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Secret Garden, The Secret Garden (39)

The Secret Garden (39)

“Where you tend a rose, my lad, A thistle cannot grow.”

He had traveled far and wide since the day he saw Mistress Mary in his study and told her she might have her “bit of earth.” He had been in the most beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more than a few days. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. He had been on the tops of mountains whose heads were in the clouds and had looked down on other mountains when the sun rose and touched them with such light as made it seem as if the world were just being born.

But the light had never seemed to touch himself until one day when he realized that for the first time in ten years a strange thing had happened. He was in a wonderful valley in the Austrian Tyrol and he had been walking alone through such beauty as might have lifted, any man's soul out of shadow. He had walked a long way and it had not lifted his. But at last he had felt tired and had thrown himself down to rest on a carpet of moss by a stream. It was a clear little stream which ran quite merrily along on its narrow way through the luscious damp greenness. Sometimes it made a sound rather like very low laughter as it bubbled over and round stones. He saw birds come and dip their heads to drink in it and then flick their wings and fly away. It seemed like a thing alive and yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper. The valley was very, very still.

As he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Archibald Craven gradually felt his mind and body both grow quiet, as quiet as the valley itself. He wondered if he were going to sleep, but he was not. He sat and gazed at the sunlit water and his eyes began to see things growing at its edge. There was one lovely mass of blue forget-me-nots growing so close to the stream that its leaves were wet and at these he found himself looking as he remembered he had looked at such things years ago. He was actually thinking tenderly how lovely it was and what wonders of blue its hundreds of little blossoms were. He did not know that just that simple thought was slowly filling his mind—filling and filling it until other things were softly pushed aside. It was as if a sweet clear spring had begun to rise in a stagnant pool and had risen and risen until at last it swept the dark water away. But of course he did not think of this himself. He only knew that the valley seemed to grow quieter and quieter as he sat and stared at the bright delicate blueness. He did not know how long he sat there or what was happening to him, but at last he moved as if he were awakening and he got up slowly and stood on the moss carpet, drawing a long, deep, soft breath and wondering at himself. Something seemed to have been unbound and released in him, very quietly.

“What is it?” he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over his forehead. “I almost feel as if—I were alive!”

I do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to be able to explain how this had happened to him. Neither does anyone else yet. He did not understand at all himself—but he remembered this strange hour months afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he found out quite by accident that on this very day Colin had cried out as he went into the secret garden:

“I am going to live forever and ever and ever!”

The singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening and he slept a new reposeful sleep; but it was not with him very long. He did not know that it could be kept. By the next night he had opened the doors wide to his dark thoughts and they had come trooping and rushing back. He left the valley and went on his wandering way again. But, strange as it seemed to him, there were minutes—sometimes half-hours—when, without his knowing why, the black burden seemed to lift itself again and he knew he was a living man and not a dead one. Slowly—slowly—for no reason that he knew of—he was “coming alive” with the garden.

As the golden summer changed into the deep golden autumn he went to the Lake of Como. There he found the loveliness of a dream. He spent his days upon the crystal blueness of the lake or he walked back into the soft thick verdure of the hills and tramped until he was tired so that he might sleep. But by this time he had begun to sleep better, he knew, and his dreams had ceased to be a terror to him.

“Perhaps,” he thought, “my body is growing stronger.”

It was growing stronger but—because of the rare peaceful hours when his thoughts were changed—his soul was slowly growing stronger, too. He began to think of Misselthwaite and wonder if he should not go home. Now and then he wondered vaguely about his boy and asked himself what he should feel when he went and stood by the carved four-posted bed again and looked down at the sharply chiseled ivory-white face while it slept and, the black lashes rimmed so startlingly the close-shut eyes. He shrank from it.

One marvel of a day he had walked so far that when he returned the moon was high and full and all the world was purple shadow and silver. The stillness of lake and shore and wood was so wonderful that he did not go into the villa he lived in. He walked down to a little bowered terrace at the water's edge and sat upon a seat and breathed in all the heavenly scents of the night. He felt the strange calmness stealing over him and it grew deeper and deeper until he fell asleep.

He did not know when he fell asleep and when he began to dream; his dream was so real that he did not feel as if he were dreaming. He remembered afterward how intensely wide awake and alert he had thought he was. He thought that as he sat and breathed in the scent of the late roses and listened to the lapping of the water at his feet he heard a voice calling. It was sweet and clear and happy and far away. It seemed very far, but he heard it as distinctly as if it had been at his very side.

“Archie! Archie! Archie!” it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer than before, “Archie! Archie!”

He thought he sprang to his feet not even startled. It was such a real voice and it seemed so natural that he should hear it.

“Lilias! Lilias!” he answered. “Lilias! where are you?”

“In the garden,” it came back like a sound from a golden flute. “In the garden!”

And then the dream ended. But he did not awaken. He slept soundly and sweetly all through the lovely night. When he did awake at last it was brilliant morning and a servant was standing staring at him. He was an Italian servant and was accustomed, as all the servants of the villa were, to accepting without question any strange thing his foreign master might do. No one ever knew when he would go out or come in or where he would choose to sleep or if he would roam about the garden or lie in the boat on the lake all night. The man held a salver with some letters on it and he waited quietly until Mr. Craven took them. When he had gone away Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his hand and looking at the lake. His strange calm was still upon him and something more—a lightness as if the cruel thing which had been done had not happened as he thought—as if something had changed. He was remembering the dream—the real—real dream.

“In the garden!” he said, wondering at himself. “In the garden! But the door is locked and the key is buried deep.”

When he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one lying at the top of the rest was an English letter and came from Yorkshire. It was directed in a plain woman's hand but it was not a hand he knew. He opened it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the first words attracted his attention at once.

“Dear Sir:

I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you once on the moor. It was about Miss Mary I spoke. I will make bold to speak again. Please, sir, I would come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come and—if you will excuse me, sir—I think your lady would ask you to come if she was here.

Your obedient servant, Susan Sowerby.”

Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope. He kept thinking about the dream.

The Secret Garden (39) El jardín secreto (39) Le jardin secret (39) 秘密の花園 (39) 비밀의 정원 (39) O Jardim Secreto (39) Секретный сад (39) 秘密花园 (39) 秘密花園 (39)

When her mind gradually filled itself with robins, and moorland cottages crowded with children, with queer crabbed old gardeners and common little Yorkshire housemaids, with springtime and with secret gardens coming alive day by day, and also with a moor boy and his “creatures,” there was no room left for the disagreeable thoughts which affected her liver and her digestion and made her yellow and tired. |||به تدریج|پر شد|||پرنده‌های سرخ||دشت‌های باتلاق||||||عجیب|عجیب و غ|||||||||||||||||||||||دشت||||||||||||||||||||هضم غذا|||||| Když se její mysl postupně zaplnila červenkami a vřesovišti přeplněnými dětmi, podivnými starými zahradníky a obyčejnými yorkshirskými služebnými, jarem a tajnými zahradami, které den za dnem ožívaly, a také vřesovištěm a jeho „stvořeními, “ nezbylo místo pro nepříjemné myšlenky, které ovlivňovaly její játra a zažívání a dělaly ji žlutou a unavenou.

So long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his fears and weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and reflected hourly on humps and early death, he was a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac who knew nothing of the sunshine and the spring and also did not know that he could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. ||||||||||||||||||||تنفر|||||||||||برآمدگی‌ها|||||||||||هیپوکندریاک||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Dokud se Colin zavřel ve svém pokoji a myslel jen na svůj strach, slabost a odpor k lidem, kteří se na něj dívali a každou hodinu uvažovali o hrbech a předčasné smrti, byl hysterický pološílený malý hypochondr, který o ničem nevěděl. slunce a jaro a také nevěděl, že by se mohl uzdravit a mohl by se postavit na nohy, kdyby se o to pokusil. When new beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him, his blood ran healthily through his veins and strength poured into him like a flood. Když nové krásné myšlenky začaly vytlačovat ty staré ohavné, život se mu začal vracet, krev mu zdravě kolovala v žilách a síla se do něj vlévala jako povodeň. His scientific experiment was quite practical and simple and there was nothing weird about it at all. Jeho vědecký experiment byl docela praktický a jednoduchý a nebylo na něm vůbec nic divného. Much more surprising things can happen to anyone who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an agreeable determinedly courageous one. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||دلپذیر||| Mnohem překvapivější věci se mohou stát každému, kdo, když mu na mysl přijde nepříjemná nebo sklíčená myšlenka, stačí si včas vzpomenout a vytlačit ji tím, že vloží příjemnou, rozhodně odvážnou. Two things cannot be in one place. Dvě věci nemohou být na jednom místě.

“Where you tend a rose, my lad, A thistle cannot grow.” ||پرورش می‌دهی||گل رز||پسرم||خار|| "Tam, kde pečuješ o růži, můj chlapče, nemůže růst bodlák."

While the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming alive with it, there was a man wandering about certain far-away beautiful places in the Norwegian fiords and the valleys and mountains of Switzerland and he was a man who for ten years had kept his mind filled with dark and heart-broken thinking. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||نروژی|فیوردهای نرو|||دره‌ها||||سوئیس|||||||||||||||||||| Zatímco tajná zahrada ožívala a spolu s ní ožívaly i dvě děti, jeden muž se toulal po jistých vzdálených krásných místech v norských fjordech, údolích a horách Švýcarska a byl to muž, který deset let střežil jeho mysl byla naplněna temným a srdcem zlomeným myšlením. He had not been courageous; he had never tried to put any other thoughts in the place of the dark ones. Nebyl odvážný; nikdy se nepokusil umístit jiné myšlenky na místo temných. He had wandered by blue lakes and thought them; he had lain on mountain-sides with sheets of deep blue gentians blooming all about him and flower breaths filling all the air and he had thought them. ||سرگردان شده بود||||||||||||||||||گل‌های جنتی|||||||||||||||| Toulal se kolem modrých jezer a myslel na ně; ležel na úbočích hor s listy temně modrých hořců, které kolem něj kvetly, a květinové dechy naplňovaly všechen vzduch a on si je myslel. A terrible sorrow had fallen upon him when he had been happy and he had let his soul fill itself with blackness and had refused obstinately to allow any rift of light to pierce through. ||اندوه||||||||||||||||||||||امتناع کرد|به طرز سرس||||شکاف||||نفوذ کند| Dopadl na něj hrozný smutek, když byl šťastný a nechal svou duši naplnit se temnotou a tvrdošíjně odmítal dovolit, aby skrz ni pronikla jakákoli trhlina světla. He had forgotten and deserted his home and his duties. ||||ترک کرده||||| Zapomněl a opustil svůj domov a své povinnosti. When he traveled about, darkness so brooded over him that the sight of him was a wrong done to other people because it was as if he poisoned the air about him with gloom. ||||||غلبه کرده بود|||||||||||||||||||||||||||تیره‌گی Když cestoval, temnota ho tak zaplavila, že pohled na něj byl křivdou spáchanou na jiných lidech, protože jako by otrávil vzduch kolem sebe šerem. Most strangers thought he must be either half mad or a man with some hidden crime on his soul. Většina cizinců si myslela, že musí být buď pološílený, nebo muž s nějakým skrytým zločinem na duši. He, was a tall man with a drawn face and crooked shoulders and the name he always entered on hotel registers was, “Archibald Craven, Misselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, England.” Byl to vysoký muž s vyrýsovaným obličejem a křivými rameny a jméno, které vždy zapisoval do hotelových registrů, bylo „Archibald Craven, Misselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, Anglie“.

He had traveled far and wide since the day he saw Mistress Mary in his study and told her she might have her “bit of earth.” He had been in the most beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more than a few days. Cestoval široko daleko ode dne, kdy uviděl paní Mary ve své pracovně a řekl jí, že by mohla mít svůj „kousek země“. Byl na nejkrásnějších místech Evropy, i když nikde nezůstal déle než pár dní. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. ||||||دورترین| Vybral si nejtišší a nejvzdálenější místa. He had been on the tops of mountains whose heads were in the clouds and had looked down on other mountains when the sun rose and touched them with such light as made it seem as if the world were just being born. Byl na vrcholcích hor, jejichž hlavy byly v oblacích, a díval se dolů na jiné hory, když vyšlo slunce a dotklo se jich takovým světlem, že to vypadalo, jako by se svět právě rodil.

But the light had never seemed to touch himself until one day when he realized that for the first time in ten years a strange thing had happened. Ale zdálo se, že se ho světlo nikdy nedotklo, až si jednoho dne uvědomil, že se poprvé za deset let stala zvláštní věc. He was in a wonderful valley in the Austrian Tyrol and he had been walking alone through such beauty as might have lifted, any man's soul out of shadow. ||||||||||||||||||||||بالا برده|||||| Nacházel se v nádherném údolí v rakouském Tyrolsku a procházel se sám takovou krásou, která by dokázala pozvednout duši každého muže ze stínu. He had walked a long way and it had not lifted his. Ušel dlouhou cestu a nezvedlo ho to. But at last he had felt tired and had thrown himself down to rest on a carpet of moss by a stream. |||||||||||||||||||||رودخانه Ale nakonec se cítil unavený a vrhl se dolů, aby si odpočinul na koberci mechu u potoka. It was a clear little stream which ran quite merrily along on its narrow way through the luscious damp greenness. |||||||||شادابانه||||تنگ||||خوشمزه|مرطوب|سبزینگی سر Byl to čistý potůček, který si docela vesele utíkal svou úzkou cestou skrz šťavnatou vlhkou zeleň. Sometimes it made a sound rather like very low laughter as it bubbled over and round stones. Někdy to vydávalo zvuk, který připomínal velmi tichý smích, když bublal přes kameny. He saw birds come and dip their heads to drink in it and then flick their wings and fly away. |||||غوطه‌ور|||||||||چرخاندن||||| Viděl ptáky, jak přilétají a ponoří své hlavy, aby se do něj napili, a pak mávli křídly a odletěli. It seemed like a thing alive and yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper. |||||||||||||سکوت|| Vypadalo to jako živá věc, a přesto jeho tichý hlásek způsobil, že se ticho zdálo hlubší. The valley was very, very still. Údolí bylo velmi, velmi tiché.

As he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Archibald Craven gradually felt his mind and body both grow quiet, as quiet as the valley itself. Jak seděl a hleděl do čisté vody, Archibald Craven postupně cítil, jak jeho mysl i tělo ztichly, stejně tiché jako samotné údolí. He wondered if he were going to sleep, but he was not. Přemýšlel, jestli půjde spát, ale nespal. He sat and gazed at the sunlit water and his eyes began to see things growing at its edge. ||||||نورانی|||||||||||| Seděl a hleděl na sluncem zalitou vodu a jeho oči začaly vidět věci rostoucí na jejím okraji. There was one lovely mass of blue forget-me-nots growing so close to the stream that its leaves were wet and at these he found himself looking as he remembered he had looked at such things years ago. Jedna krásná masa modrých pomněnek rostla tak blízko potoka, že jeho listy byly mokré, a zjistil, že se na ně dívá, jak si pamatoval, že se na takové věci díval před lety. He was actually thinking tenderly how lovely it was and what wonders of blue its hundreds of little blossoms were. ||||با محبت||||||||||||||| Vlastně něžně přemýšlel, jak je to krásné a jaké zázraky modré jsou jeho stovky malých květů. He did not know that just that simple thought was slowly filling his mind—filling and filling it until other things were softly pushed aside. Nevěděl, že právě ta jednoduchá myšlenka pomalu naplňovala jeho mysl – plnila a naplňovala ji, dokud ostatní věci nebyly jemně odsunuty stranou. It was as if a sweet clear spring had begun to rise in a stagnant pool and had risen and risen until at last it swept the dark water away. ||||||||||||||راکد|||||||||||برده بود|||| Bylo to, jako by ve stojaté tůni začal vyvěrat sladký průzračný pramen a stoupal a stoupal, až nakonec temnou vodu smetl pryč. But of course he did not think of this himself. Ale on sám na to samozřejmě nemyslel. He only knew that the valley seemed to grow quieter and quieter as he sat and stared at the bright delicate blueness. |||||||||سکوت‌تر|||||||||||ظریف| Věděl jen, že se údolí zdálo být tišší a tišší, když seděl a zíral na jasnou jemnou modř. He did not know how long he sat there or what was happening to him, but at last he moved as if he were awakening and he got up slowly and stood on the moss carpet, drawing a long, deep, soft breath and wondering at himself. Nevěděl, jak dlouho tam seděl ani co se s ním děje, ale nakonec se pohnul, jako by se probouzel, pomalu vstal a postavil se na mechový koberec, zhluboka se nadechl a přemýšlel sám nad sebou. . Something seemed to have been unbound and released in him, very quietly. Zdálo se, že se v něm něco uvolnilo a uvolnilo, velmi tiše.

“What is it?” he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over his forehead. "Co je to?" řekl téměř šeptem a přejel si rukou po čele. “I almost feel as if—I were alive!” "Skoro mám pocit, jako bych byl naživu!"

I do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to be able to explain how this had happened to him. |||||||||کشف نشده|||||||||||| Nevím dost o podivuhodnosti neobjevených věcí, abych mohl vysvětlit, jak se mu to stalo. Neither does anyone else yet. Nikdo jiný zatím také ne. He did not understand at all himself—but he remembered this strange hour months afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he found out quite by accident that on this very day Colin had cried out as he went into the secret garden: Sám tomu vůbec nerozuměl – ale vzpomněl si na tu zvláštní hodinu po měsících, kdy byl znovu v Misselthwaite, a zcela náhodou zjistil, že právě toho dne Colin vykřikl, když šel do tajné zahrady:

“I am going to live forever and ever and ever!” "Budu žít navždy a navždy!"

The singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening and he slept a new reposeful sleep; but it was not with him very long. |یگانه|||||||||||||||آرامش‌بخش||||||||| Jedinečný klid mu zůstal po zbytek večera a spal novým klidným spánkem; ale dlouho to s ním nebylo. He did not know that it could be kept. Nevěděl, že by to mohlo být zachováno. By the next night he had opened the doors wide to his dark thoughts and they had come trooping and rushing back. ||||||||||||||||||به صف آمدن||به سرعت| Příští noc otevřel dveře dokořán svým temným myšlenkám a oni se hrnuli a spěchali zpět. He left the valley and went on his wandering way again. Opustil údolí a vydal se znovu na svou toulku. But, strange as it seemed to him, there were minutes—sometimes half-hours—when, without his knowing why, the black burden seemed to lift itself again and he knew he was a living man and not a dead one. ||||||||||||||||||||بار|||||||||||||||||| Ale i když se mu to zdálo divné, byly minuty – někdy i půl hodiny –, kdy, aniž by věděl proč, se zdálo, že se černé břemeno znovu samo zvedlo a on věděl, že je živý člověk, a ne mrtvý. Slowly—slowly—for no reason that he knew of—he was “coming alive” with the garden. Pomalu – pomalu – bez důvodu, o kterém věděl – zahradu „ožíval“.

As the golden summer changed into the deep golden autumn he went to the Lake of Como. ||||||||||||||||کومو Když se zlaté léto změnilo v hluboký zlatý podzim, vydal se k jezeru Como. There he found the loveliness of a dream. Tam našel krásu snu. He spent his days upon the crystal blueness of the lake or he walked back into the soft thick verdure of the hills and tramped until he was tired so that he might sleep. ||||||||||||||||||انبوه|پوشش گیاهی|||تپه‌ها||پیاده‌روی کرد||||||||| Své dny trávil v křišťálové modři jezera nebo se vrátil do měkké husté zeleně kopců a šlapal, dokud nebyl unavený, aby mohl spát. But by this time he had begun to sleep better, he knew, and his dreams had ceased to be a terror to him. ||||||||||||||||متوقف شده بودند||||ترس|| Věděl však, že tou dobou už začal lépe spát a jeho sny pro něj přestaly být hrůzou.

“Perhaps,” he thought, “my body is growing stronger.” "Možná," pomyslel si, "moje tělo sílí."

It was growing stronger but—because of the rare peaceful hours when his thoughts were changed—his soul was slowly growing stronger, too. Byl stále silnější, ale – kvůli vzácným klidným hodinám, kdy se jeho myšlenky změnily – pomalu sílila i jeho duše. He began to think of Misselthwaite and wonder if he should not go home. Začal myslet na Misselthwaite a uvažoval, jestli by neměl jít domů. Now and then he wondered vaguely about his boy and asked himself what he should feel when he went and stood by the carved four-posted bed again and looked down at the sharply chiseled ivory-white face while it slept and, the black lashes rimmed so startlingly the close-shut eyes. |||||به طور مبهم||||||||||||||||||حکاکی شده||چهارپایه|||||||||حکاکی شده|عاج|||||||||مژه‌های سیاه|حاشیه‌دار||به طرز شگ|||| Tu a tam mlhavě uvažoval o svém chlapci a ptal se sám sebe, co by měl cítit, když šel a znovu stál u vyřezávané postele se čtyřmi sloupky a díval se dolů na ostře vytesanou slonovinově bílou tvář, když spal, a na černé řasy lemované tak. překvapivě zavřené oči. He shrank from it. |دور شد|| Stáhl se od toho.

One marvel of a day he had walked so far that when he returned the moon was high and full and all the world was purple shadow and silver. |||||||||||||بازگشت||||||||||||||| Jeden zázrak dne šel tak daleko, že když se vrátil, byl měsíc vysoko a v úplňku a celý svět byl fialový stín a stříbro. The stillness of lake and shore and wood was so wonderful that he did not go into the villa he lived in. ||||||||||||||||||ویلا||| Ticho jezera, pobřeží a lesa bylo tak nádherné, že do vily, ve které žil, nešel. He walked down to a little bowered terrace at the water's edge and sat upon a seat and breathed in all the heavenly scents of the night. ||||||||||کنار آب||||||||نفس کشید||||آسمانی|عطرها||| Sešel dolů na malou zastřešenou terasu na břehu vody, posadil se na sedadlo a vdechoval všechny nebeské vůně noci. He felt the strange calmness stealing over him and it grew deeper and deeper until he fell asleep. |||||نزدیک شدن|||||||||||| Cítil, jak se ho zmocňuje podivný klid a ten byl stále hlubší a hlubší, až usnul.

He did not know when he fell asleep and when he began to dream; his dream was so real that he did not feel as if he were dreaming. Nevěděl, kdy usnul a kdy začal snít; jeho sen byl tak skutečný, že neměl pocit, jako by snil. He remembered afterward how intensely wide awake and alert he had thought he was. ||||||||هوشیار||||| Poté si vzpomněl, jak intenzivně bdělý a bdělý si myslel, že je. He thought that as he sat and breathed in the scent of the late roses and listened to the lapping of the water at his feet he heard a voice calling. ||||||||||عطر||||گل‌های رز|||||موج زدن||||||||||| Myslel si, že když seděl, vdechoval vůni pozdních růží a poslouchal šplouchání vody u svých nohou, zaslechl volání. It was sweet and clear and happy and far away. Bylo to sladké a jasné, šťastné a vzdálené. It seemed very far, but he heard it as distinctly as if it had been at his very side. |||||||||به وضوح||||||||| Zdálo se to velmi daleko, ale slyšel to tak zřetelně, jako by to bylo přímo po jeho boku.

“Archie! آرچی „Archie! Archie! آرچی Archie!” it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer than before, “Archie! ||||||||روشن‌تر||| Archie!" řekl, a pak znovu, sladší a jasnější než předtím: „Archie! Archie!”

He thought he sprang to his feet not even startled. |||||||||متحیر Myslel si, že vyskočil na nohy, aniž by se polekal. It was such a real voice and it seemed so natural that he should hear it. Byl to tak skutečný hlas a zdálo se mu tak přirozené, že by ho měl slyšet.

“Lilias! لیلیا "Lilias! Lilias!” he answered. لیلیاس|| Lilias!" odpověděl. “Lilias! "Lilias! where are you?” kde jsi?"

“In the garden,” it came back like a sound from a golden flute. ||||||||||||نی "V zahradě," ozvalo se jako zvuk zlaté flétny. “In the garden!” "Na zahradě!"

And then the dream ended. A pak sen skončil. But he did not awaken. ||||بیدار شد Ale neprobudil se. He slept soundly and sweetly all through the lovely night. ||||به آرامی||||| Celou krásnou noc spal tvrdě a sladce. When he did awake at last it was brilliant morning and a servant was standing staring at him. ||||||||درخشان||||||||| Když se konečně probudil, bylo skvělé ráno a sluha stál a zíral na něj. He was an Italian servant and was accustomed, as all the servants of the villa were, to accepting without question any strange thing his foreign master might do. |||||||||||خدمه||||||پذیرفتن|||||||||| Byl to italský sluha a byl zvyklý, stejně jako všichni sluhové ve vile, bez otázek přijímat jakoukoli podivnou věc, kterou by jeho cizí pán mohl udělat. No one ever knew when he would go out or come in or where he would choose to sleep or if he would roam about the garden or lie in the boat on the lake all night. |||||||||||||||||||||||پرسه بزند||||||||||||| Nikdo nikdy nevěděl, kdy půjde ven nebo vejde, kde se rozhodne spát, jestli se bude toulat po zahradě nebo ležet celou noc v lodi na jezeře. The man held a salver with some letters on it and he waited quietly until Mr. Craven took them. ||نگه داشت||سینی|||||||||||||| Muž držel podnos s několika dopisy a tiše čekal, až si je pan Craven vezme. When he had gone away Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his hand and looking at the lake. Když odešel, pan Craven chvíli seděl, držel je v ruce a díval se na jezero. His strange calm was still upon him and something more—a lightness as if the cruel thing which had been done had not happened as he thought—as if something had changed. |||||||||||سبکی|||||||||||||||||||| Jeho zvláštní klid byl stále na něm a ještě něco – lehkost, jako by se ta krutá věc, která se stala, nestala tak, jak si myslel – jako by se něco změnilo. He was remembering the dream—the real—real dream. Vzpomínal na sen – na skutečný – skutečný sen.

“In the garden!” he said, wondering at himself. "Na zahradě!" řekl a divil se sám sobě. “In the garden! "Na zahradě! But the door is locked and the key is buried deep.” Ale dveře jsou zamčené a klíč je zakopaný hluboko."

When he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one lying at the top of the rest was an English letter and came from Yorkshire. Když se o několik minut později podíval na dopisy, uviděl, že ten, který leží na vrcholu zbytku, je anglický dopis a pochází z Yorkshiru. It was directed in a plain woman's hand but it was not a hand he knew. Byl namířen v obyčejné ženské ruce, ale nebyla to ruka, kterou znal. He opened it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the first words attracted his attention at once. Otevřel ji, sotva myslel na spisovatele, ale první slova okamžitě upoutala jeho pozornost.

“Dear Sir:

I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you once on the moor. Jsem Susan Sowerbyová, která se odvážila s vámi mluvit jednou na vřesovišti. It was about Miss Mary I spoke. Mluvil jsem o slečně Mary. I will make bold to speak again. Dovolím si znovu promluvit. Please, sir, I would come home if I was you. Prosím, pane, na vašem místě bych se vrátil domů. I think you would be glad to come and—if you will excuse me, sir—I think your lady would ask you to come if she was here. Myslím, že byste rád přišel a – pokud mě omluvíte, pane – myslím, že by vás vaše paní požádala, abyste přišel, kdyby tu byla.

Your obedient servant, Susan Sowerby.” Vaše poslušná služebnice, Susan Sowerbyová."

Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope. Pan Craven si dopis dvakrát přečetl, než ho vrátil zpět do obálky. He kept thinking about the dream. Pořád myslel na ten sen.