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淘豆网网友近日为您收集整理了关于【英文原著类】The Ninth Vibration, et. al.(第九震)的文档，希望对您的工作和学习有所帮助。以下是文档介绍：【英文原著类】The Ninth Vibration, et. al.(第九震) THE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES1THE NINTHVIBRATION ANDOTHER STORIESL. ADAMS BECKTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES2THE NINTH VIBRATIONThere is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air where one ofthe most ancient tracks in the world runs from India into Tibet. It leavesSimla of the Imperial counci it passes beyond, but nownarrowing, climbing higher beside the khuds or steep drops to theprecipitous valleys beneath, and the rumor of Simla grows distant and theway is quiet, for, owing to the danger of driving horses above the khuds,such baggage as you own must be carried by coolies, and you yourselfmust either ride on horseback or in the little horseless carriage of theOrient, here drawn and pushed by four men. And presently the deodarsdarken the way with a solemn presence, for-These are the Friars of the wood, The Brethren of the SolitudeHooded and grave-&-their breath most austerely pure in the gradually chilling air. Theircompanies increase and now the way is through a great wood where it hase a trail and no more, and still it climbs for many miles and finally arambling bungalow, small and low, is sighted in the deeps of the trees, amountain stream from unknown heights falling beside it. And this isknown as the House in the Woods. Very few people are permitted to gothere, for the owner has no care for money and makes no provision forguests. You must take your own servant and the khansamah will cook yousuch simple food as men expect in the wilds, and that is all. You stay aslong as you please and when you leave not even a gift to the khansamah ispermitted.I had been staying in Ranipur of the plains while I considered thequestion of getting to Upper Kashmir by the route from Simla along theold way to Chinese Tibet where I would touch Shipki in the Dalai Lama'sterritory and then pass on to Zanskar and so down to Kashmir - atremendous route through the Himalaya and a crowning experience of themightiest mountain scenery in the world. I was at Ranipur for the purposeof consulting my old friend Olesen, now an irrigation official in theRampur district - a man who had made this journey and nearly lost his lifein doing it. It is not now perhaps so dangerous as it was, and my life wasTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES3of no particular value to any one but myself, and the plan interested me.I pass over the long discussions of ways and means in the blindingheat of Ranipur. Olesen put all his knowledge at my service and neveruttered a word of the envy that must have filled him as he looked at thedistant snows cool and luminous in blue air, and, shrugging good-naturedshoulders, spoke of the work that lay before him on the burning plainsuntil the terrible summer should drag itself to a close. We had vanquishedthe details and were smoking parative silence one night on theveranda, when he said in his&You don't like the average hotel, Ormond, and you'll like it still lessup Simla way with all the Simla crowd of grass-widows and fellows outfor as good a time as they can cram into the hot weather. I wonder if Icould get you a permit for The House in the Woods while you re waitingto fix up your men and route for Shipki.&He explained and of course I jumped at the chance. It belonged, hesaid, to a man named Rup Singh, a pandit, or learned man of Ranipur. Hehad always spent the summer there, but age and failing health made thisimpossible now, and under certain conditions he would occasionally allowpeople known to friends of his own to put up there.&And Rup Singh and I are very good friends,& O &I won hisheart by discovering the lost Sukh Mandir, or Hall of Pleasure, built manycenturies ago by a Maharao of Ranipur for a summer retreat in the greatwoods far beyond Simla. There are lots of legends about it here in Ranipur.They call it The House of Beauty. Rup Singh's ancestor had been a closefriend of the Maharao and was with him to the end, and that's why hehimself sets such store on the place. You have a good chance if I ask for apermit.He told me the story and since it is the heart of my own I give it briefly.Many centuries ago the Ranipur Kingdom was ruled by the Maharao RaiSingh a prince of the great lunar house of the Rajputs. Expecting a bridefrom some far away kingdom (the name of this is unrecorded) he built theHall of Pleasure as a summer palace, a house of rare and costly beauty. Acertain great chamber he lined with carved figures of the Gods and theirstories, almost unsurpassed for truth and life. So, with the pine treesTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES4whispering about it the secret they sigh to tell, he hoped to create anearthly Paradise with this Queen in whom all loveliness was perfected.And then some mysterious tragedy ended all his hopes. It was rumouredthat when the Princess came to his court, she was, by some terriblemistake, received with insult and offered the position only of one of hiswomen. After that nothing was known. Certain only is it that he fled to thehills, to the home of his broken hope, and there ended his days in solitude,save for the attendance of two faithful friends who would not abandon himeven in the ghostly quiet of the winter when the pine boughs were heavywith snow and a spectral moon stared at the panthers shuffling through thewhite wastes beneath. Of these two Rup Singh's ancestor was one. And inhis thirty fifth year the Maharao died and his beauty and strength passedinto legend and his kingdom was taken by another and the jungle creptsilently over his Hall of Pleasure and the story ended.&There was not a memory of the place up there,& Olesen went on.&Certainly I never heard anything of it when I went up to the Shipki in1904. But I had been able to be useful to Rup Singh and he gave me apermit for The House in the Woods, and I stopped there for a few days'shooting. I remember that day so well. I was wandering in the densewoods while my men got their midday grub, and I missed the trailsomehow and found myself in a part where the trees were dark and thickand the silence heavy as lead. It was as if the trees were on guard - theystood shoulder to shoulder and stopped the way. Well, I halted, and had anotion there was something beyond that made me doubt whether to go on.I must have stood there five minutes hesitating. Then I pushed on, bruisingthe thick ferns under my shooting boots and stooping under the knottedboughs. Suddenly I tramped out of the jungle into a clearing, and lo andbehold a ruined House, with blocks of marble lying all about it, and carvedpillars and a great roof all being slowly smothered by the jungle. Theweirdest thing you ever saw. I climbed some fallen columns to get a betterlook, and as I did I saw a face flash by at the arch of a broken window. Isang out in Hindustani, but no answer: only the echo from the woods.Somehow that dampened my ardour, and I didn't go in to what seemed likea great ruined hall for the place was so eerie and lonely, and lookedTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES5mighty snaky into the bargain. So I came ingloriously away and told RupSingh. And his whole face changed. 'That is The House of Beauty,' he said.'All my life have I sought it and in vain. For, friend of my soul, a manmust lose himself that he may find himself and what lies beyond, and thetrodden path has ever been my doom. And you who have not sought haveseen. Most strange are the way of the Gods'. Later on I knew this was whyhe had always gone up yearly, thinking and dreaming God knows what.He and I tried for the place together, but in vain and the whole thing is likea dream. Twice he has let friends of mine stay at The House in the Woods,and I think he won't refuse now.&&Did he ever tell you the story?&&Never. I only know what I've picked up here. Some horrible mistakeabout the Rani that drove the man almost mad with remorse. I've heardbits here and there. There's nothing so vital as tradition in India.&&I wonder'. what really happened.&&That we shall never know. I got a little old picture of the Maharao -said to be painted by a Pahari artist. It's not likely to be authentic, but younever can tell. A Brahman sold it to me that he plete hisdaughter's dowry, and hated doing it.&&May I see it?&&Why certainly. Not a very good light, but - can do, as the Chinks say.He brought it out rolled in silk stuff and I carried it under the hanginglamp. A beautiful young man indeed, with the air of race these people h- a cold haughty face, immovably dignified. He sat withhis hands resting lightly on the arms of his chair of State. A crescent ofrubies clasped the folds of the turban and from this sprang an aigrettescattering splendours. The magnificent hilt of a sword was ready besidehim. The face was not only beautiful but arresting.&A strange picture,& I said. &The artist has captured the man himself. Ican see him trampling on any one who opposed him, and suffering in thesame cold secret way. It ought to he authentic if it isn't. Don't you knowany more?&&Nothing. Well - to bed, and tomorrow I'll see Rup Singh.&I was glad when he returned with the permission. I was to be veryTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES6careful, he said, to make no allusion to the lost palace, for two womenwere staying at the House in the Woods - a mother and daughter to whomRup Singh had granted hospitality because of an obligation he must honor.But with true Oriental distrust of women he had thought fit to make noconfidence to them. I promised and asked Olesen if he knew them.&Slightly. Canadians of Danish blood like my own. Their name isIngmar. Some people think the daughter good-looking. The mother iss keen on occult subjects which she came back toIndia to study. The husband was a great naturalist and the kindest of men.He almost lived in the jungle and the natives had all sorts of rumoursabout his powers. You know what they are. They said the birds and beastsfollowed him about. Any old thing starts a legend.&&What was the connection with Rup Singh?&&He was in difficulties and undeservedly, and Ingmar generously lenthim money at a critical time, trusting to his honour for repayment. Likemost Orientals he never forgets a good turn and would do anything for anyof the family - except trust the women with any secret he valued. Thefather is long dead. By the way Rup Singh gave me a queer message foryou. H 'Tell the Sahib these words - &Let him who finds water in thedesert share his cup with him who dies of thirst.& He is certainly gettingvery old. I don't suppose he knew himself what he meant.&I certainly did not. However my way was thus smoothed for me and Itook the upward road, leaving Olesen to the long ungrateful toil of the manwho devotes his life to India without sufficient time or knowledge to makehis way to the inner chambers of her beauty. There is no harder mistressunless you hold the pass-key to her mysteries, there is none of whom solittle can be told in words but who kindles so deep a passion. Necessitysometimes takes me from that enchanted land, but when the latest dawnsare shining in my skies I shall make my feeble way back to her and die ather worshipped feet. So I went up from Kalka.I have never liked Simla. It is beautiful enough - eight thousand feetup in the grip of the great hills looking toward the snows, the famoussummer home of the Indian Government. Much diplomacy is whisperedon Observatory Hill and many are the lighter diversions of which Mr.THE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES7Kipling and lesser men have written. But Simla is also a gateway to manythings - to the mighty deodar forests that clothe the foot-hills of themountains, to Kulu, to the eternal snows, to the old, old bridle way thatleads up to the Shipki Pass and the mysteries of Tibet - and to the strangethings told in this story. So I passed through with scarcely a glance at thebusy gayety of the little streets and the tiny shops where the pretty ladiesbuy their rouge and powder. I was attended by my servant Ali Khan, aMohammedan from Nagpur, sent up with me by Olesen with strongmendation. He was a stout walker, so too am I, and an inveteratedislike to the man-drawn carriage whenever my own legs would serve medecided me to walk the sixteen miles to the House in the Woods, sendingon the baggage. Ali Khan despatched it and prepared to follow me, thefine cool air of the hills giving us a zest.&Subhan Alla! (Praise be to God!) the air is sweet!& he said, steppingout behind me. &What time does the Sahib look to reach the House?&&About five or six. Now, Ali Khan, strike out of the road. You knowthe way.&So we struck up into the glorious pine woods, mountains all about us.Here and there as we climbed higher was a little bank of forgotten snow,but spring had triumphed and everywhere was the waving grace ofmaiden-hair ferns, banks of violets and strangely beautiful little wildflowers. These woods are full of panthers, but in day time the onlyprecaution necessary is to take no dog, - a dainty they cannot resist. Theair was exquisite with the sun-warm scent of pines, and here and there thetrees broke away disclosing mighty ranges of hills covered with rich blueshadows like the bloom on a plum, - the clouds chasing the sunshine overthe mountain sides and the dark green velvet of the robe of pines. I lookedacross ravines that did not seem gigantic and yet the villages on the otherside were like a handful of peas, so tremendous was the scale. I stood nowand then to see the rhododendrons, forest trees here with great trunks andmassive boughs glowing with blood-red blossom, and time went by and Itook no count of it, so glorious was the climb.It must have been hours later when it struck me that the sun wasgetting low and that by now we should be nearing The House in theTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES8Woods. I said as much to Ali Khan. He looked perplexed and agreed. Wehad reached paratively level place, the trail faint but apparent, and itsurprised me that we heard no sound of life from the dense wood whereour goal must be.&I know not, Presence,& he said. &May his face be blackened thatdirected me. I thought surely I could not miss the way, and yet-&We cast back and could see no trail forking from the one we were on.There was nothing for it but to trust to luck and push on. But I began to beuneasy and so was the man. I had stupidly forgotten to unpack myrevolver, and worse, we had no food, and the mountain air is an appetiser,and at night the woods have their dangers, apart from being absolutelytrackless. We had not met a living being since we left the road and thereseemed no likelihood of asking for directions. I stopped no longer forviews but went steadily on, Ali Khan keeping up a running fire of low-voiced invocations and lamentations. And now it was dusk and theposition decidely unpleasant.It was at that moment I saw a woman before us walking lightly andsteadily under the pines. She must have struck into the trail from the sidefor she never could have kept before us all the way. A native woman, butwearing the all-concealing boorka, more like a town dweller than a womanof the hills. I put on speed and Ali Khan, now very tired, toiled on behindme as I came up with her and courteously asked the way. Her face wasentirely hidden, but the answering voice was clear and sweet. I made upmy mind she was young, for it had the bird-like thrill of youth.&If the Presence continues to follow this path he will arrive. It is notfar. They wait for him.&That was all. It left me with a desire to see the veiled face. We passedon and Ali Khan looked fearfully back.&Ajaib! (Wonderful!) A strange place to meet one of the purdah-nashin(veiled women)& he muttered. &What would she be doing up here in theheights? She walked like a Khanam (khan's wife) and I saw the gleam ofgold under the boorka.&I turned with some curiosity as he spoke, and lo! there was no humanbeing in sight. She had disappeared from the track behind us and it wasTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES9impossible to say where. The darkening trees were beginning to hold thedusk and it seemed unimaginable that a woman should leave the way andtake to the dangers of the woods.&Puna-i-Khoda - God protect us!& said Ali Khan in a shudderingwhisper. &She was a devil of the wilds. Press on, Sahib. We should not behere in the dark.&There was nothing else to do. We made the best speed we could, andthe trees grew more dense and the trail fainter between the close trunks,and so the night came bewildering with the expectation that we must passthe night unfed and unarmed in the cold of the heights. They might sendout a search party from The House in the Woods - that was still a hope, ifthere were no other. And then, very gradually and wonderfully the moondawned over the tree tops and flooded the wood with mysterious silverlights and about her rolled the majesty of the stars. We pressed on into theheart of the night. From the dense black depths we emerged at last. Anopen glade lay before us - the trees falling back to right and left to disclose- what?A long low house of marble, unlit, silent, bathed in pale splendour andshadow. About it stood great deodars, clothed in clouds of the whiteblossoming clematis, ghostly and still. Acacias hung motionless trails ofheavily scented bloom as if carved in ivory. It was all silent as death. Aflight of nobly sculptured steps led up to a broad veranda and a wide opendoor with darkness behind it. Nothing more.I forced myself to shout in Hindustani - the cry seeming a brutaloutrage upon the night, and an echo came back numbed in the blackwoods. I tried once more and in vain. We stood absorbed also into thesilence.&Ya Alla! it is a house of the dead!& whispered Ali Khan, shuddering atmy shoulder, - and even as the words left his lips I understood where wewere. &It is the Sukh Mandir.& I said. &It is the House of the Maharao ofRanipur.&It was impossible to be in Ranipur and hear nothing of the dead houseof the forest and Ali Khan had heard - God only knows what tales. In histerror all discipline, all the inborn respect of the native forsook him, andTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES10without word or sign he turned and fled along the track, crashing throughthe forest blind and mad with fear. It would have been insanity to followhim, and in India the first rule of life is that the Sahib shows no fear, so Ileft him to his fate whatever it might be, believing at the same time that alittle reflection and dread of the lonely forest would bring him to heelquickly.I stood there and the stillness flowed like water about me. It was asthough I floated upon it - bathed in quiet. My thoughts adjustedthemselves. Possibly it was not the Sukh Mandir. Olesen had spoken ofruin. I could see none. At least it was shelter from the chill which isalways present at these heights when the sun sets, - and it was beautiful asa house not made with hands. There was a sense of awe but no fear as Iwent slowly up the great steps and into the gloom beyond and so gainedthe hall.The moon went with me and from a carven arch filled with marbletracery rained radiance that revealed and hid. Pillars stood about me,wonderful with horses ramping forward as in the Siva Temple at Vellore.They appeared to spring from the pillars into the gloom urged by invisibleriders, the effect barbarously rich and strange - motion arrested, struckdumb in a violent gesture, and behind them rable darkness. I couldnot see the end of this hall - for the moon did not reach it, but looking up Ibeheld the walls fretted in great panels into the utmost splendour ofsculpture, encircling the stories of the Gods amid a twining and under-weaving of leaves and flowers. It was more like a temple than a dwelling.Siva, as Nataraja the Cosmic Dancer, the Rhythm of the Universe, dancedbefore me, flinging out his arms in the passion of creation. Kama, theIndian Eros, bore his bow strung with honey-sweet black bees that typifythe heart's desire. Krishna the Beloved smiled above the herd-maidensadoring at his feet. Ganesha the Elephant-Headed, sat in massive calm,wreathing his wise trunk about him. And many more. But all these so faras I could see tended to one centre panel larger than any, representing twolife-size figures of a dim beauty. At first I could scarcely distinguish onefrom the other in the upward-reflected light, and then, even as I stood, themoving moon revealed the two as if floating in vapor. At once I播放器加载中，请稍候...
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【英文原著类】The Ninth Vibration, et. al.(第九震) THE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES1THE NINTHVIBRATION ANDOTHER STORIESL. ADAMS BECKTHE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES2THE NINTH VIBRATIONThere is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air where one ofthe most ancient tracks in the worl...
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