was a year older than I was； sneered
at penny loaves； and intimated that if I wanted one it must be
because my papa and mamma could not afford to buy me one； whereon I
believe we did something like fighting； and I rather think John
Pontifex got the worst of it； but it may have been the other way。 I
remember my sister's nurse； for I was just outgrowing nurses myself；
reported the matter to higher quarters； and we were all of us put to
some ignominy； but we had been thoroughly awakened from our dream；
and it was long enough before we could hear the words 〃penny loaf〃
mentioned without our ears tingling with shame。 If there had been a
dozen doles afterwards we should not have deigned to touch one of
them。
George Pontifex put up a monument to his parents； a plain slab in
Paleham church； inscribed with the following epitaph：…
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF
JOHN PONTIFEX
WHO WAS BORN AUGUST 16TH；
1727； AND DIED FEBRUARY 8； 1812；
IN HIS 85TH YEAR；
AND OF
RUTH PONTIFEX； HIS WIFE；
WHO WAS BORN OCTOBER 13； 1727； AND DIED JANUARY 10； 1811；
IN HER 84TH YEAR。
THEY WERE UNOSTENTATIOUS BUT EXEMPLARY
IN THE DISCHARGE OF THEIR
RELIGIOUS； MORAL； AND SOCIAL DUTIES。
THIS MONUMENT WAS PLACED
BY THEIR ONLY SON。
CHAPTER IV
In a year or two more came Waterloo and the European peace。 Then Mr
George Pontifex went abroad more than once。 I remember seeing at
Battersby in after years the diary which he kept on the first of
these occasions。 It is a characteristic document。 I felt as I read
it that the author before starting had made up his mind to admire
only what he thought it would be creditable in him to admire； to
look at nature and art only through the spectacles that had been
handed down to him by generation after generation of prigs and
impostors。 The first glimpse of Mont Blanc threw Mr Pontifex into a
conventional ecstasy。 〃My feelings I cannot express。 I gasped； yet
hardly dared to breathe； as I viewed for the first time the monarch
of the mountains。 I seemed to fancy the genius seated on his
stupendous throne far above his aspiring brethren and in his
solitary might defying the universe。 I was so overcome by my
feelings that I was almost bereft of my faculties； and would not for
worlds have spoken after my first exclamation till I found some
relief in a gush of tears。 With pain I tore myself from
contemplating for the first time 'at distance dimly seen' （though I
felt as if I had sent my soul and eyes after it）； this sublime
spectacle。〃 After a nearer view of the Alps from above Geneva he
walked nine out of the twelve miles of the descent： 〃My mind and
heart were too full to sit still； and I found some relief by
exhausting my feelings through exercise。〃 In the course of time he
reached Chamonix and went on a Sunday to the Montanvert to see the
Mer de Glace。 There he wrote the following verses for the visitors'
book； which he considered； so he says； 〃suitable to the day and
scene〃：…
Lord； while these wonders of thy hand I see；
My soul in holy reverence bends to thee。
These awful solitudes； this dread repose；
Yon pyramid sublime of spotless snows；
These spiry pinnacles； those smiling plains；
This sea where one eternal winter reigns；
These are thy works； and while on them I gaze
I hear a silent tongue that speaks thy praise。
Some poets always begin to get groggy about the knees after running
for seven or eight lines。 Mr Pontifex's last couplet gave him a lot
of trouble； and nearly every word has been erased and rewritten once
at least。 In the visitors' book at the Montanvert； however； he must
have been obliged to commit himself definitely to one reading or
another。 Taking the verses all round； I should say that Mr Pontifex
was right in considering them suitable to the day； I don't like
being too hard even on the Mer de Glace； so will give no opinion as
to whether they are suitable to the scene also。
Mr Pontifex went on to the Great St Bernard and there he wrote some
more verses； this time I am afraid in Latin。 He also took good care
to be properly impressed by the Hospice and its situation。 〃The
whole of this most extraordinary journey seemed like a dream； its
conclusion especially； in gentlemanly society； with every comfort
and accommodation amidst the rudest rocks and in the region of
perpetual snow。 The thought that I was sleeping in a convent and
occupied the bed of no less a person than Napoleon； that I was in
the highest inhabited spot in the old world and in a place
celebrated in every part of it； kept me awake some time。〃 As a
contrast to this； I may quote here an extract from a letter written
to me last year by his grandson Ernest； of whom the reader will hear
more presently。 The passage runs： 〃I went up to the Great St
Bernard and saw the dogs。〃 In due course Mr Pontifex found his way
into Italy； where the pictures and other works of artthose； at
least； which were fashionable at that timethrew him into genteel
paroxysms of admiration。 Of the Uffizi Gallery at Florence he
writes： 〃I have spent three hours this morning in the gallery and I
have made up my mind that if of all the treasures I have seen in
Italy I were to choose one room it would be the Tribune of this
gallery。 It contains the Venus de' Medici； the Explorator； the
Pancratist； the Dancing Faun and a fine Apollo。 These more than
outweigh the Laocoon and the Belvedere Apollo at Rome。 It contains；
besides； the St John of Raphael and many other chefs…d'oeuvre of the
greatest masters in the world。〃 It is interesting to compare Mr
Pontifex's effusions with the rhapsodies of critics in our own
times。 Not long ago a much esteemed writer informed the world that
he felt 〃disposed to cry out with delight〃 before a figure by
Michael Angelo。 I wonder whether he would feel disposed to cry out
before a real Michael Angelo； if the critics had decided that it was
not genuine； or before a reputed Michael Angelo which was really by
someone else。 But I suppose that a prig with more money than brains
was much the same sixty or seventy years ago as he is now。
Look at Mendelssohn again about this same Tribune on which Mr
Pontifex felt so safe in staking his reputation as a man of taste
and culture。 He feels no less safe and writes； 〃I then went to the
Tribune。 This room is so delightfully small you can traverse it in
fifteen paces； yet it contains a world of art。 I again sought out
my favourite arm chair which stands under the statue of the 'Slave
whetting his knife' （L'Arrotino）； and taking possession of it I
enjoyed myself for a couple of hours； for here at one glance I had
the 'Madonna del Cardellino；' Pope Julius II。； a female portrait by
Raph
