One afternoon when cycling among the limestone1 hills of Derbyshire I came to an unlovely dreary-looking little village named Chilmorton. It was an exceptionally hot June day and I was consumed with thirst: never had I wanted tea so badly. Small gritstone-built houses and cottages of a somewhat sordid2 aspect stood on either side of the street, but there was no shop of any kind and not a living creature could I see. It was like a village of the dead or sleeping. At the top of the street I came to the church standing3 in the middle of its church yard with the public-house for nearest neighbour. Here there was life. Going in I found it the most squalid and evil-smelling village pub I had ever entered. Half a dozen grimy-looking labourers were drinking at the bar, and the landlord was like them in appearance, with his dirty shirt-front open to give his patrons a view of his hairy sweating chest. I asked him to get me tea. "Tea!" he shouted, staring at me as if I had insulted him; "There's no tea here!" A little frightened at his aggressive manner I then meekly4 asked for soda-water, which he gave me, and it was warm and tasted like a decoction of mouldy straw. After taking a sip5 and paying for it I went to look at the church, which I was astonished to find open.
It was a relief to be in that cool, twilight6, not unbeautiful interior after my day in the burning sun.
After resting and taking a look round I became interested in watching and listening to the talk of two other visitors who had come in before me. One was a slim, rather lean brown-skinned woman, still young but with the incipient7 crow's-feet, the lines on the forehead, the dusty-looking dark hair, and other signs of time and toil8 which almost invariably appear in the country labourer's wife before she attains9 to middle age. She was dressed in a black gown, presumably her best although it was getting a little rusty10. Her companion was a fat, red-cheeked young girl in a towny costume, a straw hat decorated with bright flowers and ribbons, and a string of big coloured beads11 about her neck.
In a few minutes they went out, and when going by me I had a good look at the woman's face, for it was turned towards me with an eager questioning look in her dark eyes and a very friendly smile on her lips. What was the attraction I suddenly found in that sunburnt face?—what did it say to me or remind me of?—what did it suggest?
I followed them out to where they were standing talking among the gravestones, and sitting down on a tomb near them spoke12 to the woman. She responded readily enough, apparently13 pleased to have some one to talk to, and pretty soon began to tell me the history of their lives. She told me that Chilmorton was her native place, but that she had been absent from it many many years. She knew just how many years because her child was only six months old when she left and was now fourteen though she looked more. She was such a big girl! Then her man took them to his native place in Staffordshire, where they had lived ever since. But their girl didn't live with them now. An aunt, a sister of her husband, had taken her to the town where she lived, and was having her taught at a private school. As soon as she left school her aunt hoped to get her a place in a draper's shop. For a long time past she had wanted to show her daughter her native place, but had never been able to manage it because it was so far to come and they didn't have much money to spend; but now at last she had brought her and was showing her everything.
Glancing at the girl who stood listening but with no sign of interest in her face, I remarked that her daughter would perhaps hardly think the journey had been worth taking.
"Why do you say that?" she quickly demanded.
"Oh well," I replied, "because Chilmorton can't have much to interest a girl living in a town." Then I foolishly went on to say what I thought of Chilmorton. The musty taste of that warm soda-water was still in my mouth and made me use some pretty strong words.
At that she flared14 up and desired me to know that in spite of what I thought it Chilmorton was the sweetest, dearest village in England; that she was born there and hoped to be buried in its churchyard where her parents were lying, and her grandparents and many others of her family. She was thirty-six years old now, she said, and would perhaps live to be an old woman, but it would make her miserable15 for all the rest of her life if she thought she would have to lie in the earth at a distance from Chilmorton.
During this speech I began to think of the soft reply it would now be necessary for me to make, when, having finished speaking, she called sharply to her daughter, "Come, we've others to see yet," and, followed by the girl, walked briskly away without so much as a good-bye, or even a glance!
Oh you poor foolish woman, thought I; why take it to heart like that! and I was sorry and laughed a little as I went back down the street. It was beginning to wake up now! A man in his shirt sleeves and without a hat, a big angry man, was furiously hunting a rebellious16 pig all round a small field adjoining a cottage, trying to corner it; he swore and shouted, and out of the cottage came a frowsy-looking girl in a ragged17 gown with her hair hanging all over her face, to help him with the pig. A little further on I caught sight of yet another human being, a tall gaunt old woman in cap and shawl, who came out of a cottage and moved feebly towards a pile of faggots a few yards from the door. Just as she got to the pile I passed, and she slowly turned and gazed at me out of her dim old eyes. Her wrinkled face was the colour of ashes and was like the face of a corpse18, still bearing on it the marks of suffering endured for many miserable years. And these three were the only inhabitants I saw on my way down the street.
At the end of the village the street broadened to a clean white road with high ancient hedgerow elms on either side, their upper branches meeting and forming a green canopy19 over it. As soon as I got to the trees I stopped and dismounted to enjoy the delightful20 sensation the shade produced: there out of its power I could best appreciate the sun shining in splendour on the wide green hilly earth and in the green translucent21 foliage22 above my head. In the upper branches a blackbird was trolling out his music in his usual careless leisurely23 manner; when I stopped under it the singing was suspended for half a minute or so, then resumed, but in a lower key, which made it seem softer, sweeter, inexpressibly beautiful.
There are beautiful moments in our converse24 with nature when all the avenues by which nature comes to our souls seem one, when hearing and seeing and smelling and feeling are one sense, when the sweet sound that falls from a bird, is but the blue of heaven, the green of earth, and the golden sunshine made audible.
Such a moment was mine, as I stood under the elms listening to the blackbird. And looking back up the village street I thought of the woman in the churchyard, her sun-parched eager face, her questioning eyes and friendly smile: what was the secret of its attraction?—what did that face say to me or remind me of?—what did it suggest?
Now it was plain enough. She was still a child at heart, in spite of those marks of time and toil on her countenance25, still full of wonder and delight at this wonderful world of Chilmorton set amidst its limestone hills, under the wide blue sky—this poor squalid little village where I couldn't get a cup of tea!
It was the child surviving in her which had attracted and puzzled me; it does not often shine through the dulling veil of years so brightly. And as she now appeared to me as a child in heart I could picture her as a child in years, in her little cotton frock and thin bare legs, a sunburnt little girl of eight, with the wide-eyed, eager, half-shy, half-trustful look, asking you, as the child ever asks, what you think?—what you feel? It was a wonderful world, and the world was the village, its streets of gritstone houses, the people living in them, the comedies and tragedies of their lives and deaths, and burials in the churchyard with grass and flowers to grow over them by-and-by. And the church;—I think its interior must have seemed vaster, more beautiful and sublime26 to her wondering little soul than the greatest cathedral can be to us. I think that our admiration27 for the loveliest blooms—the orchids28 and roses and chrysanthemums29 at our great annual shows—is a poor languid feeling compared to what she experienced at the sight of any common flower of the field. Best of all perhaps were the elms at the village end, those mighty30 rough-barked trees that had their tops "so close against the sky." And I think that when a blackbird chanced to sing in the upper branches it was as if some angelic being had dropped down out of the sky into that green translucent cloud of leaves, and seeing the child's eager face looking up had sung a little song of his own celestial31 country to please her.
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1
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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2
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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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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4
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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5
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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6
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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7
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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8
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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9
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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10
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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12
spoke
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| 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 | |
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13
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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14
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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15
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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21
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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23
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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26
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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27
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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28
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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29
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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30
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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31
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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