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The Golden Age
The Golden Age
By Kenneth Grahame
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The Golden Age
PROLOGUE： THE OLYMPIANS
Looking back to those days of old； ere the gate shut behind me； I can
see now that to children with a proper equipment of parents these things
would have worn a different aspect。 But to those whose nearest were
aunts and uncles； a special attitude of mind may be allowed。 They
treated us； indeed； with kindness enough as to the needs of the flesh； but
after that with indifference （an indifference； as I recognise； the result of a
certain stupidity）； and therewith the commonplace conviction that your
child is merely animal。 At a very early age I remember realising in a
quite impersonal and kindly way the existence of that stupidity； and its
tremendous influence in the world； while there grew up in me； as in the
parallel case of Caliban upon Setebos； a vague sense of a ruling power；
wilful and freakish； and prone to the practice of vagaries〃just choosing
so：〃 as； for instance； the giving of authority over us to these hopeless and
incapable creatures； when it might far more reasonably have been given to
ourselves over them。 These elders； our betters by a trick of chance；
commanded no respect； but only a certain blend of envy of their good
luckand pityfor their inability to make use of it。 Indeed； it was one of
the most hopeless features in their character （when we troubled ourselves
to waste a thought on them： which wasn't often） that； having absolute
licence to indulge in the pleasures of life； they could get no good of it。
They might dabble in the pond all day； hunt the chickens； climb trees in
the most uncompromising Sunday clothes； they were free to issue forth
and buy gunpowder in the full eye of the sunfree to fire cannons and
explode mines on the lawn： yet they never did any one of these things。
No irresistible Energy haled them to church o' Sundays； yet they went
there regularly of their own accord； though they betrayed no greater
delight in the experience than ourselves。
On the whole； the existence of these Olympians seemed to be entirely
void of interests； even as their movements were confined and slow； and
their habits stereotyped and senseless。 To anything but appearances they
were blind。 For them the orchard （a place elf…haunted； wonderful！）
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The Golden Age
simply produced so many apples and cherries： or it didn't； when the
failures of Nature were not infrequently ascribed to us。 They never set
foot within fir…wood or hazel…copse； nor dreamt of the marvels hid therein。
The mysterious sourcessources as of old Nilethat fed the duck…pond
had no magic for them。 They were unaware of Indians； nor recked they
anything of bisons or of pirates （with pistols！）； though the whole place
swarmed with such portents。 They cared not about exploring for robbers'
caves； nor digging for hidden treasure。 Perhaps； indeed； it was one of
their best qualities that they spent the greater part of their time stuffily
indoors。
To be sure； there was an exception in the curate； who would receive
unblenching the information that the meadow beyond the orchard was a
prairie studded with herds of buffalo； which it was our delight；
moccasined and tomahawked； to ride down with those whoops that
announce the scenting of blood。 He neither laughed nor sneered； as the
Olympians would have done； but possessed of a serious idiosyncrasy； he
would contribute such lots of valuable suggestion as to the pursuit of this
particular sort of big game that； as it seemed to us； his mature age and
eminent position could scarce have been attained without a practical
knowledge of the creature in its native lair。 Then； too； he was always
ready to constitute himself a hostile army or a band of marauding Indians
on the shortest possible notice： in brief； a distinctly able man； with talents；
so far as we could judge； immensely above the majority。 I trust he is a
bishop by this time；he had all the necessary qualifications； as we knew。
These strange folk had visitors sometimes；stiff and colourless
Olympians like themselves； equally without vital interests and intelligent
pursuits： emerging out of the clouds； and passing away again to drag on an
aimless existence somewhere out of our ken。 Then brute force was
pitilessly applied。 We were captured； washed； and forced into clean
collars： silently submitting； as was our wont； with more contempt than
anger。 Anon； with unctuous hair and faces stiffened in a conventional
grin； we sat and listened to the usual platitudes。 How could reasonable
people spend their precious time so？ That was ever our wonder as we
bounded forth at lastto the old clay…pit to make pots； or to hunt bears
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The Golden Age
among the hazels。
It was incessant matter for amazement how these Olympians would
talk over our headsduring meals； for instanceof this or the other social
or political inanity； under the delusion that these pale phantasms of reality
were among the importances of life。 We illuminati； eating silently； our
heads full of plans and conspiracies； could have told them what real life
was。 We had just left it outside； and were all on fire to get back to it。
Of course we didn't waste the revelation on them； the futility of imparting
our ideas had long been demonstrated。 One in thought and purpose；
linked by the necessity of combating one hostile fate； a power antagonistic
ever；a power we lived to evade；we had no confidants save ourselves。
This strange anaemic order of beings was further removed from us； in fact；