to the fruition, when there is changed to here,
all is afterwards as it was before, and we stand in
our indigent and cramped estate, and our soul thirsts
after a still ebbing elixir.’ It is to
this wandering and uneasy spirit of anticipation that
roads minister. Every little vista, every little
glimpse that we have of what lies before us, gives
the impatient imagination rein, so that it can outstrip
the body and already plunge into the shadow of the
woods, and overlook from the hill-top the plain beyond
it, and wander in the windings of the valleys that
are still far in front. The road is already
there—we shall not be long behind.
It is as if we were marching with the rear of a great
army, and, from far before, heard the acclamation
of the people as the vanguard entered some friendly
and jubilant city. Would not every man, through
all the long miles of march, feel as if he also were
within the gates?
CHAPTER XIV—ON THE ENJOYMENT OF UNPLEASANT PLACES—1874
It is a difficult matter to make the most of any given
place, and we have much in our own power. Things
looked at patiently from one side after another generally
end by showing a side that is beautiful. A few
months ago some words were said in the Portfolio as
to an ‘austere regimen in scenery’; and
such a discipline was then recommended as ‘healthful
and strengthening to the taste.’ That is
the text, so to speak, of the present essay.
This discipline in scenery, it must be understood,
is something more than a mere walk before breakfast
to whet the appetite. For when we are put down
in some unsightly neighbourhood, and especially if
we have come to be more or less dependent on what we
see, we must set ourselves to hunt out beautiful things
with all the ardour and patience of a botanist after
a rye plant. Day by day we perfect ourselves
in the art of seeing nature more favourably.
We learn to live with her, as people learn to live
with fretful or violent spouses: to dwell lovingly
on what is good, and shut our eyes against all that
is bleak or inharmonious. We learn, also, to
come to each place in the right spirit. The
traveller, as Brantome quaintly tells us, ’fait
des discours en soi pour soutenir en chemin’;
and into these discourses he weaves something out of
all that he sees and suffers by the way; they take
their tone greatly from the varying character of the
scene; a sharp ascent brings different thoughts from
a level road; and the man’s fancies grow lighter
as he comes out of the wood into a clearing.
Nor does the scenery any more affect the thoughts
than the thoughts affect the scenery. We see
places through our humours as through differently
coloured glasses. We are ourselves a term in
the equation, a note of the chord, and make discord
or harmony almost at will. There is no fear
for the result, if we can but surrender ourselves
sufficiently to the country that surrounds and follows
