章节正文
once more under that tree where we first talked, and under the
old mora, where you hid yourself and threw down leaves on me, and
where you caught the little spider to show me how you made
yourself a dress, you shall speak to me in your own sweet tongue,
and then try to say the same things in mine.... And in the end,
perhaps, you will find that it is not so impossible as you
think."
She looked at me, smiling again through her tears, and shook her
head a little.
"Remember what I have heard, that before your mother died you
were able to tell Nuflo and the priest what her wish was. Can
you not, in the same way, tell me why she cried?"
"I can tell you, but it will not be telling you."
"I understand. You can tell the bare facts. I can imagine
something more, and the rest I must lose. Tell me, Rima."
Her face became troubled; she glanced away and let her eyes
wander round the dim, firelit cavern; then they returned to mine
once more.
"Look," she said, "grandfather lying asleep by the fire. So far
away from us--oh, so far! But if we were to go out from the
cave, and on and on to the great mountains where the city of the
sun is, and stood there at last in the midst of great crowds of
people, all looking at us, talking to us' it would be just the
same. They would be like the trees and rocks and animals--so
far! Not with us nor we with them. But we are everywhere alone
together, apart--we two. It is love; I know it now, but I did
not know it before because I had forgotten what she told me. Do
you think I can tell you what she said when I asked her why she
cried? Oh no! Only this, she and another were like one, always,
apart from the others. Then something came--something came! O
Abel, was that the something you told me about on the mountain?
And the other was lost for ever, and she was alone in the forests
and mountains of the world. Oh, why do we cry for what is lost?
Why do we not quickly forget it and feel glad again? Now only do
I know what you felt, O sweet mother, when you sat still and
cried, while I ran about and played and laughed! O poor mother!
Oh, what pain!" And hiding her face against my neck, she sobbed
once more.
To my eyes also love and sympathy brought the tears; but in a
little while the fond, comforting words I spoke and my caresses
recalled her from that sad past to the present; then, lying back
as at first, her head resting on my folded cloak, her body partly
supported by my encircling arm and partly by the rock we were
leaning against, her half-closed eyes turned to mine expressed a
tender assured happiness--the chastened gladness of sunshine
after rain; a soft delicious languor that was partlypassionate
with the passion etherealized.
"Tell me, Rima," I said, bending down to her, "in all those
troubled days with me in the woods had you no happy moments? Did
not something in your heart tell you that it was sweet to love,
even before you knew what love meant?"
"Yes; and once--O Abel, do you remember that night, after
returning from Ytaioa, when you sat so late talking by the
fire--I in the shadow, never stirring, listening, listening; you
by the fire with the light on your face, saying so many strange
things? I was happy then--oh, how happy! It was black night and
raining, and I a plant growing in the dark, feeling the sweet
raindrops falling, falling on my leaves. Oh, it will be morning
by and by and the sun will shine on my wet leaves; and that made
me glad till I trembled with happiness. Then suddenly the
lightning would come, so bright, and I would tremble with fear,
and wish that it would be dark again. That was when you looked
at me sitting in the shadow, and I could not take my eyes away
quickly and could not meet yours, so that I trembled with fear."
"And now there is no fear--no shadow; now you are perfectly
happy?"
"Oh, so happy! If the way back to the wood was longer, ten
times, and if the great mountains, white with snow on their tops,
were between, and the great dark forest, and rivers wider than
Orinoco, still I would go alone without fear, because you would
come after me, to join me in the wood, to be with me at last and
always."
"But I should not let you go alone, Rima--your lonely days are
over now."
She opened her eyes wider and looked earnestly into my face. "I
must go back alone, Abel," she said. "Before day comes I must
leave you. Rest here, with grandfather, for a few days and
nights, then follow me."
I heard her with astonishment. "It must not be, Rima," I cried.
"What, let you leave me--now you are mine--to go all that
distance, through all that wild country where you might lose
yourself and perish alone? Oh, do not think of it!"
She listened, regarding me with some slight trouble in her eyes,
but smiling a little at the same time. Her small hand moved up
my arm and caressed my cheek; then she drew my face down to hers
until our lips met. But when I looked at her eyes again, I saw
that she had not consented to my wish. "Do I not know all the
way now," she spoke, "all the mountains, rivers, forests--how
should I lose myself? And I must return quickly, not step by
step, walking--resting, resting--walking, stopping to cook and
eat, stopping to gather firewood, to make a shelter--so many
things! Oh, I shall be back in half the time; and I have so much
to do."
"What can you have to do, love?--everything can be done when we
are in the wood together."
A bright smile with a touch of mockery in it flitted over her
face as she replied: "Oh, must I tell you that there are things
you cannot do? Look, Abel," and she touched the slight garment
she wore, thinner now than at first, and dulled by long exposure
to sun and wind and rain.
I could not command her, and seemed powerless to persuade her;
but I had not done yet, and proceeded to use every argument I
could find to bring her round to my view; and when I finished she
put her arms around my neck and drew herself up once more. "O
Abel, how happy I shall be!" she said, taking no notice of all I
had said. "Think of me alone, days and days, in the wood,
waiting for you, working all the time; saying: 'Come quickly,
Abel; come slow, Abel. O Abel, how long you are! Oh, do not come
until my work is finished!' And when it is finished and you
arrive you shall find me, but not at once. First you will seek
for me in the house, then in the wood, calling: 'Rime! Rima!'
And she will be there, listening, hid in the trees, wishing to be
in your arms, wishing for your lips--oh, so glad, yet fearing to
show herself. Do you know why? He told you--did he not?--that
when he first saw her she was standing before him all in white--a
dress that was like snow on the mountain-tops when the sun is
setting and gives it rose and purple colour. I shall be like
that, hidden among the trees, saying: 'Am I different--not like
Rima? Will he know me--will he love me just the same?' Oh, do I
not know that you will be glad, and love me, and call me
beautiful? Listen! Listen!" she suddenly exclaimed, lifting
her face.
Among the bushes not far from the cave's mouth a small bird had
broken out in song, a clear, tender melody soon taken up by other
birds further away.
"It will soon be morning," she said, and then clasped her arms
about me once more and held me in a long, passionate embrace;
then slipping away from my arms and with one swift glance at the
sleeping old man, passed out of the cave.
For a few moments I remained sitting, not yet realizing that she
had left me, so suddenly and swiftly had she passed from my arms
and my sight; then, recovering my faculties, I started up and
rushed out in hopes of overtaking her.
It was not yet dawn, but there was still some light from the full
moon, now somewhere behind the mountains. Running to the verge
of the bushgrown plateau, I explored the rocky slope beneath
without seeing her form, and then called: "Rima! Rima!"
A soft, warbling sound, uttered by no bird, came up from the
shadowy bushes far below; and in that direction I ran on; then
pausing, called again. The sweet sound was repeated once more,
but much lower down now, and so faintly that I scarcely heard it.
And when I went on further and called again and again, there was
no reply, and I knew that she had indeed gone on that long
journey alone.
CHAPTER XVIII
When Nuflo at length opened his eyes he found me sitting alone
and despondent by the fire, just returned from my vain chase. I
had been caught in a heavy mist on the mountain-side, and was wet
through as well as weighed down by fatigue and drowsiness,
consequent upon the previous day's laborious march and my
night-long vigil; yet I dared not think of rest. She had gone
from me, and I could not have prevented it; yet the thought that
I had allowed her to slip out of my arms, to go away alone on
that long, perilous journey, was as intolerable as if I had
consented to it.
Nuflo was at first startled to hear of her sudden departure; but
he laughed at my fears, affirming that after having once been
over the ground she could not lose herself; that she would be in
no danger from the Indians, as she would invariably see them at a
distance and avoid them, and that wild beasts, serpents, and
other evil creatures would do her no harm. The small amount of
food she required to sustain life could be found anywhere;
furthermore, her journey would not be interrupted by bad weather,
since rain and heat had no effect on her. In the end he seemed
pleased that she had left us, saying that with Rima in the wood
the house and cultivated patch and hidden provisions and
implements would be safe, for no Indian would venture to come
where she was. His confidence reassured me, and casting myself
down on the sandy floor of the cave, I fell into a deep slumber,
which lasted until evening; then I only woke to share a meal with
the old man, and sleep again until the following day.
Nuflo was not ready to start yet; he was enamoured of the
unaccustomed comforts of a dry sleeping-place and a fire blown
about by no wind and into which fell no hissing raindrops. Not
for two days more would he consent to set out on the return
journey, and if he could have persuaded me our stay at Riolama
would have lasted a week.
We had fine weather at starting; but before long it clouded, and
then for upwards of a fortnight we had it wet and stormy, which
so hindered us that it took us twenty-three days to accomplish
the return journey, whereas the journey out had only taken
eighteen. The adventures we met with and the pains we suffered
during this long march need not be related. The rain made us
miserable, but we suffered more from hunger than from any other
cause, and on more than one occasion were reduced to the verge of
starvation. Twice we were driven to beg for food at Indian
villages, and as we had nothing to give in exchange for it, we
got very little. It is possible to buy hospitality from the
savage without fish-hooks, nails, and calico; but on this
occasion I found myself without that impalpable medium of
exchange which had been so great a help to me on my first journey
to Parahuari. Now I was weak and miserable and without cunning.
It is true that we could have exchanged the two dogs for cassava
bread and corn, but we should then have been worse off than ever.
And in the end the dogs saved us by an occasional capture--an
armadillo surprised in the open and seized before it could bury
itself in the soil, or an iguana, opossum, or labba, traced by
means of their keen sense of smell to its hiding-place. Then
Nuflo would rejoice and feast, rewarding them with the skin,
bones, and entrails. But at length one of the dogs fell lame,
and Nuflo, who was very hungry, made its lameness an excuse for
old mora, where you hid yourself and threw down leaves on me, and
where you caught the little spider to show me how you made
yourself a dress, you shall speak to me in your own sweet tongue,
and then try to say the same things in mine.... And in the end,
perhaps, you will find that it is not so impossible as you
think."
She looked at me, smiling again through her tears, and shook her
head a little.
"Remember what I have heard, that before your mother died you
were able to tell Nuflo and the priest what her wish was. Can
you not, in the same way, tell me why she cried?"
"I can tell you, but it will not be telling you."
"I understand. You can tell the bare facts. I can imagine
something more, and the rest I must lose. Tell me, Rima."
Her face became troubled; she glanced away and let her eyes
wander round the dim, firelit cavern; then they returned to mine
once more.
"Look," she said, "grandfather lying asleep by the fire. So far
away from us--oh, so far! But if we were to go out from the
cave, and on and on to the great mountains where the city of the
sun is, and stood there at last in the midst of great crowds of
people, all looking at us, talking to us' it would be just the
same. They would be like the trees and rocks and animals--so
far! Not with us nor we with them. But we are everywhere alone
together, apart--we two. It is love; I know it now, but I did
not know it before because I had forgotten what she told me. Do
you think I can tell you what she said when I asked her why she
cried? Oh no! Only this, she and another were like one, always,
apart from the others. Then something came--something came! O
Abel, was that the something you told me about on the mountain?
And the other was lost for ever, and she was alone in the forests
and mountains of the world. Oh, why do we cry for what is lost?
Why do we not quickly forget it and feel glad again? Now only do
I know what you felt, O sweet mother, when you sat still and
cried, while I ran about and played and laughed! O poor mother!
Oh, what pain!" And hiding her face against my neck, she sobbed
once more.
To my eyes also love and sympathy brought the tears; but in a
little while the fond, comforting words I spoke and my caresses
recalled her from that sad past to the present; then, lying back
as at first, her head resting on my folded cloak, her body partly
supported by my encircling arm and partly by the rock we were
leaning against, her half-closed eyes turned to mine expressed a
tender assured happiness--the chastened gladness of sunshine
after rain; a soft delicious languor that was partlypassionate
with the passion etherealized.
"Tell me, Rima," I said, bending down to her, "in all those
troubled days with me in the woods had you no happy moments? Did
not something in your heart tell you that it was sweet to love,
even before you knew what love meant?"
"Yes; and once--O Abel, do you remember that night, after
returning from Ytaioa, when you sat so late talking by the
fire--I in the shadow, never stirring, listening, listening; you
by the fire with the light on your face, saying so many strange
things? I was happy then--oh, how happy! It was black night and
raining, and I a plant growing in the dark, feeling the sweet
raindrops falling, falling on my leaves. Oh, it will be morning
by and by and the sun will shine on my wet leaves; and that made
me glad till I trembled with happiness. Then suddenly the
lightning would come, so bright, and I would tremble with fear,
and wish that it would be dark again. That was when you looked
at me sitting in the shadow, and I could not take my eyes away
quickly and could not meet yours, so that I trembled with fear."
"And now there is no fear--no shadow; now you are perfectly
happy?"
"Oh, so happy! If the way back to the wood was longer, ten
times, and if the great mountains, white with snow on their tops,
were between, and the great dark forest, and rivers wider than
Orinoco, still I would go alone without fear, because you would
come after me, to join me in the wood, to be with me at last and
always."
"But I should not let you go alone, Rima--your lonely days are
over now."
She opened her eyes wider and looked earnestly into my face. "I
must go back alone, Abel," she said. "Before day comes I must
leave you. Rest here, with grandfather, for a few days and
nights, then follow me."
I heard her with astonishment. "It must not be, Rima," I cried.
"What, let you leave me--now you are mine--to go all that
distance, through all that wild country where you might lose
yourself and perish alone? Oh, do not think of it!"
She listened, regarding me with some slight trouble in her eyes,
but smiling a little at the same time. Her small hand moved up
my arm and caressed my cheek; then she drew my face down to hers
until our lips met. But when I looked at her eyes again, I saw
that she had not consented to my wish. "Do I not know all the
way now," she spoke, "all the mountains, rivers, forests--how
should I lose myself? And I must return quickly, not step by
step, walking--resting, resting--walking, stopping to cook and
eat, stopping to gather firewood, to make a shelter--so many
things! Oh, I shall be back in half the time; and I have so much
to do."
"What can you have to do, love?--everything can be done when we
are in the wood together."
A bright smile with a touch of mockery in it flitted over her
face as she replied: "Oh, must I tell you that there are things
you cannot do? Look, Abel," and she touched the slight garment
she wore, thinner now than at first, and dulled by long exposure
to sun and wind and rain.
I could not command her, and seemed powerless to persuade her;
but I had not done yet, and proceeded to use every argument I
could find to bring her round to my view; and when I finished she
put her arms around my neck and drew herself up once more. "O
Abel, how happy I shall be!" she said, taking no notice of all I
had said. "Think of me alone, days and days, in the wood,
waiting for you, working all the time; saying: 'Come quickly,
Abel; come slow, Abel. O Abel, how long you are! Oh, do not come
until my work is finished!' And when it is finished and you
arrive you shall find me, but not at once. First you will seek
for me in the house, then in the wood, calling: 'Rime! Rima!'
And she will be there, listening, hid in the trees, wishing to be
in your arms, wishing for your lips--oh, so glad, yet fearing to
show herself. Do you know why? He told you--did he not?--that
when he first saw her she was standing before him all in white--a
dress that was like snow on the mountain-tops when the sun is
setting and gives it rose and purple colour. I shall be like
that, hidden among the trees, saying: 'Am I different--not like
Rima? Will he know me--will he love me just the same?' Oh, do I
not know that you will be glad, and love me, and call me
beautiful? Listen! Listen!" she suddenly exclaimed, lifting
her face.
Among the bushes not far from the cave's mouth a small bird had
broken out in song, a clear, tender melody soon taken up by other
birds further away.
"It will soon be morning," she said, and then clasped her arms
about me once more and held me in a long, passionate embrace;
then slipping away from my arms and with one swift glance at the
sleeping old man, passed out of the cave.
For a few moments I remained sitting, not yet realizing that she
had left me, so suddenly and swiftly had she passed from my arms
and my sight; then, recovering my faculties, I started up and
rushed out in hopes of overtaking her.
It was not yet dawn, but there was still some light from the full
moon, now somewhere behind the mountains. Running to the verge
of the bushgrown plateau, I explored the rocky slope beneath
without seeing her form, and then called: "Rima! Rima!"
A soft, warbling sound, uttered by no bird, came up from the
shadowy bushes far below; and in that direction I ran on; then
pausing, called again. The sweet sound was repeated once more,
but much lower down now, and so faintly that I scarcely heard it.
And when I went on further and called again and again, there was
no reply, and I knew that she had indeed gone on that long
journey alone.
CHAPTER XVIII
When Nuflo at length opened his eyes he found me sitting alone
and despondent by the fire, just returned from my vain chase. I
had been caught in a heavy mist on the mountain-side, and was wet
through as well as weighed down by fatigue and drowsiness,
consequent upon the previous day's laborious march and my
night-long vigil; yet I dared not think of rest. She had gone
from me, and I could not have prevented it; yet the thought that
I had allowed her to slip out of my arms, to go away alone on
that long, perilous journey, was as intolerable as if I had
consented to it.
Nuflo was at first startled to hear of her sudden departure; but
he laughed at my fears, affirming that after having once been
over the ground she could not lose herself; that she would be in
no danger from the Indians, as she would invariably see them at a
distance and avoid them, and that wild beasts, serpents, and
other evil creatures would do her no harm. The small amount of
food she required to sustain life could be found anywhere;
furthermore, her journey would not be interrupted by bad weather,
since rain and heat had no effect on her. In the end he seemed
pleased that she had left us, saying that with Rima in the wood
the house and cultivated patch and hidden provisions and
implements would be safe, for no Indian would venture to come
where she was. His confidence reassured me, and casting myself
down on the sandy floor of the cave, I fell into a deep slumber,
which lasted until evening; then I only woke to share a meal with
the old man, and sleep again until the following day.
Nuflo was not ready to start yet; he was enamoured of the
unaccustomed comforts of a dry sleeping-place and a fire blown
about by no wind and into which fell no hissing raindrops. Not
for two days more would he consent to set out on the return
journey, and if he could have persuaded me our stay at Riolama
would have lasted a week.
We had fine weather at starting; but before long it clouded, and
then for upwards of a fortnight we had it wet and stormy, which
so hindered us that it took us twenty-three days to accomplish
the return journey, whereas the journey out had only taken
eighteen. The adventures we met with and the pains we suffered
during this long march need not be related. The rain made us
miserable, but we suffered more from hunger than from any other
cause, and on more than one occasion were reduced to the verge of
starvation. Twice we were driven to beg for food at Indian
villages, and as we had nothing to give in exchange for it, we
got very little. It is possible to buy hospitality from the
savage without fish-hooks, nails, and calico; but on this
occasion I found myself without that impalpable medium of
exchange which had been so great a help to me on my first journey
to Parahuari. Now I was weak and miserable and without cunning.
It is true that we could have exchanged the two dogs for cassava
bread and corn, but we should then have been worse off than ever.
And in the end the dogs saved us by an occasional capture--an
armadillo surprised in the open and seized before it could bury
itself in the soil, or an iguana, opossum, or labba, traced by
means of their keen sense of smell to its hiding-place. Then
Nuflo would rejoice and feast, rewarding them with the skin,
bones, and entrails. But at length one of the dogs fell lame,
and Nuflo, who was very hungry, made its lameness an excuse for
- spider [´spaidə]
n.蜘蛛；三角架 (初中英语单词) - priest [pri:st] n.教士；牧师；神父 (初中英语单词)
- sympathy [´simpəθi] n.同情，怜悯 (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- delicious [di´liʃəs] a.美味的，可口的 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- grandfather [´grænd,fɑ:ðə] n.(外)祖父；祖先 (初中英语单词)
- astonishment [ə´stɔniʃmənt] n.吃惊；惊异 (初中英语单词)
- perish [´periʃ] v.灭亡；消灭；(使)死去 (初中英语单词)
- persuade [pə´sweid] v.(被)说服；使相信 (初中英语单词)
- argument [´ɑ:gjumənt] n.辩论；争论；论证 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- swiftly [´swiftli] ad.迅速地，敏捷地 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- previous [´pri:viəs] a.先，前，以前的 (初中英语单词)
- departure [di´pɑ:tʃə] n.离开，出发 (初中英语单词)
- amount [ə´maunt] n.总数；数量 v.合计 (初中英语单词)
- sustain [sə´stein] vt.支撑；蒙受；确认 (初中英语单词)
- indian [´indiən] a.印度的 n.印度人 (初中英语单词)
- venture [´ventʃə] n.投机 v.冒险；敢于 (初中英语单词)
- whereas [weər´æz] conj.鉴于；因此；而 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- medium [´mi:diəm] n.中间；平均 a.中等的 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- occasional [ə´keiʒənəl] a.偶然的；临时的 (初中英语单词)
- rejoice [ri´dʒɔis] v.(使)高兴；欢庆 (初中英语单词)
- cavern [´kævən] n.大山洞；大岩洞 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- earnestly [´ə:nistli] ad.认真地；急切地 (高中英语单词)
- regarding [ri´gɑ:diŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- melody [´melədi] n.悦耳的音调；乐曲 (高中英语单词)
- passionate [´pæʃənit] a.易动情的；易怒的 (高中英语单词)
- plateau [´plætəu] n.高原；平稳；托盘 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- faintly [´feintli] ad.微弱地，软弱无力的 (高中英语单词)
- fatigue [fə´ti:g] n.&vt.(使)疲劳(劳累) (高中英语单词)
- perilous [´periləs] a.危险的；冒险的 (高中英语单词)
- invariably [in´veəriəbli] ad.不变地；永恒地 (高中英语单词)
- fortnight [´fɔ:tnait] n.两星期 (高中英语单词)
- related [ri´leitid] a.叙述的；有联系的 (高中英语单词)
- hospitality [,hɔspi´tæliti] n.好客，殷勤 (高中英语单词)
- gladness [´glædnis] n.愉快，高兴，喜悦 (英语四级单词)
- stirring [´stə:riŋ] a.活跃的；热闹的 (英语四级单词)
- intolerable [in´tɔlərəb(ə)l] a.无法忍受的 (英语四级单词)
- upwards [´ʌpwədz] ad.=upward (英语四级单词)
- calico [´kælikəu] n.白棉布；印花布 (英语四级单词)
- assured [ə´ʃuəd] a.确实的 n.被保险人 (英语六级单词)
- firewood [´faiəwud] n.柴，薪 (英语六级单词)
- mockery [´mɔkəri] n.嘲笑；笑柄 (英语六级单词)
- powerless [´pauələs] a.软弱的；无资源的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- laborious [lə´bɔ:riəs] a.吃力的 (英语六级单词)
- cultivated [´kʌltiveitid] a.在耕作的；有教养的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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