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苹果树(外研社双语读库)
约翰·高尔斯华绥 |
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本书由外研社授权掌阅科技电子版制作与发行
版权所有 · 侵权必究 |
"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.”