England, My England11

英格兰，我的英格兰

He was working on the edge of the common, beyond the small brook that ran in the dip at the bottom of the garden, carrying the garden path in continuation from the plank bridge on to the common. He had cut the rough turf and bracken, leaving the grey, dryish soil bare. But he was worried because he could not get the path straight, there was a pleat between his brows. He had set up his sticks, and taken the sights between the big pine trees, but for some reason everything seemed wrong. He looked again, straining his keen blue eyes, that had a touch of the Viking in them, through the shadowy pine trees as through a doorway, at the green—grassed garden—path rising from the shadow of alders by the log bridge up to the sunlit flowers. Tall white and purple columbines, and the butt—end of the old Hampshire cottage that crouched near the earth amid flowers, blossoming in the bit of shaggy wildness round about.

他正在小溪那边的公地边上干活。这条小溪沿着花园尽头的凹地流淌，把花园的小径从木板桥一直引向了公地。他砍掉了高矮不一的草皮和欧洲蕨，露出灰色的、有点干的泥土。但他无法把这条小径弄直，所以很担心，还皱起了眉头。他已经竖立起了树枝，并在大棵的松树之间瞄了多次，但是不知是什么原因，一切看起来都不对。他又看了一次，睁大他那双敏锐的蓝眼睛，眼里带着一丝北欧海盗的神情。就像透过一扇门一样，透过郁郁葱葱的松树，他看到长满绿草的花园小径从圆木桥旁边的桤木的树阴下向上延伸，直到阳光照耀下的花朵那里。在一片荒野上丛花盛开，其间蜷伏着高大的白紫色耧斗菜和古老的汉普郡小屋的一角。

There was a sound of children's voices calling and talking: high, childish, girlish voices, slightly didactic and tinged with domineering: 'If you don't come quick, nurse, I shall run out there to where there are snakes. ' And nobody had the sangfroid to reply: 'Run then, little fool. ' It was always, 'No, darling. Very well, darling. In a moment, darling. Darling, you must be patient. '

那边有小孩叫喊声和说话声。是那种高亢而稚气的女孩的声音。只听她带着一点教训的口气，盛气凌人地说： “如果你不快点过来，保姆，我就要跑出去，到有蛇的地方去。” 没有人会无动于衷地回答说 “那就跑吧，小傻瓜” 。人们总会说 “不，亲爱的。很好，亲爱的。等一会儿，亲爱的。亲爱的，你必须耐心点” 。

His heart was hard with disillusion: a continual gnawing and resistance. But he worked on. What was there to do but submit!

他的心忍受着幻想破灭的痛苦：一种持续的折磨和煎熬。但他继续干活。除了屈服，他还能做什么！

The sunlight blazed down upon the earth, there was a vividness of flamy vegetation, of fierce seclusion amid the savage peace of the commons. Strange how the savage England lingers in patches: as here, amid these shaggy gorse commons, and marshy, snake infested places near the foot of the south downs. The spirit of place lingering on primeval, as when the Saxons came, so long ago.

阳光照耀在大地上，植被鲜艳如火，与原始、寂静的公地彻底隔绝开来。很奇怪原始的英格兰是如何一小块一小块地留存下来的：在这里, 它留存在这些粗糙蓬松的荆豆公地中, 留存在南部丘陵脚下那群蛇聚集的沼泽地里。这地方的精神保留着原始的风格，就像很久以前撒克逊人来的时候那样。

Ah, how he had loved it! The green garden path, the tufts of flowers, purple and white columbines, and great oriental red poppies with their black chaps and mulleins tall and yellow, this flamy garden which had been a garden for a thousand years, scooped out in the little hollow among the snake—infested commons. He had made it flame with flowers, in a sun cup under its hedges and trees. So old, so old a place! And yet he had re—created it.

啊，他是多么爱它啊！绿色的花园小径、一簇簇花朵、白紫相间的耧斗菜、长着黑萼的大朵东方红罂粟，还有高大的黄色毛蕊花——这个色彩绚烂的花园在一千年前就已经是花园了，它屹立在这块小洼地里，周围则是群蛇聚集的公地。他用篱笆和树木把花园围成了一只阳光灿烂的 “杯子” ，还在园里种满了绚丽的花朵。这是多么古老，多么古老的一个地方！而今，他已赋予了它新的生命。

The timbered cottage with its sloping, cloak—like roof was old and forgotten. It belonged to the old England of hamlets and yeomen. Lost all alone on the edge of the common, at the end of a wide, grassy, briar—entangled lane shaded with oak, it had never known the world of today. Not till Egbert came with his bride. And he had come to fill it with flowers.

那些带着倾斜的斗篷状屋顶的木屋已经老旧，早已被人遗忘。它属于古英格兰的小村庄和自耕农。它被孤零零地遗忘在公地的边缘，遗忘在在这条宽阔的、杂草丛生的、橡树遮蔽的荆棘小路的尽头。它对当今的世界一无所知。直到埃格伯特带着他的新娘来到这里，它才重现生机。他逐渐在这里种满了花。

The house was ancient and very uncomfortable. But he did not want to alter it. Ah, marvellous to sit there in the wide, black, time—old chimney, at night when the wind roared overhead, and the wood which he had chopped himself sputtered on the hearth! Himself on one side the angle, and Winifred on the other.

屋子很古老、很不舒适。但他不想改变它。啊，到了晚上，当风从头顶呼啸而过，当他亲自砍伐的木材在壁炉里噼啪作响的时候，坐在那宽大而古老的黑壁炉旁边，是多么的美妙啊！他自己坐在角落的一边，威妮弗雷德坐在另一边。

Ah, how he had wanted her: Winifred! She was young and beautiful and strong with life, like a flame in sunshine. She moved with a slow grace of energy like a blossoming, red—flowered bush in motion. She, too, seemed to come out of the old England, ruddy, strong, with a certain crude, passionate quiescence and a hawthorn robustness. And he, he was tall and slim and agile, like an English archer with his long supple legs and fine movements. Her hair was nut—brown and all in energic curls and tendrils. Her eyes were nut—brown, too, like a robin's for brightness. And he was white—skinned with fine, silky hair that had darkened from fair, and a slightly arched nose of an old country family. They were a beautiful couple.

啊，他多么需要她——威妮弗雷德！她年轻、漂亮、充满活力，像旭日的光芒。她举手投足间充满活力、风度优雅，像一丛开满红花的灌木在翩翩起舞。她似乎也来自古老的英格兰，红润、强健，一丝天然的沉静中透着激情，像山楂树一般坚实。而他，身材高大、体形修长、动作敏捷，有着长而灵巧的双腿和优雅的举止，像一个英格兰弓箭手。她的头发是栗色的，全都呈现出丰盈有力的卷曲状。她的眼睛也是栗色的，和知更鸟的眼睛一样明亮。他皮肤白皙，头发纤细、柔顺，发色比金色略深。他的鼻子微微勾起，带着古老的乡村家族的特征。他们是漂亮的一对。

The house was Winifred's. Her father was a man of energy, too. He had come from the north poor. Now he was moderately rich. He had bought this fair stretch of inexpensive land, down in Hampshire. Not far from the tiny church of the almost extinct hamlet stood his own house, a commodious old farmhouse standing back from the road across a bare grassed yard. On one side of this quadrangle was the long, long barn or shed which he had made into a cottage for his youngest daughter Priscilla. One saw little blue—and—white check curtains at the long windows, and inside, overhead, the grand old timbers of the high—pitched shed. This was Prissy's house. Fifty yards away was the pretty little new cottage which he had built for his daughter Magdalen, with the vegetable garden stretching away to the oak copse. And then away beyond the lawns and rose trees of the house—garden went the track across a shaggy, wild grass space, towards the ridge of tall black pines that grew on a dyke—bank, through the pines and above the sloping little bog, under the wide, desolate oak trees, till there was Winifred's cottage crouching unexpectedly in front, so much alone, and so primitive. It was Winifred's own house, and the gardens and the bit of common and the boggy slope were hers: her tiny domain. She had married just at the time when her father had bought the estate, about ten years before the war, so she had been able to come to Egbert with this for a marriage portion. And who was more delighted, he or she, it would be hard to say. She was only twenty at the time, and he was only twenty—one. He had about a hundred and fifty pounds a year of his own—and nothing else but his very considerable personal attractions. He had no profession: he earned nothing. But he talked of literature and music, he had a passion for old folk—music, collecting folk—songs and folk—dances, studying the Morris—dance and the old customs. Of course in time he would make money in these ways.

房子是威妮弗雷德的。她父亲也是一个充满活力的人。他家境贫苦，来自北方。现在，他还算得上富裕。他在汉普郡买下了这一大块地，而且花费不多。在这个几乎无人到访的乡村小教堂的不远处，矗立着他的房子。这是一栋宽敞而古老的农舍。房子在路后面，和路之间隔着一块光秃秃的草地。在这个四方院落的一边，是长长的谷仓，或者说是棚子，他已经把它改建成了一间小屋，让小女儿普里西拉居住。在长长的窗户上，你会看见蓝白相间的小方格窗帘。进了屋，抬头就能看到尖顶上用的大块的老木料。这是普里西拉的屋子。五十码开外，有栋漂亮小巧的新屋子，是他为女儿玛格黛伦修建的，它的菜园一直延伸到橡树林。远处，在庭园的草坪和玫瑰树丛外边，有一条小径。它穿过一片野草丛生的空地，朝堤岸上高耸的黑松树岭的方向延伸，再穿过这片松树，越过一片倾斜的小泥地，穿过宽大、寂寥的橡树林，一直通到威妮弗雷德的小屋。这座猛然出现在路前的小屋是如此的孤独，如此的简陋。那是威妮弗雷德自己的房子。花园、那块公地，还有泥泞的斜坡都是她的：她的小领地。差不多在战争爆发十年前，她父亲买下了这块房产。她就是在那时结了婚。所以她才能在与埃格伯特结婚时用这块地当结婚嫁妆。谁更高兴，是他还是她，就难说了。她当时只有二十岁，而他只有二十一岁。他自己每年有一百五十英镑——还有着可观的个人魅力，此外，他便一无所有。他没有职业：他没有薪水。但他谈论文学和音乐。他酷爱古老的民间音乐，还爱收集民间歌曲和舞蹈，热衷于研究莫里斯舞和古老的风俗。当然，他迟早会在这些方面挣钱的。

Meanwhile youth and health and passion and promise. Winifred's father was always generous: but still, he was a man from the north with a hard head and a hard skin too, having received a good many knocks. At home he kept the hard head out of sight, and played at poetry and romance with his literary wife and his sturdy, passionate girls. He was a man of courage, not given to complaining, bearing his burdens by himself. No, he did not let the world intrude far into his home. He had a delicate, sensitive wife whose poetry won some fame in the narrow world of letters. He himself, with his tough old barbarian fighting spirit, had an almost child—like delight in verse, in sweet poetry, and in the delightful game of a cultured home. His blood was strong even to coarseness. But that only made the home more vigorous, more robust and Christmassy. There was always a touch of Christmas about him, now he was well off. If there was poetry after dinner, there were also chocolates and nuts, and good little out—of—the—way things to be munching.

同时他还有青春、健康、激情和希望。威妮弗雷德的父亲总是很慷慨：不过，他还是一个来自北方的男人，有着精明的头脑和强壮的体格，经受过很多挫折。在家里，他把精明的头脑放在一边，来和他那爱好文学的妻子，还有他那些健壮、活泼的女儿们用诗歌和故事消遣。他是个勇敢的男人，从不抱怨，独自承受着重担。不，他不让世俗过多地侵入他的家庭。他有一个娇柔、敏感的妻子，她的诗作在文人的小圈子里颇有名声。他自己，带着他一贯的顽强而野蛮的斗志，对韵文、甜美的诗歌，以及书香门第常玩的快乐的游戏都心怀一种孩子似的喜爱。他血气方刚，甚至有些粗鄙。但那只会让这个家庭更有生机，更加稳固，更加有欢快的圣诞气息。他身上总是有种圣诞节的欢乐气息。而今，他富裕了。如果晚饭后有诗歌活动，就会有巧克力和坚果，还有其他新奇、好吃的小零食，可以大嚼一通。

Well then, into this family came Egbert. He was made of quite a different paste. The girls and the father were strong—limbed, thick—blooded people, true English, as holly—trees and hawthorn are English. Their culture was grafted on to them, as one might perhaps graft a common pink rose on to a thornstem. It flowered oddly enough, but it did not alter their blood.

后来，埃格伯特成为了这个家庭的一员。他生来就是另一种类型的人。女孩们和的父亲是四肢强健、血气方刚的人，是真正的英格兰人，正如冬青树和山楂是英格兰的一样。她们的修养是嫁接到她们身上的，就像有人可能会把一枝普通的粉红色玫瑰嫁接到荆棘茎上一样。这种修养开出了很怪异的花，却没有改变她们的血统。

And Egbert was a born rose. The age—long breeding had left him with a delightful spontaneous passion. He was not clever, nor even 'literary'. No, but the intonation of his voice, and the movement of his supple, handsome body, and the fine texture of his flesh and his hair, the slight arch of his nose, the quickness of his blue eyes would easily take the place of poetry. Winifred loved him, loved him, this southerner, as a higher being. A higher being, mind you. Not a deeper. And as for him, he loved her in passion with every fibre of him.

埃格伯特天生是株玫瑰。长年累月的教化已经在他身上留下了一种令人愉快的、自然流露的情感。他并不聪明，更没什么 “文学气息” 。是没什么，可是他说话的腔调、灵巧的举止、健美的身材、细腻的皮肤、良好的发质、微翘的鼻子，以及敏锐的蓝眼睛可以轻易地弥补诗意的缺失。威妮弗雷德爱他，爱他这个南方人，把他当成高等人来爱。你要知道，是一个高等人。不是一个低等人。而他也全心全意地爱着她。

She was the very warm stuff of life to him. Wonderful then, those days at Crockham Cottage, the first days, all alone save for the woman who came to work in the mornings. Marvellous days, when she had all his tall, supple, fine—fleshed youth to herself, for herself, and he had her like a ruddy fire into which he could cast himself for rejuvenation. Ah, that it might never end, this passion, this marriage! The flame of their two bodies burnt again into that old cottage, that was haunted already by so much by—gone, physical desire. You could not be in the dark room for an hour without the influences coming over you. The hot blood—desire of by—gone yeomen, there in this old den where they had lusted and bred for so many generations. The silent house, dark, with thick, timbered walls and the big black chimney—place, and the sense of secrecy. Dark, with low, little windows, sunk into the earth. Dark, like a lair where strong beasts had lurked and mated, lonely at night and lonely by day, left to themselves and their own intensity for so many generations. It seemed to cast a spell on the two young people. They became different. There was a curious secret glow about them, a certain slumbering flame hard to understand, that enveloped them both. They too felt that they did not belong to the London world any more. Crockham had changed their blood: the sense of the snakes that lived and slept even in their own garden, in the sun, so that he, going forward with the spade, would see a curious coiled brownish pile on the black soil, which suddenly would start up, hiss, and dazzle rapidly away, hissing. One day Winifred heard the strangest scream from the flower—bed under the low window of the living room: ah, the strangest scream, like the very soul of the dark past crying aloud. She ran out, and saw a long brown snake on the flower—bed, and in its flat mouth the one hind leg of a frog was striving to escape, and screaming its strange, tiny, bellowing scream. She looked at the snake, and from its sullen flat head it looked at her, obstinately. She gave a cry, and it released the frog and slid angrily away.

她就是他生活中温暖的源泉。那时很美好——那些在克罗坎小屋度过的日子，那些最初的日子——除了早上来干活的女佣，只有他俩在一起。在那些绝妙的日子里，她独自享有他全部的青春活力：修长的身躯，灵巧的动作，还有那光滑的肌肤。而他把她变成了一团通红的火焰，他愿投身其中，获得重生。啊，但愿这些永远不会结束，这激情，这婚姻！他们两人身体的烈焰再次燃烧在那间古老的小屋里，那间曾经弥漫着诸多肉欲的小屋。你不可能在那黑暗的房间里呆了一小时还毫无欲念。这间古老的巢穴见证了一代又一代情欲似火的自耕农在此纵欲，在此繁衍。这间屋子黑暗而沉寂，围着厚厚的木墙，摆着巨大的黑火炉，给人一种神秘的感觉。屋子半在地下，低矮的小窗户让屋里显得十分黑暗。对一代代自耕农来说，屋子黑暗得像一个猛兽潜伏和交配的巢穴。度过孤独的夜晚和白天，剩下的只有他们自己和自己的欲望。这似乎在这两个年轻人身上施加了魔法。他们变了。他们周围出现了一种奇妙的神秘光辉，一种莫名的、沉睡的火焰将他们包裹了起来。他们也感觉到自己已经不属于伦敦的世界了。克罗坎改变了他们的血液：当他感觉到那些蛇甚至光天化日下栖息在他们花园里时，就拿起铲子走过去，他会在黑土地上看到一个盘曲的、怪异的棕色物体。这物体会突然惊跳起来，嘶嘶作响，然后迅速游离，一路嘶嘶作响。一天，威妮弗雷德听到一声极其奇怪的尖叫声，那声音来自客厅矮窗下的花坛那边：啊，那是最奇怪的尖叫声，就像是一个在黑暗的过去饱受折磨的幽灵在高声哭喊。她跑出去，看见花坛上有一条褐色的长蛇，在它扁平的嘴里，露出一只青蛙的一条后腿。这青蛙正在挣扎着逃离，同时发出一种奇怪、细小的怒吼声。她看着蛇，而蛇也用它那扁平的深色脑袋固执地看着她。她大喊一声，蛇便松开了青蛙，生气地游开了。

That was Crockham. The spear of modern invention had not passed through it, and it lay there secret, primitive, savage as when the Saxons first came. And Egbert and she were caught there, caught out of the world.

那就是克罗坎。现代发明的 “长矛” 并没有刺穿它。它神秘地躺在那里，原始而荒芜，就像撒克逊人刚来的时候一样。而埃格伯特和她被它吸引，远离尘嚣。

He was not idle, nor was she. There were plenty of things to be done, the house to be put into final repair after the workmen had gone, cushions and curtains to sew, the paths to make, the water to fetch and attend to, and then the slope of the deep—soiled, neglected garden to level, to terrace with little terraces and paths, and to fill with flowers. He worked away, in his shirt—sleeves, worked all day intermittently doing this thing and the other. And she, quiet and rich in herself, seeing him stooping and labouring away by himself, would come to help him, to be near him. He of course was an amateur—a born amateur. He worked so hard, and did so little, and nothing he ever did would hold together for long. If he terraced the garden, he held up the earth with a couple of long narrow planks that soon began to bend with the pressure from behind, and would not need many years to rot through and break and let the soil slither all down again in a heap towards the stream—bed. But there you are. He had not been brought up to come to grips with anything, and he thought it would do. Nay, he did not think there was anything else except little temporary contrivances possible, he who had such a passion for his old enduring cottage, and for the old enduring things of the bygone England. Curious that the sense of permanency in the past had such a hold over him, whilst in the present he was all amateurish and sketchy.

他没有闲着，她也没有。有很多事情要做。工匠们走了以后，他们要对屋子进行最后的修补，要缝制坐垫和窗帘，要开路，要取水并检修水管，还要把土层肥厚、无人照料的花园里的斜坡放平并修葺成阶梯状，再铺上小台阶和小径，并栽满花朵。他不停地干活，只穿着衬衣，整天不停地一会儿做这事，一会儿做那事。而她的内心平静而充实。看着他独自弯腰劳作，她会过来帮他，好与他亲近。他自然很业余——天生就很业余。他干得非常卖力，却没有多少成效，而且他做好的东西都维持不了多久。要是他来把花园修葺成阶梯状的话，他会用几块狭长的木板挡住泥土。可是木板很快就会因为后面的压力而弯曲，很快就会烂穿、折断——根本不需要长年累月的腐蚀——而泥土就会全部重新滑落成堆状，遥遥对着河床。可是你要知道。他并不是从小就学过怎样应付所有事情，而且他也以为那样做会有用。他也不觉得需要做什么别的，只要做一些临时的小装置即可，因为他是如此热爱他那不朽的旧屋子，热爱过去英格兰那些不朽的旧东西。奇怪的是，他是如此钟爱耐久不变的旧东西，而他在现实生活里做东西时却这么业余和粗略。

Winifred could not criticize him. Town—bred, everything seemed to her splendid, and the very digging and shovelling itself seemed romantic. But neither Egbert nor she yet realized the difference between work and romance. Godfrey Marshall, her father, was at first perfectly pleased with the menage down at Crockham Cottage. He thought Egbert was wonderful, the many things he accomplished, and he was gratified by the glow of physical passion between the two young people. To the man who in London still worked hard to keep steady his modest fortune, the thought of this young couple digging away and loving one another down at Crockham Cottage, buried deep among the commons and marshes, near the pale—showing bulk of the downs, was like a chapter of living romance.

威妮弗雷德不会批评他。对于在城市长大的她，这里的一切似乎都很美妙，连挖土和挥铲看起来都那么浪漫。但是埃格伯特和她都还没有意识到干活和浪漫之间的不同。她父亲，戈弗雷•马歇尔，最初对克罗坎小屋的这个小家庭十分满意。他认为埃格伯特很不错，做了很多事。看到这两个年轻人焕发着肉体的激情，他感到很满足。对于这个还在伦敦努力工作好让不多的财产得以保值的人来说，一想到在公地和沼泽深处，若隐若现的丘陵山峦附近的克罗坎小屋里，这对年轻夫妇在苦干不止、互相爱慕，他就好像看到了一篇栩栩如生的浪漫史。

And they drew the sustenance for their fire of passion from him, from the old man. It was he who fed their flame. He triumphed secretly in the thought. And it was to her father that Winifred still turned, as the one source of all surety and life and support. She loved Egbert with passion. But behind her was the power of her father. It was the power of her father she referred to, whenever she needed to refer. It never occurred to her to refer to Egbert, if she were in difficulty or doubt. No, in all the serious matters she depended on her father.

而他们也从这位老人身上获得了维系激情之火的燃料。是他在为他们添柴加火。他在为这个想法而暗自得意。威妮弗雷德依旧求助于她父亲，把他当作一切保障、全部生活，以及所有依靠的唯一来源。她深爱着埃格伯特。但在她身后，是她父亲的力量。每当她需要帮助的时候，她总会去寻求她父亲的力量。如果她遇到困难或疑问，她从没想过要去找埃格伯特。没有，在所有重大的事情上，她都依靠她的父亲。

For Egbert had no intention of coming to grips with life. He had no ambition whatsoever. He came from a decent family, from a pleasant country home, from delightful surroundings. He should, of course, have had a profession. He should have studied law or entered business in some way. But no—that fatal three pounds a week would keep him from starving as long as he lived, and he did not want to give himself into bondage. It was not that he was idle. He was always doing something, in his amateurish way. But he had no desire to give himself to the world, and still less had he any desire to fight his way in the world. No, no, the world wasn't worth it. He wanted to ignore it, to go his own way apart, like a casual pilgrim down the forsaken sidetracks. He loved his wife, his cottage and garden. He would make his life there, as a sort of epicurean hermit. He loved the past, the old music and dances and customs of old England. He would try and live in the spirit of these, not in the spirit of the world of business.

因为埃格伯特不想去掌控生活。他没什么野心。他来自一个体面的家庭，一个快乐的乡村之家，在愉快的环境中成长。当然，他本应该有个职业的。他本应学习法律或以某种方式进入商界。但他并没这样做——只要他还活着，那不可或缺的一周三英镑就能让他免于挨饿，况且他也不想作茧自缚。他并非无所事事。他总是在以他业余的方式做着点什么。但是他没有入世的愿望，更没有要出去闯荡一番的欲望。不，不，这世界不值得他这样做。他想无视这个世界，走自己的路，就像一个随心所欲的朝圣者，走在无人行走的旁道上。他爱他的妻子，他的小屋和花园。他要在那里过他的日子，做一个安于享乐的隐士。他热爱过去，热爱古英格兰的旧式音乐、舞蹈和习俗。他要努力生活在这样的氛围里，而不是在世俗世界的氛围里。

But often Winifred's father called her to London: for he loved to have his children round him. So Egbert and she must have a tiny flat in town, and the young couple must transfer themselves from time to time from the country to the city. In town Egbert had plenty of friends, of the same ineffectual sort as himself, tampering with the arts, literature, painting, sculpture, music. He was not bored.

但是威妮弗雷德的父亲经常把她叫到伦敦去：因为他喜欢让自己的孩子在身边。所以埃格伯特和她必须在城里有一间小公寓。这对年轻的夫妇必须时不时地从乡下来到城里。在城里，埃格伯特有一大群朋友，他们跟他一样无所事事，整天摆弄艺术、文学、绘画、雕刻和音乐。他并不觉得厌烦。

Three pounds a week, however, would not pay for all this. Winifred's father paid. He liked paying. He made her only a very small allowance, but he often gave her ten pounds—or gave Egbert ten pounds. So they both looked on the old man as the mainstay. Egbert didn't mind being patronized and paid for. Only when he felt the family was a little too condescending, on account of money, he began to get huffy.

然而，一周三英镑是无法支付这一切的。这些都是由威妮弗雷德的父亲支付的。他喜欢付钱。尽管他只给她少量的零用钱，但他会时不时地给她十英镑——或者给埃格伯特十英镑。所以他们都把这位老人看作生活的支柱。埃格伯特不介意受人恩惠和资助。只有当他感觉这个家庭由于钱变得有点太卑躬屈膝时，他才开始动怒。

Then of course children came: a lovely little blonde daughter with a head of thistledown. Everybody adored the child. It was the first exquisite blonde thing that had come into the family, a little mite with the white, slim, beautiful limbs of its father, and as it grew up the dancing, dainty movement of a wild little daisy—spirit. No wonder the Marshalls all loved the child: they called her Joyce. They themselves had their own grace, but it was slow, rather heavy. They had everyone of them strong, heavy limbs and darkish skins, and they were short in stature. And now they had for one of their own this light little cowslip child. She was like a little poem in herself.

接着，当然是孩子出生了：一个可爱的金发小女孩，头部如蓟花的冠毛那般轻盈。所有人都非常喜欢这个小孩。她是这个家庭里第一个精致的金色事物。她是一个小不点，有着和她父亲一样白皙、修长、美丽的四肢。随着她慢慢长大，她逐渐显现出了野生小雏菊那般活泼、优美的仪态。难怪马歇尔一家都喜欢这个小孩：他们给她取名叫乔伊斯。他们都有各自的优雅之处，但是那种优雅显得迟缓、相当笨重。他们都四肢粗壮、肤色偏暗、身材矮小。而现在他们中间出现了这样一个如樱草般轻盈的小孩。她本身就像一首小诗。

But nevertheless, she brought a new difficulty. Winifred must have a nurse for her. Yes, yes, there must be a nurse. It was the family decree. Who was to pay for the nurse? The grandfather—seeing the father himself earned no money. Yes, the grandfather would pay, as he had paid all the lying—in expenses. There came a slight sense of money—strain. Egbert was living on his father—in—law.

然而，她带来了一个新的难题。威妮弗雷德得给她找个保姆。是的，是的，必须得找个保姆。这是家庭成员共同的决定。谁来支付保姆的费用？是外公——因为父亲自己没有挣钱。是的，外公会支付，就像他支付了所有的分娩费用那样。于是就有了一种手头拮据的感觉。埃格伯特在靠他的岳父过活。

After the child was born, it was never quite the same between him and Winifred. The difference was at first hardly perceptible. But it was there. In the first place Winifred had a new centre of interest. She was not going to adore her child. But she had what the modern mother so often has in the place of spontaneous love: a profound sense of duty towards her child. Winifred appreciated her darling little girl, and felt a deep sense of duty towards her. Strange, that this sense of duty should go deeper than the love for her husband. But so it was. And so it often is. The responsibility of motherhood was the prime responsibility in Winifred's heart: the responsibility of wifehood came a long way second.

孩子出生以后，他和威妮弗雷德之间的关系就再也不是从前那样了。这种变化在开始时很难察觉。但是，它的确存在。首先，威妮弗雷德有了一个新的兴趣中心。她不打算溺爱她的孩子。但是她身为一位现代母亲，通常并不是用自然流露的爱来对待孩子，取而代之的是一种强烈的责任感。威妮弗雷德欣赏她心爱的小女儿，觉得自己对她有一种强烈的责任感。奇怪的是，这种责任感居然比她对丈夫的爱还要深刻。但原本就是如此。而且通常就是这样。在威妮弗雷德的心里，身为母亲的责任是首要责任，身为妻子的责任则远远落在后面。

Her child seemed to link her up again in a circuit with her own family. Her father and mother, herself, and her child, that was the human trinity for her. Her husband—? Yes, she loved him still. But that was like play. She had an almost barbaric sense of duty and of family. Till she married, her first human duty had been towards her father: he was the pillar, the source of life, the everlasting support. Now another link was added to the chain of duty: her father, herself, and her child.

孩子似乎再一次把她跟她原来的家庭系在了一条道上。她的父母、她自己，以及她的孩子，在她看来就是人类的三位一体。她丈夫？是，她仍然爱他。但是，那就好比游戏。她有一种简直毫无节制的责任感和家庭感。结婚以前，她作为人的首要责任是对他父亲而言的：他是支柱，是生活的来源，是永久的依靠。现在，责任链上新增了一个环节：她父亲、她自己和她的孩子。

Egbert was out of it. Without anything happening, he was gradually, unconsciously excluded from the circle. His wife still loved him, physically. But, but—he was almost the unnecessary party in the affair. He could not complain of Winifred. She still did her duty towards him. She still had a physical passion for him, that physical passion on which he had put all his life and soul. But—but—

埃格伯特被排除在外。什么也没有发生，他却慢慢地、不知不觉地被排除在圈子之外。他的妻子仍然在肉体上爱着他。但是，但是——在性事上，他简直成了多余人。他不能埋怨威妮弗雷德。她仍然对他尽着义务。她仍然对他有肉体的激情，他也会全身心地投入到那种肉体的激情中。但是——但是——

It was for a long while an ever—recurring but. And then, after the second child, another blonde, winsome touching little thing, not so proud and flame—like as Joyce—after Annabel came, then Egbert began truly to realize how it was. His wife still loved him. But—and now the but had grown enormous—her physical love for him was of secondary importance to her. It became ever less important. After all, she had had it, this physical passion, for two years now. It was not this that one lived from. No, no—something sterner, realer.

在很长一段时间里， “但是” 这个词反复出现。接着，第二个孩子出生了。又是一个惹人喜爱的金发小家伙，她不像乔伊斯那么高傲、那么火辣——在安纳贝尔出生后，埃格伯特开始真正意识到是怎么回事了。他的妻子仍然爱他。但是——现在已经出现了无数个 “但是” ——对她而言，对他肉体上的爱已经退居其次了。它已经变得没那么重要了。毕竟，她拥有这种肉体的激情至今已有两年了。人不是靠这种激情而活着。不，不——还有更严峻、更真实的东西。

She began to resent her own passion for Egbert—just a little she began to despise it. For after all there he was, he was charming, he was lovable, he was terribly desirable. But—but—oh, the awful looming cloud of that but! —he did not stand firm in the landscape of her life like a tower of strength, like a great pillar of significance. No, he was like a cat one has about the house, which will one day disappear and leave no trace. He was like a flower in the garden, trembling in the wind of life, and then gone, leaving nothing to show. As an adjunct, as an accessory, he was perfect. Many a woman would have adored to have him about her all her life, the most beautiful and desirable of all her possessions. But Winifred belonged to another school.