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madam how and lady why(豪夫人和怀女士)-第31章

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break the ice across。       Now you may judge for yourself how much water a 

load of chalk will hold; even on a dry summer's day。                 And now; if you'll 

excuse me; sir; I must be off to market。 

     Was it all true that the farmer said? 

     Quite true; I believe。       He is not a scientific manthat is; he does not 

know the chemical causes of all these things; but his knowledge is sound 

and     useful;   because     it  comes    from    long    experience。      He     and   his 

forefathers; perhaps for a thousand years and more; have been farming this 

country; reading Madam How's books with very keen eyes; experimenting 

and   watching;   very  carefully  and   rationally;   making   mistakes   often;   and 

failing   and   losing   their   crops   and   their   money;   but   learning   from   their 

mistakes; till their empiric knowledge; as it is called; helps them to grow 

sometimes       quite   as   good    crops    as  if  they   had    learned    agricultural 

chemistry。 

     What     he  meant     by  the   chalk   sweetening     the   land  you    would    not 

understand yet; and I can hardly tell you; for chemists are not yet agreed 

how it happens。        But he was right; and right; too; what he told you about 

the water inside the chalk; which is more important to us just now; for; if 

we follow it out; we shall surely come to a cave at last。 

     So now for the water in the chalk。            You can see now why the chalk… 

downs      at  Winchester     are   always    green;   even    in  the  hottest   summer: 

because Madam  How has   put under them  her   great chalk sponge。                     The 

winter   rains   soak   into   it;   and   the   summer   heat   draws   that   rain   out   of   it 

again as invisible steam; coming up from below; to keep the roots of the 

turf cool and moist under the blazing sun。 



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                                 MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY 



     You   love   that   short   turf   well。    You   love   to   run   and   race   over   the 

Downs with your butterfly…net and hunt 〃chalk…hill blues;〃 and 〃marbled 

whites;〃 and 〃spotted burnets;〃 till you are hot and tired; and then to   sit 

down   and   look at   the  quiet   little  old   city  below;  with   the  long   cathedral 

roof;   and   the   tower   of   St。   Cross;   and   the   gray   old   walls   and   buildings 

shrouded by noble trees; all embosomed among the soft rounded lines of 

the   chalk…hills;   and   then   you   begin   to   feel   very   thirsty;   and   cry;   〃Oh;   if 

there were  but   springs   and brooks   in   the  Downs; as   there  are  at   home!〃 

But all the hollows are as dry as the hill tops。             There is not a brook; or the 

mark of a watercourse; in one of them。               You are like the Ancient Mariner 

in the poem; with 

       〃Water; water; every where; Nor any drop to drink。〃 

       To   get   that   you   must   go   down   and   down;   hundreds   of   feet;   to   the 

green meadows through which silver Itchen glides toward the sea。 There 

you   stand   upon   the bridge;  and   watch the  trout   in   water  so   crystal…clear 

that you see every weed and pebble as if you looked through air。                       If ever 

there   was   pure   water;   you   think;   that   is   pure。   Is   it   so? Drink   some。 

Wash your hands in it and tryYou feel that the water is rough; hard (as 

they call it); quite different from the water at home; which feels as soft as 

velvet。 What makes it so hard? 

     Because   it   is   full   of   invisible   chalk。  In   every   gallon   of   that   water 

there are; perhaps; fifteen grains of solid chalk; which was once inside the 

heart of the hills above。          Day and   night; year after year; the chalk goes 

down   to   the   sea;   and   if   there   were   such   creatures   as   water…fairiesif   it 

were true; as the old Greeks and Romans thought; that rivers were living 

things; with a Nymph who dwelt in each of them; and was its goddess or 

its queenthen; if your ears were opened to hear her; the Nymph of Itchen 

might say to you … 

     So child; you think that I do nothing but; as your sister says when she 

sings Mr。 Tennyson's beautiful song; 

       〃I chatter over stony ways; In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into 

eddying bays; I babble on the pebbles。〃 

       Yes。    I do that:     and I love; as the Nymphs loved of old; men who 

have eyes to see my beauty; and ears to discern my song; and to fit their 



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                               MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY 



own song to it; and tell how 

       〃'I wind about; and in and out; With here a blossom sailing; And here 

and there a lusty trout; And here and there a grayling; 

     〃'And here and there a foamy flake Upon me; as I travel With many a 

silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel; 

     〃'And draw them all along; and flow To join the brimming river; For 

men may come and men may go; But I go on for ever。'〃 

       Yes。   That is all true:    but if that were all; I should not be let to flow 

on for ever; in a world where Lady Why rules; and Madam How obeys。                      I 

only exist (like everything else; from the sun in heaven to the gnat which 

dances in his beam) on condition of working; whether we wish it or not; 

whether we know it or not。          I am not an idle stream; only fit to chatter to 

those   who   bathe   or   fish   in   my   waters;   or   even   to   give   poets   beautiful 

fancies about me。        You little guess the work I do。         For I am one of the 

daughters of Madam How; and; like her; work night and day; we know not 

why; though Lady Why must know。                So day by day; and night by night; 

while you are sleeping (for I never sleep); I carry; delicate and soft as I am; 

a burden   which   giants  could not bear:   and   yet   I   am  never tired。     Every 

drop of rain which the south…west wind brings from the West Indian seas 

gives me fresh life and strength to bear my burden; and it has need to do 

so;   for   every   drop   of   rain   lays   a   fresh   burden   on   me。 Every   root   and 

weed   which      grows   in  every   field;  every   dead   leaf  which    falls  in  the 

highwoods of many a parish; from the Grange and Woodmancote round to 

Farleigh   and   Preston;  and so   to   Brighton   and  the Alresford downs;…   …ay; 

every atom of manure which the farmers put on the landfoul enough then; 

but pure enough before it touches meeach of these; giving off a tiny atom 

of what men call carbonic acid; melts a tiny grain of chalk; and helps to 

send it down through the solid hill by one of the million pores and veins 

which at once feed and burden my springs。              Ages on ages I have worked 

on thus; carrying the chalk into the sea。       
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