Jolyon, who had crossed from Calais by night, arrived at Robin1 Hill on Sunday morning. He had sent no word beforehand, so walked up from the station, entering his domain2 by the coppice gate. Coming to the log seat fashioned out of an old fallen trunk, he sat down, first laying his overcoat on it.
‘Lumbago!’ he thought; ‘that’s what love ends in at my time of life!’ And suddenly Irene seemed very near, just as she had been that day of rambling3 at Fontainebleau when they had sat on a log to eat their lunch. Hauntingly near! Odour drawn4 out of fallen leaves by the pale-filtering sunlight soaked his nostrils5. ‘I’m glad it isn’t spring,’ he thought. With the scent6 of sap, and the song of birds, and the bursting of the blossoms, it would have been unbearable7! ‘I hope I shall be over it by then, old fool that I am!’ and picking up his coat, he walked on into the field. He passed the pond and mounted the hill slowly.
Near the top a hoarse8 barking greeted him. Up on the lawn above the fernery he could see his old dog Balthasar. The animal, whose dim eyes took his master for a stranger, was warning the world against him. Jolyon gave his special whistle. Even at that distance of a hundred yards and more he could see the dawning recognition in the obese9 brown-white body. The old dog got off his haunches, and his tail, close-curled over his back, began a feeble, excited fluttering; he came waddling10 forward, gathered momentum11, and disappeared over the edge of the fernery. Jolyon expected to meet him at the wicket gate, but Balthasar was not there, and, rather alarmed, he turned into the fernery. On his fat side, looking up with eyes already glazing13, the old dog lay.
“What is it, my poor old man?” cried Jolyon. Balthasar’s curled and fluffy14 tail just moved; his filming eyes seemed saying: “I can’t get up, master, but I’m glad to see you.”
Jolyon knelt down; his eyes, very dimmed, could hardly see the slowly ceasing heave of the dog’s side. He raised the head a little — very heavy.
“What is it, dear man? Where are you hurt?” The tail fluttered once; the eyes lost the look of life. Jolyon passed his hands all over the inert15 warm bulk. There was nothing — the heart had simply failed in that obese body from the emotion of his master’s return. Jolyon could feel the muzzle16, where a few whitish bristles17 grew, cooling already against his lips. He stayed for some minutes kneeling; with his hand beneath the stiffening18 head. The body was very heavy when he bore it to the top of the field; leaves had drifted there, and he strewed19 it with a covering of them; there was no wind, and they would keep him from curious eyes until the afternoon. ‘I’ll bury him myself,’ he thought. Eighteen years had gone since he first went into the St. John’s Wood house with that tiny puppy in his pocket. Strange that the old dog should die just now! Was it an omen12? He turned at the gate to look back at that russet mound20, then went slowly towards the house, very choky in the throat.
June was at home; she had come down hotfoot on hearing the news of Jolly’s enlistment21. His patriotism22 had conquered her feeling for the Boers. The atmosphere of his house was strange and pocketty when Jolyon came in and told them of the dog Balthasar’s death. The news had a unifying23 effect. A link with the past had snapped — the dog Balthasar! Two of them could remember nothing before his day; to June he represented the last years of her grandfather; to Jolyon that life of domestic stress and aesthetic24 struggle before he came again into the kingdom of his father’s love and wealth! And he was gone!
In the afternoon he and Jolly took picks and spades and went out to the field. They chose a spot close to the russet mound, so that they need not carry him far, and, carefully cutting off the surface turf, began to dig. They dug in silence for ten minutes, and then rested.
“Well, old man,” said Jolyon, “so you thought you ought?”
“Yes,” answered Jolly; “I don’t want to a bit, of course.”
How exactly those words represented Jolyon’s own state of mind
“I admire you for it, old boy. I don’t believe I should have done it at your age — too much of a Forsyte, I’m afraid. But I suppose the type gets thinner with each generation. Your son, if you have one, may be a pure altruist25; who knows?”
“He won’t be like me, then, Dad; I’m beastly selfish.”
“No, my dear, that you clearly are not.” Jolly shook his head, and they dug again.
“Strange life a dog’s,” said Jolyon suddenly: “The only four-footer with rudiments26 of altruism27 and a sense of God!”
Jolly looked at his father.
“Do you believe in God, Dad? I’ve never known.”
At so searching a question from one to whom it was impossible to make a light reply, Jolyon stood for a moment feeling his back tried by the digging.
“What do you mean by God?” he said; “there are two irreconcilable28 ideas of God. There’s the Unknowable Creative Principle — one believes in That. And there’s the Sum of altruism in man — naturally one believes in That.”
“I see. That leaves out Christ, doesn’t it?”
Jolyon stared. Christ, the link between those two ideas! Out of the mouth of babes! Here was orthodoxy scientifically explained at last! The sublime29 poem of the Christ life was man’s attempt to join those two irreconcilable conceptions of God. And since the Sum of human altruism was as much a part of the Unknowable Creative Principle as anything else in Nature and the Universe, a worse link might have been chosen after all! Funny — how one went through life without seeing it in that sort of way!
“What do you think, old man?” he said.
Jolly frowned. “Of course, my first year we talked a good bit about that sort of thing. But in the second year one gives it up; I don’t know why — it’s awfully30 interesting.”
Jolyon remembered that he also had talked a good deal about it his first year at Cambridge, and given it up in his second.
“I suppose,” said Jolly, “it’s the second God, you mean, that old Balthasar had a sense of.”
“Yes, or he would never have burst his poor old heart because of something outside himself.”
“But wasn’t that just selfish emotion, really?”
Jolyon shook his head. “No, dogs are not pure Forsytes, they love something outside themselves.”
Jolly smiled.
“Well, I think I’m one,” he said. “You know, I only enlisted31 because I dared Val Dartie to.”
“But why?”
“We bar each other,” said Jolly shortly.
“Ah!” muttered Jolyon. So the feud32 went on, unto the third generation — this modern feud which had no overt33 expression?
‘Shall I tell the boy about it?’ he thought. But to what end — if he had to stop short of his own part?
And Jolly thought: ‘It’s for Holly34 to let him know about that chap. If she doesn’t, it means she doesn’t want him told, and I should be sneaking35. Anyway, I’ve stopped it. I’d better leave well alone!’
So they dug on in silence, till Jolyon said:
“Now, old man, I think it’s big enough.” And, resting on their spades, they gazed down into the hole where a few leaves had drifted already on a sunset wind.
“I can’t bear this part of it,” said Jolyon suddenly.
“Let me do it, Dad. He never cared much for me.”
Jolyon shook his head.
“We’ll lift him very gently, leaves and all. I’d rather not see him again. I’ll take his head. Now!”
With extreme care they raised the old dog’s body, whose faded tan and white showed here and there under the leaves stirred by the wind. They laid it, heavy, cold, and unresponsive, in the grave, and Jolly spread more leaves over it, while Jolyon, deeply afraid to show emotion before his son, began quickly shovelling36 the earth on to that still shape. There went the past! If only there were a joyful37 future to look forward to! It was like stamping down earth on one’s own life. They replaced the turf carefully on the smooth little mound, and, grateful that they had spared each other’s feelings, returned to the house arm-in-arm.
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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glazing
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| n.玻璃装配业；玻璃窗；上釉；上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 )；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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unifying
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| 使联合( unify的现在分词 )； 使相同； 使一致； 统一 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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altruist
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| n.利他主义者，爱他主义者 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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irreconcilable
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| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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