Trees filtering light onto dapple grass. Trees like tall, languid ladies with feather fans coquetting airily with the ugly roof of the monastery1. Trees like butlers, bending courteously2 over placid4 walks and paths. Trees, trees over the hills on either side and scattering5 out in clumps6 and lines and woods all through eastern Maryland, delicate lace on the hems7 of many yellow fields, dark opaque8 backgrounds for flowered bushes or wild climbing garden.
Some of the trees were very gay and young, but the monastery trees were older than the monastery which, by true monastic standards, wasn’t very old at all. And, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t technically9 called a monastery, but only a seminary; nevertheless it shall be a monastery here despite its Victorian architecture or its Edward VII additions, or even its Woodrow Wilsonian, patented, last-a-century roofing.
Out behind was the farm where half a dozen lay brothers were sweating lustily as they moved with deadly efficiency around the vegetable-gardens. To the left, behind a row of elms, was an informal baseball diamond where three novices10 were being batted out by a fourth, amid great chasings and puffings and blowings. And in front as a great mellow11 bell boomed the half-hour a swarm12 of black, human leaves were blown over the checker-board of paths under the courteous3 trees.
Some of these black leaves were very old with cheeks furrowed13 like the first ripples14 of a splashed pool. Then there was a scattering of middle-aged15 leaves whose forms when viewed in profile in their revealing gowns were beginning to be faintly unsymmetrical. These carried thick volumes of Thomas Aquinas and Henry James and Cardinal16 Mercier and Immanuel Kant and many bulging17 note-books filled with lecture data.
But most numerous were the young leaves; blond boys of nineteen with very stern, conscientious18 expressions; men in the late twenties with a keen self-assurance from having taught out in the world for five years — several hundreds of them, from city and town and country in Maryland and Pennsylvania and Virginia and West Virginia and Delaware.
There were many Americans and some Irish and some tough Irish and a few French, and several Italians and Poles, and they walked informally arm in arm with each other in twos and threes or in long rows, almost universally distinguished19 by the straight mouth and the considerable chin — for this was the Society of Jesus, founded in Spain five hundred years before by a tough-minded soldier who trained men to hold a breach20 or a salon21, preach a sermon or write a treaty, and do it and not argue . . .
Lois got out of a bus into the sunshine down by the outer gate. She was nineteen with yellow hair and eyes that people were tactful enough not to call green. When men of talent saw her in a street-car they often furtively22 produced little stub-pencils and backs of envelopes and tried to sum up that profile or the thing that the eyebrows23 did to her eyes. Later they looked at their results and usually tore them up with wondering sighs.
Though Lois was very jauntily24 attired25 in an expensively appropriate travelling affair, she did not linger to pat out the dust which covered her clothes, but started up the central walk with curious glances at either side. Her face was very eager and expectant, yet she hadn’t at all that glorified26 expression that girls wear when they arrive for a Senior Prom at Princeton or New Haven27; still, as there were no senior proms here, perhaps it didn’t matter.
She was wondering what he would look like, whether she’d possibly know him from his picture. In the picture, which hung over her mother’s bureau at home, he seemed very young and hollow-cheeked and rather pitiful, with only a well-developed mouth and all ill-fitting probationer’s gown to show that he had already made a momentous28 decision about his life. Of course he had been only nineteen then and now he was thirty-six — didn’t look like that at all; in recent snap-shots he was much broader and his hair had grown a little thin — but the impression of her brother she had always retained was that of the big picture. And so she had always been a little sorry for him. What a life for a man! Seventeen years of preparation and he wasn’t even a priest yet — wouldn’t be for another year.
Lois had an idea that this was all going to be rather solemn if she let it be. But she was going to give her very best imitation of undiluted sunshine, the imitation she could give even when her head was splitting or when her mother had a nervous breakdown29 or when she was particularly romantic and curious and courageous30. This brother of hers undoubtedly31 needed cheering up, and he was going to be cheered up, whether he liked it or not.
As she drew near the great, homely32 front door she saw a man break suddenly away from a group and, pulling up the skirts of his gown, run toward her. He was smiling, she noticed, and he looked very big and — and reliable. She stopped and waited, knew that her heart was beating unusually fast.
“Lois!” he cried, and in a second she was in his arms. She was suddenly trembling.
“Lois!” he cried again, “why, this is wonderful! I can’t tell you, Lois, how MUCH I’ve looked forward to this. Why, Lois, you’re beautiful!”
His voice, though restrained, was vibrant34 with energy and that odd sort of enveloping35 personality she had thought that she only of the family possessed36.
“I’m mighty37 glad, too — Kieth.”
She flushed, but not unhappily, at this first use of his name.
“Lois — Lois — Lois,” he repeated in wonder. “Child, we’ll go in here a minute, because I want you to meet the rector, and then we’ll walk around. I have a thousand things to talk to you about.”
His voice became graver. “How’s mother?”
She looked at him for a moment and then said something that she had not intended to say at all, the very sort of thing she had resolved to avoid.
“Oh, Kieth — she’s — she’s getting worse all the time, every way.”
He nodded slowly as if he understood.
“Nervous, well — you can tell me about that later. Now ——”
She was in a small study with a large desk, saying something to a little, jovial38, white-haired priest who retained her hand for some seconds.
“So this is Lois!”
He said it as if he had heard of her for years.
He entreated39 her to sit down.
Two other priests arrived enthusiastically and shook hands with her and addressed her as “Kieth’s little sister,” which she found she didn’t mind a bit.
How assured they seemed; she had expected a certain shyness, reserve at least. There were several jokes unintelligible40 to her, which seemed to delight every one, and the little Father Rector referred to the trio of them as “dim old monks41,” which she appreciated, because of course they weren’t monks at all. She had a lightning impression that they were especially fond of Kieth — the Father Rector had called him “Kieth” and one of the others had kept a hand on his shoulder all through the conversation. Then she was shaking hands again and promising42 to come back a little later for some ice-cream, and smiling and smiling and being rather absurdly happy . . . she told herself that it was because Kieth was so delighted in showing her off.
Then she and Kieth were strolling along a path, arm in arm, and he was informing her what an absolute jewel the Father Rector was.
“Lois,” he broken off suddenly, “I want to tell you before we go any farther how much it means to me to have you come up here. I think it was — mighty sweet of you. I know what a gay time you’ve been having.”
Lois gasped. She was not prepared for this. At first when she had conceived the plan of taking the hot journey down to Baltimore staying the night with a friend and then coming out to see her brother, she had felt rather consciously virtuous43, hoped he wouldn’t be priggish or resentful about her not having come before — but walking here with him under the trees seemed such a little thing, and surprisingly a happy thing.
“Why, Kieth,” she said quickly, “you know I couldn’t have waited a day longer. I saw you when I was five, but of course I didn’t remember, and how could I have gone on without practically ever having seen my only brother?”
“It was mighty sweet of you, Lois,” he repeated.
Lois blushed — he DID have personality.
“I want you to tell me all about yourself,” he said after a pause. “Of course I have a general idea what you and mother did in Europe those fourteen years, and then we were all so worried, Lois, when you had pneumonia44 and couldn’t come down with mother — let’s see that was two years ago — and then, well, I’ve seen your name in the papers, but it’s all been so unsatisfactory. I haven’t known you, Lois.”
She found herself analyzing45 his personality as she analyzed46 the personality of every man she met. She wondered if the effect of — of intimacy47 that he gave was bred by his constant repetition of her name. He said it as if he loved the word, as if it had an inherent meaning to him.
“Then you were at school,” he continued.
“Yes, at Farmington. Mother wanted me to go to a convent — but I didn’t want to.”
She cast a side glance at him to see if he would resent this.
But he only nodded slowly.
“Had enough convents abroad, eh?”
“Yes — and Kieth, convents are different there anyway. Here even in the nicest ones there are so many COMMON girls.”
He nodded again.
“Yes,” he agreed, “I suppose there are, and I know how you feel about it. It grated on me here, at first, Lois, though I wouldn’t say that to any one but you; we’re rather sensitive, you and I, to things like this.”
“You mean the men here?”
“Yes, some of them of course were fine, the sort of men I’d always been thrown with, but there were others; a man named Regan, for instance — I hated the fellow, and now he’s about the best friend I have. A wonderful character, Lois; you’ll meet him later. Sort of man you’d like to have with you in a fight.”
Lois was thinking that Kieth was the sort of man she’d like to have with HER in a fight.
“How did you — how did you first happen to do it?” she asked, rather shyly, “to come here, I mean. Of course mother told me the story about the Pullman car.”
“Oh, that ——” He looked rather annoyed.
“Tell me that. I’d like to hear you tell it.”
“Oh, it’s nothing except what you probably know. It was evening and I’d been riding all day and thinking about — about a hundred things, Lois, and then suddenly I had a sense that some one was sitting across from me, felt that he’d been there for some time, and had a vague idea that he was another traveller. All at once he leaned over toward me and I heard a voice say: ‘I want you to be a priest, that’s what I want.’ Well I jumped up and cried out, ‘Oh, my God, not that!’— made an idiot of myself before about twenty people; you see there wasn’t any one sitting there at all. A week after that I went to the Jesuit College in Philadelphia and crawled up the last flight of stairs to the rector’s office on my hands and knees.”
There was another silence and Lois saw that her brother’s eyes wore a far-away look, that he was staring unseeingly out over the sunny fields. She was stirred by the modulations of his voice and the sudden silence that seemed to flow about him when he finished speaking.
She noticed now that his eyes were of the same fibre as hers, with the green left out, and that his mouth was much gentler, really, than in the picture — or was it that the face had grown up to it lately? He was getting a little bald just on top of his head. She wondered if that was from wearing a hat so much. It seemed awful for a man to grow bald and no one to care about it.
“Were you — pious48 when you were young, Kieth?” she asked. “You know what I mean. Were you religious? If you don’t mind these personal questions.”
“Yes,” he said with his eyes still far away — and she felt that his intense abstraction was as much a part of his personality as his attention. “Yes, I suppose I was, when I was — sober.”
Lois thrilled slightly.
“Did you drink?”
He nodded.
“I was on the way to making a bad hash of things.” He smiled and, turning his gray eyes on her, changed the subject.
“Child, tell me about mother. I know it’s been awfully49 hard for you there, lately. I know you’ve had to sacrifice a lot and put up with a great deal and I want you to know how fine of you I think it is. I feel, Lois, that you’re sort of taking the place of both of us there.”
Lois thought quickly how little she had sacrificed; how lately she had constantly avoided her nervous, half-invalid mother.
“Youth shouldn’t be sacrificed to age, Kieth,” she said steadily50.
“I know,” he sighed, “and you oughtn’t to have the weight on your shoulders, child. I wish I were there to help you.”
She saw how quickly he had turned her remark and instantly she knew what this quality was that he gave off. He was SWEET. Her thoughts went of on a side-track and then she broke the silence with an odd remark.
“Sweetness is hard,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she denied in confusion. “I didn’t mean to speak aloud. I was thinking of something — of a conversation with a man named Freddy Kebble.”
“Maury Kebble’s brother?”
“Yes,” she said rather surprised to think of him having known Maury Kebble. Still there was nothing strange about it. “Well, he and I were talking about sweetness a few weeks ago. Oh, I don’t know — I said that a man named Howard — that a man I knew was sweet, and he didn’t agree with me, and we began talking about what sweetness in a man was: He kept telling me I meant a sort of soppy softness, but I knew I didn’t — yet I didn’t know exactly how to put it. I see now. I meant just the opposite. I suppose real sweetness is a sort of hardness — and strength.”
Kieth nodded.
“I see what you mean. I’ve known old priests who had it.”
“I’m talking about young men,” she said rather defiantly51.
They had reached the now deserted52 baseball diamond and, pointing her to a wooden bench, he sprawled53 full length on the grass.
“Are these YOUNG men happy here, Kieth?”
“Don’t they look happy, Lois?”
“I suppose so, but those YOUNG ones, those two we just passed — have they — are they ——?
“Are they signed up?” he laughed. “No, but they will be next month.”
“Permanently?”
“Yes — unless they break down mentally or physically54. Of course in a discipline like ours a lot drop out.”
“But those BOYS. Are they giving up fine chances outside — like you did?”
He nodded.
“Some of them.”
“But Kieth, they don’t know what they’re doing. They haven’t had any experience of what they’re missing.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“It doesn’t seem fair. Life has just sort of scared them at first. Do they all come in so YOUNG?”
“No, some of them have knocked around, led pretty wild lives — Regan, for instance.”
“I should think that sort would be better,” she said meditatively56, “men that had SEEN life.”
“No,” said Kieth earnestly, “I’m not sure that knocking about gives a man the sort of experience he can communicate to others. Some of the broadest men I’ve known have been absolutely rigid57 about themselves. And reformed libertines58 are a notoriously intolerant class. Don’t you thank so, Lois?”
She nodded, still meditative55, and he continued:
“It seems to me that when one weak reason goes to another, it isn’t help they want; it’s a sort of companionship in guilt59, Lois. After you were born, when mother began to get nervous she used to go and weep with a certain Mrs. Comstock. Lord, it used to make me shiver. She said it comforted her, poor old mother. No, I don’t think that to help others you’ve got to show yourself at all. Real help comes from a stronger person whom you respect. And their sympathy is all the bigger because it’s impersonal60.”
“But people want human sympathy,” objected Lois. “They want to feel the other person’s been tempted61.”
“Lois, in their hearts they want to feel that the other person’s been weak. That’s what they mean by human.
“Here in this old monkery, Lois,” he continued with a smile, “they try to get all that self-pity and pride in our own wills out of us right at the first. They put us to scrubbing floors — and other things. It’s like that idea of saving your life by losing it. You see we sort of feel that the less human a man is, in your sense of human, the better servant he can be to humanity. We carry it out to the end, too. When one of us dies his family can’t even have him then. He’s buried here under plain wooden cross with a thousand others.”
His tone changed suddenly and he looked at her with a great brightness in his gray eyes.
“But way back in a man’s heart there are some things he can’t get rid of — an one of them is that I’m awfully in love with my little sister.”
With a sudden impulse she knelt beside him in the grass and, Leaning over, kissed his forehead.
“You’re hard, Kieth,” she said, “and I love you for it — and you’re sweet.”
收听单词发音 |
1
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
scattering
|
|
| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
clumps
|
|
| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
hems
|
|
| 布的褶边，贴边( hem的名词复数 )； 短促的咳嗽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
opaque
|
|
| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
technically
|
|
| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
novices
|
|
| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
ripples
|
|
| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
breach
|
|
| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
furtively
|
|
| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
jauntily
|
|
| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
glorified
|
|
| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
haven
|
|
| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
breakdown
|
|
| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vibrant
|
|
| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
enveloping
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
jovial
|
|
| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
pneumonia
|
|
| n.肺炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
analyzing
|
|
| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
analyzed
|
|
| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
defiantly
|
|
| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
sprawled
|
|
| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
meditative
|
|
| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
meditatively
|
|
| adv.冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
libertines
|
|
| n.放荡不羁的人，淫荡的人( libertine的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
guilt
|
|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |