还乡The Return Of The Native-第33部分

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And　give　us　space　to　rhyme；
We’ve　e　to　show　Saint　George’s　play；
Upon　this　Christmas　time。”

The　guests　were　now　arranging　themselves　at　one　end　of　the　room；　the　fiddler　was　mending　a　string；　the　serpent…player　was　emptying　his　mouthpiece；　and　the　play　began。　　First　of　those　outside　the　Valiant　Soldier　entered；　in　the　interest　of　Saint　George—
“Here　e　I；　the　Valiant　Soldier；
Slasher　is　my　name”；
and　so　on。　　This　speech　concluded　with　a　challenge　to　the　infidel；　at　the　end　of　which　it　was　Eustacia’s　duty　to　enter　as　the　Turkish　Knight。　　She；　with　the　rest　who　were　not　yet　on；　had　hitherto　remained　in　the　moonlight　which　streamed　under　the　porch。　　With　no　apparent　effort　or　backwardness　she　came　in；　beginning—

“Here　e　I；　a　Turkish　Knight；
Who　learnt　in　Turkish　land　to　fight；
I’ll　fight　this　man　with　courage　bold：
If　his　blood’s　hot　I’ll　make　it　cold！”

During　her　declamation　Eustacia　held　her　head　erect；　and　spoke　as　roughly　as　she　could；　feeling　pretty　secure　from　observation。　　But　the　concentration　upon　her　part　necessary　to　prevent　discovery；　the　newness　of　the　scene；　the　shine　of　the　candles；　and　the　confusing　effect　upon　her　vision　of　the　ribboned　visor　which　hid　her　features；　left　her　absolutely　unable　to　perceive　who　were　present　as　spectators。　　On　the　further　side　of　a　table　bearing　candles　she　could　faintly　discern　faces；　and　that　was　all。
Meanwhile　Jim　Starks　as　the　Valiant　Soldier　had　e　forward；　and；　with　a　glare　upon　the　Turk；　replied—
“If；　then；　thou　art　that　Turkish　Knight；　Draw　out　thy　sword；　and　let　us　fight！”
And　fight　they　did；　the　issue　of　the　bat　being　that　the　Valiant　Soldier　was　slain　by　a　preternaturally　inadequate　thrust　from　Eustacia；　Jim；　in　his　ardour　for　genuine　histrionic　art；　ing　down　like　a　log　upon　the　stone　floor　with　force　enough　to　dislocate　his　shoulder。　　Then；　after　more　words　from　the　Turkish　Knight；　rather　too　faintly　delivered；　and　statements　that　he’d　fight　Saint　George　and　all　his　crew；　Saint　George　himself　magnificently　entered　with　the　well…known　flourish—

“Here　e　I；　Saint　George；　the　valiant　man；
With　naked　sword　and　spear　in　hand；
Who　fought　the　dragon　and　brought　him　to　the　slaughter；　And　by　this　won　fair　Sabra；　the　King　of　Egypt’s　daughter；
What　mortal　man　would　dare　to　stand
Before　me　with　my　sword　in　hand？”


This　was　the　lad　who　had　first　recognized　Eustacia；　and　when　she　now；　as　the　Turk；　replied　with　suitable　defiance；　and　at　once　began　the　bat；　the　young　fellow　took　especial　care　to　use　his　sword　as　gently　as　possible。　　Being　wounded；　the　Knight　fell　upon　one　knee；　according　to　the　direction。　　The　Doctor　now　entered；　restored　the　Knight　by　giving　him　a　draught　from　the　bottle　which　he　carried；　and　the　fight　was　again　resumed；　the　Turk　sinking　by　degrees　until　quite　overe—dying　as　hard　in　this　venerable　drama　as　he　is　said　to　do　at　the　present　day。　
This　gradual　sinking　to　the　earth　was；　in　fact；　one　reason　why　Eustacia　had　thought　that　the　part　of　the　Turkish　Knight；　though　not　the　shortest；　would　suit　her　best。　　A　direct　fall　from　upright　to　horizontal；　which　was　the　end　of　the　other　fighting　characters；　was　not　an　elegant　or　decorous　part　for　a　girl。　　But　it　was　easy　to　die　like　a　Turk；　by　a　dogged　decline。　
Eustacia　was　now　among　the　number　of　the　slain；　though　not　on　the　floor；　for　she　had　managed　to　sink　into　a　sloping　position　against　the　clock…case；　so　that　her　head　was　well　elevated。　　The　play　proceeded　between　Saint　George；　the　Saracen；　the　Doctor；　and　Father　Christmas；　and　Eustacia；　having　no　more　to　do；　for　the　first　time　found　leisure　to　observe　the　scene　round；　and　to　search　for　the　form　that　had　drawn　her　hither。


6　… The　Two　Stand　Face　to　Face


The　room　had　been　arranged　with　a　view　to　the　dancing；　the　large　oak　table　having　been　moved　back　till　it　stood　as　a　breastwork　to　the　fireplace。　　At　each　end；　behind；　and　in　the　chimney…corner　were　grouped　the　guests；　many　of　them　being　warm…faced　and　panting；　among　whom　Eustacia　cursorily　recognized　some　well…to…do　persons　from　beyond　the　heath。　　Thomasin；　as　she　had　expected；　was　not　visible；　and　Eustacia　recollected　that　a　light　had　shone　from　an　upper　window　when　they　were　outside—the　window；　probably；　of　Thomasin’s　room。　　A　nose；　chin；　hands；　knees；　and　toes　projected　from　the　seat　within　the　chimney　opening；　which　members　she　found　to　unite　in　the　person　of　Grandfer　Cantle；　Mrs。　Yeobright’s　occasional　assistant　in　the　garden；　and　therefore　one　of　the　invited。　　The　smoke　went　up　from　an　Etna　of　peat　in　front　of　him；　played　round　the　notches　of　the　chimney…crook；　struck　against　the　salt…box；　and　got　lost　among　the　flitches。　
Another　part　of　the　room　soon　riveted　her　gaze。　　At　the　other　side　of　the　chimney　stood　the　settle；　which　is　the　necessary　supplement　to　a　fire　so　open　that　nothing　less　than　a　strong　breeze　will　carry　up　the　smoke。　　It　is；　to　the　hearths　of　old…fashioned　cavernous　fireplaces；　what　the　east　belt　of　trees　is　to　the　exposed　country　estate；　or　the　north　wall　to　the　garden。　　Outside　the　settle　candles　gutter；　locks　of　hair　wave；　young　women　shiver；　and　old　men　sneeze。　　Inside　is　Paradise。　　Not　a　symptom　of　a　draught　disturbs　the　air；　the　sitters’　backs　are　as　warm　as　their　faces；　and　songs　and　old　tales　are　drawn　from　the　occupants　by　the　fortable　heat；　like　fruit　from　melon　plants　in　a　frame。　
It　was；　however；　not　with　those　who　sat　in　the　settle　that　Eustacia　was　concerned。　　A　face　showed　itself　with　marked　distinctness　against　the　dark…tanned　wood　of　the　upper　part。　　The　owner；　who　was　leaning　against　the　settle’s　outer　end；　was　Clement　Yeobright；　or　Clym；　as　he　was　called　here；　she　knew　it　could　be　nobody　else。　　The　spectacle　constituted　an　area　of　two　feet　in　Rembrandt’s　intensest　manner。　　A　strange　power　in　the　lounger’s　appearance　lay　in　the　fact　that；　though　his　whole　figure　was　visible；　the　observer’s　eye　was　only　aware　of　his　face。　
To　one　of　middle　age　the　countenance　was　that　of　a　young　man；　though　a　youth　might　hardly　have　seen　any　necessity　for　the　term　of　immaturity。　　But　it　was　really　one　of　those　faces　which　convey　less　the　idea　of　so　many　years　as　its　age　than　of　so　much　experience　as　its　store。　　The　number　of　their　years　may　have　adequately　summed　up　Jared；　Mahalaleel；　and　the　rest　of　the　antediluvians；　but　the　age　of　a　modern　man　is　to　be　measured　by　the　intensity　of　his　history。　
The　face　was　well　shaped；　even　excellently。　　But　the　mind　within　was　beginning　to　use　it　as　a　mere　waste　tablet　whereon　to　trace　its　idiosyncrasies　as　they　developed　themselves。　　The　beauty　here　visible　would　in　no　long　time　be　ruthlessly　over…run　by　its　parasite；　thought；　which　might　just　as　well　have　fed　upon　a　plainer　exterior　where　there　was　nothing　it　could　harm。　　Had　Heaven　preserved　Yeobright　from　a　wearing　habit　of　meditation；　people　would　have　said；　“A　handsome　man。”　　Had　his　brain　unfolded　under　sharper　contours　they　would　have　said；　“A　thoughtful　man。”　　But　an　inner　strenuousness　was　preying　upon　an　outer　symmetry；　and　they　rated　his　look　as　singular。　
Hence　people　who　began　by　beholding　him　ended　by　perusing　him。　
His　countenance　was　overlaid　with　legible　meanings。　　Without　being　thought…worn　he　yet　had　certain　marks　derived　from　a　perception　of　his　surroundings；　such　as　are　not　unfrequently　found　on　men　at　the　end　of　the　four　or　five　years　of　endeavour　which　follow　the　close　of　placid　pupilage。　　He　already　showed　that　thought　is　a　disease　of　flesh；　and　indirectly　bore　evidence　that　ideal　physical　beauty　is　inpatible　with　emotional　development　and　a　full　recognition　of　the　coil　of　things。　　Mental　luminousness　must　be　fed　with　the　oil　of　life；　even　though　there　is　already　a　physical　need　for　it；　and　the　pitiful　sight　of　two　demands　on　one　supply　was　just　showing　itself　here。　
When　standing　before　certain　men　the　philosopher　regrets　that　thinkers　are　but　perishable　tissue；　the　artist　that　perishable　tissue　has　to　think。　　Thus　to　deplore；　each　from　his　point　of　view；　the　mutually　destructive　interdependence　of　spirit　and　flesh　would　have　been　instinctive　with　these　in　critically　observing　Yeobright。　
As　for　his　look；　it　was　a　natural　cheerfulness　striving　against　depression　from　without；　and　not　quite　succeeding。　　The　look