She got in and put her suit case in the rack, and the brace1 of pheasants on top of it. Then she sat down in the corner. The train was rattling2 through the midlands, and the fog, which came in when she opened the door, seemed to enlarge the carriage and set the four travellers apart. Obviously M. M. — those were the initials on the suit case — had been staying the week-end with a shooting party. Obviously, for she was telling over the story now, lying back in her corner. She did not shut her eyes. But clearly she did not see the man opposite, nor the coloured photograph of York Minster. She must have heard, too, what they had been saying. For as she gazed, her lips moved; now and then she smiled. And she was handsome; a cabbage rose; a russet apple; tawny3; but scarred on the jaw4 — the scar lengthened5 when she smiled. Since she was telling over the story she must have been a guest there, and yet, dressed as she was out of fashion as women dressed, years ago, in pictures, in sporting newspapers, she did not seem exactly a guest, nor yet a maid. Had she had a basket with her she would have been the woman who breeds fox terriers; the owner of the Siamese cat; some one connected with hounds and horses. But she had only a suit case and the pheasants. Somehow, therefore, she must have wormed her way into the room that she was seeing through the stuffing of the carriage, and the man’s bald head, and the picture of York Minster. And she must have listened to what they were saying, for now, like somebody imitating the noise that someone else makes, she made a little click at the back of her throat. “Chk.” Then she smiled.
“Chk,” said Miss Antonia, pinching her glasses on her nose. The damp leaves fell across the long windows of the gallery; one or two stuck, fish shaped, and lay like inlaid brown wood upon the window panes7. Then the trees in the Park shivered, and the leaves, flaunting8 down, seemed to make the shiver visible — the damp brown shiver.
“Chk.” Miss Antonia sniffed9 again, and pecked at the flimsy white stuff that she held in her hands, as a hen pecks nervously10 rapidly at a piece of white bread.
The wind sighed. The room was draughty. The doors did not fit, nor the windows. Now and then a ripple11, like a reptile12, ran under the carpet. On the carpet lay panels of green and yellow, where the sun rested, and then the sun moved and pointed13 a finger as if in mockery at a hole in the carpet and stopped. And then on it went, the sun’s feeble but impartial14 finger, and lay upon the coat of arms over the fireplace — gently illumined — the shield, the pendant grapes, the mermaid15, and the spears. Miss Antonia looked up as the light strengthened. Vast lands, so they said, the old people had owned — her forefathers16 — the Rashleighs. Over there. Up the Amazons. Freebooter. Voyagers. Sacks of emeralds. Nosing round the island. Taking captives. Maidens17. There she was, all scales from the tail to the waist. Miss Antonia grinned. Down struck the finger of the sun and her eye went with it. Now it rested on a silver frame; on a photograph; on an egg-shaped baldish head, on a lip that stuck out under the moustache; and the name “Edward” written with a flourish beneath.
“The King . . . ” Miss Antonia muttered, turning the film of white upon her knee —“had the Blue Room,” she added with a toss of her head as the light faded.
Out in the King’s Ride the pheasants were being driven across the noses of the guns. Up they spurted18 from the underwood like heavy rockets, reddish purple rockets, and as they rose the guns cracked in order, eagerly, sharply, as if a line of dogs had suddenly barked. Tufts of white smoke held together for a moment; then gently solved themselves, faded, and dispersed19.
In the deep cut road beneath the hanger20, a cart stood, laid already with soft warm bodies, with limp claws, and still lustrous21 eyes. The birds seemed alive still, but swooning under their rich damp feathers. They looked relaxed and comfortable, stirring slightly, as if they slept upon a warm bank of soft feathers on the floor of the cart.
Then the Squire22, with the hang-dog stained face, in the shabby gaiters, cursed and raised his gun.
Miss Antonia stitched on. Now and then a tongue of flame reached round the grey log that stretched from one bar to another across the grate, ate it greedily, then died out, leaving a white bracelet23 where the bark had been eaten off. Miss Antonia looked up for a moment, stared wide eyed, instinctively24, as a dog stares at a flame. Then the flame sank and she stitched again.
Then, silently, the enormously high door opened. Two lean men came in, and drew a table over the hole in the carpet. They went out; they came in. They laid a cloth upon the table. They went out; they came in. They brought a green baize basket of knives and forks; and glasses; and sugar casters; and salt cellars; and bread; and a silver vase with three chrysanthemums25 in it. And the table was laid. Miss Antonia stitched on.
Again the door opened, pushed feebly this time. A little dog trotted26 in, a spaniel nosing nimbly; it paused. The door stood open. And then, leaning on her stick, heavily, old Miss Rashleigh entered. A white shawl, diamond fastened, clouded her baldness. She hobbled; crossed the room; hunched27 herself in the high-backed chair by the fireside. Miss Antonia went on stitching.
“Shooting,” she said at last.
Old Miss Rashleigh nodded. She gripped her stick. They sat waiting.
The shooters had moved now from the King’s Ride to the Home Woods. They stood in the purple ploughed field outside. Now and then a twig28 snapped; leaves came whirling. But above the mist and the smoke was an island of blue — faint blue, pure blue — alone in the sky. And in the innocent air, as if straying alone like a cherub29, a bell from a far hidden steeple frolicked, gambolled30, then faded. Then again up shot the rockets, the reddish purple pheasants. Up and up they went. Again the guns barked; the smoke balls formed; loosened, dispersed. And the busy little dogs ran nosing nimbly over the fields; and the warm damp bodies, still languid and soft, as if in a swoon, were bunched together by the men in gaiters and flung into the cart.
“There!” grunted31 Milly Masters, the house-keeper, throwing down her glasses. She was stitching, too, in the small dark room that overlooked the stable yard. The jersey32, the rough woollen jersey, for her son, the boy who cleaned the Church, was finished. “The end ’o that!” she muttered. Then she heard the cart. Wheels ground on the cobbles. Up she got. With her hands to her hair, her chestnut33 coloured hair, she stood in the yard, in the wind.
“Coming!” she laughed, and the scar on her cheek lengthened. She unbolted the door of the game room as Wing, the keeper, drove the cart over the cobbles. The birds were dead now, their claws gripped tight, though they gripped nothing. The leathery eyelids34 were creased35 greyly over their eyes. Mrs. Masters the housekeeper36, Wing the gamekeeper, took bunches of dead birds by the neck and flung them down on the slate37 floor of the game larder38. The slate floor became smeared39 and spotted40 with blood. The pheasants looked smaller now, as if their bodies had shrunk together. Then Wing lifted the tail of the cart and drove in the pins which secured it. The sides of the cart were stuck about with little grey-blue feathers, and the floor was smeared and stained with blood. But it was empty.
“The last of the lot!” Milly Masters grinned as the cart drove off.
“Luncheon is served, ma’am,” said the butler. He pointed at the table; he directed the footman. The dish with the silver cover was placed precisely41 there where he pointed. They waited, the butler and the footman.
Miss Antonia laid her white film upon the basket; put away her silk; her thimble; stuck her needle through a piece of flannel42; and hung her glasses on a hook upon her breast. Then she rose.
“Luncheon!” she barked in old Miss Rashleigh’s ear. One second later old Miss Rashleigh stretched her leg out; gripped her stick; and rose too. Both old women advanced slowly to the table; and were tucked in by the butler and the footman, one at this end, one at that. Off came the silver cover. And there was the pheasant, featherless, gleaming; the thighs43 tightly pressed to its side; and little mounds44 of breadcrumbs were heaped at either end.
Miss Antonia drew the carving45 knife across the pheasant’s breast firmly. She cut two slices and laid them on a plate. Deftly46 the footman whipped it from her, and old Miss Rashleigh raised her knife. Shots rang out in the wood under the window.
“Coming?” said old Miss Rashleigh, suspending her fork.
The branches flung and flaunted47 on the trees in the Park.
She took a mouthful of pheasant. Falling leaves flicked48 the window pane6; one or two stuck to the glass.
“The Home Woods, now,” said Miss Antonia. “Hugh’s lost that.” “Shooting.” She drew her knife down the other side of the breast. She added potatoes and gravy49, brussel sprouts50 and bread sauce methodically in a circle round the slices on her plate. The butler and the footman stood watching, like servers at a feast. The old ladies ate quietly; silently; nor did they hurry themselves; methodically they cleaned the bird. Bones only were left on their plates. Then the butler drew the decanter towards Miss Antonia, and paused for a moment with his head bent51.
“Give it here, Griffiths,” said Miss Antonia, and took the carcase in her fingers and tossed it to the spaniel beneath the table. The butler and the footman bowed and went out.
“Coming closer,” said Miss Rashleigh, listening. The wind was rising. A brown shudder52 shook the air; leaves flew too fast to stick. The glass rattled53 in the windows.
“Birds wild,” Miss Antonia nodded, watching the helter-skelter.
Old Miss Rashleigh filled her glass. As they sipped54 their eyes became lustrous like half precious stones held to the light. Slate blue were Miss Rashleigh’s; Miss Antonia’s red, like port. And their laces and their flounces seemed to quiver, as if their bodies were warm and languid underneath55 their feathers as they drank.
“It was a day like this, d’you remember?” said old Miss Rashleigh, fingering her glass. “They brought him home — a bullet through his heart. A bramble, so they said. Tripped. Caught his foot. . . . ” She chuckled56 as she sipped her wine.
“And John . . . ” said Miss Antonia. “The mare57, they said, put her foot in a hole. Died in the field. The hunt rode over him. He came home, too, on a shutter58 . . . They sipped again.
“Remember Lily?” said old Miss Rashleigh. “A bad ’un.” She shook her head. “Riding with a scarlet59 tassel60 on her cane61 . . . .”
“Rotten at the heart!” cried Miss Antonia.
“Remember the Colonel’s letter. Your son rode as if he had twenty devils in him — charged at the head of his men. Then one white devil — ah hah!” She sipped again.
“The men of our house,” began Miss Rashleigh. She raised her glass. She held it high, as if she toasted the mermaid carved in plaster on the fireplace. She paused. The guns were barking. Something cracked in the woodwork. Or was it a rat running behind the plaster?
“Always women . . . ” Miss Antonia nodded. “The men of our house. Pink and white Lucy at the Mill — d’you remember?”
“Ellen’s daughter at the Goat and Sickle,” Miss Rashleigh added.
“And the girl at the tailor’s,” Miss Antonia murmured, “where Hugh bought his riding breeches, the little dark shop on the right . . . ”
“ . . . that used to be flooded every winter. It’s his boy,” Miss Antonia chuckled, leaning towards her sister, “that cleans the Church.”
There was a crash. A slate had fallen down the chimney. The great log had snapped in two. Flakes63 of plaster fell from the shield above the fireplace.
“Falling,” old Miss Rashleigh chuckled. “Falling.”
“And who,” said Miss Antonia, looking at the flakes on the carpet, “who’s to pay?”
Crowing like old babies, indifferent, reckless, they laughed; crossed to the fireplace, and sipped the sherry by the wood ashes and the plaster, until each glass held only one drop of wine, reddish purple, at the bottom. And this the old women did not wish to part with, so it seemed; for they fingered their glasses, as they sat side by side by the ashes; but they never raised them to their lips.
“Milly Masters in the still room,” began old Miss Rashleigh. “She’s our brother’s . . . ”
A shot barked beneath the window. It cut the string that held the rain. Down it poured, down, down, down, in straight rods whipping the windows. Light faded from the carpet. Light faded in their eyes, too, as they sat by the white ashes listening. Their eyes became like pebbles64, taken from water; grey stones dulled and dried. And their hands gripped their hands like the claws of dead birds gripping nothing. And they shrivelled as if the bodies inside the clothes had shrunk.
Then Miss Antonia raised her glass to the mermaid. It was the last drop; she drank it off. “Coming!” she croaked65, and slapped the glass down. A door banged below. Then another. Then another. Feet could be heard trampling66, yet shuffling67, along the corridor towards the gallery.
“Closer! Closer!” grinned Miss Rashleigh, baring her three yellow teeth.
The immensely high door burst open. In rushed three great hounds and stood panting. Then there entered, slouching, the Squire himself in shabby gaiters. The dogs pressed round him, tossing their heads, snuffling at his pockets. Then they bounded forward. They smelt68 the meat. The floor of the gallery waved like a windlashed forest with the tails and backs of the great questing hounds. They snuffed the table. They pawed the cloth. Then, with a wild neighing whimper, they flung themselves upon the little yellow spaniel who was gnawing71 the carcass under the table.
“Curse you, curse you!” howled the Squire. But his voice was weak, as if he shouted against a wind. “Curse you, curse you!” he shouted, now cursing his sisters.
Miss Antonia and Miss Rashleigh rose to their feet. The great dogs had seized the spaniel. They worried him, they mauled him with their great yellow teeth. The Squire swung a leather knotted tawse this way and that way, cursing the dogs, cursing his sisters, in the voice that sounded so loud yet so weak. With one lash69 he curled to the ground the vase of chrysanthemums. Another caught old Miss Rashleigh on the cheek. The old woman staggered backwards72. She fell against the mantelpiece. Her stick, striking wildly, struck the shield above the fireplace. She fell with a thud upon the ashes. The shield of the Rashleighs crashed from the wall. Under the mermaid, under the spears, she lay buried.
The wind lashed70 the panes of glass; shots volleyed in the Park and a tree fell. And then King Edward, in the silver frame, slid, toppled, and fell too.
The grey mist had thickened in the carriage. It hung down like a veil; it seemed to put the four travellers in the corners at a great distance from each other, though in fact they were as close as a third class railway carriage could bring them. The effect was strange. The handsome, if elderly, the well dressed, if rather shabby woman, who had got into the train at some station in the midlands, seemed to have lost her shape. Her body had become all mist. Only her eyes gleamed, changed, lived all by themselves, it seemed; eyes without a body; eyes seeing something invisible. In the misty73 air they shone out, they moved, so that in the sepulchral74 atmosphere — the windows were blurred75, the lamps haloed with fog — they were like lights dancing, will o’ the wisps that move, people say, over the graves of unquiet sleepers76 in churchyards. An absurd idea? Mere77 fancy! Yet after all, since there is nothing that does not leave some residue78, and memory is a light that dances in the mind when the reality is buried, why should not the eyes there, gleaming, moving, be the ghost of a family, of an age, of a civilization dancing over the grave?
The train slowed down. Lamps stood up. They were felled. Up they stood again as the train slid into the station. The lights blazed. And the eyes in the corner? They were shut. Perhaps the light was too strong. And of course in the full blaze of the station lamps it was plain — she was quite an ordinary, rather elderly, woman, travelling to London on some ordinary piece of business — something connected with a cat, or a horse, or a dog. She reached for her suit case, rose, and took the pheasants from the rack. But did she, all the same, as she opened the carriage door and stepped out, murmur62 “Chk., Chk.” as she passed?
收听单词发音 |
1
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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hanger
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| n.吊架，吊轴承；挂钩 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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sprouts
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| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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58
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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59
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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60
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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61
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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62
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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63
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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64
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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65
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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66
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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67
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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68
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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69
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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70
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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71
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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72
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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73
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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74
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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75
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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76
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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77
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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78
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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