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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
The Turn of the Screw
by Henry James
IV
It was not that I didn’t wait, on this occasion, for more, for I was rooted as deeply as I was shaken. Was there a “secret” at Bly — a mystery of Udolpho or an insane, an unmentionable relative kept in unsuspected confinement2? I can’t say how long I turned it over, or how long, in a confusion of curiosity and dread3, I remained where I had had my collision; I only recall that when I re-entered the house darkness had quite closed in. Agitation4, in the interval5, certainly had held me and driven me, for I must, in circling about the place, have walked three miles; but I was to be, later on, so much more overwhelmed that this mere6 dawn of alarm was a comparatively human chill. The most singular part of it, in fact — singular as the rest had been — was the part I became, in the hall, aware of in meeting Mrs. Grose. This picture comes back to me in the general train — the impression, as I received it on my return, of the wide white panelled space, bright in the lamplight and with its portraits and red carpet, and of the good surprised look of my friend, which immediately told me she had missed me. It came to me straightway, under her contact, that, with plain heartiness8, mere relieved anxiety at my appearance, she knew nothing whatever that could bear upon the incident I had there ready for her. I had not suspected in advance that her comfortable face would pull me up, and I somehow measured the importance of what I had seen by my thus finding myself hesitate to mention it. Scarce anything in the whole history seems to me so odd as this fact that my real beginning of fear was one, as I may say, with the instinct of sparing my companion. On the spot, accordingly, in the pleasant hall and with her eyes on me, I, for a reason that I couldn’t then have phrased, achieved an inward resolution — offered a vague pretext9 for my lateness and, with the plea of the beauty of the night and of the heavy dew and wet feet, went as soon as possible to my room.
Here it was another affair; here, for many days after, it was a queer affair enough. There were hours, from day to day — or at least there were moments, snatched even from clear duties — when I had to shut myself up to think. It was not so much yet that I was more nervous than I could bear to be as that I was remarkably10 afraid of becoming so; for the truth I had now to turn over was, simply and clearly, the truth that I could arrive at no account whatever of the visitor with whom I had been so inexplicably11 and yet, as it seemed to me, so intimately concerned. It took little time to see that I could sound without forms of inquiry12 and without exciting remark any domestic complications. The shock I had suffered must have sharpened all my senses; I felt sure, at the end of three days and as the result of mere closer attention, that I had not been practiced upon by the servants nor made the object of any “game.” Of whatever it was that I knew, nothing was known around me. There was but one sane1 inference: someone had taken a liberty rather gross. That was what, repeatedly, I dipped into my room and locked the door to say to myself. We had been, collectively, subject to an intrusion; some unscrupulous traveler, curious in old houses, had made his way in unobserved, enjoyed the prospect13 from the best point of view, and then stolen out as he came. If he had given me such a bold hard stare, that was but a part of his indiscretion. The good thing, after all, was that we should surely see no more of him.
This was not so good a thing, I admit, as not to leave me to judge that what, essentially14, made nothing else much signify was simply my charming work. My charming work was just my life with Miles and Flora15, and through nothing could I so like it as through feeling that I could throw myself into it in trouble. The attraction of my small charges was a constant joy, leading me to wonder afresh at the vanity of my original fears, the distaste I had begun by entertaining for the probable gray prose of my office. There was to be no gray prose, it appeared, and no long grind; so how could work not be charming that presented itself as daily beauty? It was all the romance of the nursery and the poetry of the schoolroom. I don’t mean by this, of course, that we studied only fiction and verse; I mean I can express no otherwise the sort of interest my companions inspired. How can I describe that except by saying that instead of growing used to them — and it’s a marvel16 for a governess: I call the sisterhood to witness! — I made constant fresh discoveries. There was one direction, assuredly, in which these discoveries stopped: deep obscurity continued to cover the region of the boy’s conduct at school. It had been promptly17 given me, I have noted18, to face that mystery without a pang19. Perhaps even it would be nearer the truth to say that — without a word — he himself had cleared it up. He had made the whole charge absurd. My conclusion bloomed there with the real rose flush of his innocence20: he was only too fine and fair for the little horrid21, unclean school world, and he had paid a price for it. I reflected acutely that the sense of such differences, such superiorities of quality, always, on the part of the majority — which could include even stupid, sordid22 headmasters — turn infallibly to the vindictive23.
Both the children had a gentleness (it was their only fault, and it never made Miles a muff) that kept them — how shall I express it? — almost impersonal24 and certainly quite unpunishable. They were like the cherubs25 of the anecdote26, who had — morally, at any rate — nothing to whack27! I remember feeling with Miles in especial as if he had had, as it were, no history. We expect of a small child a scant28 one, but there was in this beautiful little boy something extraordinarily29 sensitive, yet extraordinarily happy, that, more than in any creature of his age I have seen, struck me as beginning anew each day. He had never for a second suffered. I took this as a direct disproof of his having really been chastised30. If he had been wicked he would have “caught” it, and I should have caught it by the rebound31 — I should have found the trace. I found nothing at all, and he was therefore an angel. He never spoke32 of his school, never mentioned a comrade or a master; and I, for my part, was quite too much disgusted to allude33 to them. Of course I was under the spell, and the wonderful part is that, even at the time, I perfectly34 knew I was. But I gave myself up to it; it was an antidote35 to any pain, and I had more pains than one. I was in receipt in these days of disturbing letters from home, where things were not going well. But with my children, what things in the world mattered? That was the question I used to put to my scrappy retirements36. I was dazzled by their loveliness.
There was a Sunday — to get on — when it rained with such force and for so many hours that there could be no procession to church; in consequence of which, as the day declined, I had arranged with Mrs. Grose that, should the evening show improvement, we would attend together the late service. The rain happily stopped, and I prepared for our walk, which, through the park and by the good road to the village, would be a matter of twenty minutes. Coming downstairs to meet my colleague in the hall, I remembered a pair of gloves that had required three stitches and that had received them — with a publicity37 perhaps not edifying38 — while I sat with the children at their tea, served on Sundays, by exception, in that cold, clean temple of mahogany and brass39, the “grown-up” dining room. The gloves had been dropped there, and I turned in to recover them. The day was gray enough, but the afternoon light still lingered, and it enabled me, on crossing the threshold, not only to recognize, on a chair near the wide window, then closed, the articles I wanted, but to become aware of a person on the other side of the window and looking straight in. One step into the room had sufficed; my vision was instantaneous; it was all there. The person looking straight in was the person who had already appeared to me. He appeared thus again with I won’t say greater distinctness, for that was impossible, but with a nearness that represented a forward stride in our intercourse40 and made me, as I met him, catch my breath and turn cold. He was the same — he was the same, and seen, this time, as he had been seen before, from the waist up, the window, though the dining room was on the ground floor, not going down to the terrace on which he stood. His face was close to the glass, yet the effect of this better view was, strangely, only to show me how intense the former had been. He remained but a few seconds — long enough to convince me he also saw and recognized; but it was as if I had been looking at him for years and had known him always. Something, however, happened this time that had not happened before; his stare into my face, through the glass and across the room, was as deep and hard as then, but it quitted me for a moment during which I could still watch it, see it fix successively several other things. On the spot there came to me the added shock of a certitude that it was not for me he had come there. He had come for someone else.
The flash of this knowledge — for it was knowledge in the midst of dread — produced in me the most extraordinary effect, started as I stood there, a sudden vibration41 of duty and courage. I say courage because I was beyond all doubt already far gone. I bounded straight out of the door again, reached that of the house, got, in an instant, upon the drive, and, passing along the terrace as fast as I could rush, turned a corner and came full in sight. But it was in sight of nothing now — my visitor had vanished. I stopped, I almost dropped, with the real relief of this; but I took in the whole scene — I gave him time to reappear. I call it time, but how long was it? I can’t speak to the purpose today of the duration of these things. That kind of measure must have left me: they couldn’t have lasted as they actually appeared to me to last. The terrace and the whole place, the lawn and the garden beyond it, all I could see of the park, were empty with a great emptiness. There were shrubberies and big trees, but I remember the clear assurance I felt that none of them concealed42 him. He was there or was not there: not there if I didn’t see him. I got hold of this; then, instinctively43, instead of returning as I had come, went to the window. It was confusedly present to me that I ought to place myself where he had stood. I did so; I applied44 my face to the pane7 and looked, as he had looked, into the room. As if, at this moment, to show me exactly what his range had been, Mrs. Grose, as I had done for himself just before, came in from the hall. With this I had the full image of a repetition of what had already occurred. She saw me as I had seen my own visitant; she pulled up short as I had done; I gave her something of the shock that I had received. She turned white, and this made me ask myself if I had blanched45 as much. She stared, in short, and retreated on just MY lines, and I knew she had then passed out and come round to me and that I should presently meet her. I remained where I was, and while I waited I thought of more things than one. But there’s only one I take space to mention. I wondered why SHE should be scared.
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1
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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2
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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3
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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5
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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6
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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7
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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8
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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12
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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14
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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15
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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16
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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17
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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18
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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20
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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21
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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23
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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24
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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25
cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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27
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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28
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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29
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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30
chastised
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的过去式 ) | |
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31
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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32
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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33
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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35
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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36
retirements
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| 退休( retirement的名词复数 )； 退职； 退役； 退休的实例 | |
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37
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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38
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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39
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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40
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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41
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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42
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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43
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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44
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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45
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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