It Is Then That
The Cock First Crows, Not This Time To Announce The Dawn, But Like A
Cheerful Watchman Speeding The Course Of Night.
Cattle awake on the
meadows; sheep break their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new
lair among the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with the
fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.
At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, are all these
sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to life? Do the stars rain down
an influence, or do we share some thrill of mother earth below our
resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country-folk, who are the deepest
read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or purpose of this
nightly resurrection. Towards two in the morning they declare the thing
takes place; and neither know nor inquire further. And at least it is a
pleasant incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the
luxurious Montaigne, 'that we may the better and more sensibly relish
it.' We have a moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special
pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share the impulse with
all outdoor creatures in our neighbourhood, that we have escaped out of
the Bastille of civilisation, and are become, for the time being, a mere
kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.
When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened thirsty. My tin was
standing by me half full of water. I emptied it at a draught; and
feeling broad awake after this internal cold aspersion, sat upright to
make a cigarette. The stars were clear, coloured, and jewel-like, but
not frosty. A faint silvery vapour stood for the Milky Way. All around
me the black fir-points stood upright and stock-still. By the whiteness
of the pack-saddle, I could see Modestine walking round and round at the
length of her tether; I could hear her steadily munching at the sward;
but there was not another sound, save the indescribable quiet talk of the
runnel over the stones. I lay lazily smoking and studying the colour of
the sky, as we call the void of space, from where it showed a reddish
grey behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black between the
stars. As if to be more like a pedlar, I wear a silver ring. This I
could see faintly shining as I raised or lowered the cigarette; and at
each whiff the inside of my hand was illuminated, and became for a second
the highest light in the landscape.
A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream of air, passed
down the glade from time to time; so that even in my great chamber the
air was being renewed all night long. I thought with horror of the inn
at Chasserades and the congregated nightcaps; with horror of the
nocturnal prowesses of clerks and students, of hot theatres and pass-keys
and close rooms. I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession of
myself, nor felt more independent of material aids. The outer world,
from which we cower into our houses, seemed after all a gentle habitable
place; and night after night a man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting
for him in the fields, where God keeps an open house. I thought I had
rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to savages and hid
from political economists: at the least, I had discovered a new pleasure
for myself. And yet even while I was exulting in my solitude I became
aware of a strange lack. I wished a companion to lie near me in the
starlight, silent and not moving, but ever within touch. For there is a
fellowship more quiet even than solitude, and which, rightly understood,
is solitude made perfect. And to live out of doors with the woman a man
loves is of all lives the most complete and free.
As I thus lay, between content and longing, a faint noise stole towards
me through the pines. I thought, at first, it was the crowing of cocks
or the barking of dogs at some very distant farm; but steadily and
gradually it took articulate shape in my ears, until I became aware that
a passenger was going by upon the high-road in the valley, and singing
loudly as he went. There was more of good-will than grace in his
performance; but he trolled with ample lungs; and the sound of his voice
took hold upon the hillside and set the air shaking in the leafy glens. I
have heard people passing by night in sleeping cities; some of them sang;
one, I remember, played loudly on the bagpipes. I have heard the rattle
of a cart or carriage spring up suddenly after hours of stillness, and
pass, for some minutes, within the range of my hearing as I lay abed.
There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black hours, and with
something of a thrill we try to guess their business. But here the
romance was double: first, this glad passenger, lit internally with wine,
who sent up his voice in music through the night; and then I, on the
other hand, buckled into my sack, and smoking alone in the pine-woods
between four and five thousand feet towards the stars.
When I awoke again (Sunday, 29th September), many of the stars had
disappeared; only the stronger companions of the night still burned
visibly overhead; and away towards the east I saw a faint haze of light
upon the horizon, such as had been the Milky Way when I was last awake.
Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glow-worm light put on my
boots and gaiters; then I broke up some bread for Modestine, filled my
can at the water-tap, and lit my spirit-lamp to boil myself some
chocolate.
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