The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare-backed downs, sent the moth2 fluttering from side to side of his square of the window-pane9. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life, and a day moth’s at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest10 in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment11, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail12 and diminutive13 body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead14 of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig-zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished15 and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection16 and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his dancing apparently17, he settled on the window ledge18 in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile19 attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The legs agitated20 themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation21. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks22. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal23, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay-coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom24 which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion25 the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic26 that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One’s sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant27 little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist28 filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.
点击收听单词发音
1 moths | |
n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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2 moth | |
n.蛾,蛀虫 | |
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3 hybrid | |
n.(动,植)杂种,混合物 | |
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4 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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5 tassel | |
n.流苏,穗;v.抽穗, (玉米)长穗须 | |
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6 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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7 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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8 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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9 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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10 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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11 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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12 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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13 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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14 bead | |
n.念珠;(pl.)珠子项链;水珠 | |
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15 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 circumspection | |
n.细心,慎重 | |
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17 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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18 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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19 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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20 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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21 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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22 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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23 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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24 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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25 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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26 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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27 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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28 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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