Seven o’clock in the evening. We shall not go down into Nagasaki tonight; but, like good Japanese citizens, remain in our lofty suburb.
In undress uniform we shall go, Yves and I, in a neighborly way, as far as the fencing-gallery, which is only two steps away, just above our villa1, and almost abutting2 on our fresh and scented3 garden.
The gallery is closed already, and a little mousko, seated at the door, explains, with many low bows, that we come too late, all the amateurs are gone; we must come again tomorrow.
The evening is so mild and fine that we remain out of doors, following, without any definite purpose, the pathway which rises ever higher and higher, and loses itself at length in the solitary4 regions of the mountain among the upper peaks.
For an hour at least we wander on — an unintended walk — and finally find ourselves at a great height commanding an endless perspective lighted by the last gleams of daylight; we are in a desolate5 and mournful spot, in the midst of the little Buddhist6 cemeteries7, which are scattered8 over the country in every direction.
We meet a few belated laborers9, who are returning from the fields with bundles of tea upon their shoulders. These peasants have a half-savage air. They are half naked, too, or clothed only in long robes of blue cotton; as they pass, they salute10 us with humble11 bows.
No trees in this elevated region. Fields of tea alternate with tombs: old granite12 statues which represent Buddha13 in his lotus, or else old monumental stones on which gleam remains14 of inscriptions15 in golden letters. Rocks, brushwood, uncultivated spaces, surround us on all sides.
We meet no more passers-by, and the light is failing. We will halt for a moment, and then it will be time to turn our steps homeward.
But, close to the spot where we stand, a box of white wood provided with handles, a sort of sedan-chair, rests on the freshly disturbed earth, with its lotus of silvered paper, and the little incense-sticks, burning yet, by its side; clearly some one has been buried here this very evening.
I can not picture this personage to myself; the Japanese are so grotesque16 in life that it is almost impossible to imagine them in the calm majesty17 of death. Nevertheless, let us move farther on, we might disturb him; he is too recently dead, his presence unnerves us. We will go and seat ourselves on one of these other tombs, so unutterably ancient that there can no longer be anything within it but dust. And there, seated in the dying sunlight, while the valleys and plains of the earth below are already lost in shadow, we will talk together.
I wish to speak to Yves about Chrysanthème; it is indeed somewhat in view of this that I have persuaded him to sit down; but how to set about it without hurting his feelings, and without making myself ridiculous, I hardly know. However, the pure air playing round me up here, and the magnificent landscape spread beneath my feet, impart a certain serenity18 to my thoughts which makes me feel a contemptuous pity, both for my suspicions and the cause of them.
We speak, first of all, of the order for departure, which may arrive at any moment, for China or for France. Soon we shall have to leave this easy and almost amusing life, this Japanese suburb where chance has installed us, and our little house buried among flowers. Yves perhaps will regret all this more than I. I know that well enough; for it is the first time that any such interlude has broken the rude monotony of his hard-worked career. Formerly19, when in an inferior rank, he was hardly more often on shore, in foreign countries, than the sea-gulls themselves; while I, from the very beginning, have been spoiled by residence in all sorts of charming spots, infinitely20 superior to this, in all sorts of countries, and the remembrance still haunts me pleasurably.
In order to discover how the land lies, I risk the remark:
“You will perhaps be more sorry to leave little Chrysanthème than I.”
Silence reigns21 between us.
After which I go on, and, burning my ships, I add:
“You know, after all, if you have such a fancy for her, I haven’t really married her; one can’t really consider her my wife.”
In great surprise he looks in my face.
“Not your wife, you say? But, by Jove, though, that’s just it; she is your wife.”
There is no need of many words at any time between us two; I know exactly now, by his tone, by his great good-humored smile, how the case stands; I understand all that lies in the little phrase: “That’s just it, she is your wife.” If she were not, well, then, he could not answer for what might happen — notwithstanding any remorse22 he might have in the depths of his heart, since he is no longer a bachelor and free as air, as in former days. But he considers her my wife, and she is sacred. I have the fullest faith in his word, and I experience a positive relief, a real joy, at finding my stanch23 Yves of bygone days. How could I have so succumbed24 to the demeaning influence of my surroundings as to suspect him even, and to invent for myself such a mean, petty anxiety?
We never shall even mention that doll again.
We remain up there very late, talking of other things, gazing at the immense depths below, at the valleys and mountains as they become, one by one, indistinct and lost in the deepening darkness. Placed as we are at an enormous height, in the wide, free atmosphere, we seem already to have quitted this miniature country, already to be freed from the impression of littleness which it has given us, and from the little links by which it was beginning to bind25 — us to itself.
Seen from such heights as these, all the countries of the globe bear a strong resemblance to one another; they lose the imprint26 made upon them by man, and by races; by all the atoms swarming27 on the surface.
As of old, in the Breton marshes28, in the woods of Toulven, or at sea in the night-watches, we talk of all those things to which thoughts naturally revert29 in darkness; of ghosts, of spirits, of eternity30, of the great hereafter, of chaos31 — and we entirely32 forget little Chrysanthème!
When we arrive at Diou-djen-dji in the starry33 night, the music of her ‘chamecen’, heard from afar, recalls to us her existence; she is studying some vocal34 duet with Mademoiselle Oyouki, her pupil.
I feel myself in very good humor this evening, and, relieved from my absurd suspicions about my poor Yves, am quite disposed to enjoy without reserve my last days in Japan, and to derive35 therefrom all the amusement possible.
Let us then repose36 ourselves on the dazzling white mats, and listen to the singular duet sung by those two mousmes: a strange musical medley37, slow and mournful, beginning with two or three high notes, and descending38 at each couplet, in an almost imperceptible manner, into actual solemnity. The song keeps its dragging slowness; but the accompaniment, becoming more and more accentuated39, is like the impetuous sound of a far-off hurricane. At the end, when these girlish voices, usually so soft, give out their hoarse40 and guttural notes, Chrysanthème’s hands fly wildly and convulsively over the quivering strings41. Both of them lower their heads, pout42 their underlips in the effort to bring out these astonishingly deep notes. And at these moments their little narrow eyes open, and seem to reveal an unexpected something, almost a soul, under these trappings of marionettes.
But it is a soul which more than ever appears to me of a different species from my own; I feel my thoughts to be as far removed from theirs as from the flitting conceptions of a bird, or the dreams of a monkey; I feel there is between them and myself a great gulf43, mysterious and awful.
Other sounds of music, wafted44 to us from the distance, interrupt for a moment those of our mousmes. From the depths below, in Nagasaki, arises a sudden noise of gongs and guitars; we rush to the balcony of the veranda45 to hear it better.
It is a ‘matsouri’, a fete, a procession passing through the quarter which is not so virtuous46 as our own, so our mousmes tell us, with a disdainful toss of the head. Nevertheless, from the heights on which we dwell, seen thus in a bird’s-eye view, by the uncertain light of the stars, this district has a singularly chaste47 air, and the concert going on therein, purified in its ascent48 from the depths of the abyss to our lofty altitudes, reaches us confusedly, a smothered49, enchanted50, enchanting51 sound.
Then it diminishes, and dies away into silence.
The two little friends return to their seats on the mats, and once more take up their melancholy52 duet. An orchestra, discreetly53 subdued54 but innumerable, of crickets and cicalas, accompanies them in an unceasing tremolo — the immense, far-reaching tremolo, which, gentle and eternal, never ceases in Japan.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
abutting
|
|
| adj.邻接的v.（与…）邻接( abut的现在分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
Buddhist
|
|
| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
cemeteries
|
|
| n.（非教堂的）墓地，公墓( cemetery的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
laborers
|
|
| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
Buddha
|
|
| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
reigns
|
|
| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
stanch
|
|
| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
succumbed
|
|
| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
bind
|
|
| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
imprint
|
|
| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
swarming
|
|
| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
marshes
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
revert
|
|
| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
medley
|
|
| n.混合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
accentuated
|
|
| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
pout
|
|
| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
wafted
|
|
| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
chaste
|
|
| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
smothered
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
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： |
|
|
|
|
51
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
discreetly
|
|
| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |