洛根·皮爾索爾·史密斯/Logan Pearsall Smith
洛根·皮爾索爾·史密斯（1865—1946），生於美國費城，但大半生在英國度過，主要致力於英國語言的研究。主要作品有《亨利·沃頓爵士傳記》、《讀莎士比亞》、《彌爾頓和他的現代評論家》、《難忘的年代》等。本文是一篇圍繞玫瑰展開的一個觸動人心的愛情故事。
The old lady had always been proud of the great rose-tree in her gar den,and was fond of telling how it had grown from a cutting she had bro ught years before from Italy,when she was first married.She and her hu sband had been travelling back in their carriage from Rome (it was befor e the time of railways),and on a bad piece of road south of Siena they had broken down,and had been forced to pass the night in a little house by the roadside.The accommodation was wretched of course;she had spent a sleepless night,and rising early had stood,wrapped up,at her window,with the cool air blowing on her face,to watch the dawn.She could st ill,after all these years,remember the blue mountains with the bright moon above them,and how a far-off town on one of the peaks had graduall y grown whiter and whiter,till the moon faded,the mountains were touch ed with the pink of the rising sun,and suddenly the town was lit as by an illumination,one window after another catching and reflecting the su n's beams,till at last the whole little city twinkled and sparkled up in the sky like a nest of stars.
That morning,finding they would have to wait while their carriage w as being repaired,they had driven in a local conveyance up to the city on the mountain,where they had been told they would find better quarter s;and there they had stayed two or three days.It was one of the miniat ure Italian cities with a high church,a pretentious piazza,a few narro w streets and little palaces,perched,all compact and complete,on the top of a mountain,within an enclosure of walls hardly larger than an En glish kitchen garden.But it was full of life and noise,echoing all day and all night with the sounds of feet and voices.
The Cafe of the simple inn where they stayed was the meeting-place o f the notabilities of the little city;the Sindaco,the avvocato,the do ctor,and a few others;and among them they noticed a beautiful,slim,t alkative old man,with bright black eyes and snow-white hair--tall and s traight and still with the figure of a youth,although the waiter told t hem with pride that the Conte was molto vecchio--would in fact be eighty in the following year.He was the last of his family,the waiter added--they had once been great and rich people--but he had no descendants;in fact the waiter mentioned with complacency,as if it were a story on whi ch the locality prided itself,that the Conte had been unfortunate in lo ve,and had never married.
The old gentleman,however,seemed cheerful enough;and it was plain that he took an interest in the strangers,and wished to make their acqu aintance.This was soon effected by the friendly waiter;and after a lit tle talk the old man invited them to visit his villa and garden which we re just outside the walls of the town.So the next afternoon,when the s un began to descend,and they saw in glimpses through doorways and windo ws,blue shadows beginning to spread over the brown mountains,they went to pay their visit.It was not much of a place,a small,modernized,stu cco villa,with a hot pebbly garden,and in it a stone basin with torpid gold fish,and a statue of Diana and her hounds against the wall.But wh at gave a glory to it was a gigantic rose-tree which clambered over the house,almost smothering the windows,and filling the air with the perfu me of its sweetness.Yet,it was a fine rose,the Conte said proudly whe n they praised it,and he would tell the Signora about it.And as they s at there,drinking the wine he offered them,he alluded with the cheerfu l indifference of old age to his love affair,as though he took for gran ted that they had heard of it already.
"The lady lived across the valley there beyond that hill.I was a yo ung man then,for it was many years ago.I used to ride over to see her;it was a long way,but I rode fast,for young men,as no doubt the Signo ra knows,are impatient.But the lady was not kind,she would keep me wa iting,oh,for hours;and one day when I had waited very long I grew ver y angry,and as I walked up and down in the garden where she had told me she would see me,I broke one of her roses,broke a branch from it;and when I saw what I had done,I hid it inside my coat so;and when I came home I planted it,and the Signora sees how it has grown.If the Signora admires it,I must give her a cutting to plant also in her garden;I am told the English have beautiful gardens that are green,and not burnt wi th the sun like ours."
The next day,when their mended carriage had come up to fetch them,and they were just starting to drive away from the inn,the Conte's old servant appeared with the rose-cutting neatly wrapped up,and the compli ments and wishes for a buon viaggio from her master.The town collected to see them depart,and the children ran after their carriage through th e gate of the little city.They heard a rush of feet behind them for a f ew moments,but soon they were far down toward the valley;the little to wn with all its noise and life was high above them on its mountain peak.
She had planted the rose at home,where it had grown and flourished in a wonderful manner;and every June the great mass of leaves and shoot s still broke out into a passionate splendour of scent and crimson colou r,as if in its root and fibres there still burnt the anger and thwarted desire of that Italian lover.Of course the old Conte must have died man y years ago;she had forgotten his name,and had even forgotten the name of the mountain city that she had stayed in,after first seeing it twink ling at dawn in the sky,like a nest of stars.
這位老太太總以她花園中那棵巨大的玫瑰樹為榮。她會津津樂道她頭一次結婚時，從意大利帶回來的一根插條是怎麽樣長成參天大樹的。回想當年她和丈夫乘馬車從羅馬旅行歸來（那時還未通鐵路），途經錫耶納南部的一段路時，道路很難走以至於馬車都壞了，沒有辦法，他們隻好夜宿於路邊的一間小店。住宿條件的惡劣致使她徹夜未眠，很早就起身穿好衣服，站在窗前等待黎明，涼風不時從窗外襲來。事隔多年，她依然記得一輪明月掛在那藍色的群山上，遠山上的小城一點一點地變白，直到月亮漸漸落下，初升的太陽為群山抹上一層的粉色。突然，小城像是被一盞明燈照亮了，一扇扇窗戶明亮地反射出耀眼的光芒，最後，小城如滿天繁星般在天空中熠熠生光。
那天上午，得知必須等一段時間馬車才能修好，他們便乘當地的交通車上了那個山頂小城，聽說在那可以找到好一點的住處。之後，他們在山上逗留了兩三天。那是個意大利小城，有一座高高的教堂，一個繁華的市場，一些長長的街道，幾座小小的宮殿，稠密而完美地立於山頂。被城牆圍著的城區並不比英國人的菜園子大多少，但這裏生機勃勃，喧鬧嘈雜，晝夜回**著腳步聲和說話聲。
他們居住在當地一個名流雲集的小酒店裏，這有市長、律師、醫生和一些其他人。其中一位英俊、高個兒而又健談的老人引起了他們的注意。他眼睛烏黑，頭發雪白，腰板挺直，像年輕人一樣。但是酒店的侍者卻自豪地告訴他們，實際上這位伯爵已屆高齡，明年是他的八十壽辰。侍者還說到伯爵是這個家族的最後一員，他們家曾是豪門大戶，但他一生無子嗣。這個侍者還甚是得意地說，事實上，伯爵情場失意，終生未娶。似乎這是一件本地值得炫耀的事情。
不過幸好，這位老先生看起來活得還挺開心，他顯然對陌生人很感興趣，願意與之結交。這位好心的侍者很快就促成了他們之間的相識。剛聊一會兒，老人就邀請他們參觀他郊外的別墅和花園。因此，第二天下午，日落之時，當他們從門口和窗口瞥見藍色的陰影覆蓋了褐色的山巒時，就動身去造訪這位老伯爵了。其實別墅比較一般，隻是一座拉毛粉飾的現代小別墅，鋪有石子的花園裏有些熱，石盆中的魚兒無精打采，狄安娜和獵犬的雕像倚牆而立。然而，一棵巨大的玫瑰樹為這個花園增色不少，它高過房頂，幾乎蓋住了窗戶，散發出誘人的花香。嗯！確實是棵美麗的玫瑰樹，在人們的讚美聲中老先生很自豪地說，他很樂意為這位女士講述玫瑰樹的故事。當大家坐在那兒，喝著老人拿出的葡萄酒時，老伯爵忘卻了自己已屆高齡，向大家娓娓道來自己當年的愛情故事，就好像他們早已經聽說過似的。
“多年以前，當我還是個年輕人時，那個小姐住在這座山背後的山穀對麵。我常騎馬去與她約會，雖然路很長，但年輕人性子急——這位女士無疑是知道的，所以我騎得很快。但那位小姐很不友善，總是讓我等啊等，一等就是幾個小時吧。一天，久候不來之後，我勃然大怒。我在我們約會的那個花園裏不停地踱步，借著燈火折斷她的一棵玫瑰樹，把上麵的一根樹枝折走了。清醒之後，我立馬將它藏進外套。事情就是這樣。回家之後我把它種到花園裏，它現在的情形這位女士已經看到了。當然這位女士要是喜歡的話，我願意送根插條讓她種在她家的花園裏。聽說英國人的花園很漂亮，到處綠油油的，不像我們的園子都被太陽烤焦了。”
翌日，馬車已修好，上山來接他們。正要乘車離開小酒店時，伯爵的老仆人來了。送了他們一根包紮好的玫瑰插條，並轉達了老伯爵的問候與祝詞，祝他們旅途愉快。全城人都出來目送他們離去，孩童們追隨馬車一直到小城門外。開始還能聽到身後陣陣的腳步聲，但不久馬車就駛入山穀，喧鬧的小城依然在他們上麵高高立於山巔。
她將玫瑰插條種在家裏，長勢良好，枝繁葉茂。每年的六月，這繁盛的玫瑰樹都會開出深紅的花兒，花香四溢。就好像它的根須中依然燃燒著那個意大利愛人的憤怒和愛情中沒有實現的願望。當然，老伯爵肯定已經辭世多年，她也忘記了老伯爵的名字，連曾經住過的小城名字也遺忘了。隻記得初見時，它猶如滿天的繁星在黎明的薄幕中熠熠生光。