美国文学重要段落翻译

烧牲口棚

Presently he could see the grove of oaks and cedars and the other flowering trees and shrubs where the house would be, though not the house yet. They walked beside a fence massed with honeysuckle and Cherokee roses and came to a gate swinging open between two brick pillars, and now, beyond a sweep of drive, he saw the house for the first time and at that instant he forgot his father and the terror and despair both, and even when he remembered his father again (who had not stopped) the terror and despair did not return. Because, for all the twelve moving, they had sojourned until now in a poor country, a land of small farms and fields and houses and he had never seen a house like this before. Hits big as a courthouse he thought quietly, with a surge of peace and joy whose reason he could not have thought into words, being too young for that: They are safe from him. People whose lives are a part of this peace and dignity are beyond his touch, he no more to them than a buzzing wasp: capable of stinging for a little moment but that’s all,- the spell of this peace and dignity rendering even the barns and stable and cribs which belong to it impervious to the puny flames he might contrive . . . this, the peace and joy, ebbing for an instant as he looked again at the stiff black back, the stiff and implacable limp of the figure which was not dwarfed by the house, for the reason that it had never looked big anywhere and which now, against the serene columned backdrop, had more than ever that impervious quality of something cut ruthlessly from tin, depthless, as though, sidewise to the sun, it would cast no shadow. Watching him, the boy remarked the absolutely undeviating course which his father held and saw the stiff foot come squarely down in a pile of fresh droppings where a horse had stood in the drive and which his father could have avoided by a simple change of stride. But it ebbed only for a moment, though he could not have thought this into words either, walking on in the spell of the house, which he could ever want but without envy, without sorrow, certainly never with that ravening and jealous rage which unknown to him walked in the ironlike black coat before him; Maybe he will feel it too, Maybe it will even change him now from what maybe be couldn’t help but be.

不一会儿他就看见了一片栎杉间杂的小树林，还有其他一些花开似锦的大树小树，宅子按说就是在这种地方，不过现在还看不见。他们沿着一道攀满忍冬和野蔷薇的篱笆走去，来到一扇洞开的大门前，两边有两道砖砌的门柱，他这才看见门后一弯车道的尽头就是那座宅子。他一见就把爸爸忘了，也把心头的恐怖和绝望全忘了，后来虽然又想起了爸爸（爸爸并没有停下脚步），那恐怖和绝望的感觉却再也不来了。因为，他们虽然也先后搬过十多次家，可是以前始终旅居在一个贫苦的地方，无论农庄、田地还是住宅，规模都不大，像眼前这样的一座宅第，他还从来没有见过。大得真像个官府呢——他暗暗想着，心里不觉顿时安定起来，感到一阵欣喜，这原因他是无法组织成言语的，他还太小，还说不上来。其实这原因就是：爸爸惹不了他们了。生活在这样安宁而体面的世界里的人，他别想去碰一碰；在他们的面前他只是一只嗡嗡的黄蜂，大不了把人蜇一下罢了。这个安宁而体面的世界自有一股魔力，就算他想尽办法放上一把小小的火，这里大大小小的马棚牛棚也决烧不掉一根毫毛。……他又望了望那直挺挺的黑色的背影，看见了那生硬而坚定的颠颠跛跛的步子，他这种安心而欢喜的感觉一时间又消失了。爸爸的身影并没有因为到了这样的宅第跟前而显得矮上三分，因为他到哪儿也没有显得高大过，倒是如今衬着这一派圆柱耸立的宁静的背景，反而越发显出了那种我自无动于衷的气概，仿佛是怀着铁石心肠从白铁皮上剪下的一个人形儿，薄薄的一片，斜对着太阳的话简直连个影子都不会有似的。孩子冷眼看着，发觉爸爸只顾朝一个方向走去，脚下绝不肯有半点偏离。车道上拴过马，有一堆新鲜马粪，爸爸明明只要挪一挪脚步，就可以让过，可是他看见那只不灵便的脚却偏偏不偏不斜一脚踩在粪堆里。不过那种安心而欢喜的感觉过了片刻就又恢复了。他一路走去，简直叫这座宅第给迷上了，这么一座宅第给他的话他也要的，不过没有的话他也并不眼红，并不伤心，更不会像前面那一位那样——他不知道前面那个穿着铁甲般的黑外套的人，却是妒火中烧，真恨不得一口吞下肚去呢。孩子这时候的心情，可惜他也无法用言语来表白：或许爸爸也会感受到这股魔力呢。他先前干那号事，可能也是身不由己，或许这一下就可以叫他改一改了。

the cask of Amontillado Edgar Allan Poe

阿芒提拉多的水桶埃德加艾伦坡

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.

"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi——"

"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key, I stepped back from the recess.

"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power."

"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.

"True," I replied, "the Amontillado."

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials, and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

在墓穴的尽头，又出现了更狭窄的墓穴。四壁成排堆着尸骨，一直高高堆到拱顶，就跟巴黎那些大墓窖一个样。里头这个墓穴有三面墙，仍然这样堆着。还有一面的尸骨都给推倒了，乱七八糟的堆在地上，积成相当大的一个尸骨墩。在搬开尸骨的那堵墙间，只见里头还有一个墓穴，或者壁龛，深约四英尺，宽达三英尺，高六七英尺。看上去当初造了并没打算派什么特别用处，不过是墓窖顶下两根大柱间的空隙罢了，后面却靠着一堵坚固的花岗石垣墙。

福吐纳托举起昏暗的火把，尽力朝壁龛深处仔细探看，可就是白费劲，火光微弱，看不见底。

“往前走，”我说，“白葡萄酒就在这里头。卢克雷西——”

“他是个充内行，”我朋友一面摇摇晃晃的往前走，一面插嘴道，我紧跟在他屁股后走进去。一眨眼工夫，他走到壁龛的尽头了，一见给岩石挡住了道，就一筹莫展的发着楞。隔了片刻，我已经把他锁在花岗石墙上了。墙上装着两个铁环，横里相距两英尺左右。一个环上挂着根短铁链，另一个挂着把大锁。不消一刹那工夫，就把他拦腰拴上链子了。他惊慌失措，根本忘了反抗，我拔掉钥匙，就退出壁龛。

“伸出手去摸摸墙，”我说，“保你摸到硝。真是湿得很。让我再一次求求你回去吧。不回去？那我得离开你啦。可我还先得尽份心，照顾你一下。”

“白葡萄酒！”我朋友惊魂未定，不由失声喊道。

“不错，”我答，“白葡萄酒。”

说着我就在前文提过的尸骨堆间忙着。我把尸骨扔开，不久就掏出好些砌墙用的的石块和灰泥。我便用这些材料，再靠那把泥刀，一个劲地在壁龛入口处砌起一堵墙来。

红字

Yet there were intervals when the whole scene，in which she was the most conspicuous object，seemed to vanish from her eyes，or，at least，glimmered indistinctly before them，like a mass of imperfectly shaped and spectral images. Her mind，and especially her memory，was preternaturally active，and kept bringing up other scenes than this roughly hewn street of a little town，on the edge of the western wilderness：other faces than were lowering upon her from beneath the brims of those steeple-crowned hats. Reminiscences，the most trifling and immaterial，passages of infancy and school-days，sports，childish quarrels，and the little domestic traits of her maiden years，came swarming back upon her，intermingled with recollections of whatever was gravest in her subsequent life；one picture precisely as vivid as another；as if all were of similar importance，or all alike a play. Possibly，it was an instinctive device of her spirit to relieve itself by the exhibition of these phantasmagoric forms，from the cruel weight and hardness of the reality.

Be that as it might，the scaffold of the pillory was a point of view that revealed to Hester Prynne the entire track along which she had been treading，since her happy infancy. Standing on that miserable eminence，she saw again her native village，in Old England，and her paternal home：a decayed house of grey stone，with a poverty-stricken aspect，but retaining a half obliterated shield of arms over the portal，in token of antique gentility. She saw her father's face，with its bold brow，and reverend white beard that flowed over the old-fashioned Elizabethan ruff；her mother's，too，with the look of heedful and anxious love which it always wore in her remembrance，and which，even since her death，had so often laid the impediment of a gentle remonstrance in her daughter's pathway. She saw her own face，glowing with girlish beauty，and illuminating all the interior of the dusky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. There she beheld another countenance，of a man well stricken in years，a pale，thin，scholar-like visage，with eyes dim and bleared by the lamp-light that had served them to pore over many ponderous books. Yet those same bleared optics had a strange，penetrating power，when it was their owner's purpose to read the human soul. This figure of tile study and the cloister，as Hester Prynne's womanly fancy failed not to recall，was slightly deformed，with the left shoulder a trifle higher than the right. Next rose before her in memory's picture-gallery，the intricate and narrow thoroughfares，the tall，grey houses，the huge cathedrals，and the public edifices，ancient in date and quaint in architecture，of a continental city；where new life had awaited her，still in connexion with the misshapen scholar：a new life，but feeding itself on time-worn materials，like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall. Lastly，in lieu of these shifting scenes，came back the rude market-place of the Puritan，settlement，with all the townspeople assembled，and levelling their stern regards at Hester Prynne——yes，at herself——who stood on the scaffold of the pillory，an infant on her arm，and the letter A，in scarlet，fantastically embroidered with gold thread，upon her bosom.

Could it be true？She clutched the child so fiercely to her breast that it sent forth a cry；she turned her eyes downward at the scarlet letter，and even touched it with her finger，to assure herself that the infant and the shame were real. Yes these were her realities——all else had vanished！

然而，在她充当众目所瞩的目标的全部期间，她不时感到眼前茫茫一片，至少，人群象一大堆支离破碎、光怪陆离的幻象般地朦胧模糊。她的思绪，尤其是她的记忆，却不可思议地活跃，越出这蛮荒的大洋西岸边缘上的小镇的祖创的街道，不断带回来别的景色与场面；她想到的，不是那些尖顶高帽帽植下藐视她的面孔。她回忆起那些最琐碎零散、最无关紧要的事情；孩提时期和学校生活，儿时的游戏和争哆，以及婚前在娘家的种种琐事蜂拥回到她的脑海，其中还混杂着她后来生活中最重大的事件的种种片断，一切全都历历如在目前；似乎全都同等重要，或者全都象一出戏。可能，这是她心理上的一种本能反应：通过展现这些备色各样、变幻莫测的画面，把自己的精神从眼前这残酷现实的无情重压下解脱出来。

白鲸

Nor was it his unwonted magnitude，nor his remarkable hue，nor yet his deformed lower jaw，that so much invested the whale with natural terror，as that unexampled，intelligent malignity which，according to specific accounts，he had over and over again evinced in his assaults. More than all，his treacherous retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else. For，when swimming before his exulting pursuers，with every apparent symptom of alarm，he had several times been known to turn around suddenly，and，bearing down upon them，either stave their boats to splinters，or drive them back in consternation to their ship.

Already several fatalities had attended his chase. But though similar disasters，however little bruited ashore，were by no means unusual in the fishery；yet，in most instances，such seemed the White Whale's infernal aforethought of ferocity，that every dismembering or death that he caused，was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent.

Judge，then，to what pitches of inflamed，distracted fury the minds of his more desperate hunters were impelled，when amid the chips of chewed boats，and the sinking limbs of torn comrades，they swam out of the white curds of the whale's direful wrath into the serene，exasperating sunlight，that smiled on，as if at a birth or a bridal.

His three boats stove around him，and oars and men both whirling in the eddies；one captain，seizing the line-knife from his broken prow，had dashed at the whale，as an Arkansas duellist at his foe，blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was，that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him，Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg，as a mower a blade of grass in the field. No turbaned Turk，no hired Venetian or Malay，could have smote him with more seeming malice. Small reason was there to doubt，then，that ever since that almost fatal encounter，Ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the whale，all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to identify with him，not only all his bodily woes，but all his intellectual and spiritual exasperations. The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them，till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. That intangible malignity which has been from the beginning；to whose dominion even the modern Christians ascribe one-half of the worlds；which the ancient Ophites of the east reverenced in their statue devil；—— Ahab did not fall down and worship it like them；but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale，he pitted himself，all mutilated，against it. All that most maddens and torments；all that stirs up the lees of things；all truth with malice in it；all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain；all the subtle demonisms of life and thought；all evil，to crazy Ahab，were visibly personified，and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down；and then，as if his chest had been a mortar，he burst his hot heart's shell upon it.

这种鲸之所以天生使人畏惧,与其说是由于它那罕有的硕大,突出的色泽,畸形的下颚,倒不如说是(按照它那特有的情形说来)由于它在突击的时候,一再表现出来的那种无以伦比的充满机智的阴险.尤其是它那种可说是比之任何事情都更使人丧胆的奸诈的退却.因为,它在它那些兴高采烈的追击者面前一路游去的时候,就显得非常警觉,还故意突然转了几次身,可是,一下子就扑上他们,不是把他们的小艇撞得粉碎,就是把他们吓得手足无措,赶紧逃回大船. 为了追击它,已经发生了好几次惨案.虽则这些类似的不幸事件,在岸上是不大传布的,但在捕鱼业中,也决不是什么了不起的;而且,在多数场合上,似乎还有人并不完全把白鲸每次使得人们断肢失体或者丧命的凶残的预谋,看成是遭到无理性的神力的打击.

那么,看一看那些身处险境的猎手的内心给迫得多么激动.气得发昏的情况吧.当时,他们的四周尽是些被嚼得细碎的小艇残片,同伴们被折断了的.行将下沉的肢体,他们总算从大鲸那可怕的怒火所发出来的白色浆液中游了出来,游到那仿佛在对着新生婴孩或者新娘含笑相迎的.恬静而强烈的阳光里来.

那个船长的四周是三只被冲破了的小艇,船桨和水手都在涡流里旋来旋去;他从那破烂的艇头抓到一把小刀,朝大鲸猛地掷去,象个阿肯色州人在跟他的宿敌决斗,胡乱地找到一把六英寸的刀,想结束那条大鲸的深不可测的生命.那个船长就是亚哈.而且正在这时,莫比－迪克突然从他下边挥起它那镰刀似的下颚,如同一架刈草机在地里刈草一样,把亚哈的腿给刈掉了.这是裹着头巾的土耳其人,被雇佣的威尼斯人或者马来人,都也不会对他使出如此毒辣的手段的(参阅莎士比亚的《奥瑟罗》第五幕第二场中奥瑟罗的对话:"在阿勒普地方,曾经有个裹着头巾的满怀敌意的土耳其人殴打一个威尼斯人,诽谛我们的国家.").于是,无可置疑地,经过这番简直是致命的遭遇后,亚哈就对这只大鲸怀了一种狂热的报仇心,而在他的狂乱的病态中,他尤更被这股念头迷住了,终于把它看成不但是他肉体上的宿敌,也是他的理智上.精神上的愤激的宿敌.他把浮游在他面前的白鲸,看成是种种属于心怀恶念的神力的偏热症的化身,这种神力把那些意志强烈的人都腐蚀得只剩半颗心和半只肺在苟延残喘着.那种一开始就是无从捉摸的恶行,甚至现代的基督教徒也认为有半个宇宙是归它支配的,也是古代东方的拜蛇教(拜蛇教......第二世纪时的教派,以蛇为神智之象征,加以崇拜.)对他们的魔王铸像顶礼膜拜的东西......亚哈可不象他们那样向它屈膝膜拜,而是神志昏乱地把它的概念都移植到这条令人憎恶的白鲸身上,他不惜以遍体鳞伤之躯跟这种恶行敌对到底.举凡一切最使人狂怒和痛苦的事情,一切足以搅起事物的残渣的东西,一切附有恶念的真理,一切使人焦头烂额的东西,一切有关生命思想的神秘而不可思议的鬼神邪说;一切的邪恶等等,在疯狂的亚哈看来,都是莫比－迪克的显明的化身,因而实际上它是可诛的.他把他整个种族自古以来的一切愤怒和憎恨全都加在大鲸的白色背峰上;于是,仿佛他的胸膛就是一架臼炮,他就在那上面发射出他那火热的心弹来.

Walden

This small lake was of most value as a neighbor in the intervals of a gentle rain-storm in August，when，both air and water being perfectly still，but the sky overcast，mid-afternoon had all the serenity of evening，and the wood thrush sang around，and was heard from shore to shore. A lake like this is never smoother than at such a time；and the clear portion of the air above it being，shallow and darkened by clouds，the water，full of light and reflections，becomes a lower heaven itself so much the more important. From a hill-top near by，where the wood had been recently cut off，there was a pleasing vista southward across the pond，through a wide indentation in the hills which form the shore there，where their opposite sides sloping toward each other suggested a stream flowing out in that direction through a wooded valley，but stream there was none. That way I looked between and over the near green hills to some distant and higher ones in the horizon，tinged with blue. Indeed，by standing on tiptoe I could catch a glimpse of some of the peaks of the still bluer and more distant mountain ranges in the northwest，those true-blue coins from heaven's own mint，and also of some portion of the village. But in other directions，even from this point，I could not see over or beyond the woods which surrounded me. It is well to have some water in your neighborhood，to give buoyancy to and float the earth. One value even of the smallest well is，that when you look into it you see that earth is not continent but insular. This is as important as that it keeps butter cool. When I looked across the pond from this peak toward the Sudbury meadows，which in time of flood I distinguished elevated perhaps by a mirage in their seething valley，like a coin in a basin，all the earth beyond the pond appeared like a thin crust insulated and floated even by this small sheet of interverting water，and I was reminded that this on which I dwelt was but dry land.

八月里，在轻柔的斜凤细雨暂停的时候，这小小的湖做我的邻居，最为珍贵，那时水和空气都完全平静了，天空中却密布着乌云，下午才过了一半却已具备了一切黄昏的肃穆，而画眉在四周唱歌，隔岸相闻。这样的湖，再没有比这时候更平静的了；湖上的明净的空气自然很稀薄，而且给乌云映得很黯淡了，湖水却充满了光明和倒影，成为一个下界的天空，更加值得珍视。从最近被伐木的附近一个峰顶上向南看，穿过小山间的巨大凹处，看得见隔湖的一幅愉快的图景，那凹处正好形成湖岸，那儿两座小山坡相倾斜而下，使人感觉到似有一条溪涧从山林谷中流下，但是，却没有溪涧。我是这样地从近处的绿色山峰之间和之上，远望一些蔚蓝的地平线上的远山或更高的山峰的。真的，踮起了足尖来，我可以望见西北角上更远、更蓝的山脉，这种蓝颜色是天空的染料制造厂中最真实的出品，我还可以望见村镇的一角。但是要换一个方向看的话，虽然我站得如此高，却给郁茂的树木围住，什么也看不透，看不到了。在邻近，有一些流水真好，水有浮力，地就浮在上面了。便是最小的井也有这一点值得推荐，当你窥望井底的时候，你发现大地并不是连绵的大陆；而是隔绝的孤岛。这是很重要的，正如井水之能冷藏牛油。当我的目光从这一个山顶越过湖向萨德伯里草原望过去的时候，在发大水的季节里，我觉得草原升高了，大约是蒸腾的山谷中显示出海市蜃楼的效果，它好像沉在水盆底下的一个天然铸成的铜市，湖之外的大地都好像薄薄的表皮，成了孤岛，给小小一片横亘的水波浮载着，我才被提醒，我居住的地方只不过是干燥的土地。

被背弃的老祖母

The pillow rose about her shoulders and pressed against her heart and the memory was being squeezed out of it: oh, push down the pillow, somebody: it would smother her if she tried to hold it. Such a fresh breeze blowing and such a green day with no threats in it. But he had not come, just the same. What does a woman do when she has put on the white veil and set out the white cake for a man and he doesn’t come? She tried to remember. No, I swear he never harmed me but in that. He never harmed me but in that…and what if he did? There was the day, the day, but a whirl of dark smoke rose and covered it, crept up and over into the bright field where everything was planted so carefully in orderly rows. That was hell, she knew hell when she saw it. For sixty years she had prayed against remembering him and against losing her soul in the deep pit of hell, and now the two things were mingled in one and the thought of him was a smoky cloud from hell that moved and crept in her head when she had just got rid of Doctor Harry and was trying to rest a minute. Wounded vanity, Ellen, said a sharp voice in the top of her mind. D on’t let your wounded vanity get the upper hand of you. Plenty of girls get jilted. You were kilted, weren’t you? Then stand up to it. Her eyelids wavered and let in streamers of blue-gray light like tissue paper over her eyes. She must get up and pull the shades down or she’d never sleep. She was in bed again and the shades were not down. How could that happen? Better turn over, hide from the light, sleeping in the light gave you nightmares. “Mother, how do you feel now?” and a stinging wetness on her fore head. But I don’t like having my face washed in cold water!

枕头突然从她的双肩升起，压在她的胸口上，把埋在心底的往事都要挤压出来了：啊，快来人把枕头推开吧！这枕头可要把她闷死了，如果她想就这样躺着的话。这一天微风轻拂，温暖如春，吉吉利利的。可是尽管如此他还是没有来。女人已经蒙上白色面纱，准备好结婚蛋糕，而男的却还没有来，她该怎么办呢？她竭力回忆。不，除了这一次外，他可从来没有伤害过我呀。除了这一次，从来没有伤害过我……如果伤害过我，又怎么样呢？是有那么一天，那一天，一股黑烟袅袅升起把那一天遮盖住了，黑烟逐渐蔓延开来，飘到阳光灿烂的田野，那里庄稼种植得井井有条。那是地狱，她一见就知道。六十年来她一直在祈祷，希望永远不要再想起他，不要使自己的灵魂堕入地狱的万丈深渊。可现在，她刚刚摆脱了哈里医生，想休息一会时，这两件可怕的事竟然融成了一体：对他的回忆就象是从地狱深处升起的烟雾在她的脑海里浮荡。突然在脑顶盖处响起了一个尖锐的声音：艾伦，这是受挫的虚荣心。可别让这种受挫的虚荣心占了上风啊。很多女孩子都遭到过被遗弃的命运，你是给遗弃了，是吗？那么勇敢坚强地面对现实吧。她的眼皮抖动着，青灰色的光芒，象一张薄纸遮盖在眼皮上，在她眼前闪烁。她必须起身去把窗帘拉上，不然的话一定睡不着。她又回到了床上，可是窗帘还是没有拉上。咦，这是怎么回事？最好翻过身去，背对着亮光，在亮光里入睡是会做恶梦的。“妈妈，你感觉怎样？”刺骨的潮湿贴在她的前额。我可不喜欢用冷水洗脸！

了不起的盖茨比

One of my most vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o’clock of a December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday gayeties, to bid them a hasty good by.

I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss THIS OR that's and the chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matching of invitations: "Are you going to the Ordway’s'? The Heresy’s'? The Schultz’s’?" and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate.

When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again.

That's my Middle West not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Caraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family's name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all Tom and Gatsby, Daisyand Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed somedeficiency in common which made us subtly inadaptable to Eastern life.

我记忆中最鲜明的景象之一就是每年圣诞节从预备学校，以及后来从大学回到西部的情景。到芝加哥以外的地方去的同学往往在一个十二月黄昏六点钟聚在那座古老、优暗的联邦车站，和几个家在芝加哥的朋友匆匆话别，只见他们已经裹入了他们自己的节日欢娱气氛。我记得那些从东部某某私立女校回来的女学生的皮大衣以及她们在严寒的空气中喊喊喳喳的笑语，记得我们发现熟人时抢手呼唤，记得互相比较收到的邀请：“你到奥德威家去吗？赫西家呢？舒尔茨家呢？”还记得紧紧抓在我们戴了手套的手里的长条绿色车票。最后还有停在月台门口轨道上的芝加哥－密尔沃基－圣保罗铁路的朦胧的黄色客车，看上去就像圣诞节一样地使人愉快。

火车在寒冬的黑夜里奔驰，真正的白雪、我们的雪，开始在两边向远方伸展，迎着车窗闪耀，威斯康星州的小车站暗灰的灯火从眼前掠过，这时空中突然出现一股使人神清气爽的寒气。我们吃过晚饭穿过寒冷的通廊往回走时，一路深深地呼吸着这寒气，在奇异的一个小时中难以言喻地意识到自己与这片乡土之间的血肉相连的关系，然后我们就要重新不留痕迹地融化在其中了。

这就是我的中西部——不是麦田，不是草原，也不是瑞典移民的荒凉村镇，而是我青年时代那些激动人心的还乡的火车，是严寒的黑夜里的街灯和雪橇的铃声，是圣诞冬青花环被窗内的灯火映在雪地的影子。我是其中的一部分，由于那些漫长的冬天我为人不免有点矜持，由于从小在卡罗威公馆长大，态度上也不免有点自满。在我们那个城市里，人家的住宅仍旧世世代代称为某姓的公馆。我现在才明白这个故事到头来是一个西部的故事——汤姆和盖茨比、黛西、乔丹和我，我们都是西部人，也许我们具有什么共同的缺陷使我们无形中不能适应东部的生活。