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兔灰灰的小窝

每天进步一点点

 
 
 

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队列之末 (一)  

2012-12-28 22:18:08|  分类: 原著欣赏 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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  Some Do Not

(Parade’s End  Part 1) 

                    By Ford Madox Ford

 

队列之末 (一) - 兔灰灰 - 兔灰灰的小窝

 

       It is an odd friendship, but the oddnesses of friendship are a frequent guarantee of their lasting texture.

 

Disasters come to men through drinks, bankruptcy, and women.

 

It was the sort of confidence a man didn’t make to his equal, but only to solicitors, doctors, or the clergy who are not quite men.

 

The gods to each ascribe a different lot: some enter the portal. Some do not!

 

It will be paid back to you in Heaven.

 

It’s a poor world.

 

Besides, they didn’t ask you to fake the calculation. They only asked you to work it out on the basis of given figures.

 

It was, in short, an ideal cure of souls for a wealthy clergyman of cultured tastes, for there was not so much as a peasant’s cottage within a mile of it.

 

He felt himself to be content for the first time in four months. His pales beat calmly, the heat of the sun all over him appeared to be a beneficent flood. On the flanks of the older and larger sand hills he observed the minute herbage, mixed with little purple aromatic plants. To these the constant nibbling of sheep had imparted a protective tininess.

 

Paul said you walked beside her like the king in his glory! Through the crush outside the Haymarket of all places in the world!

 

Damn it all, it’s the first duty of a soldier-it’s the first duty of all Englishmen-to be able to tell a good lie in answer to a charge.

 

He was worse than guilty—the sort of fellow you couldn’t believe in and yet couldn’t prove anything against.

 

‘There, there, my dear boy’, he said, ‘come and have a sloe gin. That’s the real answer to all beastly problems.’

 

But one had to take society as one found it.

He had, he knew, carried the suppression of thought in his conscious mind so far that his unconscious self had taken command and had for the time, paralysed both his body and his mind.

 

In every man there are two minds that work side by side, the one checking the other; thus emotion stands against reason, intellect corrects passion and first impressions act just a little, but very little, before quick reflection. Yet first impressions have always a bias in their favore, and even quiet reflection has often a job to efface them.

 

For Tietfens held very strongly the theory that what finally separated the classes was that the upper could lift its feet from the ground whilst common people couldn’t.

 

He was then one of those formidable and to be feared males who possess the gift of right intuitions.

 

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘it you’ve stopped off the police with your high and mighty male ways you think you’re destroyed my romantic young dream. You haven’t.

 

“But it is irritating to have to stand like a stuffed rabbit while a man is acting like a regular Admiral Crichton, and cool and collected, with the English country gentleman air and all.”

 

“Of course, your mother can’t be incommoded. She’s written the only novel that’s been fit to read since the eighteenth century.”

 

It sounds like cant, but it’s the only real truth. You’ll find consolation in that. And you’ll live it down. Or perhaps you won’t, that’s for God in His mercy to settle.

 

Of course, I back my daughter against the cats and monkeys. Of course, I back Valentine through thick and thin.

 

Opposite the moon was a smirch or two cloud; pink below, dark purple above; on the more pallid, lower blue of the limpid sky.

 

But, positively, she and Sylvia were the only two human beings he had met for  years whom he could respect: the one for sheer efficiency in killing: the other for having the constructive desire and knowing how to set about it. Kill or cure! The two function of man. If you wanted something killed you’d go to Sylvia Tietjens in the sure faith that she would kill it; emotion: hope: ideal: kill it quick and sure. If you wanted something kept alive you’d go to Valentine: she’d find something to do for it… The two types of mind: remorseless enemy: sure screen: dagger… sheath!

 

But why was he born to be a sort of lonely buffalo: outside the herd? Not artist: not soldier: not bureaucrat: not certainly indispensable anywhere: apparently not even sound in the eyes of these dim-minded specialists…

 

Perhaps, that isn’t the right word. But it’s the way your mind works…

 

The touch of pathos,’ the girl said, is a wrong note. It’s you who’re in mental trouble about the road. The horse isn’t…

 

It has been remarked that the peculiarly English habit of self-suppression in matters of emotion puts the Englishman at a great disadvantage in moments of unusual stresses.

 

You could see the slow thoughts moving inside his square, polished brown forehead.

 

He loved this country for the run of its hills, the shape of its elm trees and the way the heather, running uphill to the skyline, meets the blue of heavens. War  for this country could only mean humiliation, spreading under the sunlight, an almost invisible pall, over the elms, the hills, the heather, like the vapour that spread from …oh, Middlesbrough! We were fitted neither for defeat nor for victory: we could be true to neither friend nor foe. Not even to ourselves!

 

Tietjens gave himself again for a moment to the luxury of self-pity.

 

A man alone can live that sort of thing down, or die. But there’s no reason why Mrs Tietjens should live, tied to a bad hat, while he’s living it down or dying.

 

Mark Tietjens had never taken the trouble to enquire. Enormously proud and shut in on himself, he was without curiosity of any sort.

 

And Ruggles disliked Christopher Tietjens with the inveterate dislike of a man who revels in gossip for a man who never gossips.

 

It is, in fact, asking for trouble if you are more altruist than the society surrounds you.

 

He knew that it is as difficult for a rich man to go to heaven as it is for a camel to go through the gate in Jerusalem called the Needle’s Eye.

 

“I can’t come with you, crying like this.”

He answered: “Oh, yes you can. This is the place where women cry.”

 

I believe pain and fear must be worse at night.

 

The deepest of her instincts came to the surface, from beneath layers of thought hardly know to her.

 

A sudden lapes: like the momentary dream when you fall… she saw the white disk of the sun over the silver mist and behind them was the long, warm night…

 

She imagined the arms of his mind stretching out to enfold her.

 

She had left the poor shops behind… In sham avenues, sham streams. Sham people pursuing their ways across the sham grass. Or no! Not sham! In a vacuum. No! ‘pasteurised’ was the word! Like dead milk. Robbed of their vitamins…

 

Some days were lifetimes!

 

All these deaths… The waiting for the approach of death; the contemplation of the parting from life! This minute you ware; that, and you weren’t!

 

Providence is kind in great batches!

 

(今年到此为止,明年继续努力)

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