⬆️喜马拉雅搜索“MTB读书”或点击上方文字，获取往期节目。
瓦尔登湖 第122回
I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house, standing in a golden age, of enduring materials, and without gingerbread work, which shall still consist of only one room, a vast, rude, substantial, primitive hall, without ceiling or plastering, with bare rafters and purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over one's head -- useful to keep off rain and snow, where the king and queen posts stand out to receive your homage, when you have done reverence to the prostrate Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping over the sill; a cavernous house, wherein you must reach up a torch upon a pole to see the roof; where some may live in the fireplace, some in the recess of a window, and some on settles, some at one end of the hall, some at another, and some aloft on rafters with the spiders, if they choose; a house which you have got into when you have opened the outside door, and the ceremony is over; where the weary traveller may wash, and eat, and converse, and sleep, without further journey; such a shelter as you would be glad to reach in a tempestuous night, containing all the essentials of a house, and nothing for house-keeping; where you can see all the treasures of the house at one view, and everything hangs upon its peg, that a man should use; at once kitchen, pantry, parlor, chamber, storehouse, and garret; where you can see so necessary a thing, as a barrel or a ladder, so convenient a thing as a cupboard, and hear the pot boil, and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your dinner, and the oven that bakes your bread, and the necessary furniture and utensils are the chief ornaments; where the washing is not put out, nor the fire, nor the mistress, and perhaps you are sometimes requested to move from off the trap-door, when the cook would descend into the cellar, and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath you without stamping. A house whose inside is as open and manifest as a bird's nest, and you cannot go in at the front door and out at the back without seeing some of its inhabitants; where to be a guest is to be presented with the freedom of the house, and not to be carefully excluded from seven eighths of it, shut up in a particular cell, and told to make yourself at home there -- in solitary confinement. Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth, but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his alley, and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest distance. There is as much secrecy about the cooking as if he had a design to poison you. I am aware that I have been on many a man's premises, and might have been legally ordered off, but I am not aware that I have been in many men's houses. I might visit in my old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in such a house as I have described, if I were going their way; but backing out of a modern palace will be all that I shall desire to learn, if ever I am caught in one.
我有时梦见了一座较大的容得很多人的房屋，矗立在神话中的黄金时代中，材料耐用持久，屋顶上也没有华而不实的装饰，可是它只包括一个房间，一个阔大、简朴、实用而具有原始风味的厅堂，没有天花板没有灰浆，只有光光的椽木和桁条，支撑着头顶上的较低的天，——却尽足以抵御雨雪了，在那里，在你进门向一个古代的俯卧的农神致敬之后，你看到衍架中柱和双柱架在接受你的致敬；一个空洞洞的房间，你必须把火炬装在一根长竿顶端方能看到屋顶，而在那里，有人可以住在炉边，有人可以往在窗口凹处，有人在高背长椅上，有人在大厅一端，有人在另一端，有人，如果他们中意，可以和蜘蛛一起住在椽木上：这屋子，你一打开大门就到了里边，不必再拘泥形迹；在那里，疲倦的旅客可以洗尘、吃喝、谈天、睡觉，不须继续旅行，正是在暴风雨之夜你愿意到达的一间房屋，一切应有尽有，又无管理家务之烦；在那里，你一眼可以望尽屋中一切财富，而凡是人所需要的都挂在木钉上；同时是厨房，伙食房，客厅，卧室，栈房和阁楼；在那里你可以看见木桶和梯子之类的有用的东西和碗橱之类的便利的设备，你听到壶里的水沸腾了，你能向煮你的饭菜的火焰和焙你的面包的炉子致敬，而必需的家具与用具是主要的装饰品；在那里，洗涤物不必晒在外面，炉火不熄，女主人也不会生气，也许有时要你移动一下，让厨子从地板门里走下地窖去，而你不用蹬脚就可以知道你的脚下是虚是实。这房子，像鸟巢，内部公开而且明显；你可以前门进来后门出去，而不看到它的房客；就是做客人也享受房屋中的全部自由，并没有八分之七是不能擅入的，并不是把你关起在一个特别的小房间中，叫你在里面自得其乐，——实际是使你孤零零地受到禁锢。目前的一般的主人都不肯邀请你到他的炉火旁边去，他叫来泥水匠，另外给你在一条长廊中造一个火炉，所谓“招待”，便是把你安置在最远处的一种艺术。关于做菜，自有秘密方法，好像要毒死你的样子。我只觉得我到过许多人的住宅，很可能会给他们根据法律而哄走，可是我从不觉得我到许多人的什么家里去过。如果我走到了像我所描写的那种广厦里，我倒可以穿了旧衣服去访问过着简单生活的国王或王后，可是如果我进到一个现代宫殿里，我希望我学会那倒退溜走的本领。
长按二维码和我们一起读书