They were married. The wedding march pealed3 out. The pigeons fluttered. Small boys in Eton jackets threw rice; a fox terrier sauntered across the path; and Ernest Thorburn led his bride to the car through that small inquisitive4 crowd of complete strangers which always collects in London to enjoy other people’s happiness or unhappiness. Certainly he looked handsome and she looked shy. More rice was thrown, and the car moved off.
That was on Tuesday. Now it was Saturday. Rosalind had still to get used to the fact that she was Mrs. Ernest Thorburn. Perhaps she never would get used to the fact that she was Mrs. Ernest Anybody, she thought, as she sat in the bow window of the hotel looking over the lake to the mountains, and waited for her husband to come down to breakfast. Ernest was a difficult name to get used to. It was not the name she would have chosen. She would have preferred Timothy, Antony, or Peter. He did not look like Ernest either. The name suggested the Albert Memorial, mahogany sideboards, steel engravings of the Prince Consort5 with his family — her mother-in-law’s dining-room in Porchester Terrace in short.
But here he was. Thank goodness he did not look like Ernest — no. But what did he look like? She glanced at him sideways. Well, when he was eating toast he looked like a rabbit. Not that anyone else would have seen a likeness6 to a creature so diminutive7 and timid in this spruce, muscular young man with the straight nose, the blue eyes, and the very firm mouth. But that made it all the more amusing. His nose twitched8 very slightly when he ate. So did her pet rabbit’s. She kept watching his nose twitch9; and then she had to explain, when he caught her looking at him, why she laughed.
“It’s because you’re like a rabbit, Ernest,” she said. “Like a wild rabbit,” she added, looking at him. “A hunting rabbit; a King Rabbit; a rabbit that makes laws for all the other rabbits.”
Ernest had no objection to being that kind of rabbit, and since it amused her to see him twitch his nose — he had never known that his nose twitched — he twitched it on purpose. And she laughed and laughed; and he laughed too, so that the maiden10 ladies and the fishing man and the Swiss waiter in his greasy11 black jacket all guessed right; they were very happy. But how long does such happiness last? they asked themselves; and each answered according to his own circumstances.
At lunch time, seated on a clump12 of heather beside the lake, “Lettuce13, rabbit?” said Rosalind, holding out the lettuce that had been provided to eat with the hardboiled eggs. “Come and take it out of my hand,” she added, and he stretched out and nibbled14 the lettuce and twitched his nose.
“Good rabbit, nice rabbit,” she said, patting him, as she used to pat her tame rabbit at home. But that was absurd. He was not a tame rabbit, whatever he was. She turned it into French. “Lapin,” she called him. But whatever he was, he was not a French rabbit. He was simply and solely15 English-born at Porchester Terrace, educated at Rugby; now a clerk in His Majesty’s Civil Service. So she tried “Bunny” next; but that was worse. “Bunny” was someone plump and soft and comic; he was thin and hard and serious. Still, his nose twitched. “Lappin,” she exclaimed suddenly; and gave a little cry as if she had found the very word she looked for.
“Lappin, Lappin, King Lappin,” she repeated. It seemed to suit him exactly; he was not Ernest, he was King Lappin. Why? She did not know.
When there was nothing new to talk about on their long solitary16 walks — and it rained, as everyone had warned them that it would rain; or when they were sitting over the fire in the evening, for it was cold, and the maiden ladies had gone and the fishing man, and the waiter only came if you rang the bell for him, she let her fancy play with the story of the Lappin tribe. Under her hands — she was sewing; he was readingthey became very real, very vivid, very amusing. Ernest put down the paper and helped her. There were the black rabbits and the red; there were the enemy rabbits and the friendly. There were the wood in which they lived and the outlying prairies and the swamp. Above all there was King Lappin, who, far from having only the one trick — that he twitched his nose — became as the days passed an animal of the greatest character; Rosalind was always finding new qualities in him. But above all he was a great hunter.
“And what,” said Rosalind, on the last day of the honeymoon17, “did the King do to-day?”
In fact they had been climbing all day; and she had worn a blister18 on her heel; but she did not mean that.
“To-day,” said Ernest, twitching19 his nose as he bit the end off his cigar, “he chased a hare.” He paused; struck a match, and twitched again.
“A woman hare,” he added.
“A white hare!” Rosalind exclaimed, as if she had been expecting this. “Rather a small hare; silver grey; with big bright eyes?”
“Yes,” said Ernest, looking at her as she had looked at him, “a smallish animal; with eyes popping out of her head, and two little front paws dangling20.” It was exactly how she sat, with her sewing dangling in her hands; and her eyes, that were so big and bright, were certainly a little prominent.
“Ah, Lapinova,” Rosalind murmured.
“Is that what she’s called?” said Ernest —“the real Rosalind?” He looked at her. He felt very much in love with her.
“Yes; that’s what she’s called,” said Rosalind. “Lapinova.” And before they went to bed that night it was all settled. He was King Lappin; she was Queen Lapinova. They were the opposite of each other; he was bold and determined21; she wary22 and undependable. He ruled over the busy world of rabbits; her world was a desolate23, mysterious place, which she ranged mostly by moonlight. All the same, their territories touched; they were King and Queen.
Thus when they came back from their honeymoon they possessed24 a private world, inhabited, save for the one white hare, entirely25 by rabbits. No one guessed that there was such a place, and that of course made it all the more amusing. It made them feel, more even than most young married couples, in league together against the rest of the world. Often they looked slyly at each other when people talked about rabbits and woods and traps and shooting. Or they winked26 furtively27 across the table when Aunt Mary said that she could never bear to see a hare in a dish — it looked so like a baby: or when John, Ernest’s sporting brother, told them what price rabbits were fetching that autumn in Wiltshire, skins and all. Sometimes when they wanted a gamekeeper, or a poacher or a Lord of the Manor29, they amused themselves by distributing the parts among their friends. Ernest’s mother, Mrs. Reginald Thorburn, for example, fitted the part of the Squire30 to perfection. But it was all secret — that was the point of it; nobody save themselves knew that such a world existed.
Without that world, how, Rosalind wondered, that winter could she have lived at all? For instance, there was the golden-wedding party, when all the Thorburns assembled at Porchester Terrace to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of that union which had been so blessed — had it not produced Ernest Thorburn? and so fruitful — had it not produced nine other sons and daughters into the bargain, many themselves married and also fruitful? She dreaded31 that party. But it was inevitable32. As she walked upstairs she felt bitterly that she was an only child and an orphan33 at that; a mere34 drop among all those Thorburns assembled in the great drawing-room with the shiny satin wallpaper and the lustrous35 family portraits. The living Thorburns much resembled the painted; save that instead of painted lips they had real lips; out of which came jokes; jokes about schoolrooms, and how they had pulled the chair from under the governess; jokes about frogs and how they had put them between the virgin36 sheets of maiden ladies. As for herself, she had never even made an apple-pie bed. Holding her present in her hand she advanced toward her mother-in-law sumptuous37 in yellow satin; and toward her father-in-law decorated with a rich yellow carnation38. All round them on tables and chairs there were golden tributes, some nestling in cotton wool; others branching resplendent — candlesticks; cigar boxes; chains; each stamped with the goldsmith’s proof that it was solid gold, hall-marked, authentic39. But her present was only a little pinchbeck box pierced with holes; an old sand caster, an eighteenth-century relic40, once used to sprinkle sand over wet ink. Rather a senseless present she felt — in an age of blotting41 paper; and as she proffered42 it, she saw in front of her the stubby black handwriting in which her mother-in-law when they were engaged had expressed the hope that “My son will make you happy.” No, she was not happy. Not at all happy. She looked at Ernest, straight as a ramrod with a nose like all the noses in the family portraits; a nose that never twitched at all.
Then they went down to dinner. She was half hidden by the great chrysanthemums43 that curled their red and gold petals44 into large tight balls. Everything was gold. A gold-edged card with gold initials intertwined recited the list of all the dishes that would be set one after another before them. She dipped her spoon in a plate of clear golden fluid. The raw white fog outside had been turned by the lamps into a golden mesh45 that blurred46 the edges of the plates and gave the pineapples a rough golden skin. Only she herself in her white wedding dress peering ahead of her with her prominent eyes seemed insoluble as an icicle.
As the dinner wore on, however, the room grew steamy with heat. Beads47 of perspiration48 stood out on the men’s foreheads. She felt that her icicle was being turned to water. She was being melted; dispersed49; dissolved into nothingness; and would soon faint. Then through the surge in her head and the din1 in her ears she heard a woman’s voice exclaim, “But they breed so!”
The Thorburns-yes; they breed so, she echoed; looking at all the round red faces that seemed doubled in the giddiness that overcame her; and magnified in the gold mist that enhaloed them. “They breed so.” Then John bawled50:
“Little devils! . . . Shoot ’em! Jump on ’em with big boots! That’s the only way to deal with ’em . . . rabbits!”
At that word, that magic word, she revived. Peeping between the chrysanthemums she saw Ernest’s nose twitch. It rippled51, it ran with successive twitches52. And at that a mysterious catastrophe53 befell the Thorburns. The golden table became a moor54 with the gorse in full bloom; the din of voices turned to one peal2 of lark’s laughter ringing down from the sky. It was a blue sky — clouds passed slowly. And they had all been changed — the Thorburns. She looked at her father-in-law, a furtive28 little man with dyed moustaches. His foible was collecting things — seals, enamel55 boxes, trifles from eighteenth-century dressing56 tables which he hid in the drawers of his study from his wife. Now she saw him as he was — a poacher, stealing off with his coat bulging57 with pheasants and partridges to drop them stealthily into a three-legged pot in his smoky little cottage. That was her real father-in-law — a poacher. And Celia, the unmarried daughter, who always nosed out other people’s secrets, the little things they wished to hide — she was a white ferret with pink eyes, and a nose clotted58 with earth from her horrid59 underground nosings and pokings. Slung60 round men’s shoulders, in a net, and thrust down a hole — it was a pitiable life — Celia’s; it was none of her fault. So she saw Celia. And then she looked at her mother-in-law — whom they dubbed61 The Squire. Flushed, coarse, a bully62 — she was all that, as she stood returning thanks, but now that Rosalind — that is Lapinova — saw her, she saw behind her the decayed family mansion63, the plaster peeling off the walls, and heard her, with a sob64 in her voice, giving thanks to her children (who hated her) for a world that had ceased to exist. There was a sudden silence. They all stood with their glasses raised; they all drank; then it was over.
“Oh, King Lappin!” she cried as they went home together in the fog, “if your nose hadn’t twitched just at that moment, I should have been trapped!”
“But you’re safe,” said King Lappin, pressing her paw.
“Quite safe,” she answered.
And they drove back through the Park, King and Queen of the marsh65, of the mist, and of the gorse-scented moor.
Thus time passed; one year; two years of time. And on a winter’s night, which happened by a coincidence to be the anniversary of the golden-wedding party — but Mrs. Reginald Thorburn was dead; the house was to let; and there was only a caretaker in residence — Ernest came home from the office. They had a nice little home; half a house above a saddler’s shop in South Kensington, not far from the tube station. It was cold, with fog in the air, and Rosalind was sitting over the fire, sewing.
“What d’you think happened to me to-day?” she began as soon as he had settled himself down with his legs stretched to the blaze. “I was crossing the stream when ——”
“What stream?” Ernest interrupted her.
“The stream at the bottom, where our wood meets the black wood,” she explained.
Ernest looked completely blank for a moment.
“What the deuce are you talking about?” he asked.
“My dear Ernest!” she cried in dismay. “King Lappin,” she added, dangling her little front paws in the firelight. But his nose did not twitch. Her hands — they turned to hands — clutched the stuff she was holding; her eyes popped half out of her head. It took him five minutes at least to change from Ernest Thorburn to King Lappin; and while she waited she felt a load on the back of her neck, as if somebody were about to wring66 it. At last he changed to King Lappin; his nose twitched; and they spent the evening roaming the woods much as usual.
But she slept badly. In the middle of the night she woke, feeling as if something strange had happened to her. She was stiff and cold. At last she turned on the light and looked at Ernest lying beside her. He was sound asleep. He snored. But even though he snored, his nose remained perfectly67 still. It looked as if it had never twitched at all. Was it possible that he was really Ernest; and that she was really married to Ernest? A vision of her mother-in-law’s dining-room came before her; and there they sat, she and Ernest, grown old, under the engravings, in front of the sideboard. . . . It was their golden-wedding day. She could not bear it.
“Lappin, King Lappin!” she whispered, and for a moment his nose seemed to twitch of its own accord. But he still slept. “Wake up, Lappin, wake up!” she cried.
Ernest woke; and seeing her sitting bolt upright beside him he asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“I thought my rabbit was dead!” she whimpered. Ernest was angry.
“Don’t talk such rubbish, Rosalind,” he said. “Lie down and go to sleep.”
He turned over. In another moment he was sound asleep and snoring.
But she could not sleep. She lay curled up on her side of the bed, like a hare in its form. She had turned out the light, but the street lamp lit the ceiling faintly, and the trees outside made a lacy network over it as if there were a shadowy grove68 on the ceiling in which she wandered, turning, twisting, in and out, round and round, hunting, being hunted, hearing the bay of hounds and horns; flying, escaping . . . until the maid drew the blinds and brought their early tea.
Next day she could settle to nothing. She seemed to have lost something. She felt as if her body had shrunk; it had grown small, and black and hard. Her joints69 seemed stiff too, and when she looked in the glass, which she did several times as she wandered about the flat, her eyes seemed to burst out of her head, like currants in a bun. The rooms also seemed to have shrunk. Large pieces of furniture jutted70 out at odd angles and she found herself knocking against them. At last she put on her hat and went out. She walked along the Cromwell Road; and every room she passed and peered into seemed to be a dining-room where people sat eating under steel engravings, with thick yellow lace curtains, and mahogany sideboards. At last she reached the Natural History Museum; she used to like it when she was a child. But the first thing she saw when she went in was a stuffed hare standing71 on sham72 snow with pink glass eyes. Somehow it made her shiver all over. Perhaps it would be better when dusk fell. She went home and sat over the fire, without a light, and tried to imagine that she was out alone on a moor; and there was a stream rushing; and beyond the stream a dark wood. But she could get no further than the stream. At last she squatted73 down on the bank on the wet grass, and sat crouched74 in her chair, with her hands dangling empty, and her eyes glazed75, like glass eyes, in the firelight. Then there was the crack of a gun. . . . She started as if she had been shot. It was only Ernest, turning his key in the door. She waited, trembling. He came in and switched on the light. There he stood, tall, handsome, rubbing his hands that were red with cold.
“Sitting in the dark?” he said.
“Oh, Ernest, Ernest!” she cried, starting up in her chair.
“Well, what’s up now?” he asked briskly, warming his hands at the fire.
“It’s Lapinova . . . ” she faltered76, glancing wildly at him out of her great startled eyes. “She’s gone, Ernest. I’ve lost her!”
Ernest frowned. He pressed his lips tight together. “Oh, that’s what’s up, is it?” he said, smiling rather grimly at his wife. For ten seconds he stood there, silent; and she waited, feeling hands tightening77 at the back of her neck.
“Yes,” he said at length. “Poor Lapinova . . . ” He straightened his tie at the looking-glass over the mantelpiece.
“Caught in a trap,” he said, “killed,” and sat down and read the newspaper.
So that was the end of that marriage.
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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blister
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| n.水疱；(油漆等的)气泡；v.(使)起泡 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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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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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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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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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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twitches
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| n.（使）抽动， （使）颤动， （使）抽搐( twitch的名词复数 ) | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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60
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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61
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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62
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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63
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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64
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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65
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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66
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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69
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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70
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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71
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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73
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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74
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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76
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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77
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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