So when they meet again, 'tis in Bishop1, and any third Observer might note in an instant the deterioration2 the Year intervening has brought to each,— Dixon's pronounc'd limp and bile-stain'd Eyeballs, Mason's slow retreat, his steps taken backward, only just stubborn enough to keep facing the light, into Melancholy4.
Increasingly ill at ease with change of any kind, be it growing a year older or watching America,— once home to him as the Desert to a Nomad5 upon it,— in its great Convulsion, Mason has begun to dream of a night-time City,— of creeping among monuments of stone perhaps twice his height, of seeking refuge from some absolute pitiless Upheaval6 in relations among Men.
'Twas Stonehenge, absent 'Bekah and Moon-Light. The Monuments made no sense at all. They were not Statues,— they bore no inscriptions7. They were the Night's Standing8-Stones, put there by some Agency remote not in Time but from caring at all what happen'd to the poor fugi?tives who now scurried9 among them, seeking their brute10 impenetrability for cover. Whoever their Makers11 had been, they were invisible now, with their own Chronicles, their own Intentions,— whatever these were,— and they glided12 on, without any need for living Witnesses.
Were this but a single Dream, wip'd out as usual by the rattling13 Quo?tidian, Mason might even have forgotten it by now. But it keeps coming back,— more accurately14, he return'd to it, the same City, the same unlit Anarchy15, again and again, each time to be plung'd into the middle of whatever has been going on in his absence. At first he visits fortnightly, but within the year he is journeying there ev'ry night. Even more alarm?ingly, he is not always asleep... out of doors against his will, a City in Chaos16, the lights too few, the differences between friend and enemy not always clear, and Mistakes a penny a Bushel. Reflection upon any Top-ick is an unforgivable Lapse17, out here where at any moment Death may come whistling in from the Dark.
"Well Hullo, Death, what's that you're whistling?"
"Oo, little Ditters von Dittersdorf, nothing you'd recognize, hasn't happen'd yet, not even sure you'll live till it's perform'd anywhere,— have to check the 'Folio as to that, get back to you?"
"No hurry,— truly, no hurry."
"You 'cute Rascal," Death reaching out to pinch his Cheek— Some?times Mason wakes before traversing into the next Episode,— sometimes the bony Thumb and Finger continue their Approach, asymptotickally ever closer, be he waking, or dreaming something else.
"Their visits," wrote the Revd, on unnam'd Authority, "consisted of silence when fishing, fever'd nocturnal Conversation when not. Though even beside the Wear, or in it, are they ever conversing18. In their silences, the true Measure of their History."
Mason arrives one day to find Dixon sitting there with giant Heaps of Cherries and Charcoal19. "Have some," offering Mason his choice.
"Excuse me. The Gout is eas'd by things that begin with 'Ch'?"
"Why aye. They don't know that down in Gloucestershire?"
"Chicken?"
"In the form of Soup, particularly."
"Chops? Cheese? Chocolate?"
" 'Tis consider'd an entertaining Affliction, by those who have not suf-fer'd it."
"Oh, Dixon, I didn't mean,— " Ev'ry turn now, a chance for someone taking the hump. "Here, your Cushion,— may I,—
"First thing!— is, you mustn't touch...the Foot, thank thee. Bit abrupt20, sorry, yet do I know this, by now, like a County Map,— where the valleys of least Pain lie, and where the Peaks to avoid. Ev'ry movement has to be plann'd like a damn'd Expedition.... Meg Bland21 is the only mortal, nothing personal, who may even breathe too close to it."
"Lucky me," says she, in the door straight as a Swift, a tall ginger-hair'd Beauty disinclin'd to pass her time unproductively. Margaret Bland gave up on marrying Dixon long ago, indeed these Days is reluctant, when the Topick arises, even to respond. "We'll have the Wedding just before we go to America," he said,— and, "We'll go to America as man and wife." For a while she was a good sport, and allow'd herself to be entertain'd with his Accounts of what Adventure and Wealth were there to seize, in that fabl'd place. But there soon grew upon her, as she had observ'd it in her mother, a practical disillusionment before the certainty of Death, that men for their part kept trying to put off as long as possible. She saw Jere doing just that, with his world of Maps, his tenderness and care as he bent22 over them, as herself, resign'd to tending him,— no different than man and wife, really.
"I love her," he tells Mason. "I say thah'.... Yet to myself I think, She's my last, my.. .how would tha say...?"
"She's a good Woman," Mason says, "thou must see that."
"Bringing me Cherries ev'ry day. For this," pollicating the Toe. Shak?ing his head, laughing in perplexity, he looks over at Mason, finds Mason looking at him,— "The Girls are mine."
Mason, who rarely these Days smiles, smiles. "Well.— Well, well, in fact." They sit nodding at each other for a while.
"Tha must've seen it in their Faces, in Mary...and Elizabeth, for fair...?"
"So that's what it is,— well, they are beautiful Young Women despite it all."
"Thy Boys,— they must be nearly grown?"
Mason nodding, "Oh, and I got married again. Forgot to mention that. Aye. Then we had Charles Junior, then two weeks after he was born, my Dad got married again. We both married women nam'd Mary. Tha would like them both, I know. Mine in particular."
"She's young...?"
"Amazing. How do these People—
"Strange Geordie Powers, Friend,— and I know thou need as many Children as possible, as a Bridge over a Chasm23, to keep thee from falling into the Sky.”
"Charlie the Baby's the very Image of my Dad, that's what's so peculiar24. The Boys look like Rebekah, but the Baby,— the resemblance makes me jumpy. I expect him to start shouting at me...sometimes he does. Can't understand any of it of course, but then I can't make out my Dad either."
"Eeh. Then all's fairly as usual...?"
"I come to the Mill ev'ry morning, and he gives me one Loaf. 'Take thee this day, thy daily bread,'— ev'ry time,— 'tis Wit. 'Tis great fun for him. How inveterate25 a Hatred26 shall I be able to enjoy, for someone who looks like my baby son?"
"Tha seem disappointed."
"Next worst thing to unrequited Love, isn't it? Insufficient27 hate."
"And yet it's done thee a world of Good...? the months, often years, of Time tha didn't know tha had...?"
"Ahrr. Years off my age."
"And we've another coming in right about Harvest time.— How do you know that about me? Maybe I hate children."
"Then feel free to ignore my wish of much Joy, Mason. Shouldn't tha be in Sapperton, with thy Mary?"
"Her mother is there, and they are just as content to have me away."
They are dozing28 together by Dixon's Hearth29. Both their Pipes are out. The Fret30 has gather'd in the waste places, cross'd them, and come to the Edge of the Town. Anything may lie just the other side, having a Peep. There is jollity at The Queen's Head, tho' here in Bondgate, for the moment, the Bricks are silent.
Each is dreaming about the other. Mason dreams them in London, at some enormous gathering,— it is nam'd the Royal Society, but is really something else. Some grand Testimonial, already some Days in progress, upon a Stage, before a Pit in which the Crowds are ever circulating. Bradley is there, living and hale,— Mason keeps trying to find him, so that Dixon and he may meet, but each new Face is a new distraction31, and presently he cannot find Dixon, either—
Dixon is dreaming of a Publick performance as well, except it's he and Mason who are up on the Stage, and whoever may be watching are kept invisible by the Lights that separate Stage and Pit. They are both wearing cheap but serviceable suits, and back'd by a chamber32 orchestra, they are singing, and doing a few simple time-steps,—
It...was...fun,
While it lasted,
And it lasted,
Quite a while,—
[Dixon] For the bleary-eyed lad from the coal pits,
[Mason] And the 'Gazer with big-city Style,—
[Both] We came, we peep'd, we shouted with surprize,
Tho' half the time we couldn't tell the falsehoods from the lies,
[M] I say! is that a— [D] No, it ain't! [M] I do apologize,—
[Both] This Astronomer's Life, say,
Pure as a Fife, hey,
Quick as a Knife, in
The Da-a-ark!
[M] Oh, we went,—
Out to Cape33 Town, [D] Phila-
Del-phia too,
[Both] Tho' we didn't quite get to Ohi-o,
There were Marvels34 a-plenty to view...
Those Trees! Those Hills! Those Vegetables so high!
The Cataracts35 and Caverns36,
And the Spectres in the Sky,
[M] I say, was that— [D] I hope not! [M] Who
The Deuce said that? [D] Not I!
It's a wonderful place, ho,
Nothing but Space, go
Off on a chase in the Dark—"
Dixon wakes briefly37. "It had damn'd well better be Bodily Resurrec?tion's all I can say...?"
One final Expedition, Dixon believ'd, a bit more Gold in the Sack, and he'd be free to return to America, look up Washington and Franklin, Capt. Shelby, and the other Lads, find the perfect Seat in the West.
He knows where the Coal is, the Iron and Lead, and if there's Gold he'll witch that out of the Earth, too. The Trick lies less in hollowing out the
Wand, or putting in the tiny Samples of ev'rything you're not looking for, than in holding it then, so as to adjust for the extra Weight— Let George have all Cockfield Fell,— in America is Abundance, impossible to reach the end of in one lifetime,— hence, from the Mortal point of view, infinite.
By the time he might have emigrated at last, Mary Hunter Dixon had grown ill, and in January '73, she pass'd to a better place. Busy with rebellion, America drew back toward the edges of Dixon's Frame, where the shadows gather'd. In the meantime, the demand for Coal in Britain promising38 to ascend39 forever, there seem'd to Dixon no reason to abandon too quickly a sure source of Work, in order to cross the Ocean and settle in a wilderness40 of uncertainty41.
American reports that reach'd him mention'd Shelbys fighting in the West, and all the McCleans joining the Virginia Militia,— by then Dixon had survey'd the Park and Demesnes of the Lord Bishop's Castle at Bishop Auckland, and the Year after that all of Lanchester Common,— wilderness enough for him, tho' no longer is he sent quite as much into Panick'd Incompetence42 at the Alidade, by Moor-land unenclos'd,— as if he has found late protection, or at least toleration, from the Fell-Beasts of his younger days. At the Plane-Table, he erases43 his sketching44 mis?takes with bits of Bread he then keeps in a Pocket, not wishing to cast them where Birds might eat the Lead and come to harm. Now and then, only half in play, he will take a folding Rule and measure the ever-decreasing distance between the tip of his Nose and the Paper, for among Surveyors, 'tis said, that by the degree of Proximity45 therebetwixt, may you tell how long a draughtsman has been on the Job,— and that when his Nose at last touches the Paper, 'tis time to retire.
He continu'd to postpone46 the American Return, whose mere47 Projec?tion had separated him from Mason, and to recognize more clearly, as the Days went along, that his Life had caught up with him, and that his Death might not be far behind, and that America now would never be more real than his Remembrance, which he must take possession of, in whatever broken incompleteness, or lose forever— "I was sure my Fate lay in America,— nor would I've ever predicted, that like thee I would swallow the Anchor and be claim'd again by the Life I had left, which I had not after all escap'd,— nor can I accurately say 'twas all Meg's doing, and the Girls', for I was never like thee, never one for Duty and so
forth, being much more of a flirtatious48 Bastard49, tha see, yet I couldn't leave them again. Thah' was it, really."
"To leave home, to dare the global waters strange and deep, consort50 with the highest Men of Science, and at the end return to exactly the same place, us'd,— broken...."
"No-body's dream of a Life, for Fair."
"You always wanted to be a Soldier, Dixon, but didn't you see, that all our way west and back, aye and the Transits51 too, were Campaigning, geo-metrick as a Prussian Cavalry52 advance,— tho' in the service of a Flag whose Colors we never saw,— and that your behavior in hostile territory was never less than..."
"Aye?"
".. .Likely to be mention'd in Dispatches."
"I'll take it! Gratefully."
"The only hope, I suppose, is if we haven't come home exactly,— I mean, if it's not the same, not really,— if we might count upon that fail?ure to re-arrive perfectly53, to be seen in all the rest of Creation...."
"Eeh,— I hope thah's not the only hope?"
They have been nymphing by Moon-light in the Wear, hoping for Sea-
Trout54, tho' finding none,— now, upon the bankside, Mason and Dixon
sit, smoking long white Clay Pipes, whose stems arch like Fishing-Poles,
and bickering55 about the Species eluding56 them,— Dixon seeming to
Mason far too eager to lecture, as if having assum'd that Mason has never
seen a Sea-Trout,— which, tho' true in a narrow sense, doesn't rule out
his having felt them, once or twice, at the Bait
"Whilst not as shrewd as the Carp," Dixon declares, "yet are they over-endow'd with Pride, and will have thee know, there are things a Sea-Trout simply will not do, such as waste his time upon an insect that dares the Flow too briskly, there being too much Humiliation57 for him, should he attempt capture, and fail...?"
"Humiliation before whom, Dixon? Frogs? Grebes? You have...dis-cuss'd this with the Sea-Trout here personally, 've you, perhaps even... more than once?"
"I ken3 them, Sir...? I see into their Minds...? 'Tis how I know, that tha must leave aside thy own Pride, and learn to feign58 with thy Bait weakness, uncertainty, fatigue,— " They hear swift footsteps close by,— and in a moment behold59, approaching them, sniffing60 industriously61, a Norfolk Terrier, of memorable62 Appearance.
"Well, God's Periwig," whispers Mason. " 'Tis he!"
"Can't be,— what's it been? fifteen? sixteen years? and this one's scarcely a year old...?"
"Yet, see how he holds his head...old Fang's way to the Arc-Second .. .yes it's all right, lad, come on...?"
The Dog, as if not wishing to intrude63, waits, Tail a-thump.
"Why, he's the very Representation...? Might he've been with those Strollers lately at The Queen's Head, that vanish'd in the middle of the Night...? happen they left him behind...?"
"We'll not insist that ye speak for your Supper," offers Mason.
"Not at all. Come back with us, and we'll see about thah', shall we?"
The Dog accompanies them to Dixon's House, dines unselectively tho' not gluttonously64, and, having made amiable65 acquaintance with the Dogs already resident there, stops overnight.
"Quite at home, to appearance," Mason remarks next morning.
"Nay66...? clearly, 'tis thee he fancies...?"
"He's a Town Dog, he'd much rather stop with you, than journey all the way to Sapperton."
"Eeh, why cannot tha see he can't wait to be back upon the Road, touring again?"
"A modest wager67, perhaps."
"We never settl'd for thah' great race in Chester Town ten years ago 'twixt Selim and Yorick...?"
"Really. Which Horse won? Who'd I bet upon?"
The Dog listens to them for as long as he may, before standing, stretching, and trotting68 away to explore Bishop, nor reappearing till that night, 'round Suppertime.
"There you are again," Meg Bland stooping to greet him. "I've been making him those fried American corn-meal Ar-ticles of yours, Jere, to have with his Fish...? What'll his name be?"
"Fang," says Mason.
"Learned," says Dixon.
The Dog ignores both, however, as if his true Name is one they must guess. Each day the weather allows, he accompanies Mason and Dixon
to the River, and watches whilst they fish. He does not venture to speak, indeed barking only once, when Lud Oafery,— an otherwise unremark?able person of middling age,— comes down out of the Willows69 and into the water, pretending to be a Pike in fierce Descent upon the Dace-Shoals, attempting to send all the Fish he may, into a Panick'd Stampedo.
"Sacrilege, where I come from," mutters Mason.
"Eeh, 'tis but Lud's bit of Diversion, whenever he's above ground...? throw him a Chub, and he'll be off...?"
As Mason's departure nears, Dixon can see he's growing more and more anxious upon the Topick of canine70 Speech. "How then? coerce71 him? shame him?"
"Think not...?"
"Yet one would expect, wouldn't one," the Dog, as ever, bright-eyed and companionably attending, "that out of professional Obligation, at least,— "
"Eeh, Mason...? really."
"All right, all right,— ever so sorry,—
Close to dawn, dreaming of America, whose Name is something else, and Maps of which do not exist, Mason feels a cold Nose at his ear.
"When ye wake," whispers a youthful, South English voice, "I'll have long been out upon the Darlington Road. I am a British Dog, and belong to no one, if not to the two of you. The next time you are together, so shall I be, with you."
They wake early,— the Dog has gone. Dixon reports the same Nose, the same Message.
"Did we both dream the same thing?"
"I was awake...?"
"As certainly was I,—
"Then must we see him again, next year...?”
收听单词发音 |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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8
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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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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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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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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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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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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hatred
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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28
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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29
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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erases
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| v.擦掉( erase的第三人称单数 )；抹去；清除 | |
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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flirtatious
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| adj.爱调情的，调情的，卖俏的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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transits
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| 通过（transit的复数形式） | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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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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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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57
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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58
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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60
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；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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industriously
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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63
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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gluttonously
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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66
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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67
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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68
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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69
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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