It Was Lewes, I Believe, Who Compared Metaphysics To Ghosts By Saying
That There Was No Killing Either Of Them; One Could Only Dissipate Them
By Throwing Light Into The Dark Places They Love To Inhabit - To Show
That Nothing Is There.
Spectres, likewise, are these saintly caricatures
of humanity, perambulating metaphysics, the application in corpore
vili of Oriental fakirism.
Nightmare-literature is the crazy recital of
their deeds and sufferings. Pathological phantoms! The state of mind
which engenders and cherishes such illusions is a disease, and it has
been well said that "you cannot refute a disease." You cannot nail
ghosts to the counter.
But a ray of light . . .
XXXII
ASPROMONTE, THE CLOUD-GATHERER
Day was barely dawning when we left Delianuova and began the long and
weary climb up Montalto. Chestnuts gave way to beeches, but the summit
receded ever further from us. And even before reaching the uplands, the
so-called Piano di Carmelia, we encountered a bank of bad weather. A
glance at the map will show that Montalto must be a cloud-gatherer,
drawing to its flanks every wreath of vapour that rises from Ionian and
Tyrrhenian; a west wind was blowing that morning, and thick fogs clung
to the skirts of the peak. We reached the summit (1956 metres) at last,
drenched in an icy bath of rain and sleet, and with fingers so numbed
that we could hardly hold our sticks.
Of the superb view - for such it must be - nothing whatever was to be
seen; we were wrapped in a glacial mist.
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