When their eager gaze, sweeping2 all the prospect3, had made certain that no habitation was to be seen, Dickon groaned4 deeply, and little Andreas wept outright5.
As they stood thus, Andreas clenched6 his hands at his breast, lifting his white face upward toward the bare boughs7. Then he closed his eyes, and staggering a single step, fell forward to the ground, and lay there on his face like a log.
Dickon lifted his comrade in his arms, and bore him back into the thicket8. Out in the open where the two youths had viewed the highroad the earth was frozen stiff, and snow lay thin-spread upon it; but behind them, on the path they had made, lay warmer nooks sheltered by tangled9 shrubs10.
To the first of these Dickon pushed his way, and putting the lad softly down, began gathering11 dry, dead leaves by armfuls and piling them over the senseless body. On these he laid branches, and then again more leaves, until only the boyish, sleeping face met the air.
Now he made another journey to the outer place which they had won, and gleaning12 from the ground the three things he had left there, brought them back to where the lad lay under his leaves, and put them down beside him. These were the crossbow, the book in its casket, and the mangled13 carcass of a boar which he had killed, but had eaten of more to his harm than good, since there was no fire with which to cook the meat.
Dickon looked down to his friend, and saw that the boy was awake, and sick unto death. Cold and hunger and the toil14 of wild wandering had dealt harshly with even Dickon's own tough English flesh and blood. They were killing15 the fragile lad from foreign parts.
"Do you get warmth?" he asked dolefully, as he had asked scores of other times.
For answer the lad closed his eyes and shook his head in weakness.
Then Dickon knelt down and did a thing strange to all his knowledge of customs. He kissed the pale forehead which lay half-hid among the leaves. Then, as if in shame, he sprang to his feet.
"Bide16 you here till I come," he said, and turning, strode off toward the open, with the crossbow under his arm.
For warmth's sake and the peril17 which brooded behind him, he swung himself forward at a swift pace down the highroad. The air and the movement kindled19 his blood a little.
A full league it seemed to him he must have tramped, over barren moorland and through winding20 defiles21 with steep, unfriendly sides of bare rock, before he came to anything that spoke22 of human habitation. Then, as the skies were darkening into twilight23, he entered unawares into the deeper shadows of a great wall, gray and forbidding, rising above the highway like a part of the boulders24 themselves.
At the base of this, as if entering upon the heart of the earth, was a small, black door of wood, framed in frowning stone.
On this door of the monastery25 Dickon pounded with his fists, and with the handle of his weapon, and presently there came a sound as of bolts withdrawn26. The door opened half-way, and a chalk-faced young friar in white gown and hood27 stood before him.
"Enter," this spectral28 figure said, and trembled with the cold.
"Nay29, fire is what I seek," stammered30 Dickon, almost in fright at the ghost-like form before him, and at the strange sound of a tinkling31 bell echoing from the rocks overhead.
"Canst not wait till thou art dead for that?" the white-robed phantom32 said, in tones of earthly vexation. He would have shut the door at this, but that Dickon sprang forward, thrust his bow against the inner frame, and clutched the friar by the arm.
"Fire! fire!" he cried. "Give me that to kindle18 fire, or I kill you—like the others!"
The monk33 stood stock-still, and curled the thin corners of his lips in scorn at this rude boy, and held him with his bright, sneering34 gaze. Dickon looked into these sharp, cold eyes, and felt himself a noisy fool.
"Nay, father," he stumbled on, pleadingly, "if I get not a fire, he dies!"
"Hast thy head full of dead men, seemingly," the young Cistercian replied.
He cast his glance down over this rough visitor, and noting the blood-splashes upon his hose, lifted his brows in wrathful inquiry35. Then he snatched up the crucifix from the end of the chain at his girdle, and thrust it swiftly into Dickon's face.
"Who art thou, churl36?" he demanded. "Whose blood is this?"
"Whose Blood is This?"
"Whose Blood is This?"
Dickon's nerve sank into his shoes.
"A boar that I have slain37, good father," he answered in a mumbling38 whimper, "and lack fire wherewith to roast it; and the raw flesh is ill food, and he can eat naught39 of it, and gets no warmth, and must die if I win not a fire."
At this the monk softened40. He led Dickon into the outer porch, and gleaned41 the purport42 of his story. Only Dickon said nothing of the book or of the two men he had killed.
"Fire thou shalt have," the young monk said, more kindly43, when Dickon's tale was finished. "But first go through the gates before thee to the hall, and take all thou wilt44 of meat and ale. None will deny thee. 'Tis the eve of holy Christmas, and though we fast, thou and thy kind may feed in welcome."
"It is only fire I seek," said Dickon, doggedly45, though all his vitals clamored in revolt against the speech. "Food I will none till he hath supped."
"So be it," said the monk, and left Dickon alone under the groined archway in the growing darkness.
Presently he came again, and put flint and steel and tinder into the lad's hand. He gave him also a leathern bottle stopped with wax and a little cheese wrapped in fine straw.
"Bear these along," he said. "It is the Christmas eve. Peace be with you," and so motioned the boy away.
Dickon's tongue was not used to words of thanks, and he had turned in silence to go out when the monk called to him, and then came forward to the outer door.
"You were to kill me—like 'the others,'" he said, with a grim smile curling his lips. "What others?"
"Two of Sir Watty's men, whom I smote46 down as they would have fallen upon him," said Dickon, pride struggling with apprehension47.
The monk smiled at this outright, and departing again abruptly48, returned with a pasty in a dish, enfolded in cloths.
"Now God be with you!" he said, heartily49. "Hither bring your strange gossip on the morrow, if he find his legs."
Once outside the rock-girt postern, Dickon set to running, his arms full with the burden of the friar's gifts, and his heart all aglow50 with joy. It was a wearisome enough ascent51, and the darkness of even was drawing ever closer over the earth, and the lad's empty stomach cried aloud at every furlong for food; but still he pressed on.
When at last he had gained the point on the road whence his quest had begun, the light had altogether failed. Then only he struck his flint, and set fire to some leaves. From these he kindled a knot of dry branches, and with this for a torch pushed his way into the woods.
"Andreas," he called out, when at last he stood above his friend, "here is fire and food!"
The white face among the leaves was the color of the snow he had left behind him. The eyes were half-open, but no answering light came into them. The boy lay as if dead.
With a startled cry Dickon let fall his spoils, and dropping to his knees, lifted the other's head up against his waist. It twisted inertly52 upon the thin neck and hung forward. Was life truly gone?
Like one in a daze53, Dickon laid the boy down again among the leaves, and rose to his feet, still holding the burning sticks in his hand. The flames came painfully near to his flesh before he started into sense again.
Then he swiftly built a fire in a cleft54 among the rocks at the end of the little hollow, piling dry wood and leaves upon it till the blaze lighted up everything about. This done, he knocked off the waxen cover of his leather bottle, cut out the stopper, and kneeling once more, put its mouth to the dying lad's lips.
Strange tears came into his eyes as, after only a brief moment, those of his friend opened in truth, and gazed wonderingly upward at the luminous55 volume of ascending56 smoke. Then the slight frame shuddered57 piteously with a recurring58 chill, and the dread59 sleep fell upon it once more.
Dickon dragged him to the fire, piling leaves behind for support, and holding the lad's hands almost into the flames, so desperate did the strait seem to be. Then he stripped off his own leathern jacket, and wrapped it about Andreas.
He heaped fresh fuel on the fire, he rubbed the slender limbs for warmth with his rough hands, he forced more of the wine-drink down the boy's throat—all at once, as it were, in a frenzy61 of resolve that death should at all hazards be fought off.
And so it came about, for presently Andreas was sitting propped62 up upon the mound63 of leaves, smiling faintly with pleasure at the new warmth in his veins64, and sucking bare the last bird-bones from the pie.
Dickon gnawed65 ravenously66 upon the smoky and half-cooked piece of tough meat he had cut from the ham of the boar, and watched the sweet spectacle of his friend restored to life, in an abstraction of dumb joy.
Andreas lifted his hand in air, and uttered an exclamation67 of surprise.
"It is Christmas eve!" he said. "I had forgotten!"
"So said the friar," Dickon mumbled68 between mouthfuls, tearing at the food meanwhile with his teeth. "He was in two minds about having me flogged, but for that. The monks69 have a fear of the king, they say, and on the days he marks for them durst not break bread for themselves. Thus this friar must needs fast to-day—so he said. How could the king know, if he slipped in some food while-times? He hath not been in these parts this many years."
"It is not the king, Dickon," answered Andreas. "A greater than any king ordereth these matters."
"Aye, the lord of Warwick," said Dickon. "My father rode with him, in far countries, when he was lusty. But the king slew70 him years agone, in a battle by London town. Wist you not that?"
"Tut, tut," the lad in ragged60 velvet71 made reply, smiling at first, and then more gravely. "Your Warwick is dust and bones, as every man shall be, the king not less than the meanest knave72. But God does not die, and He ruleth all things."
"Sir Watty swore ever by Him," said Dickon. "But He hath not once set foot in Shropshire, in my time."
Andreas lifted himself at this, with eyes marvelling73 at such ignorance.
"Oh, Dickon lad, thou hast the very mother's milk of learning to find thy way to," he cried, and crossed his knees by the ruddy blaze, tailor-fashion, to begin.
The story that he told to Dickon was such a one as never Christian74 child in these times needs to hear, but rather draws in from every source, unconsciously, like speech and the shapings of thought. But to Dickon it was brand new, since at Egswith no godly man had ever shown his face. He listened to it all with open mouth and brain.
As for Andreas, he grew presently conscious of fatigue75, and lay back upon his couch of leaves as his narrative76 unfolded. Then, the instant spur of food and warmth becoming spent, his voice grew fainter, and in the returning weakness his thoughts wandered from the thread of the sublime77 story to tender memories of how it had been illumined and decked out in his old German home.
"Ach, lieber Tannenbaum!" he murmured, with the firelight in his dreamy eyes. "It was a sight to live for, Dickon—the beautiful fir tree before you, with burning candles fastened in among the branches, and Christmas gifts hanging underneath,—every little minute something new you found,—and father, mother, brothers, sisters, all in the happy ring around the tree, with joyful78 songs and good wishes—woe79! woe! I shall never see it again!"
"That thou shalt, and hundreds of them," said Dickon, cheerily.
But Andreas shook his head in sadness, and gazed into the crackling blaze as though it were a tomb.
"Old Geraldus and I would have had a tree," he sighed at last. "Each year since we came out from Augsburg we made us one, and sang the dear old German songs, and gave each other gifts. And this year we were both to give this goodly 'Troilus' to Sir John—and lo! they are both murdered, dead, and I am following them, close at their heels—and 'Troilus' will come to naught. And never had more cunning and shapely work been done, not even in Augsburg!"
"Is it far—that 'Owg'—what name do you call it?" asked Dickon. "As far as London town?"
The lad smiled faintly from where he lay. "It is across the sea, and many days' journey still."
"And does the king come there oftener than into Shropshire?"
"Dull boy! There your king durst never come. It is not his country. There is an emperor, and then a Wittelsbach Duke, but even these may not come into Augsburg if the burghers say them nay. The tongue is different there from yours, and so, glory be to the saints, are the manners, too. There learning flourishes, and men are gentle, and books like poor Troilus yonder are monthly made by dozens."
"Wherefore came you hither, then?" queried80 Dickon, with rude islander logic81.
"It was the madness in my master's head. He deemed that here he should be welcome, bringing a new craft to make knowledge common. But these be beasts here in Shropshire, not men. They desire not books, but only blood and battle and red meat."
"Men come by knowledge to their hurt," said Dickon. "There was a clerk turned thief in Egswith with Sir Watty, and he was skilled to fashion marks on paper so wise men might know their meaning—and him they hanged at Rednal for a rogue82 four winters syne83."
"For that he was a robber, and no true clerk," retorted Andreas.
Dickon looked into the fire for answer, and then at the black, starless sky overhead. He rose, and busied himself for a time in gathering fresh fuel, and then in roughly wattling some side shelter at the back of the bed of leaves. Some vagrant84 flakes85 of snow sifted86 through the branches above, and he reflected upon the chances of making a roof on the morrow. Or doubtless it would be better to go farther back, and build more securely there.
He put the question to Andreas by way of talk, restoring the fire meanwhile. The German boy smiled in wonder.
"Why, on the morrow, if strength comes back to me, hie we to the good white friars. They bade you come, and me, too!"
Dickon's face clouded over.
"Nay, I'm for the greenwood," he said stubbornly. "I will wear no man's collar more, nor sleep under roof. To be free, here in the open, it maketh a new man of me. And so, an you leave me, here I abide87 alone, or in these parts."
"How should I leave thee, Dickon?" said the other, softly. "That could not be. But freedom lies not alone out under the skies, in wind and cold. Was any other more free than I, with my old master? Come, thou shalt be ruled by me—and we will make our way out from these ruffian parts together, and somewhere we shall light upon a gentle patron, and there I will carve new types and build a press, and thy stout88 arms shall turn the screw, and I will teach thee learning, and——"
He broke off all at once, and gazed wistfully upward at the mounting volume of smoke and snapping sparks for a long time in silence. Dickon looked on him, speechless but with great things dawning confusedly in his head.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
outright
|
|
| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
thicket
|
|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
gleaning
|
|
| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
mangled
|
|
| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
bide
|
|
| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
kindle
|
|
| v.点燃，着火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
kindled
|
|
| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
defiles
|
|
| v.玷污( defile的第三人称单数 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hood
|
|
| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
spectral
|
|
| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
tinkling
|
|
| n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
churl
|
|
| n.吝啬之人；粗鄙之人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
mumbling
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
gleaned
|
|
| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
doggedly
|
|
| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
smote
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
aglow
|
|
| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
inertly
|
|
| adv.不活泼地，无生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
53
daze
|
|
| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
cleft
|
|
| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
recurring
|
|
| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
propped
|
|
| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
mound
|
|
| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
gnawed
|
|
| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
ravenously
|
|
| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
mumbled
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
slew
|
|
| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
knave
|
|
| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
marvelling
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
queried
|
|
| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
rogue
|
|
| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
syne
|
|
| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
vagrant
|
|
| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
flakes
|
|
| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
sifted
|
|
| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |