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THE DRYAD故事

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发表于 2016-7-11 03:25:08 | 显示全部楼层
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      appearance, the same to which the Dryad had looked up in her
      home. She thought she felt a clear pure stream of air which
      went forth from them. She felt herself lifted up and
      strengthened, and felt an increased power of seeing through
      every leaf and through every fibre of the root. Amid all the
      noise and the turmoil, the colors and the lights, she knew
      herself watched by mild eyes.
      From the side streets sounded the merry notes of fiddles
      and wind instruments. Up! to the dance, to the dance! to
      jollity and pleasure! that was their invitation. Such music it
      was, that horses, carriages, trees, and houses would have
      danced, if they had known how. The charm of intoxicating
      delight filled the bosom of the Dryad.
      "How glorious, how splendid it is!" she cried,
      rejoicingly. "Now I am in Paris!"
      The next day that dawned, the next night that fell,
      offered the same spectacle, similar bustle, similar life;
      changing, indeed, yet always the same; and thus it went on
      through the sequence of days.
      "Now I know every tree, every flower on the square here! I
      know every house, every balcony, every shop in this narrow
      cut-off corner, where I am denied the sight of this great
      mighty city. Where are the arches of triumph, the Boulevards,
      the wondrous building of the world? I see nothing of all this.
      As if shut up in a cage, I stand among the high houses, which
      I now know by heart, with their inscriptions, signs, and
      placards; all the painted confectionery, that is no longer to
      my taste. Where are all the things of which I heard, for which
      I longed, and for whose sake I wanted to come hither? what
      have I seized, found, won? I feel the same longing I felt
      before; I feel that there is a life I should wish to grasp and
      to experience. I must go out into the ranks of living men, and
      mingle among them. I must fly about like a bird. I must see
      and feel, and become human altogether. I must enjoy the one
      half-day, instead of vegetating for years in every-day
            
            
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      sameness and weariness, in which I become ill, and at last
      sink and disappear like the dew on the meadows. I will gleam
      like the cloud, gleam in the sunshine of life, look out over
      the whole like the cloud, and pass away like it, no one
      knoweth whither."
      Thus sighed the Dryad; and she prayed:
      "Take from me the years that were destined for me, and
      give me but half of the life of the ephemeral fly! Deliver me
      from my prison! Give me human life, human happiness, only a
      short span, only the one night, if it cannot be otherwise; and
      then punish me for my wish to live, my longing for life!
      Strike me out of thy list. Let my shell, the fresh young tree,
      wither, or be hewn down, and burnt to ashes, and scattered to
      all the winds!"
      A rustling went through the leaves of the tree; there was
      a trembling in each of the leaves; it seemed as if fire
      streamed through it. A gust of wind shook its green crown, and
      from the midst of that crown a female figure came forth. In
      the same moment she was sitting beneath the
      brightly-illuminated leafy branches, young and beautiful to
      behold, like poor Mary, to whom the clergyman had said, "The
      great city will be thy destruction."
      The Dryad sat at the foot of the tree- at her house door,
      which she had locked, and whose key had thrown away. So young!
      so fair! The stars saw her, and blinked at her. The gas-lamps
      saw her, and gleamed and beckoned to her. How delicate she
      was, and yet how blooming!- a child, and yet a grown maiden!
      Her dress was fine as silk, green as the freshly-opened leaves
      on the crown of the tree; in her nut-brown hair clung a
      half-opened chestnut blossom. She looked like the Goddess of
      Spring.
      For one short minute she sat motionless; then she sprang
      up, and, light as a gazelle, she hurried away. She ran and
      sprang like the reflection from the mirror that, carried by
      the sunshine, is cast, now here, now there. Could any one have
      followed her with his eyes, he would have seen how
            
            
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      marvellously her dress and her form changed, according to the
      nature of the house or the place whose light happened to shine
      upon her.
      She reached the Boulevards. Here a sea of light streamed
      forth from the gas-flames of the lamps, the shops and the
      cafes. Here stood in a row young and slender trees, each of
      which concealed its Dryad, and gave shade from the artificial
      sunlight. The whole vast pavement was one great festive hall,
      where covered tables stood laden with refreshments of all
      kinds, from champagne and Chartreuse down to coffee and beer.
      Here was an exhibition of flowers, statues, books, and colored
      stuffs.
      From the crowd close by the lofty houses she looked forth
      over the terrific stream beyond the rows of trees. Yonder
      heaved a stream of rolling carriages, cabriolets, coaches,
      omnibuses, cabs, and among them riding gentlemen and marching
      troops. To cross to the opposite shore was an undertaking
      fraught with danger to life and limb. Now lanterns shed their
      radiance abroad; now the gas had the upper hand; suddenly a
      rocket rises! Whence? Whither?
      Here are sounds of soft Italian melodies; yonder, Spanish
      songs are sung, accompanied by the rattle of the castanets;
      but strongest of all, and predominating over the rest, the
      street-organ tunes of the moment, the exciting "Can-Can"
      music, which Orpheus never knew, and which was never heard by
      the "Belle Helene." Even the barrow was tempted to hop upon
      one of its wheels.
      The Dryad danced, floated, flew, changing her color every
      moment, like a humming-bird in the sunshine; each house, with
      the world belonging to it, gave her its own reflections.
      As the glowing lotus-flower, torn from its stem, is
  bsp; carried away by the stream, so the Dryad drifted along.
      Whenever she paused, she was another being, so that none was
      able to follow her, to recognize her, or to look more closely
      at her.
      Like cloud-pictures, all things flew by her. She looked
            
            
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发表于 2016-7-11 06:55:06 | 显示全部楼层
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      into a thousand faces, but not one was familiar to her; she
      saw not a single form from home. Two bright eyes had remained
      in her memory. She thought of Mary, poor Mary, the ragged
      merry child, who wore the red flowers in her black hair. Mary
      was now here, in the world-city, rich and magnificent as in
      that day when she drove past the house of the old clergyman,
      and past the tree of the Dryad, the old oak.
      Here she was certainly living, in the deafening tumult.
      Perhaps she had just stepped out of one of the gorgeous
      carriages in waiting. Handsome equipages, with coachmen in
      gold braid and footmen in silken hose, drove up. The people
      who alighted from them were all richly-dressed ladies. They
      went through the opened gate, and ascended the broad staircase
      that led to a building resting on marble pillars. Was this
      building, perhaps, the wonder of the world? There Mary would
      certainly be found.
      "Sancta Maria!" resounded from the interior. Incense
      floated through the lofty painted and gilded aisles, where a
      solemn twilight reigned.
      It was the Church of the Madeleine.
      Clad in black garments of the most costly stuffs,
      fashioned according to the latest mode, the rich feminine
      world of Paris glided across the shining pavement. The crests
      of the proprietors were engraved on silver shields on the
      velvet-bound prayer-books, and embroidered in the corners of
      perfumed handkerchiefs bordered with Brussels lace. A few of
      the ladies were kneeling in silent prayer before the altars;
      others resorted to the confessionals.
      Anxiety and fear took possession of the Dryad; she felt as
      if she had entered a place where she had no right to be. Here
      was the abode of silence, the hall of secrets. Everything was
      said in whispers, every word was a mystery.
      The Dryad saw herself enveloped in lace and silk, like the
      women of wealth and of high birth around her. Had, perhaps,
      every one of them a longing in her breast, like the Dryad?
      A deep, painful sigh was heard. Did it escape from some
            
            
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发表于 2016-7-11 07:33:00 | 显示全部楼层
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      confessional in a distant corner, or from the bosom of the
      Dryad? She drew the veil closer around her; she breathed
      incense, and not the fresh air. Here was not the abiding-place
      of her longing.
      Away! away- a hastening without rest. The ephemeral fly
      knows not repose, for her existence is flight.
      She was out again among the gas candelabra, by a
      magnificent fountain.
      "All its streaming waters are not able to wash out the
      innocent blood that was spilt here."
      Such were the words spoken. Strangers stood around,
      carrying on a lively conversation, such as no one would have
      dared to carry on in the gorgeous hall of secrets whence the
      Dryad came.
      A heavy stone slab was turned and then lifted. She did not
      understand why. She saw an opening that led into the depths
      below. The strangers stepped down, leaving the starlit air and
      the cheerful life of the upper world behind them.
      "I am afraid," said one of the women who stood around, to
      her husband, "I cannot venture to go down, nor do I care for
      the wonders down yonder. You had better stay here with me."
      "Indeed, and travel home," said the man, "and quit Paris
      without having seen the most wonderful thing of all- the real
      wonder of the present period, created by the power and
      resolution of one man!"
      "I will not go down for all that," was the reply.
  p;   "The wonder of the present time," it had been called. The
      Dryad had heard and had understood it. The goal of her ardent
      longing had thus been reached, and here was the entrance to
      it. Down into the depths below Paris? She had not thought of
      such a thing; but now she heard it said, and saw the strangers
      descending, and went after them.
      The staircase was of cast iron, spiral, broad and easy.
      Below there burned a lamp, and farther down, another. They
      stood in a labyrinth of endless halls and arched passages, all
      communicating with each other. All the streets and lanes of
            
            
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发表于 2016-7-11 08:30:11 | 显示全部楼层
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      Paris were to be seen here again, as in a dim reflection. The
      names were painted up; and every, house above had its number
      down here also, and struck its roots under the macadamized
      quays of a broad canal, in which the muddy water flowed
      onward. Over it the fresh streaming water was carried on
      arches; and quite at the top hung the tangled net of gas-pipes
      and telegraph-wires.
      In the distance lamps gleamed, like a reflection from the
      world-city above. Every now and then a dull rumbling was
      heard. This came from the heavy wagons rolling over the
      entrance bridges.
      Whither had the Dryad come?
      You have, no doubt, heard of the CATACOMBS? Now they are
      vanishing points in that new underground world- that wonder of
      the present day- the sewers of Paris. The Dryad was there, and
      not in the world's Exhibition in the Champ de Mars.
      She heard exclamations of wonder and admiration.
      "From here go forth health and life for thousands upon
      thousands up yonder! Our time is the time of progress, with
      its manifold blessings."
      Such was the opinion and the speech of men; but not of
      those creatures who had been born here, and who built and
      dwelt here- of the rats, namely, who were squeaking to one
      another in the clefts of a crumbling wall, quite plainly, and
      in a way the Dryad understood well.
      A big old Father-Rat, with his tail bitten off, was
      relieving his feelings in loud squeaks; and his family gave
      their tribute of concurrence to every word he said:
      "I am disgusted with this man-mewing," he cried- "with
      these outbursts of ignorance. A fine magnificence, truly! all
      made up of gas and petroleum! I can't eat such stuff as that.
      Everything here is so fine and bright now, that one's ashamed
      of one's self, without exactly knowing why. Ah, if we only
      lived in the days of tallow candles! and it does not lie so
      very far behind us. That was a romantic time, as one may say."
      "What are you talking of there?" asked the Dryad. "I have
            
            
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发表于 2016-7-11 08:56:01 | 显示全部楼层
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      never seen you before. What is it you are talking about?"
      "Of the glorious days that are gone," said the Rat- "of
      the happy time of our great-grandfathers and
      great-grandmothers. Then it was a great thing to get down
      here. That was a rat's nest quite different from Paris. Mother
      Plague used to live here then; she killed people, but never
      rats. Robbers and smugglers could breathe freely here. Here
      was the meeting-place of the most interesting personages, whom
      one now only gets to see in the theatres where they act
      melodrama, up above. The time of romance is gone even in our
      rat's nest; and here also fresh air and petroleum have broken
      in."
      Thus squeaked the Rat; he squeaked in honor of the old
      time, when Mother Plague was still alive.
      A carriage stopped, a kind of open omnibus, drawn by swift
      horses. The company mounted and drove away along the Boulevard
      de Sebastopol, that is to say, the underground boulevard, over
      which the well-known crowded street of that name extended.
      The carriage disappeared in the twilight; the Dryad
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