wind sand and stars st.antoine de saint-exupery-第9部分

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terday　that　we　began　to　pitch　our　camp　in　this　country　of　laboratories　and　power　stations；　that　we　took　possession　of　this　new；　this　still　unfinished；　house　we　live　in。　Everything　round　us　is　new　and　different　…　our　concerns；　our　working　habits；　our　relations　with　one　another。　Title：　Wind；　Sand；　and　Stars　
　　Author：　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery　
　　Translator：　Lewis　Galantiere　
　　Publisher：　Harcourt　Brace　Javanovich；　New　York；　1967　
　　Date　first　posted：　February　2000　
　　Date　most　recently　updated：　January　2006　
　　XML　markup　by　Wesman　02/23/2000。　
　　Wind　Sand　and　Stars
　　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery
　　4
　　The　Elements
　　When　Joseph　Conrad　described　a　typhoon　he　said　very　little　about　towering　waves；　or　darkness；　or　the　whistling　of　the　wind　in　the　shrouds。　He　knew　better。　Instead；　he　took　his　reader　down　into　the　hold　of　the　vessel；　packed　with　emigrant　coolies；　where　the　rolling　and　the　pitching　of　the　ship　had　ripped　up　and　scattered　their　bags　and　bundles；　burst　open　their　boxes；　and　flung　their　humble　belongings　into　a　crazy　heap。　Family　treasures　painfully　collected　in　a　lifetime　of　poverty；　pitiful　mementoes　so　alike　that　nobody　but　their　owners　could　have　told　them　apart；　had　lost　their　identity　and　lapsed　into　chaos；　into　anonymity；　into　an　amorphous　magma。　It　was　this　human　drama　that　Conrad　described　when　he　painted　a　typhoon。　
　　Every　airline　pilot　has　flown　through　tornadoes；　has　returned　out　of　them　to　the　fold　…　to　the　little　restaurant　in　Toulouse　where　we　sat　in　peace　under　the　watchful　eye　of　the　waitress　…　and　there；　recognizing　his　powerlessness　to　convey　what　he　has　been　through；　has　given　up　the　idea　of　describing　hell。　His　descriptions；　his　gestures；　his　big　words　would　have　made　the　rest　of　us　smile　as　if　we　were　listening　to　a　little　boy　bragging。　And　necessarily　so。　The　cyclone　of　which　I　am　about　to　speak　was；　physically；　much　the　most　brutal　and　overwhelming　experience　I　ever　underwent；　and　yet　beyond　a　certain　point　I　do　not　know　how　to　convey　its　violence　except　by　piling　one　adjective　on　another；　so　that　in　the　end　I　should　convey　no　impression　at　all　…　unless　perhaps　that　of　an　embarrassing　taste　for　exaggeration。　
　　It　took　me　some　time　to　grasp　the　fundamental　reason　for　this　powerlessness；　which　is　simply　that　I　should　be　trying　to　describe　a　catastrophe　that　never　took　place。　The　reason　why　writers　fail　when　they　attempt　to　evoke　horror　is　that　horror　is　something　invented　after　the　fact；　when　one　is　re…creating　the　experience　over　again　in　the　memory。　Horror　does　not　manifest　itself　in　the　world　of　reality。　And　so；　in　beginning　my　story　of　a　revolt　of　the　elements　which　I　myself　lived　through　I　have　no　feeling　that　I　shall　write　something　which　you　will　find　dramatic。　
　　I　had　taken　off　from　the　field　at　Trelew　and　was　flying　down　to　odoro…Rivadavia；　in　the　Patagonian　Argentine。　Here　the　crust　of　the　earth　is　as　dented　as　an　old　boiler。　The　high…pressure　regions　over　the　Pacific　send　the　winds　past　a　gap　in　the　Andes　into　a　corridor　fifty　miles　wide　through　which　they　rush　to　the　Atlantic　in　a　strangled　and　accelerated　buffeting　that　scrapes　the　surface　of　everything　in　their　path。　The　sole　vegetation　visible　in　this　barren　landscape　is　a　plantation　of　oil　derricks　looking　like　the　after…effects　of　a　forest　fire。　Towering　over　the　round　hills　on　which　the　winds　have　left　a　residue　of　stony　gravel；　there　rises　a　chain　of　prow…shaped；　saw…toothed；　razor…edged　mountains　stripped　by　the　elements　down　to　the　bare　rock。　
　　For　three　months　of　the　year　the　speed　of　these　winds　at　ground　level　is　up　to　a　hundred　miles　an　hour。　We　who　flew　the　route　knew　that　once　we　had　crossed　the　marshes　of　Trelew　and　had　reached　the　threshold　of　the　zone　they　swept；　we　should　recognize　the　winds　from　afar　by　a　grey…blue　tint　in　the　atmosphere　at　the　sight　of　which　we　would　tighten　our　belts　and　shoulder…straps　in　preparation　for　what　was　ing。　From　then　on　we　had　an　hour　of　stiff　fighting　and　of　stumbling　again　and　again　into　invisible　ditches　of　air。　This　was　manual　labor；　and　our　muscles　felt　it　pretty　much　as　if　we　had　been　carrying　a　longshoreman's　load。　But　it　lasted　only　an　hour。　Our　machines　stood　up　under　it。　We　had　no　fear　of　wings　suddenly　dropping　off。　Visibility　was　generally　good；　and　not　a　problem。　This　section　of　the　line　was　a　stint；　yes；　it　was　certainly　not　a　drama。　
　　But　on　this　particular　day　I　did　not　like　the　color　of　the　sky。　
　　The　sky　was　blue。　Pure　blue。　Too　pure。　A　hard　blue　sky　that　shone　over　the　scraped　and　barren　world　while　the　fleshless　vertebrae　of　the　mountain　chain　flashed　in　the　sunlight。　Not　a　cloud。　The　blue　sky　glittered　like　a　new…honed　knife。　I　felt　in　advance　the　vague　distaste　that　acpanies　the　prospect　of　physical　exertion。　The　purity　of　the　sky　upset　me。　Give　me　a　good　black　storm　in　which　the　enemy　is　plainly　visible。　I　can　measure　its　extent　and　prepare　myself　for　its　attack。　I　can　get　my　hands　on　my　adversary。　But　when　you　are　flying　very　high　in　clear　weather　the　shock　of　a　blue　storm　is　as　disturbing　as　if　something　collapsed　that　had　been　holding　up　your　ship　in　the　air。　It　is　the　only　time　when　a　pilot　feels　that　there　is　a　gulf　beneath　his　ship。　
　　Another　thing　bothered　me。　I　could　see　on　a　level　with　the　mountain　peaks　not　a　haze；　not　a　mist；　not　a　sandy　fog；　but　a　sort　of　ash…colored　streamer　in　the　sky。　I　did　not　like　the　look　of　that　scarf　of　filings　scraped　off　the　surface　of　the　earth　and　borne　out　to　sea　by　the　wind。　I　tightened　my　leather　harness　as　far　as　it　would　go　and　I　steered　the　ship　with　one　hand　while　with　the　other　I　hung　on　to　the　longeron　that　ran　along…side　my　seat。　I　was　still　flying　in　remarkably　calm　air。　
　　Very　soon　came　a　slight　tremor。　As　every　pilot　knows；　there　are　secret　little　quiverings　that　fore…tell　your　real　storm。　No　rolling；　no　pitching。　No　swing　to　speak　of。　The　flight　continues　horizontal　and　rectilinear。　But　you　have　felt　a　warning　drum　on　the　wings　of　your　plane；　little　intermittent　rappings　scarcely　audible　and　infinitely　brief；　little　cracklings　from　time　to　time　as　if　there　were　traces　of　gunpowder　in　the　air。　
　　And　then　everything　round　me　blew　up。　
　　Concerning　the　next　couple　of　minutes　I　have　nothing　to　say。　All　that　I　can　find　in　my　memory　is　a　few　rudimentary　notions；　fragments　of　thoughts；　direct　observations。　I　cannot　pose　them　into　a　dramatic　recital　because　there　was　no　drama。　The　best　I　can　do　is　to　line　them　up　in　a　kind　of　chronological　order。　
　　In　the　first　place；　I　was　standing　still。　Having　banked　right　in　order　to　correct　a　sudden　drift；　I　saw　the　landscape　freeze　abruptly　where　it　was　and　remain　jiggling　on　the　same　spot。　I　was　making　no　headway。　My　wings　had　ceased　to　nibble　into　the　outline　of　the　earth。　I　could　see　the　earth　buckle；　pivot…but　it　stayed　put。　The　plane　was　skidding　as　if　on　a　toothless　cogwheel。　
　　Meanwhile　I　had　the　absurd　feeling　that　I　had　exposed　myself　pletely　to　the　enemy。　All　those　peaks；　those　crests；　those　teeth　that　were　cutting　into　the　wind　and　unleashing　its　gusts　in　my　direction；　seemed　to　me　so　many　guns　pointed　straight　at　my　defenseless　person。　I　was　slow　to　think；　but　the　thought　did　e　to　me　that　I　ought　to　give　up　altitude　and　make　for　one　of　the　neighboring　valleys　where　I　might　take　shelter　against　a　mountainside。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　whether　I　liked　it　or　not　I　was　being　helplessly　sucked　down　towards　the　earth。　Title：　Wind；　Sand；　and　Stars　
　　Author：　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery　
　　Translator：　Lewis　Galantiere　
　　Publisher：　Harcourt　Brace　Javanovich；　New　York；　1967　
　　Date　first　posted：　February　2000　
　　Date　most　recently　updated：　January　2006　
　　XML　markup　by　Wesman　02/23/2000。　
　　Wind　Sand　and　Stars
　　Antoine　de　Saint…Exupery
　　5
　　The　Plane　and　the　Planet
　　The　airplane　has　unveiled　for　us　the　true　face　of　the　earth。　For　centuries；　highways　had　been　deceiving　us。　We　were　like　that　queen　who　determined　to　move　among　her　subjects　so　that　she　might　learn　for　herself　whether　or　not　they　rejoiced　in　her　reign。　Her　courtiers　took　advantage　of　her　innocence　to　garland　the　road　she　traveled　and　set　dancers　in　her　path。　Led　forward　on　their　halter；　she　saw　nothing　of　her　kingdom　and　could　not　know　that　over　the　countryside　the　famished　were　cursing　her。　
　　Even　so　have　we　been　making　our　way　along　the　winding　roads。　Roads　avoid　the　barren　lands；　the　rocks；　the　sands。　They　shape　themselves　to　man's　needs　and　run　from　stream　to　stream。　They　lead　the　farmer　from　his　barns　to　his　wheat…fields；　receive　at　the　thresholds　of　stables　the　sleepy　cattle　and　pour　them　forth　at　dawn　into　meadows　of　alfalfa。　They　join　village　to　village；　for　between　villages　marriages　are　made。　
　　And　even　when　a　road　hazards　its　way　over　the　desert；　you　will　see　it　make　a　thousand　detours　to　take　its　pleasure　at　the　oases。　Thus；　led　astray　by　the　divagations　of　roads；　as　by　other　indulgent　fictions；　having　in　the　course　of　our　travels　skirted　so　many　well…watered　lands；　so　many　orchards；　so　many　meadows；　we　have　from　the　beginning　of　time　embellished　the　picture　of　our　prison。　We　have　elected　to　believe　that　our　planet　was　merciful　and　fruitful。　
　　But　a　cruel　light　has　blazed；　and　our　sight　has　been　shar