下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
|
美丽英文Ⅱ：童年是孤单的冒险
詹少晶 |
|
本书由紫云文心授权掌阅科技电子版制作与发行
版权所有 · 侵权必究 |
The Purified Innocence
When you tell someone something bad about yourself and you’ re scared they won’ t love you anymore. But then you get surprised because not only do they still love you, they love you even more.
当你把一些关于自己的不好的事情告诉别人时，你生怕他们不再爱你了。然而，你却惊喜地发现他们不但爱你如故，而且爱得更深了。
Little Prince
小王子
Antoine de Saiot—Exupery
It was then that the fox appeared.
“Good morning,” said the fox.
“Good morning,” the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.
“I am right here,” the voice said, “under the apple tree.”
“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.”
“I am a fox,” the fox said.
“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”
“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed?”
“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
“What does that mean— ‘tame’?”
“You do not live here,” said the fox. “What is it that you are looking for?”
“I am looking for men,” said the little prince. “What does that mean— ‘tame’?”
“Men,” said the fox. “They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?”
“No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that mean— ‘tame’?”
“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. “It means to establish ties.”
“ ‘To establish ties’?”
“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”
“I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince. “There is a flower. I think that she has tamed me.”
“It is possible,” said the fox. “On the Earth one sees all sorts of things.”
“Oh, but this is not on the Earth!” said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
“On another planet?”
“Yes.”
“Are there hunters on that planet?”
“No.”
“Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?”
“No.”
“Nothing is perfect,” sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
“My life is very monotonous?” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain—fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat.”
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
“Please—tame me!” he said.
“I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.”
“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me.”
“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.
“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me—like that—in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day.”
The next day the little prince came back.
“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’ clock in the afternoon, then at three o’ clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’ clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you. One must observe the proper rites.”
“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.
“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all.”
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—
“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”
“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you.”
“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.
“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.
“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.
“Then it has done you no good at all!”
“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added:
“Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”
And the roses were very much embarrassed.
“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you—the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”
And he went back to meet the fox.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”
“It is the time I have wasted for my rose—” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.”
“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
Peeling Away Artifice for the Pure Original
回归童真
Roy H. Barnacle
Sarah came running in. “Look what I found.” Over the top of the paper I was reading came a crispy, crumbling long object that caused me to jump. It was a snake skin that had been shed by one of our many garden snakes.
“Isn’ t it beautiful?” said my wide—eyed seven—year—old.
I stared at the organic wrapper and thought to myself that it really wasn’ t that beautiful, but I have learned never to appear nonchalant?? or jaded with children. Everything they see for the first time is elementary to their sense of beauty and creativity; they see only merit and excellence in the world until educated otherwise.
“Why does it do this?” Sarah asked.
Robert, ever the innocent comedian, said, “We have a naked snake in our garden!”
I also try to customize every opportunity to teach my children that there is almost always something beyond the obvious; that there is something else going on besides what they see in front of them. “Snakes shed their skin because they need to renew themselves.” I explained. As it’ s so often the case in my family, the original subject leads to another and another, until we are discussing something quite different.
“Why do they need to renew themselves?” Sarah asked.
Robert quipped, “Cos they don’ t like who they are and they want to be someone else.”
Sarah and I politely ignored her brother. I suddenly remembered an article on this page many years ago where the writer was expressing her concept of renewal. She used layers of paper over a wall to describe how we hide our original selves, and said that by peeling away those layers one by one; we see the underlying original beneath.
“We often need to shed our skins, those coatings and facades that we cover ourselves with.” I said to my now absorbed daughter. “We outgrow some things and find other stuff unwanted or unnecessary. This snake no longer needs this skin. It is probably too stiff and crinkly for him, and he probably doesn’ t think he looks as smart in it as he once did. Like buying a new suit.”
Of course, I’ m sure this explanation won’ t sit well with bona fide?? naturalists. But Sarah was getting the point. As we talked, I knew that she began to comprehend, albeit slightly, that renewal is part of progress; that we need to take a good look at ourselves, and our rooms and schoolwork and creativity and spirituality, and see what we need to keep and what we need to cast off. I was careful to point out that this is a natural process, not one to be forced.
“Snakes don’ t peel off their skin when they feel like it.” I explained. “It happens as a natural consequence of their growth.”
“I see, Dad.” said Sarah and jumped off my lap, grabbed the snakeskin, and ran off.
I hoped she would remember this. That often, in order to find our real selves underneath the layers of community and culture with which we cloak ourselves year after year, we need to start examining these layers. We need to gently peel some away, as we recognize them to be worthless, unnecessary, or flawed, or at best, store the discarded ones as mementoes?? of our promotion to a better vitality or spirit.
A Mad Tea—party
发疯的茶会
Lewis Carroll
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion? resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice; “only, as it’ s asleep, I suppose it doesn’ t mind.”
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it. “No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw Alice coming.
“There’ s plenty of room!” said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm—chair at one end of the table.
“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. “I don’ t see any wine,” she remarked.
“There isn’ t any,” said the March Hare.
“Then it wasn’ t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice angrily.
“It wasn’ t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” said the March Hare.
“I didn’ t know it was your table,” said Alice; “it’ s laid for a great many more than three.”
“Yourhair wants cutting,” said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
“You should learn not to make personal remarks,” Alice said with some severity; “it’ s very rude.”
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, “Why is a raven like a writing—desk?”
“Come, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’ m glad they’ ve begun asking riddles. —I believe I can guess that,” she added aloud.
“Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?” said the March Hare.
“Exactly so,” said Alice.
“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.
“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I say—that’ s the same thing, you know.”
“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the March Hare, “that ‘I like what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”
“It is the same thing with you,” said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing—desks, which wasn’ t much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. “What day of the month is it?” he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said “The fourth.”
“Two days wrong!” sighed the Hatter. “I told you butter wouldn’ t suit the works!” he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
“It was the best butter,” the March Hare meekly replied.
“Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,” the Hatter grumbled, “you shouldn’ t have put it in with the bread—knife.”
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily; then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again; but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, “It was the best butter, you know.”
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. “What a funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month, and doesn’ t tell what o’ clock it is!”
“Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does your watch tell you what year it is?”
“Of course not,” Alice replied very readily, “but that’ s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.”
“Which is just the case with mine,” said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully?? puzzled. The Hatter’ s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. “I don’ t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she could.
“The Dormouse is asleep again,” said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, “Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.”
“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
“No, I give it up,” Alice replied, “what’ s the answer?”
“I haven’ t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter.
“Nor I.” said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.”
“If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’ t talk about wasting it. It’ s him.”
“I don’ t know what you mean,” said Alice.
“Of course you don’ t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously? “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”
“Perhaps not,” Alice cautiously replied, “but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.”
“Ah! That accounts for it,” said the Hatter. “He won’ t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’ d do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’ clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons; you’ d only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half—past one, time for dinner!”
“I only wish it was,” the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.
“That would be grand, certainly,” said Alice thoughtfully, “but then—I shouldn’ t be hungry for it, you know.”
“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter, “but you could keep it to half—past one as long as you liked.”
“Is that the way you manage?” Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied. “We quarreled last March—just before he went mad, you know—” (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare) —it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing: