I have many a merry hour even yet. But time — it stands still, and I cannot understand how it can stand so still. I am out of the service, and free as a prince; all is well; I meet people, drive in carriages; now and again I shut one eye and write with one finger up in the sky; I tickle1 the moon under the chin, and fancy that it laughs — laughs broadly at being tickled2 under the chin. All things smile. I pop a cork3 and call gay people to me.
As for Edwarda, I do not think of her. Why should I not have forgotten her altogether, after all this time? I have some pride. And if anyone asks whether I have any sorrows, then I answer straight out, “No — none.”
Cora lies looking at me. ?sop4, it used to be, but now it is Cora that lies looking at me. The clock ticks on the mantel; outside my open window sounds the roar of the city. A knock at the door, and the postman hands me a letter. A letter with a coronet. I know who sent it; I understand it at once, or maybe I dreamed it one sleepless5 night. But in the envelope there is no letter at all — only two green bird’s feathers.
An icy horror thrills me; I turn cold. Two green feathers! I say to myself: Well, and what of it? But why should I turn cold? Why, there is a cursed draught6 from those windows.
And I shut the windows.
There lie two bird’s feathers, I think to myself again. I seem to know them; they remind me of a little jest up in Nordland, just a little episode among a host of others. It is amusing to see those two feathers again. And suddenly I seem to see a face and hear a voice, and the voice says: “Her, Herr Lieutenant7: here are your feathers.”
“Your feathers.” . . .
Cora, lie still — do you hear? I will kill you if you move!
The weather is hot, an intolerable heat is in the room; what was I thinking of to close the windows? Open them again — open the door too; open it wide — this way, merry souls, come in! Hey, messenger, an errand — go out and fetch me a host of people . . .
And the day passes; but time stands still.
Now I have written this for my own pleasure only, and amused myself with it as best I could. No sorrow weighs on me, but I long to be away — where, I do not know, but far away, perhaps in Africa or India. For my place is in the woods, in solitude8 . . .
点击收听单词发音
1 tickle | |
v.搔痒,胳肢;使高兴;发痒;n.搔痒,发痒 | |
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2 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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3 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
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4 sop | |
n.湿透的东西,懦夫;v.浸,泡,浸湿 | |
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5 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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6 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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7 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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8 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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