A man whose brain devotes its hinterland to making odd phrases and nicknames out of ill-conceived words, whose conception of life is a lump of auriferous rock to which all the value is given by rare veins1 of unbusinesslike joy, who reads Boccaccio and Rabelais and Shakespeare with gusto, and uses “Stertoraneous Shover” and “Smart Junior” as terms of bitterest opprobrium2, is not likely to make a great success under modern business conditions. Mr. Polly dreamt always of picturesque3 and mellow4 things, and had an instinctive5 hatred6 of the strenuous7 life. He would have resisted the spell of ex-President Roosevelt, or General Baden Powell, or Mr. Peter Keary, or the late Dr. Samuel Smiles, quite easily; and he loved Falstaff and Hudibras and coarse laughter, and the old England of Washington Irving and the memory of Charles the Second’s courtly days. His progress was necessarily slow. He did not get rises; he lost situations; there was something in his eye employers did not like; he would have lost his places oftener if he had not been at times an exceptionally brilliant salesman, rather carefully neat, and a slow but very fair window-dresser.
He went from situation to situation, he invented a great wealth of nicknames, he conceived enmities and made friends — but none so richly satisfying as Parsons. He was frequently but mildly and discursively8 in love, and sometimes he thought of that girl who had given him a yellow-green apple. He had an idea, amounting to a flattering certainty, whose youthful freshness it was had stirred her to self-forgetfulness. And sometimes he thought of Foxbourne sleeping prosperously in the sun. And he began to have moods of discomfort9 and lassitude and ill-temper due to the beginnings of indigestion.
Various forces and suggestions came into his life and swayed him for longer and shorter periods.
He went to Canterbury and came under the influence of Gothic architecture. There was a blood affinity10 between Mr. Polly and the Gothic; in the middle ages he would no doubt have sat upon a scaffolding and carved out penetrating11 and none too flattering portraits of church dignitaries upon the capitals, and when he strolled, with his hands behind his back, along the cloisters12 behind the cathedral, and looked at the rich grass plot in the centre, he had the strangest sense of being at home — far more than he had ever been at home before. “Portly capons,” he used to murmur13 to himself, under the impression that he was naming a characteristic type of medieval churchman.
He liked to sit in the nave14 during the service, and look through the great gates at the candles and choristers, and listen to the organ-sustained voices, but the transepts he never penetrated15 because of the charge for admission. The music and the long vista16 of the fretted17 roof filled him with a vague and mystical happiness that he had no words, even mispronounceable words, to express. But some of the smug monuments in the aisles18 got a wreath of epithets19: “Metrorious urnfuls,” “funererial claims,” “dejected angelosity,” for example. He wandered about the precincts and speculated about the people who lived in the ripe and cosy20 houses of grey stone that cluster there so comfortably. Through green doors in high stone walls he caught glimpses of level lawns and blazing flower beds; mullioned windows revealed shaded reading lamps and disciplined shelves of brown bound books. Now and then a dignitary in gaiters would pass him, “Portly capon,” or a drift of white-robed choir21 boys cross a distant arcade22 and vanish in a doorway23, or the pink and cream of some girlish dress flit like a butterfly across the cool still spaces of the place. Particularly he responded to the ruined arches of the Benedictine’s Infirmary and the view of Bell Harry24 tower from the school buildings. He was stirred to read the Canterbury Tales, but he could not get on with Chaucer’s old-fashioned English; it fatigued25 his attention, and he would have given all the story telling very readily for a few adventures on the road. He wanted these nice people to live more and yarn26 less. He liked the Wife of Bath very much. He would have liked to have known that woman.
At Canterbury, too, he first to his knowledge saw Americans.
His shop did a good class trade in Westgate Street, and he would see them go by on the way to stare at Chaucer’s “Chequers,” and then turn down Mercery Lane to Prior Goldstone’s gate. It impressed him that they were always in a kind of quiet hurry, and very determined27 and methodical people,— much more so than any English he knew.
“Cultured Rapacicity,” he tried.
“Vorocious Return to the Heritage.”
He would expound28 them incidentally to his attendant apprentices29. He had overheard a little lady putting her view to a friend near the Christchurch gate. The accent and intonation30 had hung in his memory, and he would reproduce them more or less accurately31. “Now does this Marlowe monument really and truly matter?” he had heard the little lady enquire32. “We’ve no time for side shows and second rate stunts33, Mamie. We want just the Big Simple Things of the place, just the Broad Elemental Canterbury praposition. What is it saying to us? I want to get right hold of that, and then have tea in the very room that Chaucer did, and hustle34 to get that four-eighteen train back to London.”
He would go over these precious phrases, finding them full of an indescribable flavour. “Just the Broad Elemental Canterbury praposition,” he would repeat. . . .
He would try to imagine Parsons confronted with Americans. For his own part he knew himself to be altogether inadequate35. . . .
Canterbury was the most congenial situation Mr. Polly ever found during these wander years, albeit36 a very desert so far as companionship went.
1 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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2 opprobrium | |
n.耻辱,责难 | |
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3 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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4 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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5 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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6 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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7 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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8 discursively | |
adv.东拉西扯地,推论地 | |
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9 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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10 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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11 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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12 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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14 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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15 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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16 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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17 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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18 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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19 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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20 cosy | |
adj.温暖而舒适的,安逸的 | |
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21 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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22 arcade | |
n.拱廊;(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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23 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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24 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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25 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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26 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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27 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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28 expound | |
v.详述;解释;阐述 | |
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29 apprentices | |
学徒,徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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30 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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31 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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32 enquire | |
v.打听,询问;调查,查问 | |
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33 stunts | |
n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 );(广告中)引人注目的花招;愚蠢行为;危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长],抑制,妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34 hustle | |
v.推搡;竭力兜售或获取;催促;n.奔忙(碌) | |
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35 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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36 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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