美文阅读 | 清平乐·六盘山 Mount Liupan (毛泽东)

Daily Quote

Your net worth to the world is usually determined by what remains after your bad habits are subtracted from your good ones. (Benjamin Franklin)

你对世界的净价值通常取决于你的坏习惯减去你的好习惯后剩下的东西。（本杰明·富兰克林）

Poem of the Day

清平乐·六盘山

一九三五年十月

毛泽东

天高云淡，望断南飞雁。

不到长城非好汉，屈指行程二万。

六盘山上高峰，红旗漫卷西风。

今日长缨在手，何时缚住苍龙？

Mount Liupan

to the tune of Music of Peace

(October 1935)

By Mao Zedong （辜正坤 译）

The skies are deep, clouds are thinly wan; 

Fading into the south heaven wild geese we scan.

One is not a man if failing to reach the Great Wall,

Counting, we know we’ve covered twenty thousand li in all.

High on the peak of Mount Liupan,

In the west wind red flags flap and sound.

We now hold the long cord in hand,

When will the Dragon be bound?

毛泽东的诗词《清平乐·六盘山》是一首反映中国工农红军长征胜利的光辉诗篇。这首诗作于1935年10月，毛泽东率领中央红军翻越长征途中的最后一座高山——六盘山时。六盘山位于宁夏南部，是红军到达陕北革命根据地的必经之路，因此被誉为“胜利之山”。

这首诗的上半阕描绘了秋天的景象和红军长征的壮举，表达了红军不畏艰难、勇往直前的豪情。下半阕则抒发了毛泽东对革命胜利的坚定信念和对未来的憧憬，展现了红军将士们的英雄气概和对革命事业的忠诚。

《清平乐·六盘山》不仅是对红军长征胜利的赞歌，也是对革命精神的颂扬。它激励着一代又一代人，传承了红军的革命精神和坚定信念，成为了中国革命文化的重要组成部分。这首诗在军民中广为流传，极大地鼓舞了斗志，成为了毛泽东留给后人的宝贵精神财富。

Beauty of Words

After the Funeral

Agatha Christie

Chapter One

Old Lanscombe moved totteringly from room to room, pulling up the blinds. Now and then he peered with screwed-up rheumy eyes through the windows.

Soon they would be coming back from the funeral. He shuffled along a little faster. There were so many windows.

Enderby Hall was a vast Victorian house built in the Gothic style. In every room the curtains were of rich faded brocade or velvet. Some of the walls were still hung with faded silk. In the green drawing room, the old butler glanced up at the portrait above the mantelpiece of old Cornelius Abernethie for whom Enderby Hall had been built. Cornelius Abernethie’s brown beard stuck forward aggressively, his hand rested on a terrestrial globe, whether by desire of the sitter, or as a symbolic conceit on the part of the artist, no one could tell.

A very forceful-looking gentleman, so old Lanscombe had always thought, and was glad that he himself had never known him personally. Mr. Richard had been his gentleman. A good master, Mr. Richard. And taken very sudden, he’d been, though of course the doctor had been attending him for some little time. Ah, but the master had never recovered from the shock of young Mr.

Mortimer’s death. The old man shook his head as he hurried through a connecting door into the White Boudoir. Terrible, that had been, a real catastrophe. Such a fine upstanding young gentleman, so strong and healthy. You’d never have thought such a thing likely to happen to him.

Pitiful, it had been, quite pitiful. And Mr. Gordon killed in the war. One thing on top of another.

That was the way things went nowadays. Too much for the master, it had been. And yet he’d seemed almost himself a week ago.

The third blind in the White Boudoir refused to go up as it should. It went up a little way and stuck. The springs were weak—that’s what it was—very old, these blinds were, like everything else in the house. And you couldn’t get these old things mended nowadays. Too old-fashioned, that’s what they’d say, shaking their heads in that silly superior way—as if the old things weren’t a great deal better than the new ones! He could tell them that! Gimcrack, half the new stuff was—came to pieces in your hands. The material wasn’t good, or the craftsmanship either. Oh yes, he could tell them.

Couldn’t do anything about this blind unless he got the steps. He didn’t like climbing up the steps much, these days, made him come over giddy. Anyway, he’d leave the blind for now. It didn’t matter, since the White Boudoir didn’t face the front of the house where it would be seen as the cars came back from the funeral—and it wasn’t as though the room was ever used nowadays.

It was a lady’s room, this, and there hadn’t been a lady at Enderby for a long time now. A pity Mr.

Mortimer hadn’t married. Always going off to Norway for fishing and to Scotland for shooting and to Switzerland for those winter sports, instead of marrying some nice young lady and settling down at home with children running about the house. It was a long time since there had been any children in the house.

And Lanscombe’s mind went ranging back to a time that stood out clearly and distinctly—much more distinctly than the last twenty years or so, which were all blurred and confused and he couldn’t really remember who had come and gone or indeed what they looked like. But he could remember the old days well enough.

More like a father to those young brothers and sisters of his, Mr. Richard had been. Twenty-four when his father had died, and he’d pitched in right away to the business, going off every day as punctual as clockwork, and keeping the house running and everything as lavish as it could be. Avery happy household with all those young ladies and gentlemen growing up. Fights and quarrels now and again, of course, and those governesses had had a bad time of it! Poor-spirited creatures, governesses, Lanscombe had always despised them. Very spirited the young ladies had been. Miss Geraldine in particular. Miss Cora, too, although she was so much younger. And now Mr. Leo was dead, and Miss Laura gone too. And Mr. Timothy such a sad invalid. And Miss Geraldine dying somewhere abroad. And Mr. Gordon killed in the war. Although he was the eldest, Mr. Richard himself turned out the strongest of the lot. Outlived them all, he had—at least not quite because Mr. Timothy was still alive and little Miss Cora who’d married that unpleasant artist chap.

Twenty-five years since he’d seen her and she’d been a pretty young girl when she went off with that chap, and now he’d hardly have known her, grown so stout—and so arty-crafty in her dress!

A Frenchman her husband had been, or nearly a Frenchman—and no good ever came of marrying one of them! But Miss Cora had always been a bit—well simple like you’d call it if she’d lived in a village. Always one of them in a family.

She’d remembered him all right. “Why, it’s Lanscombe!” she’d said and seemed ever so pleased to see him. Ah, they’d all been fond of him in the old days and when there was a dinner party they’d crept down to the pantry and he’d given them jelly and Charlotte Russe when it came out of the dining room. They’d all known old Lanscombe, and now there was hardly anyone who remembered. Just the younger lot whom he could never keep clear in his mind and who just thought of him as a butler who’d been there a long time. A lot of strangers, he had thought, when they all arrived for the funeral—and a seedy lot of strangers at that!