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流行前沿小学英语 英语故事(童话故事)The Shadow 影子

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来源:https://www.bjmy2z.cn/gaokao
2021-01-22 04:07
tags:

饬-

2021年1月22日发(作者:嗲)
The
Shadow
影子

It is in the hot countries that the sun burns down in earnest, turning the people
there a deep mahogany- brown. In the hottest countries of all they are seared into
negroes, but it was not quite that hot in this country to which a man of learning
had
come
from
the
colder
north.
He
expected
to
go
about
there
just
as
he
had
at
home,
but he soon discovered that this was a mistake. He and other sensible souls had to
stay
inside.
The
shutters
were
drawn
and
the
doors
were
closed
all
day
long.
It
looked
just
as
if
everyone
were
asleep
or
away
from
home.
The
narrow
street
of
high
houses
where he lived was so situated that from morning till night the sun beat down on
it - unbearably!
To
this
young
and
clever
scholar
from
the
colder
north,
it
felt
as
if
he
were
sitting
in a blazing hot oven. It exhausted him so that he became very thin, and even his
shadow shrank much smaller than it had been at home. Only in the evenings, after
sundown, did the man and his shadow begin to recover.
This was really a joy to see. As soon as a candle was brought into the room, the
shadow
had
to
stretch
itself
to
get
its
strength
back.
It
stretched
up
to
the
wall,
yes, even along the ceiling, so tall did it grow. To stretch himself, the scholar
went
out
on
the
balcony.
As
soon
as
the
stars
came
out
in
the
beautifully
clear
sky,
he felt as if he had come back to life.
In warm countries each window has a balcony, and in all the balconies up and down
the street people came out to breathe the fresh air that one needs, even if one is
already
a
fine
mahogany- brown.
Both
up
above
and
down
below,
things
became
lively.
Tailors, shoemakers - everybody - moved out in the street. Chairs and tables were
brought
out,
and
candles
were
lighted,
yes,
candles
by
the
thousand.
One
man
talked,
another
sang,
people
strolled
about,
carriages
drove
by,
and
donkeys
trotted
along,
ting-a-ling-a-ling, for their harness had bells on it. There were church bells
ringing,
hymn
singing,
and
funeral
processions.
There
were
boys
in
the
street
firing
off Roman candles. Oh yes, it was lively as lively can be down in that street.
Only
one
house
was
quiet
-
the
one
directly
across
from
where
the
scholarly
stranger
lived. Yet someone lived there, for flowers on the balcony grew and thrived under
that hot sun, which they could not have done unless they were watered. So someone
must
be
watering
them,
and
there
must
be
people
in
the
house.
Along
in
the
evening,
as
a
matter
of
fact,
the
door
across
the
street
was
opened.
But
it
was
dark
inside,
at
least
in
the
front
room.
From
somewhere
in
the
house,
farther
back,
came
the
sound
of music. The scholarly stranger thought the music was marvelous, but it is quite
possible
that
he
only
imagined
this,
for
out
there
in
the
warm
countries
he
thought
everything was marvelous - except the sun. The stranger's landlord said that he
didn't know who had rented the house across the street. No one was ever to be seen
over there, and as for the music, he found it extremely tiresome. He said:

the selfsame piece. 'I'll play it right yet,' he probably says, but he doesn't, no
matter how long he tries.
One night the stranger woke up. He slept with the windows to his balcony open, and
as
the
breeze
blew
his
curtain
aside
he
fancied
that
a
marvelous
radiance
came
from
the balcony across the street. The colors of all the flowers were as brilliant as
flames.
In
their
midst
stood
a
maiden,
slender
and
lovely.
It
seemed
as
if
a
radiance
came from her too. It actually hurt his eyes, but that was because he had opened
them too wide in his sudden awakening.
One
leap,
and
he
was
out
of
bed.
Without
a
sound,
he
looked
out
through
his
curtains,
but the maiden was gone. The flowers were no longer radiant, though they bloomed
as fresh and fair as usual. The door was ajar and through it came music so lovely
and soft that one could really feel very romantic about it. It was like magic. But
who lived there? What entrance did they use? Facing the street, the lower floor of
the house was a row of shops, and people couldn't run through them all the time.
On another evening, the stranger sat out on his balcony. The candle burned in the
room behind him, so naturally his shadow was cast on the wall across the street.
Yes,
there
it
sat
among
the
flowers,
and
when
the
stranger
moved,
it
moved
with
him.

thought to himself.
stands
ajar,
and
if
my
shadow
were
clever
he'd
step
in,
have
a
look
around,
and
come
back to tell me what he had seen.

Well, aren't you going?
along now, but be sure to come back.
The
stranger
rose,
and
his
shadow
across
the
street
rose
with
him.
The
stranger
turned
around, and his shadow turned too. If anyone had been watching closely, he would
have seen the shadow enter the half-open balcony door in the house across the way
at
the
same
instant
that
the
stranger
returned
to
his
room
and
the
curtain
fell
behind
him.
Next
morning,
when
the
scholar
went
out
to
take
his
coffee
and
read
the
newspapers,
he said,
it really did go away last night, and it stayed away. Isn't that annoying?
What
annoyed
him
most
was
not
so
much
the
loss
of
his
shadow,
but
the
knowledge
that
there
was
already
a
story
about
a
man
without
a
shadow.
All
the
people
at
home
knew
that story. If he went back and told them his story they would say he was just
imitating the old one. He did not care to be called unoriginal, so he decided to
say nothing about it, which was the most sensible thing to do.
That evening he again went out on the balcony. He had placed the candle directly
behind
him,
because
he
knew
that
a
shadow
always
likes
to
use
its
master
as
a
screen,
but
he
could
not
coax
it
forth.
He
made
himself
short
and
he
made
himself
tall,
but
there was no shadow. It didn't come forth. He hemmed and he hawed, but it was no
use.
This was very vexing, but in the hot countries everything grows most rapidly, and
in a week or so he noticed with great satisfaction that when he went out in the
sunshine a new shadow was growing at his feet. The root must have been left with
him.
In
three
weeks'
time
he
had
a
very
presentable
shadow,
and
as
he
started
north
again
it
grew
longer
and
longer,
until
it
got
so
long
and
large
that
half
of
it
would
have been quite sufficient.
The learned man went home and wrote books about those things in the world that are
true, that are good, and that are beautiful.
The
days
went
by
and
the
years
went
past,
many,
many
years
in
fact.
Then
one
evening
when
he
was
sitting
in
his
room
he
heard
a
soft
tapping
at
his
door.

in,
said
he, but no one came in.
He opened the door and was confronted by
a man so extremely
thin that it
gave
him a
strange feeling. However, the man was faultlessly dressed,
and looked like a person of distinction.


said
the
distinguished
visitor,

thought
you
wouldn't
recognize
me,
now
that
I've put real flesh on my body and wear clothes. I don't suppose you ever expected
to
see
me
in
such
fine
condition.
Don't
you
know
your
old
shadow?
You
must
have
thought
I'd
never
come
back.
Things
have
gone
remarkably
well
with
me
since
I
was
last
with
you.
I've thrived in
every way, and if I
have to buy
my freedom,
I can.
a bunch of valuable charms that hung from his watch, and fingered the massive gold
chain
he
wore
around
his
neck.
Ho!
how
his
fingers
flashed
with
diamond
rings
-
and
all this jewelry was real.


ordinary,
you
may
be
sure,
said
the
shadow.

you
are
no
ordinary
person
and I, as you know, have followed in your footsteps from childhood. As soon as you
thought me sufficiently experienced to strike out in the world for myself, I went
my way. I have been immeasurably successful. But I felt a sort of longing to see
you again before you die, as I suppose you must, and I wanted to see this country
again.
You
know
how
one
loves
his
native
land.
I
know
that
you
have
got
hold
of
another
shadow. Do I owe anything to either of you? Be kind enough to let me know.

Is
it
really
you?
said
the
scholar.

this
is
most
extraordinary!
I
would
never have imagined that one's own shadow could come back in human form.

anyone.

perfectly free. I am tremendously pleased to hear of your good luck! Sit down, my
old friend, and tell me a bit about how it all happened, and about what you saw in
that house across the street from us in the warm country.

promise that if you meet me anywhere you won't tell a soul in town about my having
been your shadow. I intend to become engaged, for I can easily support a family.

you
worry,
said
the
scholar.

won't
tell
anyone
who
you
really
are.
I
give
you my hand on it. I promise, and a man is as good as his word.

any other way.
It
was
really
remarkable
how
much
of
a
man
he
had
become,
dressed
all
in
black,
with
the finest cloth, patent-leather shoes, and an opera hat that could be pressed
perfectly
flat
till
it
was
only
brim
and
top,
not
to
mention
those
things
we
already
know about - those seals, that gold chain, and the diamond rings. The shadow was
well dressed indeed, and it was just this that made him appear human.

on the arm
of the scholar's new shadow, which lay at his feet like a
poodle dog. This was arrogance, perhaps, or possibly he was trying to make the new
shadow
stick
to
his
own
feet.
The
shadow
on
the
floor
lay
quiet
and
still,
and
listened
its best, so that it might learn how to get free and work its way up to be its own
master.

you
know
who
lived
in
the
house
across
the
street
from
us?
the
old
shadow
asked.

for three weeks, and it was as if I had lived there three thousand years, reading
all
that
has
ever
been
written.
That's
what
I
said,
and
it's
the
truth!
I
have
seen
it all, and I know everything.

large
cities.
Poetry!
Yes,
I
saw
her
myself,
for
one
brief
moment,
but
my
eyes
were
heavy
with
sleep.
She
stood
on
the
balcony,
as
radiant
as
the
northern
lights.
Tell
me! Tell me! You were on the balcony. You went through the doorway, and then -

I
was
in
the
anteroom,
said
the
shadow.

was
the
room
you
were
always
staring
at from across the way. There were no candles there, and the room was in twilight.
But the door upon door stood open in a whole series of brilliantly lit halls and
reception rooms. That blaze of lights would have struck me dead had I gone as far
as
the
room
where
the
maiden
was,
but
I
was
careful
-
I
took
my
time,
as
one
should.


saw
everything,
and
I
shall
tell
everything
to
you,
but
-
it's
not
that
I'm
proud
- but as I am a free man and well educated, not to mention my high standing and my
considerable fortune, I do wish you wouldn't call me your old friend.

are perfectly right, my dear sir, and I'll remember it. But now, my dear sir, tell
me of all that you saw.


did
the
innermost
rooms
look?
the
scholar
asked.

it
like
a
green
forest?
Was
it
like
a
holy
temple?
Were
the
rooms
like
the
starry
skies
seen
from
some
high
mountain?

was
there,
said
the
shadow.

didn't
quite
go
inside.
I
stayed
in
the
dark
anteroom,
but
my
place
there
was
perfect.
I
saw
everything,
and
I
know
everything.
I have been in the antechamber at the court of Poetry.

what
did
you
see?
Did
the
gods
of
old
march
through
the
halls?
Did
the
old
heroes
fight there? Did fair children play there and tell their dreams?

there was to be seen. Had you come over, it would not have made a man of you, as
it did of me. Also, I learned to understand my inner self, what is born in me, and
the relationship between me and Poetry. Yes, when I was with you I did not think
of such
things, but you
must remember how wonderfully I
always expanded
at sunrise
and
sunset.
And
in
the
moonlight
I
almost
seemed
more
real
than
you.
Then
I
did
not

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