第5部分(第2/7 頁)

ple；　my　well…bound　eight…volume　Milman　edition；　which　I　have　read　and　read　and　read　again　for　more　than　thirty　years……never　do　I　open　it　but　the　scent　of　the　noble　page　restores　to　me　all　the　exultant　happiness　of　that　moment　when　I　received　it　as　a　prize。　Or　my　Shakespeare；　the　great　Cambridge　Shakespeare……it　has　an　odour　which　carries　me　yet　further　back　in　life；　for　these　volumes　belonged　to　my　father；　and　before　I　was　old　enough　to　read　them　with　understanding；　it　was　often　permitted　me；　as　a　treat；　to　take　down　one　of　them　from　the　bookcase；　and　reverently　to　turn　the　leaves。　The　volumes　smell　exactly　as　they　did　in　that　old　time；　and　what　a　strange　tenderness　es　upon　me　when　I　hold　one　of　them　in　hand。　For　that　reason　I　do　not　often　read　Shakespeare　in　this　edition。　My　eyes　being　good　as　ever；　I　take　the　Globe　volume；　which　I　bought　in　days　when　such　a　purchase　was　something　more　than　an　extravagance；　wherefore　I　regard　the　book　with　that　peculiar　affection　which　results　from　sacrifice。

Sacrifice……in　no　drawing…room　sense　of　the　word。　Dozens　of　my　books　were　purchased　with　money　which　ought　to　have　been　spent　upon　what　are　called　the　necessaries　of　life。　Many　a　time　I　have　stood　before　a　stall；　or　a　bookseller's　window；　torn　by　conflict　of　intellectual　desire　and　bodily　need。　At　the　very　hour　of　dinner；　when　my　stomach　clamoured　for　food；　I　have　been　stopped　by　sight　of　a　volume　so　long　coveted；　and　marked　at　so　advantageous　a　price；　that　I　COULD　not　let　it　go；　yet　to　buy　it　meant　pangs　of　famine。　My　Heyne's　Tibullus　was　grasped　at　such　a　moment。　It　lay　on　the　stall　of　the　old　book…shop　in　Goodge　Street……a　stall　where　now　and　then　one　found　an　excellent　thing　among　quantities　of　rubbish。　Sixpence　was　the　price……　sixpence！　At　that　time　I　used　to　eat　my　midda