LESSON 27 LUCY FORESTER
露西·弗斯特
John Wilson (b.1785, d.1854), better known as “Christopher North,” was a celebrated author, poet, and critic, born at Paisley, Scotland, and educated at the University of Glasgow and at Oxford.In 1808 he moved to Westmoreland, England, where he formed one of the “Lake School”of poets.While at Oxford he gained a prize for a poem on “Painting, Poetry, and Architecture.” In 1820 he became Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, which position he retained until 1851.He gained his greatest reputation as the chief author of “Noctes Ambrosianae,”essays contributed to Blackwood’s Magazine between 1822 and 1835.Among his poems may be mentioned “The Isle of Palms” and the “City of the Plague,” This selection is adapted from “The Foresters,” a tale of Scottish life.
1.Lucy was only six years old, but bold as a fairy; she had gone by herself a thousand times about the braes[2], and often upon errands to houses two or three miles distant.What had her parents to fear? The footpaths were all fi rm, and led to no places of danger, nor are infants themselves incautious when alone in then pastimes[3].Lucy went singing into the low woods, and singing she reappeared on the open hillside.With her small white hand on the rail, she glided along the wooden bridge, or tripped from stone to stone across the shallow streamlet.
2.The creature would be away for hours, and no fear be felt on her account by anyone at home; whether she had gone, with her basket on her arm, to borrow some articles of household use from a neighbor, or, merely for her own solitary delight, had wandered off to the braes to play among the fl owers, coming back laden with wreaths and garlands.
3.The happy child had been invited to pass a whole day, from morning to night, at Ladyside (a farmhouse about two miles off) with her playmates the Maynes; and she left home about an hour after sunrise.
4.During her absence, the house was silent but happy, and, the evening being now far advanced, Lucy was expected home every minute, and Michael, Agnes, and Isabel, her father, mother, and aunt, went to meet her on the way.They walked on and on, wondering a little, but in no degree alarmed till they reached Ladyside, and heard the cheerful din of the children within, still rioting[4] at the close of the holiday.Jacob Mayne came to the door, but, on their kindly asking why Lucy had not been sent home before daylight was over, he looked painfully surprised, and said that she had not been at Ladyside.
5.Within two hours, a hundred persons were traversing the hills in all directions, even at a distance which it seemed most unlikely that poor Lucy could have reached.The shepherds and their dogs, all the night through, searched every nook, every stony and rocky place, every piece of taller heather[5], every crevice that could conceal anything alive or dead: but no Lucy was there.
6.Her mother, who for a while seemed inspired[6] with supernatural[7] strength, had joined in the search, and with a quaking heart looked into every brake[8], or stopped and listened to every shout and halloo reverberating[9] among the hills, intent[10] to seize upon some tone of recognition or discovery.But the moon sank; and then the stars, whose increased brightness had for a short time supplied her place, all faded away; and then came the gray dawn of the morning, and then the clear brightness of the day,—and still Michael and Agnes were childless.
7.“She has sunk into some mossy or miry place,” said Michael, to a man near him, into whose face he could not look, “a cruel, cruel death to one like her! The earth on which my child walked has closed over her, and we shall never see her more!”
8.At last, a man who had left the search, and gone in a direction toward the highroad, came running with something in his arms toward the place where Michael and others were standing beside Agnes, who lay, apparently exhausted almost to dying, on the sward.He approached hesitatingly; and Michael saw that he carried Lucy’s bonnet, clothes, and plaid[11].
9.It was impossible not to see some spots of blood upon the frill that the child had worn around her neck.“Murdered! murdered!” was the one word whispered or ejaculated[12] all around; but Agnes heard it not; for, worn out by that long night of hope and despair, she had fallen asleep, and was, perhaps, seeking her lost Lucy in her dreams.
10.Isabel took the clothes, and, narrowly inspecting them with eye and hand, said, with a fervent voice that was heard even in Michael’s despair, “No, Lucy is yet among the living.There are no marks of violence on the garments of the innocent; no murderer’s hand has been here.These blood spots have been put there to deceive.Besides, would not the murderer have carried off these things? For what else would he have murdered her? But, oh! foolish despair! What speak I of? For, wicked as the world is—ay! desperately wicked—there is not, on all the surface of the wide earth, a hand that would murder our child! Is it not plain as the sun in the heaven, that Lucy has been stolen by some wretched gypsy beggar?”
11.The crowd quietly dispersed, and horse and foot began to scour[13] the country.Some took the highroads, others all the bypaths, and many the trackless hills.Now that they were in some measure relieved from the horrible belief that the child was dead, the worst other calamity seemed nothing, for hope brought her back to their arms.
12.Agnes had been able to walk home to Bracken-Braes, and Michael and Isabel sat by her bedside.All her strength was gone, and she lay at the mercy of the rustle of a leaf, or a shadow across the window.Thus hour after hour passed, till it was again twilight.“I hear footsteps coming up the brae,” said Agnes, who had for some time appeared to be slumbering; and in a few moments the voice of Jacob Mayne was heard at the outer door.
13.Jacob wore a solemn expression of countenance, and he seemed, from his looks, to bring no comfort.Michael stood up between him and his wife, and looked into his heart.Something there seemed to be in his face that was not miserable.“If he has heard nothing of my child,” thought Michael, “this man must care little for his own fi reside.” “Oh, speak, speak,” said Agnes; “yet why need you speak? All this has been but a vain belief, and Lucy is in heaven.”
14.“Something like a trace of her has been discovered; a woman, with a child that did not look like a child of hers, was last night at Clovenford, and left it at the dawning.” “Do you hear that, my beloved Agnes?” said Isabel; “she will have tramped away with Lucy up into Ettrick or Yarrow; but hundreds of eyes will have been upon her; for these are quiet but not solitary glens; and the hunt will be over long before she has crossed down upon Hawick.I knew that country in my young days.What say you, Mr.Mayne? There is the light of hope in your face.”“There is no reason to doubt, ma’am, that it was Lucy.Everybody is sure of it.If it was my own Rachel, I should have no fear as to seeing her this blessed night.”
15.Jacob Mayne now took a chair, and sat down, with even a smile upon his countenance.“I may tell you now, that Watty Oliver knows it was your child, for he saw her limping along after the gypsy at Galla-Brigg; but, having no suspicion, he did not take a second look at her,—but one look is suffi cient, and he swears it was bonny Lucy Forester.”
16.Aunt Isabel, by this time, had bread and cheese and a bottle of her own elder-fl ower wine on the table.“You have been a long and hard journey, wherever you have been, Mr.Mayne; take some refreshment;” and Michael asked a blessing.
17.Jacob saw that he might now venture to reveal the whole truth.“No, no, Mrs.Irving, I am over happy to eat or to drink.You are all prepared for the blessing that awaits you.Your child is not far off ; and I myself, for it is I myself that found her, will bring her by the hand, and restore her to her parents.”
18.Agnes had raised herself up in her bed at these words, but she sank gently back on her pillow; aunt Isabel was rooted to her chair; and Michael, as he rose up, felt as if the ground were sinking under his feet.There was a dead silence all around the house for a short space, and then the sound of many voices, which again by degrees subsided.The eyes of all then looked, and yet feared to look, toward the door.
19.Jacob Mayne was not so good as his word, for he did not bring Lucy by the hand to restore her to her parents; but dressed again in her own bonnet and gown, and her own plaid, in rushed their own child, by herself, with tears and sobs of joy, and her father laid her within her mother’s bosom.
【中文阅读】
约翰·威尔逊（1785—1854），著名作家、诗人兼评论家，他的笔名克里斯托夫·诺斯更为人所熟知。威尔逊出生于苏格兰佩斯里镇，曾在格拉斯洛大学和牛津大学接受教育。1808年，他移居到英国威斯特摩兰，并在那里建立“英国湖畔诗”流派分系。在牛津大学求学期间，他的诗歌《绘画，诗歌和建筑》荣膺奖项。1820年，他在爱丁堡大学担任伦理学教授，并一直任职到1851年。作为《安部罗斯那对话》的首席作者，1822年和1835年间，该书在《黑檀木》杂志上连载，他因此声名鹊起。在他的诗歌中，《棕榈岛》和《瘟疫之城》尤为值得一提。以下这篇文章改编自他的《弗斯特一家》，一篇描写苏格兰生活的故事。
1.露西只有六岁，但大胆得像童话里的仙女。她已经独自一人攀爬过不计其数的陡坡，还经常被差遣到离家两三英里远的地方帮忙办事。她的父母有什么可担心的呢？附近的小路都很坚实，并不通往什么危险的地方，这些孩子们一个人的时候也都很谨慎小心。露西总是唱着歌，钻进低矮的树林里，她重复吟唱的稚嫩歌声也常在开阔的山坡上飘荡回响。她用白嫩的小手扶着栏杆，时而飞快地跑过木桥，时而踩着石头，跳过清浅的小溪。
2.这个小家伙总会一连好几个钟头不沾家，家里从没人曾为她担心过——不管她是在胳膊上挎只小花篮，去邻居那儿借点儿家什物件；还是仅为了让自己玩得开心，而跑到附近斜坡的花丛间昏天黑地地玩，然后将一堆花环拎回家。
3.这个快乐的小姑娘总会被邀请去淑女坡（大约两英里外的一处农庄），和她的小玩伴梅恩一家的孩子们度过一整天。通常，日出一小时后，她便从家里出发。
4.她不在家的时候，家里显得寂寞安宁。现在，天早就黑了，家里人惦记着她早点回家。于是，露西的父亲迈克尔、母亲艾格尼丝和婶婶伊莎贝尔都去路上接她。他们走着，走着，好奇为什么没遇上她，但心里没有一点惊慌，直到他们不知不觉间走到淑女坡。节日已经快结束了，但屋里孩子们仍在尽情嬉闹着。雅各·梅恩开了门，来客礼貌地询问他，为什么露西没在天黑以前被送回家。听到这话，雅各神色惊愕地告诉他们，露西今天根本就没来淑女坡。
5.接下来的两小时里，一百多人搜索了山里的各个角落，甚至连可怜的小露西根本不可能走到的地方也都去了。整整一夜，那些牧羊人带着他们的牧羊犬，找遍了山间野外的旮旯角落，甚至每处石缝沟壑、灌木树林，那些可以藏身匿尸的所有地方，但是，哪儿都找不到小露西。
6.似乎被某种超自然的力量支撑着，露西的母亲也加入了夜间搜索。她心惊胆战地查看途经的茂密丛林，时而停下脚步，倾听着从山谷那边回荡过来的大家的呼喊声，试图从里面聆听到是否有好消息。月亮沉落了，星星看起来更亮了些，多少照亮了她的路；但是很快，星星也随之黯淡了。清晨煦光乍露，接着，一轮艳阳腾空而起，清晰地照亮了大地——可是，迈克尔和艾格尼丝仍然没有孩子的消息。
7.“露西大概是陷进长满青苔或泥泞的地方了，”迈克尔对身边的一个男人说，他没法直视那男人的脸，“对她这样的孩子来说，这是个多么、多么残忍的死法！我的孩子曾走过的这片土地吞噬了她，我们再也见不到她了！”
8.搜索队早有人离开，独自朝公路方向走去寻找，后来，有人向他们跑来，手里拿着些什么东西。迈克尔和其他人站在艾格尼丝身边，艾格尼丝躺在草地上，明显已经精疲力竭，一副濒死的模样。来人踌躇不决地靠近了，迈克尔一眼看到，他手里拿的正是露西的帽子、衣服和外套。
9.所有人都看到，孩子的衣服脖颈处，有几点明显的血迹。“孩子被谋杀了！被谋杀了！”有些人窃窃私语着，有些人高声惊呼着，但说的都是同样的一句话。但是，母亲艾格尼丝听不见了，整整一夜希望与绝望的反复折腾后，她早已疲惫不堪地睡着了，或许正在梦里寻找她丢失的可爱露西。
10.婶婶伊莎贝尔接过衣服，仔仔细细地检查了一番，急切地说：“不，露西还活着。”她的声音给绝望的迈克尔带来希望，“孩子的衣服上没有丝毫施暴的痕迹，凶手的手从未碰到过这些衣服。这些血迹是后来沾上去的，大概是为了隐藏些什么。更何况，如果真的有人谋杀了露西，为什么他不把这些衣服带走？他又为什么要谋杀她呢？哦，没有必要这么绝望！我想说些什么？我想说的是，这世道虽然邪恶——是啊，令人绝望的邪恶！但是，这世上并没有人杀死了我们的孩子！事实再清楚不过了，露西是被某个卑鄙无耻的吉普赛乞丐给偷走了！”
11.人群安静地散开，马蹄或脚印很快将布满周边地区。有些人沿着大路搜索，有些人去岔道追踪，还有些人到那些偏僻的山岭里寻找。现在，他们多少从那个孩子已不在世上的可怕念头中解脱出来，更坏的灾祸看来绝不可能，生的希望已将露西重新带回众人怀里。
12.艾格尼丝已经从布雷垦山坡走回家里，迈克尔和伊莎贝尔坐在她的床边。她看来完全筋疲力尽了，静静躺在那里，窗外，树叶沙沙作响，荫影越过窗棂，周围仿佛沉浸在一片悲戚之中。时间一点点流逝，直到满天星斗再现。“我听到斜坡上有脚步声。”艾格尼丝突然说，她原本看上去已经睡着了。不一会儿，雅各·梅恩的声音在门外响起。
13.雅各·梅恩脸色凝重，从他表情看来，他带来的大概不是什么好消息。迈克尔在来客与妻子间站起来，深深地看着雅各，似乎要洞察他的灵魂。雅各脸上的表情看起来并不是那么糟糕。“如果他没有露西的消息，”迈克尔心想，“这男人这会儿多半会在自家的壁炉边。”“哦，你快说呀，说呀，”艾格尼丝焦急地说，“但你还需要说什么呢？所有这一切不过是虚妄之想，露西已经去了天国了。”
14.“有人发现了关于露西的线索：昨天夜里在克娄文福德，有个女人带着一个孩子，那孩子看起来并不像她亲生的，她们今早刚离开。”“亲爱的艾格尼丝，你听到了吗？”伊莎贝尔说。“那女人多半会带着露西向北逃往埃特里克或亚罗，但是，好几百双眼睛都会盯着她的。这些山谷虽然人烟稀少，但总会有人蹲守，甚至没等到她赶到霍维克，我们就会抓到她。我打小就对这片地区相当熟悉，你怎么看，梅恩先生？你脸上露出希望的光彩。”“毫无疑问，夫人，那孩子就是露西，没有人不相信。倘若那是我的女儿瑞切尔，我一定立马就想见到她，就在这个上帝赐福的夜晚。”
15.雅各·梅恩拉过一把椅子坐下来，脸上甚至浮出一丝笑容。“现在，我可以告诉你们，沃迪·奥利弗知道那是你们的孩子，当时在加拉-布里格，他曾看见露西一瘸一拐地跟在那吉普赛女人身后。但由于压根没怀疑，他只不过看了那孩子一眼——但是，一眼就足够了。他发誓，那孩子就是可爱的露西·弗斯特。”
16.这时，伊莎贝尔婶婶将面包、奶酪和一瓶她自酿的接骨木花酒端到餐桌上。“不管你曾到了哪些地方，你一定走了很远的山路，路上那么难走，辛苦你了，梅恩先生，请吃点东西吧。”迈克尔也随声附和。
17.雅各心里清楚，说出真相的时候到了。“不，不，欧文夫人，我实在太开心了，什么都吃不下。对于等待已久的圣灵赐福，你们大概都已经做好准备了吧？你们的孩子就在附近，是我亲自找到她的，我要亲手将她带回家，将她重新交回她父母的手中。”
18.听到这些话，艾格尼丝飞快地从床上支起身，但又无力地躺到了枕头上；婶婶伊莎贝尔呆坐在椅子上，半晌没回过神来；至于迈克尔，他站起身，觉得天塌地陷。有那么短短几分钟，屋里死一般的寂静，随即爆发出一片欢乐嘈杂，好一会儿才平息下来。所有目光都注视门外，但又惴惴不安，不敢睹视。
19.雅各·梅恩并没有兑现他的承诺：他并未亲手将露西送到她父母的手中。露西还是往常一身装扮，戴着帽子，穿着裙子，套着那件带格子图案的外套，一下子冲到家人面前。她的父亲哽咽着，迸出欢喜的泪水，一把抱起她，将她放到母亲的怀里。
【注释】
[1] The scene of this story is laid in Scotland, and many of the words employed, such as brae, brake, heather, and plaid, are but little used except in that country.
[2] Brae, shelving ground, a declivity or slope of a hill.
[3] Pastimes, sports, plays.
[4] Rioting, romping.
[5] Heather, an evergreen shrub bearing beautiful f lowers, used in Great Britain for making brooms, etc.
[6] Inspired, animated, enlivened.
[7] Supernatural, more than human.
[8] Brake, a place overgrown with shrubs and brambles.
[9] Reverberating, resounding, echoing.
[10] Intent, having the mind closely f ixed.
[11] Plaid, a striped or checked overgarment worn by the Scotch.
[12] Ejaculated, exclaimed.
[13] Scour, to pass over swiftly and thoroughly.