Now, if this idea had come to Philip he would have executed it. As it was, Lewis’s drawing delighted him. He liked all those windows that made it look as if it were a dead stem rotting away. “But,” said he, “I know a house better than that, with a window for every day of the year. It would be just the thing for you, Lewis, because it is built without hands, without bricks, stones, cement, or any expense whatever.... It was only a dream,” he continued, one day as he and I were going down the long street which took us almost straight out into Our Country. But he did not really think it no more than a dream. He had seen it many times, a large, shadowy house, with windows which he had never counted, but knew to be as many as the days of the year, no more, no less. The house itself was always dark, with lights in some of the windows, never, perhaps, in all.
The strange thing was that Philip believed this house must actually exist. Perhaps, I suggested, it was hidden among the trees of our woods, like several other houses. No: he dismissed this as fancy. His house was not a fancy. It lay somewhere in a great city, or at the verge6 of one. On his first visit he had[234] approached it by long wanderings through innumerable, unknown and deserted7 streets, following a trail of white pebbles8 like the children in the fairy tale. In all those streets he passed nobody and heard no sound; nor did this surprise him, in spite of the fact that he felt the houses to be thronged9 with people. Suddenly out of the last narrow street he came as it were on a wall of darkness, like night itself. Into this he was stepping forward when he saw just beneath and before him a broad, black river, crossed by a low bridge leading over to where, high up, a light beamed in the window of an invisible building. When he began to cross the bridge he could see that it was the greatest house he had ever beheld10. It was a house that might be supposed to contain “many mansions11.” “You could not make a house like that one out of this whole street,” said Philip. “It stretched across the world, but it was a house.” On the other side of the river it seemed still equally far off. Birds flying to and fro before it never rose up over it, nor did any come from the other side. Philip hastened forward to reach the house. But the one light went out and he awoke.
Philip used to look out for this house when he[235] was crossing the bridges in London. He scanned carefully the warehouses12 and factories rising out of the water, in long rows with uncounted windows, that made him wonder what went on behind them. With this material, he said, a magician could make a house like the one he was in search of. Once, when he got home in the evening from London, he was confident that his house lay between Waterloo Bridge and Hungerford Bridge, but next time he was there he was dead against any such suggestion. A factory on the edge of a tract13 of suburb waste fulfilled his conditions for an hour at another time. He had been thrilled, too, by a photograph shown to him by Mr Stodham—of an ancient palace standing14 at the foot of a desolate15 mountain in the remote South.
When we were walking together towards the country Philip used to look, as a matter of course, down every side street to right or left, as he always looked up dark alleys16 in London. Nor was he content to look once down any one street, lest he should miss some transformation17 or transfiguration. As we began to get clear of London, and houses were fewer and all had long front gardens, and shops ceased, Philip looked ahead now and then as well as from side to side. Beyond the wide, level fields and the tall Lombardy poplars bounding them, there was nothing, but there was room for the house. Fog thickened early in the afternoon over our vacant territories, but we saw only the trees and a Gypsy tent under a hedge.
Next day Philip came home feverish18 from school, and was put to bed in the middle of the pale sunny afternoon. He lay happily stretched out with his eyes fixed19 on a glass of water near the window. It flickered20 in the light.... He saw the black river gleaming as when a candle for the first time illuminates21 a lake in the bowels22 of a mountain. There was the house beyond the river. Six or seven of its windows were lit up, one large one low down, the rest small, high up, and, except two of them, wide apart. Now and then, at other windows here and there, lights appeared momentarily, like stars uncovered by rapid clouds.... A lofty central door slowly swung open. A tiny figure, as solitary23 as the first star in the sky, paused at the threshold, to be swallowed up a moment later in darkness. At the same moment Philip awoke with a cry, knowing that the figure was himself.
After this Philip was not so confident of discovering the house. Yet he was more than[237] ever certain that it existed, that all the time of the intervals24 between his visits it was somewhere. I told him the story about Irem Dhat El’Imad, the Terrestrial Paradise of Sheddad the son of Ad, King of the World, which Aurelius had read to me. Philip was pleased with the part where the geometricians and sages25, labourers and artificers of the King search over all the earth, until they come to rivers and an illimitable plain, and choose it for the site of the palace which was three hundred years building. But he said that this story was not true. His own great house never disappeared, he said; it was he that disappeared. By this time he had become so familiar with the house that he probably passed hardly a day without a sight of it, sleeping or waking. He was familiar with its monotonous26 front, the many storeys of not quite regular diminishing windows. It always seemed to lie out beyond a tract of solitude27, silence, and blackness; it was beyond the black river; it was at the edge of the earth. In none of his visits could he get round to the other side. Several times again, as on that feverish afternoon, he saw himself entering through the lofty doorway28, never emerging. What this self (for so he called it, touching29 his[238] breast) saw inside the door he never knew. That self which looked on could never reach the door, could not cross the space between it and the river, though it seemed of no formidable immensity. Many times he set out to cross and go in at the other door after the other self, but could not. Finally he used to imagine that if once he penetrated30 to the other side he would see another world.
Once or twice Philip and I found ourselves in streets which he thought were connected with his first journey, but he vainly tried to remember how. He even used to say that at a certain number—once it was 197—lived some one who could help. When another dream took him along the original route of streets he told me that they were now thronged with people going with or against him. They were still all about him as he emerged from the streets in sight of the house, where every window was blazing with lights as he had never seen it before. The crowd was making towards the light across the hitherto always desolate bridge. Nevertheless, beyond the river, in the space before the house, he was alone as before. He resolved to cross the space. The great door ahead was empty; no other self at least had the privilege denied to him. He[239] stood still, looking not at the door, but at the windows and at the multitudes passing behind them. His eyes were fixed on the upper windows and on each face in turn that appeared. Some faces he recognised without being able to give a name to one. They must have been people whom he had encountered in the street, and forgotten and never seen again until now. Apparently not one of them saw him standing out there, in the darkness, looking up at them. He was separated from them as from the dead, or as a dead man might be from the living. The moment he lowered his head to look towards the door, the dream was over.
More than once afterwards, when Lewis had ceased to think of his tower, Philip saw the hundreds of windows burning in the night above the black river, and saw the stream of faces at the windows; but he gave up expecting to see the house by the light of our sun or moon. He had even a feeling that he would rather not discover it, that if he were to enter it and join those faces at the windows he might not return, never stand out in the dark again and look up at the house.
点击收听单词发音
1 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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2 unduly | |
adv.过度地,不适当地 | |
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3 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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4 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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5 riddled | |
adj.布满的;充斥的;泛滥的v.解谜,出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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6 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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7 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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8 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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9 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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11 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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12 warehouses | |
仓库,货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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13 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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14 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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15 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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16 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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17 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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18 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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19 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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20 flickered | |
(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 illuminates | |
v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 );照亮;装饰;说明 | |
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22 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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23 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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24 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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25 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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26 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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27 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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28 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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29 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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30 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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