章节正文
It will be my lifelong sorrow. I read of a girl once in a
novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn't red hair.
Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow.
What is an alabaster brow? I never could find out.
Can you tell me?"
"Well now, I'm afraid I can't," said Matthew, who was
getting a little dizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his
rash youth when another boy had enticed him on the merry-go-
round at a picnic.
"Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice
because she was divinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined
what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?"
"Well now, no, I haven't," confessed Matthew ingenuously.
"I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the
choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or
angelically good?"
"Well now, I--I don't know exactly."
"Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn't make
much real difference for it isn't likely I'll ever be
either. It's certain I'll never be angelically good.
Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!
Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!"
That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had
the child tumbled out of the buggy nor had Matthew done
anything astonishing. They had simply rounded a curve in
the road and found themselves in the "Avenue."
The "Avenue," so called by the Newbridge people, was a
stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely
arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted
years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long
canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air
was full of a purpletwilight and far ahead a glimpse of
painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end
of a cathedral aisle.
Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back
in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face
lifted rapturously to the white splendor above. Even when
they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to
Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with rapt face
she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw
visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background.
Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs
barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces
peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence. When
three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had
not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as
energetically as she could talk.
"I guess you're feeling pretty tired and hungry,"
Matthew ventured to say at last, accounting for her long
visitation of dumbness with the only reason he could think
of. "But we haven't very far to go now--only another mile."
She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with
the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led.
"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert," she whispered, "that place we came
through--that white place--what was it?"
"Well now, you must mean the Avenue," said Matthew after a few
moments' profoundreflection. "It is a kind of pretty place."
"Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn't seem the right word to use.
Nor beautiful, either. They don't go far enough. Oh, it
was wonderful--wonderful. It's the first thing I ever saw
that couldn't be improved upon by imagination. It just
satisfies me here"--she put one hand on her breast--"it made
a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did you
ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?"
"Well now, I just can't recollect that I ever had."
"I have it lots of time--whenever I see anything royally
beautiful. But they shouldn't call that lovely place the
Avenue. There is no meaning in a name like that. They
should call it--let me see--the White Way of Delight. Isn't
that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name of
a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always
think of them so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name
was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia
DeVere. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I
shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we
really only another mile to go before we get home? I'm glad
and I'm sorry. I'm sorry because this drive has been so
pleasant and I'm always sorry when pleasant things end.
Something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never
be sure. And it's so often the case that it isn't
pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I'm
glad to think of getting home. You see, I've never had a
real home since I can remember. It gives me that pleasant
ache again just to think of coming to a really truly home.
Oh, isn't that pretty!"
They had driven over the crest of a hill. Below them was a
pond, looking almost like a river so long and winding was
it. A bridge spanned it midway and from there to its lower
end, where an amber-hued belt of sand-hills shut it in from
the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a glory of many
shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus and
rose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for
which no name has ever been found. Above the bridge the
pond ran up into fringing groves of fir and maple and lay
all darkly translucent in their wavering shadows. Here and
there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like a white-clad
girl tip-toeing to her own reflection. From the marsh at
the head of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus
of the frogs. There was a little gray house peering around
a white apple orchard on a slope beyond and, although it was
not yet quite dark, a light was shining from one of its windows.
"That's Barry's pond," said Matthew.
"Oh, I don't like that name, either. I shall call it--let
me see--the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that is the right
name for it. I know because of the thrill. When I hit on a
name that suits exactly it gives me a thrill. Do things
ever give you a thrill?"
Matthew ruminated.
"Well now, yes. It always kind of gives me a thrill to see
them ugly white grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds.
I hate the look of them."
"Oh, I don't think that can be exactly the same kind of a
thrill. Do you think it can? There doesn't seem to be much
connection between grubs and lakes of shining waters, does
there? But why do other people call it Barry's pond?"
"I reckon because Mr. Barry lives up there in that house.
Orchard Slope's the name of his place. If it wasn't for
that big bush behind it you could see Green Gables from
here. But we have to go over the bridge and round by the
road, so it's near half a mile further."
"Has Mr. Barry any little girls? Well, not so very little
either--about my size."
"He's got one about eleven. Her name is Diana."
"Oh!" with a long indrawing of breath. "What a perfectly
lovely name!"
"Well now, I dunno. There's something dreadful heathenish
about it, seems to me. I'd ruther Jane or Mary or some
sensible name like that. But when Diana was born there was
a schoolmaster boarding there and they gave him the naming
of her and he called her Diana."
"I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when
I was born, then. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going
to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid going over
bridges. I can't help imagining that perhaps just as we
get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jack-knife and
nip us. So I shut my eyes. But I always have to open them
for all when I think we're getting near the middle.
Because, you see, if the bridge DID crumple up I'd want to
SEE it crumple. What a jolly rumble it makes! I always
like the rumble part of it. Isn't it splendid there are so
many things to like in this world? There we're over. Now
I'll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Shining Waters. I
always say good night to the things I love, just as I would
to people I think they like it. That water looks as if it
was smiling at me."
When they had driven up the further hill and around a
corner Matthew said:
"We're pretty near home now. That's Green Gables over--"
"Oh, don't tell me," she interrupted breathlessly, catching
at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she
might not see his gesture. "Let me guess. I'm sure I'll
guess right."
She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the
crest of a hill. The sun had set some time since, but the
landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight. To the
west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky.
Below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising
slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From one to
another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last
they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the
road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of
the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest
sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of
guidance and promise.
"That's it, isn't it?" she said, pointing.
Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly.
"Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer
described it so's you could tell."
"No, she didn't--really she didn't. All she said might just
as well have been about most of those other places. I
hadn't any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon
as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must
be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue
from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times
today. Every little while a horriblesickening feeling
would come over me and I'd be so afraid it was all a dream.
Then I'd pinch myself to see if it was real--until suddenly
I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream I'd
better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stopped
pinching. But it IS real and we're nearly home."
With a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence. Matthew
stirred uneasily. He felt glad that it would be Marilla and
not he who would have to tell this waif of the world that
the home she longed for was not to be hers after all. They
drove over Lynde's Hollow, where it was already quite dark,
but not so dark that Mrs. Rachel could not see them from her
window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of
Green Gables. By the time they arrived at the house Matthew
was shrinking from the approaching revelation with an energy
he did not understand. It was not of Marilla or himself he
was thinking of the trouble this mistake was probably going
to make for them, but of the child's disappointment. When
he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he
had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at
murdering something--much the same feeling that came over
him when he had to kill a lamb or calf or any other innocent
little creature.
The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the
poplar leaves were rustling silkily all round it.
"Listen to the trees talking in their sleep," she whispered, as
he lifted her to the ground. "What nice dreams they must have!"
novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn't red hair.
Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow.
What is an alabaster brow? I never could find out.
Can you tell me?"
"Well now, I'm afraid I can't," said Matthew, who was
getting a little dizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his
rash youth when another boy had enticed him on the merry-go-
round at a picnic.
"Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice
because she was divinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined
what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?"
"Well now, no, I haven't," confessed Matthew ingenuously.
"I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the
choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or
angelically good?"
"Well now, I--I don't know exactly."
"Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn't make
much real difference for it isn't likely I'll ever be
either. It's certain I'll never be angelically good.
Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!
Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!"
That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had
the child tumbled out of the buggy nor had Matthew done
anything astonishing. They had simply rounded a curve in
the road and found themselves in the "Avenue."
The "Avenue," so called by the Newbridge people, was a
stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely
arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted
years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long
canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air
was full of a purpletwilight and far ahead a glimpse of
painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end
of a cathedral aisle.
Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back
in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face
lifted rapturously to the white splendor above. Even when
they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to
Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with rapt face
she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw
visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background.
Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs
barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces
peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence. When
three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had
not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as
energetically as she could talk.
"I guess you're feeling pretty tired and hungry,"
Matthew ventured to say at last, accounting for her long
visitation of dumbness with the only reason he could think
of. "But we haven't very far to go now--only another mile."
She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with
the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led.
"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert," she whispered, "that place we came
through--that white place--what was it?"
"Well now, you must mean the Avenue," said Matthew after a few
moments' profoundreflection. "It is a kind of pretty place."
"Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn't seem the right word to use.
Nor beautiful, either. They don't go far enough. Oh, it
was wonderful--wonderful. It's the first thing I ever saw
that couldn't be improved upon by imagination. It just
satisfies me here"--she put one hand on her breast--"it made
a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did you
ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?"
"Well now, I just can't recollect that I ever had."
"I have it lots of time--whenever I see anything royally
beautiful. But they shouldn't call that lovely place the
Avenue. There is no meaning in a name like that. They
should call it--let me see--the White Way of Delight. Isn't
that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name of
a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always
think of them so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name
was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia
DeVere. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I
shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we
really only another mile to go before we get home? I'm glad
and I'm sorry. I'm sorry because this drive has been so
pleasant and I'm always sorry when pleasant things end.
Something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never
be sure. And it's so often the case that it isn't
pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I'm
glad to think of getting home. You see, I've never had a
real home since I can remember. It gives me that pleasant
ache again just to think of coming to a really truly home.
Oh, isn't that pretty!"
They had driven over the crest of a hill. Below them was a
pond, looking almost like a river so long and winding was
it. A bridge spanned it midway and from there to its lower
end, where an amber-hued belt of sand-hills shut it in from
the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a glory of many
shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus and
rose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for
which no name has ever been found. Above the bridge the
pond ran up into fringing groves of fir and maple and lay
all darkly translucent in their wavering shadows. Here and
there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like a white-clad
girl tip-toeing to her own reflection. From the marsh at
the head of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus
of the frogs. There was a little gray house peering around
a white apple orchard on a slope beyond and, although it was
not yet quite dark, a light was shining from one of its windows.
"That's Barry's pond," said Matthew.
"Oh, I don't like that name, either. I shall call it--let
me see--the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that is the right
name for it. I know because of the thrill. When I hit on a
name that suits exactly it gives me a thrill. Do things
ever give you a thrill?"
Matthew ruminated.
"Well now, yes. It always kind of gives me a thrill to see
them ugly white grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds.
I hate the look of them."
"Oh, I don't think that can be exactly the same kind of a
thrill. Do you think it can? There doesn't seem to be much
connection between grubs and lakes of shining waters, does
there? But why do other people call it Barry's pond?"
"I reckon because Mr. Barry lives up there in that house.
Orchard Slope's the name of his place. If it wasn't for
that big bush behind it you could see Green Gables from
here. But we have to go over the bridge and round by the
road, so it's near half a mile further."
"Has Mr. Barry any little girls? Well, not so very little
either--about my size."
"He's got one about eleven. Her name is Diana."
"Oh!" with a long indrawing of breath. "What a perfectly
lovely name!"
"Well now, I dunno. There's something dreadful heathenish
about it, seems to me. I'd ruther Jane or Mary or some
sensible name like that. But when Diana was born there was
a schoolmaster boarding there and they gave him the naming
of her and he called her Diana."
"I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when
I was born, then. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going
to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid going over
bridges. I can't help imagining that perhaps just as we
get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jack-knife and
nip us. So I shut my eyes. But I always have to open them
for all when I think we're getting near the middle.
Because, you see, if the bridge DID crumple up I'd want to
SEE it crumple. What a jolly rumble it makes! I always
like the rumble part of it. Isn't it splendid there are so
many things to like in this world? There we're over. Now
I'll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Shining Waters. I
always say good night to the things I love, just as I would
to people I think they like it. That water looks as if it
was smiling at me."
When they had driven up the further hill and around a
corner Matthew said:
"We're pretty near home now. That's Green Gables over--"
"Oh, don't tell me," she interrupted breathlessly, catching
at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she
might not see his gesture. "Let me guess. I'm sure I'll
guess right."
She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the
crest of a hill. The sun had set some time since, but the
landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight. To the
west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky.
Below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising
slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From one to
another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last
they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the
road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of
the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest
sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of
guidance and promise.
"That's it, isn't it?" she said, pointing.
Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly.
"Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer
described it so's you could tell."
"No, she didn't--really she didn't. All she said might just
as well have been about most of those other places. I
hadn't any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon
as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must
be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue
from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times
today. Every little while a horriblesickening feeling
would come over me and I'd be so afraid it was all a dream.
Then I'd pinch myself to see if it was real--until suddenly
I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream I'd
better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stopped
pinching. But it IS real and we're nearly home."
With a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence. Matthew
stirred uneasily. He felt glad that it would be Marilla and
not he who would have to tell this waif of the world that
the home she longed for was not to be hers after all. They
drove over Lynde's Hollow, where it was already quite dark,
but not so dark that Mrs. Rachel could not see them from her
window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of
Green Gables. By the time they arrived at the house Matthew
was shrinking from the approaching revelation with an energy
he did not understand. It was not of Marilla or himself he
was thinking of the trouble this mistake was probably going
to make for them, but of the child's disappointment. When
he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he
had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at
murdering something--much the same feeling that came over
him when he had to kill a lamb or calf or any other innocent
little creature.
The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the
poplar leaves were rustling silkily all round it.
"Listen to the trees talking in their sleep," she whispered, as
he lifted her to the ground. "What nice dreams they must have!"
- whatever [wɔt´evə]
pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词) - overhead [´əuvə,hed] ad.当头 a.在头上的 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- sunset [´sʌnset] n.日落；晚霞 (初中英语单词)
- cathedral [kə´θi:drəl] n.大教堂 (初中英语单词)
- splendor [´splendə] n.壮丽 =splendour (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- evident [´evidənt] a.明显的，明白的 (初中英语单词)
- reflection [ri´flekʃən] n.反射；映象；想法 (初中英语单词)
- imagination [i,mædʒi´neiʃən] n.想象(力) (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- spiritual [´spiritʃuəl] a.精神(上)的；神圣的 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- thrill [θril] v.震惊；激动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- horrible [´hɔrəbəl] a.可怕的；恐怖的 (初中英语单词)
- disappointment [,disə´pɔintmənt] n.失望；挫折 (初中英语单词)
- assist [ə´sist] v.协助；援助；搀扶 (初中英语单词)
- astonishing [əs´tɔniʃiŋ] a.令人惊讶的 (高中英语单词)
- fragrant [´freigrənt] a.芳香的，芬芳的 (高中英语单词)
- profound [prə´faund] a.深奥的；渊博的 (高中英语单词)
- rumble [´rʌmbəl] v.(使)隆隆响 n.隆隆声 (高中英语单词)
- mellow [´meləu] a.芳醇的 v.(使)成熟 (高中英语单词)
- surrounding [sə´raundiŋ] n.周围的事物 (高中英语单词)
- rapture [´ræptʃə] n.着迷；全神贯注 (高中英语单词)
- revelation [,revə´leiʃən] n.展现；揭露(的事物) (高中英语单词)
- uncomfortable [ʌn´kʌmftəbəl] a.不舒服的，不自在的 (高中英语单词)
- recollect [rekə´lekt] v.重新集合；恢复 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- midway [,mid´wei] n.中途 ad.&a.中途(的) (英语四级单词)
- cucumber [´kju:kʌmbə] n.黄瓜 (英语四级单词)
- schoolmaster [´sku:l,mɑ:stə] n.教练；(男)教师 (英语四级单词)
- crumple [´krʌmpəl] v.弄皱，压皱 (英语四级单词)
- breathlessly [´breθlisli] ad.气喘吁吁地 (英语四级单词)
- partially [´pɑ:ʃəli] ad.部分地；局部地 (英语四级单词)
- wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
- sickening [´sikəniŋ, ´sikniŋ] a.引起疾病的 (英语四级单词)
- lifelong [´laiflɔŋ] a.终生的 (英语六级单词)
- spencer [´spensə] n.(羊毛)短上衣 (英语六级单词)
- eccentric [ik´sentrik] a.古怪的；离心的 (英语六级单词)
- splendidly [´splendidli] ad.光彩夺目地；辉煌地 (英语六级单词)
- dreamy [´dri:mi] a.心不在焉的；朦胧的 (英语六级单词)
- imaginative [i´mædʒənətiv] a.富于想象(力)的 (英语六级单词)
- asylum [ə´sailəm] n.避难所，收容所 (英语六级单词)
- ethereal [i´θiəriəl] a.飘渺的；稀薄的 (英语六级单词)
- darkly [´dɑ:kli] adv.暗，黑；暗中 (英语六级单词)
- marigold [´mærigəuld] 金盏花 (英语六级单词)
- uneasily [ʌn´i:zili] ad.不安地；局促地 (英语六级单词)
- vantage [´vɑ:ntidʒ] n.优势；好机会 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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