第3部分 (第1/7页)

so　that　he　was　forced　to　admit　things　he　did　not　in　the　least

believe。　And　having　admitted　them；　he　did　not　know　whether　he

believed　them　or　not；　he　rather　thought　he　did。

But　he　loved　anyone　who　could　convey　enlightenment　to　him

through　feeling。　He　sat　betrayed　with　emotion　when　the　teacher

of　literature　read；　in　a　moving　fashion；　Tennyson's　〃Ulysses〃；

or　Shelley's　〃Ode　to　the　West　Wind〃。　His　lips　parted；　his　eyes

filled　with　a　strained；　almost　suffering　light。　And　the　teacher

read　on；　fired　by　his　power　over　the　boy。　Tom　Brangwen　was　moved

by　this　experience　beyond　all　calculation；　he　almost　dreaded　it；

it　was　so　deep。　But　when；　almost　secretly　and　shamefully；　he

came　to　take　the　book　himself；　and　began　the　words　〃Oh　wild　west

wind；　thou　breath　of　autumn's　being；〃　the　very　fact　of　the　print

caused　a　prickly　sensation　of　repulsion　to　go　over　his　skin；　the

blood　came　to　his　face；　his　heart　filled　with　a　bursting　passion

of　rage　and　inpetence。　He　threw　the　book　down　and　walked　over

it　and　went　out　to　the　cricket　field。　And　he　hated　books　as　if

they　were　his　enemies。　He　hated　them　worse　than　ever　he　hated

any　person。

He　could　not　voluntarily　control　his　attention。　His　mind　had

no　fixed　habits　to　go　by；　he　had　nothing　to　get　hold　of；　nowhere

to　start　from。　For　him　there　was　nothing　palpable；　nothing　known

in　himself；　that　he　could　apply　to　learning。　He　did　not　know　how

to　begin。　Therefore　he　was　helpless　when　it　came　to　deliberate

understanding　or　deliberate　learning。

He　had　an　instinct　for　mathematics；　but　if　this　failed　him；

he　was　helpless　as　an　idiot。　So　that　he　felt　that　the　ground　was