I had noticed also that Queequeg never consorted at all, or but very little, with the other seamen in the inn. He made no advances whatever; appeared to have no desire to enlarge the circle of his acquaintances. All this struck me as mighty singular; yet, upon second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it. Here was a man some twenty thousand miles from home, by the way of Cape Horn, that is-which was the only way he could get there-thrown among people as strange to him as though he were in the planet Jupiter; and yet he seemed entirely at his ease; preserving the utmost serenity; content with his own companionship; always equal to himself. Surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had never heard there was such a thing as that. But, perhaps, to be true philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so striving. So soon as I hear that such or such a man gives himself out for a philosopher, I conclude that, like the dyspeptic old woman, he must have broken his digester.
我也注意到魁魁格跟客店里其他水手从来不相往来,即使稍有来往,也是十分有限的。总之,他也不想跟人家更亲近一些,似乎毫无扩大他的朋友圈子的意图。所有这一切都使我觉得非常奇妙,然而再想想,我又认为其中一定还有一种可说是崇高的东西。这一个人,从家乡经过合恩角约莫跑了二千英里路出来,就是说...这是他所能取道到达这里的唯一路线...置身在这些在他看来仿佛奇特得象置身在木星的人群中;然而,他却似乎十分自由自在;保持着非常宁静的态度;以与他自己交往为满足;始终独来独往.这倒真是有点儿高雅的哲学意味;虽说他一定从来没有听到过哲学这种东西。不过,我们也许不必故意非常热烈拼命地想做真正的哲学家。我一听到某某人自称为哲学家的时候,我就断定,他一定是把他的胃药罐子给打烂了,象那种患了消化不良症的老太婆一样。
As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me.
当我现在坐在这个孤寂的房间里的时候,炉火正在悠悠地烧着,烧得那样柔和,正是柴火的初度威力已把空间暖了一阵后。但见一片火光的时分。这时,晚霞和幢幢魔影正朝窗格拢来,在悄悄地窥伺我们这两个一声不响的孤寂的人。外边的暴风雨正在发出庄重。昂扬的隆隆声,我不由撩起阵阵奇特的感觉。我感到浑身都溶化了。
