pageant of summer- 第1部分

Pageant　of　Summer



by　Richard　Jefferies








I。







GREEN　rushes；　long　and　thick；　standing　up　above　the　edge　of　the　

ditch；　told　the　hour　of　the　year　as　distinctly　as　the　shadow　on　the　

dial　the　hour　of　the　day。　　Green　and　thick　and　sappy　to　the　touch；　

they　felt　like　summer；　soft　and　elastic；　as　if　full　of　life；　mere　

rushes　though　they　were。　　On　the　fingers　they　left　a　green　scent；　

rushes　have　a　separate　scent　of　green；　so；　too；　have　ferns；　very　

different　from　that　of　grass　or　leaves。　　Rising　from　brown　sheaths；　

the　tall　stems　enlarged　a　little　in　the　middle；　like　classical　

columns；　and　heavy　with　their　sap　and　freshness；　leaned　against　the　

hawthorn　sprays。　　From　the　earth　they　had　drawn　its　moisture；　and　

made　the　ditch　dry；　some　of　the　sweetness　of　the　air　had　entered　

into　their　fibres；　and　the　rushes　…　the　common　rushes　…　were　full　

of　beautiful　summer。　　The　white　pollen　of　early　grasses　growing　on　

the　edge　was　dusted　from　them　each　time　the　hawthorn　boughs　were　

shaken　by　a　thrush。　　These　lower　sprays　came　down　in　among　the　

grass；　and　leaves　and　grass…blades　touched。　　Smooth　round　stems　of　

angelica；　big　as　a　gun…barrel；　hollow　and　strong；　stood　on　the　

slope　of　the　mound；　their　tiers　of　well…balanced　branches　rising　

like　those　of　a　tree。　　Such　a　sturdy　growth　pushed　back　the　ranks　

of　hedge　parsley　in　full　white　flower；　which　blocked　every　avenue　

and　winding　bird's…path　of　the　bank。　　But　the　〃gix；〃　or　wild　

parsnip；　reached　already　high　above　both；　and　would　rear　its　fluted　

stalk；　joint　on　joint；　till　it　could　face　a　man。　　Trees　they　were　

to　the　lesser　birds；　not　even　bending　if　perched　on；　but　though　so　

stout；　the　birds　did　not　place　their　nests　on　or　against　them。　　

Something　in　the　odour　of　these　umbelliferous　plants；　perhaps；　is　

not　quite　liked；　if　brushed　or　bruised　they　give　out　a　bitter　

greenish　scent。　　Under　their　cover；　well　shaded　and　hidden；　birds　

build；　but　not　against　or　on　the　stems；　though　they　will　affix　

their　nests　to　much　less　certain　supports。　　With　the　grasses　that　

overhung　the　edge；　with　the　rushes　in　the　ditch　itself；　and　these　

great　plants　on　the　mound；　the　whole　hedge　was　wrapped　and　

thickened。　　No　cunning　of　glance　could　see　through　it；　it　would　

have　needed　a　ladder　to　help　any　one　look　over。



It　was　between　the　may　and　the　June　roses。　　The　may　bloom　had　

fallen；　and　among　the　hawthorn　boughs　were　the　little　green　bunches　

that　would　feed　the　red…wings　in　autumn。　　High　up　the　briars　had　

climbed；　straight　and　towering　while　there　was　a　thorn　or　an　ash　

sapling；　or　a　yellow…green　willow；　to　uphold　them；　and　then　curving　

over　towards　the　meadow。　　The　buds　were　on　them；　but　not　yet　open；　

it　was　between　the　may　and　the　rose。



As　the　wind；　wandering　over　the　sea；　takes　from　each　wave　an　

invisible　portion；　and　brings　to　those　on　shore　the　ethereal　

essence　of　ocean；　so　the　air　lingering　among　the　wood　and　hedges　…　

green　waves　and　billows　…　became　full　of　fine　atoms　of　summer。　　

Swept　from　notched　hawthorn　leaves；　broad…topped　oak…leaves；　narrow　

ash　sprays　and　oval　willows；　from　vast　elm　cliffs　and　sharp…taloned　

brambles　under；　brushed　from　the　waving　grasses　and　stiffening　

corn；　the　dust　of　the　sunshine　was　borne　along　and　breathed。　　

Steeped　in　flower　and　pollen　to　the　music　of　bees　and　birds；　the　

stream　of　the　atmosphere　became　a　living　thing。　　It　was　life　to　

breathe　it；　for　the　air　itself　was　life。　　The　strength　of　the　earth　

went　up　through　the　leaves　into　the　wind。　　Fed　thus　on　the　food　of　

the　Immortals；　the　heart　opened　to　the　width　and　depth　of　the　

summer　…　to　the　broad　horizon　afar；　down　to　the　minutest　creature　

in　the　grass；　up　to　the　highest　swallow。　　Winter　shows　us　Matter　in　

its　dead　form；　like　the　Primary　rocks；　like　granite　and　basalt　…　

clear　but　cold　and　frozen　crystal。　　Summer　shows　us　Matter　changing　

into　life；　sap　rising　from　the　earth　through　a　million　tubes；　the　

alchemic　power　of　light　entering　the　solid　oak；　and　see！　it　bursts　

forth　in　countless　leaves。　　Living　things　leap　in　the　grass；　living　

things　drift　upon　the　air；　living　things　are　coming　forth　to　

breathe　in　every　hawthorn　bush。　　No　longer　does　the　immense　weight　

of　Matter　…　the　dead；　the　crystallized　…　press　ponderously　on　the　

thinking　mind。　　The　whole　office　of　Matter　is　to　feed　life　…　to　

feed　the　green　rushes；　and　the　roses　that　are　about　to　be；　to　feed　

the　swallows　above；　and　us　that　wander　beneath　them。　　So　much　

greater　is　this　green　and　common　rush　than　all　the　Alps。



Fanning　so　swiftly；　the　wasp's　wings　are　but　just　visible　as　he　

passes；　did　he　pause；　the　light　would　be　apparent　through　their　

texture。　　On　the　wings　of　the　dragon…fly　as　he　hovers　an　instant　

before　he　darts　there　is　a　prismatic　gleam。　　These　wing　textures　

are　even　more　delicate　than　the　minute　filaments　on　a　swallow's　

quill；　more　delicate　than　the　pollen　of　a　flower。　　They　are　formed　

of　matter　indeed；　but　how　exquisitely　it　is　resolved　into　the　means　

and　organs　of　life！　　Though　not　often　consciously　recognized；　

perhaps　this　is　the　great　pleasure　of　summer；　to　watch　the　earth；　

the　dead　particles；　resolving　themselves　into　the　living　case　of　

life；　to　see　the　seed…leaf　push　aside　the　clod　and　become　by　

degrees　the　perfumed　flower。　　From　the　tiny　mottled　egg　come　the　

wings　that　by…and…by　shall　pass　the　immense　sea。　　It　is　in　this　

marvellous　transformation　of　clods　and　cold　matter　into　living　

things　that　the　joy　and　the　hope　of　summer　reside。　　Every　blade　of　

grass；　each　leaf；　each　separate　floret　and　petal；　is　an　inscription　

speaking　of　hope。　　Consider　the　grasses　and　the　oaks；　the　swallows；　

the　sweet　blue　butterfly　…　they　are　one　and　all　a　sign　and　token　

showing　before　our　eyes　earth　made　into　life。　　So　that　my　hope　

becomes　as　broad　as　the　horizon　afar；　reiterated　by　every　leaf；　

sung　on　every　bough；　reflected　in　the　gleam　of　every　flower。　　There　

is　so　much　for　us　yet　to　come；　so　much　to　be　gathered；　and　enjoyed。　　

Not　for　you　or　me；　now；　but　for　our　race；　who　will　ultimately　use　

this　magical　secret　for　their　happiness。　　Earth　holds　secrets　

enough　to　give　them　the　life　of　the　fabled　Immortals。　　My　heart　is　

fixed　firm　and　stable　in　the　belief　that　ultimately　the　sunshine　

and　the　summer；　the　flowers　and　the　azure　sky；　shall　become；　as　it　

were；　interwoven　into　man's　existence。　　He　shall　take　from　all　

their　beauty　and　enjoy　their　glory。　　Hence　it　is　that　a　flower　is　

to　me　so　much　more　than　stalk　and　petals。　　When　I　look　in　the　glass　

I　see　that　every　line　in　my　face　means　pessimism；　but　in　spite　of　

my　face　…　that　is　my　experience　…　I　remain　an　optimist。　　Time　with　

an　unsteady　hand　has　etched　thin　crooked　lines；　and；　deepening　the　

hollows；　has　cast　the　original　expression　into　shadow。　　Pain　and　

sorrow　flow　over　us　with　little　ceasing；　as　the　sea…hoofs　beat　on　

the　beach。　　Let　us　not　look　at　ourselves　but　onwards；　and　take　

strength　from　the　leaf　and　the　signs　of　the　field。　　He　is　indeed　

despicable　who　cannot　look　onwards　to　the　ideal　life　of　man。　　Not　

to　do　so　is　to　deny　our　birthright　of　mind。



The　long　grass　flowing　towards　the　hedge　has　reared　in　a　wave　

against　it。　　Along　the　hedge　it　is　higher　and　greener；　and　rustles　

into　the　very　bushes。　　There　is　a　mark　only　now　where　the　footpath　

was；　it　passed　close　to　the　hedge；　but　its　place　is　traceable　only　

as　a　groove　in　the　sorrel　and　seed…tops。　　Though　it　has　quite　

filled　the　path；　the　grass　there　cannot　send　its　tops　so　high；　it　

has　left　a　winding　crease。　　By　the　hedge　here　stands　a　moss…grown　

willow；　and　its　slender　branches　extend　over　the　sward。　　Beyond　it　

is　an　oak；　just　apart　from　the　bushes；　then　the　ground　gently　

rises；　and　an　ancient　pollard　ash；　hollow　and　black　inside；　guards　

an　open　gateway　like　a　low　tower。　　The　different　tone　of　green　

shows　that　the　hedge　is　there　of　nut…trees；　but　one　great　hawthorn　

spreads　out　in　a　semicircle；　roofing　the　grass　which　is　yet　more　

verdant　in　the　still　pool　（as　it　were）　under　it。　　Next　a　corner；　

more　oaks；　and　a　chestnut　in　bloom。　　Returning　to　this　spot　an　old　

apple　tree　stands　right　out　in　the　meadow　like　an　island。　　There　

seemed　just　now　the　tiniest　twinkle　of　movement　by　the　rushes；　but　

it　was　lost　among　the　hedge　parsley。　　Among　the　grey　leaves　of　the　

willow　there　is　another　flit　of　motion；　and　visible　now　against　the　

sky　there　is　a　little　brown　bird；　not　to　be　distinguished　at　the　

moment　from　the　many　other　little　brown　birds　that　are　known　to　be　

about。　　He　got　up　into　the　willow　from　the　hedge　parsley　somehow；　

without　being　seen　to　climb　or　fly。　　Suddenly　he　crosses　to　the　

tops　of　the　hawthorn　and　immediately　flings　himself　up　into　the　air　

a　yard　or　two；　his　wings　and　ruffled　crest　making　a　ragged　outline；　

jerk；　jerk；　jerk；　as　if　it　were　with　the　utmost　difficulty　he　could　

keep　even　at　that　height。　　He　scolds；　and　twitters；　and　chirps；　and　

all　at　once　sinks　like　a　stone　into　the　hedge　and　out　of　sight　as　a　

stone　into　a　pond。　　It　is　a　whitethroat；　his　nest　is　deep　in　the　

parsley　and　nettles。　　Presently　he　will　go　out　to　the　island　apple　

tree　and　back　again　in　a　minute　or　two；　the　pair　of　them　are　so　

fond　of　each　other's　affectionate　company；　they　cannot　remain　

apart。



Watching　the　line　of　the　hedge；　about　every　two　minutes；　either　

near　at　hand　or　yonder　a　bird　darts　out　just　at　the　level　of　the　

grass；　hovers　a　second　with　labouring　wings；　and　returns　as　swiftly　

to　the　cover。　　Sometimes　it　is　a　flycatcher；　sometimes　a　

greenfinch；　or　chaffinch；　now　and　then　a　robin；　in　one　place　a　

shrike；　perhaps　another　is　a　red…start。　　They　are　flyfishing　all　of　

them；　seizing　insects　from　the　sorrel　tips　and　grass；　as　the　

kingfisher　takes　a　roach　from　the　water。　　A　blackbird　slips　up　into　

the　oak　and　a　dove　descends　in　the　corner　by　the　chestnut　tree。　　

But　these　are　not　visible　together；　o