It was a June day, and beyond the fir woods that broke the bluster1 of the south-west winds, a few white clouds floated in a deep blue sky. As for the rosery at Fernhill, no Persian poet could have found a more delectable2 spot in which to dream through the hours of a scented3 day, with a jar of purple wine beside him. An old yew4 hedge, clipped square, closed it in like a wall, with an opening cut at each corner where paths paved with rough stones disappeared into the world without. These four broad, grey paths, the crevices5 between the stones planted with purple aubretia and star-flowered rock plants, met in the centre of the rosery, where a sundial stood on a Gothic pillar. Next the yew hedge were rambling6 roses trained upon the trunks of dead fir trees. Numberless little grey paths branched off from the main ones, dividing up the great square court into some two score rose beds. And this June day this secret, yew-walled garden flamed with a thousand tongues of fire. Crimson7, old rose, coral pink, blush white, damask, saffron, blood red, snow, cerise, salmon8, white, orange, copper9, gold, all the colours seemed alive with light, the rich green of the young foliage10 giving a setting of softness to the splendour of the flowers.
James Canterton was the big, placid11, meditative12 creature needed for such a rose garden. He had a table beside him, and on it a litter of things—notebooks, a tobacco tin, an empty wine glass, a book on the flora13 of China, two briarwood pipes, and a lens set in a silver frame. He was sitting with his feet within a foot of a rose bush planted in a corner of one of the many beds, a mere14 slip of a tree that was about to unfold its first flower.
This rose, Canterton’s latest creation, had four buds on it, three tightly closed, the fourth on the eve of opening. He had christened the new rose “Guinevere,” and there was a subtle and virginal thrill about Guinevere’s first flowering, the outer petals15, shaded from coral to amber16, beginning to disclose a faint inwardness of fiery17 gold. Canterton had sat there since eight in the morning, for he wanted to watch the whole unfolding of the flower, and his vigil might continue through most of the morrow. He would be down in the rosery when the dew glistened18 on the petals, nor would he leave it till the yellow rays of the horizontal sun poured over the yew hedge, and made every flower glow with a miraculous19 brilliance20.
Canterton’s catalogues were to be found in most well-to-do country houses, and his art had disclosed itself in many opulent gardens. A rich amateur in the beginning, he had chosen to assume the broader professional career, perhaps because his big, quiet, and creative brain loved the sending forth21 of rich merchandise, and the creation of beauty. As a searcher after new plants he had travelled half over the globe—explored China, the Himalayas, California, and South Africa. He was famous for his hybridisation of orchids22, an authority on all trees and flowering shrubs23, an expert whose opinions were valued at Kew. It was beauty that fired him, colour and perfumes, and at Fernhill, in this Surrey landscape, he had created a great nursery where beautiful things were born. As a trader, trading the gorgeous tints24 of azaleas and rhododendrons, or the glaucous stateliness of young cedars25, he had succeeded as remarkably26 as he had succeeded as an artist. South, east, and west his work might be studied in many a garden; architects who conceived for the wealthy advised their patrons to persuade Canterton to create a setting.
His success was the more astonishing, seeing that those who set out to persuade their fellow men not only to see beauty, but to buy it, have to deal with a legion of gross fools. Nor would anyone have expected the world to have paid anything to a man who could sit through a whole day watching the opening bud of a new rose. Canterton was one of the family of the big, patient people, the men of the microscope and the laboratory, who discover great things quietly, and remain undiscovered by the apes who sit and gibber at a clown on a stage.
Canterton had picked up one of his pipes, when a maidservant appeared in one of the arches cut in the yew hedge. She sighted the man under the white umbrella and made her way towards him along one of the stone paths.
“The mistress sent me to find you, sir.”
“Well, Mary?”
“She wants to speak to you, sir.”
“I am busy for the moment.”
“I’ll tell Mrs. Canterton you are engaged, sir.”
And she showed the practical good sense of her sympathy by leaving him alone.
Canterton stretched out his legs, and stared at Guinevere over the bowl of his empty pipe. His massive head, with its steady, deep-set, meditative eyes, looked the colour of bronze under the shade of the umbrella. It was a “peasant’s” head, calm, sun-tanned, kind, with a simple profundity28 in its expression, and a quiet imaginativeness about the mouth. His brown hair, grizzled at the temples, had a slight curl to it; his teeth were perfect; his hands big, brown, yet finely formed. He was the very antithesis29 of the city worker, having much of the large purposefulness of Nature in him, never moving jerkily, or chattering30, or letting his eyes snap restlessly at motes31 in the sunlight. A John Ridd of a man, yet much less of a simpleton, he had a dry, kind sparkle of humour in him that delighted children and made loud talkers feel uneasy. Sentimental32 people said that his eyes were sad, though they would have been nearer the truth if they had said that he was lonely.
Canterton filled his pipe, keeping a humorously expectant eye fixed33 on one particular opening in the yew hedge. There are people and things whose arrival may be counted on as inevitable34, and Canterton was in the act of striking a match when he saw his wife enter the rosery. She came through the yew hedge with that characteristic scurry35 of hers suggesting the indefatigable36 woman of affairs in a hurry, her chin poking37 forward, the curve of her neck exaggerating the intrusive38 stoop of her shoulders.
Gertrude Canterton was dressed for some big function, and she had chosen primrose39, the very colour that she should not have worn. Her large black hat with its sable40 feather sat just at the wrong angle; wisps of hair straggled at the back of her neck, and one of her gloves was split between the fingers. Her dress hinted at a certain fussy41 earnestness, an impatience42 of patience before mirrors, or perhaps an unconscious contempt for such reflectors of trifles. She was tall, narrow across the shoulders, and distinguished43 by a pallid44 strenuousness45 that was absolutely lacking in any spirit of repose46. Her face was too big, and colourless, and the nose too broad and inquisitive47 about the nostrils48. It was a face that seemed to grow larger and larger when she had talked anyone into a corner, looming49 up, white, and earnest and egotistical through a fog of words, the chin poking forward, the pale eyes set in a stare. She had a queer habit of wriggling50 her shoulders when she entered a room full of people, a trick that seemed strange in a woman of so much self-conceit.
点击收听单词发音
1 bluster | |
v.猛刮;怒冲冲的说;n.吓唬,怒号;狂风声 | |
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2 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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3 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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4 yew | |
n.紫杉属树木 | |
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5 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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6 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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7 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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8 salmon | |
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的 | |
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9 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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10 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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11 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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12 meditative | |
adj.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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13 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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14 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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15 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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16 amber | |
n.琥珀;琥珀色;adj.琥珀制的 | |
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17 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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18 glistened | |
v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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20 brilliance | |
n.光辉,辉煌,壮丽,(卓越的)才华,才智 | |
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21 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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22 orchids | |
n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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23 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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24 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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25 cedars | |
雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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26 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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27 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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28 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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29 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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30 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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31 motes | |
n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 );斑点 | |
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32 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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33 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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34 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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35 scurry | |
vi.急匆匆地走;使急赶;催促;n.快步急跑,疾走;仓皇奔跑声;骤雨,骤雪;短距离赛马 | |
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36 indefatigable | |
adj.不知疲倦的,不屈不挠的 | |
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37 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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38 intrusive | |
adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
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39 primrose | |
n.樱草,最佳部分, | |
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40 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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41 fussy | |
adj.为琐事担忧的,过分装饰的,爱挑剔的 | |
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42 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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43 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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44 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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45 strenuousness | |
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46 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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47 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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48 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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49 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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50 wriggling | |
v.扭动,蠕动,蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 );(使身体某一部位)扭动;耍滑不做,逃避(应做的事等);蠕蠕 | |
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