苹果树(外研社双语读库)
约翰·高尔斯华绥 |
本书由外研社授权掌阅科技电子版制作与发行
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"The Apple—tree, the singing and the gold. "
“苹果树、歌声和金子”
MURRAY 'SHIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES.”
——默里(欧里庇得斯《希波吕托斯》)
In their silver—wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by stopping the night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was the idea of Stella Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment. If she had long lost the blue—eyed, flower—like charm, the cool slim purity of face and form, the apple—blossom colouring, which had so swiftly and so oddly affected Ashurst twenty—six years ago, she was still at forty—three a comely and faithful companion, whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and whose grey—blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness.
银婚日这天,阿什赫斯特和妻子在荒野边上驱车前行。他们想使这个节日锦上添花,晚上停在他们第一次相遇的地方——托基过夜。这是斯特拉·阿什赫斯特的主意。她天性浪漫善感。斯特拉早已失去了双眸的湛蓝、花儿般的魅力、纯净清爽的脸庞和修长的身形,还有苹果花般的气色——二十六年前,这些都曾迅速而神奇地吸引了阿什赫斯特。即便四十三岁的她早已失去了这些,两颊已略显有斑点,灰蓝色的眼眸露出几分老成,但仍不失为一位可人、忠诚的伴侣。
It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there a pine, stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long high hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place where they might lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and this, between the golden furze and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the last sun of April—this, with a view into the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed fitting to the decisive nature of one who sketched in water—colours, and loved romantic spots. Grasping her paint box, she got out.
她让车子停下。这个地方的左边是一块陡峭的公地。一处狭长地带上生长着落叶松和山毛榉,疏疏落落地夹杂着几棵松柏。它一直向公路和整片荒野上第一个又长又高的山岗之间的山谷方向延伸。斯特拉正在寻找吃午餐的地方,因为阿什赫斯特从不寻找什么。这个地方位于一片金雀花和几棵落叶松之间,落叶松嫩绿的羽毛状叶子在四月落日的余晖里散发着柠檬般的清香。从这里可以俯瞰深邃的峡谷,远眺连绵的荒原高地。这里正迎合了一个热爱浪漫景致的水彩画家的果断天性。她抓起画箱,下了车。
"Won't this do, Frank?”
“这儿行吗,弗兰克?”
Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall, long—legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, and bearded lips just open—Ashurst, forty—eight, and silent, grasped the luncheon basket, and got out too.
四十八岁的阿什赫斯特酷似大胡子席勒,两鬓斑白,个子高挑,双腿修长,还长着一双深邃的灰色大眼睛。他的眼中有时饱含深意,几乎显得很美,鼻子有点往一边歪,被胡须盖住的嘴唇张着。他默默地抓起餐篮,也下了车。
"Oh! Look, Frank! A grave! "
“噢!看,弗兰克!一座坟墓!”
By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood, was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the west, and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved. At cross—roads—a suicide's grave! Poor mortals with their superstitions! Whoever lay there, though, had the best of it, no clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves carved with futilities—just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside blessings! And, without comment, for he had learned not to be a philosopher in the bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the common, dropped the luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his wife to sit on—she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungry—and took from his pocket Murray's translation of theHippolytus. He had soon finished reading of "The Cyprian" and her revenge, and looked at the sky instead. And watching the white clouds so bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver—wedding day, longed for—he knew not what. Maladjusted to life—man's organism! One's mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did women have it too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it—a maladjusted animal, civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of "the Apple—tree, the singing, and the gold, " in the words of that lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty—nothing which could compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety. Life no doubt had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught beauty and held it fast. They were fleeting as one of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit. Here, with the sun hot on his face, a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour of gorse—here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse. But in a moment it would pass—as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a rock, vanishes at your stare. And suddenly he sat up. Surely there was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that ribbon of road, the old wall behind him. While they were driving he had not been taking notice—never did; thinking of far things or of nothing—but now he saw! Twenty—six years ago, just at this time of year, from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time, swiftly choked and ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his chin on his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little blue milkwort was growing....
有条与公路直角相交的小道从公地的顶端延伸而下,经过狭长的小树林,穿过一个大门。公路的边上有一方覆盖着薄薄青草的土丘,六英尺长,一英尺宽,西面立着一块花岗石。有人在土丘上放了一枝黑刺李和一把风铃草。阿什赫斯特看着,眼前之景触动了他的诗人情怀。葬在岔路口——那一定是一个自杀者的坟墓!可怜而迷信的世人啊!但是,不管是谁葬在这里,他都占据了最好的坟墓:它不是夹在其他阴森的坟墓之间的湿冷墓穴,墓碑上也没有刻着那些废话——有的只是一块天然的石头、广阔的天空和路边的祝福!阿什赫斯特什么都没说,因为他已经学会不在家人面前做一个哲学家了。他大步走上那片公地,把餐篮放在墙根,在地上铺了一块毯子,等着妻子来坐——她饿了,自然就会停下画笔,来这儿吃饭。阿什赫斯特从兜里掏出默里翻译的《希波吕托斯》读了起来。很快,他就读完了 “圣西普里安” 和她的复仇故事,然后抬头望起天来。朵朵白云在湛蓝的天空映衬下分外明亮。在银婚日,阿什赫斯特渴望着——渴望着他自己也不清楚的什么东西。男人的有机组织和生活是多么不协调啊!一个男人的生活方式可能是高尚的、小心谨慎的,但总是存在一股贪婪的暗流、一种渴望和一种蹉跎之感。女人也会有这样的感觉吗?谁知道呢?然而,那些纵情于新奇、一味追求新的不平凡经历、新的冒险和新的享乐的男人,毫无疑问,并不是因饥饿所苦。恰恰相反,他们为饮食过度而苦。文明的男人犹如一只精神失常的野兽,困在这里,无法逃离!对于任何一个具有审美感的男子来说,没有自己钟爱的花园——如同动听的希腊颂歌中唱到的那种充满 “苹果树、歌声和金子” 的花园,没有他可抵达的天堂,或者说,没有一个幸福的永久安息所。没有什么能与艺术品中捕捉到的那份美相比,这种美是永恒的,只要看到它或读到它,就总能获得同样珍贵的欢乐和沁心的迷醉。毋庸置疑,生活中从不缺乏那种美的时刻,也不缺出人意料、忽然而至的狂喜。可问题是,它们持续的时间短暂如云朵掠过太阳。你不能留下它们,像艺术捕捉到美并牢牢抓住它那样。它们转瞬即逝,就像你看到的自然中灵魂那闪着微光或金色的幻影那样,只能瞥上几眼它飘渺而沉思的神采。太阳热辣辣地照在他的脸上,荆棘树上一只布谷鸟咕咕地叫着,空气中弥漫着金雀花的芳香,嫩绿的蕨叶中如星星般点缀着黑刺李,白云飘荡在群山和如梦如幻般的山谷之上的高空——此时此地,正是这样的一瞥。但是,马上它就像牧羊神的脸一样,刚从石头的一角露出来,你一注视,便消失得无影无踪。突然,他坐了起来。这个地方的确有点儿眼熟——这块公地、这条小路和身后的这堵老墙。他们开车的时候,他一直没有注意到,从来没注意到——他在想着遥不可及的事,或什么都没想——但是,现在他看清了。二十六年前,也是在这个时节,那天他从托基离这个地方不到半英里的农舍出发。可以说他那次一走就再也没有回来。他心中忽然一痛:他正好撞到过往生命中的一段往事上了,他没能捕捉到其中的美好和欢乐,它扑着翅膀飞入未知的世界了。他触及了一段尘封的回忆,想起了那段狂野、甜蜜、但被迅速扼杀的时光。于是,他转过身,两手托着下巴,凝视着长着蓝色小远志花的那片矮草地……
And this is what he remembered.
以下就是他的回忆。
On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football knee had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven miles to go.
大学毕业后的第一个五月一日,弗兰克? 阿什赫斯特和朋友罗伯特? 加顿正在徒步旅行。这一天,他们从布伦特出发,目的地是查格福德。但是,阿什赫斯特踢足球时受伤的膝盖已坚持不了了。按照地图,他们还有约七英里的路要走。
They were sitting on a bank beside the road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe, as young men will. Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round—the—corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat.
在一条小径沿着树林穿过道路。他们在路旁的一个土堆上坐下,边让膝盖歇着边海阔天空地聊着,通常年轻人都这样聊天。他们的身高都超过了六英尺,而且都像栏杆一般瘦。阿什赫斯特面色苍白,是个理想主义者,心不在焉。加顿举止古怪,冲动易变,身强体壮,头发卷曲,活脱脱一头原始的野兽。两人都有文学爱好,谁都没带帽子。
Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles.
阿什赫斯特的头发是浅色、光滑的,有点弯曲,两鬓的头发翘着,好像总是向后甩的样子。加顿的头发则乱蓬蓬的,且乌黑,深不可测。方圆几英里内,他们没有遇到过一个人。
"My dear fellow, " Garton was saying, "pity's only an effect of self—consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years. The world was happier without.”
“亲爱的朋友,” 加顿说, “怜悯只是自觉意识的一种作用罢了。它是延续了五千年的一种顽疾。以前没有它的时候,世界更快乐呢。”
Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
阿什赫斯特的目光追逐着云彩,答道:
"It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway.”
“不管怎么说,它都是蚌壳里的珍珠。”
"My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional misfortunes; then look at ourselves—never free from feeling the toothaches of others. Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have a better time.”
“亲爱的伙伴,咱们现代的全部不幸都源自怜悯。看看动物和红皮肤的印第安人,只关心自己偶然的不幸。再看看我们——总免不了对他人的牙痛感同身受。让我们回到不为别人产生感情的时代去吧,这样会过得更快活些。”
"You'll never practise that.”
“你永远也办不到了。”
Garton pensively stirred the hotch—potch of his hair.
加顿若有所思地挠挠蓬乱的头发。
"To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish. To starve oneself emotionally's a mistake. All emotion is to the good—enriches life.”
“一个人,要完全成长起来,绝不能太拘小节。不满足自己感情上的需求是个错误。所有的感情都有好处——能丰富人生。”
"Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry? "
“不错,可当它违背骑士精神的时候呢?”
"Ah! That's so English! If you speak of emotion the English always think you want something physical, and are shocked. They're afraid of passion, but not of lust—oh, no! —so long as they can keep it secret.”
“啊!这也太英格兰式了吧?如果你谈到感情,英格兰人总认为你是想要肉体方面的东西,并为之感到震惊。他们害怕激情,但不怕肉欲——噢,他们不怕!只要他们能把它当秘密保守的话。”
Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was twiddling it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree. The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his hat!
阿什赫斯特没有回答,他摘了一朵蓝色的小花,对着天空拨捻着。荆棘树上传来布谷鸟的叫声。天空、花朵,还有鸟儿的歌唱!罗伯特还在胡说八道!
And he said: "Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up.” In uttering those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And Ashurst, who saw beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: " How pretty! "The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs, lifted her battered peacock tam—o’ —shanter; her greyish blouse was worn and old, her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck browned. Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face was short, her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were the wonder—dewy as if opened for the first time that day. She looked at Ashurst—perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back. He could not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a salute, and said:
于是,他说道: “好了,咱们赶路吧,还得找个农场过夜。” 正说着,他发觉一个姑娘正从他们上方的公地上走下来。她挎着篮子,天空成为她轮廓的背景,还能从她的臂弯处看到那方天空。阿什赫斯特是那种看到美人从不会想到自己会得到什么好处的人,只是心想: “真美啊!” 风吹起她黑色的粗绒呢裙,拂着她的腿,掀起压扁了的孔雀蓝苏格兰圆帽。她的浅灰色短罩衫已经破旧了,鞋子也裂开了,两只小手粗糙发红,脖子晒成了棕色。她那乌黑的头发凌乱地散落在宽阔的前额上。她的脸是短的,上唇是短的,露出亮亮的牙齿,眉毛又直又黑,睫毛又长又黑,鼻梁很直。但是,她那双灰色的眼睛真是奇妙,像朝露一样水汪汪的,仿佛是那天第一次睁开似的。她打量着阿什赫斯特。也许他的模样让她觉得奇怪——没戴帽子,头发向后撩着,大大的眼睛盯着她,一瘸一拐地朝她走来。他没戴帽子,所以无法脱帽致敬,只好举手问候,说道:
"Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the night? I've gone lame.”
“请问附近有农场能让我们过夜吗?我的腿瘸了。”
"There's only our farm near, sir.” She spoke without shyness, in a pretty soft crisp voice.
“附近只有我们家的农场,先生。” 她毫不羞涩地说道,声音十分温柔清脆。
"And where is that? "
“那它在哪儿?”
"Down here, sir. "
“从这儿下去就到,先生。”
"Would you put us up? "
“你们能让我们留宿吗?”
"Oh! I think we would. "
“噢!我想我们可以。”
"Will you show us the way? "
“你愿意给我们带路吗?”
"Yes, Sir. "
“可以,先生。”
He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
他一瘸一拐地走着,不再言语。加顿接着问起来。
"Are you a Devonshire girl? "
“姑娘,你家是在德文郡吗?”
"No, Sir. "
“不是,先生。”
"What then? "
“那是哪儿?”
"From Wales. "
“威尔士。”
"Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?”
“啊!我猜你就是威尔士人。那么说这不是你家的农场了?”
"My aunt's, sir.”
“是我姑妈家的,先生。”
"And your uncle's?”
“你姑父呢?”
"He is dead. "
“他去世了。”
"Who farms it, then? "
“那谁在经营农场?”
"My aunt, and my three cousins. "
“我姑妈和三个表兄弟。”
"But your uncle was a Devonshire man? "
“不过,你姑父是德文郡人?”
"Yes, Sir. "
“是的,先生。”
"Have you lived here long? "
“你在这儿住了很久吧?”
"Seven years. "
“七年了。”
"And how d 'you like it after Wales?”
“跟威尔士比起来,你觉得喜欢这里吗?”
"I don't know, sir.”
“我不知道,先生。”
"I suppose you don't remember?”
“我想你是不记得了吧?”
"Oh, yes! But it is different. "
“噢,是呀!不过,这不一样。”
"I believe you! "
“你说得对。”
Ashurst broke in suddenly: "How old are you? "
阿什赫斯特突然插话道: “你多大了?”
"Seventeen, Sir. "
“十七岁,先生。”
"And what's your name?”
“你叫什么名字?”
"Megan David. "
“梅甘? 戴维。”
"This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on to Chagford. "
“这位是罗伯特? 加顿,我叫弗兰克? 阿什赫斯特。我们本来要到查格福德去。”
"It is a pity your leg is hurting you. "
“真遗憾,你的腿让你受苦了。”
Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
阿什赫斯特笑了笑。他笑起来还是相当英俊的。
Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly—a long, low, stone—built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep—up grass hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a stream and a long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique dark eyes was shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards them. The girl said:
他们往下走,穿过狭窄的树林,一下子就看到了农场——长而矮的石筑农舍开着几扇平开窗,猪、家禽和一匹老母马正在院子里闲逛。农场后有一座长满草的、陡峭的小山丘,顶上还长着几棵欧洲赤松。前面是一个老苹果园,苹果树正开着花,一直延伸到小河和一片长长的野草地边。一个小男孩正在放猪,黑色的眼睛有点斜视。站在门口的女人朝他们走来。姑娘说道:
"It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt. "
“这是我姑妈,纳拉科姆太太。”
"Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt, " had a quick, dark eye, like a mother wild—duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
纳拉科姆太太的眼睛敏锐黑亮,像母野鸭的眼睛一样,脖子也有些像,弯弯曲曲的。
"We met your niece on the road, " said Ashurst; "she thought you might perhaps put us up for the night. "
“我们在路上碰到您的侄女,” 阿什赫斯特说道, “她想也许您能让我们在这里过夜。”
Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
纳拉科姆太太把他俩从头到脚打量一番,答道:
"Well, I can, if you don't mind one room. Megan, get the spare room ready, and a bowl of cream. You'll be wanting tea, I suppose.”
“好,我可以,只要你们不介意只有一间屋子的话。梅甘,把那间闲着的屋子收拾好。再弄碗奶油来。我想你们需要喝点儿茶。”
Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some flowering—currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her peacock tam—o’ —shanter bright athwart that rosy—pink and the dark green of the yews.
梅甘穿过由两根紫杉木和一些开着花的醋栗枝搭成的 “走廊” ,头上孔雀蓝的苏格兰圆帽与玫瑰粉色和墨绿色的紫杉木相映生辉。接着,她便消失在屋子里了。
"Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You'll be from college, perhaps?”
“你们是否愿意到客厅歇歇脚?你们也许是大学生吧?”
"We were, but we've gone down now.”
“过去是,我们已经毕业了。”
Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
纳拉科姆太太一本正经地点点头。
The parlour, brick—floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so terribly clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He was the only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a certain lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of them.
客厅的地板是砖块铺的,里面摆放着空空的桌子和擦得锃亮的椅子,还有一张用马鬃填充的沙发。屋子看起来格外干净,就像从来没用过一样。阿什赫斯特立刻坐到沙发上,双手握住受伤的膝盖。纳拉科姆太太注视着他。他是一位已故化学教授的独子。但是,人们觉得他有一种高贵的气质。他常常卓尔不群,旁若无人。
"Is there a stream where we could bathe? "
“这儿有能洗澡的河吗?”
"There's the stream at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin 'down you'll not be covered!”
“果园尽头有条小河,但即使坐在里面,水也没不过头顶。”
"How deep? "
“多深?”
"Well, 't is about a foot and a half, maybe.”
“喔,大概一英尺半吧。”
"Oh! That'll do fine. Which way?” " Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' t he pool's by the big apple tree that stands by itself. There's trout there, if you can tickle them.”
“哦!这就够了。怎么走?” “沿着这条小路,穿过右边第二道门,有棵大苹果树,池塘就在苹果树边上。池塘里还有鳟鱼,你们可以摸鱼玩。”
"They're more likely to tickle us!”
“更可能是它们摸我们玩!”
Mrs. Narracombe smiled. "There'll be the tea ready when you come back.”
纳拉科姆太太笑了。 “等你们回来,茶点就准备好了。”
The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and the big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its boughs almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in flower—its crimson buds just bursting. There was not room for more than one at a time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, rubbing his knee and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn trees and field flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on a flat mound. Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the grass. He thought of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think of nothing; and he felt absurdly happy.
池塘是由一块石头拦住水而形成的,池底都是沙子。这棵大苹果树是果园里最矮的一棵,它紧挨着池塘,树枝几乎都垂到了水面上。苹果树枝繁叶茂,花儿朵朵——深红色的花蕾刚刚绽放。池塘狭小,一次只能容纳一人洗澡。阿什赫斯特等待着,揉搓着膝盖,凝视着野草地。眼前全是石头、荆棘树和野花,再远处有一个平丘,上面长着一片山毛榉。树枝随风摇摆,春鸟尽情欢唱,还有一缕斜阳把草地照得斑驳陆离。他想到了希腊诗人忒奥克里托斯,想到了彻韦尔河,想到了月亮,还有那长着水汪汪大眼睛的姑娘。他想了太多以至于貌似什么都没想。他感到一种莫名的快乐。
During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts. It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that there was Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed that he was a Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a hand—made cigarette dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold pin—points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the Welsh. To come out of Wales into England was like the change from china to earthenware! Frank, as a d—d Englishman, had not of course perceived the exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh girl! And, delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard Morgan—ap—Something in the twelfth century.
迟了的茶点很丰盛,有鸡蛋、奶油、果酱,还有新鲜的、藏红花味的薄饼。用茶点的时候,加顿大谈特谈凯尔特人。他说的是凯尔特人的觉醒时期。发现主人家有凯尔特人血统后,自认为也是凯尔特人的加顿兴奋不已。他平躺在用马鬃编成的椅子上,弯弯的嘴角叼着自制的烟,烟灰一点点地落下来。他用尖锐冷峻的目光盯着阿什赫斯特的眼睛,对威尔士人的教养大加赞扬。离开威尔士到英格兰,就如同舍弃瓷器而用陶器!弗兰克,这个可恶的英格兰人,当然察觉不到这个威尔士姑娘的细腻文雅和丰富情感。加顿轻轻地拨弄着还湿着的一团黑发,解释着她是如何真切地诠释了十二世纪威尔士吟游诗人摩根的作品。
Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond its end, smoked a deeply—coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking of the girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes. It had been exactly like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in Nature—till, with a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance and gone out, quiet as a mouse.
阿什赫斯特整个身子都平躺在马鬃编成的沙发上,他的腿在沙发尾端伸出了一大截,抽着一个深色的烟斗。他没有在听,而在想着这个姑娘的脸庞。就在这时,姑娘端着薄饼走了进来。他完全就像欣赏一朵花或自然中的其他某个美景一样看着她。她滑稽地微微一颤,垂下眼帘,如老鼠一般悄无声息地走了出去。
"Let's go to the kitchen, " said Garton, "and see some more of her. "
“咱们去厨房,多看她几眼。” 加顿说。
The kitchen was a white—washed room with rafters, to which were attached smoked hams; there were flower—pots on the window—sill, and guns hanging on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria. A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with bowls and spoons, under a string of high—hung onions; two sheep—dogs and three cats lay here and there. On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and good as gold; on the other sat a stout, light—eyed, red—faced youth with hair and lashes the colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of a gun; between them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury—scented stew in a large pot. Two other youths, oblique—eyed, dark—haired, rather sly—faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean—shaven man in corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a battered journal. The girl Megan seemed the only active creature—drawing cider and passing with the jugs from cask to table. Seeing them thus about to eat, Garton said:
厨房的墙壁用石灰刷白了,椽梁上挂着熏肠。窗台上放着几盆花,墙上用钉子挂着几杆猎枪,还有奇怪的大杯子、瓷器、锡镴器皿和几幅维多利亚女王的画像。狭长的粗木桌上摆着碗勺,桌子的上空悬挂着一串洋葱。两只牧羊犬和三只猫在各处躺着。凹式壁炉的一侧规规矩矩地坐着两个无所事事的小男孩。另一侧坐着一个身材粗壮的年轻人,他的眼睛颜色很浅,脸红红的,头发和睫毛的颜色就像他正用来擦枪筒的麻绳一样。在他们中间,纳拉科姆太太神情恍惚地搅拌着一个大煮罐,从里面溢出诱人的菜香。还有两个年轻人,斜眼黑发,一副狡猾的样子,像那两个男孩一样懒洋洋地靠着墙说话。还有一个年龄大些的矮个子男人,脸刮得很干净,穿着一条灯芯绒裤子,坐在窗户旁,细读着一本破旧的杂志。看起来,梅甘是这里唯一活跃的人——她用水壶把苹果酒从木桶里舀出来,再把壶放到桌子上。看到他们正准备吃饭,加顿说:
"Ah! If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over, " and without waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. But the colour in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily.
“啊!如果你们不介意的话,等你们吃完饭我们再过来。” 没等回答,他们就退回客厅里去了。但是,厨房里的色彩、暖意、香味,还有那些面孔,让这间明净的客厅更显得冷清。他俩心绪不宁地坐回椅子上。
"Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon—the fellow cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study psychologically.”
“这些男孩,地道的吉卜赛类型。只有一个像撒克逊人,就是那个擦枪的家伙。从心理学角度来看,那个姑娘绝对是一个微妙人物,值得研究。”
Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle study! She was a wild flower. A creature it did you good to look at. Study!
阿什赫斯特撇撇嘴。在他看来,此时的加顿就像一头蠢驴。微妙人物,值得研究!她是一朵自然之花。一个让人看起来就赏心悦目的东西。值得研究!
Garton went on:
加顿继续说道:
"Emotionally she would be wonderful. She wants awakening. "
“感情上,她会相当美妙。她需要被唤醒。”
"Are you going to awaken her? "
“你打算要唤醒她吗?”
Garton looked at him and smiled. 'How coarse and English you are! ' t hat curly smile seemed saying.
加顿看着他,笑了。他那弯弯的笑颜仿佛在说: “你真是太粗俗,太英格兰式了!”
And Ashurst puffed his pipe. Awaken her! That fool had the best opinion of himself! He threw up the window and leaned out. Dusk had gathered thick. The farm buildings and the wheel—house were all dim and bluish, the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled of woodsmoke from the kitchen fire. One bird going to bed later than the others was uttering a half—hearted twitter, as though surprised at the darkness. From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a feeding horse. And away over there was the loom of the moor, and away and away the shy stars which had not as yet full light, pricking white through the deep blue heavens. A quavering owl hooted. Ashurst drew a deep breath. What a night to wander out in! A padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes passed—ponies on an evening march. Their heads, black and fuzzy, showed above the gate. At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of little sparks, they shied round and scampered. A bat went fluttering past, uttering its almost inaudible "chip, chip. " Ashurst held out his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew. Suddenly from overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft—the girl's putting them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words "No, Rick, you can't have the cat in bed”; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft slap, a laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little. A blowing sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the dusk above, went out; silence reigned. Ashurst withdrew into the room and sat down; his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy.
阿什赫斯特抽着烟斗,吞云吐雾。唤醒她!这个傻瓜真是自以为是!他打开窗户,将身子探出窗外。暮色渐浓。农舍和水车变得昏暗,呈浅蓝色。苹果园成为一片模糊不清的荒野,空气中弥漫着从厨房传来的薪柴燃烧的气味。一只归巢较晚的鸟漫不经心地发出几声鸣叫,仿佛为黑夜而惊讶。马厩里传来正在吃食的马的鼻音和蹄声。远处,荒原隐约可见。更远处,害羞的星星还没发出全部的光芒,在深蓝的夜空中闪着白光。一只猫头鹰发出颤颤的呜鸣。阿什赫斯特深呼了一口气。这样的夜晚,多么适合漫步啊!小路上传来一阵未钉铁蹄的马蹄声,晃过三个昏黑的影子——原来是三匹夜晚奔行的小马。从大门上方可以看到它们模糊的黑色脑袋。他敲敲烟斗,溅出一阵火花,小马立刻绕了一圈退避,跑开了。一只蝙蝠拍打着翅膀飞过,发出极其微弱的 “吱吱” 声。阿什赫斯特伸出手,向上的掌心可以感觉到有露珠。突然,上面传来小男孩们的粗喉音、靴子掉在地板上短暂的撞击声,还有一个声音,温柔清脆——肯定是那姑娘的声音,她在哄孩子们睡觉。只听她清清楚楚地说道: “不,里克,你不能把猫抱上床。” 接着又是一阵混杂的嘻笑声和咯咯声、轻轻的拍打声,还有一阵悦耳的轻笑声,让阿什赫斯特心头微微一颤。随着一声吹息,摇曳在暮色之上的烛光熄灭了,万籁俱寂。阿什赫斯特退回屋内,坐了下来。他的膝盖很痛,心情也十分低落。
"You go to the kitchen, " he said; "I 'm going to bed.”
“你去厨房吧,” 他说, “我要睡了。”
For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick and swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came up, he was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the other bed of that low—roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his upturned nose, he heard the owls. Barring the discomfort of his knee, it was not unpleasant—the cares of life did not loom large in night watches for this young man. In fact he had none; just enrolled a barrister, with literary aspirations, the world before him, no father or mother, and four hundred a year of his own. Did it matter where he went, what he did, or when he did it? His bed, too, was hard, and this preserved him from fever. He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which drifted into the low room through the open casement close to his head. Except for a definite irritation with his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for three days, Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were kindly and wistful and exciting. One vision, specially clear and unreasonable, for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the face of the youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled uplook at the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the cider jug. This red, blue—eyed, light—lashed, tow—haired face stuck as firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple. But at last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement, he saw day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw. Then followed silence, dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not properly awake, adventured into the hush. And, from staring at the framed brightening light, Ashurst fell asleep.
对阿什赫斯特来说,睡眠之轮一向转动得迅速且安静平滑。但是,他的朋友上楼时,他看似已进入梦乡,实际上却非常清醒。后来,加顿在这个低矮的房间里的另一张床上沉沉睡去,朝天鼻膜拜着黑暗。好长一段时间后,阿什赫斯特还在听着猫头鹰的呜鸣。除了膝盖不舒服外,他并没有感到什么不愉快。生活的烦恼并没有在这个不眠之夜打扰这个年轻人。事实上,他也没有什么可忧虑的。他刚刚取得律师资格,怀揣着远大的文学志向,前途光明。他无父无母,自己年收入四百英镑。他去哪儿,做什么,什么时候做,这些都有什么关系呢?床铺很硬,不过这样能防止他发烧。他躺着,嗅着从枕边敞开的窗户飘过来的夜的气息。除了对朋友明显的愤怒外——当你和一个人步行了三天,这是很自然的——在这个不眠之夜,阿什赫斯特的回忆和印象是亲切的、留恋的、令人兴奋的。有一个景象在他脑海里特别清晰,但又似乎不太合理,因为他甚至都没有意识到注意了它。那是擦枪的年轻人的脸。他望着厨房的门廊,眼神专注、淡漠,却像受了惊吓,迅速移到拿着苹果酒罐的姑娘身上。这个有着蓝眼睛、浅色睫毛、亚麻色头发的红色脸庞和那位姑娘纯朴、如露珠般柔滑的脸庞一样,深深地烙在了他的记忆里。最后,透过没挂帘子的窗户框出的这方黑暗,他看到白昼降临,听到一只困倦的乌鸦沙哑的叫声。接着,又是一片死寂,直到一只还没有完全清醒的画眉的大胆叫声冲破了这片宁静。一直凝视着渐渐亮起来的窗口的阿什赫斯特睡着了。
Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously over. Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday with an ironical smile which left a scar of irritation—healed the moment his loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. All day Ashurst rested his knee, in a green—painted wooden chair on the patch of grass by the yew—tree porch, where the sunlight distilled the scent of stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent from the flowering—currant bushes. Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, watched.
第二天,他的膝盖肿得更厉害了,徒步旅行显然不能继续了。加顿预定次日返回伦敦。中午告别时,加顿讽刺的笑容让他生起气来——但是,当加顿昂首阔步的背影消失在陡峭小路的拐角时,这气恼立刻就愈合了。紫杉木门廊旁边有块草地,上面放着一把漆成了绿色的木椅。阿什赫斯特一整天都坐在这里,休养膝盖。阳光蒸发出一阵树木和紫罗兰的味道,还有一缕醋栗花花丛散发出的香味。他怡然地抽着烟斗,做着梦,观察着四周。
A farm in spring is all birth—young things coming out of bud and shell, and human beings watching over the process with faint excitement feeding and tending what has been born. So still the young man sat, that a mother—goose, with stately cross—footed waddle, brought her six yellow—necked grey—backed goslings to strop their little beaks against the grass blades at his feet. Now and again Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan would come and ask if he wanted anything, and he would smile and say: "Nothing, thanks. It's aplendid here.” Towards tea—time they came out together, bearing a long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after a long and solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on. When they were gone, he thought of the girl's soft" Oh! "—of her pitying eyes, and the little wrinkle in her brow. And again he felt that unreasoning irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about her. When she brought out his tea, he said:
春天的农场处处生机勃勃——幼小的生命脱壳、抽芽而出,人们带着微微的兴奋注视着这一切,喂养、培育着诞生的生命。这个年轻人一动不动地坐着,一只母鹅迈着庄严的交叉步子,蹒跚地领着六只黄脖子、灰脊背的小鹅到他的脚边啄草磨喙。纳拉科姆太太或梅甘姑娘时不时过来问他是否需要什么,而他总是笑着说: “什么都不需要,谢谢。这里好极了!” 临近下午茶时分,她们一起过来了,拿着一条用碗里黑乎乎的东西涂成的长长的膏药布。两人仔细地检查了好一会儿他肿胀的膝盖,然后给他系上了药布。她们走后,他回想起这个姑娘温柔的 “噢!” 声,想到她怜惜的眼神和浅浅的蹙眉。于是,他对离去的朋友再次感到无端的气恼,他竟然如此胡说八道地评论她!她为他端来茶点时,他说道:
"How did you like my friend, Megan? "
“梅甘,你觉得我朋友怎么样?”
She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not polite. "He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh. I think he is very clever. "
她竭力抿着嘴唇,仿佛生怕笑了会不礼貌。 “他是一位有趣的绅士。他把我们都逗乐了。我觉得他很聪明。”
"What did he say to make you laugh? "
“他说什么把你们逗乐了?”
"He said I was a daughter of the bards. What are they? "
“他说我是巴兹的女儿。巴兹是谁啊?”
"Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago. "
“威尔士诗人,他们生活在几百年前。”
"Why am I their daughter, please? "
“那请问为什么我是他们的女儿呢?”
"He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about. "
“他的意思是说,你就是诗人吟颂的姑娘。”
She wrinkled her brows. "I think he likes to joke. Am I? "
她蹙了一下眉头。 “我觉得他喜欢开玩笑。我是吗?”
"Would you believe me, if I told you? "
“如果我告诉你,你信吗?”
"Oh, yes. "
“嗯,信。”
"Well, I think he was right. "
“那好,我觉得他说得对。”
She smiled.
她笑了。
And Ashurst thought: "You are a pretty thing! "
阿什赫斯特想: “你真是个娇美的尤物啊!”
"He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be? " "Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face? "
“他还说,乔像撒克逊人。他们是怎样的人啊?” “谁是乔?蓝眼睛、红脸的那个吗?”
"Yes. My uncle's nephew.”
“是的,他是我姑父的外甥。”
"Not your cousin, then? "
“那他就不是你的表兄了?”
"No. "
“不是。”
"Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it. "
“喔,他是说,乔像一千四百年前来征服英格兰的那些人。”
"Oh! I know about them; but is he? "
“噢!我知道他们。但他像吗?”
"Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a bit Early Saxon.”
“加顿对这种事情很着迷。不过,说实话,乔长得确实有点像早期的撒克逊人。”
"Yes. "
“是啊。”
That "Yes" tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive, and politely acquiescent in what was evidently Greek to her.
这声 “是啊” 把阿什赫斯特逗乐了。它是那么清脆得体,那样肯定,而且礼貌地默认了她显然不知道的东西。
"He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not have said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and my cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer—farmers are not gipsies. It is wrong to hurt people.”
“他还说其他的男孩像地道的吉卜赛人。他不该这么说。虽然姑妈笑了,但是她并不喜欢这个笑话。我的表弟们也很生气。姑父是个农民,农民可不是吉卜赛人。伤害别人是不对的。”
Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only answered:
阿什赫斯特想抓起她的手紧紧握一下,但他只是说道:
"Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to bed last night. "
“很对,梅甘。对了,昨晚我听到你哄孩子们睡觉。”
She flushed a little. "Please to drink your tea—it is getting cold. Shall I get you some fresh?”
她的脸有点红。 “请喝茶,要凉了。要我给您加点热的吗?”
"Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself? "
“那你可有时间做自己的事?”
"Oh! Yes! "
“哦!有啊。”
"I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.”
“我一直在观察,可我没看到。”
She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
她不解地皱了皱眉,脸颊更红了。
When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her? I wouldn't for the world!’ He was at that age when to some menBeauty's a flower, as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of chivalry. Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had calleda Saxon typewas standing outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he made in his soiled brown velvet—cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt; red—armed, red—faced, the sun turning his hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he stood. Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the yard at that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow and heavy—dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the house towards the kitchen entrance. A chill came over Ashurst's mood. Clods? With all the good will in the world, how impossible to get on terms with them! And yet—see that girl! Her shoes were split, her hands rough; but—what was it? Was it really her Celtic blood, as Garton had said? —she was a lady born, a jewel, though probably she could do no more than just read and write!
她走后,阿什赫斯特想: “她不会认为我是在开她玩笑吧?我可绝对没有这个意思啊!” 对于他这个年龄的一些人来说,正如诗人所言 “美人如花” ,而且能激起他们心中的骑士精神。从不十分留心周围环境的他,过了好一会儿才注意到那个被加顿称为 “撒克逊型” 的年轻人正站在马厩外。他身上还真是色彩斑斓:脏兮兮的棕色丝绒和灯芯绒裤,沾了泥巴的橡胶靴和蓝色上衣。他的胳膊和脸庞都是红色的,头发也在阳光下从大麻色变成了亚麻色。他一动不动地站在那里,固执又冷漠,毫无笑意。然后,他发觉阿什赫斯特正看着自己,就穿过院子,消失在通向厨房入口的屋角尽头。年轻的乡下人总是为自己不会慢走而感到羞耻,他就是迈着这样的步伐,每一步都走得很沉重。阿什赫斯特不禁打了一个寒颤。乡巴佬?即使用尽世间一切好意,也不可能和他们交好!但是——瞧那姑娘!她的鞋裂了,手粗了。但是——本质是什么呢?莫非正如加顿所言,是她那凯尔特人的血统吗?她是天生的大家闺秀,是一颗宝石,即使她可能除了简单的读写之外,一无所知!
The elderly, clean—shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. Ashurst saw that he was lame.
昨晚在厨房见过的那个年龄大些的、脸刮得很干净的人走进院子,赶着牛群去挤奶,还有一条狗跟着。阿什赫斯特看清了,他是个瘸子。
"You've got some good ones there!”
“你养了一群好奶牛啊!”
The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which prolonged suffering often brings.
瘸子的脸顿时变亮了。他的眼神总是向上的,这是长年患病的后果。
"Yeas; they 'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu.”
“嗯,它们都是真美女,也是好奶牛!”
"I bet they are. "
“我相信它们都是。”
“'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr.”
“希望您的腿好些了,先生。”
"Thank you, it's getting on.”
“谢谢你的关心,正在好转。”
The lame man touched his own: "I know what 't es, meself; ' t es a main worritin' t hing, the knee. I've a 'ad mine bad this ten year.”
瘸子摸了一下自己的腿,说: “我知道这滋味儿啊,膝盖这样真叫人愁。我都瘸了十年了。”
Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
阿什赫斯特发出那种有独立收入的人轻易就发出的同情之声。瘸子又笑了。
"Mustn't complain, though—they mighty near 'ad it off.”
“但我不抱怨,她们差不多都快把它治好了。”
"Ho! "
“哦!”
"Yeas; an 'compared with what' t was, ' t es almost so gude as nu.”
“是啊,跟过去比起来,现在好多了。”
"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine.”
她们给我敷了一块很好的膏药。”
"The maid she picks et. She 'm a gude maid wi' t he flowers. There's folks zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for that. 'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!” Ashurst smiled. " Wi' t he flowers!” A flower herself!
“是那个姑娘采的。她是个懂花的好姑娘。有的人似乎知道很多可以治病的东西。俺娘就是这方面少见的能手。希望您赶快好起来,先生。得儿!驾!” 阿什赫斯特笑了。 “懂花的姑娘!” 她自己就是一朵花啊!
That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl came in.
那天晚饭他吃了冷鸭和乳酥,还喝了苹果酒。饭毕,那姑娘进来了。
"Please, auntie says—will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?”
“姑妈让我问你,愿不愿意尝尝我们的五月节饼?”
"If I may come to the kitchen for it. "
“要是让我去厨房吃就好了。”
"Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend.”
“噢,好啊!你一定是想你朋友了吧。”
"Not I. But are you sure no one minds? "
“没有。不过,你确定没人介意?”
"Who would mind? We shall be very pleased. "
“谁会介意呀?我们都会非常开心的。”
Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided. The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them, small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and let her pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder. And leaning on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite the pleasantest thing he had ever touched. But, he had presence of mind enough to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving at the kitchen.
阿什赫斯特的膝盖很僵硬,起身太猛了,一个踉跄,就要往下倒。姑娘轻轻地倒抽了一口气,伸出手来。阿什赫斯特握住这双棕色的粗糙的小手,有一种吻上去的冲动,但他控制住了,让她把自己扶起来。她紧挨着他,让他靠着自己的肩膀。他就这样靠着她走出了房间。这肩膀似乎是他触摸过的最舒适的东西。不过,他还没有完全丧失理智,一把抓住了架子上的手杖,在到达厨房之前收回了手。
That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch, scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they were early home from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By four o'clock they had shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the trout stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also. They tickled nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted thing away. Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less persevering, came up and stood beside him.
那天晚上,他睡得特别香甜。早上醒来的时候,膝盖差不多消肿了。他又坐到那片草地上的椅子上,胡乱写几句诗,消磨了一个上午。下午,他同尼克和里克这两个小男孩出去闲逛。今天是星期六,他们比平时放学早。他俩一个七岁,一个六岁。这两个小淘气鬼皮肤黝黑,敏捷,害羞。不过,阿什赫斯特对付孩子很有一套,他俩很快就话多起来。到四点钟光景,他俩就向他表演了捣乱的全部把戏,只差摸鳟鱼了。他俩卷起裤腿,俯身在有鳟鱼的小河里,假装已经摸过鳟鱼了。当然,他们什么也没摸到,因为他们咯咯的笑声和喊叫早已把小河里任何有斑点的鱼都吓跑了。阿什赫斯特坐在山毛榉丛边的一块石头上,看着他们玩闹,听着布谷鸟的叫声,直到那个年龄大些的、不太想再玩下去的尼克走来站到他身边。
"The gipsy bogle zets on that stone, " he said.
“吉卜赛鬼就坐在那石头上。” 他说。
"What gipsy bogie? "
“什么吉卜赛鬼?”
"Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays' e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e once. ' e was zetting' t here naight afore our pony kicked—in father's' ead. 'e plays the viddle.”
“不知道,我从来没见过。梅甘说他就坐在那儿。老吉姆看见过一次。小马踢着我爹脑袋的前一天晚上,他就坐在那儿。他会拉提琴。”
"What tune does he play? "
“他拉的是什么调?”
"Dunno. "
“不知道。”
"What's he like?”
“他长什么样?”
" 'e's black. Old Jim zays' e's all over' air. 'e's a praaper bogle. ' e don 'come only at night.” The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid round. " D' yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan' feared of 'e.”
“他很黑。老吉姆说他浑身长毛。他真的是鬼,晚上才出来。” 小男孩用那双黑色的斜眼四下扫视一圈,说: “你觉得他会带走我吗?梅甘很怕他。”
"Has she seen him? "
“她见过他?”
"No. She's not afeared o 'yu.”
“没有。她不怕你。”
"I should think not. Why should she be?"
“我想她不怕。她为什么要怕我?”
"She zays a prayer for yu. "
“她还为你祈祷。”
"How do you know that, you little rascal? "
“你怎么知道,你这个小淘气?”
"When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.’ I yeard 'er whisperin’.”
“我睡觉的时候,她说: ‘愿主保佑我们,保佑阿什赫斯特先生。’ 我听到她小声说了。”
"You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to hear it!”
“你真是个小淘气鬼。听到不该听的,还告诉别人。”
The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively:
男孩不作声。然后,他挑衅地说道:
"I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin 'em. I like blood.”
“我敢扒兔子的皮。梅甘不敢。我喜欢血。”
"Oh! You do; you little monster! "
“噢!你确实很喜欢。你这个小恶魔!”
"What's that?”
“恶魔是什么东西?”
"A creature that likes hurting others. "
“喜欢害人的家伙。”
The little boy scowled. "They 'm only dead rabbets, what us eats.”
小男孩皱着眉头,很生气。 “它们都是死兔子,是我们的食物。”
"Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon. "
“没错,尼克。对不起。”
"I can skin frogs, tu. "
“我还敢扒青蛙的皮。”
But Ashurst had become absent. "God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes! " And puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
但是阿什赫斯特已经走神了。 “愿主保佑我们,保佑阿什赫斯特先生。” 尼克不明白,为何他忽然就难以接近了。他又跑回到河边,笑声和喊声顿时又响成了一片。
When Megan brought his tea, he said:
梅甘端茶点过来时,他问道:
"What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?”
“梅甘,吉卜赛鬼是什么东西?”
She looked up, startled.
她吓了一跳,抬头看看他。
"He brings bad things. "
“他会带来不好的事情。”
"Surely you don't believe in ghosts?”
“想必你不会真的相信有鬼吧?”
"I hope I will never see him. "
“我希望我永远不会看见他。”
"Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw was a pony.”
“你当然看不到他。本来就不存在这种东西。老吉姆看到的只不过是一匹小马。”
"No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long ago. "
“不!鬼就在石头里。他们是很久之前就死了的人。”
"They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before gipsies came.”
“不管怎么说,他们都不是什么吉卜赛人。这些人在吉卜赛人到来之前就早死了。”
She said simply: "They are all bad. "
她只是说道: “他们都很坏。”
"Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The flowers aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never planted—and you don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look for your bogie, and have a talk with him.”
“为什么啊?如果他们真的存在,那也只不过是一些野生的东西罢了,就像兔子。花朵并不会因为是野生的就不好,从来没有人种荆棘树——不过你也不会介意它们。今天夜里我就去找你那所谓的鬼,和他谈一谈。”
"Oh, no! Oh, no! "
“噢!不!您不能去!”
"Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock. "
“噢,不,我要去!我还要坐在他的石头上。”
She clasped her hands together: "Oh, please! "
她的手紧紧攥在一起,说: “噢,求您了,千万别去!”
"Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?”
“为什么啊?就算我发生意外,又有什么关系呢?”
She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
她没有回答。他仿佛在使性子,接着说道:
"Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off soon.”
“喔,我敢说我见不到他了,因为我想我不久就要走了。”
"Soon? "
“不久?”
"Your aunt won't want to keep me here.”
“你姑妈不会想再把我留在这儿了。”
"Oh, yes! We always let lodging in summer. "
“噢!会的!夏天我们通常会出租房子。”
Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
他盯着她的脸,问道:
"Would you like me to stay? "
“你愿意我留下吗?”
"Yes. "
“愿意。”
"I 'm going to say a prayer for you to—night!”
“今晚我要为您祈祷!”
She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, cursing himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked with his thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a silly thing? Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from understanding this girl?
她的脸羞得通红,皱了一下眉头,走出房间。他坐下,不停地咒骂自己,直到茶煮好。就好像他用厚靴子踩踏了一丛风信子一样。他怎么能说出这么愚蠢的话呢?难道他和罗伯特? 加顿一样,都是从城里来的学院蠢人,根本就不了解这个姑娘?
Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a revelation to him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink—white buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale—bent larches which had such a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above the rusty black underboughs. Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the clusters of dog—violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink, transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song. It was certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes, with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become conscious that Megan's eyes—those dew—grey eyes—were fixed on him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.
接下来的一周,阿什赫斯特把时间都花费在了探索附近容易走到的村庄上,以确认腿已经康复。他从今年的春天里领悟到了许多。他沉醉其中:或是观赏某株开花较晚的山毛榉树粉白相间的花蕾,这树在蔚蓝的天空映衬下,在阳光中怒放;或是注视着几棵欧洲赤松的树干和枝条在强烈的日光下变成了茶褐色;或是看着原野上被大风吹弯了腰的落叶松,风穿过黑锈色的树枝上方吹着它们绿色的嫩叶时,落叶松呈现出一派生机盎然的景象。或者他会躺在土堆上,凝视着紫罗兰花丛;或走到干枯的欧洲蕨那里,抚摸悬钩子粉色透明的花蕾。此时,布谷鸟叫着,啄木鸟笑着;或者会有一只云雀在高空发出几声如水滴般美妙的欢唱下来。的确,这个春天与他以往经历过的任何春天都不一样。这个春天在他心中,而不是在他身外。白天他很难见到这家人。梅甘给他送饭时,看起来总是匆匆忙忙,不是忙着收拾屋子,就是忙着照看院子里的小东西,不能呆下来多聊一会儿。不过到了晚上,他总是坐在厨房里靠近窗户的地方,抽着烟,与瘸子吉姆和纳拉科姆太太闲聊。此时,这个姑娘则做着针线活,或是来来回回忙着收拾晚饭后的餐桌。有时,他感觉梅甘那双眼睛——那双如露珠般的灰色眼睛——正凝视着他,目光温柔流连,含有一种奇怪的讨好之意。这时,他的感觉就像小猫咕噜咕噜叫时的所感一样。