It was not with the least idea of living up to the character my friend Lanrivain ascribed to me (as a matter of fact, under my unsociable exterior1 I have always had secret yearnings for domesticity) that I took his hint one autumn afternoon and went to Kerfol. My friend was motoring over to Quimper on business: he dropped me on the way, at a cross-road on a heath, and said: “First turn to the right and second to the left. Then straight ahead till you see an avenue. If you meet any peasants, don’t ask your way. They don’t understand French, and they would pretend they did and mix you up. I’ll be back for you here by sunset — and don’t forget the tombs in the chapel2.”
I followed Lanrivain’s directions with the hesitation3 occasioned by the usual difficulty of remembering whether he had said the first turn to the right and second to the left, or the contrary. If I had met a peasant I should certainly have asked, and probably been sent astray; but I had the desert landscape to myself, and so stumbled on the right turn and walked across the heath till I came to an avenue. It was so unlike any other avenue I have ever seen that I instantly knew it must be the avenue. The grey-trunked trees sprang up straight to a great height and then interwove their pale-grey branches in a long tunnel through which the autumn light fell faintly. I know most trees by name, but I haven’t to this day been able to decide what those trees were. They had the tall curve of elms, the tenuity of poplars, the ashen4 colour of olives under a rainy sky; and they stretched ahead of me for half a mile or more without a break in their arch. If ever I saw an avenue that unmistakably led to something, it was the avenue at Kerfol. My heart beat a little as I began to walk down it.
Presently the trees ended and I came to a fortified5 gate in a long wall. Between me and the wall was an open space of grass, with other grey avenues radiating from it. Behind the wall were tall slate6 roofs mossed with silver, a chapel belfry, the top of a keep. A moat filled with wild shrubs7 and brambles surrounded the place; the drawbridge had been replaced by a stone arch, and the portcullis by an iron gate. I stood for a long time on the hither side of the moat, gazing about me, and letting the influence of the place sink in. I said to myself: “If I wait long enough, the guardian8 will turn up and show me the tombs — ” and I rather hoped he wouldn’t turn up too soon.
I sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. As soon as I had done it, it struck me as a puerile9 and portentous10 thing to do, with that great blind house looking down at me, and all the empty avenues converging11 on me. It may have been the depth of the silence that made me so conscious of my gesture. The squeak12 of my match sounded as loud as the scraping of a brake, and I almost fancied I heard it fall when I tossed it onto the grass. But there was more than that: a sense of irrelevance13, of littleness, of futile14 bravado15, in sitting there puffing16 my cigarette-smoke into the face of such a past.
I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol — I was new to Brittany, and Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day before — but one couldn’t as much as glance at that pile without feeling in it a long accumulation of history. What kind of history I was not prepared to guess: perhaps only that sheer weight of many associated lives and deaths which gives a majesty17 to all old houses. But the aspect of Kerfol suggested something more — a perspective of stern and cruel memories stretching away, like its own grey avenues, into a blur18 of darkness.
Certainly no house had ever more completely and finally broken with the present. As it stood there, lifting its proud roofs and gables to the sky, it might have been its own funeral monument. “Tombs in the chapel? The whole place is a tomb!” I reflected. I hoped more and more that the guardian would not come. The details of the place, however striking, would seem trivial compared with its collective impressiveness; and I wanted only to sit there and be penetrated19 by the weight of its silence.
“It’s the very place for you!” Lanrivain had said; and I was overcome by the almost blasphemous20 frivolity21 of suggesting to any living being that Kerfol was the place for him. “Is it possible that any one could not See —?” I wondered. I did not finish the thought: what I meant was undefinable. I stood up and wandered toward the gate. I was beginning to want to know more; not to see more — I was by now so sure it was not a question of seeing — but to feel more: feel all the place had to communicate. “But to get in one will have to rout22 out the keeper,” I thought reluctantly, and hesitated. Finally I crossed the bridge and tried the iron gate. It yielded, and I walked through the tunnel formed by the thickness of the chemin de ronde. At the farther end, a wooden barricade23 had been laid across the entrance, and beyond it was a court enclosed in noble architecture. The main building faced me; and I now saw that one half was a mere24 ruined front, with gaping25 windows through which the wild growths of the moat and the trees of the park were visible. The rest of the house was still in its robust26 beauty. One end abutted27 on the round tower, the other on the small traceried chapel, and in an angle of the building stood a graceful28 well-head crowned with mossy urns29. A few roses grew against the walls, and on an upper window-sill I remember noticing a pot of fuchsias.
My sense of the pressure of the invisible began to yield to my architectural interest. The building was so fine that I felt a desire to explore it for its own sake. I looked about the court, wondering in which corner the guardian lodged30. Then I pushed open the barrier and went in. As I did so, a dog barred my way. He was such a remarkably31 beautiful little dog that for a moment he made me forget the splendid place he was defending. I was not sure of his breed at the time, but have since learned that it was Chinese, and that he was of a rare variety called the “Sleeve-dog.” He was very small and golden brown, with large brown eyes and a ruffled32 throat: he looked like a large tawny33 chrysanthemum34. I said to myself: “These little beasts always snap and scream, and somebody will be out in a minute.”
The little animal stood before me, forbidding, almost menacing: there was anger in his large brown eyes. But he made no sound, he came no nearer. Instead, as I advanced, he gradually fell back, and I noticed that another dog, a vague rough brindled35 thing, had limped up on a lame36 leg. “There’ll be a hubbub37 now,” I thought; for at the same moment a third dog, a long-haired white mongrel, slipped out of a doorway38 and joined the others. All three stood looking at me with grave eyes; but not a sound came from them. As I advanced they continued to fall back on muffled39 paws, still watching me. “At a given point, they’ll all charge at my ankles: it’s one of the jokes that dogs who live together put up on one,” I thought. I was not alarmed, for they were neither large nor formidable. But they let me wander about the court as I pleased, following me at a little distance — always the same distance — and always keeping their eyes on me. Presently I looked across at the ruined facade40, and saw that in one of its empty window-frames another dog stood: a white pointer with one brown ear. He was an old grave dog, much more experienced than the others; and he seemed to be observing me with a deeper intentness. “I’ll hear from him,” I said to myself; but he stood in the window-frame, against the trees of the park, and continued to watch me without moving. I stared back at him for a time, to see if the sense that he was being watched would not rouse him. Half the width of the court lay between us, and we gazed at each other silently across it. But he did not stir, and at last I turned away. Behind me I found the rest of the pack, with a newcomer added: a small black greyhound with pale agate-coloured eyes. He was shivering a little, and his expression was more timid than that of the others. I noticed that he kept a little behind them. And still there was not a sound.
I stood there for fully41 five minutes, the circle about me — waiting, as they seemed to be waiting. At last I went up to the little golden-brown dog and stooped to pat him. As I did so, I heard myself give a nervous laugh. The little dog did not start, or growl42, or take his eyes from me — he simply slipped back about a yard, and then paused and continued to look at me. “Oh, hang it!” I exclaimed, and walked across the court toward the well.
As I advanced, the dogs separated and slid away into different corners of the court. I examined the urns on the well, tried a locked door or two, and looked up and down the dumb fa?ade; then I faced about toward the chapel. When I turned I perceived that all the dogs had disappeared except the old pointer, who still watched me from the window. It was rather a relief to be rid of that cloud of witnesses; and I began to look about me for a way to the back of the house. “Perhaps there’ll be somebody in the garden,” I thought. I found a way across the moat, scrambled43 over a wall smothered44 in brambles, and got into the garden. A few lean hydrangeas and geraniums pined in the flower-beds, and the ancient house looked down on them indifferently. Its garden side was plainer and severer than the other: the long granite45 front, with its few windows and steep roof, looked like a fortress-prison. I walked around the farther wing, went up some disjointed steps, and entered the deep twilight46 of a narrow and incredibly old box-walk. The walk was just wide enough for one person to slip through, and its branches met overhead. It was like the ghost of a box-walk, its lustrous47 green all turning to the shadowy greyness of the avenues. I walked on and on, the branches hitting me in the face and springing back with a dry rattle48; and at length I came out on the grassy49 top of the chemin de ronde. I walked along it to the gate-tower, looking down into the court, which was just below me. Not a human being was in sight; and neither were the dogs. I found a flight of steps in the thickness of the wall and went down them; and when I emerged again into the court, there stood the circle of dogs, the golden-brown one a little ahead of the others, the black greyhound shivering in the rear.
“Oh, hang it — you uncomfortable beasts, you!” I exclaimed, my voice startling me with a sudden echo. The dogs stood motionless, watching me. I knew by this time that they would not try to prevent my approaching the house, and the knowledge left me free to examine them. I had a feeling that they must be horribly cowed to be so silent and inert50. Yet they did not look hungry or ill-treated. Their coats were smooth and they were not thin, except the shivering greyhound. It was more as if they had lived a long time with people who never spoke51 to them or looked at them: as though the silence of the place had gradually benumbed their busy inquisitive52 natures. And this strange passivity, this almost human lassitude, seemed to me sadder than the misery53 of starved and beaten animals. I should have liked to rouse them for a minute, to coax54 them into a game or a scamper55; but the longer I looked into their fixed56 and weary eyes the more preposterous57 the idea became. With the windows of that house looking down on us, how could I have imagined such a thing? The dogs knew better: they knew what the house would tolerate and what it would not. I even fancied that they knew what was passing through my mind, and pitied me for my frivolity. But even that feeling probably reached them through a thick fog of listlessness. I had an idea that their distance from me was as nothing to my remoteness from them. The impression they produced was that of having in common one memory so deep and dark that nothing that had happened since was worth either a growl or a wag.
“I say,” I broke out abruptly58, addressing myself to the dumb circle, “do you know what you look like, the whole lot of you? You look as if you’d seen a ghost — that’s how you look! I wonder if there is a ghost here, and nobody but you left for it to appear to?” The dogs continued to gaze at me without moving. . . .
It was dark when I saw Lanrivain’s motor lamps at the cross-roads — and I wasn’t exactly sorry to see them. I had the sense of having escaped from the loneliest place in the whole world, and of not liking59 loneliness — to that degree — as much as I had imagined I should. My friend had brought his solicitor60 back from Quimper for the night, and seated beside a fat and affable stranger I felt no inclination61 to talk of Kerfol. . . .
But that evening, when Lanrivain and the solicitor were closeted in the study, Madame de Lanrivain began to question me in the drawing-room.
“I haven’t decided64 yet. The fact is, I couldn’t get into the house,” I said, as if I had simply postponed65 my decision, and meant to go back for another look.
“You couldn’t get in? Why, what happened? The family are mad to sell the place, and the old guardian has orders — ”
“Very likely. But the old guardian wasn’t there.”
“What a pity! He must have gone to market. But his daughter —?”
“There was nobody about. At least I saw no one.”
“Nobody but a lot of dogs — a whole pack of them — who seemed to have the place to themselves.”
Madame de Lanrivain let the embroidery slip to her knee and folded her hands on it. For several minutes she looked at me thoughtfully.
“A pack of dogs — you saw them?”
“Saw them? I saw nothing else!”
“How many?” She dropped her voice a little. “I’ve always wondered — ”
I looked at her with surprise: I had supposed the place to be familiar to her. “Have you never been to Kerfol?” I asked.
“Oh, yes: often. But never on that day.”
“What day?”
“I’d quite forgotten — and so had Hervé, I’m sure. If we’d remembered, we never should have sent you to-day — but then, after all, one doesn’t half believe that sort of thing, does one?”
“What sort of thing?” I asked, involuntarily sinking my voice to the level of hers. Inwardly I was thinking: “I knew there was something. . . . ”
Madame de Lanrivain cleared her throat and produced a reassuring67 smile. “Didn’t Hervé tell you the story of Kerfol? An ancestor of his was mixed up in it. You know every Breton house has its ghost-story; and some of them are rather unpleasant.”
“Yes — but those dogs?”
“Well, those dogs are the ghosts of Kerfol. At least, the peasants say there’s one day in the year when a lot of dogs appear there; and that day the keeper and his daughter go off to Morlaix and get drunk. The women in Brittany drink dreadfully.” She stooped to match a silk; then she lifted her charming inquisitive Parisian face. “Did you really see a lot of dogs? There isn’t one at Kerfol.” she said.
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1
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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12
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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13
irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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17
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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penetrated
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| 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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blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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chrysanthemum
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| n.菊，菊花 | |
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brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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muffled
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| 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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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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43
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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44
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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45
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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48
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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49
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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50
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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51
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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52
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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53
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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56
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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59
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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60
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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61
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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62
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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64
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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65
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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67
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
参考例句： |
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