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CHAPTER XVIII UP CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XIX A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession "MARILLA, can I go over to see Diana just for a minute?" asked Anne, running breathlessly down from the east gable one February evening. "I don t see what you want to be traipsing about after dark for," said Marilla shortly. "You and Diana walked home from school together and then stood down there in the snow for half an hour more, your tongues going the whole blessed time, clickety-clack. So I don t think you re very badly off to see her again." "But she wants to see me," pleaded Anne. "She has something very important to tell me." "How do you know she has?" "Because she just signaled to me from her window. We have arranged a way to signal with our candles and cardboard. We set the candle on the window sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and forth. So many flashes mean a certain thing. It was my idea, Marilla." "I ll warrant you it was," said Marilla emphatically. "And the next thing you ll be setting fire to the curtains with your signaling nonsense." "Oh, we re very careful, Marilla. And it s so interesting. Two flashes mean, `Are you there? Three mean `yes and four `no. Five mean, `Come over as soon as possible, because I have something important to reveal. Diana has just signaled five flashes, and I m really suffering to know what it is." "Well, you needn t suffer any longer," said Marilla sarcastically. "You can go, but you re to be back here in just ten minutes, remember that." Anne did remember it and was back in the stipulated time, although probably no mortal will ever know just what it cost her to confine the discussion of Diana s important communication within the limits of ten minutes. But at least she had made good use of them. "Oh, Marilla, what do you think? You know tomorrow is Diana s birthday. Well, her mother told her she could ask me to go home with her from school and stay all night with her. And her cousins are coming over from Newbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the Debating Club concert at the hall tomorrow night. And they are going to take Diana and me to the concert--if you ll let me go, that is. You will, won t you, Marilla? Oh, I feel so excited." "You can calm down then, because you re not going. You re better at home in your own bed, and as for that club concert, it s all nonsense, and little girls should not be allowed to go out to such places at all." "I m sure the Debating Club is a most respectable affair," pleaded Anne. "I m not saying it isn t. But you re not going to begin gadding about to concerts and staying out all hours of the night. Pretty doings for children. I m surprised at Mrs. Barry s letting Diana go." "But it s such a very special occasion," mourned Anne, on the verge of tears. "Diana has only one birthday in a year. It isn t as if birthdays were common things, Marilla. Prissy Andrews is going to recite `Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight. That is such a good moral piece, Marilla, I m sure it would do me lots of good to hear it. And the choir are going to sing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as hymns. And oh, Marilla, the minister is going to take part; yes, indeed, he is; he s going to give an address. That will be just about the same thing as a sermon. Please, mayn t I go, Marilla?" "You heard what I said, Anne, didn t you? Take off your boots now and go to bed. It s past eight." "There s just one more thing, Marilla," said Anne, with the air of producing the last shot in her locker. "Mrs. Barry told Diana that we might sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your little Anne being put in the spare-room bed." "It s an honor you ll have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, and don t let me hear another word out of you." When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfully upstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the lounge during the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly "Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne go." "I don t then," retorted Marilla. "Who s bringing this child up, Matthew, you or me?" "Well now, you," admitted Matthew. "Don t interfere then." "Well now, I ain t interfering. It ain t interfering to have your own opinion. And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go." "You d think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion, I ve no doubt" was Marilla s amiable rejoinder. "I might have let her spend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don t approve of this concert plan. She d go there and catch cold like as not, and have her head filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her for a week. I understand that child s disposition and what s good for it better than you, Matthew." "I think you ought to let Anne go," repeated Matthew firmly. Argument was not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was. Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. The next morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry, Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again "I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla." For a moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then she yielded to the inevitable and said tartly "Very well, she can go, since nothing else ll please you." Anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand. "Oh, Marilla, Marilla, say those blessed words again." "I guess once is enough to say them. This is Matthew s doings and I wash my hands of it. If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed or coming out of that hot hall in the middle of the night, don t blame me, blame Matthew. Anne Shirley, you re dripping greasy water all over the floor. I never saw such a careless child." "Oh, I know I m a great trial to you, Marilla," said Anne repentantly. "I make so many mistakes. But then just think of all the mistakes I don t make, although I might. I ll get some sand and scrub up the spots before I go to school. Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going to that concert. I never was to a concert in my life, and when the other girls talk about them in school I feel so out of it. You didn t know just how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did. Matthew understands me, and it s so nice to be understood, Marilla." Anne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning in school. Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear out of sight in mental arithmetic. Anne s consequent humiliation was less than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and the spare-room bed. She and Diana talked so constantly about it all day that with a stricter teacher than Mr. Phillips dire disgrace must inevitably have been their portion. Anne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been going to the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school. The Avonlea Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had several smaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admission ten cents, in aid of the library. The Avonlea young people had been practicing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested in it by reason of older brothers and sisters who were going to take part. Everybody in school over nine years of age expected to go, except Carrie Sloane, whose father shared Marilla s opinions about small girls going out to night concerts. Carrie Sloane cried into her grammar all the afternoon and felt that life was not worth living. For Anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school and increased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of positive ecstasy in the concert itself. They had a "perfectly elegant tea;" and then came the delicious occupation of dressing in Diana s little room upstairs. Diana did Anne s front hair in the new pompadour style and Anne tied Diana s bows with the especial knack she possessed; and they experimented with at least half a dozen different ways of arranging their back hair. At last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and eyes glowing with excitement. True, Anne could not help a little pang when she contrasted her plain black tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved, homemade gray-cloth coat with Diana s jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket. But she remembered in time that she had an imagination and could use it. Then Diana s cousins, the Murrays from Newbridge, came; they all crowded into the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes. Anne reveled in the drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads with the snow crisping under the runners. There was a magnificent sunset, and the snowy hills and deep-blue water of the St. Lawrence Gulf seemed to rim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed with wine and fire. Tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that seemed like the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter. "Oh, Diana," breathed Anne, squeezing Diana s mittened hand under the fur robe, "isn t it all like a beautiful dream? Do I really look the same as usual? I feel so different that it seems to me it must show in my looks." "You look awfully nice," said Diana, who having just received a compliment from one of her cousins, felt that she ought to pass it on. "You ve got the loveliest color." The program that night was a series of "thrills" for at least one listener in the audience, and, as Anne assured Diana, every succeeding thrill was thrillier than the last. When Prissy Andrews, attired in a new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth white throat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the master had sent all the way to town for them for her--"climbed the slimy ladder, dark without one ray of light," Anne shivered in luxurious sympathy; when the choir sang "Far Above the Gentle Daisies" Anne gazed at the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam Sloane proceeded to explain and illustrate "How Sockery Set a Hen" Anne laughed until people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with her than with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even in Avonlea; and when Mr. Phillips gave Mark Antony s oration over the dead body of Caesar in the most heartstirring tones--looking at Prissy Andrews at the end of every sentence--Anne felt that she could rise and mutiny on the spot if but one Roman citizen led the way. Only one number on the program failed to interest her. When Gilbert Blythe recited "Bingen on the Rhine" Anne picked up Rhoda Murray s library book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidly stiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled. It was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation, but with the exceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come. Everybody seemed asleep and the house was dark and silent. Anne and Diana tiptoed into the parlor, a long narrow room out of which the spare room opened. It was pleasantly warm and dimly lighted by the embers of a fire in the grate. "Let s undress here," said Diana. "It s so nice and warm." "Hasn t it been a delightful time?" sighed Anne rapturously. "It must be splendid to get up and recite there. Do you suppose we will ever be asked to do it, Diana?" "Yes, of course, someday. They re always wanting the big scholars to recite. Gilbert Blythe does often and he s only two years older than us. Oh, Anne, how could you pretend not to listen to him? When he came to the line, "THERE S ANOTHER, not A SISTER, he looked right down at you." "Diana," said Anne with dignity, "you are my bosom friend, but I cannot allow even you to speak to me of that person. Are you ready for bed? Let s run a race and see who ll get to the bed first." The suggestion appealed to Diana. The two little white-clad figures flew down the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on the bed at the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath them, there was a gasp and a cry--and somebody said in muffled accents "Merciful goodness!" Anne and Diana were never able to tell just how they got off that bed and out of the room. They only knew that after one frantic rush they found themselves tiptoeing shiveringly upstairs. "Oh, who was it--WHAT was it?" whispered Anne, her teeth chattering with cold and fright. "It was Aunt Josephine," said Diana, gasping with laughter. "Oh, Anne, it was Aunt Josephine, however she came to be there. Oh, and I know she will be furious. It s dreadful--it s really dreadful--but did you ever know anything so funny, Anne?" "Who is your Aunt Josephine?" "She s father s aunt and she lives in Charlottetown. She s awfully old--seventy anyhow--and I don t believe she was EVER a little girl. We were expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon. She s awfully prim and proper and she ll scold dreadfully about this, I know. Well, we ll have to sleep with Minnie May--and you can t think how she kicks." Miss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the next morning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls. "Did you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake until you came home, for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had come and that you would have to go upstairs after all, but I was so tired I fell asleep. I hope you didn t disturb your aunt, Diana." Diana preserved a discreet silence, but she and Anne exchanged furtive smiles of guilty amusement across the table. Anne hurried home after breakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the disturbance which presently resulted in the Barry household until the late afternoon, when she went down to Mrs. Lynde s on an errand for Marilla. "So you and Diana nearly frightened poor old Miss Barry to death last night?" said Mrs. Lynde severely, but with a twinkle in her eye. "Mrs. Barry was here a few minutes ago on her way to Carmody. She s feeling real worried over it. Old Miss Barry was in a terrible temper when she got up this morning--and Josephine Barry s temper is no joke, I can tell you that. She wouldn t speak to Diana at all." "It wasn t Diana s fault," said Anne contritely. "It was mine. I suggested racing to see who would get into bed first." "I knew it!" said Mrs. Lynde, with the exultation of a correct guesser. "I knew that idea came out of your head. Well, it s made a nice lot of trouble, that s what. Old Miss Barry came out to stay for a month, but she declares she won t stay another day and is going right back to town tomorrow, Sunday and all as it is. She d have gone today if they could have taken her. She had promised to pay for a quarter s music lessons for Diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such a tomboy. Oh, I guess they had a lively time of it there this morning. The Barrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they d like to keep on the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn t say just that to me, but I m a pretty good judge of human nature, that s what." "I m such an unlucky girl," mourned Anne. "I m always getting into scrapes myself and getting my best friends--people I d shed my heart s blood for--into them too. Can you tell me why it is so, Mrs. Lynde?" "It s because you re too heedless and impulsive, child, that s what. You never stop to think--whatever comes into your head to say or do you say or do it without a moment s reflection." "Oh, but that s the best of it," protested Anne. "Something just flashes into your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it. If you stop to think it over you spoil it all. Haven t you never felt that yourself, Mrs. Lynde?" No, Mrs. Lynde had not. She shook her head sagely. "You must learn to think a little, Anne, that s what. The proverb you need to go by is `Look before you leap --especially into spare-room beds." Mrs. Lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke, but Anne remained pensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation, which to her eyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs. Lynde s she took her way across the crusted fields to Orchard Slope. Diana met her at the kitchen door. "Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn t she?" whispered Anne. "Yes," answered Diana, stifling a giggle with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. "She was fairly dancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She said I was the worst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be ashamed of the way they had brought me up. She says she won t stay and I m sure I don t care. But Father and Mother do." "Why didn t you tell them it was my fault?" demanded Anne. "It s likely I d do such a thing, isn t it?" said Diana with just scorn. "I m no telltale, Anne Shirley, and anyhow I was just as much to blame as you." "Well, I m going in to tell her myself," said Anne resolutely. Diana stared. "Anne Shirley, you d never! why--she ll eat you alive!" "Don t frighten me any more than I am frightened," implored Anne. "I d rather walk up to a cannon s mouth. But I ve got to do it, Diana. It was my fault and I ve got to confess. I ve had practice in confessing, fortunately." "Well, she s in the room," said Diana. "You can go in if you want to. I wouldn t dare. And I don t believe you ll do a bit of good." With this encouragement Anne bearded the lion in its den--that is to say, walked resolutely up to the sitting-room door and knocked faintly. A sharp "Come in" followed. Miss Josephine Barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting fiercely by the fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping through her gold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in her chair, expecting to see Diana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed up with a mixture of desperate courage and shrinking terror. "Who are you?" demanded Miss Josephine Barry, without ceremony. "I m Anne of Green Gables," said the small visitor tremulously, clasping her hands with her characteristic gesture, "and I ve come to confess, if you please." "Confess what?" "That it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last night. I suggested it. Diana would never have thought of such a thing, I am sure. Diana is a very ladylike girl, Miss Barry. So you must see how unjust it is to blame her." "Oh, I must, hey? I rather think Diana did her share of the jumping at least. Such carryings on in a respectable house!" "But we were only in fun," persisted Anne. "I think you ought to forgive us, Miss Barry, now that we ve apologized. And anyhow, please forgive Diana and let her have her music lessons. Diana s heart is set on her music lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too well what it is to set your heart on a thing and not get it. If you must be cross with anyone, be cross with me. I ve been so used in my early days to having people cross at me that I can endure it much better than Diana can." Much of the snap had gone out of the old lady s eyes by this time and was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest. But she still said severely "I don t think it is any excuse for you that you were only in fun. Little girls never indulged in that kind of fun when I was young. You don t know what it is to be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a long and arduous journey, by two great girls coming bounce down on you." "I don t KNOW, but I can IMAGINE," said Anne eagerly. "I m sure it must have been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Have you any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself in our place. We didn t know there was anybody in that bed and you nearly scared us to death. It was simply awful the way we felt. And then we couldn t sleep in the spare room after being promised. I suppose you are used to sleeping in spare rooms. But just imagine what you would feel like if you were a little orphan girl who had never had such an honor." All the snap had gone by this time. Miss Barry actually laughed--a sound which caused Diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the kitchen outside, to give a great gasp of relief. "I m afraid my imagination is a little rusty--it s so long since I used it," she said. "I dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong as mine. It all depends on the way we look at it. Sit down here and tell me about yourself." "I am very sorry I can t," said Anne firmly. "I would like to, because you seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindred spirit although you don t look very much like it. But it is my duty to go home to Miss Marilla Cuthbert. Miss Marilla Cuthbert is a very kind lady who has taken me to bring up properly. She is doing her best, but it is very discouraging work. You must not blame her because I jumped on the bed. But before I go I do wish you would tell me if you will forgive Diana and stay just as long as you meant to in Avonlea." "I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to me occasionally," said Miss Barry. That evening Miss Barry gave Diana a silver bangle bracelet and told the senior members of the household that she had unpacked her valise. "I ve made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting better acquainted with that Anne-girl," she said frankly. "She amuses me, and at my time of life an amusing person is a rarity." Marilla s only comment when she heard the story was, "I told you so." This was for Matthew s benefit. Miss Barry stayed her month out and over. She was a more agreeable guest than usual, for Anne kept her in good humor. They became firm friends. When Miss Barry went away she said "Remember, you Anne-girl, when you come to town you re to visit me and I ll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep." "Miss Barry was a kindred spirit, after all," Anne confided to Marilla. "You wouldn t think so to look at her, but she is. You don t find it right out at first, as in Matthew s case, but after a while you come to see it. Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world." CHAPTER XVIII UP CHAPTER XX 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 05 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 22 55 (Tue)
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CHAPTER XXII UP CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXIII Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor Anne had to live through more than two weeks, as it happened. Almost a month having elapsed since the liniment cake episode, it was high time for her to get into fresh trouble of some sort, little mistakes, such as absentmindedly emptying a pan of skim milk into a basket of yarn balls in the pantry instead of into the pigs bucket, and walking clean over the edge of the log bridge into the brook while wrapped in imaginative reverie, not really being worth counting. A week after the tea at the manse Diana Barry gave a party. "Small and select," Anne assured Marilla. "Just the girls in our class." They had a very good time and nothing untoward happened until after tea, when they found themselves in the Barry garden, a little tired of all their games and ripe for any enticing form of mischief which might present itself. This presently took the form of "daring." Daring was the fashionable amusement among the Avonlea small fry just then. It had begun among the boys, but soon spread to the girls, and all the silly things that were done in Avonlea that summer because the doers thereof were "dared" to do them would fill a book by themselves. First of all Carrie Sloane dared Ruby Gillis to climb to a certain point in the huge old willow tree before the front door; which Ruby Gillis, albeit in mortal dread of the fat green caterpillars with which said tree was infested and with the fear of her mother before her eyes if she should tear her new muslin dress, nimbly did, to the discomfiture of the aforesaid Carrie Sloane. Then Josie Pye dared Jane Andrews to hop on her left leg around the garden without stopping once or putting her right foot to the ground; which Jane Andrews gamely tried to do, but gave out at the third corner and had to confess herself defeated. Josie s triumph being rather more pronounced than good taste permitted, Anne Shirley dared her to walk along the top of the board fence which bounded the garden to the east. Now, to "walk" board fences requires more skill and steadiness of head and heel than one might suppose who has never tried it. But Josie Pye, if deficient in some qualities that make for popularity, had at least a natural and inborn gift, duly cultivated, for walking board fences. Josie walked the Barry fence with an airy unconcern which seemed to imply that a little thing like that wasn t worth a "dare." Reluctant admiration greeted her exploit, for most of the other girls could appreciate it, having suffered many things themselves in their efforts to walk fences. Josie descended from her perch, flushed with victory, and darted a defiant glance at Anne. Anne tossed her red braids. "I don t think it s such a very wonderful thing to walk a little, low, board fence," she said. "I knew a girl in Marysville who could walk the ridgepole of a roof." "I don t believe it," said Josie flatly. "I don t believe anybody could walk a ridgepole. YOU couldn t, anyhow." "Couldn t I?" cried Anne rashly. "Then I dare you to do it," said Josie defiantly. "I dare you to climb up there and walk the ridgepole of Mr. Barry s kitchen roof." Anne turned pale, but there was clearly only one thing to be done. She walked toward the house, where a ladder was leaning against the kitchen roof. All the fifth-class girls said, "Oh!" partly in excitement, partly in dismay. "Don t you do it, Anne," entreated Diana. "You ll fall off and be killed. Never mind Josie Pye. It isn t fair to dare anybody to do anything so dangerous." "I must do it. My honor is at stake," said Anne solemnly. "I shall walk that ridgepole, Diana, or perish in the attempt. If I am killed you are to have my pearl bead ring." Anne climbed the ladder amid breathless silence, gained the ridgepole, balanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing, and started to walk along it, dizzily conscious that she was uncomfortably high up in the world and that walking ridgepoles was not a thing in which your imagination helped you out much. Nevertheless, she managed to take several steps before the catastrophe came. Then she swayed, lost her balance, stumbled, staggered, and fell, sliding down over the sun-baked roof and crashing off it through the tangle of Virginia creeper beneath-- all before the dismayed circle below could give a simultaneous, terrified shriek. If Anne had tumbled off the roof on the side up which she had ascended Diana would probably have fallen heir to the pearl bead ring then and there. Fortunately she fell on the other side, where the roof extended down over the porch so nearly to the ground that a fall therefrom was a much less serious thing. Nevertheless, when Diana and the other girls had rushed frantically around the house--except Ruby Gillis, who remained as if rooted to the ground and went into hysterics--they found Anne lying all white and limp among the wreck and ruin of the Virginia creeper. "Anne, are you killed?" shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her knees beside her friend. "Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you re killed." To the immense relief of all the girls, and especially of Josie Pye, who, in spite of lack of imagination, had been seized with horrible visions of a future branded as the girl who was the cause of Anne Shirley s early and tragic death, Anne sat dizzily up and answered uncertainly "No, Diana, I am not killed, but I think I am rendered unconscious." "Where?" sobbed Carrie Sloane. "Oh, where, Anne?" Before Anne could answer Mrs. Barry appeared on the scene. At sight of her Anne tried to scramble to her feet, but sank back again with a sharp little cry of pain. "What s the matter? Where have you hurt yourself?" demanded Mrs. Barry. "My ankle," gasped Anne. "Oh, Diana, please find your father and ask him to take me home. I know I can never walk there. And I m sure I couldn t hop so far on one foot when Jane couldn t even hop around the garden." Marilla was out in the orchard picking a panful of summer apples when she saw Mr. Barry coming over the log bridge and up the slope, with Mrs. Barry beside him and a whole procession of little girls trailing after him. In his arms he carried Anne, whose head lay limply against his shoulder. At that moment Marilla had a revelation. In the sudden stab of fear that pierced her very heart she realized what Anne had come to mean to her. She would have admitted that she liked Anne--nay, that she was very fond of Anne. But now she knew as she hurried wildly down the slope that Anne was dearer to her than anything else on earth. "Mr. Barry, what has happened to her?" she gasped, more white and shaken than the self-contained, sensible Marilla had been for many years. Anne herself answered, lifting her head. "Don t be very frightened, Marilla. I was walking the ridgepole and I fell off. I expect I have sprained my ankle. But, Marilla, I might have broken my neck. Let us look on the bright side of things." "I might have known you d go and do something of the sort when I let you go to that party," said Marilla, sharp and shrewish in her very relief. "Bring her in here, Mr. Barry, and lay her on the sofa. Mercy me, the child has gone and fainted!" It was quite true. Overcome by the pain of her injury, Anne had one more of her wishes granted to her. She had fainted dead away. Matthew, hastily summoned from the harvest field, was straightway dispatched for the doctor, who in due time came, to discover that the injury was more serious than they had supposed. Anne s ankle was broken. That night, when Marilla went up to the east gable, where a white-faced girl was lying, a plaintive voice greeted her from the bed. "Aren t you very sorry for me, Marilla?" "It was your own fault," said Marilla, twitching down the blind and lighting a lamp. "And that is just why you should be sorry for me," said Anne, "because the thought that it is all my own fault is what makes it so hard. If I could blame it on anybody I would feel so much better. But what would you have done, Marilla, if you had been dared to walk a ridgepole?" "I d have stayed on good firm ground and let them dare away. Such absurdity!" said Marilla. Anne sighed. "But you have such strength of mind, Marilla. I haven t. I just felt that I couldn t bear Josie Pye s scorn. She would have crowed over me all my life. And I think I have been punished so much that you needn t be very cross with me, Marilla. It s not a bit nice to faint, after all. And the doctor hurt me dreadfully when he was setting my ankle. I won t be able to go around for six or seven weeks and I ll miss the new lady teacher. She won t be new any more by the time I m able to go to school. And Gil-- everybody will get ahead of me in class. Oh, I am an afflicted mortal. But I ll try to bear it all bravely if only you won t be cross with me, Marilla." "There, there, I m not cross," said Marilla. "You re an unlucky child, there s no doubt about that; but as you say, you ll have the suffering of it. Here now, try and eat some supper." "Isn t it fortunate I ve got such an imagination?" said Anne. "It will help me through splendidly, I expect. What do people who haven t any imagination do when they break their bones, do you suppose, Marilla?" Anne had good reason to bless her imagination many a time and oft during the tedious seven weeks that followed. But she was not solely dependent on it. She had many visitors and not a day passed without one or more of the schoolgirls dropping in to bring her flowers and books and tell her all the happenings in the juvenile world of Avonlea. "Everybody has been so good and kind, Marilla," sighed Anne happily, on the day when she could first limp across the floor. "It isn t very pleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, Marilla. You find out how many friends you have. Why, even Superintendent Bell came to see me, and he s really a very fine man. Not a kindred spirit, of course; but still I like him and I m awfully sorry I ever criticized his prayers. I believe now he really does mean them, only he has got into the habit of saying them as if he didn t. He could get over that if he d take a little trouble. I gave him a good broad hint. I told him how hard I tried to make my own little private prayers interesting. He told me all about the time he broke his ankle when he was a boy. It does seem so strange to think of Superintendent Bell ever being a boy. Even my imagination has its limits, for I can t imagine THAT. When I try to imagine him as a boy I see him with gray whiskers and spectacles, just as he looks in Sunday school, only small. Now, it s so easy to imagine Mrs. Allan as a little girl. Mrs. Allan has been to see me fourteen times. Isn t that something to be proud of, Marilla? When a minister s wife has so many claims on her time! She is such a cheerful person to have visit you, too. She never tells you it s your own fault and she hopes you ll be a better girl on account of it. Mrs. Lynde always told me that when she came to see me; and she said it in a kind of way that made me feel she might hope I d be a better girl but didn t really believe I would. Even Josie Pye came to see me. I received her as politely as I could, because I think she was sorry she dared me to walk a ridgepole. If I had been killed she would had to carry a dark burden of remorse all her life. Diana has been a faithful friend. She s been over every day to cheer my lonely pillow. But oh, I shall be so glad when I can go to school for I ve heard such exciting things about the new teacher. The girls all think she is perfectly sweet. Diana says she has the loveliest fair curly hair and such fascinating eyes. She dresses beautifully, and her sleeve puffs are bigger than anybody else s in Avonlea. Every other Friday afternoon she has recitations and everybody has to say a piece or take part in a dialogue. Oh, it s just glorious to think of it. Josie Pye says she hates it but that is just because Josie has so little imagination. Diana and Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews are preparing a dialogue, called `A Morning Visit, for next Friday. And the Friday afternoons they don t have recitations Miss Stacy takes them all to the woods for a `field day and they study ferns and flowers and birds. And they have physical culture exercises every morning and evening. Mrs. Lynde says she never heard of such goings on and it all comes of having a lady teacher. But I think it must be splendid and I believe I shall find that Miss Stacy is a kindred spirit." "There s one thing plain to be seen, Anne," said Marilla, "and that is that your fall off the Barry roof hasn t injured your tongue at all." CHAPTER XXII UP CHAPTER XXIV 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 05 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 21 11 (Tue)
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CHAPTER XXIII UP CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXIV Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert It was October again when Anne was ready to go back to school--a glorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had poured them in for the sun to drain--amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth of silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of many-stemmed woods to run crisply through. The Birch Path was a canopy of yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it. There was a tang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping, unlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it WAS jolly to be back again at the little brown desk beside Diana, with Ruby Gillis nodding across the aisle and Carrie Sloane sending up notes and Julia Bell passing a "chew" of gum down from the back seat. Anne drew a long breath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picture cards in her desk. Life was certainly very interesting. In the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend. Miss Stacy was a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning and holding the affections of her pupils and bringing out the best that was in them mentally and morally. Anne expanded like a flower under this wholesome influence and carried home to the admiring Matthew and the critical Marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims. "I love Miss Stacy with my whole heart, Marilla. She is so ladylike and she has such a sweet voice. When she pronounces my name I feel INSTINCTIVELY that she s spelling it with an E. We had recitations this afternoon. I just wish you could have been there to hear me recite `Mary, Queen of Scots. I just put my whole soul into it. Ruby Gillis told me coming home that the way I said the line, `Now for my father s arm, she said, `my woman s heart farewell, just made her blood run cold." "Well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in the barn," suggested Matthew. "Of course I will," said Anne meditatively, "but I won t be able to do it so well, I know. It won t be so exciting as it is when you have a whole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words. I know I won t be able to make your blood run cold." "Mrs. Lynde says it made HER blood run cold to see the boys climbing to the very tops of those big trees on Bell s hill after crows nests last Friday," said Marilla. "I wonder at Miss Stacy for encouraging it." "But we wanted a crow s nest for nature study," explained Anne. "That was on our field afternoon. Field afternoons are splendid, Marilla. And Miss Stacy explains everything so beautifully. We have to write compositions on our field afternoons and I write the best ones." "It s very vain of you to say so then. You d better let your teacher say it." "But she DID say it, Marilla. And indeed I m not vain about it. How can I be, when I m such a dunce at geometry? Although I m really beginning to see through it a little, too. Miss Stacy makes it so clear. Still, I ll never be good at it and I assure you it is a humbling reflection. But I love writing compositions. Mostly Miss Stacy lets us choose our own subjects; but next week we are to write a composition on some remarkable person. It s hard to choose among so many remarkable people who have lived. Mustn t it be splendid to be remarkable and have compositions written about you after you re dead? Oh, I would dearly love to be remarkable. I think when I grow up I ll be a trained nurse and go with the Red Crosses to the field of battle as a messenger of mercy. That is, if I don t go out as a foreign missionary. That would be very romantic, but one would have to be very good to be a missionary, and that would be a stumbling block. We have physical culture exercises every day, too. They make you graceful and promote digestion." "Promote fiddlesticks!" said Marilla, who honestly thought it was all nonsense. But all the field afternoons and recitation Fridays and physical culture contortions paled before a project which Miss Stacy brought forward in November. This was that the scholars of Avonlea school should get up a concert and hold it in the hall on Christmas Night, for the laudable purpose of helping to pay for a schoolhouse flag. The pupils one and all taking graciously to this plan, the preparations for a program were begun at once. And of all the excited performers-elect none was so excited as Anne Shirley, who threw herself into the undertaking heart and soul, hampered as she was by Marilla s disapproval. Marilla thought it all rank foolishness. "It s just filling your heads up with nonsense and taking time that ought to be put on your lessons," she grumbled. "I don t approve of children s getting up concerts and racing about to practices. It makes them vain and forward and fond of gadding." "But think of the worthy object," pleaded Anne. "A flag will cultivate a spirit of patriotism, Marilla." "Fudge! There s precious little patriotism in the thoughts of any of you. All you want is a good time." "Well, when you can combine patriotism and fun, isn t it all right? Of course it s real nice to be getting up a concert. We re going to have six choruses and Diana is to sing a solo. I m in two dialogues--`The Society for the Suppression of Gossip and `The Fairy Queen. The boys are going to have a dialogue too. And I m to have two recitations, Marilla. I just tremble when I think of it, but it s a nice thrilly kind of tremble. And we re to have a tableau at the last--`Faith, Hope and Charity. Diana and Ruby and I are to be in it, all draped in white with flowing hair. I m to be Hope, with my hands clasped--so--and my eyes uplifted. I m going to practice my recitations in the garret. Don t be alarmed if you hear me groaning. I have to groan heartrendingly in one of them, and it s really hard to get up a good artistic groan, Marilla. Josie Pye is sulky because she didn t get the part she wanted in the dialogue. She wanted to be the fairy queen. That would have been ridiculous, for who ever heard of a fairy queen as fat as Josie? Fairy queens must be slender. Jane Andrews is to be the queen and I am to be one of her maids of honor. Josie says she thinks a red-haired fairy is just as ridiculous as a fat one, but I do not let myself mind what Josie says. I m to have a wreath of white roses on my hair and Ruby Gillis is going to lend me her slippers because I haven t any of my own. It s necessary for fairies to have slippers, you know. You couldn t imagine a fairy wearing boots, could you? Especially with copper toes? We are going to decorate the hall with creeping spruce and fir mottoes with pink tissue-paper roses in them. And we are all to march in two by two after the audience is seated, while Emma White plays a march on the organ. Oh, Marilla, I know you are not so enthusiastic about it as I am, but don t you hope your little Anne will distinguish herself?" "All I hope is that you ll behave yourself. I ll be heartily glad when all this fuss is over and you ll be able to settle down. You are simply good for nothing just now with your head stuffed full of dialogues and groans and tableaus. As for your tongue, it s a marvel it s not clean worn out." Anne sighed and betook herself to the back yard, over which a young new moon was shining through the leafless poplar boughs from an apple-green western sky, and where Matthew was splitting wood. Anne perched herself on a block and talked the concert over with him, sure of an appreciative and sympathetic listener in this instance at least. "Well now, I reckon it s going to be a pretty good concert. And I expect you ll do your part fine," he said, smiling down into her eager, vivacious little face. Anne smiled back at him. Those two were the best of friends and Matthew thanked his stars many a time and oft that he had nothing to do with bringing her up. That was Marilla s exclusive duty; if it had been his he would have been worried over frequent conflicts between inclination and said duty. As it was, he was free to, "spoil Anne"--Marilla s phrasing--as much as he liked. But it was not such a bad arrangement after all; a little "appreciation" sometimes does quite as much good as all the conscientious "bringing up" in the world. CHAPTER XXIII UP CHAPTER XXV 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 05 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 20 55 (Tue)
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CHAPTER I UP CHAPTER II つづき CHAPTER II Matthew Cuthbert is surprised 第2章 マシュー・カスバートの驚き（松本訳） Matthew Cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight miles to Bright River. 「eight miles」 13 km弱。1マイル＝1760ヤード＝1.609 km It was a pretty road, running along between snug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive through or a hollow 「balsamy fir wood」バルサム臭のするモミの木。Abies balsamea バルサムモミ。ウィキペディア日本語版には、モミの分布のコメントがあるのですが、プリンスエドワード島に生えている fir（モミの木の仲間）は、balsam fir バルサムモミ（カナダバルサム）のようです。ウィキペディア英語版によると、バルサムモミの分布はバッチリです *1 where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom. 「wild plums」野生のスモモ Prunus。ウィキペディア英語版によると、plumは1種ではなく、Prunus属の中のPrunus亜属の種を指すらしい。花の写真はウィキペディアをどうぞ。種が違っても花の様子はあまり違わないはず。なお、新世界plumと旧世界plumとがあるそうなので、日本のスモモとプリンスエドワード島の野生スモモは種が違う可能性大 以下余談：同じPrunus属のモモ（peach）はAmygdalus亜属Go to Wikipedia、サクラ（cherry）はCerasus亜属、Go to Wikipedia、bird cherry（black cherryの仲間）はPadus亜属Go to Wikipedia、なのだそうです。へぇ～。ウィキペディアへのリンクをつけときました The air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while "The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year." 「"The little birds sang as if it were／The one day of summer in all the year."」松本訳注第2章(1) p. 453参照 Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them-- for in Prince Edward island you are supposed to nod to all 「Prince Edward island」松本訳注第2章(2) p. 454参照 and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not. Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him. 「creatures」生き物。creaturesと表現することで、いやーな感じが強調されている He may have been quite right in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness. When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thought he was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was sitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end. 「the only living creature in sight being a girl」唯一の生き物で、見えたのは女の子だった、とマシューの認識。いやーな感じありあり…… 「a pile of shingles」shingleは、「丸石、ごろ石」という意味と「屋根板」の意味と両方ある。石の場合は、少し大きめなものを言うらしい。駅にはジャリが必要なので、石のほうがいいのかもと思ったりしますが、大きめの丸石ではヘンだし、かといって、屋根板というのも唐突。当時の様子がわかれば簡単なのですが 松本訳 p. 22では、「ホームの端につんだ屋根板」 Matthew, barely noting that it WAS a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her. 「sidle」横向きに歩く、こそこそ歩く。これはマシューに対して女の子たちがやるのと一緒（後にでてくる） Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the tense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. 「attitude and expression」似たような言葉の繰り返し。強調するときの通常の方法だと思いますが、『Anne』ではよくでてきます She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, 「something or somebody」似たような言葉の繰り返し。ここでも since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, 「sitting and waiting」似たような言葉の繰り返し。ここでも she sat and waited with all her might and main. 「sat and waited」似たような言葉の繰り返し。ここは上の「sitting and waiting」を受けて強調しまくり 「with might and main」成句：全力を尽して。Chapter XXXI with impressionもどうぞ Matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along. "The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official. "But there was a passenger dropped off for you--a little girl. She s sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to go into the ladies waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside. `There was more scope for imagination, she said. 「scope for imagination」ついに出た！想像の余地。しかし、初出はアン本人の言葉ではなく、駅長さんの伝聞 「scope for imagination」松本訳注第2章(3) p. 455参照 She s a case, I should say." 「case」ここでは、変人という意味がいちばんよさそう "I m not expecting a girl," said Matthew blankly. "It s a boy I ve come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me." The stationmaster whistled. "Guess there s some mistake," he said. "Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum 「Said」She said の略 and that you would be along for her presently. That s all I know about it--and I haven t got any more orphans concealed hereabouts." "I don t understand," said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation. "Well, you d better question the girl," said the station- master carelessly. "I dare say she ll be able to explain-- she s got a tongue of her own, that s certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted." 「brand」品種、種類。ここではブランド品の意味ではない He walked jauntily away, being hungry, 「jauntily」あくまで陽気な駅長さん。unfortunateなマシューと対比させるためでしょう and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its den-- 「bearding a lion in its den」松本訳注第2章(4) p. 455参照 walk up to a girl--a strange girl--an orphan girl--and demand of her why she wasn t a boy. 「girl」の繰り返し。３回！ とまどいというか、いやな様子を強調 Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her. She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this ここで、きちんとアンの様子が記述される。なんだかお芝居の脚本のような、むしろ、映画のような映像的な表現のような記述。この場面では、全身からアンの表情がわかるくらいまでざっとアップで撮られているけれども、見ている人にはその人物の「意思」のようなものまで読み取る間は与えないくらいの時間で、カメラが引いて（またはパンして）しまうように A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. 「garbe」（他動）職業や地位などがわかる服装をさせる。和訳が難しい動詞ですね She wore a faded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; 「much freckled」そばかすだらけ her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others. So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; 「very pointed and pronounced」ここでも似たような言葉の繰り返し。あごが「とがって、はっきりした輪郭」／同じ単語で「言葉や意見が鋭い、決然たる」という意味もある。似たような言葉を繰り返すだけではなく、意味を二重に使っている。なので、「no commonplace soul inhabited」と最後に結論づけることになる。源氏物語を読むときに気をつけなければならないのと同じような言葉の遊びがある、とするのは考えすぎでしょうか that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; 「spirit and vivacity」ここでも似たような言葉の繰り返し that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; 「sweet-lipped and expressive」ここでも that the forehead was broad and full; 「broad and full」ここでも in short, 「in short」ここまでしつこく書いてきたのにまだ書くことはなかろう、とちょっと突っ込みたくなってしまったり…… our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman- child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid. 「stray woman-child」stray は、迷っている、はぐれた。ここでは、あまり深い意味がなく、孤児の女の子を言い替えているだけのような気はしますが、何か連想するものがあるのかもしれません Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping with one thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag; the other she held out to him. バッグを左手、握手は右手、でしょう、ふつうなら "I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" 「I suppose you are...?」ちょっと丁寧に尋ねている。少なくとも Are you ...? と尋ねてしまったら、尋問になってしまう。マシューが尋ねるなら、子供に対してだからいいけど she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. 「in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice」読者がアンのおしゃべりに引き込まれる仕組みがここにも。独特な澄んだかわいらしい声 "I m very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren t coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn t come for me to-night I d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, 「at the bend」曲ったところで、とするのでいいと思うのですが、around the bend で、気がおかしくなって、という意味がある。この a case である女の子のおしゃべりの中で使われると、気がおかしい、の意味が連想されるのではないでしょうか and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don t you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn t you? 「You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn t you?」松本訳注第2章(5) p. 455参照 And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn t to-night." 「to-night」これはtonightではないでしょうか。スキャン（グーテンベルグプロジェクトでの）の具合でハイフンが入っただけではないかと思います。PUffin Books版では、tonight Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn t be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables. "I m sorry I was late," he said shyly. "Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag." "Oh, I can carry it," the child responded cheerfully. "It isn t heavy. I ve got all my worldly goods in it, 「all my worldly goods」松本訳注第2章(6) p. 456参照 but it isn t heavy. And if it isn t carried in just a certain way the handle pulls out--so I d better keep it because I know the exact knack of it. It s an extremely old carpet-bag. Oh, I m very glad you ve come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We ve got to drive a long piece, haven t we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. 「it was eight miles」時制の一致をしているのですが、今、英作文をするなら、it is eight miles と現在形にするのが望ましいと指導されようというところ。eight milesはスペンサー夫人が話したときでも、アンが話しているときでも変わらない真実として扱っていいので。でも、この『アン』が書かれた100年前は時制の一致は、事実関係よりも話したことに忠実に時制をずらす（it isと言ったことを、saidと過去形で表現するため）のが適切だったのかもしれません I m glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I m going to live with you and belong to you. 「live with you and belong to you」ここでも繰り返し。これはアンの言葉なので切実さになるし、かわいらしい。また、houseとhomeを区別している表現と考えることもできるのでしょう I ve never belonged to anybody--not really. But the asylum was the worst. I ve only been in it four months, but that was enough. I don t suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you can t possibly understand what it is like. It s worse than anything you could imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn t mean to be wicked. It s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn t it? They were good, you know--the asylum people. But there is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum-- 「scope for the imagination」やっとアンの口から出た、想像の余地。でも、imagination に the がついていて、駅長さんの言ったのとちょっと違います。in an asylum と特定されているからかもしれません。次に出てくるときは、the なしですし only just in the other orphans. It was pretty interesting to imagine things about them--to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was really the daughter of a belted earl, 「a belted earl」beltedは、礼帯を着けた、筋のいい。earlは伯爵（イギリスの。イギリス以外の伯爵はcount）。a belted earl は、礼帯を着けた伯爵。それとも、やんごとなき伯爵（？）と訳したほうがいいかしら who had been stolen away from her parents in her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess. 「nurse」この文脈では、乳母 「confess」告白する。アンにとっては、重要な言葉（行為？） I used to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, because I didn t have time in the day. I guess that s why I m so thin--I AM dreadful thin, ain t I? There isn t a pick on my bones. 「pick」一時期の収穫量。辞書に？？？ I do love to imagine I m nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows." 「with dimples in my elbows」ひじにえくぼができる。ふっくらとしているのがよいとの考え。今とかなり違う。CHAPTER XIII? The Delights of Anticipation では、毎朝ひじにえくぼができていないかと見ている。アラン夫人の頬のえくぼにあこがれているし（CHAPTER XXI? A New Departure in Flavorings）、ダイアナには（顔に）えくぼがあるのにアンにはないと嘆く場面がCHAPTER XXXIII The Hotel Concert にある。と、ふっくらにあこがれ続けるアンなのです With this Matthew s companion stopped talking, 「With this」こう言ってから 「Matthew s companion」もちろんアンのこと。英語らしく言い替えが頻繁 partly because she was out of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy. Not another word did she say until they had left the village and were driving down a steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into the soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-trees and slim white birches, were several feet above their heads. The child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum that brushed against the side of the buggy. 「The child」もちろんアンのこと "Isn t that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?" she asked. "Well now, I dunno," said Matthew. 「Well now」マシューの口癖。翻訳する人は、花岡訳が「そうさな」だったので、違いを出しても出さなくても大変。「そうさな」（松本訳）、「さァてね／そうだね」（中村訳）、「そうさのう」（神山訳）、「そうさな」（茅野訳）、「その、なんだ」（掛川訳） 「Well now」はマシューの口癖ではありますが、『アン』の中では48回しか出てきません（十分多い？） 「I dunno」これはもちろん I don t know の t の音が出ていないしゃべり方の音のとおりに表わしたもの "Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I ve never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don t ever expect to be a bride myself. I m so homely nobody will ever want to marry me-- 「homely」家庭的な、質素な、不器量な。アンが自分が美人じゃないと言っている。homelyが器量よしではないという表現なのは裏返すと、美人は家事ができないという（暗黙の）前提があるのかもしれません（洋の東西を問わない、のかもしれませんが） unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreign missionary mightn t be very particular. 「particular」好みにやかましい But I do hope that some day I shall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. 「my highest ideal of earthly bliss」big words! earthly 地上の／この世の。bliss 無上の幸福、至福 I just love pretty clothes. And I ve never had a pretty dress in my life that I can remember--but of course it s all the more to look forward to, isn t it? And then I can imagine that I m dressed gorgeously. This morning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, you know. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. 「three hundred yards」300ヤード。1ヤード＝3フィート＝91.4 cm なので、274 m 「yards」掛川 訳では「ヤール」。業界用語ではヤールのほうがいいのかもしれません。岩波国語辞典 第二版（ちょっと古いですが）には、「織物の長さの単位。ヤードと同じ。▽yardをオランダ語風に読んだなまり。」とあります。 Some people said it was because he couldn t sell it, but I d rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn t you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined that 「went to work and imagined that」that以下のことを想像することに取りかかった。and を to に置きかえるとわかりやすいような気がしますが、そんな使いかたがあるのかどうかは不明。to が二重になるのはよくないように思いますし I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you ARE imagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, 「a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes」花と揺れる大きな羽飾りのついた帽子。[[CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XI with impression]]Anne s Impressions of Sunday-School で実現しようとする。ここに伏線あり and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island with all my might. 「the Island」もちろんプリンスエドワード島 「with all my might」これはbig wordsではない？ I wasn t a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neither was Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn t time to get sick, watching to see that I didn t fall overboard. She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about. 「beat」まさる人物 But if it kept her from being seasick it s a mercy I did prowl, isn t it? And I wanted to see everything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn t know whether I d ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just love it already, 「it」もちろんプリンスエドワード島。hereと言ってしまいそうですが、itですよね and I m so glad I m going to live here. I ve always heard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, プリンスエドワード島が世界一と、モードの思いをアンに語らせている。この思いが、プリンスエドワード島のその後の歴史に大きく影響したに違いありません but I never really expected I would. It s delightful when your imaginations come true, isn t it? But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at Charlottetown 「Charlottetown」松本訳注第2章(7) p. 456参照 and the red roads began to flash past 「red roads」松本訳注第2章(8) p. 456参照 I asked Mrs. Spencer what made them red and she said she didn t know and for pity s sake not to ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out about things if you don t ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?" "Well now, I dunno," said Matthew. "Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime. Isn t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive-- it s such an interesting world. アンのこの前向きな性格が、この物語をすばらしいものにしている It wouldn t be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There d be no scope for imagination then, would there? 「scope for imagination」想像の余地は結構安売りしているような気がする But am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn t talk? If you say so I ll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it s difficult." Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it. But he had never expected to enjoy the society of a little girl. 「society」一緒にいること Women were bad enough in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He detested the way they had of sidling past him timidly, 「sidling past him」自分がされるのはいやなのに、マシューはアンに対しても同じことをした（上のほうで、sidled past her） with sidewise glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to say a word. That was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. But this freckled witch was very different, 「this freckled witch」このそばかすの魔女。CHAPTER III? Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised では、マシューはマリラに「Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you!」と魔法をかけられたに違いないと言われる。CHAPTER VII? Anne Says Her Prayers にも「this freckled witch」とアンが表現されるけれども、キリスト教をよく知らないという文脈でのwitchなので、異教徒のニュアンスがある。しかし、ここでは、そういう意味はないはず。アンがwitchと言われるのはこの2ヶ所だけ and although he found it rather difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental processes he thought that he "kind of liked her chatter." 「kind of」（副）［話］幾分、やや、ちょっと。ダブルクォーテーションで囲んで、「魔法」をかけられたのを示すのはわかるのですが、そこに kind of との見慣れない副詞句があるとわかりづらさ倍増。英語の口語を体験として知らないとこうなるのね…… So he said as shyly as usual "Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don t mind." "Oh, I m so glad. I know you and I are going to get along together fine. It s such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told that children should be seen and not heard. 「children should be seen and not heard」松本訳注第2章(9) p. 456参照 I ve had that said to me a million times if I have once. And people laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven t you?" 「big words」大げさな言葉。big wordsを連発するのはアンのおしゃべりの特徴ですが、big words そのものの話題は、意外にも、ここのほかは、CHAPTER XXVI with impression The Story Club Is Formed と CHAPTER XXXI with impression Where the Brook and River Meet だけ "Well now, that seems reasonable," said Matthew. "Mrs. Spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle. But it isn t--it s firmly fastened at one end. Mrs. Spencer said your place was named Green Gables. I asked her all about it. And she said there were trees all around it. I was gladder than ever. I just love trees. これは、前章CHAPTER I with impression Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised で レイチェル夫人が「Trees aren t much company」と言っているのに呼応しているように思います。では、グリーンゲイブルズに住むようになってから、アンがどのように木が好きなのかが具体的に表わされるのは、CHAPTER XI with impression? Anne s Impressions of Sunday-School で、アンは独り言を言っているか木や花に話し掛けると、ジェリー・ブートが話をしていた、というところでしょうか And there weren t any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teeny things out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them. 「weeny-teeny」繰り返して音が心地いいコトバ。どちらも（口）でちっちゃい、の意味。teeny は、tinyから、かも They just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did. It used to make me want to cry to look at them. I used to say to them, `Oh, you POOR little things! If you were out in a great big woods with other trees all around you and little mosses and Junebells growing over your roots 「Junebells」松本訳注第2章(10) p. 457参照 and a brook not far away and birds singing in you branches, you could grow, couldn t you? But you can t where you are. I know just exactly how you feel, little trees. I felt sorry to leave them behind this morning. You do get so attached to things like that, don t you? 「attached」好きだ Is there a brook anywhere near Green Gables? I forgot to ask Mrs. Spencer that." "Well now, yes, there s one right below the house." "Fancy. 「Fancy.」Puffin Books では、Fancy! とエクスクラメーショーンマーク付き。この喜びの言葉は珍しくはないのでしょうか…… It s always been one of my dreams to live near a brook. I never expected I would, though. Dreams don t often come true, do they? Wouldn t it be nice if they did? But just now I feel pretty nearly perfectly happy. I can t feel exactly perfectly happy because--well, what color would you call this?" She twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and held it up before Matthew s eyes. Matthew was not used to deciding on the tints of ladies tresses, but in this case there couldn t be much doubt. "It s red, ain t it?" he said. 「ain t it」ここは、isn t it ではないでしょうか。「正しい」文法なら。と書いてみたのですが念のため辞書を見ると、ain t は am not だけでなく、are ［is, have, has］ not でもあるようです。話しことばは難しい The girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from her very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages. 「the ages」積年の、という感じでしょうか "Yes, it s red," she said resignedly. "Now you see why I can t be perfectly happy. Nobody could who has red hair. 「Nobody could who has red hair.」松本訳注第2章(11) p. 457参照 I don t mind the other things so much--the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. I can imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leaf complexion and lovely starry violet eyes. 「violet eyes」アンは自分の作ったお話の中で Geraldine Seymour がpurple の眼を持つことにするが、ダイアナにそんな人は見たことがないと付っ込まれる（CHAPTER XXVI with impression The Story Club Is Formed） But I CANNOT imagine that red hair away. I do my best. I think to myself, `Now my hair is a glorious black, black as the raven s wing. But all the time I KNOW it is just plain red and it breaks my heart. It will be my lifelong sorrow. I read of a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn t red hair. Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow. 「brow」松本訳注第2章(12) p. 457参照 What is an alabaster brow? I never could find out. Can you tell me?" "Well now, I m afraid I can t," said Matthew, who was getting a little dizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boy had enticed him on the merry-go- round at a picnic. "Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she was divinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?" "Well now, no, I haven t," confessed Matthew ingenuously. "I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?" "Well now, I--I don t know exactly." "Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn t make much real difference for it isn t likely I ll ever be either. It s certain I ll never be angelically good. Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!" つづきはこちら CHAPTER I UP CHAPTER II つづき 8 October 2007 *1 ウィキペディアが全て正しいと考えているわけではありません。 とはいえ、写真は有用であること、また、読んでみて、それなりに適切と思う ものはリンクしてもいいと考えています。そこで、いい情報になりそうなもの にはリンクを張りました。ただし、リンク先は時間が経つと変わってしまう可 能性がありますので、ご注意を 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 8 October 2007 last update 2007-10-08 17 07 40 (Mon)
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CHAPTER XVI UP CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XVII A New Interest in Life THE next afternoon Anne, bending over her patchwork at the kitchen window, happened to glance out and beheld Diana down by the Dryad s Bubble beckoning mysteriously. In a trice Anne was out of the house and flying down to the hollow, astonishment and hope struggling in her expressive eyes. But the hope faded when she saw Diana s dejected countenance. "Your mother hasn t relented?" she gasped. Diana shook her head mournfully. "No; and oh, Anne, she says I m never to play with you again. I ve cried and cried and I told her it wasn t your fault, but it wasn t any use. I had ever such a time coaxing her to let me come down and say good-bye to you. She said I was only to stay ten minutes and she s timing me by the clock." "Ten minutes isn t very long to say an eternal farewell in," said Anne tearfully. "Oh, Diana, will you promise faithfully never to forget me, the friend of your youth, no matter what dearer friends may caress thee?" "Indeed I will," sobbed Diana, "and I ll never have another bosom friend--I don t want to have. I couldn t love anybody as I love you." "Oh, Diana," cried Anne, clasping her hands, "do you LOVE me?" "Why, of course I do. Didn t you know that?" "No." Anne drew a long breath. "I thought you LIKED me of course but I never hoped you LOVED me. Why, Diana, I didn t think anybody could love me. Nobody ever has loved me since I can remember. Oh, this is wonderful! It s a ray of light which will forever shine on the darkness of a path severed from thee, Diana. Oh, just say it once again." "I love you devotedly, Anne," said Diana stanchly, "and I always will, you may be sure of that." "And I will always love thee, Diana," said Anne, solemnly extending her hand. "In the years to come thy memory will shine like a star over my lonely life, as that last story we read together says. Diana, wilt thou give me a lock of thy jet-black tresses in parting to treasure forevermore?" "Have you got anything to cut it with?" queried Diana, wiping away the tears which Anne s affecting accents had caused to flow afresh, and returning to practicalities. "Yes. I ve got my patchwork scissors in my apron pocket fortunately," said Anne. She solemnly clipped one of Diana s curls. "Fare thee well, my beloved friend. Henceforth we must be as strangers though living side by side. But my heart will ever be faithful to thee." Anne stood and watched Diana out of sight, mournfully waving her hand to the latter whenever she turned to look back. Then she returned to the house, not a little consoled for the time being by this romantic parting. "It is all over," she informed Marilla. "I shall never have another friend. I m really worse off than ever before, for I haven t Katie Maurice and Violetta now. And even if I had it wouldn t be the same. Somehow, little dream girls are not satisfying after a real friend. Diana and I had such an affecting farewell down by the spring. It will be sacred in my memory forever. I used the most pathetic language I could think of and said `thou and `thee. `Thou and `thee seem so much more romantic than `you. Diana gave me a lock of her hair and I m going to sew it up in a little bag and wear it around my neck all my life. Please see that it is buried with me, for I don t believe I ll live very long. Perhaps when she sees me lying cold and dead before her Mrs. Barry may feel remorse for what she has done and will let Diana come to my funeral." "I don t think there is much fear of your dying of grief as long as you can talk, Anne," said Marilla unsympathetically. The following Monday Anne surprised Marilla by coming down from her room with her basket of books on her arm and hip and her lips primmed up into a line of determination. "I m going back to school," she announced. "That is all there is left in life for me, now that my friend has been ruthlessly torn from me. In school I can look at her and muse over days departed." "You d better muse over your lessons and sums," said Marilla, concealing her delight at this development of the situation. "If you re going back to school I hope we ll hear no more of breaking slates over people s heads and such carryings on. Behave yourself and do just what your teacher tells you." "I ll try to be a model pupil," agreed Anne dolefully. "There won t be much fun in it, I expect. Mr. Phillips said Minnie Andrews was a model pupil and there isn t a spark of imagination or life in her. She is just dull and poky and never seems to have a good time. But I feel so depressed that perhaps it will come easy to me now. I m going round by the road. I couldn t bear to go by the Birch Path all alone. I should weep bitter tears if I did." Anne was welcomed back to school with open arms. Her imagination had been sorely missed in games, her voice in the singing and her dramatic ability in the perusal aloud of books at dinner hour. Ruby Gillis smuggled three blue plums over to her during testament reading; Ella May MacPherson gave her an enormous yellow pansy cut from the covers of a floral catalogue--a species of desk decoration much prized in Avonlea school. Sophia Sloane offered to teach her a perfectly elegant new pattern of knit lace, so nice for trimming aprons. Katie Boulter gave her a perfume bottle to keep slate water in, and Julia Bell copied carefully on a piece of pale pink paper scalloped on the edges the following effusion When twilight drops her curtain down And pins it with a star Remember that you have a friend Though she may wander far. "It s so nice to be appreciated," sighed Anne rapturously to Marilla that night. The girls were not the only scholars who "appreciated" her. When Anne went to her seat after dinner hour--she had been told by Mr. Phillips to sit with the model Minnie Andrews--she found on her desk a big luscious "strawberry apple." Anne caught it up all ready to take a bite when she remembered that the only place in Avonlea where strawberry apples grew was in the old Blythe orchard on the other side of the Lake of Shining Waters. Anne dropped the apple as if it were a red-hot coal and ostentatiously wiped her fingers on her handkerchief. The apple lay untouched on her desk until the next morning, when little Timothy Andrews, who swept the school and kindled the fire, annexed it as one of his perquisites. Charlie Sloane s slate pencil, gorgeously bedizened with striped red and yellow paper, costing two cents where ordinary pencils cost only one, which he sent up to her after dinner hour, met with a more favorable reception. Anne was graciously pleased to accept it and rewarded the donor with a smile which exalted that infatuated youth straightway into the seventh heaven of delight and caused him to make such fearful errors in his dictation that Mr. Phillips kept him in after school to rewrite it. But as, The Caesar s pageant shorn of Brutus bust Did but of Rome s best son remind her more. so the marked absence of any tribute or recognition from Diana Barry who was sitting with Gertie Pye embittered Anne s little triumph. "Diana might just have smiled at me once, I think," she mourned to Marilla that night. But the next morning a note most fearfully and wonderfully twisted and folded, and a small parcel were passed across to Anne. Dear Anne (ran the former) Mother says I m not to play with you or talk to you even in school. It isn t my fault and don t be cross at me, because I love you as much as ever. I miss you awfully to tell all my secrets to and I don t like Gertie Pye one bit. I made you one of the new bookmarkers out of red tissue paper. They are awfully fashionable now and only three girls in school know how to make them. When you look at it remember Your true friend Diana Barry. Anne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and dispatched a prompt reply back to the other side of the school. My own darling Diana -- Of course I am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother. Our spirits can commune. I shall keep your lovely present forever. Minnie Andrews is a very nice little girl--although she has no imagination--but after having been Diana s busum friend I cannot be Minnie s. Please excuse mistakes because my spelling isn t very good yet, although much improoved. Yours until death us do part Anne or Cordelia Shirley. P.S. I shall sleep with your letter under my pillow tonight. A. OR C.S. Marilla pessimistically expected more trouble since Anne had again begun to go to school. But none developed. Perhaps Anne caught something of the "model" spirit from Minnie Andrews; at least she got on very well with Mr. Phillips thenceforth. She flung herself into her studies heart and soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by Gilbert Blythe. The rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good natured on Gilbert s side; but it is much to be feared that the same thing cannot be said of Anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity for holding grudges. She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves. She would not stoop to admit that she meant to rival Gilbert in schoolwork, because that would have been to acknowledge his existence which Anne persistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuated between them. Now Gilbert was head of the spelling class; now Anne, with a toss of her long red braids, spelled him down. One morning Gilbert had all his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboard on the roll of honor; the next morning Anne, having wrestled wildly with decimals the entire evening before, would be first. One awful day they were ties and their names were written up together. It was almost as bad as a take-notice and Anne s mortification was as evident as Gilbert s satisfaction. When the written examinations at the end of each month were held the suspense was terrible. The first month Gilbert came out three marks ahead. The second Anne beat him by five. But her triumph was marred by the fact that Gilbert congratulated her heartily before the whole school. It would have been ever so much sweeter to her if he had felt the sting of his defeat. Mr. Phillips might not be a very good teacher; but a pupil so inflexibly determined on learning as Anne was could hardly escape making progress under any kind of teacher. By the end of the term Anne and Gilbert were both promoted into the fifth class and allowed to begin studying the elements of "the branches"--by which Latin, geometry, French, and algebra were meant. In geometry Anne met her Waterloo. "It s perfectly awful stuff, Marilla," she groaned. "I m sure I ll never be able to make head or tail of it. There is no scope for imagination in it at all. Mr. Phillips says I m the worst dunce he ever saw at it. And Gil--I mean some of the others are so smart at it. It is extremely mortifying, Marilla. "Even Diana gets along better than I do. But I don t mind being beaten by Diana. Even although we meet as strangers now I still love her with an INEXTINGUISHABLE love. It makes me very sad at times to think about her. But really, Marilla, one can t stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?" CHAPTER XVI UP CHAPTER XVIII 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 05 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 24 04 (Tue)
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CHAPTER XXV? UP CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVI The Story Club Is Formed 第26章 物語クラブの結成（松本訳） Junior Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence again. アヴォンリーの学校の子供を「Junior Avonlea」と表現している To Anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and unprofitable 「fearfully flat, stale, and unprofitable」松本訳注第26章(1) p. 507参照 after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for weeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those faraway days before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not really think she could. "I m positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite the same again as it was in those olden days," she said mournfully, as if referring to a period of at least fifty years back. 「fifty years back」このころの50年前は、どんなだったろう。カナダは独立していないのはわかるのだけど "Perhaps after a while I ll get used to it, but I m afraid concerts spoil people for everyday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them. Marilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to be sensible; but still, I don t believe I d really want to be a sensible person, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is no danger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just now that I may grow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only because I m tired. I simply couldn t sleep last night for ever so long. I just lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That s one splendid thing about such affairs--it s so lovely to look back to them." Eventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its old groove and took up its old interests. 「slipped back into its old groove」grooveは、軌道（松本訳）、わだち、溝など。または、常道、きまり、慣習。slipを使うことで、溝に滑り落ちるように元に戻っている様子を表現しているのでしょうか。また、「slipped back」、「took up」と、落ちて上がる、のがコトバの上でも気持ちいいのかもしれません To be sure, the concert left traces. 「the concert left traces」、grooveに滑り落ちるように戻ったけれども、trace＝跡は残した。土手を滑り落ちるときに残る滑り跡、を連想させる Ruby Gillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence in their platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promising friendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell did not "speak" for three months, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wright that Julia Bell s bow 「bow」は、おじぎ。《バウ》のような発音。《ボウ》のような発音の蝶結びではない when she got up to recite made her think of a chicken jerking its head, and Bessie told Julia. 「bow」を蝶結びと勘違いして読んでいたら、ニワトリのトサカの話と思ってしまいました (^^; 。もしかしたら、ジュリア・ベルは頭にリボンを付けていて（前章に記述はありませんが）、それと引っかけているのかも、と自分を慰めたりして…… None of the Sloanes would have any dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declared that the Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloanes had retorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had to do properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs about her recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was "licked"; consequently Moody Spurgeon s sister, Ella May, would not "speak" to Anne Shirley all the rest of the winter. エラ・メイはムーディー・スパージョンのsisiterとしかないけれども、こういう子供っぽいことをするのだから、また、アンの同級生グループにもいないことから、妹だとわかる With the exception of these trifling frictions, work in Miss Stacy s little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness. 「Miss Stacy s little kingdom」アンの青春にも似た表現があったと思う「アンの小さな王国」（村岡訳ではこうだったような） The winter weeks slipped by. ここにも「slipped」。今度は雪を連想させる It was an unusually mild winter, with so little snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day by way of the Birch Path. On Anne s birthday they were tripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for Miss Stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "A Winter s Walk in the Woods," and it behooved them to be observant. "Just think, Diana, I m thirteen years old today," remarked Anne in an awed voice. 「awed」畏敬の、って地の文でもbig word。アンの言葉に対する形容だけど "I can scarcely realize that I m in my teens. 「teens」松本訳注第26章(2) p. 508参照 When I woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must be different. You ve been thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn t seem such a novelty to you as it does to me. It makes life seem so much more interesting. In two more years I ll be really grown up. It s a great comfort to think that I ll be able to use big words then without being laughed at." 第31章で、マリラにあまりおしゃべりしなくなった、おおげさな言葉を使わなくなった "You don t chatter half as much as you used to, Anne, nor use half as many big words. What has come over you?" と言われるものの伏線になっている。CHAPTER XXXI、CHAPTER XXXI with impressionも参照 "Ruby Gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she s fifteen," said Diana. "Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but beaus," said Anne disdainfully. beauが複数になっているところが、アンのdisdainfully（軽蔑して）を表わしているのかも。「beaus」は、puffin books版では「beaux」となっている。beauxは、beauのフランス語の複数形。Gutenberg版はアメリカ英語化されているものを使っているためではないでしょうか。beauxは《ボ》と発音は単数形のbeauと同じになっちゃうのだけれど、aの有無で話し言葉でもわかるはず "She s actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a take-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I m afraid that is an uncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never make uncharitable speeches; 「uncharitable」演芸会のタブローでアンが演じたのはHope（希望：松本訳）であって、Charity（愛 松本訳、または、慈愛）ではない（CHAPTER XXIV、CHAPTER XXIV with impression?）。英語で読んでくるとここで気付く but they do slip out so often before you think, don t they? ここにも「slip」。この章はslipがキーワードのひとつかも (^^) I simply can t talk about Josie Pye without making an uncharitable speech, so I never mention her at all. You may have noticed that. I m trying to be as much like Mrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she s perfect. Mr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs. Lynde says he just worships the ground she treads on and she doesn t really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being. But then, Diana, even ministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody else. 「besetting sins」松本訳注第26章(3) p. 508参照。 sinは原罪 I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besetting sins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it s proper to talk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties. I m striving very hard to overcome it and now that I m really thirteen perhaps I ll get on better." "In four more years we ll be able to put our hair up," said Diana. "Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I think that s ridiculous. I shall wait until I m seventeen." "If I had Alice Bell s crooked nose," said Anne decidedly, 「crooked」には、曲った、の意味のほかに、不正直な、という意味もある。アリス・ベルが髪を大人のように結い上げることが、年齢に対して不正直であるとのことからこのコトバが連想され、コトバがコトバを紡ぎ出していく会話になっている "I wouldn t--but there! I won t say what I was going to because it was extremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose and that s vanity. I m afraid I think too much about my nose ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort to me. Oh, Diana, look, there s a rabbit. That s something to remember for our woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as in summer. They re so white and still, as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams." "I won t mind writing that composition when its time comes," sighed Diana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we re to hand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads!" "Why, it s as easy as wink," said Anne. "It s easy for you because you have an imagination," retorted Diana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose you have your composition all done?" Anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably. "I wrote it last Monday evening. It s called `The Jealous Rival; or In Death Not Divided. I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That is the kind of critic I like. It s a sad, sweet story. I just cried like a child while I was writing it. 「I just cried like a child」13歳になったご利益はなかったのかも。childのニュアンスがよくわからない。松本訳では「わんわん泣いちゃったわ」 It s about two beautiful maidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other. 「Cordelia Montmorency」松本訳注第26章(4) p. 508参照。 「Geraldine Seymour」松本訳注第26章(5) p. 508参照 Cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. 「coronet」松本訳注第26章(6) p. 509参照 Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes." [「purple eyes」紫色の目。アンは自分の緑色の目の代りに、想像のうえでは violet の目を持っていると考え（てい）たことがある（CHAPTER II with impression Matthew Cuthbert is surprised） 19 August 2007 追記 "I never saw anybody with purple eyes," said Diana dubiously. "Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of the common. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I ve found out what an alabaster brow is. 「I ve found out what an alabaster brow is. 」松本訳注第26章(7) p. 509参照。 CHAPTER II、CHAPTER II with impressionも参照 That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. You know so much more than you did when you were only twelve." "Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?" asked Diana, who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate. "They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then Bertram DeVere came to their native village 「Bertram DeVere」松本訳注第26章(8) p. 509参照 and fell in love with the fair Geraldine. 「fair」は金髪の、金髪で色白の。公正な、の意味も含めているのかもしれない He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three miles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to go by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because I thought she d likely be an authority on the subject, having so many sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, `What do you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall? 「pet」お気に入りの物、人。動物のペット以外の意味もある And Susan said, `Yes--no--I don t know--let me see --and there they were, engaged as quick as that. But I didn t think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one, so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees, although Ruby Gillis says it isn t done nowadays. Geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long. 「a speech a page long」アンのおしゃべりは、more than a page longで、改行なしで1ページ以上あるのを読者は知っているから、ここでも笑ってしまう I can tell you I took a lot of trouble with that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as my masterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace 「ruby necklace」ちょっと前にルビー・ギリスが出てきたから、ルビーの首飾りなのかどうかは不明 and told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over their path. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and when Geraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All her affection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she should never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine s friend the same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, `Ha, ha, ha. But Bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, `I will save thee, my peerless Geraldine. 文語調で叫んでいる。松本訳も文語調 But alas, he had forgotten he couldn t swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other s arms. Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the one grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It s so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As for Cordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime." 「retribution」は悪行に対する報い。または、天罰 "How perfectly lovely!" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew s school of critics. 「school」は学派や派、と訳すことが多いのでしょうけども、日本語の学派から連想されるほど堅いコトバではないはず。とはいえ漢字の「派」を使わざるをえないところで、すでに堅い感じを漂わせてしまうのは仕方がないのかもしれません "I don t see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours." "It would be if you d only cultivate it," said Anne cheeringly. "I ve just thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a story club all our own and write stories for practice. I ll help you along until you can do them by yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination, you know. Miss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her about the Haunted Wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that." This was how the story club came into existence. It was limited to Diana and Anne at first, but soon it was extended to include Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations needed cultivating. No boys were allowed in it--although Ruby Gillis opined that their admission would make it more exciting--and each member had to produce one story a week. "It s extremely interesting," Anne told Marilla. "Each girl has to read her story out loud and then we talk it over. We are going to keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each write under a nom-de-plume. 「sacredly」「nom-de-plume」とか、big wordsで笑えるところ Mine is Rosamond Montmorency. All the girls do pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too much lovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than too little. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud. Jane s stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the time she doesn t know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them. I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, but that isn t hard for I ve millions of ideas." "I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet," scoffed Marilla. "You ll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time that should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse." 「Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse.」松本訳注第26章(9) p. 509参照 日本でも、漢詩が格上で、物語は格下。和歌は物語よりも上だけれども、漢詩より格下。平安時代から江戸時代にかけては "But we re so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla," explained Anne. "I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded and all the bad ones are suitably punished. 「reward」は善いことに対する報い。先にコーデリアの受けた報い「retribution」とは違う I m sure that must have a wholesome effect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allan says so. 「Mr. Allan says so.」松本訳では「アラン夫人」となっていますが（p.305）、「アラン牧師」の誤植だと思います。MrとMrsの誤植ではないと思われる理由は、次の文が「to him and Mrs. Allan」で、先に男の人であるMr Allanが述べられていることが明らかだからです I read one of my stories to him and Mrs. Allan and they both agreed that the moral was excellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better when people cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the pathetic parts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club and her Aunt Josephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. So we copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry wrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. That kind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almost everybody died. But I m glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our club is doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought to be our object in everything. I do really try to make it my object but I forget so often when I m having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allan when I grow up. Do you think there is any prospect of it, Marilla?" "I shouldn t say there was a great deal" was Marilla s encouraging answer. "I m sure Mrs. Allan was never such a silly, forgetful little girl as you are." "No; but she wasn t always so good as she is now either," said Anne seriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said she was a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I felt so encouraged when I heard that. Is it very wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad and mischievous? Mrs. Lynde says it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feels shocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how small they were. Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess that when he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt s pantry 「he stole a strawberry tart」松本訳注第26章(10) p. 510参照 and she never had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn t have felt that way. I d have thought that it was real noble of him to confess it, and I d have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it. That s how I d feel, Marilla." "The way I feel at present, Anne," said Marilla, "is that it s high time you had those dishes washed. You ve taken half an hour longer than you should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talk afterwards." CHAPTER XXV? UP CHAPTER XXVII 2007年6月10日 2007年8月19日 追記 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 10 June 2007 last update 2007-08-19 21 24 47 (Sun)
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CHAPTER II UP CHAPTER IV CHAPTER III Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised Marilla came briskly forward as Matthew opened the door. But when her eyes fell of the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with the long braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped short in amazement. "Matthew Cuthbert, who s that?" she ejaculated. "Where is the boy?" "There wasn t any boy," said Matthew wretchedly. "There was only HER." He nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked her name. "No boy! But there MUST have been a boy," insisted Marilla. "We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy." "Well, she didn t. She brought HER. I asked the station- master. And I had to bring her home. She couldn t be left there, no matter where the mistake had come in." "Well, this is a pretty piece of business!" ejaculated Marilla. During this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving from one to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenly she seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping her precious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands. "You don t want me!" she cried. "You don t want me because I m not a boy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might have known it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody really did want me. Oh, what shall I do? I m going to burst into tears!" Burst into tears she did. Sitting down on a chair by the table, flinging her arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to cry stormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other deprecatingly across the stove. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marilla stepped lamely into the breach. "Well, well, there s no need to cry so about it." "Yes, there IS need!" The child raised her head quickly, revealing a tear-stained face and trembling lips. "YOU would cry, too, if you were an orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and found that they didn t want you because you weren t a boy. Oh, this is the most TRAGICAL thing that ever happened to me!" Something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse, mellowed Marilla s grim expression. "Well, don t cry any more. We re not going to turn you out- of-doors to-night. You ll have to stay here until we investigate this affair. What s your name?" The child hesitated for a moment. "Will you please call me Cordelia?" she said eagerly. "CALL you Cordelia? Is that your name?" "No-o-o, it s not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia. It s such a perfectly elegant name." "I don t know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn t your name, what is?" "Anne Shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but, oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can t matter much to you what you call me if I m only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is such an unromantic name." "Unromantic fiddlesticks!" said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is a real good plain sensible name. You ve no need to be ashamed of it." "Oh, I m not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better. I ve always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, I always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne please call me Anne spelled with an E." "What difference does it make how it s spelled?" asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot. "Oh, it makes SUCH a difference. It LOOKS so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can t you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished. If you ll only call me Anne spelled with an E I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia." "Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how this mistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy. Were there no boys at the asylum?" "Oh, yes, there was an abundance of them. But Mrs. Spencer said DISTINCTLY that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And the matron said she thought I would do. You don t know how delighted I was. I couldn t sleep all last night for joy. Oh," she added reproachfully, turning to Matthew, "why didn t you tell me at the station that you didn t want me and leave me there? If I hadn t seen the White Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining Waters it wouldn t be so hard." "What on earth does she mean?" demanded Marilla, staring at Matthew. "She--she s just referring to some conversation we had on the road," said Matthew hastily. "I m going out to put the mare in, Marilla. Have tea ready when I come back." "Did Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?" continued Marilla when Matthew had gone out. "She brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and she is very beautiful and had nut-brown hair. If I was very beautiful and had nut-brown hair would you keep me?" "No. We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl would be of no use to us. Take off your hat. I ll lay it and your bag on the hall table." Anne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they sat down to supper. But Anne could not eat. In vain she nibbled at the bread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the little scalloped glass dish by her plate. She did not really make any headway at all. "You re not eating anything," said Marilla sharply, eying her as if it were a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed. "I can t. I m in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in the depths of despair?" "I ve never been in the depths of despair, so I can t say," responded Marilla. "Weren t you? Well, did you ever try to IMAGINE you were in the depths of despair?" "No, I didn t." "Then I don t think you can understand what it s like. It s very uncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat a lump comes right up in your throat and you can t swallow anything, not even if it was a chocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and it was simply delicious. I ve often dreamed since then that I had a lot of chocolate caramels, but I always wake up just when I m going to eat them. I do hope you won t be offended because I can t eat. Everything is extremely nice, but still I cannot eat." "I guess she s tired," said Matthew, who hadn t spoken since his return from the barn. "Best put her to bed, Marilla." Marilla had been wondering where Anne should be put to bed. She had prepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expected boy. But, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite the thing to put a girl there somehow. But the spare room was out of the question for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gable room. Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her, which Anne spiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table as she passed. The hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber in which she presently found herself seemed still cleaner. Marilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table and turned down the bedclothes. "I suppose you have a nightgown?" she questioned. Anne nodded. "Yes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. They re fearfully skimpy. There is never enough to go around in an asylum, so things are always skimpy--at least in a poor asylum like ours. I hate skimpy night-dresses. But one can dream just as well in them as in lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, that s one consolation." "Well, undress as quick as you can and go to bed. I ll come back in a few minutes for the candle. I daren t trust you to put it out yourself. You d likely set the place on fire." When Marilla had gone Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashed walls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must ache over their own bareness. The floor was bare, too, except for a round braided mat in the middle such as Anne had never seen before. In one corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark, low- turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three- corner table adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn the point of the most adventurous pin. Above it hung a little six-by-eight mirror. Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy white muslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The whole apartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which sent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne s bones. With a sob she hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed where she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes over her head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpy articles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certain tempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of any presence save her own. She deliberately picked up Anne s clothes, placed them neatly on a prim yellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed. "Good night," she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly. Anne s white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with a startling suddenness. "How can you call it a GOOD night when you know it must be the very worst night I ve ever had?" she said reproachfully. Then she dived down into invisibility again. Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supper dishes. Matthew was smoking--a sure sign of perturbation of mind. He seldom smoked, for Marilla set her face against it as a filthy habit; but at certain times and seasons he felt driven to it and them Marilla winked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some vent for his emotions. "Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish," she said wrathfully. "This is what comes of sending word instead of going ourselves. Richard Spencer s folks have twisted that message somehow. One of us will have to drive over and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow, that s certain. This girl will have to be sent back to the asylum." "Yes, I suppose so," said Matthew reluctantly. "You SUPPOSE so! Don t you know it?" "Well now, she s a real nice little thing, Marilla. It s kind of a pity to send her back when she s so set on staying here." "Matthew Cuthbert, you don t mean to say you think we ought to keep her!" Marilla s astonishment could not have been greater if Matthew had expressed a predilection for standing on his head. "Well, now, no, I suppose not--not exactly," stammered Matthew, uncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning. "I suppose--we could hardly be expected to keep her." "I should say not. What good would she be to us?" "We might be some good to her," said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly. "Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you! I can see as plain as plain that you want to keep her." "Well now, she s a real interesting little thing," persisted Matthew. "You should have heard her talk coming from the station." "Oh, she can talk fast enough. I saw that at once. It s nothing in her favour, either. I don t like children who have so much to say. I don t want an orphan girl and if I did she isn t the style I d pick out. There s something I don t understand about her. No, she s got to be despatched straight-way back to where she came from." "I could hire a French boy to help me," said Matthew, "and she d be company for you." "I m not suffering for company," said Marilla shortly. "And I m not going to keep her." "Well now, it s just as you say, of course, Marilla," said Matthew rising and putting his pipe away. "I m going to bed." To bed went Matthew. And to bed, when she had put her dishes away, went Marilla, frowning most resolutely. And up-stairs, in the east gable, a lonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep. CHAPTER II UP CHAPTER IV 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 04 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 32 36 (Tue)
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CHAPTER XXV UP CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVI The Story Club Is Formed Junior Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence again. To Anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and unprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for weeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those faraway days before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not really think she could. "I m positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite the same again as it was in those olden days," she said mournfully, as if referring to a period of at least fifty years back. "Perhaps after a while I ll get used to it, but I m afraid concerts spoil people for everyday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them. Marilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to be sensible; but still, I don t believe I d really want to be a sensible person, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is no danger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just now that I may grow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only because I m tired. I simply couldn t sleep last night for ever so long. I just lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That s one splendid thing about such affairs--it s so lovely to look back to them." Eventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its old groove and took up its old interests. To be sure, the concert left traces. Ruby Gillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence in their platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promising friendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell did not "speak" for three months, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wright that Julia Bell s bow when she got up to recite made her think of a chicken jerking its head, and Bessie told Julia. None of the Sloanes would have any dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declared that the Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloanes had retorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had to do properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs about her recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was "licked"; consequently Moody Spurgeon s sister, Ella May, would not "speak" to Anne Shirley all the rest of the winter. With the exception of these trifling frictions, work in Miss Stacy s little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness. The winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter, with so little snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day by way of the Birch Path. On Anne s birthday they were tripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for Miss Stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "A Winter s Walk in the Woods," and it behooved them to be observant. "Just think, Diana, I m thirteen years old today," remarked Anne in an awed voice. "I can scarcely realize that I m in my teens. When I woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must be different. You ve been thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn t seem such a novelty to you as it does to me. It makes life seem so much more interesting. In two more years I ll be really grown up. It s a great comfort to think that I ll be able to use big words then without being laughed at." "Ruby Gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she s fifteen," said Diana. "Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but beaus," said Anne disdainfully. "She s actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a take-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I m afraid that is an uncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never make uncharitable speeches; but they do slip out so often before you think, don t they? I simply can t talk about Josie Pye without making an uncharitable speech, so I never mention her at all. You may have noticed that. I m trying to be as much like Mrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she s perfect. Mr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs. Lynde says he just worships the ground she treads on and she doesn t really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being. But then, Diana, even ministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody else. I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besetting sins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it s proper to talk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties. I m striving very hard to overcome it and now that I m really thirteen perhaps I ll get on better." "In four more years we ll be able to put our hair up," said Diana. "Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I think that s ridiculous. I shall wait until I m seventeen." "If I had Alice Bell s crooked nose," said Anne decidedly, "I wouldn t--but there! I won t say what I was going to because it was extremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose and that s vanity. I m afraid I think too much about my nose ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort to me. Oh, Diana, look, there s a rabbit. That s something to remember for our woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as in summer. They re so white and still, as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams." "I won t mind writing that composition when its time comes," sighed Diana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we re to hand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads!" "Why, it s as easy as wink," said Anne. "It s easy for you because you have an imagination," retorted Diana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose you have your composition all done?" Anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably. "I wrote it last Monday evening. It s called `The Jealous Rival; or In Death Not Divided. I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That is the kind of critic I like. It s a sad, sweet story. I just cried like a child while I was writing it. It s about two beautiful maidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes." "I never saw anybody with purple eyes," said Diana dubiously. "Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of the common. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I ve found out what an alabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. You know so much more than you did when you were only twelve." "Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?" asked Diana, who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate. "They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then Bertram DeVere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair Geraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three miles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to go by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because I thought she d likely be an authority on the subject, having so many sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, `What do you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall? And Susan said, `Yes--no--I don t know--let me see --and there they were, engaged as quick as that. But I didn t think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one, so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees, although Ruby Gillis says it isn t done nowadays. Geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot of trouble with that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as my masterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace and told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over their path. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and when Geraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All her affection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she should never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine s friend the same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, `Ha, ha, ha. But Bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, `I will save thee, my peerless Geraldine. But alas, he had forgotten he couldn t swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other s arms. Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the one grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It s so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As for Cordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime." "How perfectly lovely!" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew s school of critics. "I don t see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours." "It would be if you d only cultivate it," said Anne cheeringly. "I ve just thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a story club all our own and write stories for practice. I ll help you along until you can do them by yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination, you know. Miss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her about the Haunted Wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that." This was how the story club came into existence. It was limited to Diana and Anne at first, but soon it was extended to include Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations needed cultivating. No boys were allowed in it--although Ruby Gillis opined that their admission would make it more exciting--and each member had to produce one story a week. "It s extremely interesting," Anne told Marilla. "Each girl has to read her story out loud and then we talk it over. We are going to keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each write under a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond Montmorency. All the girls do pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too much lovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than too little. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud. Jane s stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the time she doesn t know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them. I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, but that isn t hard for I ve millions of ideas." "I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet," scoffed Marilla. "You ll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time that should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse." "But we re so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla," explained Anne. "I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded and all the bad ones are suitably punished. I m sure that must have a wholesome effect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allan says so. I read one of my stories to him and Mrs. Allan and they both agreed that the moral was excellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better when people cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the pathetic parts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club and her Aunt Josephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. So we copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry wrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. That kind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almost everybody died. But I m glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our club is doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought to be our object in everything. I do really try to make it my object but I forget so often when I m having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allan when I grow up. Do you think there is any prospect of it, Marilla?" "I shouldn t say there was a great deal" was Marilla s encouraging answer. "I m sure Mrs. Allan was never such a silly, forgetful little girl as you are." "No; but she wasn t always so good as she is now either," said Anne seriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said she was a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I felt so encouraged when I heard that. Is it very wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad and mischievous? Mrs. Lynde says it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feels shocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how small they were. Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess that when he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt s pantry and she never had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn t have felt that way. I d have thought that it was real noble of him to confess it, and I d have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it. That s how I d feel, Marilla." "The way I feel at present, Anne," said Marilla, "is that it s high time you had those dishes washed. You ve taken half an hour longer than you should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talk afterwards." CHAPTER XXV UP CHAPTER XXVII 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 05 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 20 07 (Tue)
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CHAPTER I UP CHAPTER III CHAPTER II Matthew Cuthbert is surprised Matthew Cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight miles to Bright River. It was a pretty road, running along between snug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive through or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom. The air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while "The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year." Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them-- for in Prince Edward island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not. Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him. He may have been quite right in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness. When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thought he was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was sitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end. Matthew, barely noting that it WAS a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the tense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main. Matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along. "The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official. "But there was a passenger dropped off for you--a little girl. She s sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to go into the ladies waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside. `There was more scope for imagination, she said. She s a case, I should say." "I m not expecting a girl," said Matthew blankly. "It s a boy I ve come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me." The stationmaster whistled. "Guess there s some mistake," he said. "Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently. That s all I know about it--and I haven t got any more orphans concealed hereabouts." "I don t understand," said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation. "Well, you d better question the girl," said the station- master carelessly. "I dare say she ll be able to explain-- she s got a tongue of her own, that s certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted." He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its den--walk up to a girl--a strange girl--an orphan girl--and demand of her why she wasn t a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her. She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others. So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman- child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid. Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping with one thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag; the other she held out to him. "I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. "I m very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren t coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn t come for me to-night I d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don t you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn t you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn t to-night." Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn t be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables. "I m sorry I was late," he said shyly. "Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag." "Oh, I can carry it," the child responded cheerfully. "It isn t heavy. I ve got all my worldly goods in it, but it isn t heavy. And if it isn t carried in just a certain way the handle pulls out--so I d better keep it because I know the exact knack of it. It s an extremely old carpet-bag. Oh, I m very glad you ve come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We ve got to drive a long piece, haven t we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I m glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I m going to live with you and belong to you. I ve never belonged to anybody--not really. But the asylum was the worst. I ve only been in it four months, but that was enough. I don t suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you can t possibly understand what it is like. It s worse than anything you could imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn t mean to be wicked. It s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn t it? They were good, you know--the asylum people. But there is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum--only just in the other orphans. It was pretty interesting to imagine things about them--to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was really the daughter of a belted earl, who had been stolen away from her parents in her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess. I used to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, because I didn t have time in the day. I guess that s why I m so thin--I AM dreadful thin, ain t I? There isn t a pick on my bones. I do love to imagine I m nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows." With this Matthew s companion stopped talking, partly because she was out of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy. Not another word did she say until they had left the village and were driving down a steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into the soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-trees and slim white birches, were several feet above their heads. The child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum that brushed against the side of the buggy. "Isn t that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?" she asked. "Well now, I dunno," said Matthew. "Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I ve never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don t ever expect to be a bride myself. I m so homely nobody will ever want to marry me-- unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreign missionary mightn t be very particular. But I do hope that some day I shall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. I just love pretty clothes. And I ve never had a pretty dress in my life that I can remember--but of course it s all the more to look forward to, isn t it? And then I can imagine that I m dressed gorgeously. This morning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, you know. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn t sell it, but I d rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn t you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined that I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you ARE imagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island with all my might. I wasn t a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neither was Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn t time to get sick, watching to see that I didn t fall overboard. She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her from being seasick it s a mercy I did prowl, isn t it? And I wanted to see everything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn t know whether I d ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just love it already, and I m so glad I m going to live here. I ve always heard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected I would. It s delightful when your imaginations come true, isn t it? But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at Charlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencer what made them red and she said she didn t know and for pity s sake not to ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out about things if you don t ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?" "Well now, I dunno," said Matthew. "Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime. Isn t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive-- it s such an interesting world. It wouldn t be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There d be no scope for imagination then, would there? But am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn t talk? If you say so I ll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it s difficult." Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it. But he had never expected to enjoy the society of a little girl. Women were bad enough in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He detested the way they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to say a word. That was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. But this freckled witch was very different, and although he found it rather difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental processes he thought that he "kind of liked her chatter." So he said as shyly as usual "Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don t mind." "Oh, I m so glad. I know you and I are going to get along together fine. It s such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told that children should be seen and not heard. I ve had that said to me a million times if I have once. And people laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven t you?" "Well now, that seems reasonable," said Matthew. "Mrs. Spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle. But it isn t--it s firmly fastened at one end. Mrs. Spencer said your place was named Green Gables. I asked her all about it. And she said there were trees all around it. I was gladder than ever. I just love trees. And there weren t any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teeny things out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them. They just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did. It used to make me want to cry to look at them. I used to say to them, `Oh, you POOR little things! If you were out in a great big woods with other trees all around you and little mosses and Junebells growing over your roots and a brook not far away and birds singing in you branches, you could grow, couldn t you? But you can t where you are. I know just exactly how you feel, little trees. I felt sorry to leave them behind this morning. You do get so attached to things like that, don t you? Is there a brook anywhere near Green Gables? I forgot to ask Mrs. Spencer that." "Well now, yes, there s one right below the house." "Fancy. It s always been one of my dreams to live near a brook. I never expected I would, though. Dreams don t often come true, do they? Wouldn t it be nice if they did? But just now I feel pretty nearly perfectly happy. I can t feel exactly perfectly happy because--well, what color would you call this?" She twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and held it up before Matthew s eyes. Matthew was not used to deciding on the tints of ladies tresses, but in this case there couldn t be much doubt. "It s red, ain t it?" he said. The girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from her very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages. "Yes, it s red," she said resignedly. "Now you see why I can t be perfectly happy. Nobody could who has red hair. I don t mind the other things so much--the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. I can imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leaf complexion and lovely starry violet eyes. But I CANNOT imagine that red hair away. I do my best. I think to myself, `Now my hair is a glorious black, black as the raven s wing. But all the time I KNOW it is just plain red and it breaks my heart. It will be my lifelong sorrow. I read of a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn t red hair. Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow. What is an alabaster brow? I never could find out. Can you tell me?" "Well now, I m afraid I can t," said Matthew, who was getting a little dizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boy had enticed him on the merry-go- round at a picnic. "Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she was divinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?" "Well now, no, I haven t," confessed Matthew ingenuously. "I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the choice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?" "Well now, I--I don t know exactly." "Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn t make much real difference for it isn t likely I ll ever be either. It s certain I ll never be angelically good. Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!" That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had the child tumbled out of the buggy nor had Matthew done anything astonishing. They had simply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the "Avenue." The "Avenue," so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle. Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above. Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence. When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as energetically as she could talk. "I guess you re feeling pretty tired and hungry," Matthew ventured to say at last, accounting for her long visitation of dumbness with the only reason he could think of. "But we haven t very far to go now--only another mile." She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led. "Oh, Mr. Cuthbert," she whispered, "that place we came through--that white place--what was it?" "Well now, you must mean the Avenue," said Matthew after a few moments profound reflection. "It is a kind of pretty place." "Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn t seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don t go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful--wonderful. It s the first thing I ever saw that couldn t be improved upon by imagination. It just satisfies me here"--she put one hand on her breast--"it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did you ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?" "Well now, I just can t recollect that I ever had." "I have it lots of time--whenever I see anything royally beautiful. But they shouldn t call that lovely place the Avenue. There is no meaning in a name like that. They should call it--let me see--the White Way of Delight. Isn t that a nice imaginative name? When I don t like the name of a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think of them so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we really only another mile to go before we get home? I m glad and I m sorry. I m sorry because this drive has been so pleasant and I m always sorry when pleasant things end. Something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never be sure. And it s so often the case that it isn t pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I m glad to think of getting home. You see, I ve never had a real home since I can remember. It gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of coming to a really truly home. Oh, isn t that pretty!" They had driven over the crest of a hill. Below them was a pond, looking almost like a river so long and winding was it. A bridge spanned it midway and from there to its lower end, where an amber-hued belt of sand-hills shut it in from the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a glory of many shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus and rose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for which no name has ever been found. Above the bridge the pond ran up into fringing groves of fir and maple and lay all darkly translucent in their wavering shadows. Here and there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like a white-clad girl tip-toeing to her own reflection. From the marsh at the head of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus of the frogs. There was a little gray house peering around a white apple orchard on a slope beyond and, although it was not yet quite dark, a light was shining from one of its windows. "That s Barry s pond," said Matthew. "Oh, I don t like that name, either. I shall call it--let me see--the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that is the right name for it. I know because of the thrill. When I hit on a name that suits exactly it gives me a thrill. Do things ever give you a thrill?" Matthew ruminated. "Well now, yes. It always kind of gives me a thrill to see them ugly white grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds. I hate the look of them." "Oh, I don t think that can be exactly the same kind of a thrill. Do you think it can? There doesn t seem to be much connection between grubs and lakes of shining waters, does there? But why do other people call it Barry s pond?" "I reckon because Mr. Barry lives up there in that house. Orchard Slope s the name of his place. If it wasn t for that big bush behind it you could see Green Gables from here. But we have to go over the bridge and round by the road, so it s near half a mile further." "Has Mr. Barry any little girls? Well, not so very little either--about my size." "He s got one about eleven. Her name is Diana." "Oh!" with a long indrawing of breath. "What a perfectly lovely name!" "Well now, I dunno. There s something dreadful heathenish about it, seems to me. I d ruther Jane or Mary or some sensible name like that. But when Diana was born there was a schoolmaster boarding there and they gave him the naming of her and he called her Diana." "I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when I was born, then. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I m going to shut my eyes tight. I m always afraid going over bridges. I can t help imagining that perhaps just as we get to the middle, they ll crumple up like a jack-knife and nip us. So I shut my eyes. But I always have to open them for all when I think we re getting near the middle. Because, you see, if the bridge DID crumple up I d want to SEE it crumple. What a jolly rumble it makes! I always like the rumble part of it. Isn t it splendid there are so many things to like in this world? There we re over. Now I ll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Shining Waters. I always say good night to the things I love, just as I would to people. I think they like it. That water looks as if it was smiling at me." When they had driven up the further hill and around a corner Matthew said "We re pretty near home now. That s Green Gables over--" "Oh, don t tell me," she interrupted breathlessly, catching at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see his gesture. "Let me guess. I m sure I ll guess right." She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the crest of a hill. The sun had set some time since, but the landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight. To the west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky. Below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From one to another the child s eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of guidance and promise. "That s it, isn t it?" she said, pointing. Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel s back delightedly. "Well now, you ve guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer described it so s you could tell." "No, she didn t--really she didn t. All she said might just as well have been about most of those other places. I hadn t any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for I ve pinched myself so many times today. Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and I d be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I d pinch myself to see if it was real--until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream I d better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stopped pinching. But it IS real and we re nearly home." With a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence. Matthew stirred uneasily. He felt glad that it would be Marilla and not he who would have to tell this waif of the world that the home she longed for was not to be hers after all. They drove over Lynde s Hollow, where it was already quite dark, but not so dark that Mrs. Rachel could not see them from her window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of Green Gables. By the time they arrived at the house Matthew was shrinking from the approaching revelation with an energy he did not understand. It was not of Marilla or himself he was thinking of the trouble this mistake was probably going to make for them, but of the child s disappointment. When he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at murdering something--much the same feeling that came over him when he had to kill a lamb or calf or any other innocent little creature. The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaves were rustling silkily all round it. "Listen to the trees talking in their sleep," she whispered, as he lifted her to the ground. "What nice dreams they must have!" Then, holding tightly to the carpet-bag which contained "all her worldly goods," she followed him into the house. CHAPTER I UP CHAPTER III 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 04 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 32 53 (Tue)
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CHAPTER IV UP CHAPTER VI CHAPTER V Anne s History "Do you know," said Anne confidentially, "I ve made up my mind to enjoy this drive. It s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, you must make it up FIRMLY. I am not going to think about going back to the asylum while we re having our drive. I m just going to think about the drive. Oh, look, there s one little early wild rose out! Isn t it lovely? Don t you think it must be glad to be a rose? Wouldn t it be nice if roses could talk? I m sure they could tell us such lovely things. And isn t pink the most bewitching color in the world? I love it, but I can t wear it. Redheaded people can t wear pink, not even in imagination. Did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when she was young, but got to be another color when she grew up?" "No, I don t know as I ever did," said Marilla mercilessly, "and I shouldn t think it likely to happen in your case either." Anne sighed. "Well, that is another hope gone. `My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. That s a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it over to comfort myself whenever I m disappointed in anything." "I don t see where the comforting comes in myself," said Marilla. "Why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if I were a heroine in a book, you know. I am so fond of romantic things, and a graveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one can imagine isn t it? I m rather glad I have one. Are we going across the Lake of Shining Waters today?" "We re not going over Barry s pond, if that s what you mean by your Lake of Shining Waters. We re going by the shore road." "Shore road sounds nice," said Anne dreamily. "Is it as nice as it sounds? Just when you said `shore road I saw it in a picture in my mind, as quick as that! And White Sands is a pretty name, too; but I don t like it as well as Avonlea. Avonlea is a lovely name. It just sounds like music. How far is it to White Sands?" "It s five miles; and as you re evidently bent on talking you might as well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself." "Oh, what I KNOW about myself isn t really worth telling," said Anne eagerly. "If you ll only let me tell you what I IMAGINE about myself you ll think it ever so much more interesting." "No, I don t want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts. Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?" "I was eleven last March," said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts with a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia. My father s name was Walter Shirley, and he was a teacher in the Bolingbroke High School. My mother s name was Bertha Shirley. Aren t Walter and Bertha lovely names? I m so glad my parents had nice names. It would be a real disgrace to have a father named--well, say Jedediah, wouldn t it?" "I guess it doesn t matter what a person s name is as long as he behaves himself," said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good and useful moral. "Well, I don t know." Anne looked thoughtful. "I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I ve never been able to believe it. I don t believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage. I suppose my father could have been a good man even if he had been called Jedediah; but I m sure it would have been a cross. Well, my mother was a teacher in the High school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A husband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were a pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a weeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I ve never seen that house, but I ve imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and lilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in all the windows. Muslin curtains give a house such an air. I was born in that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I was perfectly beautiful. I should think a mother would be a better judge than a poor woman who came in to scrub, wouldn t you? I m glad she was satisfied with me anyhow, I would feel so sad if I thought I was a disappointment to her--because she didn t live very long after that, you see. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she d lived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think it would be so sweet to say `mother, don t you? And father died four days afterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were at their wits end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see, nobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and mother had both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn t any relatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she d take me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. Do you know if there is anything in being brought up by hand that ought to make people who are brought up that way better than other people? Because whenever I was naughty Mrs. Thomas would ask me how I could be such a bad girl when she had brought me up by hand-- reproachful-like. "Mr. and Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and I lived with them until I was eight years old. I helped look after the Thomas children--there were four of them younger than me--and I can tell you they took a lot of looking after. Then Mr. Thomas was killed falling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the children, but she didn t want me. Mrs. Thomas was at HER wits end, so she said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river came down and said she d take me, seeing I was handy with children, and I went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the stumps. It was a very lonesome place. I m sure I could never have lived there if I hadn t had an imagination. Mr. Hammond worked a little sawmill up there, and Mrs. Hammond had eight children. She had twins three times. I like babies in moderation, but twins three times in succession is TOO MUCH. I told Mrs. Hammond so firmly, when the last pair came. I used to get so dreadfully tired carrying them about. "I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammond died and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her children among her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylum at Hopeton, because nobody would take me. They didn t want me at the asylum, either; they said they were over- crowded as it was. But they had to take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came." Anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her. "Did you ever go to school?" demanded Marilla, turning the sorrel mare down the shore road. "Not a great deal. I went a little the last year I stayed with Mrs. Thomas. When I went up river we were so far from a school that I couldn t walk it in winter and there was a vacation in summer, so I could only go in the spring and fall. But of course I went while I was at the asylum. I can read pretty well and I know ever so many pieces of poetry off by heart--`The Battle of Hohenlinden and `Edinburgh after Flodden, and `Bingen of the Rhine, and most of the `Lady of the Lake and most of `The Seasons by James Thompson. Don t you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back? There is a piece in the Fifth Reader--`The Downfall of Poland --that is just full of thrills. Of course, I wasn t in the Fifth Reader--I was only in the Fourth--but the big girls used to lend me theirs to read." "Were those women--Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond--good to you?" asked Marilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye. "O-o-o-h," faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. "Oh, they MEANT to be--I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people mean to be good to you, you don t mind very much when they re not quite--always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know. It s very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don t you think? But I feel sure they meant to be good to me." Marilla asked no more questions. Anne gave herself up to a silent rapture over the shore road and Marilla guided the sorrel abstractedly while she pondered deeply. Pity was suddenly stirring in her heart for the child. What a starved, unloved life she had had--a life of drudgery and poverty and neglect; for Marilla was shrewd enough to read between the lines of Anne s history and divine the truth. No wonder she had been so delighted at the prospect of a real home. It was a pity she had to be sent back. What if she, Marilla, should indulge Matthew s unaccountable whim and let her stay? He was set on it; and the child seemed a nice, teachable little thing. "She s got too much to say," thought Marilla, "but she might be trained out of that. And there s nothing rude or slangy in what she does say. She s ladylike. It s likely her people were nice folks." The shore road was "woodsy and wild and lonesome." On the right hand, scrub firs, their spirits quite unbroken by long years of tussle with the gulf winds, grew thickly. On the left were the steep red sandstone cliffs, so near the track in places that a mare of less steadiness than the sorrel might have tried the nerves of the people behind her. Down at the base of the cliffs were heaps of surf-worn rocks or little sandy coves inlaid with pebbles as with ocean jewels; beyond lay the sea, shimmering and blue, and over it soared the gulls, their pinions flashing silvery in the sunlight. "Isn t the sea wonderful?" said Anne, rousing from a long, wide-eyed silence. "Once, when I lived in Marysville, Mr. Thomas hired an express wagon and took us all to spend the day at the shore ten miles away. I enjoyed every moment of that day, even if I had to look after the children all the time. I lived it over in happy dreams for years. But this shore is nicer than the Marysville shore. Aren t those gulls splendid? Would you like to be a gull? I think I would--that is, if I couldn t be a human girl. Don t you think it would be nice to wake up at sunrise and swoop down over the water and away out over that lovely blue all day; and then at night to fly back to one s nest? Oh, I can just imagine myself doing it. What big house is that just ahead, please?" "That s the White Sands Hotel. Mr. Kirke runs it, but the season hasn t begun yet. There are heaps of Americans come there for the summer. They think this shore is just about right." "I was afraid it might be Mrs. Spencer s place," said Anne mournfully. "I don t want to get there. Somehow, it will seem like the end of everything." CHAPTER IV UP CHAPTER VI 今日 - | 昨日 - | Total - since 04 June 2007 last update 2007-06-05 01 31 52 (Tue)