酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Silverado Squatters-Part11_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
And then the first of the two stages swooped upon the Toll



House with a roar and in a cloud of dust; and the shock had

not yet time to subside, before the second was abreast of it.



Huge concerns they were, well-horsed and loaded, the men in

their shirt-sleeves, the women swathed in veils, the long



whip cracking like a pistol; and as they charged upon that

slumbering hostelry, each shepherding a dust storm, the dead



place blossomed into life and talk and clatter. This the

Toll House? - with its city throng, its jostling shoulders,



its infinity of instant business in the bar? The mind would

not receive it! The heartfelt bustle of that hour is hardly



credible; the thrill of the great shower of letters from the

post-bag, the childish hope and interest with which one gazed



in all these strangers' eyes. They paused there but to pass:

the blue-clad China-boy, the San Francisco magnate, the



mystery in the dust coat, the secret memoirs in tweed, the

ogling, well-shod lady with her troop of girls; they did but



flash and go; they were hull-down for us behind life's ocean,

and we but hailed their topsails on the line. Yet, out of



our great solitude of four and twenty mountain hours, we

thrilled to their momentary presence gauged and divined them,



loved and hated; and stood light-headed in that storm of

human electricity. Yes, like Piccadilly circus, this is also



one of life's crossing-places. Here I beheld one man,

already famous or infamous, a centre of pistol-shots: and



another who, if not yet known to rumour, will fill a column

of the Sunday paper when he comes to hang - a burly, thick-



set, powerful Chinese desperado, six long bristles upon

either lip; redolent of whiskey, playing cards, and pistols;



swaggering in the bar with the lowest assumption of the

lowest European manners; rapping out blackguard English oaths



in his canorous oriental voice; and combining in one person

the depravities of two races and two civilizations. For all



his lust and vigour, he seemed to look cold upon me from the

valley of the shadow of the gallows. He imagined a vain



thing; and while he drained his cock-tail, Holbein's death

was at his elbow. Once, too, I fell in talk with another of



these flitting strangers - like the rest, in his shirt-

sleeves and all begrimed with dust - and the next minute we



were discussing Paris and London, theatres and wines. To

him, journeying from one human place to another, this was a



trifle; but to me! No, Mr. Lillie, I have not forgotten it.

And presently the city-tide was at its flood and began to



ebb. Life runs in Piccadilly Circus, say, from nine to one,

and then, there also, ebbs into the small hours of the



echoing policeman and the lamps and stars. But the Toll

House is far up stream, and near its rural springs; the



bubble of the tide but touches it. Before you had yet

grasped your pleasure, the horses were put to, the loud whips



volleyed, and the tide was gone. North and south had the two

stages vanished, the towering dust subsided in the woods; but



there was still an interval before the flush had fallen on

your cheeks, before the ear became once more contented with



the silence, or the seven sleepers of the Toll House dozed

back to their accustomed corners. Yet a little, and the



ostler would swing round the great barrier across the road;

and in the golden evening, that dreamy inn begin to trim its



lamps and spread the board for supper.

As I recall the place - the green dell below; the spires of



pine; the sun-warm, scented air; that gray, gabled inn, with

its faint stirrings of life amid the slumber of the mountains



- I slowly awake to a sense of admiration, gratitude, and

almost love. A fine place, after all, for a wasted life to



doze away in - the cuckoo clock hooting of its far home

country; the croquet mallets, eloquent of English lawns; the



stages daily bringing news of - the turbulent world away

below there; and perhaps once in the summer, a salt fog



pouring overhead with its tale of the Pacific.

A STARRY DRIVE






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号