Gulliver's Travels.

Author: (English) Swift, translated by Liu Xiang
Translator: Liu Xiang / Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: This time, the farmer believed me to be a rational creature. He spoke to me occasionally, his voice as loud as a watermill, but his pronunciation was clear. I tried to answer him in various languages as loudly as possible. He placed his ear close to me, less than two yards away, but it was futile; we could not communicate at all. He had his servants work while he took a handkerchief from his pocket, folded it, and laid it on his left hand, then placed it on the ground, indicating for me to come up. It was less than a foot high, and I easily climbed onto it. I knew I had to obey, but I was afraid of falling, so I lay straight on the handkerchief. He wrapped me in the handkerchief, only leaving my head exposed, making it safer, and carried me home this way. He called his wife over and showed me to her. She gasped and ran away, just like women in England seeing a toad or a spider. But after a while, seeing me calm and obedient, she gradually grew to like me. At noon, the servants brought food. There was only a large plate of meat (a dish more suitable for a farmer's life), with a diameter of about twenty-four feet. The farm owner, his wife, and three children, along with a grandmother, sat around the table. The farmer placed me near him on a table, about thirty feet high. I was terrified and tried to stay as far away from the edge as possible, afraid of falling. The farmer's wife cut a small piece of meat and broke some bread, carrying them to me in a wooden plate. I bowed deeply to her, took out my knife and fork, and ate greedily, which greatly pleased them. The hostess asked the maid to bring a small cup, about two gallons in capacity, and filled it with wine. I struggled to lift it with both hands and drank it respectfully, wishing the hostess good health in English as loudly as possible. Everyone laughed, their voices nearly deafening me. The wine was not bad, a bit like weak apple cider. The host gestured for me to come to his plate. I was still trembling (as any kind reader would naturally excuse me for this), so when I walked across the table, I tripped over a piece of bread and fell onto the table, thankfully unharmed. I quickly got up and, seeing the concern on their faces, raised my hat (to show respect, I held it under my arm) and shook it on my head, cheering three times to show I was unharmed. But as I approached my host (whom I would call from then on), the young son sitting beside him, a mischievous boy of about ten, grabbed my legs and lifted me high into the air, making me tremble. Fortunately, his father snatched me away and slapped him hard, a blow strong enough to knock down a cavalry troop in Europe, and scolded him to leave the table. I feared the boy would hold a grudge and remembered how we used to treat sparrows, rabbits, kittens, and puppies in our childhood, so I knelt down, pointed at the boy, and tried my best to make my host understand that I hoped he would forgive him. The father complied, and the child returned to the table. I went over and kissed the child's hand, and his father also took his hand and gently stroked me. While they were eating, the hostess's favorite cat jumped onto her lap. I heard a rustling behind me, like twelve women knitting, and turned to see the cat snoring. As the hostess fed and petted it, I saw its head and one paw. I estimated it was three times larger than an ox. Although I stood far away at the other end of the table, over fifty feet away, and the hostess was afraid the cat would pounce and scratch me, she held it tightly. But the cat's fierce face still made me uneasy. Fortunately, there was no danger, and the host placed me less than three yards away from it, and it paid no attention to me. I often hear people say, and my travels have confirmed it: if you flee or show fear in the presence of a fierce animal, it will pursue and attack you. Therefore, at this critical moment, I resolved to appear indifferent and walked back and forth in front of the cat, less than half a yard away, five or six times. It seemed to fear me more anded. I am still not sure about dogs, but I saw three or four enter the house, as is common in a rural home. One of them was a mastiff, four times the size of an elephant; another was a hunting dog, not as tall as the mastiff but larger. When lunch was almost over, the nurse brought in a one-year-old child. As soon as she saw me, she screamed, her voice loud enough to be heard from London Bridge to Chelsea. Like other children, she cooed for a while, wanting to play with me as a toy. The mother, indulgent, picked me up and handed me to the child. The child grabbed me and put my head in its mouth. I yelled, and the child was scared, letting go and dropping me. If the hostess hadn't caught me with her apron, my neck would have been broken. The nurse used a bell to calm the child, a hollow box filled with large stones tied to the child's waist. It didn't help, so the nurse had no choice but to feed the child milk. Her breasts were enormous, and I must admit I have never seen anything more disgusting. I really don't know how to describe it to curious readers to give them an idea of the size, shape, and color of her breasts. They stood six feet high, at least sixteen feet long, and the nipples were as big as my head. Nothing was more disgusting than the color of the nipples and the spots, blemishes, and freckles on her breasts. She sat and fed the child while I stood on the table, so I could see clearly. I couldn't help but think of our English wives, with their fair and smooth skin, how beautiful they seemed to us. But that was only because they were of similar size to us, and their flaws were not easily noticeable. If you looked at them through a magnifying glass, even the most radiant and fair skin would appear rough and unattractive. I remember in Lilliput, the skin of those little people seemed to me the most beautiful in the world. I had mentioned this topic to a learned and close friend there. He said that from the ground looking up, my face appeared better and smoother; when he held him in his hands and looked closely, he frankly admitted he was startled. He said my face was full of pits, my stubble was ten times harder than a wild boar's bristles, and my skin was a mix of colors, unpleasant to look at. Here I should defend myself a little: I am as handsome as most men in my country, and I have not been sunburned from my many travels. On the other hand, this friend often spoke of which noblewoman had freckles, which had a too-large mouth, and another had a too-large nose. I couldn't see it at all. To be honest, his impressions were quite correct. To prevent readers from imagining the giants here as ugly, I felt compelled to speak in their defense. They are actually a very handsome nation, especially my host, though he is a farmer, but from sixty feet away, I found his features quite regular. After lunch, the host went to supervise the workers. As he left, his tone and gestures implied instructions for the hostess to take good care of me. I was very tired and wanted to sleep. The hostess noticed and placed me on her bed, covering me with a white, new handkerchief. The handkerchief was larger than the main sail of a warship and much rougher. I slept for nearly two hours and dreamed of my wife and children. When I woke, I was overcome with sadness, looked up, and saw myself alone in such a large house, over two hundred feet wide and over two hundred feet high, with a bed twenty yards wide. The hostess went about her chores and locked me in the room. The bed was eight yards high, and an urgent physiological need forced me to get down. I dared not shout, for my voice would have been useless anyway, as the room I slept in was far from the kitchen of this house. As I was pondering, two mice climbed up the curtains and explored the bed, one almost stepping on my face. I was terrified and drew my knife for self-defense. These terrible creatures dared to attack from both sides, one grabbing my collar with its front paws. Fortunately, before it hurt me, I stabbed it in the belly. It fell at my feet, and the other, seeing its companion's fate, turned and fled, but I gave it a blow on the back, and it bled profusely. After this fight, I slowly paced back and forth on the bed, adjusting my breathing and regaining my composure. These creatures were as large as mastiffs but much more agile and ferocious. If I had undone my belt before going to sleep, I would likely have been torn to pieces and become a mouse's meal by now. I measured the tail of the dead mouse—it was almost two yards long, just one inch short. Dragging the corpse off the bed was disgusting. The blood was still flowing, and I noticed it was still breathing, so I gave it another cut on the neck to ensure it was dead. The hostess returned soon after. As soon as she entered and saw me covered in blood, she ran over and picked me up. I smiled and pointed at the dead mouse, indicating I was unharmed. She was very relieved and asked the maid to use tongs to throw the mouse out the window. She placed me on the table and showed her the bloodstained knife. I wiped it clean with the hem of my clothes and put it back in its sheath. I had been so exhausted by this ordeal that I struggled to make her understand I wanted to get down. She let me down, and my shame made me unsure how to express myself, so I pointed at the door and bowed repeatedly. After much effort, the kind hostess finally understood and picked me up, taking me to the garden, where she set me down. I walked to the side, about two yards away, and asked her to turn her back and not follow me. I relieved myself between two sorrel leaves. I hope respected readers will excuse me for constantly narrating trivial matters. To the unthinking mortal, this may seem meaningless, but to the philosopher, it can broaden the mind, stimulate the imagination, and be beneficial to both the public and the individual. This is also the sole purpose for which I have published this and other travels. I do not wish to use moving rhetoric or elegant style, but simply to narrate the facts. However, the events of this journey left a deep impression on my mind, and I have carefully recorded every detail. After thorough proofreading, I deleted a few less important chapters from the draft, fearing criticism for being too lengthy and. Travelers often encounter such objections, and it is not entirely without reason.