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美丽英文(散文卷)-第12部分
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r by the tea…table。 It is late； and I have long since drunk my cup of milk。 My eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen。 How could I not listen； seeing that Mamma is speaking to somebody； and that the sound of her voice is so melodious and kind？ How much its echoes recall to my heart！ With my eyes veiled with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully。 Suddenly she seems to grow smaller and smaller； and her face vanishes to a point； yet I can still see it—can still see her as she looks at me and smiles。 Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small。 I blink and blink； yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil of an eye。 Then I rouse myself； and the picture fades。 Once more I half…close my eyes； and cast about to try and recall the dream； but it has gone； I rise to my feet； only to fall back fortably into the armchair。
“There！ You are falling asleep again； little Nicolas；” says Mamma。 “You had better go to by…by。”
“No； I won’t go to sleep； Mamma；” I reply； though almost inaudibly； for pleasant dreams are filling all my soul。 The sound sleep of childhood is weighing my eyelids down； and for a few moments。 I sink into slumber and oblivion until awakened by some one。 I feel in my sleep as though a soft hand were caressing me。 I know it by the touch； and； though still dreaming； I seize hold of it and press it to my lips。 Every one else has gone to bed； and only one candle remains burning in the drawing…room。 Mamma has said that she herself will wake me。 She sits down on the arm of the chair in which I am asleep； with her soft hand stroking my hair； and I hear her beloved； well…known voice say in my ear： “Get up； my darling。 It is time to go by…by。”
No envious gaze sees her now。 She is not afraid to shed upon me the whole of her tenderness and love。 I do not wake up； yet I kiss and kiss her hand。
“Get up； then； my angel。”
She passes her other arm round my neck； and her fingers tickle me as they move across it。 The room is quiet and in half…darkness； but the tickling has touched my nerves and I begin to awake。 Mamma is sitting near me—that I can tell—and touching me； I can hear her voice and feel her presence。 This at last rouses me to spring up； to throw my arms around her neck； to hide my head in her bosom； and to say with a sigh：
童 年（3）
“Ah； dear； darling Mamma； how much I love you！”
She smiles her sad； enchanting3 smile； takes my head between her two hands； kisses me on the forehead； and lifts me on to her lap。
“Do you love me so much； then？” she says。 Then； after a few moments’ silence； she continues： “And you must love me always； and never forget me。 If your Mamma should no longer be here； will you promise never to forget her—never； Nicolinka？” and she kisses me more fondly than ever。
“Oh； but you must not speak so； darling Mamma； my own darling Mamma！” I exclaim as I clasp her knees； and tears of joy and love fall from my eyes。
How； after scenes like this！ I would go upstairs； and stand before the icons； and say with a rapturous feeling； “God bless Papa and Mamma！” and repeat a prayer for my beloved mother which my childish lips had learnt to lisp—the love of God and other blending strangely in a single emotion！
After saying my prayers I would wrap myself up in the bedclothes。 My heart would feel light； peaceful； and happy； and one dream would follow another。 Dreams of what？ They were all of them vague； but all of them full of pure love and of a sort of expectation of happiness。 Usually； also； there would be some favorite toy—a china dog or the bedarner into the bed…corner behind the pillow； and it would please me to think how warm and fortable and well cared—for it was there。 Also； I would pray God to make everyone happy； so that every one might be contented； and also to send fine weather tomorrow for our walk。 Then I would turn myself over on to the other side； and thoughts and dreams would bee jumbled and entangled together until at last I slept soundly and peacefully； though with a face wet with tears。
Do in after life the freshness and light…heartedness； the craving4 for love and for strength of faith； ever return which we experience in our childhood’s years？ What better time is there in our lives than when the two best of virtues—innocent gaiety and a boundless yearning for affection—are our sole objects of pursuit？
Where now are our ardent prayers？ Where now are our best gifts—the pure tears of emotion which a guardian angel dries with a smile as he sheds upon us lovely dreams of ineffable5 childish joy？ Can it be that life has left such heavy traces upon one’s heart that those tears and ecstasies are for ever vanished？ Can it be that there remains to us only the recollection of them？
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初 雪（1）
＇英国＇约翰·波顿·普里斯特利
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约翰·波顿·普里斯特利（1894—1984），英国小说家、剧作家、评论家。曾就读于剑桥大学，1922年到伦敦，从事文学创作。他的作品被人们广为传阅的有小说《好伙伴》《天使人行道》，剧本《危险的角落》《我曾经到过那里》等。
罗伯特·林德曾这样评论简·奥斯汀笔下的人物：“他们是这样的人，在他们的生活中，能遇上一场小雪就算是一件大事。”尽管可能被这位诙谐而温和的评论家看成是伍德豪斯式的人物，我仍然坚持认为，昨晚这里下了一场雪的确是一件大事。清晨，看到这皑皑白雪，我和孩子们不禁兴奋起来，我看到他们在幼儿室的窗户前凝望着外面奇妙的世界，七嘴八舌说个没完，仿佛又要过圣诞节了。事实上，这场雪对我和孩子们来说都是惊奇、迷人的。这是今年冬天这里的第一场雪，由于去年此时我身在国外，在落雪时节正经历着热带的高温，所以再次看到铺设着这洁白地毯的大地时；有种久违了的感觉。去年在国外时，我遇上英属圭亚那三个年轻的女孩子，她们刚结束对英国的初访。在她们的印象之中，最深的两件事是：伦敦街头熙熙攘攘的人群，全都是陌生的面孔（她们强调这一点，是因为她们一直生活在小镇，人们彼此都很熟悉）；另外一件事是在索默塞特某地，一天清晨醒来忽然见到了白雪皑皑的景象。她们欣喜若狂，一扫淑女的矜持，冲出屋子，来回奔跑在那片晶莹洁白的雪地上，在无人踩过的雪毯上，留下了横七竖八快乐的脚印，正像孩子们今天早晨在花园里做的那样。
这场初雪不仅是件大事，而且还是件富有魔法的大事。你睡觉时处在一个世界里，而醒来时，却发现你在一个截然不同的天地里。如果这都不让人沉醉，到哪里去找更醉人的东西呢？一切都悄然地在一种神秘的沉静中完成，因而更给这场初雪增添了玄妙的色彩。若所有的雪铺天盖地倾泻下来，把我们从午夜的沉睡中惊醒，那么，这就没什么值得欢呼雀跃的了。但它却是趁我们熟睡时，分秒必争，悄无声息地飘落下来。卧室里窗帘拉拢了，外面却发生着翻天覆地的变化，犹如无数的精灵仙童在悄悄地施展魔法，而我们只是翻个身，打个哈欠，伸一下懒腰，对此毫无知觉。然而，这变化是多么巨大呀！我们住的房子仿佛掉进了另一片天地。即使在白雪鞭长莫及的室内，也好像不一样了，每个房间都显得小巧而温暖，好像有某种力量的驱使让它成为一个伐木工的棚屋，或一所温暖舒适的圆木房。外面，昨天的花园，现在却是晶莹皎洁的一片，远处的村落犹如古老德国神话中的一个仙境，不再是你所熟识的一排排房屋了。所有住在那里的人们：戴眼镜的邮政局女局长、鞋匠、退休的小学校长，以及其他人，如果你听说他们都改头换面，成了古怪精灵般的人物，能为你提供隐身帽和魔术鞋，你也不会感到不可思议。你也会觉得自己和昨天不太一样。一切都在变化，你又怎会一成不变？屋子萦绕着一种莫名其妙的激动，一种由兴奋而产生的微弱的颤动，让人心神不宁，这和人们将要作一次旅行时所常有的那种感觉没什么两样。孩子们当然无比兴奋，就连大人们在准备开始一天的工作之前，在一起聊天的时间也比以往要长一些。任何人都会不由自主地到窗户前去瞧瞧——这种情形就和人们在一艘远行的游轮上一样。
今天早晨起床时，整个世界变成了淡蓝洁白交相呼应的冰封天地。光线从窗户射进来，迷迷离离，竟然使得洗脸、刷牙、刮胡子、穿衣服这些日常小事也显得很离奇古怪。接着太阳出来了，到我坐下来吃早餐时，太阳的光彩已经是绚丽夺目，给雪地添上一抹柔和的淡粉色。餐室的窗户成为一幅可爱的日本版画。屋外的小梅树愉快地沐浴着日光，树杈上镶嵌着淡粉色的雪花巧妙地装点着树干。过了一两个小时，万物都成了寒气四溢、白蓝交辉的发光体。世界再次焕然一新。那精巧的日本版画已然消失。我从书房的窗户望去，穿过花园，越过草地，看到那远处的小土丘，大地晶莹皎洁，天空一片铅灰，所有的树木呈阴森恐怖状——确实有种非同寻常的危险蕴藏在这景象之中。它好像把我们这个与英国中心毗邻地区里的宜人乡村变成了一个残忍冷酷的荒原。在那幽暗的矮树林中，似乎有一队骑兵随时都会从里面冲杀出来，随时都会听到刀剑无情的砍杀声，也可能会看到远处某一处雪地被鲜血染红。——这就是我看到的情景。
初 雪（2）
这时情况又在变化。光亮已经消逝，那恐怖的迹象也荡然无存。雪下得正紧，大片大片柔软的雪花洋洋洒洒，因而人们几乎看不清对面那浅浅的山谷，厚厚的积雪压着屋顶，树木也都弯下了腰，映着影影绰绰的空茫，依然能清晰地看见乡村教堂的风标，然而它已变成安徒生笔下的某种动物了。我的书房独立于整所房子，从这儿我可以看到幼儿室的孩子们把鼻尖紧紧地贴在窗户玻璃上。突然，我的脑海里响起一首儿歌，虽然音韵不协调，但在我孩提时，鼻尖紧贴着冰冷的玻璃凝视着飘舞的雪花时，总唱起它：
雪花，雪花，飘得快：
洁白的雪花真可爱！
苏格兰宰了多少鹅，
片片鹅毛这边飘落！
First Snow
John Boynton Priestley
Mr。 Robert Lynd once remarked1 of Jane Austen’s characters：“They are people in whose lives a slight fall of snow is an event。” Even at the risk of appearing to this witty and genial critic as another Mr。 Woodhouse； I must insist that last night’s fall of snow here was an event。 I was nearly as excited about it this morning as the children； whom I found all peering through the nursery2 window at the magic outside and chattering as excitedly as if Christmas had suddenly e round again。 The fact is； however； that the snow was as strange and enchanting to me as it was to them。 It is the first fall we have had here this winter； and last year I was out of the country； broiling in the tropics； during the snowy season； so that it really does seem an age since I saw the ground so fantastically carpeted。 It was while I was away last year that I met the three young girls from British Guiana who had just returned from their first visit to England。 The two things that had impressed them most were the endless crowds of people in the London street； all strangers （they emphasized this； for they had spent all their lives in a little town where everybody knows everybody）； and the snow…covered landscape they awoke to； one morning when they were staying somewhere in Somerset。 They were so thrilled and delighted that they flung away any pretence of being demure young ladies and rushed out of the house to run to and fro across the glittering white expanses； happily scattering footmarks on the untrodden surface； just as the children did in the garden this morning。
The first fall of snow is not only an event but it is a magical event。 You go to bed in one kind of world and wake up to find yourself in another quite different； and if this is not enchantment； then where is it to be found？ The very stealth3； the eerie quietness； of the thing makes it more magical。 If all the snow fell at once in one shattering crash； awakening us in the middle of the night the event would be robbed of its wonder。 But it flutters down； soundless； hour after hour while we are asleep。 Outside the closed curtains of the bedroom a vast transformation scene is taking place； just as if a myriad elves and brownies were at work； and we turn and yawn and stretch and know nothing about it。 And then； what an extraordinary change it is！ It is as if the house you are in had been dropped down in another continent。 Even the inside； which has not been touched； seems different； every room appearing smaller and cosier； just as if some power were trying to turn it into a woodcutter’s hut or a snug log…cabin。 Outside； where the garden was yesterday； there is now a white and glistening level； and the village beyond is no longer your own familiar cluster of roofs but a village in an old German fairy…tale。 You would not be surprised to learn that all the people there； the spectacled postmistress； the cobbler； the retired school master； and the rest； had suffered a change too and had bee queer elvish beings； purveyors of invisible caps and magic shoes。 You yourselves do not feel quite the same people you were yesterday。 How could you when so much has been changed？ There is a curious4 stir； a little shiver of excitement； troubling the house； not unlike the feeling there is abroad when a journey has to be made。 The children； of course； are all excitement but even the adults hang about and talk to one another longer than usual before settling down to the day’s work。 Nobody can resist the windows。 It is like being on board a ship。 电�
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