FOR more than four years, evil tidings passed night and day over almost half the world of men. Never since our earth came into being were they known to spread in crowds so dense1 and busy and commanding. In the happy days of peace, we would come upon the gloomy visitants here and there, travelling over hill and dale, nearly always alone, sometimes in couples, rarely in companies of three, timid and shy, seeking to pass unnoticed and humbly2 undertaking3 the smallest messages of sorrow that destiny confided4 to their charge. Now they go with heads erect5; they are almost arrogant6; and swollen7 with their importance, they neglect any misfortunes that are not deathly. They encumber8 the roads, cross the seas[32] and rivers, invade the streets, do not forget the by-ways and climb the most rugged9 and stony10 tracks. There is not a hovel cowering11 in the dingiest12 and most obscure suburb of a great city, not a cottage hidden in the recesses13 of the poorest hamlet of the most inaccessible14 mountain, which escapes their search and towards which one of them, detached from the sinister15 band, does not hasten with its little footstep, eager, pitiless and sure. Each has its goal whence nothing can divert it. Through time and space, over rocks and walls they press onward16, swift and determined17, blind and deaf to all that would retard18 them, thinking only of fulfilling their duty, which is to announce as soon as may be to the most sensitive and defenceless heart the greatest sorrow that can fall upon it.
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We watch them pass as emissaries of destiny. To us they seem as fatal as the very misfortune of which they are but the heralds19; and no one dreams of barring[33] the way before them. So soon as one of them arrives, all unexpected, in our midst, we leave everything, we rush forward, we gather round it. Almost a religious fear compasses it about; we whisper reverently20; and we should bow no lower in the presence of a messenger of God. Not only would no one dare to contradict it, or advise it, or beg it to be patient, to grant a few hours of respite21, to hide in the darkness or to arrive by a longer road; on the contrary, all compete in offering it zealous22 if humble23 service. The most compassionate24, the most pitiful are the most assiduous and obsequious25, as though there were no duty more unmistakable, no act of charity more meritorious26 than to lead the dark envoy27 by the shortest and the quickest way to the heart which it is to strike.
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Once again, we are here confounding that which belongs to destiny with that which belongs to ourselves. The misfortune was perhaps not to be avoided; but[34] a great part of the sorrows that attend it remain in our power. It is for us to be careful of them, to direct them, to subdue28 them, disarm29 them, delay them, turn them aside and sometimes even to stop them altogether.
In effect, we hardly yet know the psychology30 of sorrow, which is as deep, as complex and as worthy31 of study as the passions to which we devote so much of our time. In everyday life, it is true, great sorrows, though not so rare as we could have wished, were nevertheless too widely scattered32 for us to study them easily, step by step. To-day, alas33, they are the ground of all our thoughts; and we are learning at last that, even as love or happiness or vanity, they have their secrets, their habits, their illusions, their sophistries34, their dark corners, their baffling mazes35 and their unforeseen abysses; for man, whether he love or rejoice or weep, remains36 ever constant to himself!
It is not true, as we too willingly agree, that, since unhappiness must be known[35] sooner or later, our only duty is to reveal it at the earliest moment, for the sorrow that is yet green is very different from the sorrow that is already fading. It is not true, as we admit without question, that anything is better than ignorance or uncertainty37 and that there is a sort of cowardice38 in not forthwith announcing the bad news which we know to those whom it must prostrate40 in the dust. On the contrary, cowardice lies in ridding ourselves of the bad news as quickly as we may and in not bearing its whole burden, secretly and alone, as long as we are able. When the bad news arrives, our first duty is to set it apart, to prevent it from spreading, to master it as we would a malefactor41 or a stalking pestilence42, to close all means of escape, to mount guard over it, so that it cannot break forth39 and do harm. Our duty is not merely, as the best of us and the most prudent43 seem to believe, to usher44 in the bad news with a thousand precautions, with short and muffled45, sidelong and measured steps, by the back-door, into the[36] dwelling46 which it is to devastate47; rather is it our duty definitely to forbid its entrance and to have the courage to chain it in our own dwelling, which it will fill with unjust and insupportable reproaches and upbraidings. Instead of making ourselves the easy echo of its cries, we should think only of stifling48 its voice. Each hour that we thus pass in restless and painful intimacy49 with the hateful prisoner is an hour of suffering which we accept for ourselves and which we spare the victim of fate. It is almost certain that the malignant50 recluse51 will end by escaping our vigilance; but here the very minutes have their value and there is no gain, however small, that we are entitled to neglect. The hour-glass that measures the phases of sorrow is much finer and truer than that which marks the stages of pleasure. The time that passes between the death of one whom we love and the moment when we hear of his death is as full of pain as it is of days. Most to be feared of all is the first blow of[37] misfortune; it is then that the heart is smitten52 and torn with a wound that will never heal. But this blow has not its shattering and sometimes mortal force unless it strike its victim at once and, so to speak, fresh from the event. Every hour that is interposed deadens the sting and lessens53 its virulence54. A death already some weeks old no longer wears the same face as that which is made known on the very day when it occurs; and, if a few months have covered it, it is no longer a death, it has become a memory. The days that divide us from it have almost the same value whether they pass before we hear of it or afterwards. They remove beforehand from the eyes and heart the blinding horror of the loss; they step forward and draw it out of the clutch of madness into a past like that which softens55 regret. They weave a sort of retrospective memory which stretches into the past and grants straightway all that true memory would have given little by little, hour[38] by hour, during the long months that part the first despair from the sorrow which grows wise and reconciled and ready to hope anew.
点击收听单词发音
1 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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2 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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3 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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4 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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5 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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6 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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7 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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8 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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9 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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10 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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11 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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12 dingiest | |
adj.暗淡的,乏味的( dingy的最高级 );肮脏的 | |
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13 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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14 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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15 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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16 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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17 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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18 retard | |
n.阻止,延迟;vt.妨碍,延迟,使减速 | |
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19 heralds | |
n.使者( herald的名词复数 );预报者;预兆;传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 );宣布(好或重要) | |
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20 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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21 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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22 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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23 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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24 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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25 obsequious | |
adj.谄媚的,奉承的,顺从的 | |
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26 meritorious | |
adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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27 envoy | |
n.使节,使者,代表,公使 | |
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28 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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29 disarm | |
v.解除武装,回复平常的编制,缓和 | |
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30 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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31 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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32 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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33 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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34 sophistries | |
n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 );(一次)诡辩 | |
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35 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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36 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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37 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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38 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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39 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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40 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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41 malefactor | |
n.罪犯 | |
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42 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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43 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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44 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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45 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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46 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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47 devastate | |
v.使荒芜,破坏,压倒 | |
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48 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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49 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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50 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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51 recluse | |
n.隐居者 | |
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52 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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53 lessens | |
变少( lessen的第三人称单数 ); 减少(某事物) | |
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54 virulence | |
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
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55 softens | |
(使)变软( soften的第三人称单数 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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