このエントリは 9の15の部分 シリーズに あしながおじさん

『あしながおじさん』英文/和訳 CHAPTER V 二年生の一年 続き Part 2

『Daddy-Long-Legs』CHAPTER V “Sophomore Year continued” の後半です。ジュディが議論法の授業をまねて手紙を書いたり、夏の行き先をめぐってあしながおじさんと衝突したり、ロック・ウィロー農場で再び小説を書き始めたりする流れを、英文・和訳ペアと語句色分けで整理しています。

表示設定
カテゴリ別ハイライト
動作・変化 感情・心理 場面・描写 人物・性格 疑問・転機 重要表現
Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs Smith

SIR: Having completed the study of argumentation and the science of dividing a thesis into heads, I have decided to adopt the following form for letter-writing.

It contains all necessary facts, but no unnecessary verbiage.

I. We had written examinations this week in:
A. Chemistry.
B. History.

II. A new dormitory is being built.
A. Its material is:
(a) red brick.
(b) grey stone.

B. Its capacity will be:
(a) one dean, five instructors.
(b) two hundred girls.
(c) one housekeeper, three cooks, twenty waitresses, twenty chambermaids.

III. We had junket for dessert tonight.

IV. I am writing a special topic upon the Sources of Shakespeare’s Plays.

V. Lou McMahon slipped and fell this afternoon at basket ball, and she:
A. Dislocated her shoulder.
B. Bruised her knee.

VI. I have a new hat trimmed with:
A. Blue velvet ribbon.
B. Two blue quills.
C. Three red pompoms.

VII. It is half past nine.

VIII. Good night.
Judy

* * *
2nd June

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

You will never guess the nice thing that has happened.

The McBrides have asked me to spend the summer at their camp in the Adirondacks!

They belong to a sort of club on a lovely little lake in the middle of the woods.

The different members have houses made of logs dotted about among the trees.

And they go canoeing on the lake, and take long walks through trails to other camps, and have dances once a week in the club house.

Jimmie McBride is going to have a college friend visiting him part of the summer, so you see we shall have plenty of men to dance with.

Wasn’t it sweet of Mrs. McBride to ask me?

It appears that she liked me when I was there for Christmas.

Please excuse this being short.

It isn’t a real letter; it’s just to let you know that I’m disposed of for the summer.

Yours,
In a VERY contented frame of mind,
Judy

* * *
5th June

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Your secretary man has just written to me saying that Mr. Smith prefers that I should not accept Mrs. McBride’s invitation.

But should return to Lock Willow the same as last summer.

Why, why, WHY, Daddy?

You don’t understand about it.

Mrs. McBride does want me, really and truly.

I’m not the least bit of trouble in the house. I’m a help.

They don’t take many servants, and Sallie and I can do lots of useful things.

It’s a fine chance for me to learn housekeeping.

Every woman ought to understand it, and I only know asylum-keeping.

There aren’t any girls our age at the camp, and Mrs. McBride wants me for a companion for Sallie.

We are planning to do a lot of reading together.

We are going to read all of the books for next year’s English and sociology.

The Professor said it would be a great help if we would get our reading finished in the summer.

And it’s so much easier to remember it if we read together and talk it over.

Just to live in the same house with Sallie’s mother is an education.

She’s the most interesting, entertaining, companionable, charming woman in the world.

She knows everything.

Think how many summers I’ve spent with Mrs. Lippett and how I’ll appreciate the contrast.

You needn’t be afraid that I’ll be crowding them, for their house is made of rubber.

When they have a lot of company, they just sprinkle tents about in the woods and turn the boys outside.

It’s going to be such a nice, healthy summer exercising out of doors every minute.

Jimmie McBride is going to teach me how to ride horseback and paddle a canoe, and how to shoot and—oh, lots of things I ought to know.

It’s the kind of nice, jolly, care-free time that I’ve never had.

And I think every girl deserves it once in her life.

Of course I’ll do exactly as you say, but please, PLEASE let me go, Daddy.

I’ve never wanted anything so much.

This isn’t Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, writing to you.

It’s just Judy—a girl.

* * *
9th June

Mr. John Smith,

SIR: Yours of the 7th inst. at hand.

In compliance with the instructions received through your secretary, I leave on Friday next to spend the summer at Lock Willow Farm.

I hope always to remain,
(Miss) Jerusha Abbott

* * *
LOCK WILLOW FARM 3rd August

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

It has been nearly two months since I wrote, which wasn’t nice of me, I know.

But I haven’t loved you much this summer—you see I’m being frank!

You can’t imagine how disappointed I was at having to give up the McBrides’ camp.

Of course I know that you’re my guardian, and that I have to regard your wishes in all matters.

But I couldn’t see any reason.

It was so entirely arbitrary.

And you can’t know how I wanted to go.

I was just getting acquainted with mountains and lakes and people and different ways of living.

And you suddenly pulled me back into the old enclosure.

I didn’t like it, Daddy.

I felt, for a little while, as though I had escaped from prison and been caught and put back again.

But now I am getting back my spirits again.

The farm is very nice, and I am writing and writing.

I have finished four short stories and sent them to four different magazines.

So you see I’m trying to be an author.

I have a workroom fixed in a corner of the attic where Master Jervie used to have his rainy-day playroom.

It’s in a cool, breezy corner with two dormer windows, and shaded by a maple tree with a family of red squirrels living in a hole.

I’ll write a nicer letter in a few days and tell you all the farm news.

We need rain.

Yours as ever,
Judy

* * *
10th August

Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs,

SIR: I address you from the second crotch in the willow tree by the pool in the pasture.

There’s a frog croaking underneath, a locust singing overhead and two little “devil downheads” darting up and down the trunk.

I’ve been here for an hour; it’s a very comfortable crotch, especially after being upholstered with two sofa cushions.

I came up with a pen and tablet hoping to write an immortal short story.

But I’ve been having a dreadful time with my heroine—I CAN’T make her behave as I want her to behave.

So I’ve abandoned her for the moment, and am writing to you.

Not much relief though, for I can’t make you behave as I want you to, either.

If you knew how I wanted to go to the McBrides’ camp, you would be sorry.

I don’t think that I am telling you too plainly that I am disappointed.

But anyway, Daddy, this is a very good place to write, and I am not going to sulk all summer.

There is a chorus of insects all around me, and the cows are standing knee-deep in the brook.

It is so hot that even the hens are walking about with their mouths open.

You see, I am becoming quite countrified.

I know all the farm sounds and all the farm smells.

And I can tell by the sky when it’s going to rain.

Only lately the sky has been deceitful; it keeps promising and promising and never performs.

The corn is curling up and the grass is turning brown.

Mrs. Semple is anxious about the potatoes.

Amasai says if it doesn’t rain soon, the pumpkins won’t set.

And Carrie says the hens are not laying because they are discouraged by the weather.

A farm is a very emotional place.

Everybody and everything is affected by the weather.

I hope Master Jervie will come soon; I am longing for someone to talk to.

Mrs. Semple, to tell you the truth, gets rather monotonous.

She never lets ideas interrupt the easy flow of her conversation.

It’s a funny thing about the people here. Their world is just this single hilltop.

They are not a bit universal, if you know what I mean.

It’s exactly the same as at the John Grier Home.

Our ideas there were bounded by the four sides of the iron fence.

Only I didn’t mind it so much because I was younger, and was so awfully busy.

By the time I’d got all my beds made and my babies’ faces washed and had gone to school and come home and had washed their faces again and darned their stockings and mended Freddie Perkins’s trousers, I was ready to go to bed.

He tore them every day of his life.

And learned my lessons in between—I was ready to go to bed, and I didn’t notice any lack of social intercourse.

But after two years in a conversational college, I do miss it.

And I shall be glad to see somebody who speaks my language.

I really believe I’ve finished, Daddy.

Nothing else occurs to me at the moment—I’ll try to write a longer letter next time.

Yours always,
Judy

PS. The lettuce hasn’t done at all well this year. It was so dry early in the season.

* * *
25th August

Well, Daddy, Master Jervie’s here.

And such a nice time as we’re having!

At least I am, and I think he is, too—he has been here ten days and he doesn’t show any signs of going.

The way Mrs. Semple pampers that man is scandalous.

If she indulged him as much when he was a baby, I don’t know how he ever turned out so well.

He and I eat at a little table set on the side porch, or sometimes under the trees, or—when it rains or is cold—in the best parlour.

He just picks out the spot he wants to eat in and Carrie trots after him with the table.

Then if it has been an awful nuisance, and she has had to carry the dishes very far, she finds a dollar under the sugar bowl.

He is an awfully companionable sort of man, though you would never believe it to see him casually.

He looks at first glance like a true Pendleton, but he isn’t in the least.

He is just as simple and unaffected and sweet as he can be.

That seems a funny way to describe a man, but it’s true.

He’s extremely nice with the farmers around here; he meets them in a sort of man-to-man fashion that disarms them immediately.

They were very suspicious at first.

They didn’t care for his clothes!

And I will say that his clothes are rather amazing.

He wears knickerbockers and pleated jackets and white flannels and riding clothes with puffed trousers.

Whenever he comes down in anything new, Mrs. Semple, beaming with pride, walks around and views him from every angle.

And urges him to be careful where he sits down; she is so afraid he will pick up some dust.

It bores him dreadfully.

He’s always saying to her: “Run along, Lizzie, and tend to your work. You can’t boss me any longer. I’ve grown up.”

It’s awfully funny to think of that great big, long-legged man ever sitting in Mrs. Semple’s lap and having his face washed.

Particularly funny when you see her lap!

She has two laps now, and three chins.

But he says that once she was thin and wiry and spry and could run faster than he.

Such a lot of adventures we’re having!

We’ve explored the country for miles, and I’ve learned to fish with funny little flies made of feathers.

Also to shoot with a rifle and a revolver.

Also to ride horseback—there’s an astonishing amount of life in old Grove.

We fed him on oats for three days, and he shied at a calf and almost ran away with me.

Wednesday

We climbed Sky Hill Monday afternoon.

That’s a mountain near here; not an awfully high mountain, perhaps—no snow on the summit.

But at least you are pretty breathless when you reach the top.

The lower slopes are covered with woods, but the top is just piled rocks and open moor.

We stayed up for the sunset and built a fire and cooked our supper.

Master Jervie did the cooking; he said he knew how better than me and he did, too, because he’s used to camping.

Then we came down by moonlight, and, when we reached the wood trail where it was dark, by the light of an electric bulb that he had in his pocket.

It was such fun!

He laughed and joked all the way and talked about interesting things.

He’s read all the books I’ve ever read, and a lot of others besides.

It’s astonishing how many different things he knows.

We went for a long tramp this morning and got caught in a storm.

Our clothes were drenched before we reached home but our spirits not even damp.

You should have seen Mrs. Semple’s face when we dripped into her kitchen.

“Oh, Master Jervie—Miss Judy! You are soaked through. Dear! Dear! What shall I do? That nice new coat is perfectly ruined.”

She was awfully funny; you would have thought that we were ten years old, and she a distracted mother.

I was afraid for a while that we weren’t going to get any jam for tea.

Saturday

I started this letter ages ago, but I haven’t had a second to finish it.

Isn’t this a nice thought from Stevenson?

The world is so full of a number of things

The world is so full of a number of things,
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.

It’s true, you know.

The world is full of happiness, and plenty to go round, if you are only willing to take the kind that comes your way.

The whole secret is in being PLIABLE.

In the country, especially, there are such a lot of entertaining things.

I can walk over everybody’s land, and look at everybody’s view, and dabble in everybody’s brook.

And enjoy it just as much as though I owned the land—and with no taxes to pay!

It’s Sunday night now, about eleven o’clock, and I am supposed to be getting some beauty sleep.

But I had black coffee for dinner, so—no beauty sleep for me!

This morning, said Mrs. Semple to Mr. Pendleton, with a very determined accent:

“We have to leave here at a quarter past ten in order to get to church by eleven.”

“Very well, Lizzie,” said Master Jervie, “you have the buggy ready, and if I’m not dressed, just go on without waiting.”

“We’ll wait,” said she.

“As you please,” said he, “only don’t keep the horses standing too long.”

Then while she was dressing, he told Carrie to pack up a lunch, and he told me to scramble into my walking clothes.

And we slipped out the back way and went fishing.

It discommoded the household dreadfully, because Lock Willow of a Sunday dines at two.

But he ordered dinner at seven—he orders meals whenever he chooses; you would think the place were a restaurant.

And that kept Carrie and Amasai from going driving.

But he said it was all the better because it wasn’t proper for them to go driving without a chaperon.

And anyway, he wanted the horses himself to take me driving.

Did you ever hear anything so funny?

And poor Mrs. Semple believes that people who go fishing on Sundays go afterwards to a sizzling hot hell!

She is awfully troubled to think that she didn’t train him better when he was small and helpless and she had the chance.

Besides—she wished to show him off in church.

Anyway, we had our fishing, and we cooked them on a camp-fire for lunch.

They kept falling off our spiked sticks into the fire, so they tasted a little ashy, but we ate them.

We got home at four and went driving at five and had dinner at seven.

And at ten I was sent to bed and here I am, writing to you.

I am getting a little sleepy, though.

Good night.

Here is a picture of the one fish I caught.

Ship Ahoy, Cap’n Long-Legs!

Ship Ahoy, Cap’n Long-Legs!

Avast! Belay! Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.

Guess what I’m reading?

Our conversation these past two days has been nautical and piratical.

Isn’t Treasure Island fun?

Did you ever read it, or wasn’t it written when you were a boy?

Stevenson only got thirty pounds for the serial rights—I don’t believe it pays to be a great author.

Maybe I’ll be a school-teacher.

Excuse me for filling my letters so full of Stevenson; my mind is very much engaged with him at present.

He comprises Lock Willow’s library.

I’ve been writing this letter for two weeks, and I think it’s about long enough.

Never say, Daddy, that I don’t give details.

I wish you were here, too; we’d all have such a jolly time together.

I like my different friends to know each other.

I wanted to ask Mr. Pendleton if he knew you in New York.

I should think he might; you must move in about the same exalted social circles, and you are both interested in reforms and things.

But I couldn’t, for I don’t know your real name.

It’s the silliest thing I ever heard of, not to know your name.

Mrs. Lippett warned me that you were eccentric.

I should think so!

Affectionately,
Judy

PS. On reading this over, I find that it isn’t all Stevenson.

There are one or two glancing references to Master Jervie.

* * *
10th September

Dear Daddy,

He has gone, and we are missing him!

When you get accustomed to people or places or ways of living, and then have them snatched away, it does leave an awfully empty, gnawing sort of sensation.

I’m finding Mrs. Semple’s conversation pretty unseasoned food.

College opens in two weeks and I shall be glad to begin work again.

I have worked quite a lot this summer though—six short stories and seven poems.

Those I sent to the magazines all came back with the most courteous promptitude.

But I don’t mind. It’s good practice.

Master Jervie read them—he brought in the post, so I couldn’t help his knowing.

And he said they were DREADFUL.

They showed that I didn’t have the slightest idea of what I was talking about.

Master Jervie doesn’t let politeness interfere with truth.

But the last one I did—just a little sketch laid in college—he said wasn’t bad.

And he had it typewritten, and I sent it to a magazine.

They’ve had it two weeks; maybe they’re thinking it over.

You should see the sky!

There’s the queerest orange-coloured light over everything.

We’re going to have a storm.

It commenced just that moment with tremendously big drops and all the shutters banging.

I had to run to close the windows, while Carrie flew to the attic with an armful of milk pans to put under the places where the roof leaks.

And then, just as I was resuming my pen, I remembered that I’d left a cushion and rug and hat and Matthew Arnold’s poems under a tree in the orchard.

So I dashed out to get them, all quite soaked.

The red cover of the poems had run into the inside; Dover Beach in the future will be washed by pink waves.

A storm is awfully disturbing in the country.

You are always having to think of so many things that are out of doors and getting spoiled.

Thursday

Daddy! Daddy! What do you think?

The postman has just come with two letters.

1st. My story is accepted. $50.

ALORS! I’m an AUTHOR.

2nd. A letter from the college secretary.

I’m to have a scholarship for two years that will cover board and tuition.

It was founded for marked proficiency in English with general excellency in other lines.

And I’ve won it!

I applied for it before I left, but I didn’t have an idea I’d get it, on account of my Freshman bad work in maths and Latin.

But it seems I’ve made it up.

I am awfully glad, Daddy, because now I won’t be such a burden to you.

The monthly allowance will be all I’ll need, and maybe I can earn that with writing or tutoring or something.

I’m LONGING to go back and begin work.

Yours ever,
Jerusha Abbott,

Author of When the Sophomores Won the Game.

For sale at all news stands, price ten cents.

出典:Project Gutenberg『Daddy-Long-Legs』by Jean Webster をもとに、英語学習用の英文・和訳・語句色分け形式に編集しています。

あしながおじさん

『あしながおじさん』英文/和訳 CHAPTER V 二年生の一年 続き Part 1 『あしながおじさん』英文/和訳 CHAPTER VI 三年生の一年