Half Holiday (II-3)

Half Holiday (II-3)
Aldous Huxley

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In his imagination he re-acted the scene, not as it had really happened, but as it ought to have happened. When Coo slipped the note into his hand he smiled and courteously returned it, saying: "I'm afraid you've made a mistake. A quite justifiable mistake, I admit. For I look poor, and indeed I am poor. But I am a gentleman, you know. My father was a doctor in Rochdale. My mother was a doctor's daughter. I went to a good school till my people died. They died when I was sixteen, within a few months of one another.

So I had to go to work before I'd finished my schooling. But you see that I can't take your money." And then, becoming more gallant, personal and confidential, he went on: "I separated those beastly dogs because I wanted to do something for you and your friend. Because I thought you so beautiful and wonderful. So that even if I weren't a gentleman, I wouldn't take your money." Coo was deeply touched by this little speech. She shook him by the hand and told him how sorry she was.

And he put her at her ease by assuring her that her mistake had been perfectly comprehensible. And then she asked if he'd care to come along with them and take a cup of tea. And from this point onward Peter's imaginings became vaguer and rosier, till he was dreaming the old familiar dream of the peer's daughter, the grateful widow and the lonely orphan; only there happened to be two goddesses this time, and their faces, instead of being dim creations of fancy, were real and definite.

But he knew, even in the midst of his dreaming, that things hadn't happened like this. He knew that she had gone before he could say anything; and that even if he had run after them and tried to make his speech of explanation, he could never have done it. For example, he would have had to say that his father was a "medico," not a doctor (m being an easier letter than d).

And when it came to telling them that his people had died, he would have had to say that they had 'perished'―which would sound facetious, as though he were trying to make a joke of it. No, no, the truth must be faced. He had taken the money and they had gone away thinking that he was just some sort of a street loafer, who had risked a bite for the sake of a good tip. They hadn't even dreamed of treating him as an equal. As for asking him to tea and making him their friend...

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But his fancy was still busy. It struck him that it had been quite unnecessary to make any explanation. He might simply have forced the note back into her hand, without saying a word. Why hadn't he done it? He had to excuse himself for his remissness. She had slipped away too quickly; that was the reason.

Or what if he had walked on ahead of them and ostentatiously given the money to the first street-boy he happened to meet? A good idea, that. Unfortunately it had not occurred to him at the time.

All that afternoon Peter walked and walked, thinking of what had happened, imagining creditable and satisfying alternatives. But all the time he knew that these alternatives were only fanciful. Sometimes the recollection of his humiliation was so vivid that it made him physically wince and shudder.

The light began to fail. In the gray and violet twilight the lovers pressed closer together as they walked, more frankly clasped one another beneath the trees. Strings of yellow lamps blossomed in the increasing darkness. High up in the pale sky overhead, a quarter of the moon made itself visible. He felt unhappier and lonelier than ever.

His bitten hand was by this time extremely painful. He left the Park and walked along Oxford Street till he found a chemist. When his hand had been disinfected and bandaged he went into a tea-shop and ordered a poached e, g, g, a roll, and a mug of mocha, which he had to translate for the benefit of the uncomprehending waitress as a c, u, p of c, o, f, f, e, e.

"You seem to think I'm a loafer or a tout." That's what he ought to have said to her, indignantly and proudly. "You've insulted me. If you were a man, I'd knock you down. Take your dirty money." But then, he reflected, he could hardly have expected them to become his friends, after that. On second thoughts, he decided that indignation would have been no good.

"Hurt your hand?" asked the waitress sympathetically, as she set down his egg and his mug of mocha.

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Peter nodded. "B-bitten by a d-d... by a h-h-hound." The word burst out at last, explosively.

Remembered shame made him blush as he spoke. Yes, they had taken him for a tout; they had treated him as though he didn't really exist, as though he were just an instrument whose services you hired and to which, when the bill had been paid, you gave no further thought.

The remembrance of humiliation was so vivid; the realization of it so profound and complete, that it affected not only his mind but his body too. His heart beat with unusual rapidity and violence; he felt sick. It was with the greatest difficulty that he managed to eat his egg and drink his mug of mocha.

Still remembering the painful reality, still feverishly constructing his fanciful alternatives to it, Peter left the tea shop and, though he was very tired, resumed his aimless walking. He walked along Oxford Street as far as the Circus, turned down Regent Street, halted in Piccadilly to look at the epileptically twitching sky signs, walked up Shaftesbury Avenue, and turning southward made his way through by-streets toward the Strand.

In a street near Covent Garden a woman brushed against him. "Cheer up, dearie," she said. "Don't look so glum."

Peter looked at her in astonishment. Was it possible that she should have been speaking to him? A woman‒was it possible? He knew, of course, that she was what people called a bad woman. But the fact that she should have spoken to him seemed none the less extraordinary; and he did not connect it, somehow, with her "badness."

"Come along with me," she wheedled.

Peter nodded. He could not believe it was true. She took his arm.

"You got money?" she asked anxiously.

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He nodded again.

"You look as though you'd been to a funeral," said the woman.

"I'm l-lonely," he explained. He felt ready to weep. He even longed to weep―to weep and to be comforted. His voice trembled as he spoke.

"Lonely? That's funny. A nice-looking boy like you's got no call to be lonely." She laughed significantly and without mirth.

Her bedroom was dimly and pinkly lighted. A smell of cheap scent and unwashed underlinen haunted the air.

"Wait a tick," she said, and disappeared through a door into an inner room.

He sat there, waiting. A minute later she returned, wearing a kimono and bedroom slippers. She sat on his knees, threw her arms round his neck and began to kiss him. "Lovey," she said in her cracked voice, "lovey." Her eyes were hard and cold. Her breath smelt of spirits. Seen at close range she was indescribably horrible.

Peter saw her, it seemed to him, for the first time―saw and completely realized her. He averted his face. Remembering the peer's daughter who had sprained her ankle, the lonely orphan, the widow whose child had tumbled into the Round Pond; remembering Coo and Husky, he untwined her arms, he pushed her away from him, he sprang to his feet.

"S-sorry," he said. "I must g-g... I'd forgotten something. I..." He picked up his hat and moved toward the door.

The woman ran after him and caught him by the arm. "You young devil, you," she screamed. Her abuse was horrible and filthy. "Asking a girl and then trying to sneak away without paying. Oh, no you don't, no you don't. You..."

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And the abuse began again.

Peter dipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out Coo's neatly folded note. "L-let me g-go," he said as he gave it her.

While she was suspiciously unfolding it, he hurried away, slamming the door behind him, and ran down the dark stairs, into the street.

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Half Holiday (II-2)

Half Holiday (II-2)
Aldous Huxley

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Peter turned and approached the goddesses. Husky had narrow eyes and a sad mouth; it was a thin, tragic-looking face. Coo was rounder, pinker and whiter, bluer-eyed. Peter looked from one to the other and could not decide which was the more beautiful.

He lowered the writhing Pongo. "Here's your dog," was what he wanted to say. But the loveliness of these radiant creatures suddenly brought back all his self-consciousness and with his self-consciousness his stammer. "Here's your..." he began; but could not bring out the dog. D, for Peter, was always a difficult letter.

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For all common words beginning with a difficult letter Peter had a number of easier synonyms in readiness. Thus, he always called cats 'pussies,' not out of any affectation of childishness, but because p was more pronounceable than the impossible c. Coal he had to render in the vaguer form of 'fuel.' Dirt, with him, was always 'muck.'

In the discovery of synonyms he had become almost as ingenious as those Anglo-Saxon poets who, using alliteration instead of rhyme, were compelled, in their efforts to make (shall we say) the sea begin with the same letter as its waves or its billows, to call it the 'whale-road' or the 'bath of the swans.'

But Peter, who could not permit himself the full poetic license of his Saxon ancestors, was reduced sometimes to spelling the most difficult words to which there happened to be no convenient and prosaic equivalent. Thus, he was never quite sure whether he should call a cup a mug or a c, u, p. And since 'ovum' seemed to be the only synonym for egg, he was always reduced to talking of e, g, g' s.

At the present moment, it was the miserable little word 'dog' that was holding him up. Peter had several synonyms for dog. P being a slightly easier letter than d, he could, when not too nervous, say 'pup.' Or if the p's weren't coming easily, he could call the animal, rather facetiously and mock-heroically, a 'hound.' But the presence of the two goddesses was so unnerving that Peter found it as hopelessly impossible to pronounce a p or an h as a d. He hesitated painfully, trying to bring out in turn, first dog, then pup, then hound. His face became very red. He was in an agony.

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"Here's your whelp," he managed to say at last. The word, he was conscious, was a little too Shakespearean for ordinary conversation. But it was the only one which came.

"Thank you most awfully," said Coo.

"You were splendid, really splendid," said Husky. "But I'm afraid you're hurt."

"Oh, it's n-nothing," Peter declared. And twisting his handkerchief round the bitten hand, he thrust it into his pocket.

Coo, meanwhile, had fastened the end of her leash to Pongo's collar. "You can put him down now," she said.

Peter did as he was told. The little black dog immediately bounded forward in the direction of his reluctantly retreating enemy. He came to the end of his tether with a jerk that brought him up on to his hind legs and kept him, barking, in the position of a rampant lion on a coat of arms.

"But are you sure it's nothing?" Husky insisted. "Let me look at it."

Obediently, Peter pulled off the handkerchief and held out his hand. It seemed to him that all was happening as he had hoped. Then he noticed with horror that the nails were dirty. If only, if only he had thought of washing before he went out! What would they think of him? Blushing, he tried to withdraw his hand. But Husky held it.

"Wait," she said. And then added: "It's a nasty bite."

"Horrid," affirmed Coo, who had also bent over it. "I'm so awfully sorry that my stupid dog should have..."

"You ought to go straight to a chemist," said Husky, interrupting her, "and get him to disinfect it and tie it up."

She lifted her eyes from his hand and looked into his face.

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"A chemist," echoed Coo, and also looked up.

Peter looked from one to the other, dazzled equally by the wide-open blue eyes and the narrowed, secret eyes of green. He smiled at them vaguely and vaguely shook his head. Unobtrusively he wrapped up his hand in his handkerchief and thrust it away, out of sight.

"It's n-nothing," he said.

"But you must," insisted Husky.

"You must," cried Coo.

"N-nothing," he repeated. He didn't want to go to a chemist. He wanted to stay with the goddesses.

Coo turned to Husky. "Qu'est-ce qu'on donne à ce petit bonhomme?" she asked, speaking very quickly and in a low voice.

Husky shrugged her shoulders and made a little grimace suggestive of uncertainty. "II serait offensé, peut-être," she suggested.

"Tu crois?"

Husky stole a rapid glance at the subject of their discussion, taking him in critically from his cheap felt hat to his cheap boots, from his pale, spotty face to his rather dirty hands, from his steel-framed spectacles to his leather watch-guard. Peter saw that she was looking at him and smiled at her with shy, vague rapture. How beautiful she was! He wondered what they had been whispering about together. Perhaps they were debating whether they should ask him to tea. And no sooner had the idea occurred to him than he was sure of it.

Miraculously, things were happening just as they happened in his dreams. He wondered if he would have the face to tell them―this first time―that they could look for taxis in his heart.

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Husky turned back to her companion. Once more she shrugged her shoulders. "Vraiment, je ne sais pas," she whispered.

"Si on lui donnait une livre?" suggested Coo.

Husky nodded. "Comme tu voudras." And while the other turned away to fumble unobtrusively in her purse, she addressed herself to Peter.

"You were awfully brave," she said, smiling.

Peter could only shake his head, blush and lower his eyes from before that steady, self-assured, cool gaze. He longed to look at her; but when it came to the point, he simply could not keep his eyes steadily fixed on those unwavering eyes of hers.

"Perhaps you're used to dogs," she went on. "Have you got one of your own?"

"N-no," Peter managed to say.

"Ah, well, that makes it all the braver," said Husky. Then, noticing that Coo had found the money she had been looking for, she took the boy's hand and shook it, heartily. "Well, good-bye," she said, smiling more exquisitely than ever. "We're so awfully grateful to you. Most awfully," she repeated.

And as she did so, she wondered why she used that word 'awfully' so often. Ordinarily she hardly ever used it. It had seemed suitable somehow, when she was talking with this creature. She was always very hearty and emphatic and school-boyishly slangy when she was with the lower classes.

"G-g-g..." began Peter. Could they be going, he wondered in an agony, suddenly waking out of his comfortable and rosy dream. Really going, without asking him to tea or giving him their addresses? He wanted to implore them to stop a little longer, to let him see them again. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to utter the necessary words.

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In the face of Husky's goodbye he felt like a man who sees some fearful catastrophe impending and can do nothing to arrest it. "G-g...," he feebly stuttered. But he found himself shaking hands with the other one before he had got to the end of that fatal goodbye.

"You were really splendid," said Coo, as she shook his hand. "Really splendid. And you simply must go to a chemist and have the bite, disinfected at once. Goodbye, and thank you very, very much." As she spoke these last words she slipped a neatly folded one-pound note into his palm and with her two hands shut his fingers over it. "Thank you so much," she repeated.

Violently blushing, Peter shook his head. "N-n..." he began, and tried to make her take the note back.

But she only smiled more sweetly. "Yes, yes," she insisted. "Please." And without waiting to hear any more, she turned and ran lightly after Husky, who had walked on, up the path, leading the reluctant Pongo, who still barked and strained heraldically at his leash.

"Well, that's all right," she said, as she came up with her companion.

"He accepted it?" asked Husky.

"Yes, yes," She nodded. Then changing her tone, "Let me see," she went on, "what were we saying when this wretched dog interrupted us?"

"N-no," Peter managed to say at last. But she had already turned and was hurrying away. He took a couple of strides in pursuit; then checked himself. It was no good. It would only lead to further humiliation if he tried to explain. Why, they might even think, while he was standing there, straining to bring out his words, that he had run after them to ask for more. They might slip another pound into his hand and hurry away still faster. He watched them till they were out of sight, over the brow of the hill; then turned back toward the Serpentine.

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Half Holiday(II-1)

Half Holiday (II-1)

Aldous Huxley

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II

The two young women turned out of the crowded walk along the edge of the Serpentine, and struck uphill by a smaller path in the direction of Watts's statue. Peter followed them. An exquisite perfume lingered in the air behind them.

He breathed it greedily and his heart began to beat with unaccustomed violence. They seemed to him marvelous and hardly human beings. They were all that was lovely and unattainable. He had met them walking down there, by the Serpentine, had been overwhelmed by that glimpse of a luxurious and arrogant beauty, had turned immediately and followed them. Why? He hardly knew himself. Merely in order that he might be near them; and perhaps with the fantastic, irrepressible hope that something might happen, some miracle, that should project him into their lives.

Greedily he sniffed their delicate perfume; with a kind of desperation, as though his life depended on it, he looked at them, he studied them. Both were tall.

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One of them wore a gray cloth coat, trimmed with dark gray fur. The other's coat was all of fur; a dozen or two of ruddily golden foxes had been killed in order that she might be warm among the chilly shadows of this spring afternoon. One of them wore gray and the other buff-colored stockings.

One walked on gray kid, the other on serpent's leather. Their hats were small and close-fitting. A small black French bulldog accompanied them, running now at their heels, now in front of them. The dog's collar was trimmed with brindled wolf's fur that stuck out like a ruff round its black head.

Peter walked so close behind them that, when they were out of the crowd, he could hear snatches of their talk. One had a cooing voice; the other spoke rather huskily. "Such a divine man," the husky voice was saying, "such a really divine man!"

"So Elizabeth told me," said the cooing one.

"Such a perfect party, too," Husky went on. "He kept us laughing the whole evening. Everybody got rather buffy, too. When it was time to go, I said I'd walk and trust to luck to find a taxi on the way. Whereupon he invited me to come and look for a taxi in his heart. He said there were so many there, and all of them disengaged."

They both laughed. The chatter of a party of children who had come up from behind and were passing at this moment prevented Peter from hearing what was said next. Inwardly he cursed the children. Beastly little devils―they were making him lose his revelation. And what a revelation! Of how strange, unfamiliar and gaudy a life! Peter's dreams had always been idyllic and pastoral. Even with the peer's daughter he meant to live in the country, quietly and domestically.

The world in which there are perfect parties where everybody gets rather buffy and divine men invite young goddesses to look for taxis in their hearts was utterly unknown to him. He had had a glimpse of it now; it fascinated him by its exotic and tropical strangeness. His whole ambition was now to enter this gorgeous world, to involve himself, somehow and at all costs, in the lives of these goddesses.

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Suppose, now, they were both simultaneously to trip over that projecting root and twist their ankles. Suppose... But they both stepped over it in safety. And then, all at once, he saw a hope―in the bulldog.

The dog had left the path to sniff at the base of an elm tree growing a few yards away on the right. It had sniffed, it had growled, it had left a challenging souvenir of its visit and was now indignantly kicking up earth and twigs with its hinder paws against the tree, when a yellow Irish terrier trotted up and began in its turn to sniff, first at the tree, then at the bulldog. The bulldog stopped its scrabbling in the dirt and sniffed at the terrier. Cautiously, the two beasts walked round one another, sniffing and growling as they went.

Peter watched them for a moment with a vague and languid curiosity. His mind was elsewhere; he hardly saw the two dogs. Then, in an illuminating flash, it occurred to him that they might begin to fight. If they fought, he was a made man. He would rush in and separate them, heroically. He might even be bitten. But that didn't matter. Indeed, it would be all the better. A bite would be another claim on the goddesses' gratitude.

Ardently, he hoped that the dogs would fight. The awful thing would be if the goddesses or the owners of the yellow terrier were to notice and interfere before the fight could begin. "Oh God," he fervently prayed, "don't let them call the dogs away from each other now. But let the dogs fight. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." Peter had been piously brought up.

The children had passed. The voices of the goddesses once more became audible.

"...Such a fearful bore," the cooing one was saying. "I can never move a step without finding him there. And nothing penetrates his hide. I've told him that I hate Jews, that I think he's ugly and stupid and tactless and impertinent and boring. But it doesn't seem to make the slightest difference."

"You should make him useful, at any rate," said Husky.

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"Oh, I do," affirmed Coo.

"Well, that's something."

"Something," Coo admitted. "But not much."

There was a pause. "Oh, God," prayed Peter, "don't let them see."

"If only," began Coo meditatively, "if only men would understand that..." A fearful noise of growling and barking violently interrupted her. The two young women turned in the direction from which the sound came.

"Pongo!" they shouted in chorus, anxiously and commandingly. And again, more urgently, "Pongo!"

But their cries were unavailing. Pongo and the yellow terrier were already fighting too furiously to pay any attention.

"Pongo! Pongo!"

And, "Benny!" the little girl and her stout nurse to whom the yellow terrier belonged as unavailingly shouted. "Benny, come here!"

The moment had come, the passionately anticipated, the richly pregnant moment. Exultantly, Peter threw himself on the dogs. "Get away, you brute," he shouted, kicking the Irish terrier. For the terrier was the enemy, the French bulldog―their French bulldog―the friend whom he had come, like one of the Olympian gods in the Iliad, to assist. "Get away!" In his excitement, he forgot that he had a stammer. The letter G was always a difficult one for him; but he managed on this occasion to shout "Get away" without a trace of hesitation.

He grabbed at the dogs by their stumpy tails, by the scruffs of their necks, and tried to drag them apart. From time to time he kicked the yellow terrier. But it was the bulldog which bit him. Stupider even than Ajax, the bulldog had failed to understand that the immortal was fighting on his side. But Peter felt no resentment and, in the heat of the moment, hardly any pain. The blood came oozing out of a row of jagged holes in his left hand.

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"Ooh!" cried Coo, as though it were her hand that had been bitten.

"Be careful," anxiously admonished Husky. "Be careful."

The sound of their voices nerved him to further efforts. He kicked and he tugged still harder, and at last, for a fraction of a second, he managed to part the angry beasts. For a fraction of a second neither dog had any portion of the other's anatomy in his mouth.

Peter seized the opportunity, and catching the French bulldog by the loose skin at the back of his neck, he lifted him, still furiously snapping, growling and struggling, into the air. The yellow terrier stood in front of him, barking and every now and then leaping up in a frantic effort to snap the dangling black paws of his enemy. But Peter, with the gesture of Perseus raising on high the severed head of the Gorgon, lifted the writhing Pongo out of danger to the highest stretch of his arm.

The yellow dog he kept off with his foot;and the nurse and the little girl, who had by this time somewhat recovered their presence of mind, approached the furious animal from behind and succeeded at last in hooking the leash to his collar. His four rigidly planted paws skidding over the grass, the yellow terrier was dragged away by main force, still barking, though feebly―for he was being half strangled by his efforts to escape. Suspended six feet above the ground by the leathery black scruff of his neck, Pongo vainly writhed.

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Half Holiday (I)

Half Holiday (I)
Aldous Huxley

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It was Saturday afternoon and fine. In the hazy spring sunlight London was beautiful, like a city of the imagination. The lights were golden, the shadows blue and violet. Incorrigibly hopeful, the sooty trees in the Park were breaking into leaf; and the new green was unbelievably fresh and light and aerial, as though the tiny leaves had been cut out of the central emerald stripe of a rainbow. The miracle, to all who walked in the Park that afternoon, was manifest.

그날은 토요일 오후 였고 화창했다. 눈부신 봄의 햇볕아래 런던은 상상의 도시처럼 아름다웠다. 햇볕은 금색이었고 그늘은 파랗고 보랏빛이었다. 공원(=런던의 하이드 파크)의 검댕이(sooty) 나무들에서 돌이킬 수 없이(incorrigibly) 희망찬 잎들이 돋아났다. (그 잎들의) 신록(the new green)은 믿을 수 없이 신선했고 밝고 천상(aerial)의 그것이었다. 마치 작은 잎들이 무지개의 가운데 에머랄드 띠가 돋아난 것처럼 보였다(as though).

The miracle, to all who walked in the Park that afternoon, was manifest.

1. 기적이 그날 오후에 공원을 걷는 모든이에게 끌려 나왔다(be manifest).

2. 그날 공원을 걷는 모든 이들에게서 (봄의) 기적이 드러났다.

3. 봄의 기적이 사람들을 공원으로 불러냈다.

4. 그날 공원을 걷는 모든 이들에게서 봄빛이 역력했다.

What had been dead now lived; soot was budding into rainbow green. Yes, it was manifest. And, moreover, those who perceived this thaumaturgical change from death to life were themselves changed.

죽었던 것이 살아났다. 검댕이(soot=죽었던 것)이 무지개의 녹색으로 피어난 것이다(was budding). 그렇다. 그것(=기적)이 드러난 것이다. [죽은 것이 살아나는 기적이 일어났다.] 게다가 죽음에서 생명으로 바꿔낸 이 초자연적인(thaumaturgical=miraculous) 변화를 알아챈 사람들은 스스로를 변화 시켰다(were changed). [봄볓에 이끌려 나온 사람들이 봄의 정취에 녹아들었다.]

There was something contagious about the vernal miracle. Loving more, the loitering couples under the trees were happier―or much more acutely miserable.

봄의 기적에는 뭔가 점염성(contagious)이 있었다. 나무 아래를 배회하는(loitering) 커플들은 /더욱 사랑하게 되어서(loving)/ 더 행복했다. 어쩌면 더욱 격렬히 불행했다[죽도록 좋았다?].

Stout men took off their hats and, while the sun kissed their bald heads, made good resolutions―about whisky, about the pretty typist at the office, about early rising.

뚱뚱한 남자가 모자를 벋고 태양이 그들의 대머리에 입맞춤하는 동안 선한 다짐(good resolution)을 했다. 위스키에 대한 선한 다짐(=술을 많이 마시지 않겠다), 사무실의 예쁜 타자수에 대한 선한 다짐(=사무실 여직원 추근대지 않기), 일찍 일어나기에 관한 선한 다짐(=근면하겠다).

Accosted by spring-intoxicated boys, young girls consented, in the teeth of all their upbringing and their alarm, to go for walks.

봄에 취한(intoxicated) 청년에 의해 말이 걸려진 [수동태구문] 젊은 처녀들이[봄에 취한 청년들이 젊은 처녀들에게 말을 걸었다] 그녀들의 모든 가정교육(upbringing)과 경고(alarm)에도 불구하고 산책하자는 말에 동의했다(consented).

봄에 취한 소년들이 젊은 소녀들에게 말을 걸었다(accost). 그녀들이 받은(their) [자라면서 받은] 가정교육(upbringing)과 그녀들이 받은(their) [남자들을 조심하라는] 경고(alarm)에도 불구하고(in the teeth of~=in spite of~) 소녀들은 같이 산책하자는 (제의에) 동의했다. 

Middle aged gentlemen, strolling homeward through the Park, suddenly felt their crusted, business-grimy hearts burgeoning, like these trees, with kindness and generosity.

공원을 질러 집으로 배회하던(strolling=마지못해 집으로 가던) 중년의 남자들은 갑자기 그들의 딱딱하게 껍질돋은(crusted; 해묵은), 일에 찌든(grimy) 마음에 친절함과 배려심의 새싹이 돋는것(burgeon)을 느꼈다(felt their heart burgeoning)/마치 이 나무들 처럼.

* 봄의 생동이 소녀들이 소년들의 꾐에 넘어가도록 했고 중년의 남자들은 정신차리게 했다. 그럼 중년의 여성은? 작가의 시각이 다분히 남성 위주다. 작가는 20세기 초반의 남성이다. 그렇다면 현대 작가라면 성인지 감수성 시비가 붙었을까? 쉽지 않은 시대를 살고 있다.

They thought of their wives, thought of them with a sudden gush of affection, in spite of twenty years of marriage. "Must stop on the way back," they said to themselves, "and buy the missus a little present." What should it be? A box of candied fruits? She liked candied fruits. Or a pot of azaleas? Or...

중년의 남자들은 그들의 아내를 생각했다. 갑자기 애정이 솟구쳐(gush) 그녀들(them)을 생각했다/결혼 20년임에도 불구하고. "오는길에 멈춰서 아내들에게 선물을 샀어야 했다"라고 스스로에게 말했다. 뭐였으면(should; 실제로 사지 않은 사실을 가정하며) 좋았을까? 과일 사탕 한상자? 아내는 사탕발린 과일 (c.f fruit-candy 과일사탕)을 좋아했다.

 

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And then they remembered that it was Saturday afternoon. The shops would all be shut. And probably, they thought, sighing, the missus's heart would also be shut; for the missus had not walked under the budding trees.

그러가 그들(중년 남자들)은 토요일 오후라는 걸 생각해냈다. 가게는 닫혔을 터였다. 아마도 아내들의 마음 또한 닫혀 있으리라는 생각에 한숨이 나왔다. 아내들은 싹트는 나무 아래를 걸어보지 않았을 터였기 때문이다.

Such is life, they reflected, looking sadly at the boats on the glittering Serpentine, at the playing children, at the lovers sitting, hand in hand, on the green grass. Such is life; when the heart is open, the shops are generally shut. But they resolved nevertheless to try, in future, to control their tempers.

반짝이는 서펜타인(호수)위 배들과 노는 어이들과 녹색잔디에 손을 마주잡고 앉아있는 연인들을 슬프게 바라보며 그게 인생이라고 회상했다. 마음이 열렸을때 가게문은 대개 닫혀있다니 그것이 인생이다. [이상과 현실의 괴리를 느낌] 하지만 그들(중년남자들)은 그녀들(아내들)의 화를 달래기 위해(to control) 조만간(in future) 시도해 보리라고 다짐했다.

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On Peter Brett, as on everyone else who came within their range of influence, this bright spring sunlight and the new-budded trees profoundly worked.

그것들의(their=봄볕과 움튼 나무들) 영향권안으로 들어온 누구에게나 그랬듯이/피터 브렛에게/ 이 빛나는 봄의 햇볕과 새로 움튼 나무들이 제대로(profoundly) 작동했다(worked=영향을 주었다).

* worked: 다른 사람에게는 기쁨을 주었으나 피터에게는 슬픔으로 작동했다. 같은 현상이 서로 상반된 영향을 주었으므로 '감동' 보다 중성적인 단어로 work 가 사용됨. 

They made him feel, all at once, more lonely, more heart-broken than he had ever felt before. By contrast with the brightness around him, his soul seemed darker. The trees had broken into leaf; but he remained dead. The lovers walked in couples; he walked alone.

그것들(they=봄볕과 움튼 나무들)이 그(피터)를 단박에 더욱 외롭고, 더욱 심상하게 느끼게 했다/그 이전에 느껴던 어느때 보다도. 나무들은 잎이 터져나왔지만 그는 죽은 채였다. 연인들은 짝을 이뤄 걸었지만 그는 혼자다.

In spite of the spring, in spite of the sunshine, in spite of the fact that to-day was Saturday and that to-morrow would be Sunday―or rather because of all these things which should have made him happy and which did make other people happy―he loitered through the miracle of Hyde Park feeling deeply miserable. As usual, he turned for comfort to his imagination.

봄 임에도 불구하고, 햇살이 눈부심(sunshine)에도 불구하고, 오늘이 토요일이고 내일은 일요일 일거라는 사실에도 불구하고, 오히려(rather) 이 모든 것들이 그를 행복하게 만드는 것이며 다른 사람들을 행복하게 만드는 것이었음에도 불구하고 가슴깊이 불행을 느끼며 하이드 파크의 [봄이 만들어낸] 기적 사이를 거닐었다(loiter). 여느때 처럼, 편안함을 찾아(for comfort) 그는 자신의 상상에 빠져들었다. [현실을 외면하고 상상에 빠지는게 편했다.]

For example, a lovely young creature would slip on a loose stone just in front of him and twist her ankle. Grown larger than life and handsomer, Peter would rush forward to administer first aid. He would take her in a taxi (for which he had money to pay) to her home―in Grosvenor Square. She turned out to be a peer's daughter. They loved each other....

일테면, 사랑스런 젊은 피조물(creature; 여성 대신 중성적 단어 사용한 이유는?)이 그의 바로 앞에서 길가의 돌뿌리(loose stone)에 미끄러져 발목을 접지르는 것이리라(would~). (상상속에서는) 몸집이 더 커지고 더 잘생겨져서 피터는 응급조치(first aid)를 취하려고 앞으로 나섰으리라. 그는 분명 (택시 삯을 할 돈이 있으니까) 그녀를 그녀 집인 그로스베너 스퀘어를 향해 택시를 잡아탓다. 그녀는 귀족의 딸로 밝혀졌다(turn out). 그들(피터와 귀족의 딸)은 서로 사랑에 빠지고......

Or else he rescued a child that had fallen into the Round Pond and so earned the eternal gratitude, and more than the gratitude, of its rich young widowed mother. Yes, widowed; Peter always definitely specified her widowhood. His intentions were strictly honorable. He was still very young and had been well brought up.

아니면 라운드 호에 빠진 아이를 구출하여 아이의 부자 미망인 엄마의 영원한 감사를,그냥 감사가 아니라, 받는다. 그렇다. 미망인이다. 피터는 항상 (상상속의) 그녀를 반드시 미망인으로 규정해 뒀다. 그의 의도는 분명히 명예였다. (상상속의) 그는 아주 젊고 좋은 가정에서 자랐다(bring up).

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Or else there was no preliminary accident.

아니면 사고를 전제하지 않고 (상상을) 할 수 있다.

He just saw a young girl sitting on a bench by herself, looking very lonely and sad. Boldly, yet courteously, he approached, he took off his hat, he smiled. "I can see that you're lonely," he said; and he spoke elegantly and with ease, without a trace of his Lancashire accent, without so much as a hint of that dreadful stammer which, in real life, made speech such a torment to him. "I can see that you're lonely. So am I. May I sit down beside you?" She smiled, and he sat down.

아주 외롭고 슬퍼보이는(looking~) 젊은 여자가 자신을 보며[see ~ by oneself; 수그린채 의기 소침한 모습] 벤치에 앉아있다. 대담하게 하지만 정중히 그는 다가가서 모자를 벗고 미소지었다. "당신은 외로워 보이는 군요." 그가 말했다. [그 말을 하는 동안; 세미콜론(;)은 앞 상황을 부연 설명할때 사용됨] 그는 우아하고 편안함(음성)으로 랭카샤이어 억양(사투리)이 묻어나지 않고 끔찍한 말더듬이 기색(hint of~)은 전혀 없이 그가 말했다. 실제로는 그것[=끔찍한 말더듬]이 그의 말하기를 괴롭히는 것(such a torment)이었다. "외로워 보이는 군요. 저도 그래요. 당신 옆에 앉아도 되겠습니까?"

And then he told her that he was an orphan and that all he had was a married sister who lived in Rochdale. And she said, "I'm an orphan too." And that was a great bond between them. And they told one another how miserable they were. And she began to cry. And then he said, "Don't cry. You've got me." And at that she cheered up a little. And then they went to the pictures together. And finally, he supposed, they got married.

그리고 그는 자기가 고아였고 그가 가진 것(일가친척)은 오직 결혼한 누이인데 결혼해서 로슈데일에 산다고 말했다. 그러면 그녀도 "저도 고아예요."라고 말했다. 그리고 그것(고아로서 외로움)이 그둘 사이의 강한 공감(bond)이 되었다. 그리고 서로 얼마나 불행하게 살았는지 서로 말했다. 그리고 그녀가 울기 시작했다. 그리고 그가 "울지말아요. 내가 있잖아요."라고 말했다. 그리고 그말이 그녀를 약간은 기운을 냈다. 그리고 둘이 함께 영화보러 갔다(go to the picture). 그리고 마침내 결혼을 하리라고 그는 생각했다. [상상을 시간순으로 and 로 이어가고 있다. 마치 일이 착착 진행되는 듯하다.]

But that part of the story was a little dim.

하지만 그 이야기의 일부는 좀 침울했다. [앞선 상상에는 귀족의 딸, 부자 미망인이 등장하고 자신도 우아하고 잘생긴 남자로 꾸몄던 것과 비교해보자. 이야기 일부가 침울한 이유는 이야기 속의 자신과 실제 자신은 정 반대이기 때문이다.]

But of course, as a matter of fact, no accidents ever did happen and he never had the courage to tell anyone how lonely he was; and his stammer was something awful; and he was small, he wore spectacles, and nearly always had pimples on his face; and his dark gray suit was growing very shabby and rather short in the sleeves; and his boots, though carefully blacked, looked just as cheap as they really were.

하지만 사실은 사건이 일어난 적도 없고 얼마나 외롭냐고 물어볼 용기를 낸 적도 없었다. 그의 말더듬이 끔찍했었기 때문이다.[세미콜론으로 말할 용기를 못낸 이유를 설명함] 그리고 그는 키작고 안경쓰고 얼굴이 온통 뾰루지(pimple) 퉁성이였다. 그의 칙칙한 갈색 양복은 [낡아서] 허름(shabby) 해졌고 소매는 되레 짧아졌다. 그의 구두는 비록 구두약을 잘 먹였긴(carefully black) 하나 아주 싸구려 같았다. 실제로 정말 싸구려다. [연속된 세미콜론으로 무슨 사고가 나더라도 나서봐야 별수 없는 자신의 처지를 설명함.]

[사고가 난다던가 외로운 여자를 발견하는 등의 환경이 도와 주더라도 자신의 초라함으로 인해 상상속의 주인공이 될 수 없음을 한탄하는 중]

It was the boots which killed his imaginings this afternoon. Walking with downcast eyes, pensively, he was trying to decide what he should say to the peer's lovely young daughter in the taxi on the way to Grosvenor Square, when he suddenly became aware of his alternately striding boots, blackly obtruding themselves through the transparent phantoms of his inner life.

그날 오후 그의 상상을 망가뜨린 것은 구두였다. 무심히(pensively) 눈을 내리깔고 걸으며 그로스베너 스퀘어로 가는 택시 안에서 귀족의 사랑스런 젊은 딸에게 무슨말을 하면 좋을지 정하려는 참이었다. 그때(when) 그의 내면 삶의 투명한 환상(phantoms)을 깨고(through) 음침하게(blackly) 자신(themselves=boots)을 불쑥 드러낸(obtruding) 번갈아 보폭을 딛는(striding) 구두를 갑자기 알아챘다(aware).

How ugly they were! And how sadly unlike those elegant and sumptuously shining boots which encase the feet of the rich!

구두(they)가 참 흉칙하구나! 그리고 부자의 발을 감싸던(encase) 우아하고 사치스럽게 빛나던 구두들과는 슬프게도 다른 것들(unlikely those)이구나!

They had been ugly enough when they were new; age had rendered them positively repulsive.

구두는 새것일 때에도 형편 없었다. 세월이 구두들(them)을 아주(positively) 혐오스레(repulsive) 바꿔 놓았다(render).

 

No boot-trees had corrected the effects of walking, and the uppers, just above the toe-caps, were deeply and hideously wrinkled. Through the polish he could see a network of innumerable little cracks in the parched and shoddy leather.

걸음을 교정해주던(correct) 구둣골(boot-trees)이 없었다. [걸음을 바쳐주던 구둣골이 (닳아서) 없어진지 오래다(had been~: 과거완료형 문장).] 구두코(the toe-caps) 윗쪽의 외피(the uppers)는 깊게 그리고 흉하게 주름져 있었다. 광을 (많이)낸 탓에(through) 바짝마르고(parched) 조악한(shoddy) 가죽에 셀수없이 많은 틈(crack)들이 그믈로 엮여있음(network)을 볼 수 있었다. 

On the outer side of the left boot the toe-cap had come unstitched and had been coarsely sewn up again; the scar was only too visible. Worn by much lacing and unlacing, the eyeholes had lost their black enamel and revealed themselves obtrusively in their brassy nakedness.

구두 왼짝의 외피에 구두코가 튿어져(unstiched) 대충(coarsely; 성기게) 다시 기웠었다(saw up). 긁힌 자욱(scar)은 그져 드러나 있다(too visible). 묶었다가 풀었다 하면서 닳은 (구두끈) 구멍들은 원래있던 검은색 에나멜이 (다 닳아) 없어져서(lost) 제멋대로(obtrusively) 자신들의 황동(brassy) 속살을 드러냈다. [구두끈 구멍을 보강 하려고 황동 금구를 박고 검은 색으로 에나멜을 칠해 두었다. 이 에나멜 칠이 벗겨진 것이다.]

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Oh, they were horrible, his boots; they were disgusting! But they'd have to last him a long time yet.

아, 그의 구두들은 끔찍했다. 역겨웠다! 그러나 그것들(구두들)은 그(him=피터)를 오래 (잡아)두지는 못했다. [피터는 구두 생각은 이내 잊었다.]

Peter began to re-make the calculations he had so often and often made before. If he spent three-halfpence less every day on his lunch; if, during the fine weather, he were to walk to the office every morning instead of taking the bus...

피터는 이전에도 자주 아주 자주 해왔던 계산을 다시 하기 시작했다. 점심때 매일 3.5팬스를 아끼면, 만일 맑은 날씨에는 버스를 타는 대신 걸어서 출근하면......

But however carefully and however often he made his calculations, twenty-seven and sixpence a week always remained twenty-seven and six. Boots were dear; and when he had saved up enough to buy a new pair, there was still the question of his suit.

하지만 찬찬히 그리고 여러번(often) 그의 계산을 해봐도 주당 27실링 6펜스, (다시 계산해도) 항상 27실링 6펜스가 남았다. 구두는 살만했다. 새 켤레(pair)를 살만큼 충분한 돈을 모으고 나면(when) 여전히 양복이 문제였다. 

And, to make matters worse, it was spring; the leaves were coming out, the sun shone, and among the amorous couples he walked alone.

그리고 일이 꼬이느라고(설상가상 격으로) 때는 봄이다. 나뭇잎들이 나오고 있었고 태양이 빛을 냈다. 그리고 요염한(amorous) 커플들 사이를 그는 홀로 걷고 있었다. [옷과 구두를 해결 했다고 해도 키작고 얽은 그에게 관심줄 젊은 여성이 나타날까 싶다. 그는 여전히 외롭다.]

Reality was too much for him to-day; he could not escape. The boots pursued him whenever he tried to flee, and dragged him back to the contemplation of his misery.

오늘따라 현실은 그에게 너무 가혹했다. 그는 탈출구가 없었다. 그가 도망치려고(flee) 할수록 구두가 그를 몰아세웠다(따라왔다). 그리고 그의 불행한 생각(contemplation)속으로 끌어당기는 것이었다. [the contemplation of his misery=현실을 잊으려고 하는 애써 해보는 허망한 공상. 이후 피터는 공상과 현실에 뒤엉켜 불행한 일을 격는다.]

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[다음]

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