掀起的面纱(外研社双语读库)(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：（英） 乔治·艾略特（George Eliot）

出版社：外语教学与研究出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

掀起的面纱(外研社双语读库)试读：

The time of my end approaches. I have lately been subject to attacks of angina pectoris; and in the ordinary course of things, my physician tells me, I may fairly hope that my life will not be protracted many months. Unless, then, I am cursed with an exceptional physical constitution, as I am cursed with an exceptional mental character, I shall not much longer groan under the wearisome burthen of this earthly existence. If it were to be otherwise—if I were to live on to the age most men desire and provide for—I should for once have known whether the miseries of delusive expectation can outweigh the miseries of true provision. For I foresee when I shall die, and everything that will happen in my last moments.

我大限将至。最近，我已屈服于心绞痛的袭击。我的医生告诉我，照此势态，我已时日无多。除非，我的身体受了魔咒而异于常人，就像我的心理特质一样异常，否则在生命饱受折磨之际，我也不会捱很久。但若是另一种情形——若我能活到大多数人所期盼和假设的年纪——我该会知道虚妄期待的悲惨是否超过有所准备的悲惨。因为我能预见到自己的死亡之日，也能预见我弥留时日的各般情形。

Just a month from this day, on September 20, 1850, I shall be sitting in this chair, in this study, at ten o'clock at night, longing to die, weary of incessant insight and foresight, without delusions and without hope. Just as I am watching a tongue of blue flame rising in the fire, and my lamp is burning low, the horrible contraction will begin at my chest. I shall only have time to reach the bell, and pull it violently, before the sense of suffocation will come. No one will answer my bell. I know why. My two servants are lovers, and will have quarrelled. My housekeeper will have rushed out of the house in a fury, two hours before, hoping that Perry will believe she has gone to drown herself. Perry is alarmed at last, and is gone out after her. The little scullery-maid is asleep on a bench: she never answers the bell; it does not wake her. The sense of suffocation increases: my lamp goes out with a horrible stench: I make a great effort, and snatch at the bell again. I long for life, and there is no help. I thirsted for the unknown: the thirst is gone. O God, let me stay with the known, and be weary of it: I am content. Agony of pain and suffocation—and all the while the earth, the fields, the pebbly brook at the bottom of the rookery, the fresh scent after the rain, the light of the morning through my chamber-window, the warmth of the hearth after the frosty air—will darkness close over them for ever?

从这天算起再过一个月，也就是1850年9月20日，我将在这个书房，坐在这把椅子上，在夜里十点钟，恭候着死神的光顾，我厌倦了无休止的洞察和预见，没有妄想，也没有希望。那时我将看着火堆里燃起的蓝色火舌，油灯火力减弱，我感到胸口强烈的绞痛。我必须在感到窒息之前就拿到那只铃铛，并且拼命把它摇响。没有人会来救我。我知道怎么回事。我的两个佣人是对情侣，他们俩那时肯定会吵架。我按铃的两小时前，我的女管家可能已经生气地冲出了房子，心里希望佩里会相信她要去跳河。佩里最后害怕了，跟着她跑了出去。洗碗的小女仆在条凳上睡着了：她从不理会铃声，因为那根本叫不醒她。窒息的感觉加重了：煤油灯熄灭了，还散发着一股刺鼻的味道，我再次费尽力气去拉铃。我还想活着，可是没人来救我。我曾经憧憬过未知之事，但现在这种憧憬已经消逝了。主啊，让我和已知之事同在吧，我宁愿厌倦，心里也是满足的。巨痛和窒息——以及一直以来的泥土、原野、山谷里布满卵石的溪流、雨后清新的空气、照入室内的晨光，还有严寒过后温暖的壁炉——这些会不会被黑夜永远吞噬了呢？

Darkness—darkness—no pain—nothing but darkness: but I am passing on and on through the darkness: my thought stays in the darkness, but always with a sense of moving onward…

黑暗，还是黑暗；没有痛苦，只有黑暗：我正在黑暗中悄然离去，我的思想处在混沌之中，但我一直能意识到正在往前走……

Before that time comes, I wish to use my last hours of ease and strength in telling the strange story of my experience. I have never fully unbosomed myself to any human being; I have never been encouraged to trust much in the sympathy of my fellow-men. But we have all a chance of meeting with some pity, some tenderness, some charity, when we are dead: it is the living only who cannot be forgiven—the living only from whom men's indulgence and reverence are held off, like the rain by the hard east wind. While the heart beats, bruise it—it is your only opportunity; while the eye can still turn towards you with moist, timid entreaty, freeze it with an icy unanswering gaze; while the ear, that delicate messenger to the inmost sanctuary of the soul, can still take in the tones of kindness, put it off with hard civility, or sneering compliment, or envious affectation of indifference; while the creative brain can still throb with the sense of injustice, with the yearning for brotherly recognition—make haste—oppress it with your ill-considered judgements, your trivial comparisons, your careless misrepresentations. The heart will by and by be still—"ubi saeva indignatio ulterius cor lacerare nequit"; the eye will cease to entreat; the ear will be deaf; the brain will have ceased from all wants as well as from all work. Then your charitable speeches may find vent; then you may remember and pity the toil and the struggle and the failure; then you may give due honour to the work achieved; then you may find extenuation for errors, and may consent to bury them.

在那个时刻来到之前，我希望能用我最后还算安宁和尚有气力的时光，向你们讲述我不同寻常的经历。我从未向任何人完全敞开过心扉，也从未有人鼓励过我要相信同胞们的怜悯。但是当我们死去之时，总是会看到别人的怜悯、悲伤和仁慈，就如同严酷的东风带来的寒雨。只有生者不能被饶恕——人们从不纵容或者敬畏生者。若心脏还能跳动，就打击它——这是你唯一的机会；若看向你的眼睛还能潮湿，还能胆怯地恳求，那就用冰冷无疑的眼神将其凝结；若仔细聆听的耳朵还能将各种信息传递向灵魂深处，若它还能听得进仁善的语调，那么就用冷酷的疏离、反讽的恭维，或嫉妒而漠不关心的虚伪抛弃它；若富于创新的大脑还能因不公平而悸动，还渴望兄弟友爱的认可，赶紧用粗率的评判、浅薄的类比、不负责任的歪曲压迫它。心跳便会慢慢停止——“狂野的怒火再不会烧伤他的心”。眼睛不再恳求，耳朵将会失聪，大脑将不再有任何渴望也不再运作。那时，你慷慨的演说将得以宣泄；那时，你将牢记艰辛、抗争和失败，并为之遗憾；那时，你将给予已完成的工作以荣誉；那时，你将认为错误情有可原，并同意将其埋葬。

That is a trivial schoolboy text; why do I dwell on it? It has little reference to me, for I shall leave no works behind me for men to honour. I have no near relatives who will make up, by weeping over my grave, for the wounds they inflicted on me when I was among them. It is only the story of my life that will perhaps win a little more sympathy from strangers when I am dead, than I ever believed it would obtain from my friends while I was living.

这篇文字像学校里小孩子写的流水账作文，为什么我要写得这么详细？它和我没什么关系，因为我死后不会留下任何作品供人景仰。我也没有近亲在我墓旁哭泣着，想要弥补当初我和他们一起时，他们让我遭受过的伤害。只有这个关于我生命的故事，也许能在我死后赢得陌生人的同情，而这或许比我活着时，曾想从朋友那里得到的同情还要多一些。

My childhood perhaps seems happier to me than it really was, by contrast with all the after-years. For then the curtain of the future was as impenetrable to me as to other children: I had all their delight in the present hour, their sweet indefinite hopes for the morrow; and I had a tender mother: even now, after the dreary lapse of long years, a slight trace of sensation accompanies the remembrance of her caress as she held me on her knee—her arms round my little body, her cheek pressed on mine. I had a complaint of the eyes that made me blind for a little while, and she kept me on her knee from morning till night. That unequalled love soon vanished out of my life, and even to my childish consciousness it was as if that life had become more chill I rode my little white pony with the groom by my side as before, but there were no loving eyes looking at me as I mounted, no glad arms opened to me when I came back. Perhaps I missed my mother's love more than most children of seven or eight would have done, to whom the other pleasures of life remained as before; for I was certainly a very sensitive child. I remember still the mingled trepidation and delicious excitement with which I was affected by the tramping of the horses on the pavement in the echoing stables, by the loud resonance of the groom's voices, by the booming bark of the dogs as my father's carriage thundered under the archway of the courtyard, by the din of the gong as it gave notice of luncheon and dinner. The measured tramp of soldiery which I sometimes heard—for my father's house lay near a county town where there were large barracks—made me sob and tremble; and yet when they were gone past, I longed for them to come back again.

我的童年在我眼中比实际上要快乐些，经过和之后的这些年相比。那时，我和其他孩子一样觉得未来的帘幕不可逾越：和他们一样，我为当下的时光而欢欣，为明日的到来充满甜蜜而不确定的希望，而且我有一个温柔的母亲——即使现在，在多年沉闷的时光流逝之后，每当想起她的爱抚，我还会有丝淡淡的感觉，那时她揽我在膝头，双臂环着我小小的身体，面颊紧贴着我的小脸。我的眼睛有段时间看不见，见我诉苦不已，她便把我从早到晚地抱在膝头。这无与伦比的爱很快就从我生命中消失了，甚至连我稚嫩的内心都感受到了生活似乎变得更严酷了。我骑着小白马，马夫伴我左右，一如从前，但当我登上马背时，不再会有充满爱意的目光落在我身上，我回家时也不再会有欢乐的臂膀向我张开。也许，我比大多数七八岁的孩子更加思念母亲的爱。对他们来说，生活中的快乐是一成不变的，而我却是个是个非常敏感的孩子。我仍记得那马厩里的声音：马蹄杂沓声，马夫吆喝声，此起彼伏，回声不断。父亲的马车从院子拱门下轰鸣而过时，那阵阵犬吠，还有那通知午餐或者晚餐已准备好了的喧闹的锣声，这些声音这些让我既惊恐又兴奋。我有时也会听到军人整齐的脚步声——因为我父亲的房子离县城很近，那里有一个大兵营——这让我害怕得颤抖哭泣。但当他们离开了以后，我又盼望着他们再次回来。

I fancy my father thought me an odd child, and had little fondness for me; though he was very careful in fulfilling what he regarded as a parent's duties. But he was already past the middle of life, and I was not his only son. My mother had been his second wife, and he was five-and-forty when he married her. He was a firm, unbending, intensely orderly man, in root and stem a banker, but with a flourishing graft of the active landholder, aspiring to county influence: one of those people who are always like themselves from day to day, who are uninfluenced by the weather, and neither know melancholy nor high spirits. I held him in great awe, and appeared more timid and sensitive in his presence than at other times; a circumstance which, perhaps, helped to confirm him in the intention to educate me on a different plan from the prescriptive one with which he had complied in the case of my elder brother, already a tall youth at Eton. My brother was to be his representative and successor; he must go to Eton and Oxford, for the sake of making connexions, of course: my father was not a man to underrate the bearing of Latin satirists or Greek dramatists on the attainment of an aristocratic position. But, intrinsically, he had slight esteem for "those dead but sceptred spirits"; having qualified himself for forming an independent opinion by reading Potter's Æschylus, and dipping into Francis's Horace. To this negative view he added a positive one, derived from a recent connexion with mining speculations; namely, that a scientific education was the really useful training for a younger son. Moreover, it was clear that a shy, sensitive boy like me was not fit to encounter the rough experience of a public school. Mr. Letherall had said so very decidedly. Mr. Letherall was a large man in spectacles, who one day took my small head between his large hands, and pressed it here and there in an exploratory, auspicious manner—then placed each of his great thumbs on my temples, and pushed me a little way from him, and stared at me with glittering spectacles. The contemplation appeared to displease him, for he frowned sternly, and said to my father, drawing his thumbs across my eyebrows—

我设想父亲认为我是个奇怪的孩子，并不怎么喜欢我，虽然他一直认真地完成他认为作为父亲该尽的责任。但他已经年过半百，而我并非他唯一的儿子。我母亲是他的第二任妻子，他们结婚时他已经四十五岁了。他性格坚定，坚韧不屈，做事井井有条，骨子里是一个银行家，但他却做了一个积极勤奋的地主，渴望能在县里有一定影响：他是那种越活越像自己的人，不会为天气左右情绪，也不知道什么叫悲伤，什么叫高兴。我对他极其敬畏，在他面前，我会比平时更加羞怯和敏感，这种情形让他坚定了一种想法：他要用一种新的方法教育我，而不是采用教育我哥哥的方法，他现在已经是个在伊顿公学学习的高大青年了。我哥哥是要成为他的代表和继承人的；他必须去上伊顿公学和牛津大学，这当然是为了广交朋友。我父亲从不小看拉丁讽刺诗人和希腊剧作家在获取贵族地位时的所作所为。但是，在读了波特的《埃斯库罗斯》，研究了弗朗西斯的《贺拉斯》之后，他自认已有资格发表独特见解，骨子里对那些“死了还拿着权杖的鬼魂”不怎么尊重。在这一消极的观点之上，他又加了一个积极的观点：科学的教育对小儿子来说是十分有用的训练。这是他从最近关于采矿投机中发现的。再有，一个像我一样羞涩敏感的男孩子显然不适合去经历公立学校中的艰苦生活。莱特劳尔先生如此断言。莱特劳尔先生是一个戴眼镜的大个子。一天，他双手捧住我小小的脑袋，好奇而探究地捏捏这里，按按那里——然后，把他巨大的拇指放在我的两个太阳穴上，再把我稍稍推远，透过闪闪发光的眼镜盯着我。他的思考显然让他极不舒服，因为他严厉地皱起了眉头，一边用大拇指划过我的眉毛，一边对我父亲说——

"The deficiency is there, sir—there; and here," he added, touching the upper sides of my head, "here is the excess. That must be brought out, sir, and this must be laid to sleep."“缺陷就在那里，先生，那里，还有这里，”他碰了碰我头的上半部分，又说，“这里过大了。眉毛得拉长点儿，这额头得往下压压。”

I was in a state of tremor, partly at the vague idea that I was the object of reprobation, partly in the agitation of my first hatred—hatred of this big, spectacled man, who pulled my head about as if he wanted to buy and cheapen it.

我有点儿颤抖，一半是因为我模糊地意识到自己成了被批评的对象，一半是因为我第一次处于一种仇恨的焦躁情绪中——我恨这个高个子戴眼镜的男人，恨他把我的脑袋晃来晃去，好像他要买下来似的一个劲儿地贬低它的价值。

I am not aware how much Mr. Letherall had to do with the system afterwards adopted towards me, but it was presently clear that private tutors, natural history, science, and the modern languages, were the appliances by which the defects of my organization were to be remedied. I was very stupid about machines, so I was to be greatly occupied with them; I had no memory for classification, so it was particularly necessary that I should study systematic zoology and botany; I was hungry for human deeds and humane motions, so I was to be plentifully crammed with the mechanical powers, the elementary bodies, and the phenomena of electricity and magnetism. A better-constituted boy would certainly have profited under my intelligent tutors, with their scientific apparatus; and would, doubtless, have found the phenomena of electricity and magnetism as fascinating as I was, every Thursday, assured they were. As it was, I could have paired off, for ignorance of whatever was taught me, with the worst Latin scholar that was ever turned out of a classical academy. I read Plutarch, and Shakespeare, and Don Quixote by the sly, and supplied myself in that way with wandering thoughts, while my tutor was assuring me that "an improved man, as distinguished from an ignorant one, was a man who knew the reason why water ran downhill." I had no desire to be this improved man; I was glad of the running water; I could watch it and listen to it gurgling among the pebbles, and bathing the bright green water-plants, by the hour together. I did not want to know why it ran; I had perfect confidence that there were good reasons for what was so very beautiful.

莱特劳尔先生跟后来为我量身定制的那套教育方式有多大关系我不知道，但是目前很明显的是：家庭教师、自然历史、科学和现代语言都是用来修补我身体缺陷的设备。由于我对机器非常愚钝，所以我得时常跟它们打交道；因为我记不住分门别类的东西，所以学习系统的动物学和植物学就尤为必要；因为我渴望了解人类行为和人文运动，所以我的大脑需要塞满大量机械功率、元素以及电磁现象。有良师指导，有科学仪器可用，一个天赋好点儿的学生肯定早就受益匪浅了，而且定会发现电学、磁学的现象魅力无穷，就像我每周四都被保证的那样。事实上，由于对教过的东西仍然一无所知，所以我都能与古典学院调教出来的最差的拉丁学者相提并论了。在老师让我确信“一个有教养的人，不同于无知者，他懂得水为什么会往低处流”的时候，我却在底下偷偷地读普鲁塔克、莎士比亚，和《堂吉诃德》，思绪总是在神游，我不想成为所谓有教养的人。我喜欢流水，我可以连续几小时倾听流水淌过鹅卵石时发出的声音，观察鲜绿的水草沐浴在水底的样子。但我不想了解水为什么会流动，我深信这么美丽的东西必定有它美丽的理由。

There is no need to dwell on this part of my life. I have said enough to indicate that my nature was of the sensitive, unpractical order, and that it grew up in an uncongenial medium, which could never foster it into happy, healthy development. When I was sixteen I was sent to Geneva to complete my course of education; and the change was a very happy one to me, for the first sight of the Alps, with the setting sun on them, as we descended the Jura, seemed to me like an entrance into heaven; and the three years of my life there were spent in a perpetual sense of exaltation, as if from a draught of delicious wine, at the presence of Nature in all her awful loveliness. You will think, perhaps, that I must have been a poet, from this early sensibility to Nature. But my lot was not so happy as that. A poet pours forth his song and believes in the listening ear and answering soul, to which his song will be floated sooner or later. But the poet's sensibility without his voice—the poet's sensibility that finds no vent but in silent tears on the sunny bank, when the noonday light sparkles on the water, or in an inward shudder at the sound of harsh human tones, the sight of a cold human eye—this dumb passion brings with it a fatal solitude of soul in the society of one's fellow-men. My least solitary moments were those in which I pushed off in my boat, at evening, towards the centre of the lake; it seemed to me that the sky, and the glowing mountain-tops, and the wide blue water, surrounded me with a cherishing love such as no human face had shed on me since my mother's love had vanished out of my life. I used to do as Jean Jacques did—lie down in my boat and let it glide where it would, while I looked up at the departing glow leaving one mountain-top after the other, as if the prophet's chariot of fire were passing over them on its way to the home of light. Then, when the white summits were all sad and corpse-like, I had to push homeward, for I was under careful surveillance, and was allowed no late wanderings. This disposition of mine was not favourable to the formation of intimate friendships among the numerous youths of my own age who are always to be found studying at Geneva. Yet I made one such friendship; and, singularly enough, it was with a youth whose intellectual tendencies were the very reverse of my own. I shall call him Charles Meunier; his real surname—an English one, for he was of English extraction—having since become celebrated. He was an orphan, who lived on a miserable pittance while he pursued the medical studies for which he had a special genius. Strange! that with my vague mind, susceptible and unobservant, hating inquiry and given up to contemplation, I should have been drawn towards a youth whose strongest passion was science. But the bond was not an intellectual one; it came from a source that can happily blend the stupid with the brilliant, the dreamy with the practical: it came from community of feeling. Charles was poor and ugly, derided by Genevese gamins, and not acceptable in drawing-rooms. I saw that he was isolated, as I was, though from a different cause, and, stimulated by a sympathetic resentment, I made timid advances towards him. It is enough to say that there sprang up as much comradeship between us as our different habits would allow; and in Charles's rare holidays we went up the Salève together, or took the boat to Vevay, while I listened dreamily to the monologues in which he unfolded his bold conceptions of future experiment and discovery. I mingled them confusedly in my thought with glimpses of blue water and delicate floating cloud, with the notes of birds and the distant glitter of the glacier. He knew quite well that my mind was half absent, yet he liked to talk to me in this way; for don't we talk of our hopes and our projects even to dogs and birds, when they love us? I have mentioned this one friendship because of its connexion with a strange and terrible scene which I shall have to narrate in my subsequent life.

关于我的这部分生活，就无需赘述了。我已经谈了不少了，你应该知道我本性敏感而脱离实际，并且这种性格生长在一种与其不适宜的环境中，这样的环境绝不可能促进它健康快乐地成长。十五岁时，我被送到日内瓦去完成学业。对我来说，这一变动是一大乐事。当我们从侏罗山下来，第一次看见阿尔卑斯山头的落日时，我总觉得那就是天堂的入口。在那里度过的三年时光，我一直感到很兴奋，仿佛喝了一杯美酒，在大自然面前尽情欣赏她那令人敬畏的美。你或许会觉得我肯定是一位诗人，年纪轻轻就对大自然如此敏感。但我还没那么幸运。诗人可以尽情挥洒诗情，相信有善于倾听的耳朵和可以产生共鸣的灵魂，相信总有一天，他的诗会被这些人所发现。然而，有种诗人的感情默然无声——他的感情无处发泄，只能在阳光明媚的岸边，在正午的阳光在水面上波光粼粼之时，悄然落泪，或者会在听见人类发出刺耳的声音，看见人类冷漠的眼神时，发自内心地颤栗——有着这样无言情感的，是一个生活在满是同类的社会中却无比孤独的灵魂。最不孤独的时光，就是傍晚时分，坐上小船，划向湖心。在我看来，天空、夕阳下的山巅、辽阔蔚蓝的湖水都用一种真挚的爱将我包围，自母爱从我的生命中消失之后，就再也没有人向我表露过这种爱了。我曾像让·雅克那样——躺在船上，任小船漂流，望着渐渐暗淡的天光从一座山头移到另一座山头，好像先知驾着载有火种的战车驶过山顶，驶向光明的家。之后，明亮的峰顶完全暗下来，阴郁得像一具死尸，每当此时，就该回去了，因为学校纪律严明，不准夜游。我的性情使我并不擅长与他人形成亲密友谊，即使在有很多跟我一样的年轻人求学的日内瓦。不过我还是有了一段友谊，不可思议的是，对方是一个知识趣味与我自己完全相反的年轻人。我叫他查尔斯·默尼耶，他真实的姓是英国人的，因为他有着英国血统。自打命名那天起，他就一直用这个名字。他是个孤儿，日子过得相当拮据，但他仍然坚持求学，学习他颇具天赋的医学。奇怪！我，一个思维含糊、心思敏感、不守纪律、痛恨寻根究底又常陷入沉思的人，竟然会被一个对于科学有强烈热情的人所吸引。不过，让我们走到一起的并不是知识，而来自那种能将笨蛋和天才、将爱幻想的和较实际的人完美地融合在一起的东西：一种共同的感受。查尔斯又穷又丑，就连日内瓦的流浪儿都会嘲笑他，客厅里就更容不得他的拜访了。我看到他很孤独，跟我一样，虽然是因为不同的原因。而且，出于一种同情的愤慨，我小心翼翼地开始接近他。我们虽然有不同的习惯，但是在条件允许之下我们还是形成了尽可能亲密的友谊。在查尔斯少有的假期里，我们会一起去萨雷布山，或者坐船去韦韦，路上他都会向我讲述他关于未来实验和发现的大胆设想，而我则像做梦似的听着他的独白。迷迷糊糊中，他的那些话、蓝色的湖水、飘逸的云彩、鸟儿的歌声以及远处闪闪发光的冰川通通在我脑中混在了一起。他很清楚我心不在焉，但他喜欢这样跟我讲话。我们不是也会对狗儿和鸟儿大谈特谈我们的愿望和计划吗？只要它们喜欢我们就行。我提到这一份友谊，因为它与我之后将描述的生活中奇怪而恐怖的事情有联系。

This happier life at Geneva was put an end to by a severe illness, which is partly a blank to me, partly a time of dimly-remembered suffering, with the presence of my father by my bed from time to time. Then came the languid monotony of convalescence, the days gradually breaking into variety and distinctness as my strength enabled me to take longer and longer drives. On one of these more vividly remembered days, my father said to me, as he sat beside my sofa—

因为一场大病，我在日内瓦的幸福生活就告一段落了。这场病对我来说一方面是空白的，而另一方面又是模模糊糊的痛苦回忆，我依稀记得父亲时常在病床边陪伴着我。接下来就进入了了无生趣的康复期。日子逐渐变得丰富而清晰，我的体能也逐渐恢复，可以坐车去越来越远的地方了。在这些记忆鲜明的日子里，有一天，父亲坐在我的沙发旁，对我说：

"When you are quite well enough to travel, Latimer, I shall take you home with me. The journey will amuse you and do you good, for I shall go through the Tyrol and Austria, and you will see many new places. Our neighbours, the Filmores, are come; Alfred will join us at Basle, and we shall all go together to Vienna, and back by Prague"…“拉蒂默，等你恢复到能够长途旅行的时候，我就带你回家。旅程会路过蒂罗尔和奥地利，所以你会看见许多新地方。这会让你开心，并且对你也有好处。我们的邻居，菲尔莫尔一家会过来。艾尔弗雷德会在巴塞尔加入我们，然后我们一起去维也纳，再从布拉格返回……”

My father was called away before he had finished his sentence, and he left my mind resting on the word Prague, with a strange sense that a new and wondrous scene was breaking upon me: a city under the broad sunshine, that seemed to me as if it were the summer sunshine of a long-past century arrested in its course—unrefreshed for ages by dews of night, or the rushing rain-cloud; scorching the dusty, weary, time-eaten grandeur of a people doomed to live on in the stale repetition of memories, like deposed and superannuated kings in their

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