Life Lines
A Shared Reading activity pack
to read wherever you are
Issue 99

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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 ‘‘So here, again, had good fortune—the best of fortunes—stolen so near that her garments
brushed against him, and he knew nothing of the matter.’ (from ‘David Swan’ ) 

Dear Fellow Reader,   

  
This week’s story comes from Nathaniel Hawthorne and is one I was reminded
of after recently reading the poem ‘Wonder Woman’ by Ada Limón, which you
will also find below.  I’ve always found myself wondering over the small passing
interactions between humans. The moment you and a stranger notice the same
funny thing and share a smile, or the opportunity of connection that is provided
when a stranger asks for directions. I wonder what the story and poem below will
remind you of while you read. Feel free to make notes on your thoughts and
feelings as you go, perhaps marking words or sentences that particularly stand
out to you …  

David Swan: A Fantasy

By Nathaniel Hawthorne
 
We can be but partially acquainted even with the events which actually influence
our course through life and our final destiny. There are innumerable other
events, if such they may be called, which come close upon us, yet pass away
without actual results, or even betraying their near approach, by the reflection of
any light or shadow across our minds. Could we know all the vicissitudes of our
fortunes, life would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disappointment, to
afford us a single hour of true serenity. This idea may be illustrated by a page
from the secret history of David Swan. 

We have nothing to do with David until we find him, at the age of twenty, on
the high road from his native place to the city of Boston, where his uncle, a small
dealer in the grocery line, was to take him behind the counter. Be it enough to
say, that he was a native of New Hampshire, born of respectable parents, and
had received an ordinary school education, with a classic finish by a year at
Gilmanton Academy. After journeying on foot from sunrise till nearly noon of a
summer’s day, his weariness and the increasing heat determined him to sit down
in the first convenient shade, and await the coming up of the stage-coach. As if
planted on purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of maples with a
delightful recess in the midst, and such a fresh bubbling spring that it seemed
never to have sparkled for any wayfarer but David Swan. Virgin or not, he kissed
it with his thirsty lips and then flung himself along the brink, pillowing his head
upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons, tied up in a striped cotton
handkerchief. The sunbeams could not reach him; the dust did not yet rise from
the road after the heavy rain of yesterday, and his grassy lair suited the young
man better than a bed of down. The spring murmured drowsily beside him; the
branches waved dreamily across the blue sky overhead, and a deep sleep,
perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon David Swan. But we are to
relate events which he did not dream of. 
 While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people were wide awake, and
passed to and fro, a-foot, on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles, along the
sunny road by his bedchamber. Some looked neither to the right hand nor to the
left, and knew not that he was there; some merely glanced that way, without
admitting the slumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to see how
soundly he slept; and several, whose hearts were brimming full of scorn, ejected
their venomous superfluity on David Swan. A middle aged widow, when nobody
else was near, thrust her head a little way into the recess, and vowed that the
young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A temperance lecturer saw him, and
wrought poor David into the texture of his evening's discourse, as an awful
instance of dead drunkenness by the road-side.

Pause for Thought …  

 I wonder what your thoughts are after reading the first few paragraphs of this
story. What stands out to you? I don’t know about you, but I had to read that first
paragraph a few times to start making sense of it. I was especially struck by the
first line, ‘We can be but partially acquainted even with the events which
actually influence our course through life and our final destiny’. And again
later on when it said ‘Could we know all the vicissitudes of our fortunes, life
would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us
a single hour of true serenity’. I’m not sure how I feel about this idea of only
knowing partially the events which have had an influence on my life. It makes
me wonder about the idea that the path of life is out of my control, but maybe
that’s a good thing?  Could it be that life would be ‘too full of hope and fear,
exultation or disappointment’ if I did know of all the events that influence life?
What questions or ideas have come up for you when reading this opening
passage? And what do you make of this idea of life being ‘too full’? 

I love this moment when David sees the ‘little tuft of maples with a delightful
recess in the midst, and such a fresh bubbling spring’, and he feels that it was
set there specifically for him. I wonder if you’ve ever had a moment like this—
maybe a tree in blossom you’ve passed in the park, a bus showing up just when
you need one—when it feels like something was sent just for you? It seems the
sight of David asleep by the side of the road is a bit like one of these moments
for the middle-aged widow who saw him there and thought how charming he
looked.  The temperance lecturer on the other hand had quite a different feeling
seeing David lying there asleep. I wonder what you make of the different
reactions between these two. What would you think if you saw someone asleep
in the hedgerow?  
 Let’s carry on … 
 
But censure, praise, merriment, scorn and indifference were all one—or, rather,
all nothing—to David Swan. He had slept only a few moments, when a brown
carriage, drawn by a handsome pair of horses, bowled easily along, and was
brought to a stand-still, nearly in front of David's resting place. A finch pin had
fallen out, and permitted one of the wheels to slide off. The damage was slight,
and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an elderly merchant and his wife,
who were returning to Boston in the carriage. While the coachman and a servant
were replacing the wheel, the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves beneath
the maple trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain, and David Swan asleep
beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblest sleeper usually sheds
around him, the merchant trod as lightly as the gout would allow; and his spouse
took good heed not to rustle her silk gown, lest David should start up, all of a
sudden.

"How soundly he sleeps!" whispered the old gentleman. "From what a depth he

draws that easy breath! Such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate, would
be worth more to me than half my income; for it would suppose health, and an
untroubled mind."

"And youth, besides," said the lady. "Healthy and quiet age does not sleep thus.
Our slumber is no more like his, than our wakefulness."

The longer they looked, the more did this elderly couple feel interested in the
unknown youth, to whom the way side and the maple shade were as a secret
chamber, with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding over him. Perceiving
that a stray sunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a
branch aside, so as to intercept it. And having done this little act of kindness, she
began to feel like a mother to him.

"Providence seems to have laid him here," whispered she to her husband, "and
to have brought us hither to find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's
son. Methinks I can see a likeness to our departed Henry. Shall we waken him?"

"To what purpose?" said the merchant, hesitating. "We know nothing of the

youth's character."

"That open countenance!" replied his wife, in the same hushed voice, yet

earnestly. "This innocent sleep!"

While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb, nor his
breath become agitated, nor his features betray the least token of interest.--Yet
Fortune was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burthen of gold. The old
merchant had lost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth, except a distant
relative, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases, people sometimes
do stranger things than to act the magician, and awaken a young man to
splendor, who fell asleep in poverty.

"Shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady, persuasively.

"The coach is ready, Sir," said the servant, behind.

The old couple started, reddened, and hurried away, mutually wondering, that

they should ever have dreamed of doing any thing so very ridiculous. The
merchant threw himself back in the carriage, and occupied his mind with the
plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortunate men of business. Meanwhile, David
Swan enjoyed his nap.

The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, when a pretty young girl
came along, with a tripping pace, which showed precisely how her little heart
was dancing in her bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind of motion that
caused--is there any harm in saying it?--her garter to slip its knot. Conscious
that the silken girth, if silk it were, was relaxing its hold, she turned aside into
the shelter of the maple trees, and there found a young man asleep by the spring!
Blushing, as red as any rose, that she should have intruded into a gentleman's
bed-chamber, and for such a purpose too, she was about to make her escape on
tiptoe. But, there was peril near the sleeper. A monster of a bee had been
wandering overhead--buzz, buzz, buzz--now among the leaves, now flashing
through the strips of sunshine, and now lost in the dark shade, till finally he
appeared to be settling on the eyelid of David Swan. The sting of a bee is
sometimes deadly. As free-hearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the
intruder with her handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him from
beneath the maple shade. How sweet a picture! This good deed accomplished,
with quickened breath, and a deeper blush, she stole a glance at the youthful
stranger, for whom she had been battling with a dragon in the air.

"He is handsome!" thought she, and blushed redder yet.

How could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong within him, that, shattered
by its very strength, it should part asunder, and allow him to perceive the girl
among its phantoms? Why, at least, did no smile of welcome brighten upon his
face? She was come, the maid whose soul, according to the old and beautiful
idea, had been severed from his own, and whom, in all his vague but passionate
desires, he yearned to meet. Her, only, could he love with a perfect love--him,
only, could she receive into the depths of her heart--and now her image was
faintly blushing in the fountain, by his side; should it pass away, its happy lustre
would never gleam upon his life again.
"How sound he sleeps!" murmured the girl.

She departed, but did not trip along the road so lightly as when she came.

Now, this girl's father was a thriving country merchant in the neighbourhood,

and happened, at that identical time, to be looking out for just such a young man
as David Swan. Had David formed a way side acquaintance with the daughter,
he would have become the father's clerk, and all else in natural succession. So
here, again, had good fortune--the best of fortunes--stolen so near, that her
garments brushed against him; and he knew nothing of the matter.

Let’s pause again here for more thoughts. . . 

 
So, a few more visitors to David while he sleeps. I’m interested in these glimpses
we get into what life could have been if only he had been woken by these
strangers. I wonder what you make of the merchant’s wife saying that
‘Providence seems to have laid him here’ and later on when it says about the
lady that ‘Her, only, could he love with a perfect love, him, only, could she
receive into the depths of her heart’. What are your own thoughts about these
ideas of ‘providence’ and finding the ‘maid whose soul, according to the old
and beautiful idea, had been severed from his own’?  What do you think will
become of David’s life now since he didn’t wake to meet the merchant and his
wife or the woman who could have been his life partner?  

 I was a bit surprised when the merchant’s wife suggested waking him, I wonder
how David would have reacted?  What would that experience have felt like for
him? I can’t help but feel this couple is almost caught up in some kind of dream,
that only they, and not David, are part of. A dream they wake from when they get
the call the carriage is ready and whey they are left ‘mutually wondering that
they should ever have dreamed of doing anything so very ridiculous.’ Have
you ever been in a moment like this when you’ve felt suddenly snapped out of an
idea or plan? I wonder about these dreams we leave off or ideas we suddenly turn
from, what do they say about our own inner feelings or longings? What do we
gather of this elderly couple from their moment of dreaming?  

Let’s continue to see what other fortunes come David’s way…

The girl was hardly out of sight, when two men turned aside beneath the maple
shade. Both had dark faces, set off by cloth caps, which were drawn down aslant
over their brows. Their dresses were shabby, yet had a certain smartness. These
were a couple of rascals, who got their living by whatever the devil sent them,
and now, in the interim of other business, had staked the joint profits of their
next piece of villany on a game of cards, which was to have been decided here
under the trees. But, finding David asleep by the spring, one of the rogues
whispered to his fellow,
"Hiss!--Do you see that bundle under his head?"
The other villain nodded, winked, and leered.
"I'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, "that the chap has either a pocket
book, or a snug little hoard of small change, stowed away amongst his shirts.
And if not there, we shall find it in his pantaloons' pocket."
"But how if he wakes?" said the other.
His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handle of a dirk, and
nodded.
"So be it!" muttered the second villain.
They approached the unconscious David, and, while one pointed the dagger
towards his heart, the other began to search the bundle beneath his head. Their
two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastly with guilt and fear, bent over their victim,
looking horrible enough to be mistaken for fiends, should he suddenly awake.
Nay, had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly have
known themselves, as reflected there. But David Swan had never worn a more
tranquil aspect, even when asleep on his mother's breast.
"I must take away the bundle," whispered one.
"If he stirs, I'll strike," muttered the other.
But, at this moment, a dog, scenting along the ground, came in beneath the
maple trees, and gazed alternately at each of these wicked men, and then at the
quiet sleeper. He then lapped out of the fountain.
"Pshaw!" said one villain. "We can do nothing now. The dog's master must be
close behind."
"Let's take a drink, and be off," the other.
The man, with the dagger, thrust back the weapon into his bosom, and drew
forth a pocket pistol, but not of that kind which kills by a single discharge. It was
a flask of liquor, with a block tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth. Each drank a
comfortable dram, and left the spot, with so many jests, and such laughter at
their unaccomplished wickedness, that they might be said to have gone on their
way rejoicing. In a few hours, they had forgotten the whole affair, nor once
imagined that the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against
their souls, in letters as durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he still slept
quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hung over him, nor of
the glow of renewed life, when that a, shadow was withdrawn.
He slept, but no longer so quietly as at first. An hour's repose had snatched,
from his elastic frame, the weariness with which many hours of toil had
burthened it. Now, he stirred--now, moved his lips, without a sound--now, talked,
in an inward tone, to the noon-day spectres of his dream. But a noise of wheels
came rattling louder and louder along the road, until it dashed through the
dispersing mist of David's slumber--and there was the stage coach. He started
up, with all his ideas about him.
"Halloo, driver!--Take a passenger?" shouted he.
"Room on top!" answered the driver.
Up mounted David, and bowled away merrily towards Boston, without so much
as a parting glance at that fountain of dreamlike vicissitude. He knew not that a
phantom of Wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters--nor that one of
Love had sighed softly to their murmur--nor that one of Death had threatened to
crimson them with his blood--all, in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep.
Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that
almost happen. Does it not argue a superintending Providence, that, while
viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves continually athwart our path,
there should still be regularity enough, in mortal life, to render foresight even
partially available?
A final pause for thought…

Well, what do we make of David’s near demise?  I’m reminded again of that
word ‘providence’ that we saw earlier, it does feel rather lucky that the dog
entered the little gathering of trees just when it did. I can’t help but think how
lucky this was, not only for David, but for the two men standing over him with
the knife as well. I was really struck by the way they were described with ‘faces,
grim, wrinkled and ghastly with guilt and fear’ and later on when it says ‘had
the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly have
known themselves as reflected there’. I wonder what circumstances or chance
encounters have led these two men to this current place? They seem almost
relieved when the dog comes by to spoil their plot, but what do you make of the
idea that ‘the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against
their souls in letters as durable as eternity’? I have to admit that gave me a bit
of a shiver when I read that, but I’m not sure I know what it means entirely. I
wonder what this might lead us to think about the effects of our inner intentions
or thoughts, even when we don’t fully act on them . . .  

 But let’s return to David who was unaware of all these almost moments that
happened while he slept. What do you make of the last part of the story where it
says: ‘Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange
things that almost happen. Does it not argue a superintending Providence
that, while viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves continually
athwart our path, there should still be regularity enough in mortal life to
render foresight even partially available?’ I was really struck by this idea of
‘strange things that almost happen’. It makes me want to imagine the ‘what ifs’
in my life.  What could it have been had I gone down a different path or had a
different chance encounter?  But I have to admit I’m a bit confused by that last
part, I’m not really sure what to make of this idea that although so much in life is
up to chance, ‘There should still be regularity enough . . . to render foresight
even partially available.’  I wonder what this idea means to you? It makes me
wonder at what will happen next in David Swan’s story, now that we have seen
all the almost happenings, what are the decisions he goes on to make that creates
the path of his life? What decisions have you made that have made the path of
your life?   

  

Time for a poem…

We’ll pick up with another story again in our next issue, but now a pause for
some poetry. Poetry isn’t always easy for everyone to get going with. In our
Shared Reading groups, we read a poem out loud a few times, to give ourselves a
bit of time to hear it aloud. Give this a go yourself and see if it helps you to feel
comfortable with the words, even if you’re still not sure what it’s all about!

We aren’t looking to find an answer here, or what the person writing it might
have meant when they wrote it. We’re just looking to see if any feelings or ideas
come up when we read it – and often we find that the more time you allow
yourself to simply be with the poem, the more thoughts and feelings will come
through.

One of the keys is to enjoy yourself: take your time, read it out loud, have a think
about any bits you like, or that puzzle you, then… have another read!

This week’s Featured Poem is ‘Wonder Woman’ by Ada Limón

Try reading the poem aloud slowly to yourself a couple of times first – really
take your time. Does anything surprise you or sing to you?
 
‘Wonder Woman’ by Ada Limón   
  
Standing at the swell of the muddy Mississippi 
after the urgent care doctor had just said, Well, 
sometimes shit happens, I fell fast and hard 
for New Orleans all over again. Pain pills swirled 
in the purse along with a spell for later. It’s taken 
a while for me to admit, I am in a raging battle 
with my body, a spinal column thirty-five degrees 
bent, vertigo that comes and goes like a DC Comics 
villain nobody can kill. Invisible pain is both 
a blessing and a curse. You always look so happy, 
said a stranger once as I shifted to my good side 
grinning. But that day, alone on the riverbank, 
brass blaring from the Steamboat Natchez, 
out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl, maybe half my age, 
dressed, for no apparent reason, as Wonder Woman. 
She strutted by in all her strength and glory, invincible, 
eternal, and when I stood to clap (because who wouldn’t have), 
she bowed and posed like she knew I needed a myth— 
a woman, by a river, indestructible.  

(c) Ada Limón, reproduced with the kind permission of Corsair Publishing. From the
collection ‘The Carrying' (2019) 

Some Thoughts on the Poem… 

Like in our story with David Swan we see a chance encounter between strangers,
only this time both parties are awake and aware of the moment. But there is so
much to take in from this poem, I wonder what you make of the woman standing
by the river, what kind of a situation is she in do you think?  The poem makes
reference to ‘Pain pills / swirled in the purse along with a spell for later’ as
well as an urgent care doctor in the opening lines. What ideas does this give us
about what this person has been going through? I was especially struck by ‘It’s
taken / a while for me to admit, I am in a raging battle / with my body’ I
wonder if you can relate at all to this process of admitting or coming to terms
with something?  What does it take in us to get to this point?  And what do you
think getting to this point will do for the woman moving forward?   
How about these two strangers that are mentioned in the poem, the first who says
‘You always look so happy' as she grins through her pain, and this other who
‘strutted by in all her strength and glory, invincible, / eternal’ dressed as
Wonder Woman. What do you make of the differing effects they have on the
women? How would you react in this moment?  
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