What morning is this, when Sam, waking from silver dreams to a golden reality, turns over in his bed and looks out of the open glass door; at dog Rover, propped1 up against the lintel, chopping at the early flies; at the flower-garden, dark and dewy; at the black wall of forest beyond, in which the magpies2 were beginning to pipe cheerily; at the blessed dawn which was behind and above it, shooting long rays of primrose3 and crimson4 half-way up the zenith; hearing the sleepy ceaseless crawling of the river over the shingle5 bars; hearing the booming of the cattle-herds far over the plain; hearing the chirrup of the grasshopper6 among the raspberries, the chirr of the cicada among the wattles — what happy morning is this? Is it the Sabbath?
Ah, no! the Sabbath was yesterday. This is his wedding morn.
My dear brother bachelor, do you remember those old first-love sensations, or have you got too old, and too fat? Do you remember the night when you parted from her on the bridge by the lock, the night before her father wrote to you and forbade you the house? Have you got the rose she gave you there? Is it in your Bible, brother? Do you remember the months that followed — months of mad grief and wild yearning7, till the yearning grew less — less wild — and the grief less desperate; and then, worst of all, the degrading consciousness that you were, in spite of yourself, getting rid of your love, and that she was not to you as she had been? Do you remember all this? When you come across the rose in your Bible, do you feel that you would give all the honour and wealth of the world to feel again those happy, wretched, old sensations? Do you not say that this world has nothing to give in comparison to that?
Not this world, I believe. You and I can never feel that again. So let us make up our minds to it — it is dead. In God’s name don’t let us try to galvanize an old corpse8, which may rise upon us hideous9, and scare us to the lower pit. Let us be content as we are. Let us read that Book we spoke10 of just now with the rose in it, and imitate the Perfect Man there spoken of, who was crucified 1800 years ago, believing, like Him, that all men are our brothers, and acting11 up to it. And then, Lord knows what may be in store for us.
Here’s a digression. If I had had a good wife to keep me in order, I never should have gone so far out of the road. Here is Sam in bed, sitting up, with his happy head upon his hands, trying to believe that this dream of love is going to be realized — trying to believe that it is really his wedding morn.
It evidently is; so he gets out of bed and says his prayers like an honest gentleman — he very often forgot to do this same, but he did it this morning carefully — much I am afraid as a kind of charm or incantation, till he came to the Lord’s Prayer itself, and then his whole happy soul wedded12 itself to the eternal words, and he arose calm and happy, and went down to bathe.
Happy, I said. Was he really happy? He ought to have been; for every wish he had in this life was fulfilled. And yet, when Jim, and he, and Halbert, were walking, towel in hand down the garden, they held this conversation:—
“Sam, my dear old brother, at last,” said Jim, “are you happy?”
“I ought to be, Jim,” said Sam; “but I’m in the most confounded fright, sir.”— They generally are in a fright, when they are going to be married, those Benedicts. What the deuce are they afraid of?
Our dear Jim was in anything but an enviable frame of mind. He had found out several things which did not at all conduce to his happiness; he had found out that it was one thing to propose going to India, or No-man’sland, and cutting off every tie and association which he had in the world; and that it was quite another thing to do that same. He had found out that it was one thing to leave his sister in the keeping of his friend Sam, and another to part from her probably for ever; and, last of all, he had found out, ever since his father had put his arm round his neck and kissed him, that night we know of, that he loved that father beyond all men in this world. It was a new discovery; he had never known it till he found he had got to part with him. And now, when he woke in the night, our old merry-hearted Jim sat up in bed, and wept; aye, and no shame to him for it, when he thought of that handsome, calm, bronzed face tearless and quiet there, over the fortifications and the mathematics, when he was far away.
“He will never say a word, Sam,” said Jim, as they were walking down to bathe this very morning of the wedding; “but he’ll think the more. Sam, I am afraid I have done a selfish thing in going; but if I were to draw back now, I should never be the same to him again. He couldn’t stand that. But I am sorry I ever thought of it.”
“I don’t know, Jim,” said Halbert, pulling off his trowsers, “I really don’t know of any act of parliament passed in favour of the Brentwood family, exempting13 them from the ordinary evils of humanity. Do you think now, that when John Nokes, aged14 nineteen, goes into market at Cambridge, or elsewhere, and ‘lists, and never goes home again; do you think, I say, that that lad don’t feel a very strange emptiness about the epigastric region when he thinks of the grey-headed old man, that is sitting waiting for him at the cottage-door? And,” added Halbert, standing15 on the plunging-stage Adamically, without a rag upon him, pointing at Jim with his finger in an oratorical16 manner; “do you think that the old man who sits there, year after year, waiting for him who never comes, and telling the neighbours that his lad who is gone for a sodger, was the finest lad in the village, do you think that old man feels nothing? Give up fine feelings, Jim. You don’t know what trouble is yet.”
And so he went souse into the water.
And after the bathe all came up and dressed; — white trowsers and brilliant ties being the order of the day. Then we all, from the bachelor side of the house, assembled in the verandah, for the ceremony was not to be performed till eight, and it was not more than halfpast seven. There was the promise of a very awkward half hour, so I was glad of a diversion caused by my appearing in a blue coat with gilt17 buttons, and pockets in the tails — a coat I had not brought out for twenty years, but as good as new, I give you my honour. Jim was very funny about that coat, and I encouraged him by defending it, and so we got through ten minutes, and kept Sam amused. Then one of the grooms18, a lad I mentioned before as bringing a note to Baroona on one occasion, a long brown-faced lad, born of London parents in the colony, made a diversion by coming round to look at us. He admired us very much, but my gilt buttons took his attention principally. He guessed they must have cost a matter of twenty pound, but on my telling him that the whole affair was bought for three pounds, he asked, I remember:—
“What are they made on, then?”
Brass20 I supposed, and gilt. So he left me in disgust, and took up with Jim’s trowsers, wanting to know “if they was canvas.”
“Satin velvet,” Jim said; and then the Major came out and beckoned21 us into the drawing-room.
And there she was, between Mrs. Buckley and Mary Hawker, dressed all in white, looking as beautiful as morning. Frank Maberly stood beside a little table, which the women had made into an altar, with the big Prayer-book in his hand. And we all stood around, and the servants thronged22 in, and Sam, taking Alice’s hand, went up and stood before Frank Maberly.
Captain Brentwood, of the Artillery23, would give this woman to be married to this man, with ten thousand blessings24 on her head; and Samuel Buckley, of Baroona, would take this woman as his wedded wife, in sickness and health, for richer, for poorer, till death did them part. And, “Yes, by George, he will,” says Jim to himself — but I heard him, for we were reading out of the same Prayer-book.
And so it was all over. And the Doctor, who had all the morning been invisible, and had only slipt into the room just as the ceremony had began, wearing on his coat a great star, a prodigy25, which had drawn26 many eyes from their Prayer-books, the Doctor, I say, came up, star and all, and taking Alice’s hand, kissed her forehead, and then clasped a splendid necklace round her throat.
Then followed all the usual kissings and congratulations, and then came the breakfast. I hope Alice and Sam were happy, as happy as young folks can be in such a state of flutter and excitement; but all I know is, that the rest of the party were thoroughly27 and utterly28 miserable29. The certainty that this was the break-up of our happy old society, that all that was young, and merry, and graceful30, among us, was about to take wing and leave us old folks sitting there lonely and dull. The thought, that neither Baroona nor Garoopna could ever be again what they had once been, and that never again we should hear those merry voices, wakening us in the morning, or ringing pleasant by the river on the soft summer’s evening; these thoughts, I say, made us but a dull party, although Covetown and the Doctor made talking enough for the rest of us.
There was something I could not understand about the Doctor. He talked loud and nervously31 all breakfast time, and afterwards, when Alice had retired32 to change her dress, and we were all standing about talking, he came up to me in a quiet corner where I was, and took me by the hand. “My dear old friend,” he said, “you will never forget me, will you?”
“Forget you, Baron33! never,” I said. I would have asked him more, but there was Alice in the room, in her pretty blue riding-habit and hat, ready for a start, and Sam beside her, whip in hand; so we all crowded out to say good-bye.
That was the worst time of all. Mrs. Buckley had said farewell and departed. Jim was walking about, tearless, but quite unable to answer me when I asked him a question. Those two grim old warriors34, the Captain and the Major, were taking things very quietly, but did not seem inclined to talk much, while the Doctor was conducting himself like an amiable35 lunatic, getting in everybody’s way as he followed Sam about.
“Sam,” he said, after Alice had been lifted on her horse, “my dear Sam, my good pupil, you will never forget your old tutor, will you?”
“Never, never!” said Sam; “not likely, if I lived to be a hundred. I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Oh yes, surely,” said the Baron; “we shall meet tomorrow for certain. But good-bye, my boy; good bye.”
And then the young couple rode away to Baroona, which was empty, swept, and garnished36, ready for their reception. And the servants cheered them as they went away, and tall Eleanor sent one of her husband’s boots after them for luck, with such force and dexterity37 that it fell close to the heels of Widderin, setting him capering38; — then Sam turned round and waved his hat, and they were gone.
And we turned round to look at one another, and lo! another horse, the Doctor’s, was being led up and down by a groom19, saddled; and, while we wondered, out came the Doctor himself and began strapping39 his valise on to the saddle.
“And where are you going today, Baron?” asked the Major.
“I am going,” said he, “to Sydney. I sail for Europe in a week.”
Our astonishment40 was too great for ejaculations; we kept an awful silence; this was the first hint he had given us of his intention.
“Yes,” said he, “I sail from Sydney this day week. I could not embitter41 my boy’s wedding-day by letting him know that he was to lose me; better that he should come back and find me gone. I must go, and I foresaw it when that letter came; but I would not tell you, because I knew you would be so sorry to part. I have been inside and said farewell to Mrs. Buckley. And now, my friends, shorten this scene for me. Night and day, for a month, I have been dreading42 it, and now let us spare one another. Why should we tear our hearts asunder43 by a long leave-taking. Oh, Buckley, Buckley! after so many years —”
Only a hurried shaking of hands, and he was gone. Down by the paddock to the river, and when he reached the height beyond, he turned and waved his hand. Then he went on his way across the old plains, and we saw him lessening44 in the distance until he disappeared altogether, and we saw him no more. No more!
In two months from that time Jim and Halbert were gone to India, Sam and Alice were away to the Darling Downs, Desborough and the Doctor had sailed for Europe, and we old folks, taking up our residence at Baroona, had agreed to make common house of it. Of course we were very dull at first, when we missed half of the faces which had been used to smile upon us; but this soon wore off. During the succeeding winter I remember many pleasant evenings, when the Captain, the Major, Mrs. Buckley, and myself played whist, shilling points and the rigour of the game, and while Mary Hawker, in her widow’s weeds, sat sewing by the fireside, contentedly45 enough.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
propped
|
|
| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
magpies
|
|
| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
primrose
|
|
| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
shingle
|
|
| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
grasshopper
|
|
| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
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： |
|
|
|
|
11
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
wedded
|
|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
exempting
|
|
| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
oratorical
|
|
| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
grooms
|
|
| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
thronged
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
artillery
|
|
| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
prodigy
|
|
| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
garnished
|
|
| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
dexterity
|
|
| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
capering
|
|
| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
strapping
|
|
| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
embitter
|
|
| v.使苦；激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
dreading
|
|
| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
asunder
|
|
| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
lessening
|
|
| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
contentedly
|
|
| adv.心满意足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |