Did you see the sun to-day about eleven in the morning come suddenly out through parted clouds{276} and shine on the great fields of virgin5 snow? He came on purpose to see me. Did you see the maddened whirl of the snow-flakes in the afternoon flying in eddies6 through the air? They were dancing together at my party. I engaged them to dance. They did it well, did they not? Did you hear the cathedral bells ringing this afternoon, sounding dim and deep through the snow? They were also my guests. Everything in the world to-day was my guest, and stars were ranged on my ceiling, and the Pleiades lay in my hand, and close by my heart there lay the moon, and it was not cold, as it looks, but warm.
Day after day and all day, night after night and all night, I have dreamed of the moon, loving it, desiring it. And last night I dreamed that I cast a slender silver thread into the sky, which caught the moon, and I drew it closer and closer to myself, till it rested on my heart. And it was not the moon at all, but the heart of a woman, beating full and strong. And the wonder of it is that the moon is mine. You shall see it sometimes, you other people on the earth, but all the time it is mine. I know, too, the other side of{277} it, when we are alone together. You cannot see that, and you will never see it. The moon says it is all for me.
To-day the moon had to be away all day, but the silver thread was between us (it leads to the other side of the moon), so I scarcely envied the folks in London, who would see her face merely. Yet all day I fevered for evening, and as evening approached my fever abated7 not. But you came back, my moon, and we were together again. Other people were there, and for them, as for me, melody after melody flowed from the sweet stress of your fingers. They heard only, but I knew, and to me the sound revealed not the poor clay that wrote those exquisite8 notes, but you who played them. Your soul it was, not Schubert’s, that shone in the symphony that shall never be finished; your soul, not Beethoven’s, was passion and pathos—you, not he, turned night into a flame, and in that flame I burned and was consumed, happy as the gods are happy, and happier because I was not content. I shall never be content.
Oh, my own who did this, thanks is no word{278} between you and me. Do we thank the star that shines in the dark-blue velvet9 of the skies? We gaze only, and are drawn10 thither11. For we thank a giver for a human gift; it is in silence that we give thanks for the things that are divine. Oh, I try to speak of what cannot be spoken! Who shall set words to your music?
Let me picture you again, with face half turned from where I sat, tuning13 the keys which I thought so rebellious14 into a rain of enchanted15 harmony. Rebellious, too, was your hair, rising upward in waves of smouldering gold from your face. And through Schubert you spoke12 to me, he but the medium or the alphabet of your thought, and I was almost jealous of the dead because he touched the tips of your fingers. Then from the trim garden at Leipsic spoke that sweet formal soul, a message of congratulation to me, or so I took it, and Beethoven with fuller voice said the same, and from frozen Poland and from wind-beaten Majorca came another smile. And when those sweet words were done, came other sweet words without interpreter; and the room was emptied and the larger lights were quenched16, and{279} only on the walls leaped the shadows and the shine of the flames that plunged17 on the hearth18. Once by night the Temple was bright to the prophet with the glory of the Lord, and the hot coal from the altar opened and inspired his lips. With what new vision and eyes enlightened must he have looked on the world after that night when God revealed Himself. And by this revelation which has come to me all things are made new, winter is turned to spring, the lonely places are desert no more, and the whole world is in flower with the royal purple of the blossoms of Love.
And now that I know it was inevitable19 from the first, I can hardly believe that it was I who only a few weeks ago made plans to force myself from the possibility. It was ordained20 from the beginning, and the patient march of the centuries, every step, every year, was bringing us together; myriads21 of subtle influences conspired22 to work it, and how excellent is the miracle they have made! Sunlight and wind, and the love and sorrow and joy of a thousand generations, have made the body and soul of this girl; for me was she predestined,{280} and for me has the whole creation laboured. Blindly but inevitably23 it wrought24, even as the shell deep in some blue cave of the ocean thinks only that some piece of grit25 has got between its iridescent26 valves, yet all the time it is busy making the pearl that shall lie on the neck of some queen yet unborn.
An immense silence and whiteness lies over the whole earth. Snow fell a week ago, then came several nights of frost, and to-day again a fresh mantle27 of white was laid down. All roughnesses and inequalities are smoothed away. The whole land lies in delicate curves, swelling28 and subsiding29 in gradations too fine to follow. With bar and chevron30, and a million devices of this celestial31 heraldry, trees and palings are outlined and emblazoned, and in the graveyard32 opposite the tombstones are capped with whiteness. From eaves and gutters33 hang the festooned icicles, and most people find it cheerless weather. But not so we, for between us, with the aid of a prodigiously34 stupid carpenter, we have designed and executed a toboggan, which is the chariot of love, and on the steep down-sides (attended by the puzzled collies,{281} who cannot understand how it is that snowballs, which so closely resemble tennis-balls, vanish in the retrieving) we spend vivifying afternoons. The toboggan has a decided35 bias36, and it is only a question of time before it gets broadside to the slope of the hill, ejecting its passengers. That is the moment for which the collies (Huz and Buz) are waiting, and they fly after us and lick our faces before we can regain37 our feet, to congratulate us on the success of this excellent new game. Indeed, the ‘Alliance of Laughter’ is in league again, but below the laughter is love, which penetrates38 to the centre of the world and rises to the heaven of heavens. Then we tramp back, towing the slewing39 toboggan uphill, and getting our heels kicked by it downhill to the muffled40 town at dusk, and the long evenings begin.
I have told her all about Margery, as was only natural, but it was no news to her. She had guessed it, with woman’s intuition, to which lightning is a snail41, on the day when I told her how like she was to Margery. I had said ‘She was my best friend’ in a voice, it appears, that was the most obvious self-betrayal. I have told{282} her, too, the grim determination I had made not to see her any more. That, it appears on the same authority, was harmless though silly, since it was utterly42 out of my power to do anything of the kind. I couldn’t have done it: that was all. I, of course, argued that I could; so she said, ‘Well, do it now, then. It is not too late.’
But when I told her about Margery, she did not laugh, but she answered:
‘I wanted so to comfort you. And I saw at first that you looked at me and thought of her. Then, by degrees, I wanted to take her place. And by degrees you let me have a place of my own. You looked at me and thought of me. That was one evening we played cards here.’
‘You saw that?’ I asked.
‘How could a girl avoid seeing it, when all the time she——’
‘What?’
‘Nothing—at least, not much.’
‘What, then?’
She came a little closer in the gleam of the firelight.{283}
‘When all the time she longed to see it,’ she whispered.
‘And is that not much? Is there anything in the world bigger than that?’
‘No; it is bigger than the world.’
Oh, I am loved—I am loved!
* * * * *
It is Christmas Eve, and she has just gone home with her father, and outside in the moonlight the waits are singing. I know that they are not in tune43, and that qua singing it is a deplorable performance, but there is such a singing in my heart that I do not hear the false notes, and the thrill of Christmas, too, is upon me. I have never quite got over (and I hope I never shall) the childish awe44 and mystery in hearing the voices from the night, being awakened45 by the sounds, and being carried, wrapped up in blankets, to the window, where I could see dim forms outside black against the snow. I did not know in those earliest years who they were. It was Christmas, and there were mysterious beings singing in the night. On no other night were{284} they there, for they were of the family, I must suppose, of Father Christmas and Santa Claus and the fairy Abracadabra46, to whose awful presence—she appeared to be about nine feet high—we had been introduced, not without delightful47 inward quailings, before we went to bed. She brought with her a vessel48 of the shape certainly of a clothes-basket, but as it was of solid gold it could not have been a clothes-basket. And inside were exactly those things for which we each of us had pined and audibly hungered. Such a clever fairy! She never made a mistake or confused my wants with those of my brothers; so probably she was omniscient49 as well as beneficent. And my good fairies have been just as clever ever since. They never make mistakes, and now they have given me the best gift of all. So, listening to the singing in the night now, the years slip back, the child within me stirs and awakens50, and out of the rose-coloured mists of early years that queer little figure, wrapped in blankets and carried to the window, looks wonderingly at me and smiles because I am happy. Abracadabra, too, is with me to-night, not nine feet high any longer, nor{285} girt about with delicious terrors for me, but still my dear fairy, who never fails me. You should have seen her meeting with Helen; the two who are dearest to me out of all the world, saw each other and loved each other on the moment, and Helen ran to her and called her ‘mother.’
The singing in the night is long since silent; midnight has struck, and the house is very still in this first hour of Christmas Day. All afternoon, following the custom I have known from childhood, we made wreaths of evergreens51 for decoration of the doors, and the holly52 berries glow red in the dark green of the ivy53. The scraps54 we burned on the hearth, and the green leaves are still crackling and popping, and the room is aromatic55 with the smell of them—the smell, so it always seemed to me, of Christmas. Outside the same wonderful windless frost still binds the earth, and in the dryness of the air the stars are visible nearly down to the horizon, and the sheets of snow sparkle dimly in the soft twilight56 of them. Yet I still linger here, finishing the few words that remain to be written of this{286} little book of months, which tells of happenings so tremendous and momentous57 to me, so infinitesimal to the world at large. It is a very inconsecutive performance, I know, very often dealing58 with interests so minute that, even as I write them, the time when what one writes assumes its greatest importance to one’s self, I know I am risking boredom59 for somebody. But the remedy for such boredom is so simple: one has only to shut the book.
How well I remember the first day of the year, a morning of fog, with fugitive60 gleams of sun, type of the inscrutable young year, which now is flaming to its close in a glory of rose-coloured sunset! All I ever desired, all that I scarcely dared to desire, is mine, and yet this is only the promise of what shall be. The love which is mine is like a golden thread passing through the scattered61 beads62 of my days, threading them into a necklace which I place round her neck, so that it lies on her heart, and day and night moves to its beating, and rises and falls with her breath. O my beloved, whether you sleep or wake, it is there; it is yours. Do you remember a day or{287} two ago how, quite suddenly, your eyes filled with tears, and when I asked you what that meant, you said, ‘It is only because it is us, just you and I’? Even so.
THE END
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
binds
|
|
| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
eddies
|
|
| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
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： |
|
|
|
|
13
tuning
|
|
| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
quenched
|
|
| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
myriads
|
|
| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
conspired
|
|
| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
grit
|
|
| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
iridescent
|
|
| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
subsiding
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
chevron
|
|
| n.V形臂章；V形图案 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
graveyard
|
|
| n.坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gutters
|
|
| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
prodigiously
|
|
| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bias
|
|
| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
penetrates
|
|
| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
slewing
|
|
| n.快速定向，快速瞄准v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
snail
|
|
| n.蜗牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
abracadabra
|
|
| n.咒语，胡言乱语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
omniscient
|
|
| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
awakens
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
evergreens
|
|
| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
holly
|
|
| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
aromatic
|
|
| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
fugitive
|
|
| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |