目　录

1　沸沸洋洋的家事

The Family in a Hubbub

我的叔叔于勒　居伊·德·莫泊桑

My Uncle Jules　Guy de Maupassant

帕克尔泰德太太打虎　萨基

Mrs. Packletide's Tiger　Saki

竞选州长　马克·吐温

Running for Governor　Mark Twain

跳蛙　埃德加·爱伦·坡

Hop-Frog　Edgar Allen Poe

幽默家的自白书　欧·亨利

Confessions of a Humorist　O. Henry

2　幽默讽刺剧

Humorous Stories

项链　居伊·德·莫泊桑

The Necklace　Guy de Maupassant

小职员之死　安东·契诃夫

The Death of aGovernment Clerk　Anton Chekhov

外套　果戈理

The Overcoat　Gogol

在甲板的天篷下　杰克·伦敦

Under the Deck Awnings　Jack London

判决　弗兰茨·卡夫卡

The Judgement　Franz Kafka

穷人的专利权　查尔斯·狄更斯

A Poor Man's Tale of a Patent　Charles Dickens

3　想入非非的街区

Fantastic People

警察与赞美诗　欧·亨利

The Cop and the Anthem　O. Henry

澡堂　左琴科

The Bathhouse　Zola

变色龙　安东·契诃夫

A Chameleon　Anton Chekhov

生活的陀螺　欧·亨利

The Whirligig of Life　O. Henry

骗术　埃德加·爱伦·坡

Diddling　Edgar Allen Poe

讽刺与幽默像同胞兄弟，相辅相承。幽默如清茶，丝丝清香，浸入心田；讽刺似咖啡，口感醇厚，直入心脾；幽默多几分就变成了讽刺，而讽刺少了幽默，正如火柴缺了头上的那点磷，很难擦出火花。

本书从琳琅满目的讽刺小说宝库中，精选了十余篇佳作，并配以原汁原味的英文，附有凝练生动的作者简介，引导读者在领略作品时，多角度、深层次地解读莫泊桑的饱经沧桑，欧·亨利的幽默机智，左琴科的现实写照等。篇篇精彩，字字珠矶，使读者在体味幽默、讽刺的同时，更能读懂人生，顿悟社会。为了便于读者阅读，书中配有契合故事情节的图片，形象地再现了作品一幕幕生动离奇、动人心魄的场面，组成一个个血肉丰满的人物画廊、广阔变幻的社会图景，带给读者更多的审美享受和人文熏陶。

本书既是英语学习爱好者、文学爱好者的必备读物，也是忙碌的现代人一片心灵憩息的家园。

装在套子里的人

The Man in a Case

艾柯◎编译

文化藝術出版社

Culture and Art Publishing House

图书在版编目（CIP）数据

装在套子里的人：讽刺故事：汉英对照／艾柯编译．—北京：文化艺术出版社，2009.10

（英文爱藏系列）

ISBN 978-7-5039-3969-3

Ⅰ．装…　Ⅱ．艾…　Ⅲ．①英语-汉语-对照读物②文学-作品集-世界　Ⅳ.H319.4:I

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2009）第192140号

装在套子里的人

编　　译　艾　柯

责任编辑　蔡宛若

封面设计　·蒿薇薇

出版发行　文化藝術出版社

地　　址　北京市朝阳区惠新北里甲1号　100029

网　　址　www.whysebs.com

电子邮箱　whysbooks@263.net

电　　话　（010）64813345　64813346（总编室）

（010）64813384　64813385（发行部）

经　　销　新华书店

印　　刷　三河市华业印装厂

版　　次　2009年11月第1版

2009年11月第1次印刷

开　　本　787×1092毫米　1/16

印　　张　17

字　　数　300千字

书　　号　ISBN 978-7-5039-3969-3

定　　价　22.80元

版权所有，侵权必究。印装错误，随时调换。

1　沸沸洋洋的家事

The Family in a Hubbub

大多数人，毕其一生都醉心于快乐的追求，无论是通过何种形式：升职、加薪、文凭、外表等，一再借助外在的争逐，来满足心灵的渴望，却一次又一次地在达到目标之后，失意于莫名的空虚情绪。

我的叔叔于勒

居伊·德·莫泊桑／Guy de Maupassant

居伊·德·莫泊桑（Guy de Maupassant, 1850—1893），19世纪末法国著名小说家，生于法国诺曼底一个没落贵族家庭。他曾参加普法战争，体验了军队生活，也激发了他的爱国热情，这在他的第一篇成名作《羊脂球》中有所反映。莫泊桑富于创造性，描绘真切，笔法灵活多样，富有情趣，讽刺深刻，幽默生动，结构严谨，语言优美。代表作有《俊友》《她的一生》等。

一个胡子花白的老人向我们乞讨，我的同伴约瑟夫·达夫郎什给了他5法郎。看到我吃惊的表情，他说道：

“这个不幸的人唤起了我的回忆，我给你说吧，我一直无法忘记这件事。你听我说：

“我家原来住在阿夫尔，当时家境窘迫，大家仅仅是想方设法糊口度日而已。父亲工作很辛苦，深夜才从办公室赶回家，赚的钱却很少。那时我还有两个姐姐。

“家里的日子日益窘迫，母亲为此痛苦不堪，她经常用刻薄的言语刁难父亲，甚至指桑骂槐。而这个可怜的男人也只是保持一个姿态，让我很伤心——他每次都把手张开，把掌心贴在额头上，好像要擦汗一样，事实上哪里有汗。他总是缄默不语，不去还击母亲。他为自己的无能为力而感到痛苦！大家一切从简，从来不受邀赴宴，以免回请。家里所有的东西都是廉价品。姐姐们自己缝制礼服，为了15生丁一码的穗带也要货比三家，一碗汤再来个牛肉杂烩就是一顿饭。据说这种吃法既干净又养人，不过我宁愿吃别的。

“常常因为丢了扣子，撕坏了裤子，我就要被大骂一顿。

“每周六，我们一家人都穿上最好的衣服，沿着防波堤散步。父亲穿上长礼服，戴上高高的帽子，套上山羊皮手套，而母亲则打扮得像插着彩旗度假的船只，挽着父亲的胳膊。我的姐姐们，总是整装一新，早已迫不及待地在那里等候出发的信号。不过到了最后，总有人发现父亲的长礼服上有污渍，于是不得不马上用浸着汽油的破布揩去。

“父亲仍然顶着丝制高帽，露出衬衣的袖子，让别人揩污渍。而母亲也忙个不停，戴上眼镜，摘掉手套，免得弄脏。

“然后，我们一家人就隆重地出发了。姐姐们挽着彼此的胳膊走在前面，她们都已到该嫁人的年龄，得好好展示一番。我和父亲一左一右簇拥着母亲。我仍记得我可怜的父母周末散步时那自命不凡的样子，一脸严肃，迈着僵硬的双腿。他们挺直身子，面容庄重，脚步僵硬地往前走，好像只有这样才能完成他们的重任。

“每周日，当有从远方异国开来的大汽船时，父亲总是说：

“‘如果于勒在这艘船上，那该多好啊！’

“父亲的弟弟，于勒叔叔，当初家人都疏远他，而今却成了家里的救命稻草。我很小的时候就听家人谈起过于勒叔叔，对他再熟悉不过了，好像见到他就能认出他。尽管他的那段生活总是被大家轻描淡写地谈及，我对他离开美洲以前的生活的点点滴滴却一清二楚。

“他好像过得不怎么好，也就是说，他曾经挥霍了一些钱。这对一个贫困的家庭来说，简直是犯罪。如果一个出身富有的人寻欢作乐干些糊涂事，人们顶多说他是花花公子。而在生活窘迫的家庭里，如果一个人迫使父母花掉老本，那他就是个废物、无赖、流氓。尽管做的事没有区别，但事情后果的严重性成为了二者唯一的区别。

“显然，于勒叔叔在把自己那份遗产挥霍掉后，父亲应得的那份也大大减少了。然后，依照当时的惯例，他被送上了一艘由本地开往纽约的货轮，前往美洲。

“一到那里，叔叔就开始做买卖，很快写信回来说自己赚了一小笔钱，希望能补偿以前给父亲造成的损失，这封信在家里引起了不小的波澜。以前大家都说于勒是个废物，现在一下子变成了大好人，一个心地善良的人，真正的达夫郎什人，忠诚正直。

“一个船长告诉我们，于勒叔叔租了一家大店铺，在做一笔重要的生意。

“两年之后，于勒叔叔写来了第二封信，他写道：‘亲爱的菲利普，此次写信是为了让你不要为我的健康担心，我很好，生意也不错。明天我就要远行到南美。我可能离开几年，会和你失去联系。如果没有收到我的信，不必担心。交了财运，我一定会回阿夫尔。希望那一天不会让我等待太久，我们一家人又幸福地生活在一起……’

“这封信成了全家人的《福音书》，大家静静地读着它，拿给所有人看。

“整整10年，再也没听到于勒叔叔的消息。但是随着时间的流逝，父亲的希望也变得强烈起来，母亲也经常说：

“‘要是好心的于勒在这里，我们的境况将截然不同。他可是个有本事的人啊！’

“到了周日，父亲望着吐着浓烟的大汽船从地平线上开来时，总是重复着同样的话：

“‘如果于勒在这艘船上，那该多好啊！’

“大家都期望他挥着手帕，喊道：

“‘嗨，菲利普！’

“大家盘算过无数个于勒叔叔回来后的计划，甚至，我们还想用于勒的钱买一幢靠近安谷韦尔的乡村小别墅。事实上，我觉得父亲肯定与人商议过此事。

“我的大姐那时28岁了，二姐26岁，都还没嫁人，而这一直是家人的心病。

“最后有人向二姐求婚了，他是个职员，不富有，但还算体面。我一直从心底里坚信那是于勒叔叔的信的功效。一天晚上，我把它拿给他看，他立刻向二姐求婚了。

“二姐立刻接受了他的求婚，大家决定婚礼后就去泽西岛旅行。

“泽西岛是穷人的理想旅行胜地，不远，乘汽船去要过海，途经异国国土，因为那个小岛属于英国。这样，法国人只要两个小时就可以在家看到外国，了解他们的风土人情。

“泽西岛之行吸引着我们，那是我们唯一的期待和不变的梦想。

“终于，我们起程了。我依然觉得一切恍如昨天。轮船在格朗维尔码头驶出；父亲手忙脚乱地监督着三包行李上船，母亲则紧张地挽着我未出阁的姐姐的胳膊，自从一个姐姐出嫁后，她就像掉了魂似的，这样，另一个姐姐就如同鸡窝里的最后一只小鸡，变得极为珍贵了；我们后面是对新婚夫妇，时常惹得我回头张望。

“汽笛响了，我们上了船，船离了岸，在大理石般的海面上驶向前方。看到海岸消失在我们的视野之内，大家都很开心、骄傲，好像我们都很少旅行似的。

“父亲的肚子，掩在大礼服内，而礼服上的污渍在当天早晨已被人仔仔细细擦拭干净了。他的周围散发出赶集市才能闻到的汽油味，那味道总使我觉得那天是周日。突然，他看到两个绅士正请两位穿着优雅的女士吃牡蛎。一位衣衫褴褛的老水手撬开了它的壳子交给两位绅士，他们跟着又交给那两个女士。她们姿态优雅地吃起牡蛎来，一面用精美的手帕托起了牡蛎，一面又向前伸着嘴巴以免弄脏裙子。随后迅速地喝了牡蛎汁，把壳子扔到海里。

“在一艘缓缓行驶的轮船上，她们吃牡蛎的优雅姿态，显然吸引了父亲那艳羡的目光。他觉得那样体面而优雅，于是走到母亲和姐姐那边，问道：

“‘你们愿意让我请你们吃牡蛎吗？’

“因为要花钱，母亲犹豫起来，但是两个姐姐马上表示赞同。母亲有些幸灾乐祸地说：

“‘我怕闹肚子。给孩子们买些吧，不要太多，否则他们吃了会生病。’然后转身对着我，说道：

“‘约瑟夫嘛，就不要吃了，不要惯男孩子。’

“因此我留在了母亲身边，但我觉得这种区分是不公平的。我的目光跟随着父亲，只见他高傲地带着两个姐姐和他的女婿走向那位衣衫褴褛的老水手。

“那两位女士刚走开，父亲便教两个姐姐怎样吃牡蛎而不使汁流出来。他甚至想做出个样子，于是他托起个牡蛎，试着模仿那两位女士，牡蛎汁一下子全洒到了他的外套上。我听见母亲嘀咕着：

“‘安安分分多好。’

“但突然，父亲好像不安起来。他后退了几步，眼睛死死地盯着围在牡蛎贩子周围的姐姐和女婿，然后快步向我们走来，脸色苍白，表情怪异，小声对母亲说：

“‘好奇怪啊，那个牡蛎贩子看起来像于勒。’

“母亲呆住了，问道：

“‘哪个于勒啊？’

“父亲接了话：

“‘我的弟弟啊。如果我不知道他在美洲发了财，还真的以为那就是他呢。’

“母亲紧张起来，结结巴巴地说道：

“‘你疯了！既然知道那不是他，还要说这样的傻话？’

“但父亲仍然固执己见：

“‘过去看看，克拉丽斯！我想让你用自己的眼睛证明一下。’

“母亲起身走向两个女儿。我也看着那个人，他又老又脏、满脸皱纹，眼睛一直盯着手里的活。

“母亲回来了。我发现她浑身颤抖。她尖叫着，上气不接下气地喊道：

“‘肯定是他，我确信。为什么不去问问船长？但是小心点，免得那个无赖又来占我们的便宜！’

“父亲走开了，我异常激动地跟着他。

“船长是个长得又高又瘦的人，留着金色的胡须，正一脸严肃地沿着船桥散步，就像在指挥一艘开往印度的邮船。

“父亲彬彬有礼地走上前去，一面问着他船上的事，一面对船长大加恭维道：

“‘泽西岛的主要特点在哪里？出产什么？人口怎么样？习俗呢？土质怎么样？’等等诸如此类的问题。

“‘你们这里的牡蛎贩子倒是蛮有趣的。你知道他的底细吗？’

“船长开始烦躁起来，冷冷地答道：

“‘那是去年我在美洲碰到的一个法国老流浪汉，我把他带了回来。他好像在阿尔夫还有亲戚，但是他不愿到亲戚那里，因为他欠他们钱。他叫于勒——于勒·达夫曼什或是达夫朗什，总之是和这个差不多的姓。好像以前在国外发过财，而现在您看见他这般落魄潦倒。’

“父亲顿时脸色苍白，嗓子发哑，两眼无精打采，嘟哝着说：

“‘啊，啊，很好，很好。我一点也不惊奇。多谢船长。’

“他离开了，船长吃惊地看着他走开。他回到母亲身边，神色忧郁地对她说道：

“‘坐下吧，快有人看出来了。’

“他一下子瘫坐在长凳上，结巴着说：

“‘是他，是他！’

“然后他问道：

“‘怎么办？’

“她立刻回答：‘我们必须把孩子们引开。既然约瑟夫知道了，让他去把他们引开。我们必须小心点，不要让女婿察觉。’

“父亲好像完全愣住了，喃喃自语道：

“‘大祸临头了！’

“母亲突然变得异常恼怒，尖叫道：

“‘我一向认为这个扒手做不了什么好事，总有一天又会来揩我们的油！怎么能指望从他的身上得到什么！’

“父亲用手摸着额头，好像母亲责备他一样。母亲又说：

“‘把钱给约瑟夫，让他把牡蛎钱付了。现在，只差这个叫花子把我们认出来了。那样，就有好戏看了！我们去船那头吧，小心不要让他靠近我们！’

“他们给了我5法郎就走了。

“姐姐们吃惊地等着父亲，我告诉她们母亲突然有点晕船，我问牡蛎贩子：

“‘我们该付多少钱，先生？’

“我想笑，他是我叔叔！他答道：‘两个半金法郎。’

“我拿出我的5法郎，他把零钱找给了我。我看着他的手，那是一双干瘪、爬满皱纹的水手的手。我又望着他那张忧伤苍老的脸，心里在说：

“‘那是我的叔叔，父亲的弟弟，我的叔叔！’

“我拿了10个铜子给他做小费。他谢我道：

“‘上帝保佑你，少爷！’

“那语气就像穷人接受施舍一样。我不禁想起他肯定在美洲讨过饭！姐姐们望着我，我的慷慨使她们惊呆了。我把2法郎还给了父亲，母亲吃惊地问道：

“‘要花3个法郎吗？不可能啊！’

“我以坚定的口气答道：

“‘我给了他10个铜子的小费。’

“母亲突然盯着我，喊道：

“‘你疯了！把10个铜子扔给那个懒蛋——’

“父亲指了指女婿，向母亲使了个眼色，母亲马上住了口。然后所有的人都不做声了。

“远方地平线上，一片紫色的阴影仿佛从海面升起，展现在我们面前，那里就是泽西岛。

“快到防浪堤时，我心里涌起了一个强烈的念头，想再次见到于勒叔叔，走进他，说几句安慰贴心的话。但是早已无人吃牡蛎了，他也不见了踪迹，可能跑到穷人住的肮脏的地方去了吧。”

My Uncle Jules

A white-haired old man begged us for alms. My companion, Joseph Davranche, gave him five francs. Noticing my surprised look, he said:

"That poor unfortunate reminds me of a story which I shall tell you, the memory of which continually pursues me. Here it is:

"My family, which came originally from Havre, was not rich. We just managed to make both ends meet. My father worked hard, came home late from the office, and earned very little. I had two sisters.

"My mother suffered a good deal from our reduced circumstances^1, and she often had harsh words for her husband, veiled and sly reproaches. The poor man then made a gesture which used to distress me. He would pass his open hand over his forehead, as if to wipe away perspiration^2 which did not exist, and he would answer nothing. I felt his helpless suffering. We economized on everything, and never would accept an invitation to dinner, so as not to have to return the courtesy. All our provisions were bought at bargain sales. My sisters made their own gowns, and long discussions would arise on the price of a piece of braid worth fifteen centimes a yard. Our meals usually consisted of soup and beef, prepared with every kind of sauce. They say it is wholesome and nourishing, but I should have preferred a change.

"I used to go through terrible scenes on account of lost buttons and torn trousers.

"Every Sunday, dressed in our best, we would take our walk along the breakwater. My father, in a frock coat, high hat and kid gloves, would offer his arm to my mother, decked out and beribboned^3 like a ship on a holiday. My sisters, who were always ready first, would await the signal for leaving; but at the last minute some one always found a spot on my father's frock coat, and it had to be wiped away quickly with a rag moistened with benzine.

"My father, in his shirt sleeves, his silk hat on his head, would await the completion of the operation, while my mother, putting on her spectacles, and taking off her gloves in order not to spoil them, would make haste.

"Then we set out ceremoniously. My sisters marched on ahead, arm in arm. They were of marriageable age and had to be displayed. I walked on the left of my mother and my father on her right. I remember the pompous air of my poor parents in these Sunday walks, their stern expression, their stiff walk. They moved slowly, with a serious expression, their bodies straight, their legs stiff, as if something of extreme importance depended upon their appearance.

"Every Sunday, when the big steamers were returning from unknown and distant countries, my father would invariably utter the same words:

"'What a surprise it would be if Jules were on that one! Eh?'

"My Uncle Jules, my father's brother, was the only hope of the family, after being its only fear. I had heard about him since childhood, and it seemed to me that I should recognize him immediately, knowing as much about him as I did. I knew every detail of his life up to the day of his departure for America, although this period of his life was spoken of only in hushed tones.

"It seems that he had led a bad life, that is to say, he had squandered a little money, which action, in a poor family, is one of the greatest crimes. With rich people a man who amuses himself only sows his wild oats. He is what is generally called a sport. But among needy families a boy who forces his parents to break into the capital becomes a good-for-nothing, a rascal, a scamp. And this distinction is just, although the action be the same, for consequences alone determine the seriousness of the act.

"Well, Uncle Jules had visibly diminished the inheritance on which my father had counted, after he had swallowed his own to the last penny. Then, according to the custom of the times, he had been shipped off to America on a freighter going from Havre to New York.

"Once there, my uncle began to sell something or other, and he soon wrote that he was making a little money and that he soon hoped to be able to indemnify my father for the harm he had done him. This letter caused a profound emotion in the family. Jules, who up to that time had not been worth his salt, suddenly became a good man, a kind-hearted fellow, true and honest like all the Davranches.

"One of the captains told us that he had rented a large shop and was doing an important business.

"Two years later a second letter came, saying: 'My dear Philippe, I am writing to tell you not to worry about my health, which is excellent. Business is good. I leave to-morrow for a long trip to South America. I may be away for several years without sending you any news. If I shouldn't write, don't worry. When my fortune is made I shall return to Havre. I hope that it will not be too long and that we shall all live happily together...'

"This letter became the gospel of the family. It was read on the slightest provocation, and it was shown to everybody.

"For ten years nothing was heard from Uncle Jules; but as time went on my father's hope grew, and my mother, also, often said:

"'When that good Jules is here, our position will be different. There is one who knew how to get along!'

"And every Sunday, while watching the big steamers approaching from the horizon, pouring out a stream of smoke, my father would repeat his eternal question:

"'What a surprise it would be if Jules were on that one! Eh?'

"We almost expected to see him waving his handkerchief and crying:

"'Hey! Philippe!'

"Thousands of schemes had been planned on the strength of this expected return; we were even to buy a little house with my uncle's money—a little place in the country near Ingouville. In fact, I wouldn't swear that my father had not already begun negotiations.

"The elder of my sisters was then twenty-eight, the other twenty-six. They were not yet married, and that was a great grief to every one.

"At last a suitor presented himself for the younger one. He was a clerk, not rich, but honorable. I have always been morally certain that Uncle Jules' letter, which was shown him one evening, had swept away the young man's hesitation and definitely decided him.

"He was accepted eagerly, and it was decided that after the wedding the whole family should take a trip to Jersey.

"Jersey is the ideal trip for poor people. It is not far; one crosses a strip of sea in a steamer and lands on foreign soil, as this little island belongs to England. Thus, a Frenchman, with a two hours' sail, can observe a neighboring people at home and study their customs.

"This trip to Jersey completely absorbed our ideas, was our sole anticipation, the constant thought of our minds.

"At last we left. I see it as plainly as if it had happened yesterday. The boat was getting up steam against the quay at Granville; my father, bewildered, was superintending the loading of our three pieces of baggage; my mother, nervous, had taken the arm of my unmarried sister, who seemed lost since the departure of the other one, like the last chicken of a brood; behind us came the bride and groom, who always stayed behind, a thing that often made me turn round.

"The whistle sounded. We got on board, and the vessel, leaving the breakwater, forged ahead through a sea as flat as a marble table. We watched the coast disappear in the distance, happy and proud, like all who do not travel much.

"My father was swelling out his chest in the breeze, beneath his frock coat, which had that morning been very carefully cleaned; and he spread around him that odor of benzine which always made me recognize Sunday. Suddenly he noticed two elegantly dressed ladies to whom two gentlemen were offering oysters. An old, ragged sailor was opening them with his knife and passing them to the gentlemen, who would then offer them to the ladies. They ate them in a dainty manner, holding the shell on a fine handkerchief and advancing their mouths a little in order not to spot their dresses. Then they would drink the liquid with a rapid little motion and throw the shell overboard.

"My father was probably pleased with this delicate manner of eating oysters on a moving ship. He considered it good form, refined, and, going up to my mother and sisters, he asked:

"'Would you like me to offer you some oysters?'

"My mother hesitated on account of the expense, but my two sisters immediately accepted. My mother said in a provoked manner:

"'I am afraid that they will hurt my stomach. Offer the children some, but not too much, it would make them sick.' Then, turning toward me, she added:

"'As for Joseph, he doesn't need any. Boys shouldn't be spoiled.'

"However, I remained beside my mother, finding this discrimination unjust. I watched my father as he pompously conducted my two sisters and his son-in-law toward the ragged old sailor.

"The two ladies had just left, and my father showed my sisters how to eat them without spilling the liquor. He even tried to give them an example, and seized an oyster. He attempted to imitate the ladies, and immediately spilled all the liquid over his coat. I heard my mother mutter:

"'He would do far better to keep quiet.'

"But, suddenly, my father appeared to be worried; he retreated a few steps, stared at his family gathered around the old shell opener, and quickly came toward us. He seemed very pale, with a peculiar look. In a low voice he said to my mother:

"'It's extraordinary how that man opening the oysters looks like Jules.'

"Astonished, my mother asked:

"'What Jules?'

"My father continued:

"'Why, my brother. If I did not know that he was well off in America, I should think it was he.'

"Bewildered, my mother stammered:

"'You are crazy! As long as you know that it is not he, why do you say such foolish things?'

"But my father insisted:

"'Go on over and see, Clarisse! I would rather have you see with your own eyes.'

"She arose and walked to her daughters. I, too, was watching the man. He was old, dirty, wrinkled, and did not lift his eyes from his work.

"My mother returned. I noticed that she was trembling. She exclaimed quickly:

"'I believe that it is he. Why don't you ask the captain? But be very careful that we don't have this rogue on our hands again!'

"My father walked away, but I followed him. I felt strangely moved.

"The captain, a tall, thin man, with blond whiskers, was walking along the bridge with an important air as if he were commanding the Indian mail steamer.

"My father addressed him ceremoniously, and questioned him about his profession, adding many compliments:

"'What might be the importance of Jersey? What did it produce? What was the population? The customs? The nature of the soil?' etc., etc..

"'You have there an old shell opener who seems quite interesting. Do you know anything about him?'

"The captain, whom this conversation began to weary, answered dryly:

"'He is some old French tramp whom I found last year in America, and I brought him back. It seems that he has some relatives in Havre, but that he doesn't wish to return to them because he owes them money. His name is Jules—Jules Darmanche or Davranche or something like that. It seems that he was once rich over there, but you can see what's left of him now.'

"My father turned ashy pale and muttered, his throat contracted, his eyes haggard.

"'Ah! ah! very well, very well. I'm not in the least surprised. Thank you very much, captain.'

"He went away, and the astonished sailor watched him disappear. He returned to my mother so upset that she said to him:

"'Sit down; some one will notice that something is the matter.'

"He sank down on a bench and stammered:

"'It's he! It's he!

"Then he asked:

"'What are we going to do?'

"She answered quickly: 'We must get the children out of the way. Since Joseph knows everything, he can go and get them. We must take good care that our son-in-law doesn't find out.'

"My father seemed absolutely bewildered. He murmured:

"'What a catastrophe!'

"Suddenly growing furious, my mother exclaimed:

"'I always thought that that thief never would do anything, and that he would drop down on us again! As if one could expect anything from a Davranche!'

"My father passed his hand over his forehead, as he always did when his wife reproached him. She added:

"'Give Joseph some money so that he can pay for the oysters. All that it needed to cap the climax would be to be recognized by that beggar. That would be very pleasant! Let's get down to the other end of the boat, and take care that that man doesn't come near us!'

"They gave me five francs and walked away.

"Astonished, my sisters were awaiting their father. I said that mamma had felt a sudden attack of sea-sickness, and I asked the shell opener:

"'How much do we owe you, monsieur?'

"I felt like laughing: he was my uncle! He answered: 'Two francs fifty.'

"I held out my five francs and he returned the change. I looked at his hand; it was a poor, wrinkled, sailor's hand, and I looked at his face, an unhappy old face. I said to myself:

"'That is my uncle, the brother of my father, my uncle!

"I gave him a ten-cent tip. He thanked me:

"'God bless you, my young sir!'

"He spoke like a poor man receiving alms. I couldn't help thinking that he must have begged over there! My sisters looked at me, surprised at my generosity. When I returned the two francs to my father, my mother asked me in surprise:

"'Was there three francs' worth? That is impossible.'

"I answered in a firm voice,

"'I gave ten cents as a tip.'

"My mother started, and, staring at me, she exclaimed:

"'You must be crazy! Give ten cents to that man, to that vagabond—'

"She stopped at a look from my father, who was pointing at his son-in-law. Then everybody was silent.

"Before us, on the distant horizon, a purple shadow seemed to rise out of the sea. It was Jersey.

"As we approached the breakwater a violent desire seized me once more to see my Uncle Jules, to be near him, to say to him something consoling, something tender. But as no one was eating any more oysters, he had disappeared, having probably gone below to the dirty hold which was the home of the poor wretch."

热词空间

1．circumstance []n．环境；详情；境况

2．perspiration [] n．排汗

3．beribboned []adj．有饰缎带的

帕克尔泰德太太打虎

萨基／Saki

萨基（Saki, 1870—1916），原名赫克托·休·芒罗，英国最杰出的讽刺短篇小说家之一，确切地说，应该是苏格兰小说家，他出生于缅甸，15岁入贝德福德文法学校就读两年。曾随父亲前往诺曼底、德国、奥地利、瑞士等地旅行。1893年，由其父介绍入缅甸警察局供职，一年后退出。后在《威斯敏斯特报》任职，并逐渐开始了写作生涯。第一部短篇小说集《雷金纳德》于1904年出版。第一次世界大战爆发后不久参战，1916年11月13日阵亡。萨基的作品文笔隽永，风格幽默，对中产阶级人物时有辛辣的讽刺。

最近，帕克尔泰德夫人很想做的一件事是打虎。这当然不是因为她突然起了杀生之心，也不是因为要使印度变得比过去更加安全和谐，使这里的野兽与人类之数量比变得更低，她之所以突然变得像个大猎手，是由于露娜·比姆伯顿。露娜·比姆伯顿因为乘坐了一位阿尔及利亚飞行员的飞机飞行了11英里而大肆炫耀。对此，帕克尔泰德夫人心中着实不快，认为只有自己亲手从老虎身上弄一张虎皮以及大量的打虎照片来，才能杀杀她的锐气。帕克尔泰德夫人甚至已经想好了庆功宴的各个细节：宴会地点是她在柯曾街上的一所大房子里，对外宣称是为庆祝露娜·比姆伯顿的光荣之事。宴会前台绝大部分用一张虎皮地毯铺设，而且整个宴会的谈论内容都是围绕着虎皮地毯。除了这个庆功宴，帕克尔泰德夫人还设计了另一个使露娜·比姆伯顿锐气受挫的计策：在她生日的时候送她一枚虎爪胸针。在这个被食物和感情支配的人类世界里，帕克尔泰德夫人的确是一个例外，她的各种行为和动机很大程度上是来自于对露娜·比姆伯顿的憎恶。

上天好像有意帮助帕克尔泰德夫人。为了避免在猎捕老虎过程中出现意外或者累得筋疲力尽，帕克尔泰德夫人悬赏一千卢比寻找打虎勇士，而邻村也恰巧有这么一只老虎，更有利的是，这只老虎年迈体衰，攻击能力荡然无存，这才出现在以家养小型动物为食的村落里。当村民们听说打虎者有一千卢比的奖赏时，更是跃跃欲试。村里的孩子们被派往丛林边日夜守候，以防老虎溜掉。为了防止老虎去寻找新的食物源，村民们还故意把几只不太值钱的山羊放在老虎能看得见的地方，以稳住虎心。不过，由于老虎年龄太大，村民们非常担心在还没有领到帕克尔泰德夫人的奖赏之前，它会悄然死去。干完田间里的农活后，母亲们带着自己的孩子悄悄穿过丛林，不再大声唱歌，以免打扰了这只价格不菲的野兽休息。

那个不寻常的夜晚如期而至，皓月当空，万里无云。观望平台搭建在一棵选好的大树上，一个对打虎方便有利的位置。平台搭好之后，帕克尔泰德夫人和她雇来的随从梅宾小姐就蹲在了上面。在离丛林合适的地方绑了一只山羊，这只山羊天生会叫，叫起来没完没了，在这样寂静的夜晚，即便是一只半聋的老虎也能清清楚楚地听见羊叫声。帕克尔泰德夫人和梅宾小姐带着一支精确瞄准步枪和一摞纸牌，静静地等待猎物的出现。

“我觉得咱们还是有一定危险的。”梅宾小姐轻声地说。她倒不是害怕那只野兽，而是神经质似的担心她所得到的报酬会少于她担的风险，哪怕是一丁点。

“无稽之谈，”帕克尔泰德夫人反驳道，“你别忘了这只老虎已经年迈体衰，即便是它有心，可是也没有力气爬到树上了。”

“如果它真像你说的那么老，你就不应该出那么贵的赏钱，毕竟一千卢比不是个小数目。”路易萨·梅宾对于金钱的态度一贯是能省则省，不论是哪个国家的货币，也不论币值是多少。她的这种态度已经为她节省了不少卢比，例如在一些莫斯科的宾馆里，她就从来不付小费。在某些情况下，在别人看来必须要花掉手中的钱时，路易萨·梅宾也能把钱牢牢地攥在手里。她正想着老虎的市场价值会不会因其年老体衰而贬值，此时，那只老虎已经出现在眼前了，她立刻停止了思考。只见老虎看到山羊的时候，却趴在了地上，它并非因为发现我们而想方设法掩护自己，而是为了得到猎物而蓄势待发。

“它肯定是生病了，”路易萨·梅宾用印度斯坦语大声地喊着，想让隐藏在旁边大树上的村长听见。

“别出声！”帕克尔泰德夫人警惕着，就在这时，那只老虎开始展开对山羊的进攻，正缓缓地靠近猎物。

“快！开枪！”路易萨·梅宾催促着，神经有点紧张，“千万不要让它咬伤山羊，否则要额外赔偿的。”（诱饵是要收费的）

随着一声巨大的枪响，只见那只黄褐色的大老虎倒向一边，然后像死了似的一动不动了。瞬间，激动不已的村民们一窝蜂似的跑到了现场，他们的呼喊声很快就把这个好消息传遍整个村庄，当地人击鼓庆祝。村民的欢呼声不断地回响在帕克尔泰德夫人的心中，她想，柯曾街上的庆功宴指日可待了。

这时，路易萨·梅宾却发现那只作为诱饵的山羊正在血泊中垂死挣扎，身上有一处枪伤，而老虎身上没有一丝中枪的痕迹。显然那一枪打错了对象，不过，巨大的枪声足以使年迈体衰的老虎受惊过度，心力衰竭而亡。可想而知，帕克尔泰德夫人在获知这个真相后有多烦恼，但是，不管怎样，她是这只死老虎的拥有者，那些村民们在乎的是那一千卢比的赏钱，只要有赏钱，他们乐意对外谎称老虎是被她打死的，而梅宾小姐也只是她花钱雇来的随从，所以帕克尔泰德夫人可以轻松面对媒体曝光了。她的光辉事迹和耀眼照片从《得克萨斯摄影周刊》到《新时代》的图片版周一增刊上都有报道。至于露娜·比姆伯顿，她已经连续好几个星期不看带图片的报纸了，并且，她在收到虎爪胸针的生日礼物后写了一封感谢信，可见露娜·比姆伯顿是怎样压抑着内心的愤怒。她没有参加那场庆功宴，毕竟人的情感不能过度的受压抑，否则就危险了。

帕克尔泰德夫人拖着虎皮从柯曾街一直走到家中，镇上的人无不投来羡慕的目光。此时此刻，帕克尔泰德夫人化装成狩猎女神戴安娜去参加镇上的化装舞会是再合适不过了。克劳维斯建议她举办一场原生态舞会，参加舞会的每个人都要穿上他最近猎捕的野兽的兽皮，但是，她拒绝了。克劳维斯尴尬至极，“我也就跟襁褓中的婴儿差不多，裹着一两个兔子皮就足够了，不过，”他停了一下，不怀好意地扫了一眼帕克尔泰德夫人肥胖的身体，接着说，“我的身材相当好，跟俄罗斯那些跳舞的小伙子不相上下呢。”

化装舞会结束后没几天，路易萨·梅宾来见帕克尔泰德夫人，说道：“如果人们知道了事情的真相，你可就成了他们的大笑话了！”

“你在说什么？”帕克尔泰德夫人立刻反问道。

“你忘了你打死的只是一只小山羊，老虎是被吓死的吗？”梅宾小姐说完就大笑起来，帕克尔泰德夫人听着着实不爽。

“没有人会相信你的鬼话。”帕克尔泰德夫人嘴上这么说，却掩饰不了她脸上瞬息万变的神情。

“可是露娜·比姆伯顿会相信的。”梅宾小姐充满了自信，此时，帕克尔泰德夫人的脸色已经变得青白。

“你肯定不会把真相说出去的，对不对？”帕克尔泰德夫人小心地问道。

梅宾小姐没有回答她，而是开始了另一个看似不相关的话题，“我看好了一幢周末度假别墅，就在多尔金附近，我真的很想买下来，680镑就能把产权拿下，简直是物超所值啊，只是我刚好手里没那么多钱。”

……

路易萨·梅宾为她那漂亮的度假小别墅起名叫“女子野兽派”，夏日里，花园周围的虎皮兰争相开放，使小别墅显得更加光鲜耀眼，惹来了不少朋友的惊叹和羡慕。

“路易萨竟然能买下这个别墅，真是不可思议！”这是人们的一致观点。

……

从此，帕克尔泰德夫人再也没有进行过大型的狩猎活动。朋友们问她原因时，她的回答永远是——“狩猎的意外开支太大了！”

Mrs. Packletide's Tiger

It was Mrs. Packletide's pleasure and intention that she should shoot a tiger. Not that the lust to kill had suddenly descended on her, or that she felt that she would leave India safer and more wholesome than she had found it, with one fraction less of wild beast per million of inhabitants. The compelling motive for her sudden deviation towards the footsteps of Nimrod was the fact that Loona Bimberton had recently been carried eleven miles in an aeroplane by an Algerian aviator, and talked of nothing else; only a personally procured tiger-skin and a heavy harvest of Press photographs could successfully counter that sort of thing. Mrs. Packletide had already arranged in her mind the lunch she would give at her house in Curzon Street, ostensibly in Loona Bimberton's honour, with a tiger-skin rug occupying most of the foreground and all of the conversation. She had also already designed in her mind the tiger-claw brooch that she was going to give Loona Bimberton on her next birthday. In a world that is supposed to be chiefly swayed by hunger and by love Mrs. Packletide was an exception; her movements and motives were largely governed by dislike of Loona Bimberton.

Circumstances proved propitious. Mrs. Packletide had offered a thousand rupees for the opportunity of shooting a tiger without overmuch risk or exertion, and it so happened that a neighbouring village could boast of being the favoured rendezvous of an animal of respectable antecedents, which had been driven by the increasing infirmities of age to abandon game-killing and confine its appetite to the smaller domestic animals. The prospect of earning the thousand rupees had stimulated the sporting and commercial instinct of the villagers; children were posted night and day on the outskirts of the local jungle to head the tiger back in the unlikely event of his attempting to roam away to fresh hunting-grounds, and the cheaper kinds of goats were left about with elaborate carelessness to keep him satisfied with his present quarters. The one great anxiety was lest he should die of old age before the date appointed for the memsahib's shoot. Mothers carrying their babies home through the jungle after the day's work in the fields hushed their singing lest they might curtail the restful sleep of the venerable herd-robber.

The great night duly arrived, moonlit and cloudless. A platform had been constructed in a comfortable and conveniently placed tree, and thereon crouched Mrs. Packletide and her paid companion, Miss Mebbin. A goat, gifted with a particularly persistent bleat, such as even a partially deaf tiger might be reasonably expected to hear on a still night, was tethered at the correct distance. With an accurately sighted rifle and a thumbnail pack of patience cards the sportswoman awaited the coming of the quarry.

"I suppose we are in some danger?" said Miss Mebbin. She was not actually nervous about the wild beast, but she had a morbid dread of performing an atom more service than she had been paid for.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Packletide; "it's a very old tiger. It couldn't spring up here even if it wanted to."

"If it's an old tiger I think you ought to get it cheaper. A thousand rupees is a lot of money." Louisa Mebbin adopted a protective elder-sister attitude towards money in general, irrespective of nationality or denomination. Her energetic intervention had saved many a rouble from dissipating itself in tips in some Moscow hotel, and francs and centimes clung to her instinctively under circumstances which would have driven them headlong from less sympathetic hands. Her speculations as to the market depreciation of tiger remnants were cut short by the appearance on the scene of the animal itself. As soon as it caught sight of the tethered goat it lay flat on the earth, seemingly less from a desire to take advantage of all available cover than for the purpose of snatching a short rest before commencing the grand attack.

"I believe it's ill," said Louisa Mebbin, loudly in Hindustani, for the benefit of the village headman, who was in ambush in a neighbouring tree.

"Hush!" said Mrs. Packletide, and at that moment the tiger commenced ambling towards his victim.

"Now, now!" urged Miss Mebbin with some excitement; "if he doesn't touch the goat we needn't pay for it." (The bait was an extra.)

The rifle flashed out with a loud report, and the great tawny beast sprang to one side and then rolled over in the stillness of death. In a moment a crowd of excited natives had swarmed on to the scene, and their shouting speedily carried the glad news to the village, where a thumping of tom-toms took up the chorus of triumph. And their triumph and rejoicing found a ready echo in the heart of Mrs. Packletide; already that luncheon-party in Curzon Street seemed immeasurably nearer.

It was Louisa Mebbin who drew attention to the fact that the goat was in death-throes from a mortal bullet-wound, while no trace of the rifle's deadly work could be found on the tiger. Evidently the wrong animal had been hit, and the beast of prey had succumbed to heart-failure, caused by the sudden report of the rifle, accelerated by senile decay. Mrs. Packletide was pardonably annoyed at the discovery; but, at any rate, she was the possessor of a dead tiger, and the villagers, anxious for their thousand rupees, gladly connived at the fiction that she had shot the beast. And Miss Mebbin was a paid companion. Therefore did Mrs. Packletide face the cameras with a light heart, and her pictured fame reached from the pages of the Texas Weekly Snapshot to the illustrated Monday supplement of the Novoe Vremya. As for Loona Bimberton, she refused to look at an illustrated paper for weeks, and her letter of thanks for the gift of a tiger-claw brooch was a model of repressed emotions. The luncheon-party she declined; there are limits beyond which repressed emotions become dangerous.

From Curzon Street the tiger-skin rug travelled down to the Manor House, and was duly inspected and admired by the county, and it seemed a fitting and appropriate thing when Mrs. Packletide went to the County Costume Ball in the character of Diana. She refused to fall in, however, with Clovis's tempting suggestion of a primeval dance party, at which every one should wear the skins of beasts they had recently slain. "I should be in rather a Baby Bunting condition," confessed Clovis, "with a miserable rabbit-skin or two to wrap up in, but then," he added, with a rather malicious glance at Diana's proportions, "my figure is quite as good as that Russian dancing boy's."

"How amused every one would be if they knew what really happened," said Louisa Mebbin a few days after the ball.

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Packletide quickly.

"How you shot the goat and frightened the tiger to death," said Miss Mebbin, with her disagreeably pleasant laugh.

"No one would believe it," said Mrs. Packletide, her face changing colour as rapidly as though it were going through a book of patterns before post-time.

"Loona Bimberton would," said Miss Mebbin. Mrs. Packletide's face settled on an unbecoming shade of greenish white.

"You surely wouldn't give me away?" she asked.

"I've seen a week-end cottage near Dorking that I should rather like to buy," said Miss Mebbin with seeming irrelevance. "Six hundred and eighty, freehold. Quite a bargain, only I don't happen to have the money."

...

Louisa Mebbin's pretty week-end cottage, christened by her "Les Fauves," and gay in summertime with its garden borders of tiger-lilies, is the wonder and admiration of her friends.

"It is a marvel how Louisa manages to do it," is the general verdict.

...

Mrs. Packletide indulges in no more big-game shooting. "The incidental expenses are so heavy," she confides to inquiring friends.

竞选州长

马克·吐温／Mark Twain

马克·吐温（Mark Twain, 1835—1910），美国杰出的小说家，美国文学史上最重要的作家之一，也是美国文学史上第一个用口语写作的作家，开创了一代文风，被福克纳称为“美国文学之父”。马克·吐温幼年家境贫寒，被迫放弃学业外出谋生。丰富的生活经历对他后期的创作影响很大。19世纪70年代到90年代是他创作的鼎盛时期，其代表作有《哈克贝利·费恩历险记》和他的姊妹篇《汤姆·索亚历险记》等。

数月前，纽约州选举州长时，我被提名为候选人，与斯坦华脱·勒·伍福特先生和约翰·特·霍夫曼先生自由竞选。不知为什么，我总觉得自己比起这两位先生来，有一个显著的有利条件，那就是——优秀的人品。很显然，看报纸就知道：这两位绅士自知爱护名声的时代已经过去。最近几年来，他们对于各种无耻罪行似乎已经习以为常了。但是，在这个时候，尽管我暗自为自己的有利条件欢欣雀跃，但总有一股不安搅动我的心弦，那就是——我不得不让自己的名字与此类人搅在一起并四处传播。我的心越来越乱，最后写信给祖母，向她说起此事。很快，我收到了她言辞颇为苛刻的回信，她说：此生你为人处事，从未愧对他人——从未有过。看看报纸——看看伍福特和霍夫曼究竟是何许人也，再想想，你是否愿意降低自己，与此类人为伍，与此类人一决高下。

我内心的想法正是如此！那晚我辗转难眠。但是，不管怎样，我不能就这样放弃。

我已身陷其中，必须继续战斗。

吃早餐时，我无精打采地翻阅报纸。无意中看到这样一段话，顿时感到前所未有的惊慌。

伪证罪——现在马克·吐温先生以州长候选人的身份出现在公众面前，那么或许他应该谦逊地解释一下如下事件。1863年，在交趾支那的瓦卡瓦克，34人指证马克·吐温先生犯有伪证罪。他企图掠夺一小块香蕉种植地，那是一位贫穷的寡妇和她无助的家人唯一的生活来源。

为了他自己，更为了那些他自己恳请投票选举他的伟大人民，马克·吐温先生有责任澄清此事，他会这样做吗？

我惊讶得目瞪口呆！竟有如此残酷、无情的指控！我从未到过交趾支那！什么瓦卡瓦克，更是闻所未闻！至于香蕉种植地，我甚至都不知道它跟袋鼠有什么区别！我不知所措，简直快要疯了。那天，我让日子悄无声息地流逝了，什么都没做。第二天早晨，这家报纸只说了这样一句话——再无他言：

意味深长——众人都注意到：对于交趾支那伪证案件，吐温先生没有任何言辞，令人深省。

（备注——从此以后，这家报纸在竞选活动中提到我，必称“声名狼藉的伪证犯吐温”。）

接下来，《政府公报》里有一段这样的话：

需要查清——新任州长候选人能否屈尊向追随他的市民们（急于投他一票的人们）解释一下：在蒙大那州野营时，马克·吐温先生的室友们经常丢些细小的贵重物品，而后，人们总会在吐温先生的私人物品或“箱子”（他用来卷随身物品的报纸）里找到这些东西。大家为他好，只是善意地告诫他。结果，他全身被涂满焦油，粘上羽毛，并被永远地赶出帐篷，让出其铺位。他会对此做出解释吗？

还有比这更用心险恶的控告吗？因为，我这辈子还从未去过蒙大那州。

（按惯例，这家报纸此后提到我，就叫“蒙大那的小偷吐温”。）

我一拿起报纸，就不免心惊胆战——好像你想睡觉时，掀开毯子，总担心里面有条蛇似的。

我又看到这样一段话：

谎言已被揭穿——五方位区的密凯尔·奥弗拉纳根先生、华脱街的吉特·彭斯先生和约翰·艾伦先生已宣誓证实。根据他们的誓词，马克·吐温先生曾声称我们尊贵的领袖约翰·特·霍夫曼先生的祖父因拦路抢劫而被处死的论调已被确认纯属谎言。他为了达到政治上的成功，而不惜采取卑劣手段，毁谤先人，玷污他们的英名，实在令人遗憾。他卑劣的谎言必定会使逝者无辜的亲友蒙冤受辱，这种想法几乎迫使我们激起愤怒的、被侮辱的公众，毫不犹豫地用非法手段报复诽谤者。但是，我们不能这样！让他在道德的强烈谴责中饱受煎熬吧！（但是，如果公众激愤难平，卤莽行事，可能会对诽谤者进行人身伤害，那么很明显，任何陪审员或法庭都不能对此类作恶者定罪或予以惩罚。）

最后这句极富创造性的话，吓得我那天晚上从床上爬起，从后门溜出去。因为“愤怒的被侮辱的公众”从我家前门涌进来，满怀激愤地砸坏了家具和门窗，所有能带走的财物也统统被他们卷走了。可是，我可以把手按在《圣经》上起誓，我从未诽谤过霍夫曼州长的祖父，甚至都没有听说过他，也从未谈起过他。

（顺便提一句，那家报纸刊登了这则新闻后，提到我时，前面总会加一个“拐尸犯吐温”的称号。）

那家报纸接下来的一篇文章吸引了我的注意：

好个候选人——昨晚的独立党民众大会上，马克·吐温先生本打算作一次诋毁竞争对手的演说，但他并未如期而来。他的医生传来一份电报，说他被几匹狂奔的马撞倒在地，腿部两处受伤——痛苦不堪地躺在床上等等类似的胡言乱语。这样拙劣的托词，独立党人也只好竭力掩饰。至于被他们提名为领袖的这个人——这个放荡不羁的家伙未曾出席大会的真正原因，他们都假装不知道。昨天晚上，一个可靠的人看见一个醉鬼摇摇晃晃地进入马克·吐温先生所住的旅馆内。证明那个醉汉不是马克·吐温先生本人，是独立党人不可推卸的责任。我们终于抓住他们了！这件事已毋庸置疑！人们的控诉响彻云霄：“那个人是谁？”

真令人难以置信，简直不可思议，我的名字竟然与这个可耻的猜疑联系在一起。整整3年了，我从未沾过一滴啤酒、葡萄酒或其他任何一种酒。

（在这家报纸以后的期刊上，我看见自己的名字前都加上“酒疯子吐温先生”。我知道它会一直这样称呼下去，但我没有感到一丝痛苦，可见其影响有多大。）

这个时候，匿名信占到了我所有邮件中最主要的部分，一般是用这样的格式：

那个被你从寓所门口一脚踢开的老婆婆，现在怎样了？

好管闲事者

还有这样写的：

除了我，没人知道你干的好事，你最好掏点钱来孝敬我，否则，报上见。

惹不起

内容大都如此，如果读者还想听，我可以接着引用下去，直到看得你恶心为止。

不久以后，我又被共和党的主要报纸“判定”犯有重大贿赂罪，而民主党的要报又在我头上“栽赃”了一桩勒索案，并大肆渲染。

（这样一来，我又被扣上了两个罪名：“肮脏的贿赂犯吐温”和“令人恶心的讹诈犯吐温”。）

到这个时候，公众也一片哗然，呼声震天，要求我对那些可怕的指控做一个“答复”。就连我们党的报刊编辑和领导们都对我说，如果我再缄默不语，政治生涯将就此终结，这好像是要促使他们作出更蛮横的控诉似的。就在第二天，一家报纸上出现了这样一段话：

明察此人！——独立党的这位候选人始终保持沉默，因为他不敢发表言论。控告他的每一条罪名都证据确凿，它们已完全得到了证实，并且他意味深长的缄默也足以说明一切，直到今天，他的罪名始终成立。看看你们这位候选人吧！独立党的同胞们！看看这臭名昭著的伪证犯！蒙大那的小偷！拐尸犯！好好审视这个精神错乱的酒疯子吧！你们这位肮脏的贿赂犯！令人恶心的讹诈犯！好好看着他——仔细打量——然后看你们是否愿意把自己最真诚的选票，投给这样一个犯下丑恶罪行而获得一大串令人心痛的称号，却始终不敢张口否认任何一条控告的家伙。

我实在无力摆脱这种困境。面对那一堆毫无根据的指控和卑鄙的谎言，我只好满怀耻辱地准备予以“答复”，但这个任务我始终无法完成。因为，一家报纸第二天又刊登了一桩更新的既恐怖又狠毒的案例，更严厉地控诉我，说我放火烧毁了一座疯人院，院里的病人无一幸免，只因为它挡住了我家看风景的视线。这让我惶惶不可终日。后来，又有人控告我毒死自己的叔叔，霸占了他的财产。他们还极为严肃地要求开棺验尸。我简直要崩溃了。更有甚者，竟然控告我雇佣老掉了牙、无能的老亲戚为自己负责的育婴堂做饭。我开始把持不住了——摇摆不定。最后，这种无耻的迫害达到了高潮：9个蹒跚学步的幼儿，肤色、种族各异，他们穿着各种破烂不堪的衣服被人唆使冲上民众大会的讲台，抱住我的双腿，叫我“爸爸”！

我放弃了，我降旗宣布投降。我达不到参加纽约州州长竞选所要求的条件。所以，我发表声明，决定退出竞选，我痛苦地签下了自己的名字：

“你忠实的朋友，以前是正派人，可现在却成了伪证犯、小偷、拐尸犯、酒疯子、贿赂犯和讹诈犯的马克·吐温。”

Running for Governor

A few months ago I was nominated^1 for Governor of the great state of New York, to run against Mr. John T. Smith and Mr. Blank J. Blank on an independent ticket. I somehow felt that I had one prominent advantage over these gentlemen, and that was—good character. It was easy to see by the newspapers that if ever they had known what it was to bear a good name, that time had gone by. It was plain that in these latter years they had become familiar with all manner of shameful crimes. But at the very moment that I was exalting my advantage and joying in it in secret, there was a muddy^2undercurrent of discomfort "riling" the deeps of my happiness, and that was—the having to hear my name bandied about in familiar connection with those of such people. I grew more and more disturbed. Finally I wrote my grandmother about it. Her answer came quick and sharp. She said: You have never done one single thing in all your life to be ashamed of—not one. Look at the newspapers—look at them and comprehend^3 what sort of characters Messrs. Smith and Blank are, and then see if you are willing to lower yourself to their level and enter a public canvass with them.

It was my very thought! I did not sleep a single moment that night. But, after all, I could not recede.

I was fully committed, and must go on with the fight.

As I was looking listlessly over the papers at breakfast I came across this paragraph, and I may truly say I never was so confounded before.

PERJURY.—Perhaps, now that Mr. Mark Twain is before the people as a candidate for Governor, he will condescend to explain how he came to be convicted of perjury by thirty-four witnesses in Wakawak, Cochin China, in 1863, the intent of which perjury being to rob a poor native widow and her helpless family of a meager plantain-patch, their only stay and support in their bereavement and desolation.

Mr. Twain owes it to himself, as well as to the great people whose suffrages he asks, to clear this matter up. Will he do it?

I thought I should burst with amazement! Such a cruel, heartless charge! I never had seen Cochin China! I never had heard of Wakawak! I didn't know a plantain-patch from a kangaroo! I did not know what to do. I was crazed and helpless. I let the day slip away without doing anything at all. The next morning the same paper had his—nothing more:

SIGNIFICANT.—Mr. Twain, it will be observed, is suggestively silent about the Cochin China perjury.

[Mem.—During the rest of the campaign this paper never referred to me in any other way than as "the infamous perjurer Twain".]

Next came the Gazette, with this:

WANTED TO KNOW—Will the new candidate for Governor deign to explain to certain of his fellow-citizens who are suffering to vote for him! the little circumstance of his cabin-mates in Montana losing small valuables from time to time, until at last, these things having been invariably found on Mr. Twain's person or in his "trunk" (newspaper he rolled his traps in), they felt compelled to give him a friendly admonition for his own good, and so tarred and feathered him, and rode him on a rail; and then advised him to leave a permanent vacuum in the place he usually occupied in the camp. Will he do this?

Could anything be more deliberately^4 malicious than that? For I never was in Montana in my life.

[After this, this journal customarily spoke of me as, "Twain, the Montana Thief."]

I got to picking up papers apprehensively—much as one would lift a desired blanket which he had some idea might have a rattlesnake under it.

One day this met my eye:

THE LIE NAILED.—By the sworn affidavits of Michael O'Flanagan, Esq., of the Five Points, and Mr. Snub Rafferty and Mr. Catty Mulligan, of Water Street, it is established that Mr. Mark Twain's vile statement that the lamented grandfather of our noble standard-bearer, Blank J. Blank, was hanged for highway robbery, is a brutal and gratuitous LIE, without a shadow of foundation in fact. It is disheartening to virtuousmen to see such shameful means resorted to achieve political success as the attacking of the dead in their graves, and defiling their honored names with slander. When we think of the anguish this miserable falsehood must cause the innocent relatives and friends of the deceased, we are almost driven to incite an outraged and insulted public to summary and unlawful vengeance upon the traducer. But no! let us leave him to the agony of a lacerated conscience (though if passion should get the better of the public, and in its blind fury they should do the traducer bodily injury, it is but too obvious that no jury could convict and no court punish the perpetrators of the deed).

The ingenious closing sentence had the effect of moving me out of bed with despatch that night, and out at the back door also, while the "outraged and insulted public" surged in the front way, breaking furniture and windows in their righteous indignation as they came, and taking off such property as they could carry when they went. And yet I can lay my hand upon the Book and say that I never slandered Mr. Blank's grandfather. More: I had never even heard of him or mentioned him up to that day and date.

[I will state, in passing, that the journal above quoted from always referred to me afterward as "Twain, the Body-Snatcher."]

The next newspaper article that attracted my attention was the following:

A SWEET CANDIDATE.—Mr. Mark Twain, who was to make such a blighting speech at the mass-meeting of the Independents last night, didn't come to time! A telegram from his physician stated that he had been knocked down by a runaway team, and his leg broken in two places—sufferer lying in great agony, and so forth, and so forth, and a lot more bosh of the same sort. And the Independents tried hard to swallow the wretched subterfuge, and pretend that they did not know what was the real reason of the absence of the abandoned creature whom they denominate their standard-bearer. A certain man was seen to reel into Mr. Twain's hotel last night in a state of beastly intoxication. It is the imperative duty of the Independents to prove that this besotted brute was not Mark Twain himself. We have them at last! This is a case that admits of no shirking. The voice of the people demands in thunder tones, "Who was that man?"

It was incredible, absolutely incredible, for a moment, that it was really my name that was coupled with this disgraceful suspicion. Three long years had passed over my head since I had tasted ale, beer, wine or liquor or any kind.

[It shows what effect the times were having on me when I say that I saw myself, confidently dubbed "Mr. Delirium Tremens Twain" in the next issue of that journal without a pang—notwithstanding I knew that with monotonous fidelity the paper would go on calling me so to the very end.]

By this time anonymous letters were getting to be an important part of my mail matter. This form was common:

How about that old woman you kiked of your premises which was beging?

POL. PRY.

And this:

There is things which you Have done which is unbeknowens to anybody but me. You better trot out a few dots, to yours truly, or you'll hear through the papers from

HANDY ANDY.

This is about the idea. I could continue them till the reader was surfeited, if desirable.

Shortly the principal Republican journal "convicted" me of wholesale bribery, and the leading Democratic paper "nailed" an aggravated case of blackmailing to me.

[In this way I acquired two additional names: "Twain the Filthy Corruptionist" and "Twain the Loathsome Embracer".]

By this time there had grown to be such a clamor for an "answer" to all the dreadful charges that were laid to me that the editors and leaders of my party said it would be political ruin for me to remain silent any longer. As if to make their appeal the more imperative, the following appeared in one of the papers the very next day:

BEHOLD THE MAN! —The independent candidate still maintains silence. Because he dare not speak. Every accusation against him has been amply proved, and they have been indorsed and reindorsed by his own eloquent silence, till at this day he stands forever convicted. Look upon your candidate, Independents! Look upon the Infamous Perjurer! the Montana Thief! the Body-Snatcher! Contemplate your incarnate Delirium Tremens! your Filthy Corruptionist! Your Loathsome Embracer! Gaze upon him—ponder him well—and then say if you can give your honest votes to a creature who has earned this dismal array of titles by his hideous crimes, and dares notopen his mouth in denial of any one of them!

There was no possible way of getting out of it, and so, in deep humiliation, I set about preparing to "answer" a mass of baseless charges and mean and wicked falsehoods. But I never finished the task, for the very next morning a paper came out with a new horror, a fresh malignity, and seriously charged me with burning a lunatic asylum with all its inmates, because it obstructed the view from my house. This threw me into a sort of panic. Then came the charge of poisoning my uncle to get his property, with an imperative demand that the grave should be opened. This drove me to the verge of distraction. On top of this I was accused of employing toothless and incompetent old relatives to prepare the food for the foundling's hospital when I warden. I was wavering—wavering. And at last, as a due and fitting climax to the shameless persecution that party rancor had inflicted upon me, nine little toddling children, of all shades of color and degrees of raggedness, were taught to rush onto the platform at a public meeting, and clasp me around the legs and call me PA!

I gave it up. I hauled down my colors and surrendered. I was not equal to the requirements of a Gubernatorial campaign in the state of New York, and so I sent in my withdrawal from the candidacy, and in bitterness of spirit signed it:

"Truly yours, once a decent man, but now MARK TWAIN, LP., M.T., B. S., D.T., F.C., and L.E."

热词空间

1．nominate [] v．提名；推荐；任命

2．muddy [] adj．多泥的；泥泞的

3．comprehend [] v．领会；理解

4．deliberately [] adv．故意地

跳蛙

埃德加·爱伦·坡／Edgar Allen Poe

埃德加·爱伦·坡（Edgar Allen Poe, 1809—1849），美国浪漫主义文学大师，19世纪美国最著名、最具代表性的作家之一，在短篇小说的发展历史中占有突出的地位。他是短篇小说最重要的开创者，为这一文学体裁提出了较全面的指导性理论。爱伦·坡的短篇小说大致分为三类：恐怖故事、谋杀疑案和科学难解之谜。他开创了侦探小说的先河，被称为“侦探小说之父”。本文被公认为是他最完美的短篇小说之一，也是世界最佳短篇小说之一，充分体现了他关于短篇小说的理论和风格特征。

我真不知道还有谁会像这个国王一样，如此爱听笑话。他好像就是为笑话活着。谁要是能讲一个好玩的故事，还能讲得好，那他一定最得国王的宠幸。所以，凑巧的是他那七个大臣全都以在讲笑话方面的成就而著名。

他们像国王一样，是无与伦比的小丑，全都体型高大，身材肥胖，一副谄媚嘴脸。不知道人们是因为爱讲笑话而长成了胖子，还是因为胖本身就是个笑话，我从来都不是很确定。但是有一点可以肯定，一个瘦弱的小丑是相当少有的珍宝。

在国王的眼中，所谓的高贵典雅就是“鬼”聪明，国王并不为此烦恼。他尤其欣赏那种下流的笑话，即使它再冗长也能忍受。他觉得过分文雅让人厌烦。他宁愿看看拉伯雷的《高康大》，也不想读伏尔泰的《查第格》。总之，现实中的恶作剧远比口头上的笑话更合他的胃口。

我讲述的那个年代，宫廷里还留有一些专业小丑。欧洲大陆上那几个“强国”依旧养着他们的“弄臣”。那些弄臣们身着花色衣服，头戴系铃帽子。为了御桌上掉落的残羹剩饭，他们随时准备着要抖机灵，取悦圣上。

这个故事里的国王当然也有自己的弄臣。事实上，他非要看点愚蠢的事情不可——以求跟他那七个过分聪明大臣的达成平衡——他自己的才智就更不用说了。

话说回来，国王的弄臣，那个专业小丑，不仅仅是个傻子，他个子矮小，还是个瘸子，在国王眼中的价值便高了三倍。那个时候，宫廷里矮子当弄臣很常见。许多帝王觉得要是不逗逗小丑，取笑取笑矮子，日子就太难挨了。要知道，宫里的日子总是比其他地方漫长啊。但是，就像我之前所提到的，那些小丑，一百个里面有九十九个都肥头大耳，笨手笨脚——所以国王对跳蛙（弄臣的名字）甚是得意，他一人就顶三个活宝。

依我看，“跳蛙”这个名字并不是教父教母在受洗时给他取的。而是这七个大臣看他不能像正常人那样走路，共同决议，赐予他的这个绰号。其实，跳蛙只能用一种特殊的姿势走路——半跳半扭——国王看得乐不可支，当然，对国王未尝不是一种安慰。因为国王很难看，他肚鼓如牛，头大如斗。尽管满朝文武都封他为美男子！

可是话说回来，虽然跳蛙两腿有些畸形，走路上楼要忍受剧痛，非常困难，但造物主仿佛是为了弥补他下肢这个缺陷似的，赋予他双臂肌肉无穷的力量。他能够在大树或者绳子任何一类可以攀爬的东西上表演许多绝技，动作相当矫健。他做起动作来，把他比做松鼠或者猴子还差不多，一点都不像青蛙。

我也说不准跳蛙的老家具体在哪里。从未有人听说过那个荒蛮之地——离皇宫很远的地方。还有另一个年轻女孩，身材和跳蛙差不多矮小，体型倒是相对匀称，跳舞很棒。他们是邻乡，当时是被国王的一位常胜将军分别掳来作为贡品。

这种情形下，无怪乎这俩小俘虏相依为命，日渐亲密了起来。他们很快变成了好朋友。尽管跳蛙会耍好多把戏，可要不是能够为屈丽佩泰效劳，根本不会受欢迎；她尽管矮小，却举止优雅，还颇有姿色，人人都喜欢她，宠爱她，因此是个炙手可热的角色。只要她办得到，她都会利用自己的影响力替跳蛙出头。

在一个盛大的国家庆典上——我忘了是什么节日了——国王决定举办一个化妆舞会，每逢宫廷中举行这种盛大活动，跳蛙和屈丽佩泰肯定会被叫去表演。跳蛙在筹划方面独具才能，总能想出好的点子，还为化妆舞会张罗服装。好像要是没有他在，就什么事都办不了了似的。

到了舞会的那天，大殿早已装扮了一番。在屈丽佩泰的监督下，每一处摆设都让舞会大放光芒。全皇宫的人都在翘首企盼。说到服装和角色扮演，大家此刻应该都有谱了。许多人其实早在一周甚至一个月前就想好了这天要穿成什么样子。其实也没有什么人为此而犹豫不决的，除了国王和他那七个大臣。我永远也猜不透他们有什么好犹豫的，除非他们觉得这样做很有趣。八成是他们太胖了，让他们觉得做决定很难。不管怎样，时间过得很快。最后还是传见屈丽佩泰和跳蛙。

这对小伙伴接到国王的传唤前来伺候，这时国王正在和那七个内阁大臣饮酒作乐；但国王好像面露愠色。他知道跳蛙不喜欢喝酒，因为一喝酒这个可怜的瘸子就要发酒疯；发酒疯的感觉可不舒服。但国王就是喜欢这种恶作剧，他以强迫跳蛙喝酒为乐还宣称是让跳蛙开心。跳蛙和小伙伴刚一进房间，国王就说，“跳蛙，到这来，先为了你故去的朋友干了这杯。”听到此处跳蛙叹了口气，“然后给我们想几个新点子。我们想要角色——角色，小子——有点创意的——不同寻常的。总是那一套，我们都腻了。来，喝！喝点脑子就灵了。”

跳蛙像往常一样尝试着想出洋相以回应国王的这些话语。但凑巧的是今天恰逢是这个苦命矮子的生日，又被命令为“故去的朋友”干杯，眼里泛出了泪。他低声下气地、谦卑地从这个巨人暴君手中接过酒杯，大颗辛酸的眼泪便簌簌落入杯中。

“啊！哈！哈！哈！”矮子勉强喝干了那杯酒，国王便放声大笑——“看看一杯美酒能起什么作用！怎么，你的眼睛已经开始放光了呢！”

真是个可怜的家伙！他的大眼睛闪烁着，但闪的不是亮光，酒力顿时发作了。他不安地把酒杯放在桌上，半疯似的将这君臣八人死盯着看了一遍。他们看起来都被国王这个成功的玩笑逗乐了。

“现在说正经的吧！”首相说道。一个非常胖的男人。

“对，”国王说，“给我们出出主意啊。角色，我和我的大臣都需要啊，哈！哈！”这话根本就是说笑，其他七个人便跟着齐声笑着。

跳蛙也有气无力地笑着，多少显得有点空洞。

“哎，哎，”国王不耐烦地说，“一点主意都没有？”

“奴才正努力构思呢。”矮子回答着，有点心不在焉，因为他已经被酒精弄懵了。

“努力？”这个暴君大吵大叫，“你这是什么意思？哦，我懂了。你心情不好，想再来点酒对吧。来，喝了这杯！”说着他就又倒了满满一杯给瘸子，瘸子只是盯着酒看，喘着粗气。

“快喝，”这个魔鬼似的人呵斥道，“不喝就见鬼去……”

矮子犹豫着。国王发怒了。臣子们都嘻嘻地笑。屈丽佩泰脸色苍白，她走到御座前，在国王面前跪下求他放过自己的朋友。

这个暴君很奇怪谁给她的胆子，这样和自己说话。他突然不知道该说点什么或者做点什么，以表达自己的愤怒。最后，他一言不发，一把推开她，还将满满一杯酒泼在她脸上。

这个女孩已经尽力了，连叹口气都不敢，还是站回了御桌脚旁。

霎时间一片死寂，持续了大概半分钟，这期间就是掉下一片叶子或是一片羽毛都能听到。突然一阵低低的刺耳的嘎嘎声打破沉寂，仿佛是从房间的某一个角落发出的。

“你干——干——吗弄出这种怪声？”国王怒火冲天。

矮子八成是酒醒了，非常安静而又专注地看着暴君的脸，失声叫道：

“奴——才？怎么会是奴才呢？”

“这声音好像是从外面传来的，”一个臣子禀奏道，“照臣看，可能是窗口的鹦鹉，在用笼子栏杆磨嘴呢！”

“确实是。”国王说，听了这个说法，他仿佛放心了许多。

说到这矮子也笑了，露出一嘴偌大的令人讨厌的大牙。矮子一口答应让他喝多少酒他就喝多少。国王息怒了。跳蛙又干了一杯，这次喝完没什么不好的反应。跳蛙马上进入状态，开始为化装舞会出谋划策。

“我也不知道怎么有的这个念头啊，”矮子说道，语气非常平静，好像生平没喝过酒似的，“看到陛下打屈丽佩泰，还往她脸上泼酒，听到那窗外鹦鹉的怪声音后，我突然有了灵感——是我们乡下的一个玩意儿——在化装舞会上用到的：不过在这倒是个十足崭新的玩意儿。可惜，这得要八个人而且……”

“我们这不是么？”国王一下就察觉到了这个巧合，不由地笑着，“我和这七个大臣，正好八个。说吧！怎么个玩法？”

瘸子回禀道，“我们叫它‘八个带铁链的猩猩’，如果扮得好，真是挺好玩的。”

“我们当然扮得好。”国王挺直腰板，垂着眼皮说道。

“这个打扮妙就妙在女人们见了会特别害怕！”

“妙哉！”君臣八人一起喊着。

矮子继续讲着，“我会把你们打扮成猩猩。都交给我来办吧。我会弄得非常逼真，舞会上的其他人一定会以为你们是真的野兽呢——当然，管保让他们既害怕又震惊。”

“这真不错，”国王说，“跳蛙，我会好好赏你的！”

“戴着铁链，铁链哐啷作响，人们就更困惑了。你们要假装是从看守手里逃脱的。陛下，您可想象不出这样一来，化妆舞会的效果会更好。八个被铁链拴着的猩猩，在场的人都以为这是真的；你们要学着野人的叫声跑进去，穿进那群穿着精致华美衣服的人群里。天下没有比这更强烈的对比了。

“嗯。一定是这样！”国王说。天色渐渐晚了，大臣们匆匆起身，准备按照跳蛙的计划去做了。

他的这个扮猩猩的法子很简单，但已经能够达到他的目的了。在这个故事发生的年月里，文明世界的任何地方都很难看到这种动物；矮子扮的猩猩非常像野兽，绝对可以以假乱真。

国王和那七位大臣先穿上紧身的衬衣衬裤，再浸透柏油。进行到这里时，有人建议用翎毛；但马上被矮子给否决了。矮子说服他们，猩猩这种畜生的兽毛拿麻代替最像不过了。于是就在柏油上面粘了厚厚一层麻。接着又拿来一条长的铁链。先把链子在国王的腰间绕一圈，然后打个结，再绕在一位大臣的腰际，绑好；然后在其他大臣的腰际一一绕过，绑好。在做完了这些之后，让大家尽量离得远远地站好，围成一圈。为了显得更逼真一些，跳蛙将剩下的铁链当做两根直径，交叉成直角。后来这个方法被人们采用了。现如今，婆罗洲人就是这样捕捉大猩猩或者类人猿的。

举行化装舞会的大殿是圆形的，非常巍峨雄伟，但在殿顶只有一扇窗户能够透进阳光。到了晚上，就只能借助那盏大的烛灯，天窗当中垂下铁链吊着它，照例用平衡锤拉上放下，但是为了雅观，滑轮装在了屋顶上。

殿内的布置本来都是交给屈丽佩泰监管的，不过个别地方是按照矮子的要求做的。他的意思是，把烛灯撤掉。天这么热，免不了会有蜡油滴落下来，而且那天一定会很拥挤，屋子中心，也就是烛灯下面，不可能没有人。这样就会弄脏客人们华服锦衣。殿内许多角落都摆上了烛台，蜡烛燃烧时散发出馥郁的香味。靠墙有排女像石柱，大概有五六十个，每个右手各执一支火把。

八个猩猩听从跳蛙的安排，耐心地等待到半夜时分，大殿里这时挤满了人。钟声刚停，他们就一起冲进去，其实是滚进去的。因为铁链碍手碍脚，他们都摔倒了。

来宾们一下子炸了锅，国王别提有多高兴了。正如预期的那样，很多人即使没有猜到这是猩猩，也会以为这是现实中的某种野兽呢。很多女宾吓得当场昏了过去。大家都向门口涌去；但国王之前下令，自己一进去就将门锁上；并且依照矮子的建议，钥匙会交给他保管。

大殿里乱得不可开交，每个人都想着自己怎么逃命（事实上，人们这样激烈的推推搡搡才真危险呢）。当初被拉上去的灯链现在又被缓缓地放下了，链钩离地不到三尺。

国王和七个朋友在殿内各个方向走着，终于闯到了大厅里，不用说，马上和灯链挨上了。矮子事先悄悄尾随着他们，撺掇他们不停地吵，等他们一旦站定，就捏住绑在他们身上的铁链那贯穿圆周的交叉部分。他灵机一动，将灯链钩子钩住铁链，不知道是谁拉了链子，灯链竟然自己升了上去，高得伸手都够不到那个钩子，这样八个猩猩被拉到了一起，面面相对。

这时来宾们才恢复了平静，认为整个事情不过是一个编排巧妙的滑稽戏，开始取笑这几个猩猩了。

跳蛙喊着，“把他们交给我吧！”他的声音很尖锐，整个大殿的人都听到了。“交给我吧。我只要好好看一眼，马上就知道他们到底是谁了！”

他拨开人群，走到墙边，从一个女像石柱上取了一个火把回到大殿中央，跳到国王的头上，麻利的像只猴子。拿着火把打量那群猩猩，嘴里还叫着“我马上就知道他们是谁了！”

这时，所有人，包括那些猩猩在内，个个笑得前仰后合。突然，矮子打了个呼哨；灯链猛地升高了三十多英尺，把这群猩猩拉在了半空中。跳蛙紧抓铁链，也升了上去，还在假装很尊重这些戴面具的人，还不时拿着火把冲下照他们，拼命想要看出他们究竟是谁。

大家看到灯链升高了，都吃了一惊，顿时一片静寂。过了几分钟，这静寂被一阵刺耳的嘎嘎声打破了。当初国王将酒泼在屈丽佩泰脸上时，那些大臣们听到的就是这个声儿。现在这声音是从哪里来的不言而喻了，是矮子牙缝间发出的。他唾沫四溅，咬牙切齿。愤怒地狠狠瞪着国王和那七个大臣“啊哈！”矮子愤怒地说，“啊，我知道他们是谁了！”说着，他假装想更进一步仔细端详国王的样子，将火把凑近国王身上裹着的那层麻，转眼就蹿成了一条火舌。不一会儿，八个猩猩就全烧着了。客人们在下面傻傻地盯着看，吓坏了，什么忙都帮不上。

火势越来越旺，一发不可收拾。矮子不得不顺着灯链又爬高了些，好让火苗烧不到；看到矮子爬了那么高，下面这些人突然又安静了下来。矮子抓住这次机会，说道，“我现在看清楚了，这些猩猩到底是谁扮的。他们是国王和那七个大臣——一个欺负手无寸铁的小女孩的国王，七位枢密大臣还在旁边教唆。在下就是跳蛙，是个小丑——这是我演的最后一出戏啦。”

粘在他们身上的亚麻和柏油都很容易引燃，他的一番简短发言还没结束，复仇大计就已经完成了。那八个死尸吊着链子上，被烧成了黑糊糊一团，恶臭熏天，样子可怕极了。矮子将火把扔在他们身上，悠闲地爬到了屋顶，穿过天窗，在人们的视线里消失了。

据说屈丽佩泰就在那个房顶，是朋友跳蛙实施这次复仇行动的帮手。他们一起逃回了故乡：因为再也没有人见过他们！

Hop-Frog

I never knew anyone so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the surest road to his favor. Thus it happened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers.

They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine; but certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terris.

About the refinements, or, as he called them, the "ghost" of wit, the king troubled himself very little. He had an especial admiration for breadth in a jest, and would often put up with length, for the sake of it. Over-niceties wearied him. He would have preferred Rabelais' "Gargantua" to the "Zadig" of Voltaire: and, upon the whole, practical jokes suited his taste far better than verbal ones.

At the date of my narrative, professing jesters had not altogether gone out of fashion at court. Several of the great continental "powers" still retain their "fools," who wore motley, with caps and bells, and who were expected to be always ready with sharp witticisms, at a moment's notice, in consideration of the crumbs that fell from the royal table.

Our king, as a matter of course, retained his "fool." The fact is, he required something in the way of folly—if only to counterbalance the heavy wisdom of the seven wise men who were his ministers—not to mention himself.

His fool, or professional jester, was not only a fool, however. His value was trebled in the eyes of the king, by the fact of his being also a dwarf and a cripple. Dwarfs were as common at court, in those days, as fools; and many monarchs would have found it difficult to get through their days (days are rather longer at court than elsewhere) without both a jester to laugh with, and a dwarf to laugh at. But, as I have already observed, your jesters, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, are fat, round, and unwieldy—so that it was no small source of self-gratulation with our king that, in Hop-Frog (this was the fool's name), he possessed a triplicate treasure in one person.

I believe the name "Hop-Frog" was not that given to the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was conferred upon him, by general consent of the several ministers, on account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact, Hop-Frog could only get along by a sort of interjectional gait—something between a leap and a wriggle—a movement that afforded illimitable amusement, and of course consolation, to the king, for (notwithstanding the protuberance of his stomach and a constitutional swelling of the head) the king, by his whole court, was accounted a capital figure.

But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs, enabled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexterity, where trees or ropes were in question, or any thing else to climb. At such exercises he certainly much more resembled a squirrel, or a small monkey, than a frog.

I am not able to say, with precision, from what country Hop-Frog originally came. It was from some barbarous region, however, that no person ever heard of—a vast distance from the court of our king. Hop-Frog, and a young girl very little less dwarfish than himself (although of exquisite proportions, and a marvellous dancer), had been forcibly carried off from their respective homes in adjoining provinces, and sent as presents to the king, by one of his ever-victorious generals.

Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that a close intimacy arose between the two little captives. Indeed, they soon became sworn friends. Hop-Frog, who, although he made a great deal of sport, was by no means popular, had it not in his power to render Trippetta many services; but she, on account of her grace and exquisite beauty (although a dwarf), was universally admired and petted; so she possessed much influence; and never failed to use it, whenever she could, for the benefit of Hop-Frog.

On some grand state occasion—I forgot what—the king determined to have a masquerade, and whenever a masquerade or any thing of that kind, occurred at our court, then the talents, both of Hop-Frog and Trippetta were sure to be called into play. Hop-Frog, in especial, was so inventive in the way of getting up pageants, suggesting novel characters, and arranging costumes, for masked balls, that nothing could be done, it seems, without his assistance.

The night appointed for the fete had arrived. A gorgeous hall had been fitted up, under Trippetta's eye, with every kind of device which could possibly give eclat to a masquerade. The whole court was in a fever of expectation. As for costumes and characters, it might well be supposed that everybody had come to a decision on such points. Many had made up their minds (as to what roles they should assume) a week, or even a month, in advance; and, in fact, there was not a particle of indecision anywhere—except in the case of the king and his seven minsters. Why they hesitated I never could tell, unless they did it by way of a joke. More probably, they found it difficult, on account of being so fat, to make up their minds. At all events, time flew; and, as a last resort they sent for Trippetta and Hop-Frog.

When the two little friends obeyed the summons of the king they found him sitting at his wine with the seven members of his cabinet council; but the monarch appeared to be in a very ill humor. He knew that Hop-Frog was not fond of wine, for it excited the poor cripple almost to madness; and madness is no comfortable feeling. But the king loved his practical jokes, and took pleasure in forcing Hop-Frog to drink and (as the king called it)' to be merry. "Come here, Hop-Frog," said he, as the jester and his friend entered the room; "swallow this bumper to the health of your absent friends, [here Hop-Frog sighed,] and then let us have the benefit of your invention. We want characters—characters, man—something novel—out of the way. We are wearied with this everlasting sameness. Come, drink! the wine will brighten your wits."

Hop-Frog endeavored, as usual, to get up a jest in reply to these advances from the king; but the effort was too much. It happened to be the poor dwarf's birthday, and the command to drink to his 'absent friends' forced the tears to his eyes. Many large, bitter drops fell into the goblet as he took it, humbly, from the hand of the tyrant.

"Ah! ha! ha!" roared the latter, as the dwarf reluctantly drained the beaker. —"See what a glass of good wine can do! Why, your eyes are shining already!"

Poor fellow! his large eyes gleamed, rather than shone; for the effect of wine on his excitable brain was not more powerful than instantaneous. He placed the goblet nervously on the table, and looked round upon the company with a half—insane stare. They all seemed highly amused at the success of the king's "joke."

"And now to business," said the prime minister, a very fat man.

"Yes," said the King; "Come lend us your assistance. Characters, my fine fellow; we stand in need of characters—all of us—ha! ha! ha!" and as this was seriously meant for a joke, his laugh was chorused by the seven.

Hop-Frog also laughed although feebly and somewhat vacantly.

"Come, come," said the king, impatiently, "have you nothing to suggest?"

"I am endeavoring to think of something novel," replied the dwarf, abstractedly, for he was quite bewildered by the wine.

"Endeavoring!" cried the tyrant, fiercely; "what do you mean by that? Ah, I perceive. You are Sulky, and want more wine. Here, drink this!" and he poured out another goblet full and offered it to the cripple, who merely gazed at it, gasping for breath.

"Drink, I say!" shouted the monster, "or by the fiends—"

The dwarf hesitated. The king grew purple with rage. The courtiers smirked. Trippetta, pale as a corpse, advanced to the monarch's seat, and, falling on her knees before him, implored him to spare her friend.

The tyrant regarded her, for some moments, in evident wonder at her audacity. He seemed quite at a loss what to do or say—how most becomingly to express his indignation. At last, without uttering a syllable, he pushed her violently from him, and threw the contents of the brimming goblet in her face.

The poor girl got up the best she could, and, not daring even to sigh, resumed her position at the foot of the table.

There was a dead silence for about half a minute, during which the falling of a leaf, or of a feather, might have been heard. It was interrupted by a low, but harsh and protracted grating sound which seemed to come at once from every corner of the room.

"What—what—what are you making that noise for?" demanded the king, turning furiously to the dwarf.

The latter seemed to have recovered, in great measure, from his intoxication, and looking fixedly but quietly into the tyrant's face, merely ejaculated:

"I—I? How could it have been me?"

"The sound appeared to come from without," observed one of the courtiers. "I fancy it was the parrot at the window, whetting his bill upon his cage-wires.

"True," replied the monarch, as if much relieved by the suggestion; "but, on the honor of a knight, I could have sworn that it was the gritting of this vagabond's teeth."

Hereupon the dwarf laughed (the king was too confirmed a joker to object to any one's laughing), and displayed a set of large, powerful, and very repulsive teeth. Moreover, he avowed his perfect willingness to swallow as much wine as desired. The monarch was pacified; and having drained another bumper with no very perceptible ill effect, Hop-Frog entered at once, and with spirit, into the plans for the masquerade.

"I cannot tell what was the association of idea," observed he, very tranquilly, and as if he had never tasted wine in his life, "but just after your majesty, had struck the girl and thrown the wine in her face—just after your majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making that odd noise outside the window, there came into my mind a capital diversion—one of my own country frolics—often enacted among us, at our masquerades: but here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately, however, it requires a company of eight persons and—"

"Here we are!" cried the king, laughing at his acute discovery of the coincidence; "eight to a fraction—I and my seven ministers. Come! what is the diversion?"

"We call it," replied the cripple, "the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sport if well enacted."

"We will enact it," remarked the king, drawing himself up, and lowering his eyelids.

"The beauty of the game," continued Hop-Frog, "lies in the fright it occasions among the women."

"Capital!" roared in chorus the monarch and his ministry.

"I will equip you as ourang-outangs," proceeded the dwarf; "leave all that to me. The resemblance shall be so striking, that the company of masqueraders will take you for real beasts—and of course, they will be as much terrified as astonished."

"Oh, this is exquisite!" exclaimed the king. "Hop-Frog! I will make a man of you."

"The chains are for the purpose of increasing the confusion by their jangling. You are supposed to have escaped, en masse, from your keepers. Your majesty cannot conceive the effect produced, at a masquerade, by eight chained ourang-outangs, imagined to be real ones by most of the company; and rushing in with savage cries, among the crowd of delicately and gorgeously habited men and women. The contrast is inimitable!"

"It must be," said the king: and the council arose hurriedly (as it was growing late), to put in execution the scheme of Hop-Frog.

His mode of equipping the party as ourang-outangs was very simple, but effective enough for his purposes. The animals in question had, at the epoch of my story, very rarely been seen in any part of the civilized world; and as the imitations made by the dwarf were sufficiently beast-like and more than sufficiently hideous, their truthfulness to nature was thus thought to besecured.

The king and his ministers were first encased in tight-fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were then saturated with tar. At this stage of the process, some one of the party suggested feathers; but the suggestion was at once overruled by the dwarf, who soon convinced the eight, by ocular demonstration, that the hair of such a brute as the ourang-outang was much more efficiently represented by flu. A thick coating of the latter was accordingly plastered upon the coating of tar. A long chain was now procured. First, it was passed about the waist of the king, and tied, then about another of the party, and also tied; then about all successively, in the same manner. When this chaining arrangement was complete, and the party stood as far apart from each other as possible, they formed a circle; and to make all things appear natural, Hop-Frog passed the residue of the chain in two diameters, at right angles, across the circle, after the fashion adopted, at the present day, by those who capture Chimpanzees, or other large apes, in Borneo.

The grand saloon in which the masquerade was to take place, was a circular room, very lofty, and receiving the light of the sun only through a single window at top. At night (the season for which the apartment was especially designed) it was illuminated principally by a large chandelier, depending by a chain from the centre of the sky-light, and lowered, or elevated, by means of a counter-balance as usual; but (in order not to look unsightly) this latter passed outside the cupola and over the roof.

The arrangements of the room had been left to Trippetta's superintendence; but, in some particulars, it seems, she had been guided by the calmer judgment of her friend the dwarf. At his suggestion it was that, on this occasion, the chandelier was removed. Its waxen drippings (which, in weather so warm, it was quite impossible to prevent) would have been seriously detrimental to the rich dresses of the guests, who, on account of the crowded state of the saloon, could not all be expected to keep from out its centre; that is to say, from under the chandelier. Additional sconces were set in various parts of the hall, out of the war, and a flambeau, emitting sweet odor, was placed in the right hand of each of the Caryaides [Caryatides] that stood against the wall—some fifty or sixty altogether.

The eight ourang-outangs, taking Hop-Frog's advice, waited patiently until midnight (when the room was thoroughly filled with masqueraders) before making their appearance. No sooner had the clock ceased striking, however, than they rushed, or rather rolled in, all together—for the impediments of their chains caused most of the party to fall, and all to stumble as they entered.

The excitement among the masqueraders was prodigious, and filled the heart of the king with glee. As had been anticipated, there were not a few of the guests who supposed the ferocious-looking creatures to be beasts of some kind in reality, if not precisely ourang-outangs. Many of the women swooned with affright; and had not the king taken the precaution to exclude all weapons from the saloon, his party might soon have expiated their frolic in their blood. As it was, a general rush was made for the doors; but the king had ordered them to be locked immediately upon his entrance; and, at the dwarf's suggestion, the keys had been deposited with him.

While the tumult was at its height, and each masquerader attentive only to his own safety (for, in fact, there was much real danger from the pressure of the excited crowd), the chain by which the chandelier ordinarily hung, and which had been drawn up on its removal, might have been seen very gradually to descend, until its hooked extremity came within three feet of the floor.

Soon after this, the king and his seven friends having reeled about the hall in all directions, found themselves, at length, in its centre, and, of course, in immediate contact with the chain. While they were thus situated, the dwarf, who had followed noiselessly at their heels, inciting them to keep up the commotion, took hold of their own chain at the intersection of the two portions which crossed the circle diametrically and at right angles. Here, with the rapidity of thought, he inserted the hook from which the chandelier had been wont to depend; and, in an instant, by some unseen agency, the chandelier-chain was drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of reach, and, as an inevitable consequence, to drag the ourang-outangs together in close connection, and face to face.

The masqueraders, by this time, had recovered, in some measure, from their alarm; and, beginning to regard the whole matter as a well-contrived pleasantry, set up a loud shout of laughter at the predicament of the apes.

"Leave them to me!" now screamed Hop-Frog, his shrill voice making itself easily heard through all the din. "Leave them to me. I fancy I know them. If I can only get a good look at them, I can soon tell who they are."

Here, scrambling over the heads of the crowd, he managed to get to the wall; when, seizing a flambeau from one of the Caryatides, he returned, as he went, to the centre of the room-leaping, with the agility of a monkey, upon the kings head, and thence clambered a few feet up the chain; holding down the torch to examine the group of ourang-outangs, and still screaming: "I shall soon find out who they are!"

And now, while the whole assembly (the apes included) were convulsed with laughter, the jester suddenly uttered a shrill whistle; when the chain flew violently up for about thirty feet—dragging with it the dismayed and struggling ourang-outangs, and leaving them suspended in mid-air between the sky-light and the floor. Hop-Frog, clinging to the chain as it rose, still maintained his relative position in respect to the eight maskers, and still (as if nothing were the matter) continued to thrust his torch down toward them, as though endeavoring to discover who they were.

So thoroughly astonished was the whole company at this ascent, that a dead silence, of about a minute's duration, ensued. It was broken by just such a low, harsh, grating sound, as had before attracted the attention of the king and his councillors when the former threw the wine in the face of Trippetta. But, on the present occasion, there could be no question as to whence the sound issued. It came from the fang—like teeth of the dwarf, who ground them and gnashed them as he foamed at the mouth, and glared, with an expression of maniacal rage, into the upturned countenances of the king and his seven companions.

"Ah, ha!" said at length the infuriated jester. "Ah, ha! I begin to see who these people are now!" Here, pretending to scrutinize the king more closely, he held the flambeau to the flaxen coat which enveloped him, and which instantly burst into a sheet of vivid flame. In less than half a minute the whole eight ourang-outangs were blazing fiercely, amid the shrieks of the multitude who gazed at them from below, horror-stricken, and without the power to render them the slightest assistance.

At length the flames, suddenly increasing in virulence, forced the jester to climb higher up the chain, to be out of their reach; and, as he made this movement, the crowd again sank, for a brief instant, into silence. The dwarf seized his opportunity, and once more spoke: "I now see distinctly." he said, "what manner of people these maskers are. They are a great king and his seven privy-councillors, —a king who does not scruple to strike a defenceless girl and his seven councillors who abet him in the outrage. As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester—and this is my last jest."

Owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which it adhered, the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance was complete. The eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light.

It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their escape to their own country: for neither was seen again.

幽默家的自白书

欧·亨利／O. Henry

欧·亨利（O. Henry, 1862—1910），20世纪初美国著名短篇小说家，美国现代短篇小说创始人，批判现实主义作家，被誉为“美国的莫泊桑”。他一生极富传奇色彩，当过药房学徒、牧羊人、办事员、新闻记者、银行出纳员。他的作品贴近百姓生活，结局往往出人意料，以“含泪微笑”的风格被誉为“美国生活的幽默百科全书”。代表作有《麦琪的礼物》《警察与赞美诗》《最后一片叶》等。

一种毫无痛苦的病在我的体内蛰伏了25年后，突然发作了。人们说我就得了那种病。

然而，他们叫它幽默，而不是麻疹。

为了庆祝经理的50岁生日，店里的雇员们给他买了个银质墨水缸。我们诵进他的私人办公室送给他。我被推选为发言人，于是我做了一个简短的演说，那是我花了一个星期精心准备的。

这使我一举成名。它充满了双关语、警句和插科打诨，倾倒了全场，喝彩声几乎把屋顶掀翻——而在所有的五金批发行中，我们的店称得上是最坚固雄厚的。老马洛自己笑得合不拢嘴，雇员们也跟着哄堂大笑。

作为一个幽默家，我的名声始于那天早晨的9点半。在随后的几个星期里，我的同事们将我的自尊心煽起。一个接一个地，他们跑过来对我说，老兄，你那天的演说实在太精彩了，还把我的每一个笑话仔细地分析解释给我听。

我渐渐发现，人们希望我保持那种幽默。在生意场的公事和日常生活的话题上，别的人只要说得合情合理就行；对我，却要求说得风趣一些，轻松一些。

他们希望我拿陶器开玩笑，对花岗岩也做些轻松的嘲讽。我是店里的副会计，要是我拿出一张资产负债表却没有对总额发表一通滑稽的评论，或是在出售犁具的发票上没有找到笑料，别的雇员就会大感失望。渐渐地，我的名声越传越远，成了当地的“知名人士”。我们的城镇很小，所以这事并不奇怪。当地的日报上常常引用我的话。在社交场上，我成了不可或缺的人物。

我相信自己确实是相当聪明的，也能机敏地对答如流。这是我在实践中培养起来并逐步提高的。其本质是善意的、友好的，而不是刻意嘲讽挖苦或攻击他人。人们看到我走过来，就会露出微笑，而当我们碰面时，我则会用准备好的话将他们的微笑扩展为哈哈大笑。

我结婚较早，已经有了一个可爱的3岁男孩和一个5岁女孩。自然，我们住在一间爬满藤蔓的小屋里，过着幸福的日子。我在五金公司当副会计时有微薄的薪水，这使我与那些因财富过多而产生的罪恶毫不相关。

时不时地，我还写些笑话和随笔，自认为特别有趣，并将它们投给刊登这类作品的杂志，结果它们都被立即采用。甚至还有几位编辑写信来要求我继续投稿。

有一天，我收到了一封信，那是一个著名周刊的编辑写给我的。他建议我给他投寄一篇幽默文章以填充一个栏目的版面，并暗示，要是文章能使他满意的话，他将每期为我特设一个专栏。我照办了。两个星期后，他又提出要和我签一年的专栏合同，报酬当然比我在五金公司的高出许多。

我满心喜悦。我的妻子已经在心里为我的文学成功戴上了一顶永不凋零的桂冠。那天晚餐，我们吃了龙虾炸肉丸，喝了一瓶黑莓酒。这是一个让我从枯燥中解放的机会。我和路易莎十分严肃地讨论了这件事。我们一致认为我应该辞去五金店里的工作，专心致志地投入到幽默创作中去。

我辞职了，同事们为此举行了一个告别宴。我在宴会上的演说震撼人心，其全文刊载在当地的报纸上。第二天清晨，我一觉醒来就看闹钟。

“哎哟，迟到了！”我喊道，赶忙抓起衣服。路易莎提醒我说，我再也不是五金店的奴隶了，再也不用领取承包商提供的生活费了。我现在是专职幽默家。

早饭后，她自豪地把我带到厨房外的一间小房子里。乖乖！这里摆放着我的桌椅、稿纸、墨水、烟灰缸，甚至作家所需的一套装饰品——插满了新鲜玫瑰和金银花的花瓶，挂在墙上的去年的日历、字典以及一小包灵感缺乏时用来咀嚼的巧克力。真是我的好老婆！

我坐下来开始工作。墙纸上的图案是阿拉伯式的或是伊斯兰式的——也可能，只是一些不规则的四边形。我的眼睛盯着一个图形，思考着幽默。

一个声音使我大吃一惊——原来是路易莎的声音。

“要是你不太忙的话，亲爱的，”她说，“那就来吃饭吧！”

我一看手表，可不，5个小时已经被那挥舞着长柄大镰刀的时光老人无情地收去了。我过去吃饭。

“一开始，你不要工作得太辛苦了，”路易莎说，“歌德——要不就是拿破仑曾说过，对于脑力劳动者来说，一天工作5个小时就足够了。今天下午，带我和孩子们去树林，好吗……”

“我确实是有点累。”我承认。因此，我们就去了树林。

但很快，我就熟练了这项工作。不到一个月，我的一篇篇作品就像五金器具一样源源不断地问世了。

我成功了。我在周报上的专栏引起了轰动。评论界也纷纷议论，说我是幽默作家里的新秀。再通过向其他出版社投稿，我的收入急剧增加。

我已经找到了这一行的诀窍。我能把一个有趣的想法加工成一则两行的笑话，挣得1美元。给它装上假胡子，改头换面就成了一首四行诗，从而使其生产价值增加了1倍。要是再把它翻个底，用韵脚修饰一下，再配上整齐的韵律和一幅衣着时髦的女人的插图，它又变成了一首诙谐的讽刺诗，保证你根本认不出它的本来面目。

渐渐地，我有了些积蓄，有了新地毯，客厅里也有了风琴。城里人开始视我为有点身份的人物，而不再是当年五金店里的那个小职员，只会逗人开心。

五六个月之后，那种不招自来的幽默似乎离我远去。警句和滑稽的妙语再也不能脱口而出了。有时，我还得四处收集材料。我开始常常从朋友的谈话中捕捉可利用的灵感。有时我咬着铅笔，盯着墙纸一坐就是好几个小时，想努力制造出一些有趣的新鲜笑料的小泡沫。

于是，对于我的熟人而言，我变成了一个残忍而贪婪的怪物、摩洛神、灾星和吸血鬼。心烦意乱、憔悴而贪婪的我站在他们的中间，确实是大煞风景。要是有一句机灵的妙语、一个风趣的比喻、一种俏皮的措辞从他们的嘴唇上掉下来，我就会像猎犬看见骨头一样扑过去。我不敢相信自己的记忆力，于是偷偷摸摸地转过身，将它记录在我随身携带的备忘录上，或者写在袖口上，以备来日之用。

朋友们为我感到悲伤和惶恐：我不再是从前的我了。从前，我给他们提供娱乐和消遣，现在我却在掠夺他们。我已经没有笑话来博得他们的一笑，它们太珍贵了。我不能把我的衣食之源慷慨地免费奉送给他们了。

我就像那只可怜的列那狐，赞美我朋友的歌喉——那群乌鸦的歌喉，期盼从他们的嘴里能掉下一点点我所贪求的妙语。

几乎每个人都开始躲避我。我甚至忘记了该怎样微笑，即使听了那些被我挪为己用的笑话，也笑不出来了。

为了收集材料，不论是什么人、在什么地方、什么时候、有关什么主题，都难免不受到我的掠夺。甚至在教堂里，我那不合时宜地幻想继续在庄严的过道和廊柱间搜索，企图捕捉点什么。

当牧师哼唱长韵律的颂诗时，我就立即跟着哼出：“荣耀颂——大成功——讲格律——喜相逢。”

布道的声音像穿过筛子一样穿过我的大脑，我只要能从中拾取到一句双关语或俏皮话，那所讲的道理就在不知不觉中过滤掉了。唱诗班那庄严的赞美诗成了我思绪的伴奏，我不过是在琢磨着，如何将那则关于女高音歌手、男高音歌手和男低音歌手相互妒忌的古老笑话，改头换面，为我所用。

我自己的家也成了猎场。我的妻子原是个典型的女性，她坦率、感性、易冲动，又富有同情心，和她谈话曾是我的乐趣。她的想法曾是我无穷快乐的源泉。现在，我开始在她的身上动脑筋。她就像一座金矿，那里充满了女性所独有的有趣而可爱的自相矛盾的言行。

我开始出售那些浑朴而幽默的珠宝，那原本仅用来丰富神圣的家庭生活的珠宝。凭借着魔鬼般的狡诈，我鼓励她说话。她毫无防备地对我敞开心胸，我就将它公布在冷漠、显眼而普通的印刷品上。

我成了一个文学界的犹大，我吻着她，又背叛了她。为了几枚银币，我无异于是在利用她温柔的信赖，让她穿上镶有愚蠢花边的宽松长裤，在市集上跳舞。

亲爱的路易莎！无数个夜晚，我伏在她的身边，像窥视着柔弱羊羔的狼一样，侧耳倾听她在睡梦中发出的喃喃私语，希望能成为我第二天苦于抓住的一点灵感。更糟糕的还在后头呢！

上帝保佑我！接下来，我的毒牙又深深地咬住我的小孩脱口而出的话语的脖颈。

盖伊和威尔拉那充满孩子气而又古怪的想法和言语就像两道明亮的喷泉。我为这种幽默找到了现成的销路，为一家杂志的“童年拾趣”专栏提供稿件。我开始跟踪他们，就像印度人追踪猎物一样。当他们嬉戏时，我就藏在沙发或门的后面，或者手脚着地趴在院子里的灌木丛中，偷听他们的谈话内容。除了还有一点悔恨之心，我成了一个十足的贪婪成性的家伙。

有一次，我思路枯竭，而稿子又必须随下一班邮件寄出去，于是，我就将自己藏在院子里的一堆秋天的落叶下，我知道他们一定会到这边来玩。我绝不相信盖伊会知道我藏在那里，即便他知道，我也不想责备他，怪他在枯叶上放火，不仅烧坏了我的一套新衣服，还几乎将他老爹火化了。

很快，孩子们开始躲避我，就像躲避害虫一般。时常，当我像盗墓的食尸鬼一样蹑手蹑脚地靠近他们时，就会听到他们彼此嘀咕着“爸爸来了”；接着，就将玩具收拾好，急忙跑到一个安全的地方躲起来。我是一个多么卑鄙的可怜虫啊！

但在经济上我做得很好。不到一年，我就有了一千美元的积蓄，而且，我们过得十分舒坦。

可我付出了多么惨重的代价啊！我不大清楚社会的遗弃者是什么样的，但我看起来完全像个遗弃者。我没有朋友，没有娱乐，也没有生活的乐趣。我的家庭快乐也牺牲了。我变成了一只蜜蜂，从生活最美的花朵里吸取的却是污秽的花蜜，人们都怕我躲我，因为我有刺。

一天，一个人带着愉快而友好的笑容和我说话。这是几个月来都没有发生过的事。我正路过皮特·赫费鲍尔的殡仪馆，皮特站在门口和我打招呼。我停下脚步，他的热情让我感到很奇怪。他要我到里边去。

那天很冷，还下着雨。我们走进后面的屋子，那里的一个小炉正燃着火。这时进来了一位顾客，皮特留下我一个人独自待会儿。立即，我感觉到一种新的情感在我的身上蔓延开来——这是一种美好的平静而满足的感觉。我环顾这个地方，发现屋里有一排排闪亮的黄檀木骨灰盒、黑色的棺罩、棺架、装饰灵车的羽毛、葬礼用的旗幡以及这项庄严行业必需的所有行头。这里弥散着一种平和、井然安宁的氛围，着实是一个庄严肃穆的沉思场所。在生命的边缘，这里是一个弥漫着永恒安息的精神壁龛。

当我走进屋子时，世间的所有愚蠢事物就在门口离开了我。从那些素朴而庄严的葬礼用品中，我感觉不到任何挖掘幽默的意愿。我的心情舒展得就像优雅地躺在卧榻上愉快地休息一样，卧榻四周还挂着温情脉脉的帘子。

一刻钟之前，我还是个被遗弃的幽默家。而此刻，我成了一个哲人，满心安详又轻松释然。我找到了一个避难所，远离了幽默，远离了绞尽脑汁去追求讽刺的双关语，远离了降低身份以博取一笑，也远离了搜肠制肚地思索妙语如珠的应答。

我还是不了解皮特·赫费鲍尔。他回来后，我让他先讲，但又惟恐在这安魂曲般美妙和谐的地方，他的言谈成了不和谐的破坏者。

然而，并非如此。他和周围相当和谐。我高兴地长长舒了口气。我从来不知道一个人的谈吐能像皮特那样平淡至极。没有一丁点智慧的火花或微光破坏他的言语。相比之下，那死海倒成了不安分的老头。从他的嘴里滔滔不绝地流出来的，尽是一些黑刺莓般的老生常谈的陈词滥调，又像是股票行情自动收录器里吐出的上星期的行情纸带，毫无动人之处。我不禁一震，试探着把我最幽默的笑话讲给他听，以图打动他，结果却是石沉大海，他毫无反应。从那一刻起，我就喜欢上了这个人。

每个星期，我总有两三晚会溜到赫费鲍尔那里，陶醉在他的后屋里。那是我唯一的快乐。我开始早起，匆忙做完自己的工作，好在自己的天堂里多待上一会儿。没有任何其他地方能使我摆脱从周遭榨取幽默的习惯。不管我怎样艰难地围攻，皮特的谈话都没有给我留下任何余地。

在这种影响下，我开始提起了精神。消遣是每个人劳动后所必需的。在街上碰到一两个老友时，我便对他们露出微笑，或者说句开心话，这使他们很惊讶。还有几次，我在家人面前说了些滑稽的言论来好好地放松，结果他们目瞪口呆。

我被幽默梦魇般的压力折磨得太久了，以至于我急切地抓住休息的时间，就像个小学生一样。

我的工作开始受到影响。对于我来说，写作不再像原来那样是痛苦和负担。我常坐在桌前吹口哨，写起来也远比以前利索。我匆忙完成我的任务，像酒鬼急着到酒馆去一样焦急地离开家，直奔那于我有益的避难所。我的妻子一连几个小时都在忧心忡忡地猜度，我下午是在哪里消耗的。我认为最好不告诉她，女人无法理解这些事情。可怜的女人！她要是知道了准会大吃一惊。

一天，我把一只银质的棺材把手带回家作镇纸用，还有一片毛茸茸的装饰灵车的羽毛来掸纸上的灰。

我高兴地看到它们被摆放在我的桌上，看到它们我就想起赫费鲍尔那可爱的后屋。但路易莎发现它们后，却吓得尖声惊叫。我不得不为其来历找些站不住脚的借口来安慰她，但我看到她眼里的疑虑还是并未消除，所以不得不毫不犹豫地火速将这些东西挪走。

一天，皮特·赫费鲍尔向我提出了一个诱人的建议，令我十分倾心。他用他一贯理智而平淡的态度把他的账本给我看，解释说，他的利润和事业正蒸蒸日上，他一直考虑找个带资金的人合伙。他宁愿找我而不是他所认识的别的人。我离开他那儿的当天下午，皮特已经拿到了我的支票，那是我存在银行里的一千美元，我成了他殡仪馆的合伙人。

我回到家时欣喜若狂，当然，也还夹杂着一些疑虑。我把这件事不敢告诉妻子，但我洋洋得意：再也不必写那些无聊的幽默了，我将再次享受生活的蜜果，而不是将它们碾碎，从中榨取几滴果汁来博取众人的欢心——这简直是件天大的好事。

在晚饭的餐桌旁，路易莎递给我几封信，那是我不在家时收到的。其中有几封是退稿。自打我第一次到赫费鲍尔那儿后，我的稿件就以惊人的频率被退了回来。但最近，我写笑话和文章却是一气呵成，十分流畅。之前，我劳作得像个砌砖工，又慢又痛苦。

我立即拆开了那封和我签了正式合同的周刊编辑的信，这家周刊寄给我的支票仍是我们主要的生活来源。信是这样写的：

亲爱的先生：

如你所悉，我们为期一年的合同将于本月到期。我们不拟续签来年合同，对此深表遗憾。你的幽默风格曾深受本刊大部分读者喜爱，对此我们深感欣慰。但最近两个月来，我们发现你的文章质量明显下降。

你的早期作品流露出自然、流畅、从容的风趣和智慧，近作则显得矫揉造作、故做玄虚、缺乏说服力，显然力不从心、智尽才竭。

我们将不再采用来稿，为此再次表示歉意。

编者谨启

我把这封信递给妻子。看完信后，她的脸拉得老长，眼眶里噙满了泪水。

“这卑鄙的老家伙！”她气急败坏地叫道，“我敢肯定，你的作品还是和以前一样好，而且现在你写它们所花的时间还不到之前的一半。”接着我猜想，路易莎一定是想到支票再也不会寄来了。“啊，约翰，”她哀叹道，“现在你该怎么办呢？”

作为回答，我起身围着餐桌走起了波尔卡舞步。我确信路易莎一定以为这麻烦把我给逼疯了。倒是孩子们希望这样，因为他们在我的身后瞎闹，学着我的舞步大声地欢呼。此刻，我又有点像他们从前的老玩伴了。

“今晚戏院是我们的，”我喊道，“绝不食言。看完戏后，我们再到王宫餐厅去狂吃一顿。蓝普蒂——帝得尔——德——迪——德——登！”

然后，我向他们解释我高兴的原因：我现在已经是一家生意兴隆的殡仪馆的股东了，让我过去写的那些笑话为我埋头忏悔吧。

她手里那封编辑的来信，证明我的举动完全是对的。除了几点温和的意见外，我的妻子无法提出任何反对的理由。因为女性没有能力欣赏像皮特·赫费鲍尔殡仪馆后面的小屋那么美好的地方——不，现在是赫费鲍尔殡仪股份公司了。

总而言之，我要说的是，如今在我们这个城镇里，你再也找不出像我这样备受欢迎的人了，也没有人比我更快乐，还会说满口的笑话。我的笑话再次四处传播，广受引用。我又能在妻子亲密的闲聊里获取快乐了，而再不夹杂一点赚钱的想法。当盖伊和威尔拉在我的腿边戏耍，散布他们孩子气的幽默时，再也不用担心我像过去那样鬼魂似的尾随其后，手里还拿着笔记本。

我们的生意也十分红火。我管账本，也照看店铺，皮特则负责外勤事务。他说我那兴奋的轻松劲简直可以使任何丧礼变成标准的爱尔兰守夜宴会。

Confessions of a Humorist

There was a painless stage of incubation that lasted twenty-five years, and then it broke out on me, and people said I was it.

But they called it humor instead of measles.

The employees in the store bought a silver inkstand for the senior partner on his fiftieth birthday. We crowded into his private office to present it. I had been selected for spokesman, and I made a little speech that I had been preparing for a week.

It made a hit. It was full of puns and epigrams and funny twists that brought down the house—which was a very solid one in the wholesale hardware line. Old Marlowe himself actually grinned, and the employees took their cue and roared.

My reputation as a humorist dates from half-past nine o'clock on that morning. For weeks afterward my fellow clerks fanned the flame of my self-esteem. One by one they came to me, saying what an awfully clever speech that was, old man, and carefully explained to me the point of each one of my jokes.

Gradually I found that I was expected to keep it up. Others might speak sanely on business matters and the day's topics, but from me something gamesome and airy was required.

I was expected to crack jokes about the crockery and lighten up the granite ware with persiflage. I was second book-keeper, and if I failed to show up a balance sheet without something comic about the footings or could find no cause for laughter in an invoice of plows, the other clerks were disappointed. By degrees my fame spread, and I became a local "character". Our town was small enough to make this possible. The daily newspaper quoted me. At social gatherings I was indispensable.

I believe I did possess considerable wit and a facility for quick and spontaneous repartee. This gift I cultivated and improved by practice. And the nature of it was kindly and genial, not running to sarcasm or offending others. People began to smile when they saw me coming, and by the time we had met I generally had the word ready to broaden the smile into a laugh.

I had married early. We had a charming boy of three and a girl of five. Naturally, we lived in a vine-covered cottage, and were happy. My salary as bookkeeper in the hardware concern kept at a distance those ills attendant upon superfluous wealth.

At sundry times I had written out a few jokes and conceits that I considered peculiarly happy, and had sent them to certain periodicals that print such things. All of them had been instantly accepted. Several of the editors had written to request further contributions.

One day I received a letter from the editor of a famous weekly publication. He suggested that I submit to him a humorous composition to fill a column of space; hinting that he would make it a regular feature of each issue if the work proved satisfactory. I did so, and at the end of two weeks he offered to make a contract with me for a year at a figure that was consid-erably higher than the amount paid me by the hardware firm.

I was filled with delight. My wife already crowned me in her mind with the imperishable evergreens of literary success. We had lobster croquettes and a bottle of blackberry wine for supper that night. Here was the chance to liberate myself from drudgery. I talked over the matter very seriously with Louisa. We agreed that I must resign my place at the store and devote myself to humor.

I resigned. My fellow clerks gave me a farewell banquet. The speech I made there coruscated. It was printed in full by the Gazette. The next morning I awoke and looked at the clock.

"Late, by George!" I exclaimed, and grabbed for my clothes. Louisa reminded me that I was no longer a slave to hardware and contractors' supplies. I was now a professional humorist.

After breakfast she proudly led me to the little room off the kitchen. Dear girl! There was my table and chair, writing pad, ink, and pipe tray. And all the author's trappings—the celery stand full of fresh roses and honeysuckle, last year's calendar on the wall, the dietionary, and a little bag of chocolates to nibble between inspirations. Dear gift!

I sat me to work. The wall paper is patterned with arabesques or odalisks or—perhaps—it is trapezoids. Upon one of the figures I fixed my eyes. I bethought me of humor.

A voice startled me—Louisa's voice.

"If you aren't too busy, dear," it said, "come to dinner."

I looked at my watch. Yes, five hours had been gathered in by the grim scytheman. I went to dinner.

"You mustn't work too hard at first," said Louisa. "Goethe—or was it Napoleon?— said five hours a day is enough for mental labor. Couldn't you take me and the children to the woods this afternoon?"

"I am a little tired," I admitted. So we went to the woods.

But I soon got the swing of it. Within a month I was turning out copy as regular as shipments of hardware.

And I had success. My column in the weekly made some stir, and I was referred to in a gossipy way by the critics as something fresh in the line of humorists. I augmented my income considerably by contributing to other publications.

I picked up the tricks of the trade. I could take a funny idea and make a two-line joke of it, earning a dollar. With false whiskers on, it would serve up cold as a quatrain, doubling its producing value. By turning the skirt and adding a ruffle of rhyme you would hardly recognize it as vers de societe with neatly shod feet and a fashion-plate illustration.

I began to save up money, and we had new carpets, and a parlor organ. My townspeople began to look upon me as a citizen of some consequence instead of the merry trifler I had been when I clerked in the hardware store.

After five or six months the spontaneity seemed to depart from my humor. Quips and droll sayings no longer fell carelessly form my lips I was sometimes hard run for material. I found myself listening to catch available ideas form the conversation of my friends. Sometimes I chewed my pencil and gazed at the wall paper for hours trying to build up some gay little bubble of unstUdied fun.

And then I became a harpy, a Moloch, a Jonah, apire, to my acquain-tances. Anxious, haggard, greedy, I stood among, them like a veritable killjoy. Let a bright saying, a witty comparison, a piquanat phrase rall from their lips and I was after it like a hound springing upon a bone. I dared not trust my memory; but, turning aside guiltily and meanly, I would a noet of it in my ever presend memorandum book or upon my cuff for my own futureuse.

My friends regarded me in sorrow and wonder I was not the same man. Where once I had furnished them entertainment and jollity, I now preyed upon them. No jests form me ever bid for their smiles now. They were too precious, I could not afford to dispense gratuitously the means of my livelihood.

I was a lugubrious fox praising the singing of my friends, the crow's, that they might drop from their beaks the morsels of wit that I coveted.

Nearly every one began to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile, not even paying that much for the sayings I appropriated.

No persons, places, times, or subjects were exempt from my plundering in search of material. Even in church my demoralized fancy went hunting among the solemn aisles and pillars for spoil.

Did the minister give out the long-meter doxology, at once I began: "Doxology—sock-dology—sockdolager—meter—meet her."

The sermon ran through my mental sieve, its precepts filtering unheeded, could I but glean a suggestion of a pun or a bon mot. The solemnest anthems of the choir were but an accompaniment to my thoughts as I conceived new changes to ring upon the ancient comicalities concerning the jealousies of soprano, tenor, and basso.

My own home became a hunting ground. My wife is a singularly feminine creature, candid, sympathetic, and impulsive. Once her conversation was my delight, and her ideas a source of unfailing pleasure. Now I worked her. She was a gold mine of those amusing but lovable inconsistencies that distinguish the female mind.

I began to market those pearls of unwisdom and humor that should have enriched only the sacred precincts of home. With devilish cunning I encouraged her to talk. Unsuspecting, she laid her heart bare. Upon the cold, conspicuous, common, printed page I offered it to the public gaze.

A literary Judas, I kissed her and betrayed her. For pieces of silver I dressed her sweet confidences in the pantalettes and frills of folly and made them dance in the market place.

Dear Iouisa! Of nights I have bent over her cruel as a wolf above a tender lamb, hearkening even to her soft words murmured in sleep, hoping to catch an idea for my next day's grind. There is worse to come.

God help me! Next my fangs were buried deep in the neck of the fugitive sayings of my little children.

Guy and Viola were two bright fountains of childish, quaint thoughts and speeches. I found a ready sale for this kind of humor, and was furnishing a regular department in a magazine with "Funny Fancies of Childhood". I began to stalk them as an Indian stalks the antelope. I would hide behind sofas and doors, or crawl on my hands and knees among the bushes in the yard to eavesdrop while they were at play. I had all the qualities of a harpy except remorse.

Once, when I was barren of ideas, and my copy must leave in the next mail, I covered myself in a pile of autumn leaves in the yard, where I knew they intended to come to play. I cannot bring myself to believe that Guy was aware of my hiding place, but even if he was, I would be loath to blame him for his setting fire to the leaves, causing the destruction of my new suit of clothes, and nearly cremating a parent.

Soon my own children began to shun me as a pest. Often, when I was creeping upon them like a melancholy ghoul, I would hear them say to each other: "Here comes papa," and they would gather their toys and scurry away to some safer hiding place. Miserable wretch that I was!

And yet I was doing well financially. Before the first year had passed I had saved a thousand dollars, and we had lived in comfort.

But at what a cost! I am not quite clear as to what a pariah is, but I was everything that it sounds like. I had no friends, no amusements, no enjoyment of life. The happiness of my family had been sacrificed. I was a bee, sucking sordid honey from life's fairest flowers, dreaded and shunned on account of my stingo.

One day a man spoke to me, with a pleasant and friendly smile. Not in months had the thing happened. I was passing the undertaking establishment of Peter Heffelbower. Peter stood in the door and saluted me. I stopped, strangely wrung in my heart by his greeting. He asked me inside.

The day was chill and rainy. We went into the back room, where a fire burned, in a little stove. A customer came, and Peter left me alone for a while. Presently I felt a new feeling stealing over me—a sense of beautiful calm and content, I looked around the place. There were rows of shining rosewood caskets, black palls, trestles, hearse plumes, mourning streamers, and all the paraphernalia of the solemn trade. Here was peace, order, silence, the abode of grave and dignified reflections. Here, on the brink of life, was a little niche pervaded by the spirit of eternal rest.

When I entered it, the follies of the world abandoned me at the door. I felt no inclination to wrest a humorous idea from those sombre and stately trappings. My mind seemed to stretch itself to grateful repose upon a couch draped with gentle thoughts.

A quarter of an hour ago I was an abandoned humorist. Now I was a philosopher, full of serenity and ease. I had found a refuge from humor, from the hot chase of the shy quip, from the degrading pursuit of the panting joke, from the restless reach after the nimble repartee.

I had not known Heffelbower well. When he came back, I let him talk, fearful that he might prove to be a jarring note in the sweet, dirgelike harmony of his establishment.

But, no. He chimed truly. I gave a long sigh of happiness. Never have I known a man's talk to be as magnificently dull as Peter's was. Compared with it the Dead Sea is a geyser. Never a sparkle or a glimmer of wit marred his words. Commonplaces as trite and as plentiful as blackberries flowed from his lips no more stirring in quality than a last week's tape running from a ticker. Quaking a little, I tried upon him one of my best pointed jokes. It fell back ineffectual, with the point broken. I loved that man from then on.

Two or three evenings each week I would steal down to Heffelbower's and revel in his back room. That was my only joy. I began to rise early and hurry through my work, that I might spend more time in my haven. In no other place could I throw off my habit of extracting humorous ideas from my surroundings. Peter's talk left me no opening had I besieged it ever so hard.

Under this influence I began to improve in spirits. It was the recreation from one's labor which every man needs. I surprised one or two of my former friends by throwing them a smile and a cheery word as I passed them on the streets. Several times I dumfounded my family by relaxing long enough to make a jocose remark in their presence.

I had so long been ridden by the incubus of humor that I seized my hours of holiday with a schoolboy's zest.

My work began to suffer. It was not the pain and burden to me that it had been. I often whistled at my desk, and wrote with far more fluency than before. I accomplished my tasks impatiently, as anxious to be off to my helpful retreat as a drunkard is to get to his tavern. My wife had some anxious hours in conjecturing where I spent my afternoons. I thought it best not to tell her; women do not understand these things. Poor girl! —she had one shock out of it.

One day I brought home a silver coffin handle for a paper weight and a fine, fluffy hearse plume to dust my papers with.

I loved to see them on my desk, and think of the beloved back room down at Heffelbower's. But Louisa found them, and she shrieked with horror. I had to console her with some lame excuse for having them, but I saw in her eyes that the prejudice was not removed. I had to remove the articles, though, at double-quick time.

One day Peter Heffelbower laid before me a temptation that swept me off my feet. In his sensible, uninspired way he showed me his books, and ex-plained that his profits and his business were increasing rapidly. He had thought of taking in a partner with some cash. He would rather have me than any one he knew. When I left his place that afternoon Peter had my check for the thousand dollars I had in the bank, and I was a partner in his undertaking business.

I went home with feelings of delirious joy, mingled with a certain amount of doubt. I was dreading to tell my wife about it. But I walked on air. To give up the writing of humorous stuff, once more to enjoy the apples of life, instead of squeezing them to a pulp for a few drops of hard cider to make the public feel funny—what a boon that would be!

At the supper table Louisa handed me some letters that had come during my absence. Several of them contained rejected manuscript. Ever since I first began going to Heffelbower's my stuff had been coming back with alarming frequency. Lately I had been dashing off my jokes and articles with the greatest fluency. Previously I had labored like a bricklayer, slowly and with agony.

Presently I opened a letter from the editor of the weekly with which I had a regular contract. The checks for that weekly article were still our main dependence. The letter ran thus:

DEAR SIR:

As you are aware, our contract for the year expires with the present month. While regretting the necessity for so doing, we must say that we do not care to renew same for the coming year. We were quite pleased with your style of humor, which seems to have delighted quite a large proportion of our readers. But for the past two months we have noticed a decided falling off in its quality.

Your earlier work showed a spontaneous, easy, natural flow of fun and wit. Of late it is labored, studied, and unconvincing, giving painful evidence of hard toil and drudging mechanism.

Again regretting that we do not consider your contributions available any longer, we are, yours sincerely,

THE EDITOR.

I handed this letter to my wife. After she had read it her face grew extremely long, and there were tears in her eyes.

"The mean old thing!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I'm sure your pieces are just as good as they ever were. And it doesn't take you half as long to write them as it did." And then, I suppose, Louisa thought of the checks that would cease coming. "Oh, John," she wailed, "what will you do now?"

For an answer I got up and began to do a polka step around the supper table. I am sure Louisa thought the trouble had driven me mad; and I think the children hoped it had, for they tore after me, yelling with glee and emulating my steps. I was now something like their old playmate as of yore.

"The theatre for us tonight!" I shouted, "nothing less. And a late, wild, disreputable supper for all of us at the Palace Restaurant. Lumpty-diddle-de-dee—de—dum!"

And then I explained my glee by declaring that I was now a partner in a prosperous undertaking establishment, and that written jokes might go hide their heads in sackcloth and ashes for all me.

With the editor's letter in her hand to justify the deed I had done, my wife could advance no objections save a few mild ones based on the feminine inability to appreciate a good thing such as the little back room of Peter Hef—no, of Heffelbower & Co's. undertaking establishment.

In conclusion, I will say that today you will find no man in our town as well liked, as jovial, and full of merry sayings as I. My jokes are again noised about and quoted; once more I take pleasure in my wife's confidential chatter without a mercenary thought, while Guy and Viola play at my feet distributing gems of childish humor without fear of the ghastly tormentor who used to dog their steps, notebook in hand.

Our business has prospered finely. I keep the books and look after the shop, while Peter attends to outside matters. He says that my levity and high spirits would simply turn any funeral into a regular Irish wake.

2　幽默讽刺剧

Humorous Stories

不管选择什么样的生活，无论平淡还是激情，它们都是一样，既有幸福也有磨难。关键是你要清楚自己内心最渴望什么，只有根据内心的指引，你才能选择最适合自己的生活。

项链

居伊·德·莫泊桑／Guy de Maupassant

她天生是一个漂亮迷人的女子，却阴差阳错地出生在一个小工匠家庭。她没有嫁妆，没有希望，没有任何方法使一个有钱有势的男子认识她，了解她，爱她，甚至娶她。最终，她不得不委屈地和一个教育部的小科员结婚。

因为没有足够的钱，她不能追求太多的饰品，她不开心，总觉得自己似乎是个下嫁的女人。女人本身并没有阶级地位和出身门第之分，她们天生的姿色、魅力和才情就是构成她们等级的唯一标准，也同时是能使贫穷女子的地位提升到高贵的妇人的资本。

她觉得自己是为世间一切精美和奢华的事物而生的，因此她为自己简陋的房屋、陈旧的家具和庸俗的衣料而痛苦万分。也许在一个与她处境相同的妇人眼里，这一切并算不得什么，但她却因此伤心、懊悔。那个替她打理琐碎家务的布列塔尼省的小女佣的样子，使她产生了诸多令人苦恼的遗憾和遐想。她想象那些安静的接待室，笼罩在东方“帷幕”下，点着青铜的高脚灯；两个随时听候使唤的高个儿侍从穿着马裤，避开暖炉的烘烤，在大扶手椅上打起了盹。她梦想那些由古式绸布装饰的大客厅里摆着精致的家具，上面陈列着各式贵重的瓷瓶；梦想那些别致且芳香四溢的小客厅（它们是专门为和亲密朋友进行小型聚会而设计的），在那里，她可以亲切地和男朋友——那些女人们渴望与之相识的知名男子闲谈。

每天，当她和丈夫面对面地坐在三天换一次桌布的小圆桌前吃晚饭时，丈夫会把那只汤盆的盖子揭开，神采飞扬地说道：“哈！苏格兰浓汤！没有比这更好的了……”这里，她又开始梦想那些丰盛鲜美的膳食，那些光彩熠熠的银质器皿；梦想墙壁上挂着绣有仙境般园林、古装仕女和珍禽异兽的帷幕；梦想那些名贵的盘子中盛放的佳肴；梦想吃肉色粉红的鲑鱼和鸡翅时，听着缠绵的情话，伴着爽朗的笑声。

她没有体面的服装，没有珠宝首饰，什么都没有。可她偏偏就喜欢这些，而且她觉得自己就是为了这些而生。她渴望自己有足够的魅力吸引别人、取悦别人，并被人羡慕和追求。

她有一个富有的朋友，是她上教会女校时的同学，可是她现在不再愿去看她了，因为见面回来后她总是会感到很痛苦，以至接连几天都会伤心、遗憾、忧虑甚至绝望。

一天傍晚，她的丈夫手里拿着一个大信封喜气洋洋地回来了。

他说：“有样东西是专门给你的。”

她赶紧打开信封，从里面抽出一张请帖，上面写道：

教育部长若尔姆·波诺及夫人盛情邀请洛塞先生和太太参加1月8日在本部大楼举办的晚会。

看了请帖后，她并未像丈夫所想象的那样快乐，恰恰相反，她竟生气地将请帖扔在桌子上，伤心地喃喃道：

“你想让我怎么办？”

“怎么了，亲爱的？我原以为你一定会高兴的。你从未出去参加过什么活动，这是一个很好的机会呀！我费尽周折才将请帖弄到手的，大家都想要，而发给我们小职员的却很少。在晚会上你将会看到政界所有重要人物。”

她狂怒地看着他，不耐烦地喊道：“你打算让我穿什么衣服去呢？”

他没想那么多，顿时语塞了：

“你去看戏时穿的那条裙子，看上去很漂亮，我……”

看到妻子要哭了，他不说了，愣在那里，不知所措。两颗豆大的泪珠从她的眼角慢慢地滑落到嘴角。

“你怎么了？你到底怎么了？”他颤抖着问道。

她强忍着痛苦，擦干被泪水浸湿的脸颊，用平静的口吻回答道：

“没什么。我只是没有衣服，所以不能去参加晚会。把请帖给你的朋友吧，他的妻子会打扮得比我漂亮得多。”

他的心都要碎了。

“这样吧，玛蒂尔德，”他接着说，“一件像样的晚礼服大概要多少钱？去买一套吧，简单点的，以后遇到其他场合也可以穿。”

她顿了顿，盘算着价钱，考虑着什么样的价位才不至引起这个谨慎的小职员的吃惊，甚至干脆的拒绝。

最后她有些犹豫地回答道：

“确切多少钱我也不知道，但我想四百法郎总可以买到。”

他的脸色变得苍白，因为他的手头刚好有一笔这个数目的存款，准备买一支枪，以便在下个夏季的周末和朋友们去南兑尔平原上的一个小狩猎场打云雀。

然而他回答道：“好吧，我给你四百法郎，不过你要想办法做套漂亮的裙子。”

晚会的日期越来越近，洛塞尔太太的新裙子做好了，然而，她看起来却极度忧伤。一天傍晚，丈夫问她：

“你怎么了？这三天以来你怎么有些奇怪呢？”

“我没有一件首饰，没有一颗珠宝，没有任何饰物可以戴，真让我心烦。”她答道，“我什么都没有，宁可不参加这个晚会了。”

“你可以戴几朵鲜花呀，”他接着说，“这个时令，正是鲜花盛开的时节。花十个法郎，就可以买到三两朵很漂亮的玫瑰花。”

她一点都听不进去。

“不行……世上最让人丢脸的事就是在许多有钱的女人面前露穷酸相。”

“你真傻！”她丈夫高声喊道，“去找你的朋友伏来士洁太太呀，问她借点首饰。你知道她是很富有的，凭你们的交情一定可以办到的。”

她快活地叫了出来：“对啊，我怎么没有想到呢。”

第二天，她到她的那位朋友家里去，向她谈起了自己的烦心事。

伏来士洁太太走到梳妆台前，拿起一个大盒子，来到了洛塞尔太太的面前，于是将盒子打开，说道：

“亲爱的，你自己选吧！”

起初她看到了许多手镯，然后是一串用珍珠镶嵌成的项链，接着是一个做工精巧、镶着宝石的威尼斯款式金十字架。她兴奋地在镜前试着这些首饰，犹豫不决，不知道该戴哪个，其实她哪个都不舍得放下。她还一直问着：“还有其他的什么吗？”

“有，你自己找吧。我不知道你最中意哪种。”

忽然在一个黑缎布的小盒子里，她发现了一串华美的宝石项链，眼前顿时一亮，一种占有的奢望促使她心跳加快。她颤抖着双手拿起它，戴在脖子上，搭配着她那套高贵的裙子，对着镜子端详了许久。

然后，她犹豫着，痛苦地问道：

“你能把这件首饰借给我吗？我只借这一件。”

“可以啊，当然可以了。”

她高兴地跳起来，热烈地拥抱着她的朋友，带着这件宝贝心满意足地走了。

晚会那天，洛塞尔太太的虚荣心得到了极大的满足，她比其他女宾都要漂亮、时髦、迷人，她频频地向人微笑，高兴得近乎发狂。她吸引了所有男宾的目光，他们打探她的姓名，设法托人与她结识。本部机要处的人员都想邀她共舞，部长也注意到她了。

她陶醉在疯狂的舞步中，沉浸在欢乐的海洋里，什么都不想。她出众的容貌，骄人的荣耀，还有世间最美的爱慕和赞叹，就像幸福的祥云包围着她，使她抛开了一切烦恼和忧愁。她曾渴望的一切都被唤醒，她的虚荣心得到了最大限度的满足。

她清晨四点多钟才离开。她丈夫自从半夜十二点钟就和另三位男宾在一间无人顾暇的小客厅里睡着了，那三位男宾的妻子也正玩得开心。丈夫把一件御寒的家居简朴外套披在她的肩头，这种东西的寒碜相和晚会富丽豪华的气派极不相配。她觉察到了这一点，于是为了避开另外那些裹着珍贵皮衣的太太们的注意，她想迅速地逃离开。

洛塞尔叫住了她：

“等会儿，你到外边会受寒的，我去找辆出租车来。”

但她不听，匆匆忙忙下了楼梯。等他俩走到街上时竟找不到一辆车，于是他们开始四处寻找，追着喊着那些他们远远望见的车子。

他俩向着塞纳尔河沿走去，两个人失望至极，冻得浑身发抖。最后，他俩在码头发现了一辆夜游病者一样的轿车——这样的车子只有在巴黎深夜的时候才可以看到，或许在白天它们会感到自惭形秽吧。

车子把他俩送到殉教街的寓所大门外，他俩惆怅地上了楼，回到自己的公寓，对于她来说，这算是结束了。而他呢，却在想着明天早上十点钟准时到部里去上班。

她在镜子前脱下了围在肩头的外衣，想再端详一下无比荣耀的自己。但是，突然间，她尖叫了一声。脖子上的那串珍珠项链不翼而飞了！

“你怎么了？”她丈夫赶忙问道，衣服刚脱了一半。

她呆呆地转身来，悲痛欲绝地说：

“我……我……我把伏来士洁太太的那串项链弄丢了……”

他慌张失措地站起来，

“什么？……不可能吧！”

于是他俩在那件裙子的衣褶里，外套的衣褶里、口袋里，找了个遍，然而都没找到。

“你确信离开舞会时还戴在脖子上吗？”

“是呀，我在部里的走廊里还摸过它。”

“但是如果是在路上掉的，我们应该能听到声音啊！”

“对，有可能。你记得车牌号吗？”

“不记得。你呢，你当初也没注意吗？”

“没有。”

他俩目瞪口呆地对视，最后洛塞尔又重新穿好了衣服。

“我沿着回来的路再走一遍，”他说，“看看是不是可以找到。”

说着他出去了。她穿着那套晚礼服，连上床的力气都没有了，歪在椅子上，大脑一片空白。

她丈夫七点钟回来了，什么也没有找到。

他到警察局和各报馆去看，希望在失物招领处得到什么线索，他又走到各处出租街车的公司，总之，凡是能想到的有一线希望的地方他都走遍了。

她却在极度惶恐的状态下呆呆地等了一整天。

洛塞尔先生晚上回来，脸色消瘦，有些苍白，他什么都没有发现，很失望。

“应该给你朋友写封信，”他说，“告诉她说你弄断了那条项链的搭钩，我们正在叫人修理。这样我们就有时间再继续找了。”

她在他的口授下写了这封信。

一周以后，他们所有的希望彻底破灭了。洛塞尔似乎年老了五岁，他说：“我们现在必须设法赔偿这条珍珠项链了。”

第二天，他们拿着装那条项链的盒子，按照盒子上写的招牌到珠宝店去了。店里的老板查了许多账簿，说：

“太太，这条项链不是我店里卖出去的，我只提供了挂钩。”

于是他俩一家家首饰店逐一拜访，根据记忆，寻找和丢失的那条相同的项链，痛苦得几乎病倒。

他们在故宫街的一家小店里看到一串珍珠项链，觉得正像他们要找的。它价值四万法郎，店里可以三万六千法郎卖给他们。

他们恳请店老板三天内不要卖掉这条项链，并且讲好，如果原来的那条在二月底前找回来，小店就用三万四千法郎收买回去。

洛塞尔手里存有父亲留给他的一万八千法郎，剩下的就得去借。

他开始着手借钱了，向这个借一千，那个借五百，从这处借五枚路易斯金元，再从另一处借三枚。他签了许多借据，订了许多令自己破产的契约，和那些盘剥重利、不同国籍的放款人打交道。他毁了自己的前途，不计后果地冒险签上了自己的姓名。一想到将来要面对的苦恼，想到即将面临的黑暗和贫穷，想到物质生活的匮乏和精神生活饱受折磨的情景，他感到了恐怖，但最终他还是走到那个珠宝商人的柜台边付了三万六千法郎，取走了那条新项链。

在洛塞尔太太把项链还给伏来士洁太太的时候，伏来士洁太太不悦地对她说：

“你该早点还给我，也许我会用到它。”

她没有像洛塞尔太太所担心的那样打开盒子来看。如果她看穿了这是个替代品，她会怎么想？她会说什么？她会把她当成一个贼吗？

洛塞尔太太尝到了穷人的困窘。从那一刻起她勇敢地打定主意，务必要努力偿还这笔骇人的债务，一定得还。于是他们辞退了女佣，搬了家，租了一间阁楼。

她渐渐知道了家务的艰辛和繁重以及令人厌恶的厨房琐事。她刷洗厨具，满是油垢的罐锅底子磨坏了她粉色的指甲。内衣和抹布都要由她亲自洗灌晾晒在绳子上。每天早上，她都要把垃圾搬运到楼下，再把水提到楼上，每走完一层楼梯，她就要坐在台阶上大口喘气。她穿得像一个平民妇人，她用手臂挽着篮子穿梭于蔬菜店、杂货店和肉店，与他们讨价还价，为了节省一两个铜元而不顾挨骂的危险。每月他们都要收回好些借据，同时还要立几张新的借据来延长还款的日期。

傍晚，她丈夫去替一个商人誊清账目，他还得抄录，只能拿到两便士半一页的微薄报酬，而且要时常工作到深夜。

这种生活持续了10年之久。

在10年之末，他们居然还清了高利贷者连本带息的全部债务。

洛塞尔太太像是衰老了好多。她俨然成了贫苦人家那种强健、粗硬、能吃苦耐劳的妇人。头发凌乱地挽着，裙子歪歪地系着，双手红通通的，说话嗓音极其尖锐，用大盆的水冲刷着地板。但是有时候她丈夫到办公室去了，她不会独自坐在窗前，回想那个晚会，那个令她欣喜若狂的舞会，那时的她是那样美貌、那样快活。

如果她没有把那件首饰弄丢，她现在会是什么样子？谁知道？谁知道呢？多么奇怪的人生啊，真是变化无常！害你还是救你只消一点点小事。

一个周日，她正在香榭丽舍大街上散步，以消除一周工作的辛劳。这时她突然看到一个领着孩子的妇人，那正是伏来士洁太太，她仍旧那么年轻貌美，那么有魅力。

洛塞尔太太有些不好意思，该不该和她说话呢？应该的，当然应该和她说话，况且债务也已还清了，可以告诉她整个事情的经过了，为什么不去做呢？

她走了过去。

“早上好，珍妮！”

但是那一位却一点也认不出她来了，被一个平民装束的妇人这样亲热地叫着令她感到很吃惊，

“但是……这位太太……”她支支吾吾地说，“我好像并不认识你……，你认错人了吧。”

“没错，我是马蒂尔德·洛塞尔呀。”

她那个女朋友尖叫起来：

“噢！……可怜的马蒂尔德，你怎么变成这样了！”

“是啊，自从我上一次见过你，我经历了许多艰难困苦，并且一切都是因为你……”

“因为我……这到底是怎么回事？”

“你应该还记得曾经借给我一串项链去参加部里晚会的事吧？”

“当然记得，怎么了？”

“哦，我把项链弄丢了。”

“怎么会呢，你早已经还给我了呀。”

“我买了一条和你那个完全相同的还给你的。过去的10年我们一直在拼命赚钱还债直至现在，这一切对于我们多么不容易呀。我们没有钱……还好，最终还是还清了所有的债务，我也可以心安理得了。”

伏来士洁太太停下了脚步。

“你是说你买了一条宝石项链代替我的那条还给我了？”

“是啊，你没发现吗？它们很相像，几乎完全相同。”

说完，她带着骄傲而又天真的表情幸福地笑了。

伏来士洁太太被深深地感动了，握紧了她的两只手。

“唉，可怜的马蒂尔德，我那条项链原本是假的，顶多值五百法郎！……”

The Necklace

She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education.

Her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family. Their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.

She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, wom chairs, and ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The sight of the little Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heartbroken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined silent antechambers, heavy with oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two fall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs,overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings.

When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-day-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly, "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken.

She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.

She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery.

One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand.

"Here's something for you." he said.

Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words:

The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the evening of Monday, January the 8th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring:

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this is a great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the really big people there."

She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what do you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"

He had not thought about it; he stammered:

"Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It looks very nice, to me..."

He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he sawthat his wife was beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he faltered.

But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go to this party. Give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than I shall."

He was heart-broken.

"Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. "What would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?"

She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.

At last she replied with some hesitation:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could do it on four hundred francs."

He grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre with some friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays.

Nevertheless he said, "Very well. I'll give you four hundred francs. But try and get a really nice dress with the money."

The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said to her.

"What's the matter with you? You've been very odd for the last three days."

"I'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "I shall look absolutely no one. I would almost rather not go to the party."

"Wear flowers," he said. "They're very smart at this time of the year. For ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses."

She was not convinced.

"No... there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women."

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband, "Go and see Madame Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her quite well enough for that."

She uttered a cry of delight. "That's true. I never thought of it."

Next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble.

Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to Madame Loisel, opened it, and said:

"Choose, my dear."

First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. She kept on asking: "Haven't you anything else?"

"Yes. Look for yourself. I don't know what you would like best."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself.

Then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish:

"Could you lend me this, just this alone?"

"Yes, of course."

She flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure.

The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a success. She was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of State were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her.

She danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart.

She left about four o'clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives werehaving a good time. He threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs.

Loisel restrained her.

"Wait a little. You'll catch cold in the open. I'm going to fetch a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. When they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.

They walked down towards the Seine, desperate and shivering. At last they found on the quay one of those old night-prowling carriages which are only to be seen in Paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight.

It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. It was the end, for her. As for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten.

She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered a cry. The necklace was no longer round her neck!

"What's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed.

She turned towards him in the uttermost distress.

"I... I... I've no longer got Madame Forestier's necklace..."

He started with astonishment.

"What! ...Impossible!"

They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of her coat, in the pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.

"Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I touched it in the hall at the Ministry."

"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall."

"Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab?"

"No. You didn't notice it, did you?"

"No."

They stared at one another, dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his clothes again.

"I'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if I can find it."

And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought.

Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.

He went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.

She waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe.

Loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will give us time to look about us."

She wrote at his dictation.

By the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "We must see about replacing the diamonds."

Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.

"It was not I who sold this necklace, Madame; I must have merely supplied the clasp."

Then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind.

In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand.

They begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. And they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. He intended to borrow the rest.

He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put downupon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice:

"You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she not have taken her for a thief?

Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof.

She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. She washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the course pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money. Every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained.

Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at two-pence-halfpenny a page.

And this life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired.

What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows? Who knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin or to save!

One Sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive.

Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?

She went up to her.

"Good morning, Jeanne."

The other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman.

"But... Madame..." she stammered. "I don't know... you must be making a mistake."

"No... I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh!... my poor Mathilde, how you have changed!"

"Yes, I've had some hard times since I saw you last; and many sorrows... and all on your account."

"On my account!... How was that?"

"You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the Ministry?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"How could you? Why, you brought it back."

"I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years we have been paying for it. You realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money... Well, it's paid for at last, and I'm glad indeed."

Madame Forestier had halted.

"You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"

"Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much alike."

And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very most five hundred francs!..."

小职员之死

安东·契诃夫／Anton Chekhov

安东·契诃夫（Anton Chekhov, 1860—1904），19世纪末俄国伟大的批判现实主义作家，情趣隽永、文笔犀利的幽默讽刺大师，短篇小说巨匠，著名的剧作家。他的作品大都与衰退时期的俄国有关。人们把他比做俄国的莫泊桑。他能够抓住生活中的一个片段，寥寥数语，就可以把一个人物的性格和心灵刻画得入木三分。其代表作《变色龙》《套中人》堪称俄国文学史上精湛而完美的艺术珍品。

一个美好的夜晚，庶务官伊凡·德米特里·切尔维亚科夫，坐在剧院第二排，正心情愉悦地拿着望远镜观看轻歌剧《科尔涅维利的钟声》。看着演出，他感到自己到达了幸福之巅。但突然间……小说里经常出现这个“但突然间”。作家们是对的：生活中的确会发生种种意想不到的事情。但突然间，他的脸皱了起来，眼睛眯起，呼吸停滞……他拿下望远镜，低下头，便……“阿嚏”一声！！！你看，他打喷嚏了。在任何地方，打个喷嚏很正常嘛。庄稼汉打喷嚏，警长打喷嚏，甚至政府议员也偶尔会打个喷嚏，无人例外。切尔维亚科夫不紧不慢，掏出小手绢擦了擦脸，又极其文雅地环视了四周，看看他的喷嚏是否溅着什么人了？这时，他恐慌起来。他看到，坐在前排座椅上的一个小老头，正用手套小心地擦着他的秃头和脖子，还自个儿嘟哝着什么。切尔维亚科夫认出，那是布里扎洛夫将军，交通部门的文官。

“我打喷嚏溅着他了！”切尔维亚科夫想，“虽说他不是我所在部门的上级，不过也挺尴尬，得向他道歉才行。”

切尔维亚科夫咳了一声，身子往前倾了倾，凑到将军的耳边低声说道：

“大人阁下请见谅，我的唾沫星儿不小心溅着您了……”

“不要紧，不要紧。”

“看在上帝的份上，恳请您原谅。我……我是无心的……”

“哎，坐下吧！我要听歌剧了！”

切尔维亚科夫尴尬极了，只好傻傻地笑了笑，而后盯着台上发呆。他就这样看着，已不再有幸福感，他的心开始上下乱跳。幕间休息时，他走到布里扎洛夫那边，在他周围走来走去，终于鼓起勇气，怯怯地说道：

“我溅着您了，大人……请您宽恕……您明白……我不是有意的……”

“哎，行了……我都忘了，你怎么还没忘呢！”说完，将军撇了撇嘴唇，显然已经不耐烦了。

“他说他忘了，但眼神怎么还是怒气十足！”切尔维亚科夫想着，又疑惑地瞧了瞧将军。“他连话都懒得说了，得解释清楚，我的确出于无心……这是常理……要不他会以为我故意吐他。即使他现在不这么想，但过后还是会这么想的！……”

回到家后，切尔维亚科夫把自己的失态告诉了妻子。令他吃惊的是，妻子对此不屑一顾。她起先有点紧张，但后来布里扎洛夫说是“别的部门的”，也就不再放在心上。

“不过，你最好去赔个不是，”她说，“要不他会觉得你毫无公共道德！”

“对，对，对！我道过歉了，但刚才他怪怪的……没说一句中听的话，当然也没有细谈的时间。”

第二天，切尔维亚科夫刮了脸，穿上新制服，去向布里扎洛夫解释。走进将军的接待室，他看到有许多人在那里请求接见。将军也在，并且已开始接见了。询问过几人后，将军抬起头，望了望切尔维亚科夫。

“要是大人还能记得，昨天在‘阿尔卡吉亚’剧场，”庶务官开口说道，“我打了一个喷嚏，不小心溅着您了……恳请您原……”

“乱弹琴！我怎么不知道！”说着，将军扭过头，朝下个来访者说道：“说，什么事？”

“他不想提那件事！”切尔维亚科夫想着，顿时脸色煞白，“那他肯定发脾气了……不行，这事不能就这样过去……我得跟他说清楚……”

当将军和最后一名来访者结束谈话，刚要回内室时，切尔维亚科夫快步跟上去，又胆怯地说道：

“大人！如果小人斗胆打扰了大人，那只能说，是因为内心愧疚！……肯请您谅解，大人！我真的不是故意的！”

将军哭丧着脸，朝他挥了挥手。

“别取笑我了，先生！”将军说着，就闪进了门。

“这怎么是取笑他呢？”切尔维亚科夫想，“不是那么回事啊！他是将军，怎么会不明白啊！如果这样，我再也不向这个道貌岸然者道歉了！见鬼了！给他写封信吧，我再也不来了！真的，再也不来了！”

切尔维亚科夫就这样边想边回到了家里，但并没有给将军写信。他想啊想，怎么也想不出该怎么写这封信，他不得不次日亲自向将军本人解释。

“我昨天打搅了大人，”看着将军那疑惑的目光，他怯怯地说道，“我不是像您讲的那样，我是认真的，不是来开玩笑的。我向您来道歉的，我打喷嚏时溅着您了，大人……说那是开玩笑，我可从来没这样想过。我怎么敢开玩笑呢？如果真的是跟大人您开玩笑，就是对大人您的不敬……就是……”

“滚开！”将军大喝道，脸色顿时发青，浑身颤抖。

“啊？”切尔维亚科夫怯怯地问道，立刻呆在那里。

“滚开！”将军跺了一下脚，又喊道。

切尔维亚科夫感到肚子里有东西碎了，他头晕目眩，挣扎着退到门口。他来到街上，跌跌撞撞地往前走……他昏昏沉沉地回到家里，制服也没脱，身子横在沙发上，后来就……死了。

The Death of aGovernment Clerk

One fine evening, a no less fine government clerk called Ivan Dmitritch Tchervyakov was sitting in the second row of the stalls, gazing through an opera glass at the Cloches de Corneville. He gazed and felt at the acme of bliss. But suddenly... In stories one so often meets with this "But suddenly". The authors are right: life is so full of surprises! But suddenly his face puckered up, his eyes disappeared, his breathing was arrested... he took the opera glass from his eyes, bent over and... "Aptchee!!!" he sneezed as you perceive. It is not reprehensible for anyone to sneeze anywhere. Peasants sneeze and so do police superintendents, and sometimes even privy councillors. All men sneeze. Tchervyakov was not in the least confused, he wiped his face with his handkerchief, and like a polite man, looked round to see whether he had disturbed anyone by his sneezing. But then he was overcome with confusion. He saw that an old gentleman sitting in front of him in the first row of the stalls was carefully wiping his bald head and his neck with his glove and muttering something to himself. In the old gentleman, Tchervyakov recognised Brizzhalov, a civilian general serving in the Department of Transport.

"I have spattered him," thought Tchervyakov, "he is not the head of my department, but still it is awkward. I must apologise."

Tchervyakov gave a cough, bent his whole person forward, and whispered in the general's ear.

"Pardon, your Excellency, I spattered you accidentally..."

"Never mind, never mind."

"For goodness sake excuse me, I... I did not mean to."

"Oh, please, sit down! Let me listen!"

Tchervyakov was embarrassed, he smiled stupidly and fell to gazing at the stage. He gazed at it but was no longer feeling bliss. He began to be troubled by uneasiness. In the interval, he went up to Brizzhalov, walked beside him, and overcoming his shyness, muttered:

"I spattered you, your Excellency, forgive me... you see... I didn't do it to..."

"Oh, that's enough... I'd forgotten it, and you keep on about it!" said the general, moving his lower lip impatiently.

"He has forgotten, but there is a fiendish light in his eye," thought Tchervyakov, looking suspiciously at the general. "And he doesn't want to talk. I ought to explain to him... that I really didn't intend... that it is the law of nature or else he will think I meant to spit on him. He doesn't think so now, but he will think so later!"

On getting home, Tchervyakov told his wife of his breach of good manners. It struck him that his wife took too frivolous a view of the incident; she was a little frightened, but when she learned that Brizzhalov was in a different department, she was reassured.

"Still, you had better go and apologise," she said, "or he will think you don't know how to behave in public."

"That's just it! I did apologise, but he took it somehow queerly... he didn't say a word of sense. There wasn't time to talk properly."

Next day Tchervyakov put on a new uniform, had his hair cut and went to Brizzhalov's to explain; going into the general's reception room he saw there a number of petitioners and among them the general himself, who was beginning to interview them. After questioning several petitioners the general raised his eyes and looked at Tchervyakov.

"Yesterday at the Arcadia, if you recollect, your Excellency," the latter began, "I sneezed and... accidentally spattered... Exc..."

"What nonsense! It's beyond anything! What can I do for you," said the general addressing the next petitioner.

"He won't speak," thought Tchervyakov, turning pale; "that means that he is angry... No, it can't be left like this... I will explain to him."

When the general had finished his conversation with the last of the petitioners and was turning towards his inner apartments, Tchervyakov took a step towards him and muttered:

"Your Excellency! If I venture to trouble your Excellency, it is simply from a feeling I may say of regret! ... It was not intentional if you will graciously believe me."

The general made a lachrymose face, and waved his hand.

"Why, you are simply making fun of me, sir," he said as he closed the door behind him.

"Where's the making fun in it?" thought Tchervyakov, "there is nothing of the sort! He is a general, but he can't understand. If that is how it is I am not going to apologise to that fanfaron any more! The devil takes him. I'll write a letter to him, but I won't go. By Jove, I won't."

So thought Tchervyakov as he walked home; he did not write a letter to the general, he pondered and pondered and could not make up that letter. He had to go next day to explain in person.

"I ventured to disturb your Excellency yesterday," he muttered, when the general lifted enquiring eyes upon him, "not to make fun as you were pleased to say. I was apologising for having spattered you in sneezing... and I did not dream of making fun of you. Should I dare to make fun of you, if we should take to making fun, then there would be no respect for persons, there would be..."

"Be off!" yelled the general, turning suddenly purple, and shaking all over.

"What?" asked Tchervyakov, in a whisper turning numb with horror.

"Be off!" repeated the general, stamping.

Something seemed to give way in Tchervyakov's stomach. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing he reeled to the door, went out into the street, and went staggering along... Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and died.

外套

果戈理／Gogol

果戈理（Gogol, 1809—1852），俄国19世纪前半叶最优秀的讽刺作家、讽刺文学流派的开拓者、批判现实主义文学的奠基人之一，他出生于乌克兰一个地主家庭，中学毕业后在十二月党人革命运动的影响下到了圣彼得堡，当过小公务员，薪俸微薄，生活拮据，这使他亲身体验了“小人物”的悲哀，也目睹了官僚们的荒淫无耻、贪赃枉法、腐败堕落。1831年辞职，专门从事文学创作。《外套》《狂人日记》《鼻子》是其最为突出的代表作。

在部里，最好别提是什么部。没有比部、团、法院，总之一句话，没有什么比公务员更容易发脾气的了。如今，每个和公共服务有关的人，都认为整个社会都在和自个儿作对。最近，有位地方官就递了张呈文，说是帝国学会就快完蛋了，沙皇的圣名正在遭到滥用。他还每十行字就虚构了一个故事作为证据，有些似乎是喝醉后写上的。所以，为了避免不愉快，最好还是别提当事部门的名字，就说某部好了。

这样，某部里有某位官员，职位不很高的那种，麻子脸，红头发，眼神不太好，脑门上秃了一块，皱巴着脸，面色红润，典型的圣彼得堡相貌。说到他的职位，不过是名小小的九等文官，很多保持着值得赞赏的习惯的作家们，对这类无还手之力的人总是不惜余力加以嘲讽。

这位官员姓巴施马奇金，一看就知道是从巴施马克演变来的，但究竟是怎么演变来的就不得而知了。他的父亲和祖父，以及所有巴施马奇金家族的人，总是穿着长筒靴子，每年换那么两三次鞋跟。他的名字是亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇。您也许想不通怎么会有这么奇怪的名字，可是在他看来这再自然不过，似乎他就应该有这么个名。

说起它的由来，是这么回事：

如果我没记错的话。亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇出生于3月23日傍晚。他的母亲是某政府官员的太太，一位很和善的女人。她的每个子女都接受过洗礼。此时她正躺在一张正对着门的床上，可敬的教父伊凡·伊凡诺维奇·伊诺什金就站在右边，他是参议院的一位主事官员；而教母安娜·塞蒙诺维娜·布伊诺布什科娃，某地区官员的妻子，是一位具备可贵品德的妇人。他们早就为婴儿想好了名字，莫基亚、索西亚或者就用受难圣徒霍兹达扎特的名字。可那位善良的母亲却说道：“不，这些都太普通了。”无奈，他们只得把日历翻到另一页，赫然又有了三个选择，特里菲利、杜拉和瓦拉哈西。“真是罪孽，”母亲说，“都是些什么名字，我还从来没听说过呢。瓦拉哈特或者瓦鲁赫还算凑合，可特里菲利和瓦拉哈西又算怎么回事呢。”说着他们又翻了一页——上面写着：帕夫西卡希和瓦赫齐西。“算了，”母亲说，“这是上天注定的，既然这样，还是给他起他父亲那样的名字吧，干脆也叫亚卡基得了。”就这样，他成了亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇。他们给婴儿洗了礼，小婴儿号啕大哭，似乎已经知道他这一辈子都将是“九等文官”的命运。

这就是他名字的来历。我们之所以说起这事，是想让您知道他有这个名字完全是身不由己，不可能再有什么其他的选择。没人记得他是何时、如何来部里的，也不知道是谁任命的。许多部长和上司都换过了，可就是他还没挪过地方，仍是一成不变的芝麻文官，好像他一出生就是个穿着制服的秃脑袋家伙。部里可没什么人敬重他，看门人在他路过时都不起立，甚至不屑于看他一眼。他的出现丝毫不比一只苍蝇飞过的动静大。上司对他既冷淡又无理，职位低些的官员经常在他的面前扔下文件就走，连“抄写一下”、“这是件挺有趣的案子”或者素质高雅的官员间的客气话都不说。而他只是拿起文件，压根也不关心到底是谁给的差事，是不是他应该做的，就抄写起来。

年轻的官员对他总是挖空心思嘲弄，在他眼皮子底下编造他和女房东的瞎话，房东是位70岁的老太太。他们说他挨过房东的揍，还常问他俩的婚期是不是近了，或者把纸片撕得碎碎的并撒在他的头上，大叫着下雪了。亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇一言不发，仿佛周围没人似的，他的工作没受到丝毫影响，就算有这些干扰，他也不会打错一个字。不过要是玩笑开过了头，比如挡了他的手，妨碍他干活了，他就要叫了：“让开点！为什么要欺负我？”语气里透着一股让人可怜的劲。这让一位本打算和其他人一起戏弄亚卡基的新到官员突然调转念头，从此变了一个人似的，为人处事与以前大不相同了。

一种莫名的力量使他疏远了原来的同事，他本以为他们都是教养良好的体面人。后来，即使在他最快乐的时候，也会想起那个秃了一块顶的可怜男人，还有他声嘶力竭的抗议：“让开点！为什么要欺负我？”他从这句话里听出了另一层意思——“我是你的兄弟啊。”年轻的官员用手捂住了脸，以后很长一段时间内，在他的一生中，只要一想起那表面优雅、文质彬彬的人内心的邪恶与粗暴，都会不寒而栗。天啊！那些所谓的高贵可敬的人，竟也有如此低俗的一面。

很难再找出这么一个完全为工作存在的人。说亚卡基对职责抱有热情显然是不够的，不，他对工作应该是心怀爱慕！他在抄写时能够感受到各式各样的愉悦，脸上洋溢着幸福。他对某些单词有特殊的喜爱，每每抄写到这些词时就不由自主地微笑，嘴里念念有词，仿佛通过他的面部表情就会知道笔尖写出的单词。如果要按对工作的热忱论功行赏，也许他自己都会大吃一惊，因为要是那样他早就做到国家议员上的位置了。可就像他同事所说的，他不过是一头在磨坊里拉磨的老马。

话说回来，也不是所有人都对他不闻不问。据说曾有一位仁慈的上司，念及他长期的尽忠尽职，想对他予以奖励。于是吩咐他去拟一份结案呈词送到另一个部里，其实十分简单，就是改改标题、换换用词的事。可就是让他感到极度不安，甚至满头大汗，抓破了脑袋，最后只得说，“算了，我还是做些抄写的活吧。”从此以后，他除了抄写就没有其他事可做了。

他的眼里只有抄写，从不关心自己的穿着，制服已经从绿变成了锈红色，领口也越来越低，以至于尽管脖子原本不长，还是显得怪异，就像小贩头上顶着的摇头晃脑的石膏小猫的脖颈。而且他的制服上总会粘着什么东西，要么是一根草，要么一小块蛋糕屑。他还有一种特别的本事，每当走在大街上，正好经过某个窗户下时，就那么不偏不巧的有垃圾扔出来，于是他的帽子上总会有瓜皮一类的东西。他一生中从不对街上的事有过兴趣，而他亲爱的同事们则连对面街上谁的皮带没扣好都了如指掌，这时他们就会不怀好意地笑上一笑。但在亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇的眼中，一切事物都是透明的，甚至连纸上的格子都是白色的。要不是从哪里跑来一匹老马，挨着肩膀冲到他鼻子跟前，再喷些气到他的脖子里，他准会以为自己还埋头在字里行间，而不是站在大街上。

他一回到家就一屁股坐在桌子前，咕嘟咕嘟地喝汤，嚼着洋葱味的牛肉，他从不在意味道如何。不管是带着苍蝇的东西，还是房东恰巧递过来的什么，他都能一并吞进肚子。吃饱喝足后，他起身离开桌子，开始抄写从部里带回来的公文。要是没有公文，为了自个儿高兴，他也会找点什么抄写一番，特别是当文本的妙处不在于文笔优美，而是呈给某位权贵时。

当夜幕降临在圣彼得堡，所有官员都根据薪水高低和口味喜好饱餐一顿的时候；当所有人都干完了自己分内或自愿帮别人做的事，停下笔头在同事间忙于交际的时候；当官员们忙于寻欢作乐的时候；有人兴冲冲地跑去剧院；有人上街流连于美丽帽子下的面孔；有人整晚奉承某位被捧为明星的漂亮小妞；有人，也是最司空见惯的，去三楼或四楼的同事那里消磨时光，两间有棋牌室或厨房的小间，摆上一些赶时髦的小玩意，比如一盏台灯，或省下大餐、取消旅行才换来的其他什么物品。总之，大家都会呼朋唤友的去玩惠斯顿牌，一边品着香茗，一边咂巴咂巴地抽着烟斗，谈论着听来的奇闻轶事。要是实在无话可说，就翻出那些老掉牙的趣闻再说一遍，什么司令官接到禀报，法尔康雕塑的纪念像的马尾巴被人砍掉了。当所有人都在找乐子时，亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇却平静无比。没有人在晚上瞧见过他的身影。他尽情地抄写够了，此刻正躺在床上，一想到明天老天爷会给他新的东西抄写就欢喜无比。

一个年薪四百卢布的男人，原本可以就这样平静而知足地打发日子直到风烛残年，然而天有不测风云，别说是九等文官，就算再高等级的官员，乃至不理世事的人也无法避免。

圣彼得堡所有年薪四百或接近四百卢布的官员都有一个公敌，这就是北方的严寒，但也有人认为它并没有什么害处，反而对身体有益。早晨九点，正当人们涌上大街往部里赶的时候，刺骨的寒风开始一个劲地往人鼻孔里钻，它可不管你是不是身份低微的官吏，是否有办法抵御严寒。在这种高等官员都不得不被寒冷冻得脑袋发疼、眼泪直流的时候，可怜的九等文官就只剩下束手待毙的份了。唯一的办法就是裹紧单薄的衣服，飞快地穿过五六条街，赶到门房里跺跺脚取暖，好把在路上冻僵了的来以执行公务的才智和能力融化开。

尽管亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇近来都是飞奔着跑过街道，但还是感觉肩膀和背上被冻得生疼。后来他终于开始怀疑自己的外套出了问题。回到家他把外套里里外外检查了一遍，发现在肩膀和背部，就算有两个地方吧，已经被磨得只剩下一层纱布了，面料简直快变成透明的了，衬里也已经破得不像样子。要知道亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇的外套一直是同事们奚落的对象，他们管它叫“罩衫”。它只有一层布料，而且领口年年都在变窄，因为布料都被剪下来补其他地方去了。这样的缝补根本显示不了裁缝的高超手艺，相反，它既难看又松松垮垮。意识到了问题的严重性，亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇决定带着外套去找裁缝彼得罗维奇，他住在某个地方的四楼，尽管长着一张麻子脸，并且瞎了一只眼，但他对缝补官员和人们的外套裤子还是挺在行的，不过，这是在他头脑清醒、没有喝醉，并且没想着其他花花肠子的情况下。

本来不该就一个裁缝花过多笔墨，但现下对小说里每个人物都进行细细描述已经成了趋势，因此这里也就不能免俗了。说到裁缝彼得罗维奇，他本名格里戈利，是某位老爷家的农奴。自从领了自由证书，他就自称彼得罗维奇了，并且在所有节日都喝得酩酊大醉。起初，他只是在重要节日时才喝上几口，后来发展到只要遇到日历上印着十字的节日他就开怀大饮。就这点而言，他还是很遵循祖制的。每逢和老婆吵嘴，他便满口“臭婆娘，德国娘们”。既然这里提到了他的老婆，也不妨对这个人多说两句。遗憾的是，除了知道她是彼得罗维奇的婆娘外，也没什么好说的了。这个女人总是戴顶小帽，穿着罩裙，样貌完全和美人搭不上边，至少路过时看门人决不会多看她一眼。

通往彼得罗维奇家的楼道里浸满了油腻的脏水，混杂着酒精的气味，熏得人眼疼，这似乎已经成了圣彼得堡所有楼道的写照。亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇边上楼边思忖彼得罗维奇会要价多少，并暗自决定绝不会付超过2卢布的钱。门是敞开着的，女主人正在烧鱼，那味道熏得连蟑螂都不愿多待一时半刻。亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇从女主人身边走过，但她似乎一点也没察觉到。终于他走进了房间，看见彼得罗维奇坐在一张未经粉饰的桌子旁，像土耳其总督一样盘着双腿。他赤着双脚，就像坐着干活的裁缝那样，怪异的指甲像肥厚的海龟壳，脖子上挂着乱糟糟的线团和绸缎，膝上铺着些破布头。彼得罗维奇穿了三回针都没成功，便对房间的暗沉发起脾气来，甚至还怪线不好，他哑着嗓子嚷嚷：“穿不上，这狗娘养的！可把我害苦了，你这无赖！”

亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇没想到会赶在他发脾气时来，顿时觉得手足无措。他本指望彼得罗维奇会微醉，或像她老婆说的“那独眼老怪物喝得烂醉”，那样的话不但容易压价，彼得罗维奇还会再三感谢。就算她老婆事后跑来说彼得罗维奇喝多了，价格要低了，也只要再加10个戈比就会完事。可现在彼得罗维奇正清醒着，还在气头上，鬼知道他会要多少钱。亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇感到处境不妙，很想打退堂鼓，可是已经走不了了。彼得罗维奇的一只眼已经盯着他看了，亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇不由自主地打起招呼：“你好吗，彼得罗维奇？”

“早上好啊。”彼得罗维奇应道，一边斜着眼打量亚卡基耶维奇手上拿着的外套，想瞧瞧是什么样的生意送上门。

“嗯，那个——，彼得罗维奇——，你瞧——”亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇习惯用毫无意义的字眼与人说话。要是情况很棘手，他就连句整话都说不出来了。结果他常常是“这个——，其实，有点——”地往外蹦字，然后就没了下文，因为他以为自己已经把话说完了。

“什么事啊？”彼得罗维奇问道，同时把亚卡基耶维奇的外套从领子到袖口、背脊、后襟和扣眼一一看过，其实他对这件外套已经再熟悉不过了，上面到处都是他的手艺。不过这是裁缝的习惯，只要看见了就会打量一番。

“我，那个，这是——彼得罗维奇——一件外套，这里，你瞧，有几处，还能穿——只是有点脏，看上去旧了点，其实还是新的，只不过就这里，在后襟这里有那么个小洞，还有肩膀上，看见了吗？就是这样，不会费多少事的。”

彼得罗维奇接过外套铺在桌上边瞧边摇头，他伸手从窗台上取过鼻烟壶，上面刻着某位将军的肖像，已经被磨得不成样子，认不出是哪位将军了，只得贴张破纸片。彼得罗维奇闻了闻鼻烟，拎着外套对光瞅了瞅，又不断地摇头，然后再把粘着破纸的鼻烟壶盖子打开，捏了一撮烟丝用鼻子闻闻，合上盖子放好，说：“补不了了，已经完全不能穿了！”

一听到这话，亚卡基耶维奇的心立刻沉了下去。

“彼得罗维奇，为什么不能补？”亚卡基耶维奇像一个孩子般乞求，“就只有肩膀上有个小洞，您总该有些碎布头什么的——”。

“布头有是有，多得是啊，”彼得罗维奇说，“可没地方缝啊，你看这里都破了，根本没法下针。”

“破就让它破吧，您可以打块补丁在上面。”

“补丁都没处打，再打也不管用啦，太破了。一阵风都能把它给吹散了。”

“还是给缝缝吧，这是怎么说的，总还能——”

“不成啦，”彼得罗维奇斩钉截铁地说，“肯定是补不了了，这衣服太糟了。冷空气来时您倒可以用它做绑腿什么的，可比长袜保暖多了，长袜都是德国佬用来赚钱的。”只要一逮着机会，彼得罗维奇就会对德国人加以嘲弄。“您只能做件新外套了。”

亚卡基耶维奇听一到“新”字，马上眼前一抹黑，站也站不稳。他唯一看得清楚的就是那鼻烟壶上粘着纸的将军像。“一件新的？”他重复了一遍，整个人好像在梦里，“这可怎么好，我哪有钱做新的？”

“必须做件新的。”彼得罗维奇不紧不慢地说。

“好吧，如果做件新的，要多少——？”

“您是想问要多少钱？”

“是。”

“少说也得要150卢布。”彼得罗维奇意味深长地回答，他喜欢制造紧张，喜欢出其不意地给人难堪，然后观察对方作何反应。

“花150卢布做件外套！”可怜的亚卡基耶维奇尖着嗓子喊，这可能是他一生中第一次叫喊，要知道他说话可是出名的细声细语。

“没错，先生，”彼得罗维奇说，“一件衣服确实得值这个价。要是您想上貂皮领，或者丝绸的衬里，得要200个卢布呢。”

“求你了，”亚卡基耶维奇装着没听见彼得罗维奇的话，也不管是不是难堪，用恳求的语气说，“凑合着给补补吧，好歹还能再穿穿。”

“补不了了，到头来只会是费事又费钱。”彼得罗维奇回答。亚卡基耶维奇垂头丧气地离开了。彼得罗维奇并没有马上开始工作，他在原地又站了会儿，颇有深意地瘪了瘪嘴，很满意自己的表现，既没作践自己的体面，也保存了裁缝的高超手艺。

亚卡基耶维奇梦游似的走在大街上，“怎么会这样！”他自言自语着，“真没想到——”他停顿了一下，接着说，“不管了！再等等看吧，我可没想到会这样！”又是沉默，“真是的！真没料到，这事怎么会落到这个地步！他边走边念叨，一点也没发现自己是在朝和家相反的方向走。路上，一个清扫烟囱的人撞了他一下，弄脏了他的肩膀；还有一袋垃圾从正在建造的房子里扔出来，落在他的帽子上。这些他都未曾注意，直到他撞到一位拿着斧戟、用布满老茧的手从烟盒里取出烟丝的巡逻员，才稍稍回过神来，这还是因为巡逻员对他说：“你干吗撞到人鼻子底下来？难道你没看见人行道吗？”这才让他停下来看看四周，转身朝家走去。

这会儿他集中思想，清楚地考虑自己的处境，自个和自个辩驳着，就像在和一位可以毫不顾忌地吐露心事的老朋友谈话。“不行，”亚卡基耶维奇说，“现在可没法和彼得罗维奇讲理。他——显然是刚挨过老婆的揍。我最好周日上午再来，过了周六晚上他肯定会眼神不好直打瞌睡，那样就会喝点酒了，她老婆肯定不会给他钱买酒。到那时，10个戈比就——，很容易就能说服他了，到时我的外套……”亚卡基耶维奇安慰着自己，又重新鼓足勇气。他一直等到下周日，瞅到彼得罗维奇老婆出了门，才冲进去找他。

的确如此，经过周六晚上彼得罗维奇的眼神果然歪斜得厉害，他耷拉着脑袋昏昏欲睡。不过等他弄明白亚卡基耶维奇是为何而来时，仿佛是魔鬼帮他记起了一切。“不可能，”彼得罗维奇说，“得做件新的。”这时亚卡基耶维奇马上递上10个戈比，“谢谢您的好意，祝您健康。”彼得罗维奇说，“别再为衣服发愁啦，它已经不能穿了。我会给您重新做件好的，就这么定了。”

亚卡基耶维奇仍坚持缝补一下就行，不过彼得罗维奇像是没听见他说话，继续说：“我当然会帮您做一件啦，您放心，我会使出看家本领。领口就像现下流行的一样用镀银的钩扣。”

当亚卡基耶维奇终于明白不得不做件新外套时，他的心情刹时跌到了谷底。这该怎么办呢？到哪里去筹钱？他本可以对圣诞节抱点小小的希望，可那些钱的用途早就定好了，他要买条新裤子，付清靴匠钉新靴头的陈年老账，他还向裁缝订了三件衬衫和几件衬里衣物。总之，他已经没有闲钱了。就算仁慈的上司拨给他的不是40卢布，而是45或50，也顶不上多大用处，不过是一滴水掉进了大海里，离做件新外套还差的多。即使他知道彼得罗维奇有时会头脑不好漫天要价，有时甚至连他的老婆都看不下去而大喊，“你疯了！你这个蠢货！”可有时你给他多少钱他都不愿意做活，照现在的情形来看，彼得罗维奇肯定是狮子大开口了。

不过就算他知道彼得罗维奇做件新外套只要花80卢布，又去哪弄这笔钱呢？或许他能凑个半数，可另外一半怎么办？读者您必须知道这一半是怎么凑齐的。亚卡基耶维奇有这么一个习惯，他每花1卢布，就往有个窟窿眼的储蓄罐里投一小枚半戈比的铜币，再用钥匙锁起来。等到了半年，他就把这些钱拿出来去换成银币。他这么干已经有很长一段时间了，所以过了这么几年的时间，已经存下40卢布。他就是这么凑到一半钱的，可到哪去找另一半？另外40卢布去哪弄呢？亚卡基耶维奇再三考虑，决定缩减日常开支。至少要省吃俭用一年，晚上不喝茶，不点蜡烛，要有什么事不得不做，他就到房东太太的房间去借个光。上街走路也要轻手轻脚，最好能踮着脚尖走，这样鞋跟可以不用老换。衣服尽量少给女工洗，为了防止弄脏，回到家就要把它脱下来，只穿一件老旧的棉睡衣。

说句实话，起初，亚卡基耶维奇对这些限制还有些不习惯，但他最终还是适应了，一切做起来都变得很自然。他甚至乐于在晚上挨饿，因为一想起将有件新大衣就让他的精神振奋。从那以后，他的生活似乎更充实了，仿佛他已经娶了妻，像换了个人似的。好像他不再孑然一身，身边有了亲切的朋友为伴，虽然这个朋友不过是一件外套，厚实的呢料子加上结实的衬里，足够穿上很长时间。他变得活泼了，也更坚强，整个人都有了目标。从头到脚，已经看不出一丁点优柔寡断和拖泥带水。他的眼里闪耀着火花，脑海里时常会浮现出豪放而热烈的想法。比如，为什么不在领子上装上貂皮呢，这些想法常让他不能专心做事。曾经有一次，他抄写时差点犯了错，结果他大叫了一声“啊”，不停地在胸口划十字。他每月还要和彼得罗维奇碰一次面，共同讨论外套的事，例如去哪里买布好，用什么颜色，价钱如何。尽管他回到家会有些忧心忡忡，但一想到一切都会办妥，新外套指日可待也就心满意足了。

事情进展得非常顺利。亚卡基耶维奇没料到的是，上司的奖励既非40也非45卢布，而足足有60卢布。难道他知道亚卡基耶维奇需要一件新外套，或者是机缘巧合？不管怎样，反正是多了20卢布。这情形加速了事情的发展。挨了两三个月的饿后，亚卡基耶维奇攒够了80卢布。他一向平静的心开始扑咚扑咚地跳起来。他立刻叫上彼得罗维奇一起去了商店，买了漂亮的布料，价格也合适。他们半年前就看上这块布了，每个月都会去问次价钱。彼得罗维奇称再也没有比这还好的布料了。他们还挑了棉质的衬里，彼得罗维奇说它比绸子结实厚实，也更好看光滑些。貂皮毕竟还是没有买，因为确实太贵了，不过他们选了店里最好的猫皮，乍看上去和貂皮也有几分相似。

彼得罗维奇整整花了两个礼拜做这件外套，要缝的地方实在太多，不然早就完工了。他收了12卢布的手工费，再少就没得赚了。衣服都是用双层的丝线密密麻麻地打上针脚，彼得罗维奇之后还用牙挨个拽紧，压得结结实实。

记不清彼得罗维奇是哪天把完工的外套送来的了，但那天可能是亚卡基耶维奇一生中最辉煌的日子。外套是在早上交到亚卡基耶维奇手上的，当时他正好要出门上班。外套来得太是时候了，因为已经是天寒地冻的时节，而且还在继续降温。彼得罗维奇亲自把外套交给了亚卡基耶维奇，真是个好裁缝。他神情庄重，亚卡基耶维奇从未见过他有那样的表情。彼得罗维奇觉着自己做了一件很伟大的事，这让他区别于那些只做缝补活的裁缝，成了一名可以做新衣的能手。他把外套从包好的手帕里取出，手帕是洗得干干净净放在口袋里备用的。彼得罗维奇用双手把外套拿起，用自豪的目光看着自己的作品，十分娴熟地把它披在亚卡基耶维奇的肩膀上，接着又往下拽了拽，并用手在后背掸了掸，然后敞着襟给亚卡基耶维奇披在身上。亚卡基耶维奇十分老成地要求试试袖子，彼得罗维奇帮他把袖子穿上，不长不短正合适。一句话，这件外套既合身又合时。彼得罗维奇也没忘记念叨一番，要不是他住在这么个小地方，又没有挂牌，而且和亚卡基耶维奇相识已久，他才不会接受如此便宜的价格。要是在涅瓦大街上，他至少得收75卢布。亚卡基耶维奇对这点不想和彼得罗维奇多说，他付了钱后就穿着新外套上班去了。彼得罗维奇跟在他后面走上了大街，然后停下来在远处打量着外套，接着迅速拐上街道一边，抄小巷子跑到另一条街上，再从正面欣赏自己的手艺。

此时走在大街上的亚卡基耶维奇好像沉浸在节日中，他时时都能感受到身上穿着的是新外套，好几次他都暗自笑了出来。外套有两个值得夸耀的地方：一是保暖，另一个是漂亮。他对大街上的事充耳不闻，等回过神来时已经到了部里。亚卡基耶维奇在门厅把外套脱下仔细检查了一遍，又嘱咐门卫小心照看。新外套的消息不知道怎么就在部里传开，“罩衫”已经不复存在了。大家都第一时间赶到门厅端详他的新衣服，他们祝贺着亚卡基耶维奇，说着道喜的话，起初他还知道报以微笑，后来竟变得不好意思起来。当大家围着他起哄说要给新外套庆祝一下，怎么着他也应该举办个宴会请请客时，亚卡基耶维奇就变得手足无措了。他忘记了自己身在何处，不知要怎样回答才能摆脱尴尬的局面。亚卡基耶维奇就这么面红耳赤地站了几分钟，告诉大家那并不是什么新外套，还是件旧的，只不过样子像新的。

最后，一位稍高级别的上司为了表示自己并非傲慢，也出于对下属的体恤之情，说道：“我来代亚卡基耶维奇请客吧，今晚大家都到我家来，说来也巧，今天刚好是我的命名日。”同事们自然而然地对他表示了祝贺，同时也欣然地接受了邀请。亚卡基耶维奇本来是不想去参加宴会的，但同事们都说那样有失礼貌，会丢面子，他这才同意前去赴宴。此外，他想到可以穿着新外套参加聚会，就觉得这个决定也挺让人高兴的。

这天对亚卡基耶维奇来说就像个盛大的节日。他兴致勃勃地回到家，脱下外套小心翼翼地挂在墙上，再度端详了布料与衬里一番。接着又把那件破旧的罩衫拿出来比较了一下。然后他看着看着就笑出声来，果然是天壤之别。甚至晚饭过后，他只要一想起那件“罩衫”就会忍不住发笑。亚卡基耶维奇高高兴兴地用过餐，什么都没抄写就去床上躺着歇了一会儿。一直等到天黑，他才从容不迫地穿戴好，套上外套出了门。我实在说不清那位请客的东家住在哪里，我们的记性实在是不太好，圣彼德堡所有的街道和建筑宛如乱麻混在一起，很难理出什么头绪。

然而可以肯定的是，这位东家住在小镇上最好的一区，离亚卡基耶维奇的家可有好一段距离。他先穿过人烟稀少、灯光昏暗的穷街陋巷；之后越是接近那位上司的家，街道上就越繁华起来，灯火通明，车水马龙。路上行人如织，到处都是衣着光鲜的漂亮女士和穿着貂皮领大衣的男子。拉着镶有铜钉的雪橇的马车越来越少见；戴着深红色天鹅绒帽子，刷着油漆铺有熊皮的雪橇多了起来，有美丽斗篷的四轮马车在街道上轻盈地奔跑，辗得雪地沙沙作响。

亚卡基耶维奇凝视着眼前的一切，感觉新奇得有如小说里的描写。他已经很多年没在晚上上街了。他好奇地在一扇橱窗前驻足，橱窗里挂着一幅美丽的女士画像：女士脱下鞋子，以一种优美的姿态赤裸着双足；在她的后面有位留着小胡子的男士正朝房门口探头张望。亚卡基耶维奇笑着摇了摇头，继续赶路。他为何会发笑呢？难道是他感到了某种未知的，但又人人拥有的感情？就像其他官员们所想的，“这些法国佬！这是怎么说呢？要是他们真做了那样的事，为什么——”不过也许他并没有这么想。

亚卡基耶维奇终于到了上司家。这位长官住在二楼，一个很舒适的建筑，楼道里挂着灯笼。亚卡基耶维奇刚进门厅就看见地板上放满了橡胶鞋。房间的正中有一个茶水壶，往外扑扑地冒着热气。墙上挂着各种各样的外套和斗篷，其中几件还镶有海狸皮领子或天鹅绒的装饰。房间里传出宾客间的谈话，当房门打开，仆人托着装有空杯子和果酱罐、糖碟的托盘从房里走出，喧哗声就更清晰了。很明显，大家早就到了，已经喝完了第一轮茶。

亚卡基耶维奇挂好衣服走进房间，眼前倏然出现烛光、官员、烟斗、牌桌。周围嘈杂的喧闹声和桌椅的摩擦声让他显得无所适从。他笨手笨脚地站在屋子中间，不知道应该做什么。不过大家已经看见了他，都欢呼起来，接着全跑到门厅里，又把他的新外套观赏了一遍。亚卡基耶维奇尽管有些难为情，不过到底算是个老实人，听到大家对外套的赞美也忍不住高兴。随后大家自然又丢开他和他的外套，回到桌前开始玩惠斯顿牌。

所有的一切，吵吵闹闹的场面和一群群的人让亚卡基耶维奇没法招架。他简直不知道该站在哪才好，手脚甚至整个人也弄不清往哪搁。后来他坐下来看人打牌，观察大家的面部表情，结果没一会就要打瞌睡了。他觉得很乏味，这个时候要是在家他早就上床睡觉了。亚卡基耶维奇很想向上司告辞，不过大伙都拦着他不让去，他们说怎么着也得喝杯香槟为新外套庆祝一下。随后不到一个时辰晚餐上来了，有蔬菜沙拉、牛肉冷盘、糕点、糖果和香槟。亚卡基耶维奇被大家怂恿着喝了两杯，渐渐地就觉得开心多了。

不过他还是忘不了已经12点了，应该早就回家的。为避免主人借故挽留自己，他偷偷溜出屋子，到门厅里去拿自己的外套。让他心痛的是外套已经掉到了地上，他捡起外套抖了抖，掸掉上面沾着的杂物，穿上衣服下了楼。

大街上仍有亮光，几家仆人和下人们常光顾的小店还在营业；其他的虽然关了门，却还从门缝里透出长长的光亮，可能是某家的男仆或女仆在家长里短地闲谈，而主人对他们的去向还蒙在鼓里。亚卡基耶维奇依旧兴高采烈，不知出于什么原因，他甚至跟在一位妇人后面小跑起来，那位妇人就像闪电般一闪而过。不过没多会儿他就停住，向往常一样慢慢走路，暗自奇怪为何刚才会一路小跑。很快他就走到了那条空旷的大街上，这条路白天都没什么生气，更别说夜晚了。此时它显得更加寂静黑暗，灯光越来越少，显然是公家灯油太少。一些木质房子和栅栏迎面可见，可仍然没一个人影，只有雪压在紧闭门窗的矮矮房檐上，依稀可见白色的反光。亚卡基耶维奇沿着街道渐渐走到一个偌大的广场上，对面只有零星的房屋，四周空旷得让人发怵。

远处从巡夜人那里传来微弱的灯光，仿佛来自世界的尽头。亚卡基耶维奇的高兴劲荡然无存，他带着不由自主的恐惧走进了广场，仿佛随时都会发生某种不测。他回过头朝两边看了看，黑暗像海洋一般漫无边际。“我还是别东张西望的好。”他想，于是闭起眼睛继续向前走。正当他睁开眼打算瞧瞧是否已走出广场时，突然发现眼前多了一些完全不认识的蓄着胡子的人。他两眼发黑，刹时间心怦怦直跳。

“嘿，这件外套是我的！”这些人中的一个冲着他大叫，同时抓住了他的领子。亚卡基耶维奇正要喊“救命”，就被人用脑袋大的拳头揍了一下，拳头直伸到他的嘴里，那人说：“你再喊试试！”

亚卡基耶维奇感到有人把他的外套剥了下来，还用膝盖顶了他一下，于是他一头栽到雪里失去知觉。几分钟后，他恢复意识站了起来，可是那些人已经不见了。他感到广场上十分寒冷，他的外套也没了。他开始大喊，然而声音太微弱，根本传不到广场以外的地方。他绝望了，但是仍然没有停止呐喊，拔腿在广场上奔跑起来，一直奔向远处的岗亭。岗亭边上的巡警斜倚着斧钺，完全不明白远处为何有人叫喊着朝他跑来。亚卡基耶维奇气喘吁吁地跑到了巡警面前，指责他偷懒睡觉，什么事也不管，害自己被抢了东西。巡警说看见有两个人在广场上拦住了他，不过还以为是他的朋友；而且他建议亚卡基耶维奇与其在这浪费口舌，不如明早去报警，说不定警察可以查出是谁偷了外套。

亚卡基耶维奇神志不清地往家赶，脑后和两鬓处本就稀疏的头发乱七八糟，身上、胳膊上，还有腿全都沾着积雪。房东太太听见急促的敲门声，慌忙地从床上爬起，谨慎地用袖子掩着胸口，趿着一只拖鞋就跑去开门。门打开后她发现亚卡基耶维奇如此模样，不禁吓得向后退了一步。当亚卡基耶维奇把一切告诉她后，她两手紧握地表示，应该到警察署长那里去碰碰运气。巡长目中无人，嘴上答应帮忙，可报案人一走，案子就丢在了脑后，所以最好还是直接去找署长。因为她以前的厨子，一个叫安娜的芬兰女人，曾在他家里帮过佣。她常在房子里看见他，而且他每周日都要去教堂，一边祷告一边愉快地打量周围的人，种种迹象显示，他一定是位和蔼可亲的长官。听了房东太太的建议后，亚卡基耶维奇闷闷不乐地回到房间，凡是会设身处地为他人着想的人，都能够想象他究竟是怎样度过那个夜晚的。

次日一大早他就赶去找警察署长，不过得到答复说署长大人正在睡觉。于是他等到10点钟又去了一趟，被告知署长还在睡觉。11点他再赶去时，人家说：“大人已经出门了。”待到吃午饭时，门厅里的办事员说什么也不让他进去，只是一个劲地问他有什么要紧的事。最后，亚卡基耶维奇生平头一次有了想发怒的念头，他简明扼要地表示，非得亲自见到署长本人不可。他们不应该阻拦他，他在司法部门任职，如果投诉他们，那可就有好瞧的了。

办事员真的被吓住了，于是有人去叫了署长。署长听完了外套被盗的离奇经过，没有进一步关心案情的细节，反而质问起亚卡基耶维奇：为什么他这么晚才回家？是习惯晚回家还是去了什么乱七八糟的地方？这下轮到亚卡基耶维奇蒙了，也没弄清外套的案子是否会被受理就离开了。

那一天，他生平头一回没去上班。第二天他照常去了部里，脸色苍白，穿着那件愈发褴褛的旧“罩衫”。虽然仍有些人不会放过任何取笑亚卡基耶维奇的机会，可外套被偷的遭遇还是触动了很多人，大家当即决定为他募捐。然而为了响应部长的号召，大家已经花了大笔的钱订购局长的肖像和部长朋友的书籍了，因此募得的钱寥寥无几。

有人出于同情，觉得至少也该给他出出主意。于是他建议亚卡基耶维奇不要去警察局，因为即便警官为讨好上司千方百计地找回了外套，如果不能提供有效证据证明外套是自己的，那衣服还将是被扣在警局。目前最好是去求见某位显赫的大人物，托着这位大人物的关系，警局才有可能尽快结案。

鉴于确实没别的办法，亚卡基耶维奇决定去求见一位大人物。不过直至现在我们仍不知他求见的是哪位大人物，但读者应该了解的是，那位所谓的大人物在当时压根没什么了不起，他的地位只不过是新近才有了提高，即便如此，和其他身居要职的人比起来，他还是算不得大人物。然而，在别人眼中不算什么的人，总会有那么一个小圈子，足够显示他身份的重要。此外，他还会通过种种方法抬高自己的身价，例如上班时设法让下属在楼梯上迎接他。没人可以擅自去找他，必须严格遵守办事礼节；如书记员要先向秘书做汇报，秘书向文官或其他同等级官员做汇报，然后才能递呈到他的面前。在神圣的俄国土地上，人人都热衷于这种所谓的礼节。大家都争相模仿自己上司的排场，据说有一位文官，被调去领导几个小部门，上任后他立即开辟出一个小房间，美其名曰“接待室”，并且还在门口安排了一个身着红领制服的办事员，专门负责为来人开门。其实这个接待室大小只能放一张桌子。

大人物的排场与派头威严十足，他的办事程序的主要精髓就是严厉。“严厉，严厉，再严厉！”这是他一贯的口吻。说到最后几个字时，他会意味深长地直盯着对方的眼睛看。不过这个意义不大，因为他管辖的部门本来就只有十来个官员，个个都对他诚惶诚恐，只要远远地看见他过来了，大家就会丢下手头上的公事，排成一行静候着，直到他离开。他与属下的谈话总是一本正经的严厉，谈话内容基本就三句：“你怎么胆敢如此？”“你知道是在和谁说话吗？”“你知道面前站着的是谁吗？”

话说回来，其实他原来心地善良，对同事和蔼可亲，乐于帮忙，只不过将军的头衔让他忘乎所以。然而，收到任令时他就开始糊涂了，失去了理智，不知哪些事该做，好像他本来就是如此。要是恰好和他平级的同事在一起，他还是比较容易相处的，不失为一个可爱的人，头脑也很清醒。然而一旦发现周围都是下属，话就开始变少了。他的处境让人同情，要不是顶着将军的光环，原本他是可以度过一番愉快时光的。他的目光里饱含着某种想要参加谈话的渴望，然而这种渴望被种种想法所抑制：“会不会显得太傲慢了？这符合惯例吗？会不会有失身份？”出于诸多考虑，他依旧保持沉默，只是时不时发出些单音节的声音，因此别人都评价他为“无聊透顶”。

亚卡基耶维奇挑了一个对他极为不妙，不过对这位大人物来说非常适宜的时刻去参见了他。当时这位长官正在房间里与一位多年未见的旧相识、也是小时的玩伴兴高采烈地交谈，谈话刚刚开始就有人禀报说一位姓巴施马奇金的前来参见。他不耐烦地问：“巴施马奇金是什么人？”“一位文官。”禀报的人回答。“哦，让他等着吧！我现在没时间接见他。”大人物说。

要知道的是，大人物在这里不光彩地撒了谎。他和旧相识要谈的话早就谈完了，整个过程冷场了好几次，在无话可说的空隙他们只得互相拍着腿说：“是这样，伊凡·阿勃拉莫维奇！”“没错，斯杰潘·瓦尔拉莫维奇！”然而，为了让这位早已退休赋闲在家的朋友明白，等他的接见要花多长时间，他吩咐可怜的文官必须在门厅里等待。

最后，实在是说得筋疲力尽，而且无言相对了，他躺在舒适的沙发上抽了支雪茄，仿佛猛然间想起还有个人等待觐见，于是对手捧一摞文件站在门口的秘书说：“好像还有个什么人在等我吧，让他进来。”他看了看神情谦逊的亚卡基耶维奇，又瞅了瞅他身上破烂不堪的制服，突然说道：“你有什么事？”语气甚为生硬，这是他上任前就练好的，为此他足足在房间对着镜子练了一个礼拜。

亚卡基耶维奇此时已经被吓得慌张无措，他结结巴巴地解释，话语里夹杂着比平时更多的“这个，那个”。她解释说他新做的外套被野蛮地抢走了，他之所以前来参见是想大人也许能够——在大人的交涉下，帮忙和警察署长通个信，找回自己的外套。

不知出于何种原因，那位大人似乎对应付这样的请求很是在行。“什么，我亲爱的先生！”他生硬地问，“难道你不懂规矩吗？你从哪里来？你不知道这种事该走什么样的程序吗？你应当先去警局报案，然后案子会上报给科长，再到区长手里，区长上报给秘书，最后再由秘书交给我。”

“可是尊敬的大人，”亚卡基耶维奇绞尽脑汁地解释，此时他已经汗流浃背了，“我，尊敬的大人，冒昧地打扰您是因为——秘书们实在是靠不住。”

“什么，什么！”大人物说，“你怎么胆敢如此！您怎么能有这样的念头！年轻人怎么能对上司和长官如此不敬！”显然，大人物没发觉亚卡基耶维奇已经年近50。如果他也算年轻人，肯定是和年届70的人相对而言。“你知道在和谁说话吗？你知道面前站着的是谁吗？知道吗？知道吗？我问你，啊？”大人物说话间跺着脚，陡然拔高声音，别说是亚卡基耶维，就算是其他什么人也会被吓一大跳。

亚卡基耶维奇神志不清，四肢发抖，要不是门房跑来扶了他一把，他准会一个踉跄摔倒在地上。他毫无知觉地被人抬了出去。大人物十分满意情况超出了自己的期盼，一想到自己的威严居然能让人晕倒就乐不可支。他斜睨着目光观察朋友对此的反应，欣喜地发现连朋友也坐立不安，面露难色。

亚卡基耶维奇记不清自己是怎么下的楼，怎么来到大街上。他只觉得四肢僵硬。他一生中还从未被上司训斥过，更别说是陌生人。他呆滞地张着嘴，蹒跚地走在暴风雪肆虐的街道上，圣彼德堡凛冽的寒风从四面八方、每个街口刮向他。就那么眨眼工夫，他的喉咙就发了炎，回到家已经不能说话了。他咽喉肿胀，倒在床上。一顿痛骂竟然能带来如此后果！

第二天，亚卡基耶维奇就发了烧。多亏圣彼德堡的气候，疾病发展得比预期还要糟糕。等医生赶来量完他的脉搏，已经回天无力了。不过他还是开了药方聊表慰藉，好让病人不至于没药可用眼睁睁地等死。即便如此，他还是断言他活不过36个小时了。然后他向着房东太太说道：“您也别在他身上浪费时间了，赶紧给订口棺材吧。松木的就成，橡木的太贵了，他用不起。”亚卡基耶维奇是否听见了命运的宣判？他是否感到震惊？是否为他苦难的一生而唏嘘不已？——这些我们都不得而知，因为他一直处在昏迷之中。他眼前闪现出一幅幅的幻觉，一个比一个荒诞离奇。他看见了彼得罗维奇，请求他做一件装有机关可以抓窃贼的外套，他总觉得窃贼就躲在床底下，于是反复嚷嚷着要房东太太把他们从床单下揪出来。接着他又问为什么有了新外套，旧的长衫还要挂在自己眼前晃悠。然后他恍惚见到了那位大人物，在挨了一顿臭骂后恳求道：“尊敬的大人，请您原谅我吧！”最后他竟开始咒骂起来，一连串的恶毒话把房东太太吓得直划十字，她还是头一回听亚卡基耶维奇说这样的脏话，而且是紧接着“尊敬的阁下”这样的字眼说出来的。过了一会儿，他开始说胡话了，别人根本弄不清他说的是什么意思，但显而易见的是，这些语无伦次的话都和一样东西有关，就是他的外套。

最终亚卡基耶维奇咽了气。他的房间和财产都没有封存，一是因为他也没什么继承人，二来其实也没什么好继承的，总共就一支鹅毛笔，几张白纸，三双袜子，两三枚从裤子上掉下来的纽扣，还有大家早就知道的旧长衫。老天知道这些东西最终会落在谁的手里。我敢断言说故事的人对这些东西的去处也没什么兴趣。他们把亚卡基耶维奇抬出去埋葬了。

从此，圣彼德堡便没有了亚卡基·亚卡基耶维奇，仿佛他从未来过。一个人就这么走了，他在世上无亲无故，无人问津，甚至细微到连只苍蝇都会钉在显微镜下观察的生物系学生也对他不感兴趣。他似乎生来就是同事们的笑柄，一直到走进坟墓都不曾做过任何出格的事，在生命的最后时刻，外套这个欢快的使者为他卑微的一生带来了短暂的愉悦，之后又是一如既往的悲惨命运，正如这个世界上一切君王难逃的厄运一样。

他死后几天，部里打发门房到他的住处去找他，命令他即刻去上班。结果门房空手而归，回复说他可能来不了。别人追问：“为什么？”“因为他已经死了，四天前就入土了。”门房禀报。这样部里才知道他的死讯，第二天就有新官员顶替了他的位置，新的官员写起字不再是竖直体，而是偏斜体。

当大家都认为亚卡基耶维奇的故事到此结束时，他却在死后引起了轩然大波，仿佛要对他微不足道的一生做弥补似的。然而正是因为这样，我们的故事结尾才出乎意料地沾上了些许神秘的气息。

一个传闻迅速在圣彼德堡蔓延，据说有鬼魂在卡林金桥头和附近一带出没，寻找丢失的外套。他借口衣服被盗，不问官衔大小和身份高低，扒下人们身上各种各样的猫皮、海狸皮、狐狸皮、熊皮、貂皮外套。总之，凡是外套上镶有皮毛的人都要遭殃。其中有位官员亲眼见到了这个鬼魂，立刻认出他就是亚卡基耶维奇。他被吓得毛骨悚然，于是拔足狂奔起来，因此没有近距离的观察鬼魂，但鬼魂远远地用手爪吓唬了他。各种抱怨从四面八方传来，上至委员下到文官，都被扒掉外套，光着肩膀与脊梁暴露在严寒中挨冻。

结果上面给警署下达了命令，不管罪犯是死人还是活人，要不惜一切代价把他捉拿归案。据说一位巡夜人在基柳什金胡同目睹亡魂扒掉了某位退休音乐家的呢子大衣，他当场抓住了亡魂的衣领，随后大声喊来两位同事帮忙拉住亡魂，自己则抽空从靴子里取出鼻烟壶，打算吸两口给鼻子取取暖。不过，显然亡魂受不了烟丝的味道，他刚要按住右鼻孔，左鼻还没来得及把烟丝吸进去，亡魂就被熏得打了个大大的喷嚏，鼻涕沫迷得三个人睁不开眼。就在他们伸手揉眼睛的工夫，亡魂已经溜之大吉了，因此人们也就不知道他们是否真的抓住过亡魂。不过三位巡夜人从此对亡魂有了深深的恐惧，后来发展到连活人装扮的亡魂也不敢抓，只能在远处叫喊：“嘿！说你呢！走你的路吧！”结果亡魂开始变本加厉地在卡林金桥以外的地方出现，让所有胆小的人都饱受惊吓。

然而，我们忽略了那位大人物，正因为他，才使这个故事有了离奇的结尾。说句公道话，这位大人物的一顿好骂把亚卡基耶维奇赶走后，他就开始有些后悔了。他的心里很不好受，因为他还是有许多美德的，尽管职位不允许这样的美德浮现出来。那天，朋友前脚刚离开，他就开始想起可怜的亚卡基耶维奇的样子。而且自那之后，几乎每天他眼前都会出现受不了长官责骂的亚卡基耶维奇。他为这样的情形感到困扰，于是就派了名官员去找亚卡基耶维奇，看看是否可以帮上他什么忙；当他得知亚卡基耶维奇因发热而猝死后，他震惊了，备受良心的煎熬，一整天都闷闷不乐。

为了分散注意力，也为了忘掉不快，他当天晚上去一个朋友家参加了晚宴。难得的是，那里都是和他平级的官员，因此他可以无拘无束地消遣一下了。这对他调整心绪起到了很大作用。他亲切和蔼地侃侃而谈，总之度过了一个美妙的夜晚。晚餐后他又喝了几杯香槟，大家都明白，酒精这东西很能调适情绪，于是他开始大胆地异想天开起来，并且决定暂不回家，而是去看望一位有着德国血统的太太卡罗琳娜·伊凡诺芙娜，他们之间交情颇深。

必须提一下的是这位大人物年纪可不轻了，他是位好丈夫，同时也是位值得敬重的一家之长。他两个儿子的一个已经参加了工作，大女儿年方16,容貌姣好，可爱的小鼻头微微上翘，她每天早晨都会向他请安并亲吻他的手说：“你好，爸爸。”他的妻子年轻而美丽，她会先让他吻吻手背，然后再回吻他的。虽然大人物对家庭的现状并无不满，但他认为在城里什么地方找个亲密的知己也不为过。这位红颜知己并不比他的妻子优秀，可世上就有那么些不能解释的谜题，我们在这就不妄加评论了。据说那位大人物下楼坐上了雪橇，把华丽的外衣往身上裹了裹，对车夫说：“去卡罗琳娜·伊凡诺芙娜家。”他当时处于十分愉悦的情绪中，虽说什么也不想，但就是很高兴，而且当某些念头接踵而来时，竟是一个比一个还要让人高兴。他心满意足地回想着刚才愉快的晚宴，还有引大家一阵阵发笑的俏皮话。他甚至可以小声地重复这些话，并且觉得它们仍像刚才一样好笑，所以他又会心地笑出声来。突然，不知道从什么地方刮来一阵风，刮得脸直发疼，他的衣领被风吹得鼓了起来，大团的雪花直塞进衣领里，霎时衣领又像中了魔一样，忽地盖住了他的头顶，他忙不迭地想要从衣领中挣脱出来。

可是大人物忽然感到有什么人一把揪住自己的领子。他转过身看见一个穿着破旧制服的矮小男人，并且十分震惊地认出了这就是亚卡基耶维奇。眼前的官员面无血色，和死人一模一样。当这已死去的人张开嘴巴，带着坟墓的气息说道：“哼，终于等到你了！抓住你的领子了！给我你的外套，你不帮我找回外套，还责骂我！现在把你的脱下来！”大人物顿时更觉得魂不附体。

他几乎要吓晕过去。无论他平时在办公室和下属的面前是多么嚣张跋扈，也尽管见过他伟岸相貌的人都会说上一句：“真是一表人材啊！”此时，他像所有外表魁梧的人一样，在巨大的惊吓前，也感到自己像是要生病了。他紧紧按住双肩的衣服，冲着马夫用怪异的声音喊：“赶快回家！”马夫听见这危急关头才会发出的语调，感到似乎真有什么事要发生，于是他把头缩了起来，摆出一副严阵以待的姿势，挥舞着鞭子像箭一般冲了出去。只差不多6分多钟的工夫，大人物就已经到了自家门口。他脸色苍白，惊恐万分，外套也不见了，他没有去卡罗琳娜·伊凡诺芙娜家，浑浑噩噩地走到自己的房间，担惊受怕地度过了这个夜晚。次日清晨，他的女儿喝早茶时说：“爸爸，您的脸色可不大好。”可他什么反应也没有，对自己的遭遇，去过哪里，打算去哪里，一个字也没向人提起。

那天的事让他记忆犹新。他甚至很少再在下属的面前说起：“你怎么胆敢这样！你知道是谁站在你面前吗？”之类的话，即使要说，他也会先弄清事情的原委。最显著的变化是，从那以后，亡魂就再也没出现过。很显然，大人物的外套很合他的身。无论如何，鬼魂抢夺外套的事情销声匿迹了。不过仍有些精力充沛的好事之徒断言，死去的官员还游荡在城市的边缘。

的确，柯洛姆纳的一名巡夜人宣称他亲眼见到鬼魂从一个房屋后面钻出来。但由于体弱多病，他不敢上前抓住他，只是暗中跟着他，最后鬼魂回头发现了，停下来问道：“你想干吗？”同时亮出了比常人大几倍的拳头。巡夜人说：“不干什么。”然后迅速离开了。不过据说那个鬼魂身材比以前高大了，留着小胡子，大步朝奥布霍夫桥走去了，最后完全融入在夜色里。

The Overcoat

In the department of—but it is better not to mention the department. There is nothing more irritable^1 than departments, regiments, courts of justice, and, in a word, every branch of public service. Each individual attached to them nowadays thinks all society insulted in his person. Quite recently a complaint was received from a justice of the peace, in which he plainly demonstrated that all the imperial institutions were going to the dogs, and that the Czar's sacred name was being taken in vain; and in proof he appended to the complaint a romance in which the justice of the peace is made to appear about once every ten lines, and sometimes in a drunken^2 condition. Therefore, in order to avoid all unpleasantness, it will be better to describe the department in question only as a certain department.

So, in a certain department there was a certain official—not a very high one, it must be all owed—short of stature, somewhat pock-marked, red-haired, and short-sighted, with a bald forehead, wrinkled cheeks, and a complexion of the kind known as sanguine^3. The St. Petersburg climate was responsible for this. As for his official status, he was what is called a perpetual titular councillor, over which, as is well known, some writers make merry, and crack their jokes, obeying the praiseworthy custom of attacking those who cannot bite back.

His family name was Bashmatchkin. This name is evidently derived from "bashmak" (shoe); but when, at what time, and in what manner, is not known. His father and grandfather, and all the Bashmatchkins, always wore boots, which only had new heels two or three times a year. His name was Akakiy Akakievitch. It may strike the reader as rather singular and far-fetched, but he may rest assured that it was by no means far-fetched, and that the circumstances were such that it would have been impossible to give him any other.

This is how it came about.

Akakiy Akakievitch was born, if my memory fails me not, in the evening of the 23rd of March. His mother, the wife of a Government official and a very fine woman, made all due arrangements for having the child baptised. She was lying on the bed opposite the door; on her right stood the godfather, Ivan Ivanovitch Eroshkin, a most estimable man, who served as presiding officer of the senate, while the godmother, Anna Semenovna Byelobrushkova, the wife of an officer of the quarter, and a woman of rare virtues. They offered the mother her choice of three names, Mokiya, Sossiya, or that the child should be called after the martyr Khozdazat. "No," said the good woman, "all those names are poor." In order to please her they opened the calendar to another place; three more names appeared, Triphiliy, Dula, and Varakhasiy. "This is a judgment," said the old woman. "What names! I truly never heard the like. Varada or Varukh might have been borne, but not Triphiliy and Varakhasiy!" They turned to another page and found Pavsikakhiy and Vakhtisiy. "Now I see," said the old woman, "that it is plainly fate. And since such is the case, it will be better to name him after his father. His father's name was Akakiy, so let his son's be Akakiy too." In this manner he became Akakiy Akakievitch. They christened the child, whereat he wept and made a grimace, as though he foresaw that he was to be a titular councillor.

In this manner did it all come about. We have mentioned it in order that the reader might see for himself that it was a case of necessity, and that it was utterly impossible to give him any other name. When and how he entered the department, and who appointed him, no one could remember. However much the directors and chiefs of all kinds were changed, he was always to be seen in the same place, the same attitude, the same occupation; so that it was afterwards affirmed that he had been born in undress uniform with a bald head. No respect was shown him in the department. The porter not only did not rise from his seat when he passed, but never even glanced at him, any more than if a fly had flown through the reception-room. His superiors treated him in coolly despotic fashion. Some sub-chief would thrust a paper under his nose without so much as saying, "Copy," or "Here's a nice interesting affair," or anything else agreeable, as is customary amongst well-bred officials. And he took it, looking only at the paper and not observing who handed it to him, or whether he had the right to do so; simply took it, and set about copying it.

The young officials laughed at and made fun of him, so far as their official wit permitted; told in his presence various stories concocted about him, and about his landlady, an old woman of seventy; declared that she beat him; asked when the wedding was to be; and strewed bits of paper over his head, calling them snow. But Akakiy Akakievitch answered not a word, any more than if there had been no one there besides himself. It even had no effect upon his work: amid all these annoyances he never made a single mistake in a letter. But if the joking became wholly unbearable, as when they jogged his hand and prevented his attending to his work, he would exclaim, "Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?" And there was something strange in the words and the voice in which they were uttered. There was in it something which moved to pity; so much that one young man, a new-comer, who, taking pattern by the others, had permitted himself to make sport of Akakiy, suddenly stopped short, as though all about him had undergone a transformation, and presented itself in a different aspect.

Some unseen force repelled him from the comrades whose acquaintance he had made, on the supposition that they were well-bred and polite men. Long afterwards, in his gayest moments, there recurred to his mind the little official with the bald forehead, with his heart-rending words, "Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?" In these moving words, other words resounded—"I am thy brother." And the young man covered his face with his hand; and many a time afterwards, in the course of his life, shuddered at seeing how much inhumanity there is in man, how much savage coarseness is concealed beneath delicate, refined worldliness, and even, O God! in that man whom the world acknowledges as honourable and noble.

It would be difficult to find another man who lived so entirely for his duties. It is not enough to say that Akakiy laboured with zeal: no, he laboured with love. In his copying, he found a varied and agreeable employment. Enjoyment was written on his face: some letters were even favourites with him; and when he encountered these, he smiled, winked, and worked with his lips, till it seemed as though each letter might be read in his face, as his pen traced it. If his pay had been in proportion to his zeal, he would, perhaps, to his great surprise, have been made even a councillor of state. But he worked, as his companions, the wits, put it, like a horse in a mill.

Moreover, it is impossible to say that no attention was paid to him. One director being a kindly man, and desirous of rewarding him for his long service, ordered him to be given something more important than mere copying. So he was ordered to make a report of an already concluded affair to another department: the duty consisting simply in changing the heading and altering a few words from the first to the third person. This caused him so much toil that he broke into a perspiration, rubbed his forehead, and finally said, "No, give me rather something to copy." After that they let him copy on forever.

Outside this copying, it appeared that nothing existed for him. He gave no thought to his clothes: his undress uniform was not green, but a sort of rusty-meal colour. The collar was low, so that his neck, in spite of the fact that it was not long, seemed inordinately so as it emerged from it, like the necks of those plaster cats which wag their heads, and are carried about upon the heads of scores of image sellers. And something was always sticking to his uniform, either a bit of hay or some trifle. Moreover, he had a peculiar knack, as he walked along the street, of arriving beneath a window just as all sorts of rubbish were being flung out of it: hence he always bore about on his hat scraps of melon rinds and other such articles. Never once in his life did he give heed to what was going on every day in the street; while it is well known that his young brother officials train the range of their glances till they can see when any one's trouser straps come undone upon the opposite sidewalk, which always brings a malicious smile to their faces. But Akakiy Akakievitch saw in all things the clean, even strokes of his written lines; and only when a horse thrust his nose, from some unknown quarter, over his shoulder, and sent a whole gust of wind down his neck from his nostrils, did he observe that he was not in the middle of a page, but in the middle of the street.

On reaching home, he sat down at once at the table, supped his cabbage soup up quickly, and swallowed a bit of beef with onions, never noticing their taste, and gulping down everything with flies and anything else which the Lord happened to send at the moment. His stomach filled, he rose from the table, and copied papers which he had brought home. If there happened to be none, he took copies for himself, for his own gratification, especially if the document was noteworthy, not on account of its style, but of its being addressed to some distinguished person.

Even at the hour when the grey St. Petersburg sky had quite dispersed, and all the official world had eaten or dined, each as he could, in accordance with the salary he received and his own fancy; when all were resting from the departmental jar of pens, running to and fro from their own and other people's indispensable occupations, and from all the work that an uneasy man makes willingly for himself, rather than what is necessary; when officials hasten to dedicate to pleasure the time which is left to them, one bolder than the rest going to the theatre; another, into the street looking under all the bonnets; another wasting his evening in compliments to some pretty girl, the star of a small official circle; another—and this is the common case of all—visiting his comrades on the fourth or third floor, in two small rooms with an ante-room or kitchen, and some pretensions to fashion, such as a lamp or some other trifle which has cost many a sacrifice of dinner or pleasure trip; in a word, at the hour when all officials disperse among the contracted quarters of their friends, to play whist, as they sip their tea from glasses with a kopek's worth of sugar, smoke long pipes, relate at times some bits of gossip which a Russian man can never, under any circumstances, refrain from, and, when there is nothing else to talk of, repeat eternal anecdotes about the commandant to whom they had sent word that the tails of the horses on the Falconet Monument had been cut off, when all strive to divert themselves, Akakiy Akakievitch indulged in no kind of diversion. No one could ever say that he had seen him at any kind of evening party. Having written to his heart's content, he lay down to sleep, smiling at the thought of the coming day—of what God might send him to copy on the morrow.

Thus flowed on the peaceful life of the man, who, with a salary of four hundred rubles, understood how to be content with his lot; and thus it would have continued to flow on, perhaps, to extreme old age, were it not that there are various ills strewn along the path of life for titular councillors as well as for private, actual, court, and every other species of councillor, even for those who never give any advice or take any themselves.

There exists in St. Petersburg a powerful foe of all who receive a salary of four hundred rubles a year, or thereabouts. This foe is no other than the Northern cold, although it is said to be very healthy. At nine o'clock in the morning, at the very hour when the streets are filled with men bound for the various official departments, it begins to bestow such powerful and piercing nips on all noses impartially that the poor officials really do not know what to do with them. At an hour when the foreheads of even those who occupy exalted positions ache with the cold, and tears start to their eyes, the poor titular councillors are sometimes quite unprotected. Their only salvation lies in traversing as quickly as possible, in their thin little cloaks, five or six streets, and then warming their feet in the porter's room, and so thawing all their talents and qualifications for official service, which had become frozen on the way.

Akakiy Akakievitch had felt for some time that his back and shoulders suffered with peculiar poignancy, in spite of the fact that he tried to traverse the distance with all possible speed. He began finally to wonder whether the fault did not lie in his cloak. He examined it thoroughly at home, and discovered that in two places, namely, on the back and shoulders, it had become thin as gauze: the cloth was worn to such a degree that he could see through it, and the lining had fallen into pieces. You must know that Akakiy Akakievitch's cloak served as an object of ridicule to the officials: they even refused it the noble name of cloak, and called it a cape. In fact, it was of singular make: its collar diminishing year by year, but serving to patch its other parts. The patching did not exhibit great skill on the part of the tailor, and was, in fact, baggy and ugly. Seeing how the matter stood, Akakiy Akakievitch decided that it would be necessary to take the cloak to Petrovitch, the tailor, who lived somewhere on the fourth floor up a dark stair-case, and who, in spite of his having but one eye, and pock-marks all over his face, busied himself with considerable success in repairing the trousers and coats of officials and others; that is to say, when he was sober and not nursing some other scheme in his head.

It is not necessary to say much about this tailor; but, as it is the custom to have the character of each personage in a novel clearly defined, there is no help for it, so here is Petrovitch the tailor. At first he was called only Grigoriy, and was some gentleman's serf; he commenced calling himself Petrovitch from the time when he received his free papers, and further began to drink heavily on all holidays, at first on the great ones, and then on all church festivities without discrimination, wherever a cross stood in the calendar. On this point he was faithful to ancestral custom; and when quarrelling with his wife, he called her a low female and a German. As we have mentioned his wife, it will be necessary to say a word or two about her. Unfortunately, little is known of her beyond the fact that Petrovitch has a wife, who wears a cap and a dress; but cannot lay claim to beauty, at least, no one but the soldiers of the guard even looked under her cap when they met her.

Ascending the staircase which led to Petrovitch's room—which staircase was all soaked with dish-water, and reeked with the smell of spirits which affects the eyes, and is an inevitable adjunct to all dark stairways in St. Petersburg houses — ascending the stairs, Akakiy Akakievitch pondered how much Petrovitch would ask, and mentally resolved not to give more than two rubles. The door was open; for the mistress, in cooking some fish, had raised such a smoke in the kitchen that not even the beetles were visible. Akakiy Akakievitch passed through the kitchen unperceived, even by the housewife, and at length reached a room where he beheld Petrovitch seated on a large unpainted table, with his legs tucked under him like a Turkish pasha. His feet were bare, after the fashion of tailors who sit at work; and the first thing which caught the eye was his thumb, with a deformed nail thick and strong as a turtle's shell. About Petrovitch's neck hung a skein of silk and thread, and upon his knees lay some old garment. He had been trying unsuccessfully for three minutes to thread his needle, and was enraged at the darkness and even at the thread, growling in a low voice, "It won't go through, the barbarian! you pricked me, you rascal!"

Akakiy Akakievitch was vexed at arriving at the precise moment when Petrovitch was angry; he liked to order something of Petrovitch when the latter was a little downhearted, or, as his wife expressed it, "when he had settled himself with brandy, the one-eyed devil!" Under such circumstances, Petrovitch generally came down in his price very readily, and even bowed and returned thanks. Afterwards, to be sure, his wife would come, complaining that her husband was drunk, and so had fixed the price too low; but, if only a ten-kopek piece were added, then the matter was settled. But now it appeared that Petrovitch was in a sober condition, and therefore rough, taciturn, and inclined to demand, Satan only knows what price. Akakiy Akakievitch felt this, and would gladly have beat a retreat; but he was in for it. Petrovitch screwed up his one eye very intently at him, and Akakiy Akakievitch involuntarily said: "How do you do, Petrovitch?"

"I wish you a good morning, sir," said Petrovitch, squinting at Akakiy Akakievitch's hands, to see what sort of booty he had brought.

"Ah! I—to you, Petrovitch, this—" It must be known that Akakiy Akakievitch expressed himself chiefly by prepositions, adverbs, and scraps of phrases which had no meaning whatever. If the matter was a very difficult one, he had a habit of never completing his sentences; so that frequently, having begun a phrase with the words, "This, in fact, is quite—" he forgot to go on, thinking that he had already finished it.

"What is it?" asked Petrovitch, and with his one eye scanned Akakievitch's whole uniform from the collar down to the cuffs, the back, the tails and the button-holes, all of which were well known to him, since they were his own handiwork. Such is the habit of tailors; it is the first thing they do on meeting one.

"But I, here, this—Petrovitch—a cloak, cloth—here you see, everywhere, in different places, it is quite strong—it is a little dusty, and looks old, but it is new, only here in one place it is a little—on the back, and here on one of the shoulders, it is a little worn, yes, here on this shoulder it is a little—do you see? that is all. And a little work—"

Petrovitch took the cloak, spread it out, to begin with, on the table, looked hard at it, shook his head, reached out his hand to the window-sill for his snuff-box, adorned with the portrait of some general, though what general is unknown, for the place where the face should have been had been rubbed through by the finger, and a square bit of paper had been pasted over it. Having taken a pinch of snuff, Petrovitch held up the cloak, and inspected it against the light, and again shook his head once more. After which he again lifted the general-adorned lid with its bit of pasted paper, and having stuffed his nose with snuff, closed and put away the snuff-box, and said finally, "No, it is impossible to mend it; it's a wretched garment!"

Akakiy Akakievitch's heart sank at these words.

"Why is it impossible, Petrovitch?" he said, almost in the pleading voice of a child; "all that ails it is, that it is worn on the shoulders. You must have some pieces—"

"Yes, patches could be found, patches are easily found," said Petrovitch, "but there's nothing to sew them to. The thing is completely rotten; if you put a needle to it—see, it will give way."

"Let it give way, and you can put on another patch at once."

"But there is nothing to put the patches on to; there's no use in strengthening it; it is too far gone. It's lucky that it's cloth; for, if the wind were to blow, it would fly away."

"Well, strengthen it again. How will this, in fact—"

"No," said Petrovitch decisively, "there is nothing to be done with it. It's a thoroughly bad job. You'd better, when the cold winter weather comes on, make yourself some gaiters out of it, because stockings are not warm. The Germans invented them in order to make more money." Petrovitch loved, on all occasions, to have a fling at the Germans. "But it is plain you must have a new cloak."

At the word "new," all grew dark before Akakiy Akakievitch's eyes, and everything in the room began to whirl round. The only thing he saw clearly was the general with the paper face on the lid of Petrovitch's snuff-box. "A new one?" said he, as if still in a dream: "why, I have no money for that."

"Yes, a new one," said Petrovitch, with barbarous composure.

"Well, if it came to a new one, how would it—?"

"You mean how much would it cost?"

"Yes."

"Well, you would have to lay out a hundred and fifty or more," said Petrovitch, and pursed up his lips significantly. He liked to produce powerful effects, liked to stun utterly and suddenly, and then to glance sideways to see what face the stunned person would put on the matter.

"A hundred and fifty rubles for a cloak!" shrieked poor Akakiy Akakievitch, perhaps for the first time in his life, for his voice had always been distinguished for softness.

"Yes, sir," said Petrovitch, "for any kind of cloak. If you have a marten fur on the collar, or a silk-lined hood, it will mount up to two hundred."

"Petrovitch, please," said Akakiy Akakievitch in a beseeching tone, not hearing, and not trying to hear, Petrovitch's words, and disregarding all his "effects," "some repairs, in order that it may wear yet a little longer."

"No, it would only be a waste of time and money," said Petrovitch; and Akakiy Akakievitch went away after these words, utterly discouraged. But Petrovitch stood for some time after his departure, with significantly compressed lips, and without betaking himself to his work, satisfied that he would not be dropped, and an artistic tailor employed.

Akakiy Akakievitch went out into the street as if in a dream. "Such an affair!" he said to himself: "I did not think it had come to—" and then after a pause, he added, "Well, so it is! see what it has come to at last! and I never imagined that it was so!" Then followed a long silence, after which he exclaimed, "Well, so it is! see what already—nothing unexpected that—it would be nothing—what a strange circumstance!" So saying, instead of going home, he went in exactly the opposite direction without himself suspecting it. On the way, a chimney-sweep bumped up against him, and blackened his shoulder, and a whole hatful of rubbish landed on him from the top of a house which was building. He did not notice it; and only when he ran against a watchman, who, having planted his halberd beside him, was shaking some snuff from his box into his horny hand, did he recover himself a little, and that because the watchman said, "Why are you poking yourself into a man's very face? Haven't you the pavement?" This caused him to look about him, and turn towards home.

There only, he finally began to collect his thoughts, and to survey his position in its clear and actual light, and to argue with himself, sensibly and frankly, as with a reasonable friend with whom one can discuss private and personal matters. "No," said Akakiy Akakievitch, "it is impossible to reason with Petrovitch now; he is that—evidently his wife has been beating him. I'd better go to him on Sunday morning; after Saturday night he will be a little cross-eyed and sleepy, for he will want to get drunk, and his wife won't give him any money; and at such a time, a ten-kopek piece in his hand will—he will become more fit to reason with, and then the cloak, and that—" Thus argued Akakiy Akakievitch with himself, regained his courage, and waited until the first Sunday, when, seeing from afar that Petrovitch's wife had left the house, he went straight to him.

Petrovitch's eye was, indeed, very much askew after Saturday: his head drooped, and he was very sleepy; but for all that, as soon as he knew what it was a question of, it seemed as though Satan jogged his memory. "Impossible," said he: "please to order a new one." Thereupon Akakiy Akakievitch handed over the ten-kopek piece. "Thank you, sir; I will drink your good health," said Petrovitch: "but as for the cloak, don't trouble yourself about it; it is good for nothing. I will make you a capital new one, so let us settle about it now."

Akakiy Akakievitch was still for mending it; but Petrovitch would not hear of it, and said, "I shall certainly have to make you a new one, and you may depend upon it that I shall do my best. It may even be, as the fashion goes, that the collar can be fastened by silver hooks under a flap."

Then Akakiy Akakievitch saw that it was impossible to get along without a new cloak, and his spirit sank utterly. How, in fact, was it to be done? Where was the money to come from? He might, to be sure, depend, in part, upon his present at Christmas; but that money had long been allotted beforehand. He must have some new trousers, and pay a debt of long standing to the shoemaker for putting new tops to his old boots, and he must order three shirts from the seamstress, and a couple of pieces of linen. In short, all his money must be spent; and even if the director should be so kind as to order him to receive forty-five rubles instead of forty, or even fifty, it would be a mere nothing, a mere drop in the ocean towards the funds necessary for a cloak: although he knew that Petrovitch was often wrong-headed enough to blurt out some outrageous price, so that even his own wife could not refrain from exclaiming, "Have you lost your senses, you fool?" At one time he would not work at any price, and now it was quite likely that he had named a higher sum than the cloak would cost.

But although he knew that Petrovitch would undertake to make a cloak for eighty rubles, still, where was he to get the eighty rubles from? He might possibly manage half, yes, half might be procured, but where was the other half to come from? But the reader must first be told where the first half came from. Akakiy Akakievitch had a habit of putting, for every ruble he spent, a groschen into a small box, fastened with a lock and key, and with a slit in the top for the reception of money. At the end of every half-year he counted over the heap of coppers, and changed it for silver. This he had done for a long time, and in the course of years, the sum had mounted up to over forty rubles. Thus he had one half on hand; but where was he to find the other half? where was he to get another forty rubles from? Akakiy Akakievitch thought and thought, and decided that it would be necessary to curtail his ordinary expenses, for the space of one year at least, to dispense with tea in the evening; to burn no candles, and, if there was anything which he must do, to go into his landlady's room, and work by her light. When he went into the street, he must walk as lightly as he could, and as cautiously, upon the stones, almost upon tiptoe, in order not to wear his heels down in too short a time; he must give the laundress as little to wash as possible; and, in order not to wear out his clothes, he must take them off, as soon as he got home, and wear only his cotton dressing-gown, which had been long and carefully saved.

To tell the truth, it was a little hard for him at first to accustom himself to these deprivations; but he got used to them at length, after a fashion, and all went smoothly. He even got used to being hungry in the evening, but he made up for it by treating himself, so to say, in spirit, by bearing ever in mind the idea of his future cloak. From that time forth his existence seemed to become, in some way, fuller, as if he were married, or as if some other man lived in him, as if, in fact, he were not alone, and some pleasant friend had consented to travel along life's path with him, the friend being no other than the cloak, with thick wadding and a strong lining incapable of wearing out. He became more lively, and even his character grew firmer, like that of a man who has made up his mind, and set himself a goal. From his face and gait, doubt and indecision, all hesitating and wavering traits disappeared of themselves. Fire gleamed in his eyes, and occasionally the boldest and most daring ideas flitted through his mind; why not, for instance, have marten fur on the collar? The thought of this almost made him absent-minded. Once, in copying a letter, he nearly made a mistake, so that he exclaimed almost aloud, "Ugh!" and crossed himself. Once, in the course of every month, he had a conference with Petrovitch on the subject of the cloak, where it would be better to buy the cloth, and the colour, and the price. He always returned home satisfied, though troubled, reflecting that the time would come at last when it could all be bought, and then the cloak made.

The affair progressed more briskly than he had expected. Far beyond all his hopes, the director awarded neither forty nor forty-five rubles for Akakiy Akakievitch's share, but sixty. Whether he suspected that Akakiy Akakievitch needed a cloak, or whether it was merely chance, at all events, twenty extra rubles were by this means provided. This circumstance hastened matters. Two or three months more of hunger and Akakiy Akakievitch had accumulated about eighty rubles. His heart, generally so quiet, began to throb. On the first possible day, he went shopping in company with Petrovitch. They bought some very good cloth, and at a reasonable rate too, for they had been considering the matter for six months, and rarely let a month pass without their visiting the shops to inquire prices. Petrovitch himself said that no better cloth could be had. For lining, they selected a cotton stuff, but so firm and thick that Petrovitch declared it to be better than silk, and even prettier and more glossy. They did not buy the marten fur, because it was, in fact, dear, but in its stead, they picked out the very best of cat-skin which could be found in the shop, and which might, indeed, be taken for marten at a distance.

Petrovitch worked at the cloak two whole weeks, for there was a great deal of quilting: otherwise it would have been finished sooner. He charged twelve rubles for the job, it could not possibly have been done for less. It was all sewed with silk, in small, double seams; and Petrovitch went over each seam afterwards with his own teeth, stamping in various patterns.

It was — it is difficult to say precisely on what day, but probably the most glorious one in Akakiy Akakievitch's life, when Petrovitch at length brought home the cloak. He brought it in the morning, before the hour when it was necessary to start for the department. Never did a cloak arrive so exactly in the nick of time; for the severe cold had set in, and it seemed to threaten to increase. Petrovitch brought the cloak himself as befits a good tailor. On his countenance was a significant expression, such as Akakiy Akakievitch had never beheld there. He seemed fully sensible that he had done no small deed, and crossed a gulf separating tailors who only put in linings, and execute repairs, from those who make new things. He took the cloak out of the pocket handkerchief in which he had brought it. The handkerchief was fresh from the laundress, and he put it in his pocket for use. Taking out the cloak, he gazed proudly at it, held it up with both hands, and flung it skilfully over the shoulders of Akakiy Akakievitch. Then he pulled it and fitted it down behind with his hand, and he draped it around Akakiy Akakievitch without buttoning it. Akakiy Akakievitch, like an experienced man, wished to try the sleeves. Petrovitch helped him on with them, and it turned out that the sleeves were satisfactory also. In short, the cloak appeared to be perfect, and most seasonable. Petrovitch did not neglect to observe that it was only because he lived in a narrow street, and had no signboard, and had known Akakiy Akakievitch so long, that he had made it so cheaply; but that if he had been in business on the Nevsky Prospect, he would have charged seventy-five rubles for the making alone. Akakiy Akakievitch did not care to argue this point with Petrovitch. He paid him, thanked him, and set out at once in his new cloak for the department. Petrovitch followed him, and, pausing in the street, gazed long at the cloak in the distance, after which he went to one side expressly to run through a crooked alley, and emerge again into the street beyond to gaze once more upon the cloak from another point, namely, directly in front.

Meantime Akakiy Akakievitch went on in holiday mood. He was conscious every second of the time that he had a new cloak on his shoulders; and several times he laughed with internal satisfaction. In fact, there were two advantages, one was its warmth, the other its beauty. He saw nothing of the road, but suddenly found himself at the department. He took off his cloak in the ante-room, looked it over carefully, and confided it to the especial care of the attendant. It is impossible to say precisely how it was that every one in the department knew at once that Akakiy Akakievitch had a new cloak, and that the "cape" no longer existed. All rushed at the same moment into the ante-room to inspect it. They congratulated him and said pleasant things to him, so that he began at first to smile and then to grow ashamed. When all surrounded him, and said that the new cloak must be "christened," and that he must give a whole evening at least to this, Akakiy Akakievitch lost his head completely, and did not know where he stood, what to answer, or how to get out of it. He stood blushing all over for several minutes, and was on the point of assuring them with great simplicity that it was not a new cloak, that it was so and so, that it was in fact the old "cape."

At length one of the officials, a sub-chief probably, in order to show that he was not at all proud, and on good terms with his inferiors, said, "So be it, only I will give the party instead of Akakiy Akakievitch; I invite you all to tea with me to-night; it happens quite a propos, as it is my name-day." The officials naturally at once offered the sub-chief their congratulations and accepted the invitations with pleasure. Akakiy Akakievitch would have declined, but all declared that it was discourteous, that it was simply a sin and a shame, and that he could not possibly refuse. Besides, the notion became pleasant to him when he recollected that he should thereby have a chance of wearing his new cloak in the evening also.

That whole day was truly a most triumphant festival day for Akakiy Akakievitch. He returned home in the most happy frame of mind, took off his cloak, and hung it carefully on the wall, admiring afresh the cloth and the lining. Then he brought out his old, worn-out cloak, for comparison. He looked at it and laughed, so vast was the difference. And long after dinner he laughed again when the condition of the "cape" recurred to his mind. He dined cheerfully, and after dinner wrote nothing, but took his ease for a while on the bed, until it got dark. Then he dressed himself leisurely, put on his cloak, and stepped out into the street. Where the host lived, unfortunately we cannot say: our memory begins to fail us badly; and the houses and streets in St. Petersburg have become so mixed up in our head that it is very difficult to get anything out of it again in proper form.

This much is certain, that the official lived in the best part of the city; and therefore it must have been anything but near to Akakiy Akakievitch's residence. Akakiy Akakievitch was first obliged to traverse a kind of wilderness of deserted, dimly-lighted streets; but in proportion as he approached the official's quarter of the city, the streets became more lively, more populous, and more brilliantly illuminated. Pedestrians began to appear; handsomely dressed ladies were more frequently encountered; the men had otter skin collars to their coats; peasant waggoners, with their grate-like sledges stuck over with brass-headed nails, became rarer; whilst on the other hand, more and more drivers in red velvet caps, lacquered sledges and bear-skin coats began to appear, and carriages with rich hammer-cloths flew swiftly through the streets, their wheels scrunching the snow.

Akakiy Akakievitch gazed upon all this as upon a novel sight. He had not been in the streets during the evening for years. He halted out of curiosity before a shop-window to look at a picture representing a handsome woman, who had thrown off her shoe, thereby baring her whole foot in a very pretty way; whilst behind her the head of a man with whiskers and a handsome moustache peeped through the doorway of another room. Akakiy Akakievitch shook his head and laughed, and then went on his way. Why did he laugh? Either because he had met with a thing utterly unknown, but for which every one cherishes, nevertheless, some sort of feeling; or else he thought, like many officials, as follows: "Well, those French! What is to be said? If they do go in anything of that sort, why—" But possibly he did not think at all.

Akakiy Akakievitch at length reached the house in which the sub-chief lodged. The sub-chief lived in fine style: the staircase was lit by a lamp; his apartment being on the second floor. On entering the vestibule, Akakiy Akakievitch beheld a whole row of goloshes on the floor. Among them, in the centre of the room, stood a samovar or tea-urn, humming and emitting clouds of steam. On the walls hung all sorts of coats and cloaks, among which there were even some with beaver collars or velvet facings. Beyond, the buzz of conversation was audible, and became clear and loud when the servant came out with a trayful of empty glasses, cream-jugs, and sugar-bowls. It was evident that the officials had arrived long before, and had already finished their first glass of tea.

Akakiy Akakievitch, having hung up his own cloak, entered the inner room. Before him all at once appeared lights, officials, pipes, and card-tables; and he was bewildered by the sound of rapid conversation rising from all the tables, and the noise of moving chairs. He halted very awkwardly in the middle of the room, wondering what he ought to do. But they had seen him. They received him with a shout, and all thronged at once into the ante-room, and there took another look at his cloak. Akakiy Akakievitch, although somewhat confused, was frank-hearted, and could not refrain from rejoicing when he saw how they praised his cloak. Then, of course, they all dropped him and his cloak, and returned, as was proper, to the tables set out for whist.

All this, the noise, the talk, and the throng of people was rather overwhelming to Akakiy Akakievitch. He simply did not know where he stood, or where to put his hands, his feet, and his whole body. Finally he sat down by the players, looked at the cards, gazed at the face of one and another, and after a while began to gape, and to feel that it was wearisome, the more so as the hour was already long past when he usually went to bed. He wanted to take leave of the host; but they would not let him go, saying that he must not fail to drink a glass of champagne in honour of his new garment. In the course of an hour, supper, consisting of vegetable salad, cold veal, pastry, confectioner's pies, and champagne, was served. They made Akakiy Akakievitch drink two glasses of champagne, after which he felt things grow livelier.

Still, he could not forget that it was twelve o'clock, and that he should have been at home long ago. In order that the host might not think of some excuse for detaining him, he stole out of the room quickly, sought out, in the ante-room, his cloak, which, to his sorrow, he found lying on the floor, brushed it, picked off every speck upon it, put it on his shoulders, and descended the stairs to the street.

In the street all was still bright. Some petty shops, those permanent clubs of servants and all sorts of folk, were open. Others were shut, but, nevertheless, showed a streak of light the whole length of the door-crack, indicating that they were not yet free of company, and that probably some domestics, male and female, were finishing their stories and conversations whilst leaving their masters in complete ignorance as to their whereabouts. Akakiy Akakievitch went on in a happy frame of mind: he even started to run, without knowing why, after some lady, who flew past like a flash of lightning. But he stopped short, and went on very quietly as before, wondering why he had quickened his pace. Soon there spread before him those deserted streets, which are not cheerful in the daytime, to say nothing of the evening. Now they were even more dim and lonely: the lanterns began to grow rarer, oil, evidently, had been less liberally supplied. Then came wooden houses and fences: not a soul anywhere; only the snow sparkled in the streets, and mournfully veiled the low-roofed cabins with their closed shutters. He approached the spot where the street crossed a vast square with houses barely visible on its farther side, a square which seemed a fearful desert.

Afar, a tiny spark glimmered from some watchman's box, which seemed to stand on the edge of the world. Akakiy Akakievitch's cheerfulness diminished at this point in a marked degree. He entered the square, not without an involuntary sensation of fear, as though his heart warned him of some evil. He glanced back and on both sides, it was like a sea about him. "No, it is better not to look," he thought, and went on, closing his eyes. When he opened them, to see whether he was near the end of the square, he suddenly beheld, standing just before his very nose, some bearded individuals of precisely what sort he could not make out. All grew dark before his eyes, and his heart throbbed.

"But, of course, the cloak is mine!" said one of them in a loud voice, seizing hold of his collar. Akakiy Akakievitch was about to shout "watch," when the second man thrust a fist, about the size of a man's head, into his mouth, muttering, "Now scream!"

Akakiy Akakievitch felt them strip off his cloak and give him a push with a knee: he fell headlong upon the snow, and felt no more. In a few minutes he recovered consciousness and rose to his feet; but no one was there. He felt that it was cold in the square, and that his cloak was gone; he began to shout, but his voice did not appear to reach to the outskirts of the square. In despair, but without ceasing to shout, he started at a run across the square, straight towards the watchbox, beside which stood the watchman, leaning on his halberd, and apparently curious to know what kind of a customer was running towards him and shouting. Akakiy Akakievitch ran up to him, and began in a sobbing voice to shout that he was asleep, and attended to nothing, and did not see when a man was robbed. The watchman replied that he had seen two men stop him in the middle of the square, but supposed that they were friends of his; and that, instead of scolding vainly, he had better go to the police on the morrow, so that they might make a search for whoever had stolen the cloak.

Akakiy Akakievitch ran home in complete disorder; his hair, which grew very thinly upon his temples and the back of his head, wholly disordered; his body, arms, and legs covered with snow. The old woman, who was mistress of his lodgings, on hearing a terrible knocking, sprang hastily from her bed, and, with only one shoe on, ran to open the door, pressing the sleeve of her chemise to her bosom out of modesty; but when she had opened it, she fell back on beholding Akakiy Akakievitch in such a state. When he told her about the affair, she clasped her hands, and said that he must go straight to the district chief of police, for his subordinate would turn up his nose, promise well, and drop the matter there. The very best thing to do, therefore, would be to go to the district chief, whom she knew, because Finnish Anna, her former cook, was now nurse at his house. She often saw him passing the house; and he was at church every Sunday, praying, but at the same time gazing cheerfully at everybody; so that he must be a good man, judging from all appearances. Having listened to this opinion, Akakiy Akakievitch betook himself sadly to his room; and how he spent the night there any one who can put himself in another's place may readily imagine.

Early in the morning, he presented himself at the district chief's; but was told that this official was asleep. He went again at ten and was again informed that he was asleep; at eleven, and they said: "The superintendent is not at home;" at dinner time, and the clerks in the ante-room would not admit him on any terms, and insisted upon knowing his business. So that at last, for once in his life, Akakiy Akakievitch felt an inclination to show some spirit, and said curtly that he must see the chief in person; that they ought not to presume to refuse him entrance; that he came from the department of justice, and that when he complained of them, they would see.

The clerks dared make no reply to this, and one of them went to call the chief, who listened to the strange story of the theft of the coat. Instead of directing his attention to the principal points of the matter, he began to question Akakiy Akakievitch: Why was he going home so late? Was he in the habit of doing so, or had he been to some disorderly house? So that Akakiy Akakievitch got thoroughly confused, and left him without knowing whether the affair of his cloak was in proper train or not.

All that day, for the first time in his life, he never went near the department. The next day he made his appearance, very pale, and in his old cape, which had become even more shabby. The news of the robbery of the cloak touched many; although there were some officials present who never lost an opportunity, even such a one as the present, of ridiculing Akakiy Akakievitch. They decided to make a collection for him on the spot, but the officials had already spent a great deal in subscribing for the director's portrait, and for some book, at the suggestion of the head of that division, who was a friend of the author; and so the sum was trifling.

One of them, moved by pity, resolved to help Akakiy Akakievitch with some good advice at least, and told him that he ought not to go to the police, for although it might happen that a police-officer, wishing to win the approval of his superiors, might hunt up the cloak by some means, still his cloak would remain in the possession of the police if he did not offer legal proof that it belonged to him. The best thing for him, therefore, would be to apply to a certain prominent personage; since this prominent personage, by entering into relations with the proper persons, could greatly expedite the matter.

As there was nothing else to be done, Akakiy Akakievitch decided to go to the prominent personage. What was the exact official position of the prominent personage remains unknown to this day. The reader must know that the prominent personage had but recently become a prominent personage, having up to that time been only an insignificant person. Moreover, his present position was not considered prominent in comparison with others still more so. But there is always a circle of people to whom what is insignificant in the eyes of others, is important enough. Moreover, he strove to increase his importance by sundry devices; for instance, he managed to have the inferior officials meet him on the staircase when he entered upon his service; no one was to presume to come directly to him, but the strictest etiquette must be observed; the collegiate recorder must make a report to the government secretary, the government secretary to the titular councillor, or whatever other man was proper, and all business must come before him in this manner. In Holy Russia all is thus contaminated with the love of imitation; every man imitates and copies his superior. They even say that a certain titular councillor, when promoted to the head of some small separate room, immediately partitioned off a private room for himself, called it the audience chamber, and posted at the door a lackey with red collar and braid, who grasped the handle of the door and opened to all comers; though the audience chamber could hardly hold an ordinary writing-table.

The manners and customs of the prominent personage were grand and imposing, but rather exaggerated. The main foundation of his system was strictness. "Strictness, strictness, and always strictness!" he generally said; and at the last word he looked significantly into the face of the person to whom he spoke. But there was no necessity for this, for the half-score of subordinates who formed the entire force of the office were properly afraid; on catching sight of him afar off they left their work and waited, drawn up in line, until he had passed through the room. His ordinary converse with his inferiors smacked of sternness, and consisted chiefly of three phrases: "How dare you?" "Do you know whom you are speaking to?" "Do you realise who stands before you?"

Otherwise he was a very kind-hearted man, good to his comrades, and ready to oblige; but the rank of general threw him completely off his balance. On receiving any one of that rank, he became confused, lost his way, as it were, and never knew what to do. If he chanced to be amongst his equals he was still a very nice kind of man, a very good fellow in many respects, and not stupid; but the very moment that he found himself in the society of people but one rank lower than himself he became silent; and his situation aroused sympathy, the more so as he felt himself that he might have been making an incomparably better use of his time. In his eyes there was sometimes visible a desire to join some interesting conversation or group; but he was kept back by the thought, "Would it not be a very great condescension on his part? Would it not be familiar? and would he not thereby lose his importance?" And in consequence of such reflections he always remained in the same dumb state, uttering from time to time a few monosyllabic sounds, and thereby earning the name of the most wearisome of men.

To this prominent personage Akakiy Akakievitch presented himself, and this at the most unfavourable time for himself though opportune for the prominent personage. The prominent personage was in his cabinet conversing gaily with an old acquaintance and companion of his childhood whom he had not seen for several years and who had just arrived when it was announced to him that a person named Bashmatchkin had come. He asked abruptly, "Who is he?" —"Some official," he was informed. "Ah, he can wait! this is no time for him to call," said the important man.

It must be remarked here that the important man lied outrageously: he had said all he had to say to his friend long before; and the conversation had been interspersed for some time with very long pauses, during which they merely slapped each other on the leg, and said, "You think so, Ivan Abramovitch!" "Just so, Stepan Varlamitch!" Nevertheless, he ordered that the official should be kept waiting, in order to show his friend, a man who had not been in the service for a long time, but had lived at home in the country, how long officials had to wait in his ante-room.

At length, having talked himself completely out, and more than that, having had his fill of pauses, and smoked a cigar in a very comfortable armchair with reclining back, he suddenly seemed to recollect, and said to the secretary, who stood by the door with papers of reports, "So it seems that there is a tchinovnik waiting to see me. Tell him that he may come in." On perceiving Akakiy Akakievitch's modest mien and his worn undress uniform, he turned abruptly to him and said, "What do you want?" in a curt hard voice, which he had practised in his room in private, and before the looking-glass, for a whole week before being raised to his present rank.

Akakiy Akakievitch, who was already imbued with a due amount of fear, became somewhat confused: and as well as his tongue would permit, explained, with a rather more frequent addition than usual of the word "that," that his cloak was quite new, and had been stolen in the most inhuman manner; that he had applied to him in order that he might, in some way, by his intermediation—that he might enter into correspondence with the chief of police, and find the cloak.

For some inexplicable reason this conduct seemed familiar to the prominent personage. "What, my dear sir!" he said abruptly, "are you not acquainted with etiquette? Where have you come from? Don't you know how such matters are managed? You should first have entered a complaint about this at the court below: it would have gone to the head of the department, then to the chief of the division, then it would have been handed over to the secretary, and the secretary would have given it to me."

"But, your excellency," said Akakiy Akakievitch, trying to collect his small handful of wits, and conscious at the same time that he was perspiring terribly, "I, your excellency, presumed to trouble you because secretaries—are an untrustworthy race."

"What, what, what!" said the important personage. "Where did you get such courage? Where did you get such ideas? What impudence towards their chiefs and superiors has spread among the young generation!" The prominent personage apparently had not observed that Akakiy Akakievitch was already in the neighbourhood of fifty. If he could be called a young man, it must have been in comparison with some one who was twenty. "Do you know to whom you speak? Do you realise who stands before you? Do you realise it? do you realise it? I ask you!" Then he stamped his foot and raised his voice to such a pitch that it would have frightened even a different man from Akakiy Akakievitch.

Akakiy Akakievitch's senses failed him; he staggered, trembled in every limb, and, if the porters had not run to support him, would have fallen to the floor. They carried him out insensible. But the prominent personage, gratified that the effect should have surpassed his expectations, and quite intoxicated with the thought that his word could even deprive a man of his senses, glanced sideways at his friend in order to see how he looked upon this, and perceived, not without satisfaction, that his friend was in a most uneasy frame of mind, and even beginning, on his part, to feel a trifle frightened.

Akakiy Akakievitch could not remember how he descended the stairs and got into the street. He felt neither his hands nor feet. Never in his life had he been so rated by any high official, let alone a strange one. He went staggering on through the snow-storm, which was blowing in the streets, with his mouth wide open; the wind, in St. Petersburg fashion, darted upon him from all quarters, and down every cross-street. In a twinkling it had blown a quinsy into his throat, and he reached home unable to utter a word. His throat was swollen, and he lay down on his bed. So powerful is sometimes a good scolding!

The next day a violent fever showed itself. Thanks to the generous assistance of the St. Petersburg climate, the malady progressed more rapidly than could have been expected: and when the doctor arrived, he found, on feeling the sick man's pulse, that there was nothing to be done, except to prescribe a fomentation, so that the patient might not be left entirely without the beneficent aid of medicine; but at the same time, he predicted his end in thirty-six hours. After this he turned to the landlady, and said, "And as for you, don't waste your time on him: order his pine coffin now, for an oak one will be too expensive for him." Did Akakiy Akakievitch hear these fatal words? and if he heard them, did they produce any overwhelming effect upon him? Did he lament the bitterness of his life?—We know not, for he continued in a delirious condition. Visions incessantly appeared to him, each stranger than the other. Now he saw Petrovitch, and ordered him to make a cloak, with some traps for robbers, who seemed to him to be always under the bed; and cried every moment to the landlady to pull one of them from under his coverlet. Then he inquired why his old mantle hung before him when he had a new cloak. Next he fancied that he was standing before the prominent person, listening to a thorough setting-down, and saying, "Forgive me, your excellency!" but at last he began to curse, uttering the most horrible words, so that his aged landlady crossed herself, never in her life having heard anything of the kind from him, the more so as those words followed directly after the words "your excellency." Later on he talked utter nonsense, of which nothing could be made: all that was evident being, that his incoherent words and thoughts hovered ever about one thing, his cloak.

At length poor Akakiy Akakievitch breathed his last. They sealed up neither his room nor his effects, because, in the first place, there were no heirs, and, in the second, there was very little to inherit beyond a bundle of goose-quills, a quire of white official paper, three pairs of socks, two or three buttons which had burst off his trousers, and the mantle already known to the reader. To whom all this fell, God knows. I confess that the person who told me this tale took no interest in the matter. They carried Akakiy Akakievitch out and buried him.

And St. Petersburg was left without Akakiy Akakievitch, as though he had never lived there. A being disappeared who was protected by none, dear to none, interesting to none, and who never even attracted to himself the attention of those students of human nature who omit no opportunity of thrusting a pin through a common fly, and examining it under the microscope. A being who bore meekly the jibes of the department, and went to his grave without having done one unusual deed, but to whom, nevertheless, at the close of his life appeared a bright visitant in the form of a cloak, which momentarily cheered his poor life, and upon whom, thereafter, an intolerable misfortune descended, just as it descends upon the mighty of this world!

Several days after his death, the porter was sent from the department to his lodgings, with an order for him to present himself there immediately; the chief commanding it. But the porter had to return unsuccessful, with the answer that he could not come; and to the question, "Why?" replied, "Well, because he is dead! he was buried four days ago." In this manner did they hear of Akakiy Akakievitch's death at the department, and the next day a new official sat in his place, with a handwriting by no means so upright, but more inclined and slanting.

But who could have imagined that this was not really the end of Akakiy Akakievitch, that he was destined to raise a commotion after death, as if in compensation for his utterly insignificant life? But so it happened, and our poor story unexpectedly gains a fantastic ending.

A rumour suddenly spread through St. Petersburg that a dead man had taken to appearing on the Kalinkin Bridge and its vicinity at night in the form of a tchinovnik seeking a stolen cloak, and that, under the pretext of its being the stolen cloak, he dragged, without regard to rank or calling, every one's cloak from his shoulders, be it cat-skin, beaver, fox, bear, sable; in a word, every sort of fur and skin which men adopted for their covering. One of the department officials saw the dead man with his own eyes and immediately recognised in him Akakiy Akakievitch. This, however, inspired him with such terror that he ran off with all his might, and therefore did not scan the dead man closely, but only saw how the latter threatened him from afar with his finger. Constant complaints poured in from all quarters that the backs and shoulders, not only of titular but even of court councillors, were exposed to the danger of a cold on account of the frequent dragging off of their cloaks.

Arrangements were made by the police to catch the corpse, alive or dead, at any cost, and punish him as an example to others in the most severe manner. In this they nearly succeeded; for a watchman, on guard in Kirushkin Alley, caught the corpse by the collar on the very scene of his evil deeds, when attempting to pull off the frieze coat of a retired musician. Having seized him by the collar, he summoned, with a shout, two of his comrades, whom he enjoined to hold him fast while he himself felt for a moment in his boot, in order to draw out his snuff-box and refresh his frozen nose. But the snuff was of a sort which even a corpse could not endure. The watchman having closed his right nostril with his finger, had no sooner succeeded in holding half a handful up to the left than the corpse sneezed so violently that he completely filled the eyes of all three. While they raised their hands to wipe them, the dead man vanished completely, so that they positively did not know whether they had actually had him in their grip at all. Thereafter the watchmen conceived such a terror of dead men that they were afraid even to seize the living, and only screamed from a distance, "Hey, there! go your way!" So the dead tchinovnik began to appear even beyond the Kalinkin Bridge, causing no little terror to all timid people.

But we have totally neglected that certain prominent personage who may really be considered as the cause of the fantastic turn taken by this true history. First of all, justice compels us to say that after the departure of poor, annihilated Akakiy Akakievitch he felt something like remorse. Suffering was unpleasant to him, for his heart was accessible to many good impulses, in spite of the fact that his rank often prevented his showing his true self. As soon as his friend had left his cabinet, he began to think about poor Akakiy Akakievitch. And from that day forth, poor Akakiy Akakievitch, who could not bear up under an official reprimand, recurred to his mind almost every day. The thought troubled him to such an extent that a week later he even resolved to send an official to him, to learn whether he really could assist him; and when it was reported to him that Akakiy Akakievitch had died suddenly of fever, he was startled, hearkened to the reproaches of his conscience, and was out of sorts for the whole day.

Wishing to divert his mind in some way, and drive away the disagreeable impression, he set out that evening for one of his friends' houses, where he found quite a large party assembled. What was better, nearly every one was of the same rank as himself, so that he need not feel in the least constrained. This had a marvellous effect upon his mental state. He grew expansive, made himself agreeable in conversation, in short, he passed a delightful evening. After supper he drank a couple of glasses of champagne — not a bad recipe for cheerfulness, as every one knows. The champagne inclined him to various adventures; and he determined not to return home, but to go and see a certain well-known lady of German extraction, Karolina Ivanovna, a lady, it appears, with whom he was on a very friendly footing.

It must be mentioned that the prominent personage was no longer a young man, but a good husband and respected father of a family. Two sons, one of whom was already in the service, and a good-looking, sixteen-year-old daughter, with a rather retrousse but pretty little nose, came every morning to kiss his hand and say, "Bonjour, papa." His wife, a still fresh and good-looking woman, first gave him her hand to kiss, and then, reversing the procedure, kissed his. But the prominent personage, though perfectly satisfied in his domestic relations, considered it stylish to have a friend in another quarter of the city. This friend was scarcely prettier or younger than his wife; but there are such puzzles in the world, and it is not our place to judge them. So the important personage descended the stairs, stepped into his sledge, said to the coachman, "To Karolina Ivanovna's," and, wrapping himself luxuriously in his warm cloak, found himself in that delightful frame of mind than which a Russian can conceive no better, namely, when you think of nothing yourself, yet when the thoughts creep into your mind of their own accord, each more agreeable than the other, giving you no trouble either to drive them away or seek them. Fully satisfied, he recalled all the gay features of the evening just passed, and all the mots which had made the little circle laugh. Many of them he repeated in a low voice, and found them quite as funny as before; so it is not surprising that he should laugh heartily at them. Occasionally, however, he was interrupted by gusts of wind, which, coming suddenly, God knows whence or why, cut his face, drove masses of snow into it, filled out his cloak-collar like a sail, or suddenly blew it over his head with supernatural force, and thus caused him constant trouble to disentangle himself.

Suddenly the important personage felt some one clutch him firmly by the collar. Turning round, he perceived a man of short stature, in an old, worn uniform, and recognised, not without terror, Akakiy Akakievitch. The official's face was white as snow, and looked just like a corpse's. But the horror of the important personage transcended all bounds when he saw the dead man's mouth open, and, with a terrible odour of the grave, gave vent to the following remarks: "Ah, here you are at last! I have you, that—by the collar! I need your cloak; you took no trouble about mine, but reprimanded me; so now give up your own."

The pallid prominent personage almost died of fright. Brave as he was in the office and in the presence of inferiors generally, and although, at the sight of his manly form and appearance, every one said, "Ugh! how much character he had!" at this crisis, he, like many possessed of an heroic exterior, experienced such terror, that, not without cause, he began to fear an attack of illness. He flung his cloak hastily from his shoulders and shouted to his coachman in an unnatural voice, "Home at full speed!" The coachman, hearing the tone which is generally employed at critical moments and even accompanied by something much more tangible, drew his head down between his shoulders in case of an emergency, flourished his whip, and flew on like an arrow. In a little more than six minutes the prominent personage was at the entrance of his own house. Pale, thoroughly scared, and cloakless, he went home instead of to Karolina Ivanovna's, reached his room somehow or other, and passed the night in the direst distress; so that the next morning over their tea his daughter said, "You are very pale to-day, papa." But papa remained silent, and said not a word to any one of what had happened to him, where he had been, or where he had intended to go.

This occurrence made a deep impression upon him. He even began to say: "How dare you? do you realise who stands before you?" less frequently to the under-officials, and if he did utter the words, it was only after having first learned the bearings of the matter. But the most noteworthy point was, that from that day forward the apparition of the dead tchinovnik ceased to be seen. Evidently the prominent personage's cloak just fitted his shoulders; at all events, no more instances of his dragging cloaks from people's shoulders were heard of. But many active and apprehensive persons could by no means reassure themselves, and asserted that the dead tchinovnik still showed himself in distant parts of the city.

In fact, one watchman in Kolomna saw with his own eyes the apparition come from behind a house. But being rather weak of body, he dared not arrest him, but followed him in the dark, until, at length, the apparition looked round, paused, and inquired, "What do you want?" at the same time showing a fist such as is never seen on living men. The watchman said, "It's of no consequence," and turned back instantly. But the apparition was much too tall, wore huge moustaches, and, directing its steps apparently towards the Obukhoff bridge, disappeared in the darkness of the night.

热词空间

1．irritable [ˈiritəbl] adj. 易怒的；急躁的

2．drunken [ˈdrʌŋkən] adj. 酒醉的

3．sanguine [ˈsæŋɡwin] adj. 有望的；乐天的

在甲板的天篷下

杰克·伦敦／Jack London

杰克·伦敦（Jack London, 1876—1916），美国最著名的作家之一。他出身于贫困之家，童年就以从事繁重劳动谋生，先后做过工人、水手、司炉、淘金者，甚至流浪汉。艰苦的生活使他深切地体会到损贫利富的社会弊垢。他对社会问题深感兴趣，自称是社会学者，从事过工人运动。他的短篇小说独树一帜，情节紧凑，人物栩栩如生，深受读者喜爱。代表作有《狼的儿子》《荒野的呼唤》《铁蹄》等。

“哪个男人——我是说哪位绅士——可以说女人是猪？”

这个矮子挑战性地提出这个问题后，躺在帆布椅上，带着一种自信和严阵以待的神气呷着柠檬水。无人对他的质问作出应答。人们已经习惯了这个卑微的男人，习惯了他的鲁莽和高调。

“我再重复一遍，他当着我的面说一位小姐是猪，这位小姐你们都不认识。他并没有说她是讨厌鬼，而是非常粗鲁地说她是猪。我相信，任何一个真正的男子汉都不会这样粗鲁地称呼任何女人。”

道森博士悠然自得地抽着黑烟斗。马修斯双臂抱着屈起的双膝，凝神地注视着空中的海鸥。斯威特喝完威士忌苏打水，东张西望地找船上的茶房。

“我问你，特雷格尔先生，是不是所有男人都能称女人是猪？”

特雷格尔正好坐在他的旁边，这唐突的一问，不由得让他吃了一惊。他纳闷，自己到底说了些什么，让这个矮子认为他称呼女人是猪。

“我必须声明，”他迟疑了一下，“这——嗯——取决于——嗯——这位小姐的表现。”

矮子吓呆了。

“你是说……”他声音颤抖。

“我见过那些跟猪一样令人厌恶的女人，甚至连猪都不如。”

沉默许久，这是一种带着伤感的沉默。听了这粗暴的答复，矮子看上去有些沮丧。他的脸上显露出一种难以言语的伤痛。

“你刚才提到一个出言不逊的男人，还说了你对他的看法。”特雷格尔用冷漠但平稳的语调说，“现在，就让我来给你讲一个女人——对不起——是小姐。我讲完后，你来说说你对她的看法。我就暂且叫她克鲁塞尔斯小姐吧，因为这不是她的名字。故事发生在一艘东方公司的船上，离现在只不过几年光景。”

“克鲁塞尔斯小姐娇媚动人。不对，这词用在这不恰当。应该说她貌美无双。她是个年轻的女人，是位淑女。她的爸爸是一位高官，要是说出他的名字，你们都会立刻想起来。当时，克鲁塞尔斯小姐和她的妈妈，还有两名女仆正要去东方找那位老先生，她们要去哪里，随便你们想吧。

“她，恕我重复，貌美无双。只有这个词才能用来形容她。即使是最普通的形容词，用在她的身上都得加一个‘最’字。比起所有其他的女人和大多数的男人，她都要胜过一筹。唱歌、做游戏——嘿！——就像以前的修辞家描述精于世故的拿破仑：无往而不胜。游泳！要是公开表演，她一定名利双收。你们都知道有一种罕见的女人，脱掉所有华丽的衣服，卸下所有的装饰，换上朴素的泳衣，会变得更迷人，她就是这种女人。说起服装，她可是这方面的大师。

“说到游泳，在身体上她简直完美无缺——你们明白我的意思，我是说她的完美不像杂技演员那样肌肉膨起，粗壮有力。她是一种线条美，身体苗条，肌肤柔滑而又柔韧有力。这一点简直是个奇迹，没有人知道她是如何做到的。从她的身上，你能了解女人胳膊的妙处——我是指前臂。从圆圆的、强劲的肌肉到小小的肘子，从柔软的前臂肌肉到小巧的手腕，难以置信的小巧，丰满，强健有力。这就是她的胳膊。可是，如果看到她飞快的、技艺纯熟的英式自由泳——嘿，虽然我了解解剖学、体育学之类的知识，但我始终不明白她是如何游成这样的。

“她可以潜在水下两分钟。我用表计算过。除了丹尼森，船上所有的人中，只有克鲁塞尔斯小姐可以一个猛子扎下去捞出那么多硬币。船头的主甲板上有个大帆布水池，里面放有6英尺深的海水。我们经常往里面扔硬币。我曾经看到她从桥板上跳下去——单这一点就很了不起了——跳进6英尺深的水中，一下子捞出散落在水底的47枚硬币。在这方面，丹尼森这个不大说话的英国青年也从未胜过她，顶多和她比成平手。

“毫无疑问，她是海中健将。可她也是陆地健将、骑马健将——是——无所不能。如果她换上优雅的衣服，则显露出了她的娇媚动人，被五六个为她而痴迷的男人围着，她却懒得理他们，有时还会用智慧来控制他们，捉弄他们，甚至刺痛他们。这时，你会认为她就是为此而生的。而我在这种时候，总会迫使自己想起她在水底捞出的47枚硬币。但她永远是一个女人中的奇才，能够把所有事情做得都出色。

“她迷住了她周围所有的男人。她迷得我——我不怕你们笑话——她迷得我也像其他人一样围着她转。就连年轻的小孩子们和那些深喑世事、白发苍苍的老家伙——哎，只要她呼唤几声，他们都会围上前去讨好、乞求、谄媚、奉承。其实他们个个心里都有鬼，从年轻的阿德莫尔——一个19岁有着粉色娃娃脸的少年，要去领事馆寻个职员的差事——到头发斑白、久经风霜的老船长本特利，个个看她的眼神都像看中国的菩萨一样慈祥，充满热情。有个讨人喜欢的中年人，白尔金斯，我敢说，要不是克鲁塞尔斯小姐下了逐客令，让他回家，他一定还记不起他的老婆也在船上。

“男人们成了她手中的玩物。她随着自己的意愿融化他们，轻轻地捏造他们，点燃他们。就连船上的茶房——对他们来说她是那么高傲，遥不可及，可只要她一声令下，他们都会毫不犹豫地把一盘子汤泼到老船长的身上。你们都见过这种女人——能让世上所有男人都死心塌地地爱她的那种。在征服男人方面，她是佼佼者。她就像一条鞭子、一根刺、一簇火焰、一道火花。啊，相信我，有时她突然大发脾气，美和性感荡然无存，甚至会让她的牺牲品茫然不知所措，吓得浑身发抖。

“不过先不要下定论，在接下来的故事中，你们会看到她是一个骄傲的女人。民族的骄傲，家族的骄傲，性别的骄傲，权利的骄傲——一切的骄傲，一种奇怪的、任性的、可怕的骄傲。

“她掌控着全船，掌控着航行，掌控着一切，甚至掌控着丹尼森。丹尼森已经远远超过船上的其他人，这一点，就是我们中最弱智的也不得不承认。克鲁塞尔斯小姐喜欢他，而且对他的感情还在增加，这一点毫无疑问。我确信，她看他的眼神比看任何其他人的眼神都要温柔。虽然我们知道丹尼森已经远远地跑在我们的前面，我们还是像以前那样崇拜她，尾随她，等着她的呼唤。以后会怎样，我们都不知道，因为我们很快来到了科伦坡，发生了另一桩事。

“你们都知道科伦坡，知道当地的小孩子会潜到尽是鲨鱼的海湾里去捞小钱。当然了，他们是在格林兰种鲨鱼和吃鱼的鲨鱼当中潜水。说起来简直不可思议，他们对鲨鱼了解得那么清楚。只要来了一条吃人的家伙，他们就能马上觉察出来——例如虎鲨，或来自澳大利亚水域的灰奶妈。倘若这样一条鲨鱼出现，在乘客们还没猜到之前，这帮孩子早就慌乱地浮出水面，拼命逃走了。

“故事发生在吃完午饭后。克鲁塞尔斯小姐在甲板的天篷下面照常‘临朝听政’。老船长本特利刚被她召过来，并答应她以前从未答应过的事——以后也没再答应过——允许那些孩子到上层甲板上来。你们都知道，克鲁塞尔斯小姐是位游泳家，她对孩子们很有兴致。她把我们的小钱都收起来，她自己把它们一个一个地或一把一把地扔下海，订好比赛条件，捞不着要挨骂，获胜者还会给予额外的奖励。总之，一切就绪。

“她对他们的跳水很感兴趣。你们都知道，跳水时双脚从高处跳出去，到了空中，很难保持身体的垂直。男人身体的重心较高，很容易翻跟头。但这群小乞丐采用了一种她从未见过的跳水方式，她说要学学。他们从救生艇的架子上向下一跳，头立刻向下，脸和肩向前屈，看着水面。直到最后一刻，他们才会突然挺直身子笔直地扎入水中。

“这一幕很精彩。虽然他们的跳水表演不是很漂亮，可其中有个小家伙很出色，他的其他技能也一样出色。一定是哪个白人给他指点过，因为他很擅长天鹅入水式，我从未见过比他跳水更出色的人。你们知道，这需要从很高的地方跳下来，头先入水。最大的困难就是采取最佳的入水角度。一旦入水角度出错，至少是扭伤后背，残废一辈子。这对生手来说，还会有生命危险。但是这个小家伙能做到这一点——我曾经瞧见他从70英尺高的吊架上跳水——双手紧贴胸部，仰起头，像鸟一样，朝上跳出去，然后向下，在半空放平身体。可是，如果以这个姿势入水，他肯定会像鲱鱼一样摔成两半。但就在入水前一刹那，他会低下头，伸出双手，环着双臂，在头前面形成一个弧形，身体很优美地向下弯，刚好以这个角度扎进水里。

“这个男孩一次又一次地这样做，来取悦我们，特别是克鲁塞尔斯小姐。这男孩也就是十二三岁的光景，不过这群人里他最聪明。他的那群伙伴都喜欢他，他也是他们的头儿。虽然有很多比他大，可他们也承认他是头儿。他是个俊美的小男孩，青铜色的皮肤，像个柔软的、有朝气的小天使。距离很宽的两只眼睛，聪慧而又勇敢，好像生活中的一个水泡、一粒微尘、一道美丽的闪电或火花。你们都见过绝妙壮丽的生物——我是说动物，任何一种动物，例如一只豹或一匹马——它们都是那样热切、活灵活现、运动不息，还有那柔滑的肌肉，每一个微小的动作都是美的体现，每一个举动都是那么奔放、自由自在，处处都迸发出激情四射的活力，灿烂夺目的生命力。这个孩子就是这样。他几乎全身都放射出生命的光辉。就连他的皮肤也闪烁着这样的光辉，他的眼睛里也燃烧着生命的激情。我敢说，我几乎听到他身体里发出的爆裂声。看着他，就像有一缕新鲜的空气扑入鼻孔——他就是这样的有生气、有活力，身体健康，精神焕发，粗野豪放。

“他就是这样一个孩子。就是他在比赛中发出警号。孩子们立刻奔向舷门，用他们熟识的最快的方式游泳。他们乱糟糟地，在水中挣扎着，水花四溅，脸上充满了恐惧，一蹿一跳地爬出水面，想尽一切办法上船，手拉着手跑到安全的地方，直到他们都爬上舷门，从那里盯着下面的海水。”

“‘怎么回事？’克鲁塞尔斯小姐问道。

“‘我猜是条鲨鱼。’船长本特利答道，‘这些小乞丐真走运，一个也没让它咬住。’

“‘他们怕鲨鱼吗？’她问道。

“‘难道你不怕？’他反问道。

“她耸了耸肩，向外看着水面，噘了噘嘴。

“‘无论怎样，我也不会到有鲨鱼的地方去冒险，’她说道，又耸了耸肩，‘它们太可怕了！可怕极了！’

“这时，那些孩子全走上了第一层甲板，聚在栏杆旁，非常羡慕地望着给了他们这么多赏钱的克鲁塞尔斯小姐。表演结束了，于是，船长本特利示意孩子们下船。可是，她拦住了他。

“‘船长，等会儿。我向来认为这些土人不怕鲨鱼。’

“她把那个会天鹅入水式的小孩喊到近前，向他做手势，示意他再跳水。他摇摇头，跟在他后面的那群孩子都笑了，觉得像是在开玩笑。

“‘有鲨鱼。’他指着水面主动地说。

“‘不，没有鲨鱼。’她说。

“可他还是肯定地点着头，他身后的那些孩子也都肯定地点着头。

“‘不，不，不。’她大声喊道，然后冲着我们说，‘谁愿意借给我半个克朗和一个金镑。’

“我们六个人全都立刻掏出了许多克朗和金镑，但是她只从年轻的阿德莫尔手里接过了两个硬币。

“她举起那半个克朗给小孩子们看。可没有人急忙奔到栏杆旁准备跳下去。他们都站在那里，咧着嘴怯生生地笑着。她把硬币举到每个孩子的面前，但每个人，无论轮到谁，都会用脚蹭蹭自己的小腿，摇摇头，咧着嘴笑。后来，她把这个半克朗扔下了海。他们带着一种惋惜、渴望的神情，看着那半个克朗飞向空中，但没有一个人跟它一块儿下去。

“‘千万别用那个金镑来引诱他们。’丹尼森低声对她说。

“她没有理睬，反而把金镑在那个会天鹅入水式的小孩子眼前晃来晃去。

“‘别这样，’船长本特利说道，‘有鲨鱼时，我连一只生病的猫也不会扔下去。’

“可她笑了，按照自己的目的，继续引诱着那个孩子。

“‘别引诱他，’丹尼森坚决地劝她，‘这对于他是一笔大钱，他可能会跳下去的。’

“‘难道你不愿意跳下去吗？’她对他怒吼道，而后又温和地说道，‘如果我把它扔下去呢？’

“丹尼森摇摇头。

“‘你的价钱太高，’她说道，‘多少钱你才肯下去呢？’

“‘世上没有那么多钱可以让我跳下去。’这就是他的答复。

“她争辩了一会儿。因为跟丹尼森争辩，暂时把那个小孩忘了。

“‘要是为了我呢？’她柔声说道。

“‘去救你的命——还可以，其他不可能。’

“她转向那个孩子。再次把金镑举到他的眼前，利用它的巨大价值来引诱他。接着，她做了一个要扔出去的动作，那个孩子也不由自主地朝栏杆跑去，但他的伙伴们的大声责备制止了他。他们的声音里还带有一丝愤怒。

“‘我知道你只是在逗着玩，’丹尼森说，‘你愿意怎么逗就怎么逗，但千万不要扔下去。’

“不知是出于她自己那让人捉摸不透的任性，还是她觉得那个孩子不会被诱惑住，谁也说不清。这完全出乎所有人的意料。突然从天篷的影子下面，金镑一下子就飞了出去，在耀眼的阳光下闪着金光，在半空中留下了一条金色的弧线，奔向海里。还没有谁来得及抓住那个孩子，他已越过栏杆，紧跟着金镑划出一道美丽的弧线。两者同时悬在半空中。那的确是一道美丽的风景。那个金镑猛地破水而入，而那个孩子也几乎在同一瞬间、同一个位置，毫无声响地跟着钻进了水里。

“那些眼快的黑孩子看着看着，突然大叫起来。当时我们都在栏杆旁。不要跟我说鲨鱼吃人就得翻身。这一条就没有。水很清，我们从上面就能把一切看得清清楚楚。那条鲨鱼很大，只一口，就把那个男孩咬成了两半。

“这时，我们中有人嘟哝了两句——至于是谁嘟哝的，我不知道，也许就是我。而后，就没人言语了。第一个开口的是克鲁塞尔斯小姐。她的脸色和死人的一样白。

“‘我做梦都没有想到。’她一边说一边笑，那是一种短促的、神经质的笑。

“她所有的骄傲让她控制住自己。她无力地转向丹尼森，后来，又一个一个地看着我们。她的眼睛里透出一种可怕的悲痛，她的嘴唇在哆嗦。我们简直都是畜生——啊，我现在回头一想才明白。我们当时都无动于衷。

“‘丹尼森先生，’她说，‘汤姆，你可以扶我下去吗？’

“他始终没有改变目光凝视的方向。那种暗淡的神情，我从来都没有在一个男人的脸上看到过，他就连眼皮都没眨一下。接着他从烟盒里拿出一根烟，点着。船长本特利的咽喉里发出令人不快的声响，他向船外吐了一口痰。这就是一切，除了这几个声响，就是无限的沉默。

“她转过身，打算镇定地走下船。可刚走了20英尺，她就摇晃起来，伸手扶住墙以免栽倒。她就这样，支撑着自己，慢慢地一步一步地向前走。特雷格尔顿了一下。他把头转向矮子，带着一股冷冷的追问的神色。

“‘好吧，’他最后说道，‘来发表一下你对她的看法。’

“矮子深深地吸着气，一口一口地咽下嘴里的唾沫。

“‘我没什么可说的，’他说，‘什么也没有。’”

Under the Deck Awnings

"Can any man—a gentleman, I mean—call a woman a pig?"

The little man flung this challenge forth to the whole group, then leaned back in his deck chair, sipping lemonade^1 with an air commingled of certitude and watchful belligerence. Nobody made answer. They were used to the little man and his sudden passions and high elevations.

"I repeat, it was in my presence that he said a certain lady, whom none of you knows, was a pig. He did not say swine. He grossly said that she was a pig. And I hold that no man who is a man could possibly make such a remark about any woman."

Dr. Dawson puffed stolidly at his black pipe. Matthews, with knees hunched up and clasped by his arms, was absorbed in the flight of a gunie. Sweet, finishing his Scotch and soda, was questing about with his eyes for a deck steward.

"I ask you, Mr. Treloar, can any man call any woman a pig?"

Treloar, who happened to be sitting next to him, was startled by the abruptness of the attack, and wondered what grounds he had ever given the little man to believe that he could call a woman a pig.

"I should say," he began his hesitant answer, "that it—er—depends on the—er—the lady."

The little man was aghast.

"You mean...?" he quavered.

"That I have seen female humans who were as bad as pigs—and worse."

There was a long pained silence. The little man seemed withered by the coarse brutality of the reply. In his face was unutterable^2 hurt and woe.

"You have told of a man who made a not nice remark and you have classified him," Treloar said in cold, even tones. "I shall now tell you about a woman—I beg your pardon—a lady, and when I have finished I shall ask you to classify her. Miss Caruthers I shall call her, principally for the reason that it is not her name. It was on a P. & O. boat, and it occurred neither more nor less than several years ago.

"Miss Caruthers was charming. No, that is not the word. She was amazing. She was a young woman, and a lady. Her father was a certain high official whose name, if I mentioned it, would be immediately recognized by all of you. She was with her mother and two maids at the time, going out to join the old gentleman wherever you like to wish in the East.

"She, and pardon me for repeating, was amazing. It is the one adequate word. Even the most minor adjectives applicable to her are bound to be sheer superlatives. There was nothing she could not do better than any woman and than most men. Sing, play—bah! —as some rhetorician once said of old Nap, competition fled from her. Swim! She could have made a fortune and a name as a public performer. She was one of those rare women who can strip off all the frills of dress, and in simple swimming suit be more satisfying^3 beautiful. Dress! She was an artist.

"But her swimming. Physically, she was the perfect woman—you know what I mean, not in the gross, muscular way of acrobats, but in all the delicacy of line and fragility of frame and texture. And combined with this, strength. How she could do it was the marvel. You know the wonder of a woman's arm—the fore arm, I mean; the sweet fading away from rounded biceps and hint of muscle, down through small elbow and firm soft swell to the wrist, small, unthinkably small and round and strong. This was hers. And yet, to see her swimming the sharp quick English overhand stroke, and getting somewhere with it, too, was—well, I understand anatomy and athletics and such things, and yet it was a mystery to me how she could do it.

"She could stay under water for two minutes. I have timed her. No man on board, except Dennitson, could capture as many coins as she with a single dive. On the forward main-deck was a big canvas tank with six feet of seawater. We used to toss small coins into it. I have seen her dive from the bridge deck—no mean feat in itself—into that six-feet of water, and fetch up no less than forty-seven coins, scattered willy-nilly over the whole bottom of the tank. Dennitson, a quiet young Englishman, never exceeded her in this, though he made it a point always to tie her score.

"She was a sea-woman, true. But she was a land-woman, a horsewoman—a—she was the universal woman. To see her, all softness of soft dress, surrounded by half a dozen eager men, languidly careless of them all or flashing brightness and wit on them and at them and through them, one would fancy she was good for nothing else in the world. At such moments I have compelled myself to remember her score of forty-seven coins from the bottom of the swimming tank. But that was she, the everlasting, wonder of a woman who did all things well.

"She fascinated every betrousered human around her. She had me—and I don't mind confessing it—she bad me to heel along with the rest. Young puppies and old gray dogs who ought to have known better—oh, they all came up and crawled around her skirts and whined and fawned when she whistled. They were all guilty, from young Ardmore, a pink cherub of nineteen outward bound for some clerkship in the Consular Service, to old Captain Bentley, grizzled and sea-worn, and as emotional, to look at, as a Chinese joss. There was a nice middle-aged chap, Perkins, I believe, who forgot his wife was on board until Miss Caruthers sent him to the right about and back where he belonged.

"Men were wax in her hands. She melted them, or softly molded them, or incinerated them, as she pleased. There wasn't a steward, even, grand and remote as she was, who, at her bidding, would have hesitated to souse the Old Man himself with a plate of soup. You have all seen such women—a sort of world's desire to all men. As a man-conqueror she was supreme. She was a whip-lash, a sting and a flame, an electric spark. Oh, believe me, at times there were flashes of will that scorched through her beauty and seduction and smote a victim into blank and shivering idiocy and fear.

"And don't fail to mark, in the light of what is to come, that she was a prideful woman. Pride of race, pride of caste, pride of sex, pride of power—she had it all, a pride strange and wilful and terrible.

"She ran the ship, she ran the voyage, she ran everything, and she ran Dennitson. That he had outdistanced the pack even the least wise of us admitted. That she liked him, and that this feeling was growing, there was not a doubt. I am certain that she looked on him with kinder eyes than she had ever looked with on man before. We still worshiped, and were always hanging about waiting to be whistled up, though we knew that Dennitson was laps and laps ahead of us. What might have happened we shall never know, for we came to Colombo and something else happened.

"You know Colombo, and how the native boys dive for coins in the shark-infested bay. Of course, it is only among the ground sharks and fish sharks that they venture. It is almost uncanny the way they know sharks and can sense the presence of a real killer—a tiger shark, for instance, or a gray nurse strayed up from Australian waters. Let such a shark appear, and, long before the passengers can guess, every mother's son of them is out of the water in a wild scramble for safety.

"It was after tiffin, and Miss Caruthers was holding her usual court under the deck-awnings. Old Captain Bentley had just been whistled up, and had granted her what he never granted before... nor since—permission for the boys to come up on the promenade deck. You see, Miss Caruthers was a swimmer, and she was interested. She took up a collection of all our small change, and herself tossed it overside, singly and in handfuls, arranging the terms of the contests, chiding a miss, giving extra rewards to clever wins, in short, managing the whole exhibition.

"She was especially keen on their jumping. You know, jumping feet-first from a height, it is very difficult to hold the body perpendicularly while in the air. The center of gravity of the male body is high, and the tendency is to overtopple. But the little beggars employed a method which she declared was new to her and which she desired to learn. Leaping from the davits of the boat-deck above, they plunged downward, their faces and shoulders bowed forward, looking at the water. And only at the last moment did they abruptly straighten up and enter the water erect and true.

"It was a pretty sight. Their diving was not so good, though there was one of them who was excellent at it, as he was in all the other stunts. Some white man must have taught him, for he made the proper swan dive and did it as beautifully as I have ever seen it. You know, headfirst into the water, from a great height, the problem is to enter the water at the perfect angle. Miss the angle and it means at the least a twisted back and injury for life. Also, it has meant death for many a bungler. But this boy could do it—seventy feet I know he cleared in one dive from the rigging—clenched hands on chest, head thrown back, sailing more like a bird, upward and out, and out and down, body flat on the air so that if it struck the surface in that position it would be split in half like a herring. But the moment before the water is reached, the head drops forward, the hands go out and lock the arms in an arch in advance of the head, and the body curves gracefully downward and enters the water just right.

"This the boy did, again and again, to the delight of all of us, but particularly of Miss Caruthers. He could not have been a moment over twelve or thirteen, yet he was by far the cleverest of the gang. He was the favorite of his crowd, and its leader. Though there were a number older than he, they acknowledged his chieftaincy. He was a beautiful boy, a lithe young god in breathing bronze, eyes wide apart, intelligent and daring, a bubble, a mote, a beautiful flash and sparkle of life. You have seen wonderful glorious creatures—animals, anything, a leopard, a horse-restless, eager, too much alive ever to be still, silken of muscle, each slightest movement a benediction of grace, every action wild, untrammeled, and over all spilling out that intense vitality, that sheen and luster of living light. The boy had it. Life poured out of him almost in an effulgence. His skin glowed with it. It burned in his eyes. I swear I could almost hear it crackle from him. Looking at him, it was as if a whiff of ozone came to one's nostrils—so fresh and young was he, so resplendent with health, so wildly wild.

"This was the boy. And it was he who gave the alarm in the midst of the sport. The boys made a dash of it for the gangway platform, swimming the fastest strokes they knew, pellmell, floundering and splashing, fright in their faces, clambering out with jumps and surges, any way to get out, lending one another a hand to safety, till all were strung along the gangway and peering down into the water.

"'What is the matter?' asked Miss Caruthers.

"'A shark, I fancy,' Captain Bentley answered.

"Lucky little beggars that he didn't get one of them.

"'Are they afraid of sharks?' she asked.

"'Aren't you?' he asked back.

"She shuddered, looked overside at the water, and made a move.

"'Not for the world would I venture where a shark might be,' she said, and shuddered again. 'They are horrible! Horrible!'

"The boys came up on the promenade deck, clustering close to the rail and worshiping Miss Caruthers who had flung them such a wealth of backsheesh. The performance being over, Captain Bentley motioned to them to clear out. But she stopped him.

"'One moment, please, Captain. I have always understood that the natives are not afraid of sharks.'

"She beckoned the boy of the swan dive nearer to her, and signed to him to dive over again. He shook his head, and along with all his crew behind him laughed as if it were a good joke.

"'Shark,' he volunteered, pointing to the water.

"'No,' she said. 'There is no shark.'

"But he nodded his head positively, and the boys behind him nodded with equal positiveness.

"'No, no, no,' she cried. And then to us, 'Who'll lend me a half-crown and a sovereign!'

"Immediately the half dozen of us were presenting her with crowns and sovereigns, and she accepted the two coins from young Ardmore.

"She held up the half-crown for the boys to see. But there was no eager rush to the rail preparatory to leaping. They stood there grinning sheepishly. She offered the coin to each one individually, and each, as his turn came, rubbed his foot against his calf, shook his head, and grinned. Then she tossed the half-crown overboard. With wistful, regretful faces they watched its silver flight through the air, but not one moved to follow it.

"'Don't do it with the sovereign,' Dennitson said to her in a low voice.

"She took no notice, but held up the gold coin before the eyes of the boy of the swan dive.

"'Don't,' said Captain Bentley. 'I wouldn't throw a sick cat overside with a shark around.

"But she laughed, bent on her purpose, and continued to dazzle the boy.

"'Don't tempt him,' Dennitson urged. 'It is a fortune to him, and he might go over after it.'

"'Wouldn't you?' she flared at him. 'If I threw it?'" This last more softly.

Dennitson shook his head.

"'Your price is high,' she said. 'For how many sovereigns would you go?'

"'There are not enough coined to get me overside,' was his answer.

"She debated a moment, the boy forgotten in her tilt with Dennitson.

"'For me?' she said very softly.

"'To save your life—yes. But not otherwise.'

"She turned back to the boy. Again she held the coin before his eyes, dazzling him with the vastness of its value. Then she made as to toss it out, and, involuntarily, he made a half-movement toward the rail, but was checked by sharp cries of reproof from his companions. There was anger in their voices as well.

"'I know it is only fooling,' Dennitson said. 'Carry it as far as you like, but for heaven's sake don't throw it.'

"Whether it was that strange wilfulness of hers, or whether she doubted the boy could be persuaded, there is no telling. It was unexpected to all of us. Out from the shade of the awning the coin flashed golden in the blaze of sunshine and fell toward the sea in a glittering arch. Before a hand could stay him, the boy was over the rail and curving beautifully downward after the coin. Both were in the air at the same time. It was a pretty sight. The sovereign cut the water sharply, and at the very spot, almost at the same instant, with scarcely a splash, the boy entered.

"From the quicker-eyed black boys watching, came an exclamation. We were all at the railing. Don't tell me it is necessary for a shark to turn on its back. That one did not. In the clear water, from the height we were above it, we saw everything. The shark was a big brute, and with one drive he cut the boy squarely in half.

"There was a murmur or something from among us—who made it I did not know; it might have been I. And then there was silence. Miss Caruthers was the first to speak. Her face was deathly white.

"'I never dreamed,' she said, and laughed a short, hysterical laugh.

"All her pride was at work to give her control. She turned weakly toward Dennitson, and then, on from one to another of us. In her eyes was a terrible sickness, and her lips were trembling. We were brutes—oh, I know it, now that I look back upon it. But we did nothing.

"'Mr. Dennitson,' she said, 'Tom, won't you take me below!'

"He never changed the direction of his gaze, which was the bleakest I have ever seen in a man's face, nor did he move an eyelid. He took a cigarette from his case and lighted it. Captain Bentley made a nasty sound in his throat and spat overboard. That was all; that and the silence.

"She turned away and started to walk firmly down the deck. Twenty feet away, she swayed and thrust a hand against the wall to save herself. And so she went on, supporting herself against the cabins and walking very slowly." Treloar ceased. He turned his head and favored the little man with a look of cold inquiry.

"Well," he said finally. "Classify her."

The little man gulped and swallowed.

"I have nothing to say," he said. "I have nothing whatever to say."

热词空间

1．lemonade [ˌleməˈmeid] n. 柠檬水

2．unutterable [ʌnˈʌtərəbl] adj. 非言语所能表达的；十足的

3．satisfying [ˈsætisfaiiŋ] adj. 令人满足的；令人满意的

判决

弗兰茨·卡夫卡／Franz Kafka

弗兰茨·卡夫卡（Franz Kafka, 1883—1924），20世纪德语小说家。文笔明净而想象奇诡，常采用寓言体，背后的寓意人言人殊，暂无（或永无）定论。其作品很有深意地抒发了他愤世嫉俗的决心和勇气。别开生面的手法，令20世纪各个写作流派纷纷追认其为先驱。卡夫卡生前默默无闻，孤独地奋斗，随着时间的流逝，他的价值才逐渐为人们所认识，其作品引起了世界的震动，并在世界范围内形成一股“卡夫卡”热，经久不衰。代表作有小说《判决》以及短篇小说《中国长城的建造》《在流放地》等。

这是一个春光明媚的周日清晨。沿着河道向前坐落着一排简易的房屋，房屋之间结构相似，只是高低与墙的颜色有所区别。乔治·贝登曼，这位年轻的商人，此时正坐在他二楼的房间里。他刚给一位在国外的青年时代的朋友写了封信，磨磨蹭蹭地把信封好后，便手托下巴，向窗外望去——河流、小桥、远处春意盎然的山坡。

他回想起他的这位朋友。几年前，他的朋友是如何不满于在家里的发展，逃离家园，最后混进了俄国。现在，他在彼得堡开了家商店，起初生意还不错，日子久了，生意就不怎么景气了，回国的次数也慢慢少了。就这样在国外劳累地生活着，一切辛苦都是徒劳。他朋友的脸庞自孩提时代起他就是很熟悉，不过现在，他的外国式的络腮胡子并没有将他的面部衬托出一种美感来，他的肤色暗黄，透露出他正在加重的病情。如他所述，他跟同胞们不怎么联系，和当地的居民也没有社交上的往来，以致如今还是一个单身。

对这样的一个朋友，应该写些什么呢？像他这样固执的、令人惋惜的人，真令人爱莫能助。或许应该劝他重返故里，回家里的社交圈子？虽说这种方法问题不大。但又觉得这样太依赖朋友们的帮助了。虽然朋友们是出于好心，但其实更伤害了他的感情。这种方式对他来说，就等于说明他在国外的努力失败了，他不得不依靠家里的亲朋好友，就像吃回头草的马一样，被周围的人议论一番。如果回国了，也大概只有他的朋友们或许还理解他一些，他就得像一个大小孩一样，追随那些在家事业有成的朋友了。还有一点不能肯定，他这样在外硬撑着，是不是忠于一个目标呢？也许根本无法将他劝回来——他也说过，他对家里的一切已经陌生——所以，他虽然处境艰难，但劝他回国的建议会使他沮丧万分，更加疏远亲朋好友。不过话说回来，如果他真的接受建议，回到家里是不会被压垮的，当然，不是随便说说，而是可以与事实联系的。他现在不跟朋友一起生活，就无法明白这点，就觉得真的不再有祖国，不再有朋友了。既然回来对他没有什么好处，所以他还留在国外，是这么回事吧？在这种情况下，能设想他回来后会好好干吗？

所以，如果还要和他保持书信来往，就不要对他高谈阔论那些只有对泛泛之交才会胡扯的观点。这位朋友有三年没回国了。他说，这是由于当下俄国的政治情况不稳定，这样，一个商人不宜于离开俄国。可是，谁不知道，当下俄国成千上万的人正在全世界大转悠呢。我朋友的这种解释只能说是一种牵强的解释。而在这三年中，乔治发生了很大的变化。两年前，乔治的母亲去世，此后，他和他年迈的父亲一起生活，对此，乔治的朋友是知道的，他在一封信里曾示意性地表示过慰问，可能是因为在国外对丧事过于悲痛是不可思议的事情。从那时起，乔治以较大的决心重整他的商店。当他的母亲在世时，店里的一切总是父亲一个人说了算。同时，父亲曾阻止过乔治独立的活动。母亲去世以后，父亲仍然在商店里工作，但是对工作的热情有所减淡，应该是碰到好运气吧——都只是或许而已，商店在最近两年有了出乎意料的发展。员工增加了一倍，营业额翻了五倍，当然，事业还在发展之中。

朋友并不知道乔治的变化。刚开始，他给乔治的慰问信中，也就是最后一封信中，曾试图劝说乔治到俄国去发展，到圣彼得堡去开一家分店。他所提到的店铺规模与乔治现在商店规模比起来，简直微不足道。但当时乔治不想向他的朋友转告他事业方面的发展，如果他现在告诉他的朋友，那就真是会让他的朋友惊奇一番的。

所以乔治的信只局限于过去一些零乱堆砌的回忆，诸如回想起某个宁静的星期日之类。他只是信笔挥洒过去的事情，这都是长期以来故土给他的朋友留下的印象，朋友对这些印象是很满意的。乔治对朋友还报道了一个冷漠的男人和冷漠的姑娘的婚约。乔治和朋友的信，往返之间路隔千里，但乔治三次提到此事，以致朋友对乔治在信中的观点开始产生了兴趣。

乔治宁愿写这些事情而不想谈自己的经历。其实就在一个月以前，他和一个名叫付丽达·勃兰登非尔德的小姐订了婚。她是个十分有钱的女人。他经常和未婚妻谈论这位朋友，以及他们之间特殊的通信联系。他的未婚妻说：“他根本不会来参加我们的婚礼，我有权认识你所有的朋友。”“我不想打扰他。”乔治回答。“我了解，他或许会来，至少我是这样认为的。但他多多少少有点被迫的成分，并且感到有损于自己，或许他会嫉妒我，肯定不满意，但又无力消除这种不满，于是重新孤独地回去，孤独地——你知道孤独是什么吗？是的，那我们可不可以用其他方式让他知道我们结婚的事？”“我不反对这样做，但以他的那种生活方式，这不一定行得通。”“如果你有这样的朋友那就真不应该和我订婚。”“是的，这是我们两个人的责任。但我现在并不想另有打算。”这时乔治吻着她，她有些喘气，但还接着说：“这事使我伤心。”但他认为，给朋友写信好办。“我赞成，他必须容忍我。”他自言自语地说，“赞成我和他的友谊，恐怕除了我本人外，再没有第二个人更合适了。”

事实上，他在星期日上午写的那封信中已向他的朋友报告了他订婚的事。谈到这件事的时候，他说了如下的话：“最后我向你报告一个最好的消息，我已和付丽达·勃兰登菲尔德小姐订婚，她家庭富有，她是在长期旅行之后才定居在我们这里的，你不可能认识她，反正以后我有机会向你详细谈到她。我现在很幸福，在我们彼此的关系中仅就这方面而言是发生了一些变化。作为你的朋友，我原本是平常的，现在则是幸福的，我的这种变化就足以使你高兴了。我的未婚妻向你真诚地问候，以后她还要亲自写信给你，她会成为你的真诚的女友，这对于一个单身汉来说不是完全没有意义的事情。我知道你百事缠身，不可能来看望我们，但是参加我们的婚礼不正是你摆脱杂事的一个良机吗？当然，你不要考虑太多，还是按你自己的主意行事。”

乔治手里拿着这封信，长时间地坐在桌子旁边，脸对着窗口。一个熟人从大街过来向他打招呼，乔治还给他的只是一个几乎难以察觉的笑容。

他终于将信放进口袋里，从他的房里出来，经过一个小的过道走进他父亲的房间。几个月来，他已经没有在父亲的这房间里待过了。平常，父亲也不勉强他进来。他和他父亲的接触经常是在公司里进行的，而且他们天天在一个饭馆里共进午餐。至于晚餐，则各人随意。但要不是乔治事多，经常和朋友们在一起，或者去看望未婚妻的话，他们父子还是常常一起坐在客厅各看各的报纸。

乔治很惊奇地看到，甚至在今天上午这样阳光灿烂的日子里，他父亲房间的光线也这样暗淡。对面耸立的一堵窄狭的院墙挡住了阳光，父亲坐在房间一角的窗口旁边。在这个角落里装饰了许多纪念品，以怀念已经去世的母亲。父亲手里拿着的报纸偏向侧面，以便调节眼力。桌子上放着剩下的早餐，看来父亲并未吃多少。

“啊！乔治。”父亲说着，立即迎面走来。沉重的睡衣在走路时敞开着，下面的衣摆在他的周围飘动着。“我的父亲仍是一个巨人。”他想。

“这里真是太暗。”然后他说。

“是的，够暗了。”父亲回答说。

“你把窗户也关上了吗？”

“我喜欢这样。”

“外面已经很暖和了。”他像追怀过去一样，并且坐下。

父亲收拾餐具，放在一个柜上。

乔治不再注意他父亲的动作，继续说：“我想告诉你，我已经把订婚的事告诉圣彼得堡了。”他在口袋里将信捏了一下，又放下了。

“为什么告诉圣彼得堡？”父亲问。

“告诉我的朋友。”乔治说，并探索父亲的眼光。——在公司里，他可是另外一回事。”他想，“他在这里多么大度啊！两臂交叉在胸前。”

“啊，给你的朋友。”父亲说这话时加重了语气。

“你可是知道的，父亲，起先我并没有透露订婚的事。考虑到并不是出于别的原因，你自己知道，他是一个难以对付的人。我是说，虽然他和外界交往很少，不大可能知道我们的情况，但他还是有可能从别的渠道了解到我的婚约，这我无法阻挡。可是就我本心而言，他不宜知道我们的事。”

“那你现在又另有想法了吗？”父亲问，并将报纸搁在窗台上，眼镜又放在报纸上，手正盖住眼镜。

“是的，我重新考虑过，如果他是我的好朋友，我是说，我的幸福婚事对他来说也是一种幸福。所以我不再犹豫了，我就把这件事情写信告诉他。然而我发信以前还是给你说一下。”

“乔治，”父亲说，将他无牙的嘴拉宽。“听着，你是为了这件事来我这里讨主意的，你当然是出于好心。但这是小事一桩，不足挂齿。如果你不把全部事情的真实情况告诉我，我就不会管公司业务以外的事。自你母亲去世以后出现了一些不愉快的事情。也许她应该来了，或许她来得比我们想象得要早些。在公司，有些事我已经管不着了，这我知道——我现在根本就不想管，这一点，外人并不知道——我现在精力不够，记忆力衰退，我无力顾及所有的事情，一方面这是自然规律，另外，老太太去世以后给我的打击之深超过了你。但是因为我们现在涉及这件事情，涉及这封信。乔治，你不要骗我，这是件小事情，不值一提，所以你不要骗我，在彼得堡你真的有这么一个朋友吗？”

乔治尴尬地站起来，说道：“我们不要谈朋友了，一千个朋友也替代不了我的父亲，你知道我是怎么想的吗？你对自己爱护得不够，年龄大了，应该得到合理的照顾。你在我的公司里是不可缺少的，这一点你知道得很清楚。但如果公司繁忙的业务影响到你的健康，那是不行的，我明天还是这样说，永远这样说。我们必须给你安排另一种生活方式，以彻底改变你的生活。你坐在黑暗之中，在房间里，你本来应该有充足的阳光，你胡乱用点早饭，而不是按规定加强营养。你坐在关着的窗户旁边，而空气流通对你有好处。不行，我的父亲，我要请医生来，我们将按他的指示办事。我们要更换你的房间，你应该住到前面的房子里，我搬到这里。不再另打主意。一切有人料理，料理一切。我们还有时间，现在你就在床上躺一会儿，你绝对需要休息。就这样，我可以帮你换房间，你会明白我能办到，要么你现在就到前房去。你就在我的床上躺一会儿。再说，你是很明智的。”

乔治刚站在父亲的身边，父亲这时满头蓬松的白发落在胸前。

“乔治。”父亲站着没动，小声地说。

乔治立刻跪在父亲身边。他看着父亲疲倦的脸，觉得他的眼角中直愣愣的瞳孔特别大。

“你说有朋友在圣彼得堡，你本是一个总喜欢开玩笑的人，连对我也不稍稍收敛，你怎么会有一个朋友在那里呢？我一点都不相信。”

“你回想一下，父亲。”乔治说，把父亲从沙发上扶起。父亲站着，还是相当无力。这时，乔治替他的父亲脱掉睡衣。“我的朋友来看我们时距今已经过去快三年了。我还记得，你当时并不特别喜欢他。在你跟前我至少有两次否认他是我的朋友。尽管如此，还有两次他坐在我的房间里。你不喜欢他，我完全可以理解，他有些怪僻。但其后你和他聊过一回，很谈得来。你听他讲话，既点头又提问，当时我对此还很得意。要是你想一想，你肯定能回忆起来，他当时还谈起过俄国革命的一些难以置信的故事。例如，他在一次商业旅行到基辅时，在一次混乱中他看到一个牧师站在阳台上，用带血的十字架刺伤手掌，举起这个受伤的手，呼吁群众。你还将这个故事到处传播。”

这时，乔治得以让父亲重新坐下，将他麻织裤衩上的罩裤和毛裤小心地脱了下来。在看到他的不怎么特别干净的背心时，他就责怪父亲疏忽，要给父亲更换一件背心，这肯定也是乔治的责任。他还没有明显与未婚妻谈到如何安排父亲的事，因为他们暗暗地定下了父亲应该留在老房子里。然而，现在他忽然决定要将他的父亲一起搬到他自己未来的新居去，但如果仔细观察一下，这种对父亲的照料似乎来得太晚了。

他抱着父亲向床前走了几步，这时他有一种可怕的感觉。这时他注意到，父亲在抚弄他胸口的表链，他不能立刻将父亲搁在床上，表链牢牢地系在自己的身上。

他躺在床上，似乎一切都很好，他自己盖好被子，甚至特别将被子拉到肩上，他朝上望着乔治，眼神并非不友好。

“对吗？你想起了他吧？”乔治问，并且鼓励似的朝他点了点头。

“我现在盖好了吗？”父亲问，好像他看不到下面，不知道脚是否盖住了脚。

“你喜欢躺在床上感觉。”乔治说，并把他周围的被子盖好。

“我盖好了吗？”父亲再次问，似乎特别注意乔治的回答。

“安静点！你的被子盖好了。”

“没有！”父亲叫起来，乔治的话被碰了回来。

父亲将被子一掀。转瞬之间，被子立刻被掀开了。父亲在床上使劲站起来了。 只是他将一只手撑着天花板，说：“我不知道，你要给我盖好被子，你这个饭桶，但是我的被子还没有盖好，这也是我最后的力量，但足以对付你了呢，而且绰绰有余。也许我认识你的朋友，他说不定还是我中意的儿子！在这个问题上，你也一直骗了他几年，究竟是为什么呢？你以为我没有为他哭泣过吗？你把自己关在办公室，谁也不可以打扰你，经理忙着呢——就是为了写这封到俄国骗人的信，幸亏无人启发父亲，以便看透儿子。如同你认为的那样，你已经打败了他，他败到如此程度，你的屁股坐在他的头上，他一动不动。这时，我的公子决定结婚了。”

乔治这时看到了他父亲一副可怕的形象。父亲忽然如此了解圣彼得堡的朋友，这位朋友，还从来没有这样感动过他。乔治看着他消失在遥远的俄罗斯。他看见他站在空荡的、被抢光的商店的门边，所有货架犹如一片废墟，他就站在这片废墟之中，货物撕碎了，煤气灯支架掉落了，他还站在这一堆废物之中，为什么要去那么远的地方啊！

“看着我。”父亲叫喊起来。乔治几乎是心不在焉地向床前跑去，去抓住一切，但半路上停顿了。

“因为她撩起了裙子。”父亲说话开始温和起来，“因为她撩起了裙子，这只令人讨厌的笨鹅。”父亲卷上他的睡衣，卷得如此之高，以致显露出大腿上战争年代留下的疤痕。“因为她把裙子撩得老高老高，你已经跟她粘上了，毫无阻拦地满足她了。这玷污了对母亲的怀念，出卖了朋友，把父亲搁在床上，使他不得动弹，但是他能不能动弹呢？”

他完全身手自如地站起来了，甩着腿，他由于自己的明智而兴高采烈。

乔治站在角落里，离他父亲尽可能的远，他决心对一切进行仔细地观察，以备无论怎样绕弯子也不至于遭到从背后来的、上面来的各种袭击而惊慌失措。他现在忽而又想起了他忘记好久的决定，如同用一根短线穿过针眼一样断了线。

“朋友没有被出卖！”父亲叫喊道。父亲的食指摇来晃去，这加强了他说话的分量。“我就是他在此地的代表。”

“你耍花招。”乔治不得不喊出来，但他立刻意识到这是一种损失，但已经迟了。他咬住舌头，眼睛直愣愣的，他咬住舌头痛得跌倒了。

“是的，我当然是耍了花招，花招这是个很好的词！你对于年老的鳏夫，你的父亲，还有什么别的安慰吗？说呀！此时此刻，你还是我的活生生的儿子呀——给我留下什么呢？让不老实的人在我的房间里跟踪我，直到我剩一把老骨头吗？而我的儿子则满世界地欢呼。关闭公司，这我已经准备好了。你由于消遣而翻了跟斗，板着一副诚实君子的面孔到你的父亲跟前来。我已经不喜欢你了，从我这里出去吧，你认为呢？”

“他要是倒下，会先向前倾斜的。”乔治心里想，这句话已经冒入脑海，父亲向前倾斜，但并未倒下。因为乔治没有向他的父亲前面靠，如同他所预料的，父亲又站起来了。

“不要动，就地站着，我不需要你。你以为你还有力量到这里来，不要过来了，因为你愿意这样，你没有搞错，我还是很强壮的，要是我孤单一人，也许我还会退让，但是你的母亲给了我力量，我和你的朋友保持了良好的联系，你的顾客联系网在我的口袋里。”

“在他的衬衫上还有口袋。”乔治心里想，他觉得他父亲的这一番话可以置他于死地。这事情他只想了一会儿，他总是把什么事都忘记。

“去和你的那个婆娘缠到一起去吧，反对我吧。我把她从身边扫掉，你毫无办法。”

乔治做了一个鬼脸，好像他不相信，父亲仅仅点了点头。然而，他所说的一切是真情实况，向着乔治所站的那一角宣布了。

“你今天可以来找我谈话，当你来的时候，你问我是否要写信将婚事告诉你的朋友。其实，你的朋友知道一切，蠢家伙，他什么都知道！我已经给他写过信，因为你忘记了将我的文房四宝拿走。虽然他几年来没有到我们这里，但他了解的情况比你本人要多。你写给他的信，他不看，揉成纸团放在左手里，而他的右手捧着我的信。”

由于激动，他的手臂在头上摇晃着。“他知道的事千倍于你！”他叫喊着。

“万倍于我！”乔治嘲笑他的父亲，但话还未出口，声音已经消失了。

“几年来，我已经注意到，你会带着这个问题找我的，你认为，还有别的问题折磨我吗？你以为我在看报纸吗？这里！”他将一张报纸扔过来。这是压在床下的一张旧报纸，上面有一个乔治完全不认识的名字。

“在你成熟以前你犹豫了多久啊！母亲是要死去的，她看不到这种快乐的日子。朋友在俄罗斯毁灭了，还是三年以前他就因黄热病而被驱逐，我呢？如你所见，我就是这个样子。你可是有眼睛的啊！”

“你对我进行伏击！”乔治叫喊起来。

父亲同情地补充说：“你本应说这话，但现在通不过了。”接着，父亲又大声地说：“现在你知道了，除你之外，还存在点什么，以前你只知道你自己，你原本是一个天真的小孩，但你原本又是一个魔鬼似的人物！我现在就判处你死刑，判决你从此消失。”

乔治感到自己是从房间里被撵出来的，父亲在他的身后扑倒在床上发出的巨响仍然在他的耳边回响。

在楼梯上，他下台阶时，犹如在一块倾斜的平板上赶路一样，一下碰到了他的女佣，她正要去收拾房子。“我的天啊！”她用围裙捂着脸，但他已经逃走了。他从大门外一跳，越过车道直奔大河。作为一个优秀的体操运动员，他一跃而上，如同一个乞丐一样牢牢地抓住了桥上的栏杆。他本来就是优秀的体操运动员，这在他年轻时代就曾经是他父母的骄傲。他吊在栏杆上，他握着栏杆的手渐渐感到没有力气了，此时恰好瞥见一辆巴士呼啸而过，他知道这个噪音可以掩盖过他落水的声音。于是他松开了手，说了最后一句话：“亲爱的父母，我真的一直爱着你们！”然后落入水中。

这一瞬间，路面的车辆来来往往，从未中断。

The Judgement

It was a Sunday morning at the most beautiful time in spring. George Bendemann, a young merchant^1, was sitting in his private room on the first floor of one of the low, poorly constructed houses extending in a long row along the river, almost indistinguishable from each other except for their height and colour. He had just finished a letter to a friend from his youth who was now abroad, had sealed in a playful and desultory^2 manner, and then was looking, elbows propped on the writing table, out of the window at the river, the bridge, and the hills on the other shore with their delicate greenery.

He was thinking about how this friend, dissatisfied with his progress at home, had actually run off to Russia some years before. Now he ran a business in St. Petersburg, which had gotten off to a very good start but which for a long time now had appeared to be faltering, as his friend complained on his increasingly rare visits. So he was wearing himself out working to no purpose in a foreign land. The exotic full beard only poorly concealed the face George had known so well since his childhood years, and the yellowish colour of his skin seemed to indicate a developing sickness. As he explained it, he had no real connection to the colony of his countrymen in the place and also hardly any social interaction with local families and so was resigning himself to being a permanent bachelor.

What should one write to such a man, who had obviously gone off course, a man one could feel sorry for but could not help. Should one perhaps advise him to come back home again, shift his life back here, take up again all the old friendly relationships—there was certainly nothing to prevent that—and in addition rely on the help of friends? But at the same time that amounted to saying to him—and the more gently one said it, the more wounding it would also be—that his previous attempts had been unsuccessful, that he should finally give them up, that he must come back and allow everyone to look at him as an eternal returned prodigal^3, that only his friends understood anything, and that he would be an over-age child, who should simply obey his successful friends who had stayed home. And then was it even certain that all the misery one would have to put him through had a point? Perhaps it would not even succeed in bringing him back home at all—in fact, he said himself that he no longer understood conditions in his homeland—so then he would remain in his foreign country in spite of everything, embittered by the advice and even a little more estranged from his friends. But if he really followed the advice and became depressed here—not intentionally, of course, but because of his circumstances—could not cope with life, with his friends or without them, felt ashamed, and had, in fact, no homeland and no friends any more, was it not much better for him to remain abroad, just as he was? Given these facts, could one think that he would really advance himself here?

For these reasons, if one still wanted to maintain some sort of relationship by correspondence, one could not provide any real news, the way one would without any inhibitions to the most casual acquaintance. It was already more than three years since his friend had been home, and he explained this with the very inadequate excuse of the uncertainty of the political conditions in Russia, which would not allow even the briefest absence of a small businessman, while it permitted hundreds of thousand of Russians to travel around peacefully in the world. But in the course of these three years much had changed for George. Since his mother's death, which had taken place about two years earlier, George had lived with his old father in a household they shared. His friend had naturally learned about it and had expressed his sympathy in a letter with such a dry tone that the reason could only have been that the sadness of such an event is completely inconceivable in a foreign country. But since that time George had tackled both his business dealings and everything else with greater determination. Perhaps while his mother was still alive, his father's unwillingness to accept any point of view in the business except his had prevented George from developing a real project of his own; perhaps his father, since his mother's death, had grown slacker, although he still worked all the time in the business; perhaps fortunate circumstances had played a much more important role—something which was, in fact, highly likely—but in any case in these two years the business had developed very unexpectedly. They had had to double the staff, the cash turnover had increased fivefold, and there was no doubt that further progress lay ahead.

His friend, however, had no idea of these changes. Earlier, perhaps for the last time in that letter of condolence, he had wanted to persuade George to emigrate to Russia and had expanded upon the prospects which existed in St. Petersburg for George's particular line of business. The figures were minute compared to the scale which George's business had now acquired. But George had had no desire to write to his friend about his commercial success, and if he were to do it now belatedly, it would have looked really odd.

So George limited himself to writing to his friend only about insignificant details, the kind which pile up at random in one's memory when one is thinking things over on a peaceful Sunday. The only thing he wanted was to leave undisturbed the picture which his friend must have created of his home town during the long interval and which he would have learned to live with. And so it happened that George had announced three times to his friend in fairly widely spaced letters the engagement of an unimportant man to an equally unimportant young woman, until, quite contrary to George's intentions, the friend really began to get interested in this curious event.

But George preferred to write to him about such things rather than to confess that he himself had become engaged a month ago to a Miss Frieda Brandenfeld, a young woman from a prosperous family. He often spoke to his fiancée about this friend and about the unusual relationship he had with him in their correspondence. "Then there's no chance he'll be coming to our wedding," she said, "and yet I have the right to meet all your friends." "I don't want to upset him," George replied. "Don't misunderstand me. He would probably come, at least I think so, but he would feel compelled and hurt and would perhaps envy me—he'd certainly feel unhappy and incapable of ever coping with his unhappiness and would travel back alone. Alone—do you know what that means?" "Yes, but can't he find out about our wedding in some other way?" "That's true, but I can't prevent that. However, given his lifestyle it's unlikely." "If you have friends like that, George, you shouldn't have gotten engaged at all." "Well, we're both to blame for that, but now I wouldn't want things to be any different." And then when she, breathing rapidly under his kisses, kept insisting "Still, it truly does upset me," he really thought it would be harmless to write everything to his friend. "That's what I am, and that's just how he'll have to accept me," he said to himself. "I can't carve out of myself another man who might perhaps be more suitable for a friendship with him than I am."

And, in fact, he did inform his friend about the engagement which had taken place in the long letter which he had written that Sunday morning, in the following words "The best piece of news I have saved until the end. I have become engaged to a Miss Frieda Brandenfeld, a young woman from a well-to-do family, who first settled here long after your departure and thus whom you could hardly know. There will still be an opportunity to tell you more detailed information about my fiancée. Today it's enough for you to know that I am truly fortunate and that, as far as our mutual relationship is concerned, the only thing that has changed is that in me you will now have, instead of a completely ordinary friend, a happy friend. Moreover, in my fiancée, who sends you her warm greetings and will soon write to you herself, you acquire a sincere female friend, something which is not entirely without significance for a bachelor. I know that there are many things hindering you from coming back to visit us, but wouldn't my wedding be exactly the right opportunity to throw aside all obstacles for once? But whatever the case, do only what seems good to you, without concerning yourself about anything."

George sat for a long time at his writing table with his letter in his hand, his face turned towards the window. He barely acknowledged with an absent-minded smile someone he knew who greeted him from the lane as he walked past.

Finally he put the letter in his pocket and went out of his room, angling across a small passageway into his father's room, which he had not been in for months. There was really no need to do that, since he was always dealing with his father at work and they took their noon meal at the same time in a restaurant. In the evenings, of course, they each did as they wished, but for the most part, unless George was with friends, as was most frequently the case, or was now visiting his fiancée, they still sat for a little while, each with his own newspaper, in the living room they shared.

George was surprised how dark his father's room was, even on this sunny morning. So that was the kind of shadow cast by the high wall which rose on the other side of the narrow courtyard. His father was sitting by the window in a corner decorated with various reminders of his late lamented mother and was reading a newspaper, which he held in front of his eyes to one side, attempting in this way to compensate for some weakness in his eyes. On the table stood the remains of his breakfast, not much of which appeared to have been eaten.

"Ah, George," said his father, coming up at once to meet him. His heavy night shirt opened up as he moved and the ends of it flapped around him. "My father is still a giant," said George to himself.

Then he spoke up: "It's unbearably dark in here."

"Yes, it certainly is dark," his father answered.

"And you've shut the window as well?"

"I prefer it that way."

"Well, it is quite warm outside," said George, as if continuing what he'd said earlier, and sat down.

His father cleared off the breakfast dishes and put them on a chest.

"I really only wanted to tell you," continued George, who was following the movements of the old man quite absent mindedly, "that I've now sent a report of my engagement to St. Petersburg." He pulled the letter a little way out of his pocket and let it drop back again.

"To St. Petersburg?" his father asked.

"To my friend," said George, trying to look his father in the eye. "In business he's completely different," he thought. "How sturdily he sits here with his arms folded across his chest."

"Ah yes, to your friend." said his father, with emphasis.

"Well, father, you know at first I wanted to keep quiet to him about my engagement. Out of consideration, for no other reason. You yourself know he's a difficult person. I said to myself he could well learn about my engagement from some other quarter, even if his solitary way of life makes that hardly likely—I can't prevent that—but he should never learn about it from me personally."

"And now you have been thinking about it differently?" the father asked. He set the large newspaper on the window sill and on top the newspaper his glasses, which he covered with his hand.

"Yes, now I've been reconsidering it. If he's a good friend of mine, I said to myself, then a happy engagement for me is also something fortunate for him. And so I no longer hesitated to announce it to him. But before I send the letter, I wanted to tell you about it."

"George," said his father, pulling his toothless mouth wide open, "listen to me! You've come to me about this matter, to discuss it with me. No doubt that's a credit to you. But it's nothing, worse than nothing if you don't now tell me the complete truth. I don't want to stir up things which are not appropriate here. Since the death of our dear mother certain nasty things have been going on. Perhaps the time to talk about them has come and perhaps sooner than we think. In the business, a good deal escapes me. Perhaps it's not hidden from me—at the moment I'm not claiming it's done behind my back—I am no longer strong enough, my memory is deteriorating, I can't keep an eye on so many things any more. First of all, that's nature taking its course, and secondly the death of our dear mother was a much bigger blow to me than to you. But since we're on the subject of this letter, I beg you, George, don't deceive me. It's a trivial thing, not worth mentioning. So don't deceive me. Do you really have this friend in St. Petersburg?"

George stood up in embarrassment. "Let's forget about my friend. A thousand friends wouldn't replace my father for me. Do you know what I think? You're not taking enough care of yourself. But old age demands its due. You are indispensable to me in the business—you're very well aware of that—but if the business is going to threaten your health, I'll close it tomorrow for good. That won't happen. We must set up another life style for you. But something completely different. You sit here in the dark, and in the living room you'd have good light. You nibble at your breakfast instead of maintaining your strength properly. You sit by the closed window, and the air would do you so much good. No, my father! I'll bring in the doctor, and we'll follow his instructions. We'll change the room. You'll move into the front room. I'll come in here. For you there won't be any change. Everything will be moved over with you. But there's time for all that. Now I'll set you in bed for a little while. You need complete rest. Come, I'll help you get undressed. You'll see. I can do it. Or do you want to go into the front room right away. Then you can lie down in my bed for now. That would make a lot of sense."

George stood close beside his father, who had let his head with its tousled white hair sink onto his chest.

"George," said his father faintly, without moving.

George knelt down immediately alongside his father. He saw the enormous pupils in his father's tired face staring right at him from the corners of his eyes.

"You don't have a friend in St. Petersburg. You have always been a jokster and even with me you've not controlled yourself. So how could you have a friend there! I simply can't believe that."

"Think about it for a moment, father," said George. He raised his father from the arm chair and took off his nightgown as he just stood there very weakly. "It will soon be almost three years since my friend visited us. I still remember that you did not particularly like him. At least twice I kept him away from you, although he was sitting right in my room. It's true I could understand your aversion to him quite well. My friend does have his peculiarities. But then you later had a really good conversation with him yourself. At the time I was so proud of the fact that you listened to him, nodded your head, and asked questions. If you think about it, you must remember. That's when he told us incredible stories about the Russian Revolution. For example, on a business trip in Kiev during a riot he saw a priest on a balcony who cut a wide bloody cross into the palm of his hand, raised his hand, and appealed to the mob. You've even repeated this story yourself now and then."

Meanwhile, George had succeeded in setting his father down again and carefully taking off the cotton trousers which he wore over his linen underwear, as well as his socks. Looking at the undergarments, which were not particularly clean, he reproached himself for having neglected his father. It certainly should have been his responsibility to look after his father's laundry. He had not yet talked explicitly with his fiancée about how they wished to make arrangements for his father's future, for they had tacitly assumed that his father would remain living alone in the old apartment. But now he quickly came to the firm decision to take his father with him into his future household. When one looked more closely, it almost seemed that the care which he was ready to provide for his father there could come too late.

He carried his father to bed in his arms. He experienced a dreadful feeling when he noticed, as he took a couple of paces to the bed, that his father was playing with the watch chain on his chest. He could not put him in the bed right away, so firm was his father's grip on this watch chain.

But as soon as he was in bed, all seemed well. He covered himself up and then even pulled the bedspread unusually high up over his shoulders. He look up at George in a not unfriendly manner.

"You do still remember him, don't you?" said George, nodding his head in encouragement.

"Am I well covered up now?" asked the father, as if he could not check whether his feet were sufficiently tucked in.

"So you feel good in bed now," said George and arranged the bedding better around him.

"Am I well covered up?" the father asked once more and seemed particularly keen to hear the answer.

"Just rest for now. You're well covered up."

"No!" cried his father, cutting short George's answer to the question.

He threw back the covers with such force that in an instant they had completely flown off, and he stood upright on the bed. He steadied himself with only one hand lightly touching the ceiling. "You wanted to cover me up—I know that, my little offspring—but I am not yet under the covers. And even if this is the last strength I have, it's enough for you, too much for you. Yes, I do know your friend. He'd be a son after my own heart. That's why you've been betraying him for years. Why else? Do you think I've not wept for him? That's the reason you lock yourself in your office—no one should disturb you, the boss is busy—that's the only way you can write your two-faced little letters to Russia. But fortunately no one has to teach a father to see through his son. Just now when you thought you'd brought him down, so far down that your buttocks could sit on him and he wouldn't move, at that point my son the gentleman has decided to get married!"

George looked up at the frightening spectre of his father. The friend in St. Petersburg, whom the father suddenly knew so well, seized his imagination as never before. He saw him lost in the broad expanse of Russia. He saw him at the door of an empty, plundered business. Among the wreckage of his shelves, the shattered goods, the collapsed gas brackets, he was still standing, but only just. Why did he have to go so far away!

"But look at me," cried his father, and George ran, almost distracted, to the bed to take everything in, but he faltered half way.

"Because she hoisted up her skirts," the father began in an affected tone, "because she hoisted up her skirts like this, the repulsive goose," and in order to imitate the action, he raised his shirt so high one could see the scar from his war years on his thigh, "because she hoisted her dress up like this and this, you chatted her up, and that's how you could satisfy yourself with her without being disturbed—you've disgraced our mother's memory, betrayed your friend, and stuck your father in bed, so he can't move. But he can move, can't he?"

And he stood completely unsupported and kicked his legs. He was radiant with insight.

George stood in a corner, as far away as possible from his father. A long time before he had firmly decided to observe everything closely, so he would not be surprised somehow by any devious attack, from behind or from above. Now he recalled again this long-forgotten decision and forgot it, like someone pulling a short thread through the eye of a needle.

"But now your friend hasn't been betrayed at all," cried the father—his forefinger, waving back and forth, emphasized the point. "I've been his on-the-spot representative here."

"You comedian!" George could not resist calling out. He recognized immediately how damaging that was and bit down on his tongue, only too late—his eyes froze—until he doubled up with pain.

"Yes, naturally I've been playing a comedy! Comedy! A fine word! What other consolation remained for an old widowed father? Tell me—and while you're answering still be my living son—what else was left to me in my back room, persecuted by a disloyal staff, old right down into to my bones? And my son goes merrily through the world, finishing off business deals which I had set up, falling over himself with delight, and walking away from your father with the tight-lipped face of an honourable gentleman! Do you think I didn't love you, me, the one from whom you came?"

"Now he'll bend forward," thought George. "What if he falls and breaks apart!" These words hissed through his head. His father leaned forward but did not fall over. When George did not come closer, as he had expected, he straightened himself up again.

"Stay where you are. I don't need you! You think you still have the strength to come here and are holding yourself back only because that's what you want. But what if you're wrong! I am still much stronger than you. Perhaps all on my own I would have had to back off, but your mother gave me so much of her strength that I've established a splendid relationship with your friend and I have your customers here in my pocket!"

"He even has pockets in his shirt!" said George to himself and thought with this comment he could make his father look ridiculous to the whole world. He thought this for only a moment, because he constantly forgot everything.

"Just link arms with your fiancée and cross my path! I'll sweep her right from your side—you have no idea how!"

George made a grimace, as if he didn't believe that. The father merely nodded towards George's corner, emphasizing the truth of what he'd said.

"How you amused me today when you came and asked whether you should write to your friend about the engagement. For he knows everything, you stupid boy, he knows everything! I've been writing to him, because you forgot to take my writing things away from me. That's why he hasn't come for years. He knows everything a hundred times better than you do yourself. He crumples up your letters unread in his left hand, while in his right hand he holds my letters up to read."

In his enthusiasm he swung his arm over his head. "He knows everything a thousand times better," he shouted.

"Ten thousand times!" said George, in order to make his father appear foolish, but in his mouth the phrase had already acquired the deathliest of tones.

"For years now I've been watching out for you to come with this question! Do you think I'm concerned about anything else? Do you think I read the newspapers? There!" and he threw a newspaper page which had somehow been carried into the bed right at George—an old newspaper, the name of which was completely unknown to George.

"How long you've waited before reaching maturity! Your mother had to die. She could not experience the joyous day. Your friend is deteriorating in his Russia—three years ago he was already yellow enough to be thrown away, and, as for me, well, you see how things are with me. You've got eyes for that!"

"So you've been lying in wait for me," cried George.

In a pitying tone, his father said as an afterthought, "Presumably you wanted to say that earlier. But now it's totally irrelevant." And in a louder voice: "So now you know what there was in the world outside of yourself. Up to this point you've known only about yourself! Essentially you've been an innocent child, but even more essentially you've been a devilish human being! And therefore understand this: I sentence you now to death by drowning!"

George felt himself hounded from the room. The crash with which his father fell onto the bed behind him he still carried in his ears as he left.

On the staircase, where he raced down the steps as if it were an inclined plane, he surprised his cleaning woman, who was intending to tidy the apartment after the night before. "Jesus!" she cried and hid her face in her apron. But he was already past her. He leapt out the front door, driven across the roadway to the water. He was already clutching the railings the way a starving man grasps his food. He swung himself over, like the outstanding gymnast he had been in his youth, to his parents' pride. He was still holding on, his grip weakening, when between the railings he caught sight of a motor coach which would easily drown out the noise of his fall. He called out quietly, "Dear parents, I have always loved you nonetheless" and let himself drop.

At that moment an almost unending stream of traffic was going over the bridge.

热词空间

1. merchant [] n．商人；批发商

2. desultory [] adj．散漫的；不连贯的

3. prodigal [] adj．浪费的

穷人的专利权

查尔斯·狄更斯／Charles Dickens

查尔斯·狄更斯（Charles Dickens，1812—1870），英国19世纪伟大的批判现实主义作家，是继莎士比亚之后对世界文学产生巨大影响的小说家，出生在英国南部朴次茅斯的波特西地区一个贫寒的小职员家庭，他一生创作了大量作品，广泛描写了19世纪英国维多利亚时代的社会生活，揭露了资产阶级金钱世界的种种罪恶。代表有《匹克威克外传》《双城记》《远大前程》等。

我玩文字并非仅仅为了出版，就如同有些工人，一天连续工作12小时，甚至14个小时，当然，除掉某些个星期一、圣诞节和复活节假期。但是，我受他人所托，记下我心中之真实所想，于是，我就干起这纸与笔的行当，尽我所能做到最好，同时希望所作的瑕疵之处能够得到您的宽容。

我出生在伦敦附近，但是自从我师满之后就在伯明翰的工厂里做工了（你们叫制造厂，而我们叫工厂），距我出生地不远处有个叫德普特福特的地方，我在那里当了几年学徒，干的算是铁匠的行当。我名叫约翰，但是因为头发并不茂盛，19岁以后我就遭人戏称为老约翰。现如今我已经56岁了，可是就19岁的状况来看，头发依旧不多也不少。

到明年4月份，我就整整结婚35年了。我是在愚人节完婚的，随便人们怎么乐吧，我确实得到了一个好女人，那天对我来说和我过的所有日子一样是再明智不过了。

我们共养育有10个孩子，其中6个还在世。我的大儿子是工程师，在意大利蒸汽邮轮曼佐季奥诺号上工作，穿梭于马赛和那不勒斯之间，并时不时地造访热那亚、来亨和西维太·范切埃等地。他有一身好手艺，发明了不少有用的小玩意，但没给他带来什么好处。我的两个儿子，在悉尼和新南威尔士干得还不错，上次跟家里捎话时还是单身。我的一个儿子詹姆斯想当兵想得发狂，他在印度挨了枪子，一颗步枪子弹打在了肩胛骨里面，他在医院里待了六个星期，这事都是他亲自写信通告家里的。他是我所有儿子中长得最俊俏的一个了。我有两个女儿，其中一个叫玛丽，她对自己的境遇毫无怨言。另一个女儿夏洛特，她的男人抛弃了她，那是我见过的最卑鄙的事情了，于是她的三个儿女和我们一起住，最小的才6岁，对机械很有天赋。

我不是宪章派的，过去不是，现在也不是。我并非想抱怨我所见的很多公众舆论，我也不认为这种方式有利于纠正它们。如果我真的这么想，那我就应该是个宪章派人士了。相反，我并不这样认为，所以我并非宪章派。我阅读报纸，在伯明翰，我也听过很多讨论，我们称之为茶话会，并且我的相识之中有很多都是宪章派的优秀人士和工人阶级，特此声明一下，他们并非体力劳动阶层。

如果我说本人一向有善于发明创造的资质，我希望人们不要认为我在自我吹嘘（因为我不想在我细说我的更深的想法之前，就把想说的话咽下去不说）。我曾经因为拧紧了一颗螺丝，就赚了20英镑，而那颗螺丝至今还运转正常。20年中，我干干停停，完成了一项发明，并且不断地完善它，去年圣诞节，我终于使它达到了完美的状态。夜里10点钟，当它完成的时候，我让妻子进来欣赏我的新作，我们站在那里，泪水就滴落在模型上。

我有一个叫做威廉·布彻的朋友，是个宪章派兼民主派人士。他是个很好的演说家，浑身上下总是生气十足的。他总是这样说道，那些处处阻碍我们工人阶级发展的原因就在于，随着时间的流逝，工人们总是需要供养那些并非为工人阶级的利益而建的种种设施，他还说，我们总要被限制在种种不合理的条条框框之中，并且为那些我们不应当维持的设施付账。这都是真的（据威廉·布彻叙述）。全体的人民大众都有义务这么做，但是因为工人阶级得到的最少，他们往往就要承担得最多。

现在继续来聊我的模型。它是在除夕前夜夜里10点钟完成的，到现在已经有大概一年了。当生活不顺的时候，或是夏洛特的孩子们遭了疾病的时候，亦或是屋漏偏逢连夜雨的时候，那模子还是立在那里。我自己都记不清了，我曾经多少次把它拆了，又造了一遍，作了一些改进，可它自始至终就立在那里，一个改造好了的模型。

圣诞节那天，我和威廉·布彻就这个模型进行了一次长谈。威廉是很理性的人，但是有的时候有些古里古怪的。威廉问道：“这个，你打算怎么办啊，约翰？”我说：“给它弄个专利。”威廉问：“怎么给它申请专利呢，威廉？”我说：“就是给它办理专利证啊。”于是，威廉发言说道专利权法是怎样一个既残酷又不道德、不公正的玩意。他说：“约翰，我告诉你，如果你在取得专利之前，就把你的发明公诸于众的话，任何人都有可能偷走你辛勤工作的成果。到时你就被困在进退两难的境地了。约翰，你要么和自己做个妥协，先下手为强，联合一众人马一起对付昂贵的专利权申请费用，要么你必须在所有人面前，把你的发明展示出来，一个细节一个细节地演示给他们看，这对你来说更好，否则你就要眼睁睁地看着你的发明给人抢走了。”我于是说道：“威廉·布彻，你是不是疯了？你有的时候还真是够疯癫古怪的。”威廉反驳道：“不，约翰，我是在向你陈述一个事实。”于是，他又就这个事实展开了充分详尽的论说，而我对他说我会自己为我的发明申请专利的。

我妻子的兄弟——乔治·柏利，住在西布鲁姆维治（不幸的是，他的妻子有酗酒倾向，就因为这她已经倾家荡产了，并且17次被判监禁于伯明翰监狱，虽然看上去牵强，但她最后到底是皆大欢喜地被放了出来）。他去世的时候，给我的妻子，他的妹妹，在英格兰证券银行里留下了一笔存款，共有128英镑。我和我的妻子还从未动过那里的1毛钱。（注：我们终究会变老，并且把自己的身家留给子孙。我们现在既然商定了要给我的发明注册专利，就可能会花掉大把的钱，我的意思是，用刚刚我们提到过的钱来给发明申请专利。）威廉·布彻以我的名义给托马斯·乔伊写了一封信。托马斯·乔伊是个木匠，身高足有六英尺四英寸，会玩一手好的掷铁环。他住在伦敦的切尔西，在伦敦大教堂的附近。我向工厂里请了假，回来之后可以继续上班。我算是个不错的工人，虽说并非滴酒不沾，但也从不喝得烂醉。圣诞节假期结束的时候，我就搭上减价列车去了伦敦，并且租了间宿舍，和托马斯·乔伊待了一个星期，他已经结婚了，有一个儿子，他的儿子出海去了。

从托马斯·乔伊的一本藏书里，他了解到申请专利的第一步，即要向维多利亚女王递交一份请愿书，威廉·布彻也说过同样的话，并且早已起草写好了这份请愿书。（注：威廉可一直都是个写作的好手。之后，一份在诉讼法院院长面前的声明宣言则是必不可少的补充，这个，我们也已照葫芦画瓢地写好了。）在经历了一系列的麻烦事之后，我在南安普敦找到了一位法官，就在靠近坦普尔酒吧的法庭街附近，我就是在这条街上发表了宣言，还支付了18便士。我被告知要把宣言和请愿书送交到白厅的内政部里去，好让内政大臣来签署（我可是找了好半天才找到内政部的），在那里我又支付了2英镑，外加2便士和6便士。6天后，他签署了文件，我又被告知要把材料送交到司法部长的官邸，以便司法部长撰写一份报告。我也照办了，并且付了4英镑4便士。（注：这群人中没有一个对这些费用表示出感激之意，反而都粗鲁无礼极了。）

我于是把在托马斯·乔伊处的住所延期了一个星期，自此，又过去了5天。当然了，随后，司法部长也写了份他们所谓的报告（在我发明之前，据威廉称，我的发明可是天下无双的啊）。于是，我又不得不带着报告回到了内政部，他们给报告做了一份副本，并称之为许可证，然后我又为这个许可证付了7英镑13先令6便士。之后，这个许可证又递到了女王手中等待签署。女王签署完毕，把它发送了回来，内政大臣也随后签了字，当我问到这事的时候，这个看上去风度翩翩的家伙把许可证甩给了我，又丢下一句话说：“去林肯律师学院，找专利局。”到那时，我已经在托马斯·乔伊那里待了三个星期了，考虑到所需的各种费用，我不得不节俭度日，自己则是越来越灰心了。

在林肯律师学院的专利局，他们为我的发明，在女王议案的基础上做了个草案，还有一份议案摘要。我又为此付了5英镑10先令6便士。他们为议案做了两份副本，一个要送去印章局，一个则要送到御玺局，我又花了1英镑7便士6分，额外还要算上印花税的3英镑。同一个办公室的办事员处理此事，以便女王签字。我付给他1英镑1便士，当然还有印花税，1英镑10便士。下一步，我又把女王的议案交给了司法部长，请他签字，我得到了签名，又付了5英镑，接着又把它送交内政大臣，他又把它递交给女王，女王又签字，我于是又付了7英镑13便士6分。直到现在，我已经在托马斯·乔伊家里待了不止一个月了。我累极了，感觉整个人都被掏空了，耐心全无，口袋空空。

随着事态的一步步发展，托马斯·乔伊也将事情的经过一点一点地告诉威廉·布彻了，威廉·布彻又把故事说给三个伯明翰的茶话会聚会者们听，于是，消息一散布出来，所有的茶话会聚会者们就都知道了，于是，北英格兰所有的工厂也都知道了。（注：在他的一场茶话会聚会上，威廉·布彻发表了一次演讲，名字就叫做由申请专利到变为宪章派。）

但是，要知道，我的专利申请之路还远没有结束呢。女王的议案要被送到马鞍房的图章办公室，因为印章工厂在那里。印章办公室的办事员撰写了一份印章议案给御玺的皇家保管处，我付给了他4英镑7便士。御玺皇家保管处的办事员又给大法官写了一份御玺议案，我付给了他4英镑2便士。之后，御玺议案交到了专利局办事员的手中，他也签署了文件。我付了他5英镑17便士8分。同时，我又为专利权付了印花税，总共是30英镑。接着我又为专利的包装盒付了9英镑6便士。（注：若是托马斯·乔伊在，他准能节省下18便士。接着，我又付给大法官的副手——大法官的会计2英镑2便士，付给汉尼拔的办事员7英镑13便士，付给汉尼拔的副办事员10先令，接着，我又付给大法官1英镑11便士6分，付给副盖章人和副封蜡人10先令6便士。如今，我已经在托马斯·乔伊家里住了6个多星期了，我发明的那项无与伦比的专利，仅限英格兰境内，已经花了我96英镑7先令，外加8便士了。如果要为它在整个联合王国申请专利的话，那恐怕就要花掉我300英镑也不止了。

现如今，在我还十分年轻的时候，教育还没有完全正规化，其状况是非常局限的，但是你一定会说即便是正规了，我的情况也不会乐观到哪里去，我也是这么想的啊。威廉·布彻比我年轻20岁，知道的却比百岁老人都要多。如果是他想要为一项发明申请专利的话，他一定会比我精明得多，而不是像我一样，不得已在名目繁多的办事处间来来回回奔波忙碌，虽然我也并非如此耐心。（注：威廉·布彻是那么古灵精怪，总是会考虑到有关搬运工啊，邮差啊，办事员啊等各色人。）

在为我的发明申请专利期间，我并未由此而抱怨我的人生是多么厌烦。但我想说的是，一个人完成了一项天才的发明，本应造福于世，而他为此惶惶而不可终日，这种事情是否合情合理？而一个人在每每遇到如此困难的时候，又能做何其他感想？我打赌所有发明家申请专利的时候都会同我的感受相同。来看看这全部的开销吧，如果我并非一无是处（我的发明已被采用，并且谢天谢地，做得还不错），那再看看我被迫应付的那些巨额开销，这对我来说是多么残酷，对这个国家又是多么残酷啊，而我在此之前连说不的权利都没有。您自己做做加法运算吧，你就会算出得数，是96英镑7先令，外加8便士，一点不多，一点也不会少。

我无法跟威廉·布彻去争辩我到过的那些地方。看看它们你就知道了，内政大臣处、司法部长处、专利局、文员办公室、大法官处、御玺局，那些专利局的办事员、大法官的会计员、汉尼拔的办事员、汉尼拔的副办事员、副盖章人，以及副封蜡人，在英格兰，即便是为印度橡胶轮胎和铁环上专利，也得一一向这些名目众多的费用低头，有些费用非得一次又一次地上缴，而我总共经历了35道关卡才修成正果的。我是从坐在王座上的女王开始的，直到搞定了那个副封蜡人才算了结了这一切。（注：我应该见见那个副封蜡人的，看看他到底是个人，还是个什么东西。）

必须说的话，我已经说完了，也已经记录了下来，我希望我的文字是平实的，虽然我的字写得并不赖。现在，我还是用托马斯·乔伊的话来做一下总结吧，这话是我们分手的时候他对我说的，他说：“约翰，如果这个国家的法律制度，是像它应该的那样诚实可靠的话，你就真的应该来到伦敦（为你的发明申请之路做一下精确的描述，并为它注册专利），只花2先令6便士就搞定了你的专利权。”

托马斯·乔伊真的说出了我的心中所想，而威廉·布彻说的则更为深刻，“汉尼拔的整个土匪窝和那些无用的封蜡官都应该被撤销，而英格兰呢，也应该被取缔，并且结结实实地被封存起来。”对此，我可真是举双手赞成啊。

A Poor Man's Tale of a Patent

I am not used to writing for print. What working-man, that never labours less (some Mondays, and Christmas Time and Easter Time excepted) than twelve or fourteen hours a day, is? But I have been asked to put down, plain, what I have got to say; and so I take pen-and-ink, and do it to the best of my power, hoping defects will find excuse.

I was born nigh London, but have worked in a shop at Birmingham (what you would call Manufactories, we call Shops), almost ever since I was out of my time. I served my apprenticeship at Deptford, nigh where I was born, and I am a smith by trade. My name is John. I have been called "Old John" ever since I was nineteen year of age, on account of not having much hair. I am fifty-six year of age at the present time, and I don't find myself with more hair, nor yet with less, to signify, than at nineteen year of age aforesaid.

I have been married five and thirty year, come next April. I was married on All Fools' Day. Let them laugh that will. I won a good wife that day, and it was as sensible a day to me as ever I had.

We have had a matter of ten children, six whereof are living. My eldest son is engineer in the Italian steam-packet "Mezzo Giorno, plying between Marseilles and Naples, and calling at Genoa, Leghorn, and Civita Vecchia." He was a good workman. He invented a many useful little things that brought him in-nothing. I have two sons doing well at Sydney, New South Wales-single, when last heard from. One of my sons (James) went wild and for a soldier, where he was shot in India, living six weeks in hospital with a musket-ball lodged in his shoulder-blade, which he wrote with his own hand. He was the best looking. One of my two daughters (Mary) is comfortable in her circumstances, but water on the chest. The other (Charlotte), her husband run away from her in the basest manner, and she and her three children live with us. The youngest, six year old, has a turn for mechanics. Have a turn for.

I am not a Chartist, and I never was. I don't mean to say but what I see a good many public points to complain of, still I don't think that's the way to set them right. If I did think so, I should be a Chartist. But I don't think so, and I am not a Chartist. I read the paper, and hear discussion, at what we call "a parlour," in Birmingham, and I know many good men and workmen who are Chartists. Note. Not Physical force.

It won't be took as boastful in me, if I make the remark (for I can't put down what I have got to say, without putting that down before going any further), that I have always been of an ingenious turn. I once got twenty pound by a screw, and it's in use now. I have been twenty year, off and on, completing an Invention and perfecting it. I perfected of it, last Christmas Eve at ten o'clock at night. Me and my wife stood and let some tears fall over the Model, when it was done and I brought her in to take a look at it.

A friend of mine, by the name of William Butcher, is a Chartist. Moderate. He is a good speaker. He is very animated. I have often heard him deliver that what is, at every turn, in the way of us working-men, is, that too many places have been made, in the course of time, to provide for people that never ought to have been provided for; and that we have to obey forms and to pay fees to support those places when we shouldn't ought. "True," (delivers William Butcher), "all the public has to do this, but it falls heaviest on the working-man, because he has least to spare; and likewise because impediments shouldn't be put in his way, when he wants redress of wrong or furtherance of right." Note. I have wrote down those words from William Butcher's own mouth. W. B. delivering them fresh for the aforesaid purpose.

Now, to my Model again. There it was, perfected of, on Christmas Eve, gone nigh a year, at ten o'clock at night. All the money I could spare I had laid out upon the Model; and when times was bad, or my daughter Charlotte's children sickly, or both, it had stood still, months at a spell. I had pulled it to pieces, and made it over again with improvements, I don't know how often. There it stood, at last, a perfected Model as aforesaid.

William Butcher and me had a long talk, Christmas Day, respecting of the Model. William is very sensible. But sometimes cranky. William said, "What will you do with it, John?" I said, "Patent it." William said, "How patent it, John?" I said, "By taking out a Patent." William then delivered that the law of Patent was a cruel wrong. William said, "John, if you make your invention public, before you get a Patent, any one may rob you of the fruits of your hard work. You are put in a cleft stick, John. Either you must drive a bargain very much against yourself, by getting a party to come forward beforehand with the great expenses of the Patent; or, you must be put about, from post to pillar, among so many parties, trying to make a better bargain for yourself, and showing your invention, that your invention will be took from you over your head." I said, "William Butcher, are you cranky? You are sometimes cranky." William said, "No, John, I tell you the truth;" which he then delivered more at length. I said to W. B. I would Patent the invention myself.

My wife's brother, George Bury of West Bromwich (his wife unfortunately took to drinking, made away with everything, and seventeen times committed to Birmingham Jail before happy release in every point of view), left my wife, his sister, when he died, a legacy of one hundred and twenty-eight pound ten, Bank of England Stocks. Me and my wife never broke into that money yet. Note. We might come to be old and past our work. We now agreed to Patent the invention. We said we would make a hole in it—I mean in the aforesaid money—and Patent the invention. William Butcher wrote me a letter to Thomas Joy, in London. T. J. is a carpenter, six foot four in height, and plays quoits well. He lives in Chelsea, London, by the church. I got leave from the shop, to be took on again when I come back. I am a good workman. Not a Teetotaller; but never drunk. When the Christmas holidays were over, I went up to London by the Parliamentary Train, and hired a lodging for a week with Thomas Joy. He is married. He has one son gone to sea.

Thomas Joy deliver ed (from a book he had) that the first step to be took, in Patenting the invention, was to prepare a petition unto Queen Victoria. William Butcher had delivered similar, and drawn it up. Note. William is a ready writer. A declaration before a Master in Chancery was to be added to it. That, we likewise drew up. After a deal of trouble I found out a Master, in Southampton Buildings, Chancery Lane, nigh Temple Bar, where I made the declaration, and paid eighteen-pence. I was told to take the declaration and petition to the Home Office, in Whitehall, where I left it to be signed by the Home Secretary (after I had found the office out), and where I paid two pound, two, and sixpence. In six days he signed it, and I was told to take it to the Attorney-General's chambers, and leave it there for a report. I did so, and paid four pound, four. Note. Nobody all through, ever thankful for their money, but all uncivil.

My lodging at Thomas Joy's was now hired for another week, whereof five days were gone. The Attorney-General made what they called a Report-of-course (my invention being, as William Butcher had delivered before starting, unopposed), and I was sent back with it to the Home Office. They made a Copy of it, which was called a Warrant. For this warrant, I paid seven pound, thirteen, and six. It was sent to the Queen, to sign. The Queen sent it back, signed. The Home Secretary signed it again. The gentleman throwed it at me when I called, and said, "Now take it to the Patent Office in Lincoln's Inn." I was then in my third week at Thomas Joy's living very sparing, on account of fees. I found myself losing heart.

At the Patent Office in Lincoln's Inn, they made "a draft of the Queen's bill," of my invention, and a "docket of the bill." I paid five pound, ten, and six, for this. They "engrossed two copies of the bill; one for the Signet Office, and one for the Privy-Seal Office." I paid one pound, seven, and six, for this. Stamp duty over and above, three pound. The Engrossing Clerk of the same office engross ed the Queen's bill for signature. I paid him one pound, one. Stamp-duty, again, one pound, ten. I was next to take the Queen's bill to the Attorney-General again, and get it signed again. I took it, and paid five pound more. I fetched it away, and took it to the Home Secretary again. He sent it to the Queen again. She signed it again. I paid seven pound, thirteen, and six, more, for this. I had been over a month at Thomas Joy's. I was quite wore out, patience and pocket. Worn out.

Thomas Joy delivered all this, as it went on, to William Butcher. William Butcher delivered it again to three Birmingham Parlours, from which it got to all the other Parlours, and was took, as I have been told since, right through all the shops in the North of England. Note. William Butcher delivered, at his Parlour, in a speech, that it was a Patent way of making Chartists.

But I hadn't nigh done yet. The Queen's bill was to be took to the Signet Office in Somerset House, Strand—where the stamp shop is. The Clerk of the Signet made 'a Signet bill for the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal.' I paid him four pound, seven. The Clerk of the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal made "a Privy-Seal bill for the Lord Chancellor." I paid him, four pound, two. The Privy-Seal bill was handed over to the Clerk of the Patents, who engrossed the aforesaid. I paid him five pound, seventeen, and eight; at the same time, I paid Stamp-duty for the Patent, in one lump, thirty pound. I next paid for "boxes for the Patent," nine and sixpence. Note. Thomas Joy would have made the same at a profit for eighteen-pence. I next paid "fees to the Deputy, the Lord Chancellor's Purse-bearer," two pound, two. I next paid "fees to the Clerk of the Hanapar," seven pound, thirteen. I next paid "fees to the Deputy Clerk of the Hanaper," ten shillings. I next paid, to the Lord Chancellor again, one pound, eleven, and six. Last of all, I paid "fees to the Deputy Sealer, and Deputy Chaff-wax," ten shillings and sixpence. I had lodged at Thomas Joy's over six weeks, and the unopposed Patent for my invention, for England only, had cost me ninety-six pound, seven, and eightpence. If I had taken it out for the United Kingdom, it would have cost me more than three hundred pound.

Now, teaching had not come up but very limited when I was young. So much the worse for me you'll say. I say the same. William Butcher is twenty year younger than me. He knows a hundred year more. If William Butcher had wanted to Patent an invention, he might have been sharper than myself when hustled backwards and forwards among all those offices, though I doubt if so patient. Note. William being sometimes cranky, and consider porters, messengers, and clerks.

Thereby I say nothing of my being tired of my life, while I was Patenting my invention. But I put this: Is it reasonable to make a man feel as if, in inventing an ingenious improvement meant to do good, he had done something wrong? How else can a man feel, when he is met by such difficulties at every turn? All inventors taking out a Patent MUST feel so. And look at the expense. How hard on me, and how hard on the country if there's any merit in me (and my invention is took up now, I am thankful to say, and doing well), to put me to all that expense before I can move a finger! Make the addition yourself, and it'll come to ninety-six pound, seven, and eightpence. No more, and no less.

What can I say against William Butcher, about places? Look at the Home Secretary, the Attorney-General, the Patent Office, the Engrossing Clerk, the Lord Chancellor, the Privy Seal, the Clerk of the Patents, the Lord Chancellor's Purse-bearer, the Clerk of the Hanaper, the Deputy Clerk of the Hanaper, the Deputy Sealer, and the Deputy Chaff-wax. No man in England could get a Patent for an Indian-rubber band, or an iron-hoop, without feeing all of them. Some of them, over and over again. I went through thirty-five stages. I began with the Queen upon the Throne. I ended with the Deputy Chaff-wax. Note. I should like to see the Deputy Chaff-wax. Is it a man, or what is it?

What I had to tell, I have told. I have wrote it down. I hope it's plain. Not so much in the handwriting (though nothing to boast of there), as in the sense of it. I will now conclude with Thomas Joy. Thomas said to me, when we parted, "John, if the laws of this country were as honest as they ought to be, you would have come to London-registered an exact description and drawing of your invention-paid half-a-crown or so for doing of it-and therein and thereby have got your Patent."

My opinion is the same as Thomas Joy. Further. In William Butcher's delivering "that the whole gang of Hanapers and Chaff-waxes must be done away with, and that England has been chaffed and waxed sufficient." I agree.

3　想入非非的街区

Fantastic People

人生的烦恼，不过是各种不和谐思想的纠缠，只有当我们放开胸襟，达到笑面人生的境界时，才有可能真正自由，才有可能在某个烦躁难安的时刻，使自己平静。

警察与赞美诗

欧·亨利／O. Henry

躺在麦迪逊广场的长凳上，索比不安稳地辗转反侧。当野天鹅在夜空中引吭高歌时，当缺少海豹皮外套的女人对她们的丈夫变得越来越亲热时，当索比在公园的长凳上辗转反侧时，你就该知道，冬天快要来了。

一片枯叶飘落在索比的膝盖上，那是霜冻先生——杰克·弗洛斯特的名片。对麦迪逊广场的常客们，杰克十分地友好，每年冬天来访前，他都事先通知。在十字街头，他把自己的名片交给北风先生——“露天大厦”的守门人，好让大厦里的房客们做好准备。

索比逐渐意识到这个事实，那就是，他为自己组织“个人筹备委员会”以抵御即将来临的严寒气候的时机已经到了。因此他在长凳上辗转反侧。

对躲避寒冬，索比的奢望不算太高。他既没考虑去地中海旅游，也没考虑那令人昏昏欲睡的南方天空，更没考虑去维苏成海湾漂游，他想的仅仅是在岛上待上三个月。三个月提供饭吃，提供床睡，又有意气相投的同伴，还能安全地躲过北风之神勃瑞艾斯和巡警。在索比看来，这就足够了。

很多年来，热情的布莱克韦尔岛监狱都是索比的冬季寓所，就像比他幸运得多的纽约人，每年冬天都买票去棕榈滩和里维埃拉一样，索比只能为他一年一次的海岛避冬做一些简单的安排。而现在，又到这个时候了。前一晚，他睡在古老广场喷泉旁的长凳上，用了三份星期日的报纸塞在外套下，盖住脚踝和膝盖仍不能抵御严寒。这时，那岛就在他脑海里及时地涌现出来。索比鄙视那些以慈善为名供应给城里无依靠的人的必需品。在他看来，法律比慈善机关更仁厚。这里有无数机构，无论是市政的，还是慈善机关的，他都可以着手安排，以获取符合简单生活的食宿。但索比生性高傲，慈善机构的施舍对于他来说只是个累赘。尽管不必破费，但从慈善家手里接过的任何好处都必须用精神上的屈辱作为补偿。就像有了恺撒就有了他的布鲁图一样，慈善机构提供一个床位，你就得洗个澡作为代价。每施舍一片面包，你就得交待你的个人隐私。由此看来，当法律的客人还是合算一些。尽管在那里会受到法规的钳制，但对于一位绅士的个人隐私，法律是不会无故粗鲁地干涉的。

已经决定去岛上了。于是，索比立即开始着手实现他的愿望。做到这一点有很多简单的办法。最称心的就是到某家豪华餐馆去大吃一顿，酒足饭饱后宣布自己无力支付，那样就会被一声不响地交给警察。而乐于助人的法官自会来处理余下的事情。

索比离开他的长凳，踱步走出广场，穿过平坦的柏油马路，来到百老汇大街和第五大街的汇合处。在那里，他转身面向百老汇大街，站在一家灯火通明的餐馆前，那里每晚都聚集着上等的葡萄酒、绫罗绸缎的服装和上流的精英人物。

索比对自己的上半身还颇具信心。他剃过胡子，上衣也还体面，黑色活结领带也算整洁，那还是感恩节时一位教会女士送给他的。要是他能混到餐馆的桌边而不引起别人的怀疑，那他就成功在握了。他露在桌面的上半身是不会引起侍者的怀疑的。来只烤野鸭，索比估量着要点的东西——再来一瓶法国夏布利的白葡萄酒、卡门贝的乳酪、一小杯清咖啡，再加支雪茄烟。雪茄烟一块钱一支的就行。餐费的总数不能太高，以免使餐馆老板产生疯狂的报复。但野鸭肉又能填饱他的肚子，使他能愉快地开始冬季避难所的行程。

但他一条腿才跨进餐馆门，领班侍者的双眼便落在了他磨破的裤子和破旧的皮鞋上。一双强劲的手将他兜了个圈儿，安静而干脆地把他赶到人行道上，从而改变了那只受威胁的野鸭的不幸命运。

索比离开了百老汇大街。看来，靠享受美食来实现他那令人向往的岛上之路似乎是行不通的了，去监狱还得另想其他办法。

第六大道的拐角处，一家店铺的平板玻璃橱窗里，商品摆设巧妙，在霓虹灯的映衬下非常耀眼。索比捡起一块石头，砸碎了玻璃窗。在一个警察的领头下，人们纷纷向拐角处跑来。索比双手插在衣袋里，一动不动地站在那儿，一看到警察服装上的黄铜纽扣就面露微笑。

“那搞破坏的家伙上哪儿去了？”警官怒气冲冲地问。

“你难道不觉得我可能和这事儿有点关系吗？”索比讽刺地说。但他态度和气，就像交上了好运的人。

那警察甚至拒绝把索比当做一条线索。砸窗的人绝不会等在案发现场和法律的爪牙谈判，他们一定早溜了。事发地的半条街外，警察看见有个人正跑着赶车，便抽出警棍追赶过去。尽管满肚子不快，索比还是重新游荡起来。第二次又失败了。

街对面有家装修得不那么豪华的餐馆，它迎合那种食量大而钱包瘪的顾客。这里的碗碟和氛围都很浑重，而汤水和餐巾都很稀薄。索比走进馆子，他那该死的鞋子和无法掩饰的裤子没有受到丝毫挑战。他坐下来，吃完牛排、薄煎饼、炸圈饼和馅饼，然后向侍者道出实情，说自己一个钱也没有。

“现在，赶紧去叫个警察来吧，”索比说，“可别让大爷我久等。”

“对你不用找警察，”侍者说道，他的声音像奶油蛋糕似的，他的眼睛就像曼哈顿鸡尾酒会里的樱桃，“喂，伙计！”

两个侍者拎起索比扔出门外。索比左耳贴着地，摔在粗糙坚硬的人行道上。像木匠打开折尺一样，索比一个关节一个关节地从地上撑起来，随后拍净身上的尘土。被捕看来仅是个玫瑰色的梦，那座岛似乎太远了。两个门面外，一个站在药店前的警察看到这情景，大笑着走开了。

索比一直走过五个街区，才重新鼓起勇气寻求被捕。这次机会很好，他自以为是瓮中捉鳖。一位服饰简朴得体的年轻女子正站在橱窗前，颇有兴致地瞧着里面修面用的水杯和墨水瓶。一位身材魁梧、态度严峻的警察正靠在离橱窗两码之外的消火栓上。

索比决计扮演一个卑鄙下流的调情者。他猎取的对象外表雅静而娴淑，附近又有一位忠于职守的警察。这令他足以相信，他很快就能感受到被警察抓住胳膊的愉快滋味了，然后就能确保在那舒服安稳的小岛上过冬了。

索比将那修女送的活结领带整理了一下，拉出缩到里头的衣服袖口，把帽子拉得歪歪扭扭，侧着身向那年轻女子靠过去。他向她挤眉弄眼，猛地咳嗽几声清清嗓子，嬉皮笑脸地摆出一副调情者厚颜无耻的丑态来。凭借眼角的余光，索比瞥见那警察正死死地盯着他。那年轻女子挪开了几步，仍专心致志地瞧着那些修面用的杯子。索比紧跟过去，大胆地走到她旁边，举起帽子说：

“啊哈，贝德丽雅！要不要去我家玩玩？”

警察仍然看着，那被纠缠的年轻女子只要伸伸手指，索比就可以踏进他岛上的天堂了。他已经在想象中感觉到了警察局里的舒适温暖。那女子朝着他伸出手来，抓住了索比的衣袖。

“当然，迈克，”她高兴地回答，“只要你肯给我买杯啤酒。要不是那警察紧盯着，我早就和你打招呼了。”

就像常春藤缠绕着橡树一样，那年轻女子缠住了他。索比带着满心的沮丧从警察身边走过，他仿佛注定要享受自由。

在下一个拐弯处，他甩了那女伴跑开了。跑到一个夜里有着最明亮的街道、最愉快的心情、最轻率的誓言和最轻快的歌剧的地方，索比停住了。在这寒冷的冬夜里，穿裘皮大衣的女人和披大礼服的男人愉悦地散着步。一阵突然的恐惧袭向索比，或许某种可怕的法术总能使他免于被捕，这个念头使他感到一阵恐慌。然而，当他看到又一个警察趾高气扬地在一家灯火辉煌的剧院门前踱着步子时，他便立即抓住了“扰乱治安”这根稻草。

索比开始像醉鬼一样，在人行道上扯开破嗓子乱叫起来。他手舞足蹈，高声号叫，胡言乱语，简直闹翻了天。

警察挥舞着他的警棍，转过身背对着索比，向一位市民解释道：“这个耶鲁大学的家伙，在庆祝他们给哈特福德学院吃了个大鸭蛋，是吵了点，但没什么危害。我们接到命令，不准干涉。”

索比闷闷不乐地停止了他那丝毫无用的叫嚷。难道真没警察逮捕他吗？在他的想象中，那岛看起来成了可望而不可即的阿卡狄亚。他把单薄的上衣扣紧以抵御那刺骨的寒风。

索比看到一家雪茄烟店里，一位衣着得体的男人正对着闪烁的火光点烟，他的丝绸伞靠在店门口。索比走进去，拿起那把伞，然后不紧不慢地走了出来。点烟的人赶紧跟了过来。

“我的伞。”他厉声喝道。

“哦，是吗？”索比冷笑着说，再加一条侮辱罪在盗窃罪上吧，“好哇，你为什么不叫警察呢？你的伞是我拿了！你为什么不叫警察呢？那儿就站着一个，在拐弯处。”

伞的主人慢下了脚步，一种幸运将再次从他身旁溜走的不祥预感使索比也慢了下来。那位警察好奇地看着他俩。

“当然，”伞的主人说，“这是——唔，你知道是怎样发生这种误会的。我——要是伞是你的，我希望你能原谅我——今天早上我在一家餐馆里捡到它的——要是你认出它就是你的，为什么——我希望你会——”

“它当然是我的。”索比恶狠狠地说。

伞的前主人退缩了。那警察急忙跑去搀扶一位身着晚礼服斗篷的高个金发女郎穿过马路，因为有辆车要从两街段远的地方开过来了。

索比穿过一条因翻修而弄得坑坑洼洼的街道向东走去。他气冲冲地把伞扔进坑里，小声地抱怨那些戴着头盔、舞动着警棍的家伙。因为他一心想被捕入狱，可他们似乎把他当成了永不犯错的国王。

最后，索比到达了一条通往东边的大街，那里的灯光和嘈杂声都很微弱。想家的本能复苏了，尽管这家仅是公园里的一条长凳，索比还是朝着麦迪逊广场的方向走去。

来到一个异常安静的角落，索比静静地站住了。这儿有一座样式别致、布局零乱却有山形墙的古老教堂。透过紫罗兰色的玻璃窗，一丝淡淡的灯光映射出来。安息日就要到了，毋庸置疑，那是风琴师在键盘上练习赞美诗。美妙的乐声传出来，飘进了索比的耳朵，紧紧地摄住了他，使他依靠在螺旋形的铁栏杆上听呆了。

高空皎洁而安宁的月亮，稀稀疏疏的车辆和行人，睡眼的蒙眬麻雀正在屋檐上啾鸣着——这情景很快就使他想起了乡村的墓地。索比被风琴师弹奏的赞美诗吸引在铁栏杆上，因为，他曾非常熟悉这旋律，那时，母爱、玫瑰、志向、朋友以及纯洁的思想和得体的衣着还充满了他的生活。

这时，索比善感的情绪和这古老教堂的影响融合在一起，使他灵魂里产生了一种奇迹般的变化。对那颓唐的日子、耻辱的欲望、破毁的愿望、受损的才能，以及存活下来的卑鄙动机，他立刻深恶痛绝起来。

很快，他的内心就因这种新的精神状态而激动万分，在一种激烈冲动的驱使下，他迫不及待地要和厄运抗争。他要从泥泞中把自己拔出；他要洗心革面；他要战胜那曾挟制了自己的罪恶。还有时间，他仍年轻，他要使原来的壮志雄心复苏，并勇往直前去追求它。在他心里，那圣洁而甘甜的音乐已经掀起了一场革命。明天，他就直接去热闹的商业区找工作。一个毛皮进口商曾提供给他一份赶车的事儿，明天他就去找他，要求做这份工作，他要成为世上堂堂正正的人，他要——索比感觉到他的胳膊上落下一只手。他立即回头，看见了警察的一张宽脸盘。

“你在这里干什么？”警察问道。

“没干什么。”索比回答。

“那跟我来。”警察说。

“到岛上去关三个月。”第二天一早，警厅的长官说。

The Cop and the Anthem

On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily. When wild goose honk high of nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.

A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap. That was Jack Frost's card. Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready.

Soapy's mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour. And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.

The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies or drifting in the Vesuvian Bay. Three months on the Island was what his soul craved. Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable.

For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters. Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island. And now the time was come. On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed large and timely in Soapy's mind. He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents. In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy. There was an endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life. But to one of Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered. If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy. As Cesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition. Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs.

Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire. There were many easy ways of doing this. The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman. An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.

Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together. Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering café, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm.

Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward. He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day. If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected, success would be his. The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing—with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar. One dollar for the cigar would be enough. The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from the café management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.

But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and decadent shoes. Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.

Soapy turned off Broadway. It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an epicurean one. Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.

At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass made a shop window conspicuous. Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the glass. People came running round the corner, a policeman in the lead. Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons.

"Where's the man that done that?" inquired the officer excitedly.

"Don't you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.

The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue. Men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law's minions. They take to their heels. The policeman saw a man halfway down the block running to catch a car. With drawn club he joined in the pursuit. Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.

On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions. It catered to large appetites and modest purses. Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin. Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and tell-tale trousers without challenge. At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flap-jacks, doughnuts, and pie. And then to the waiter he betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers.

"Now, get busy and call a cop," said Soapy. "And don't keep a gentleman waiting."

"No cop for youse," said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry in a Manhattan cocktail. "Hey, Con!"

Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy. He arose, joint by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest seemed but a rosy dream. The Island seemed very far away. A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street.

Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again. This time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a "cinch." A young woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a large policeman of severe demeanour leaned against a water-plug.

It was Soapy's design to assume the rule of the despicable and execrated "masher." The refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that would ensure his winter quarters of the right little, tight little isle.

Soapy straightened the lady missionary's ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young women. He made eyes at her, was taken with sudden coughs and "hems," smiled, smirked, and went brazenly through the impudent and contemptible litany of the "masher." With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly. The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs. Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said:

"Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?"

The policeman was still looking. The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven. Already he imagined he could feel the cosy warmth of the station-house. The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve.

"Sure, Mike," she said joyfully, "if you'll blow me to a pail of suds. I'd have spoke to you sooner, but the cop was watching."

With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom. He seemed doomed to liberty.

At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran. He halted in the district where by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows, and librettos. Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air. A sudden fear seized Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest. The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw of "disorderly conduct."

On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice. He danced, howled, raved, and otherwise disturbed the welkin.

The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen: "'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College. Noisy; but no harm. We've instructions to lave them be."

Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket. Would never a policeman lay hands on him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia. He buttoned his thin coat against the chilling wind.

In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light. His silk umbrella he had set by the door on entering. Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly. The man at the cigar light followed hastily.

"My umbrella." he said sternly.

"Oh, is it?" sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny. "Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner."

The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck would run against him. The policeman looked at the two curiously.

"Of course," said the umbrella man—"that is—well, you know how these mistakes occur—I—if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me—I picked it up this morning in a restaurant—If you recognise it as yours, why—I hope you'll—"

"Of course it's mine," said Soapy viciously.

The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away.

Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements. He hurled the umbrella wrathfully into an excavation. He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs. Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemed to regard him as a king who could do no wrong.

At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but faint. He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even when the home is a park bench.

But on an unusually quiet comer Soapy came to a standstill. Here was an old church, quaint and rambling and gabled. Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem. For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence.

The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrains were few; sparrows twittered sleepily in the eaves—for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard. And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.

The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul. He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties, and base motives that made up his existence.

And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood. An instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had taken possession of him. There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering. Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him. Tomorrow he would go into the roaring down-town district and find work. A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver. He would find him tomorrow and ask for the position. He would be somebody in the world. He would—Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickly round into the broad face of a policeman.

"What are you doin' here?" asked the officer.

"Nothing." said Soapy.

"Then come along." said the policeman.

"Three months on the Island." said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.

澡堂

左琴科／Zola

左琴科（Zola，1895—1958），前苏联著名幽默讽刺作家，生于乌克兰波尔塔瓦。左琴科的创作体裁多样，有幽默讽刺短篇、杂文、中篇小说、传记性小说、剧作和儿童故事等，其中尤以短篇见长。他的幽默讽刺艺术继承了果戈理、列斯科夫以及契诃夫早期作品的优秀传统，并且广泛吸取了民间口头文学的丰富营养。在幽默讽刺艺术上的新开拓，使左琴科的作品在前苏联文学史上别开生面，另辟蹊径。代表作有长篇小说《蓝肚皮先生纳扎尔·伊里奇的故事》以及短篇讽刺小说《贵妇人》《狗鼻子》《澡堂》《产品质量》等。

咱们这里的澡堂也还是不错的。至少洗个澡还是可以的。唯一的麻烦就是你得领取号牌。上个周六，我去澡堂，服务员给了我两个号牌，一个用来存放内衣，另一个是存帽子和大衣用的。

但是我已经脱光了衣服，还能把号牌放哪里呢？真是没有地方啊！没有口袋，看看自己，上半身光着，腿也是光着的。这两个号牌真是令人头疼，你总不能将它们系在胡子上吧。

好吧，我将号牌系在了腿上，一条腿一个，以防两个同时丢失。我走进浴室。

两个号牌在我的腿上啪啪直响。这样走路真是很烦人，可你又不得不走，还要去找澡盆。没有澡盆怎么洗澡呢？真是麻烦啊。

我到处找澡盆。一看，有一位先生竟然一个人占了三个盆子。他站在一个盆里，在另一个盆里洗头，左手还抓着一个，怕别人拿走。

我拽了拽他手里的盆子，想拿过来自己用，但是那位先生就是不松手。

“你要干什么？想偷别人的盆子吗？等我拿盆子给你脸上一下，看你还能不能那么嚣张。”

我说：“现在可不是独裁统治的时期了，还想拿盆子伤害他人。你真是个自大的家伙！自大的人，其他人也要洗澡。这里可不是你坐在剧院里看戏！”

而他扭过身去洗澡了。

“我可忍受不了等着他高兴了，”我想，“他说不定还要再洗上三天呢。”我向一边走过去。

一个小时候以后，我看到一位老兄，稀里糊涂地将一个澡盆放在了一边。可能是在找肥皂，也可能是想事情走了神。于是我赶紧将他的盆子拿走了。

现在我有了盆子，但是找不到地方坐。站着洗澡怎么行呢？真是麻烦啊。好吧，那就站着洗吧。于是我抓着盆子，洗了起来。

但是，我周边的人都在洗衣服，就像疯子一样。有人在洗裤子，有人在搓内衣，还有人在拧水。你刚刚洗干净，现在又脏了。他们溅了我一身的脏水，真是讨厌的家伙们！四周一片搓洗衣服的声音，将你洗澡的乐趣一扫而净。你甚至都不知道肥皂跑到哪里了。真是麻烦啊。

“真是活见鬼了，”我想，“还是回家再洗吧。”

我走到更衣室，将一个号牌交给服务员，他们把我的内衣递给我。我一看，所有的东西都是我的，除了裤子不是。

“先生，”我说，“我的裤子上面这里没有洞，而是在那边啊。”

但是澡堂服务员说：“我们在这里并不是为了看你裤子上的洞。你不是在剧院里看戏。”

好吧，算了。我穿上裤子，去取大衣。但是他们不给我大衣。他们向我要号牌。我忘了号牌还在我的腿上没有摘下来。我只得脱下裤子，去找号牌。号牌不见了。绳子还系在我的腿上，就是没有号牌。号牌被水冲走了。我把绳子交给服务员，但是他不收。“你不能凭着绳子就把大衣给你。要是每个人都剪了一截绳子来找我们要大衣，我们从哪里找那么多大衣给别人啊！你等等吧。”他说，“等人们走光了，我们再把剩下的衣服给你。”

我说：“兄弟，如果最后只剩下一件破烂衣服，怎么办？这里不是剧院。我会证明给你看的。一个衣兜被撕破了，而另一个也没有了。纽扣最上面的还剩下一颗，其他都没有了。”不管怎样，他还是把大衣给了我。但是他没有要那根绳子。

我穿好大衣走到大街上。突然，我想起来：我忘记拿走肥皂了。

我又走回去。但是他们不许我穿着大衣进去。

他们说：“不能穿着衣服进去。”我说：“先生，你看我这都是第三次了，可不能再脱衣服了。这可不是在剧院里。不管怎样，你们至少得赔我肥皂钱。”

The Bathhouse

Our bathhouses are not so bad. You can wash yourself. Only we have trouble in our bathhouses with the tickets. Last Saturday I went to a bathhouse, and they gave me two tickets. One for my linen, the other for my hat and coat.

But where is a naked man going to put tickets? To say it straight no place. No pockets. Look around all stomach and legs. The only trouble's with the tickets. Can't tie them to your beard.

Well, I tied a ticket to each leg so as not to lose them both at once. I went into the bath.

The tickets are flapping about on my legs now. Annoying to walk like that. But you've got to walk. Because you've got to have a bucket. Without a bucket, how can you wash? That's the only trouble.

I look for a bucket. I see one citizen washing himself with three buckets. He is standing in one, washing his head in another, and holding the third with his left hand so no one would take it away.

I pulled at the third bucket; among other things, I wanted to take it for myself. But the citizen won't let go.

"What are you up to," says he, "stealing other people's buckets?" As I pull, he says, "I'll give you a bucket between the eyes, then you won't be so damn happy."

I say: "This isn't the tsarist regime," I say, "to go around hitting people with buckets. Egotism," I say, "sheer egotism. Other people," I say, "have to wash themselves too. You're not in a theater," I say.

But he turned his back and starts washing himself again.

"I can't just stand around," think I, "waiting his pleasure. He's likely to go on washing himself," think I, "for another three days." I moved along.

After an hour I see some old joker gaping around, no hands on his bucket. Looking for soap or just dreaming, I don't know. I just lifted his bucket and made off with it.

So now there's a bucket, but no place to sit down. And to wash standing what kind of washing is that? That's the only trouble. All right. So I'm standing. I'm holding the bucket in my hand and I'm washing myself.

But all around me everyone's scrubbing clothes like mad. One is washing his trousers, another's rubbing his drawers, a third's wringing something out. You no sooner get yourself all washed up than you're dirty again. They're splattering me, the bastards. And such a noise from all the scrubbing it takes all the joy out of washing. You can't even hear where the soap squeaks. That's the only trouble.

"To hell with them," I think. "Til finish washing at home."

I go back to the locker room. I give them one ticket, they give me my linen. I look. Everything's mine, but the trousers aren't mine.

"Citizens," I say, "mine didn't have a hole here. Mine had a hole over there."

But the attendant says: "We aren't here," he says, "just to watch for your holes. You're not in a theater," he says.

All right. I put these pants on, and I'm about to go get my coat. They won't give me my coat. They want the ticket. I'd forgotten the ticket on my leg. I had to undress. I took off my pants. I look for the ticket. No ticket. There's the string tied around my leg, but no ticket. The ticket had been washed away. I give the attendant the string. He doesn't want it. "You don't get anything for a string," he says. "Anybody can cut off a bit of string," he says. "Wouldn't be enough coats to go around. Wait," he says, "till everyone leaves. We'll give you what's left over."

I say: "Look here, brother, suppose there's nothing left but crud? This isn't a theater," I say. "I'll identify it for you. One pocket," I say, "is torn, and there's no other. As for the buttons," I say, "the top one's there, the rest are not to be seen." Anyhow, he gave it to me. But he wouldn't take the string.

I dressed, and went out on the street. Suddenly I remembered: I forgot my soap.

I went back again. They won't let me in, in my coat.

"Undress," they say. I say, "Look, citizens. I can't undress for the third time. This fen't a theater," I say. "At least give me what the soap costs."

变色龙

安东·契诃夫／Anton Chekhov

警官奥楚蔑洛夫穿着崭新的军大衣，胳膊下夹着小包，正步行穿过集市的广场。一个红头发的警察大步流星地跟在他的身后，手里拿着个筛子，里面盛满了没收来的醋栗。广场四周静悄悄的，连个人影都没有……商店和酒馆的门如同一张张饥饿的嘴巴，无精打采地向上帝创造的这个世界敞开着，店门附近甚至连一个乞丐都没有。

“你竟然咬人，该死的家伙？”奥楚蔑洛夫突然听到了吵闹声，“伙计们，别让它跑了！这会就咬人，那可不行，抓住它！哎哟……哎哟！”

狗狂叫了起来。奥楚蔑洛夫闻声望去，只见从商人皮楚金的木材场里窜出来一只狗，那狗用三条腿吃力地跑着，还不时地四处张望。一个男子穿着浆棉布衬衫，外面套了一件没系扣子的马甲，在后边紧追着这只狗，他的身体往前一跃，扑倒在地，抓住了狗的后腿。紧接着又传来了狗的狂吠声和人的叫喊声：“别让它跑了！”一张张带着睡意的脸从各个小铺里纷纷探了出来。人们像是从地底下钻出来似的，马上围到了木材场门口。

“看起来出乱子了，警官！……”警察说。

奥楚蔑洛微微左转身，迈步走向人群。他看到先前那个被狗追的敞开扣子穿马甲的人站在木材场门口，举着右手，向人群展示那只被狗咬了的血淋淋的手指。他半醉的脸似乎在向人群示意：“我要扒了你的皮，你这个混蛋！”而那根手指头恰似一面胜利的旗帜。奥楚蔑洛夫认出了这个人，他是金匠赫留金。这场骚乱的罪魁祸首是一只长有尖尖的嘴巴，背后还有一块黄色斑点的白毛俄国小猎狗。此时它正坐在人群中间的空地上，前腿伸开，浑身颤抖，泪汪汪的双眼露出痛苦和恐惧的表情。

“出什么事了？”奥楚蔑洛夫挤到人群中，问道，“你在这里干什么呢？你干吗举着你那手指头？是谁在大吵大嚷呢？”

“我走路走得好好的，没妨碍任何人，警官。”赫留金把空拳头凑到嘴边咳着说，“我正跟米特利·米特利奇谈木柴的事，突然这个畜生无缘无故把我的手指头咬了一口……请原谅我，我是个干活人……而且干的都是细致活。我现在受伤了，最起码得一周不能用这只手来工作，所以我请求赔付……尊敬的警官先生，也许法律并没有相关条款，那么人受了畜生的害就该忍气吞声吗？……要是人人都要挨狗咬，活在这个世上也没什么意思了……”

“嗯！那是，”奥楚蔑洛夫咳嗽着，扬了扬眉毛严肃地说，“那是。这是谁家的狗呀？这种事我可不能坐视不管。我要给那些放狗出来闯祸的人点颜色看看！也该管管那些不愿遵规守纪的老爷们了！等到挨罚了，这混蛋才知道把狗这些牲畜放出来有什么下场！我一定要教训教训他……叶尔狄林，”警官命令警察道，“你，去调查一下这是谁家的狗，然后报告上来！得打死这只狗，不得延误！这一定是只疯狗……我问你们：这是谁家的狗？”

“好像是席加洛夫将军家的！”人群里有人说道。

“席加洛夫将军家的？哦！……叶尔狄林，帮我把大衣脱掉……太热了！一定是要下雨了……有件事我不明白，它怎么能咬到你呢？”奥楚蔑洛夫转身对着赫留金继续说，“它不可能够得到你的手指，它只是只小狗，而你是个那么高大的家伙！你一定是用钉子把手指划破的，而后陷害这只小狗，异想天开地想要狗主人给你赔偿。我们都知道……你的伎俩！你这种可恶的人啊！”

“他把雪茄戳到小狗的脸上，寻它开心，而它不甘心被他戏弄……他是个无聊的家伙，警官！”

“胡说八道，独眼龙！你眼睛看不见，为什么胡说？警官是个英明人，看得出来谁在撒谎，谁在说实话，公正的上帝也看在眼里……我是否在撒谎，让调解法官去做裁定。法律上写得很清楚……现如今，法律面前人人平等……不瞒您说……我弟弟就是个宪兵……”

“别废话！”

“不，这不是将军家的狗。”警察肯定地说，“将军家没有这样的狗，他家的狗大多是塞特种狗。”

“你确定吗？”

“我确定，警官。”

“我也知道，将军家的狗都是名贵的良种，而这条呢，鬼才知道是什么东西！皮色不好，样子也不好看……下贱的家伙……你也不想想，他老人家会养这么一只狗吗？要是这样的一只狗出现在圣彼得堡或莫斯科，你知道会有什么下场吗？那里才不会顾及什么法律呢，眨眼工夫就让它断气！赫留金，你受苦了，这件事不能放任不管……该给他们个教训了！是时候了！”

“不过也有可能是将军家的狗……”警察想了想，大声地说道。“它是谁家的又没写在脸上……我前几天在他家院子里见过这么一只狗。”

“是将军家的，没错！”人群里有人说。

“嗯！叶尔狄林，帮我把大衣穿上吧……起风了……怪冷的……你带着这只狗到将军家问一下。你说我找到它，派你送去的……告诉他们以后不要再把狗放到街上来。它或许是条名贵的狗，如果每个卑鄙的家伙都拿雪茄去戳它，要不了多久它就会被戳死的。狗是娇贵的动物嘛……把手放下，你这个蠢货！不必把你的蠢手指头摆出来！这都是你的错……”

“将军家的厨师来了，问问他吧……喂，普罗霍尔！过来，亲爱的！看看这只狗……是你们家的吗？”

“净瞎说！我们从来也没养过这样的狗！”

“那就没必要再浪费时间了，”奥楚蔑洛夫说，“这是只野狗！少废话了……既然他说不是他家的，那它就是只野狗……弄死它算了。”

“这不是我们家的狗，”普罗霍尔继续说，“是将军哥哥的狗，他前几天到我们这里了。将军不喜欢这种狗，他哥哥却喜欢……”

“难道说，他老人家的哥哥，符拉季米尔·伊凡内奇来了？”奥楚蔑洛夫满脸堆笑地问道，“哦，天啊！不得了，我还不知道呢！他要在这住一段时间吧？”

“是的。”

“哦，天啊！……他可别走了……我还不知道他来呢！那么这是他老人家的狗了？很高兴听到这些……把它带回去吧。它很不错……一只活泼可爱的小狗……它把这家伙的手指咬了一口！哈哈哈！……咦，你为什么发抖呢？呜呜……呜呜。这淘气鬼生气了……多可爱的小狗。”

普罗霍尔把狗叫过去，带它离开了木材场。那群人都嘲笑赫留金。

“我早晚得收拾你！”奥楚蔑洛夫威胁他道，然后裹紧大衣，径自穿过市集的广场走了。

A Chameleon

The police superintendent Otchumyelov is walking across the market square wearing a new overcoat and carrying a parcel under his arm. A red-haired policeman strides after him with a sieve full of confiscated gooseberries in his hands. There is silence all around. Not a soul in the square... The open doors of the shops and taverns look out upon God's world disconsolately, like hungry mouths; there is not even a beggar near them.

"So you bite, you damned brute?" Otchumyelov hears suddenly. "Lads, don't let him go! Biting is prohibited nowadays! Hold him! ah...ah!"

There is the sound of a dog yelping. Otchumyelov looks in the direction of the sound and sees a dog, hopping on three legs and looking about her, run out of Pitchugin's timber-yard. A man in a starched cotton shirt, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, is chasing her. He runs after her, and throwing his body forward falls down and seizes the dog by her hind legs. Once more there is a yelping and a shout of "Don't let go!" Sleepy countenances are protruded from the shops, and soon a crowd, which seems to have sprung out of the earth, is gathered round the timber-yard.

"It looks like a row, your honour..." says the policeman.

Otchumyelov makes a half turn to the left and strides towards the crowd. He sees the aforementioned man in the unbuttoned waistcoat standing close by the gate of the timber-yard, holding his right hand in the air and displaying a bleeding finger to the crowd. On his half-drunken face there is plainly written: "I'll pay you out, you rogue!" and indeed the very finger has the look of a flag of victory. In this man Otchumyelov recognises Hryukin, the goldsmith. The culprit who has caused the sensation, a white borzoy puppy with a sharp muzzle and a yellow patch on her back, is sitting on the ground with her fore-paws outstretched in the middle of the crowd, trembling all over. There is an expression of misery and terror in her tearful eyes.

"What's it all about?" Otchumyelov inquires, pushing his way through the crowd. "What are you here for? Why are you waving your finger? Who was it shouted?"

"I was walking along here, not interfering with anyone, your honour," Hryukin begins, coughing into his fist. "I was talking about firewood to Mitry Mitritch, when this low brute for no rhyme or reason bit my finger... You must excuse me, I am a working man... Mine is fine work. I must have damages, for I shan't be able to use this finger for a week, may be...It's not even the law, your honour, that one should put up with it from a beast...If everyone is going to be bitten, life won't be worth living..."

"H'm. Very good," says Otchumyelov sternly, coughing and raising his eyebrows. "Very good. Whose dog is it? I won't let this pass! I'll teach them to let their dogs run all over the place! It's time these gentry were looked after, if they won't obey the regulations! When he's fined, the blackguard, I'll teach him what it means to keep dogs and such stray cattle! I'll give him a lesson! Yeldyrin," cries the superintendent, addressing the policeman, "find out whose dog this is and draw up a report! And the dog must be strangled. Without delay! It's sure to be mad...Whose dog is it, I ask?"

"I fancy it's General Zhigalov's," says someone in the crowd.

"General Zhigalov's, h'm...Help me off with my coat, Yeldyrin...it's frightfully hot! It must be a sign of rain...There's one thing I can't make out, how it came to bite you?" Otchumyelov turns to Hryukin, "Surely it couldn't reach your finger. It's a little dog, and you are a great hulking fellow! You must have scratched your finger with a nail, and then the idea struck you to get damages for it. We all know...your sort! I know you devils!"

"He put a cigarette in her face, your honour, for a joke, and she had the sense to snap at him...He is a nonsensical fellow, your honour!"

"That's a lie, Squinteye! You didn't see, so why tell lies about it? His honour is awise gentleman, and will see who is telling lies and who is telling the truth, as in God's sight...And if I am lying let the court decide. It's written in the law...We are all equal nowadays. My own brother is in the gendarmes...let me tell you..."

"Don't argue!"

"No, that's not the General's dog," says the policeman, with profound conviction, "the General hasn't got one like that. His are mostly setters."

"Do you know that for a fact?"

"Yes, your honour."

"I know it, too. The General has valuable dogs, thoroughbred, and this is goodness knows what! No coat, no shape...A low creature. And to keep a dog like that! ...where's the sense of it. If a dog like that were to turn up in Petersburg or Moscow, do you know what would happen? They would not worry about the law, they would strangle it in a twinkling! You've been injured, Hryukin, and we can't let the matter drop...We must give them a lesson! It is high time!"

"Yet maybe it is the General's," says the policeman, thinking aloud. "It's not written on its face...I saw one like it the other day in his yard."

"It is the General's, that's certain!" says a voice in the crowd.

"H'm, help me on with my overcoat, Yeldyrin, my lad...the wind's getting up...I am cold...You take it to the General's, and inquire there. Say I found it and sent it. And tell them not to let it out into the street...It may be a valuable dog, and if every swine goes sticking a cigar in its mouth, it will soon be ruined. A dog is a delicate animal...And you put your hand down, you blockhead. It's no use your displaying your fool of a finger. It's your own fault..."

"Here comes the General's cook, ask him...Hi, Prohor! Come here, my dear man! Look at this dog...Is it one of yours?"

"What an idea! We have never had one like that!"

"There's no need to waste time asking," says Otchumyelov. "It's a stray dog! There's no need to waste time talking about it...Since he says it's a stray dog, a straydog it is...It must be destroyed, that's all about it."

"It is not our dog," Prohor goes on. "It belongs to the General's brother, who arrived the other day. Our master does not care for hounds. But his honour is fond of them..."

"You don't say his Excellency's brother is here? Vladimir Ivanitch?" inquires Otchumyelov, and his whole face beams with an ecstatic smile."' Well, I never! And I didn't know! Has he come on a visit?

"Yes."

"Well, I never... He couldn't stay away from his brother...And there I didn't know! So this is his honour's dog? Delighted to hear it...Take it. It's not a bad pup... A lively creature...Snapped at this fellow's finger! Ha-ha-ha...Come, why are you shivering? Rrr...Rrrr...The rogue's angry...a nice little pup."

Prohor calls the dog, and walks away from the timber-yard with her. The crowd laughs at Hryukin.

"I'll make you smart yet!" Otchumyelov threatens him, and wrapping himself in his greatcoat, goes on his way across the square.

生活的陀螺

欧·亨利／O. Henry

治安法官贝纳杰·威德普坐在办公室里抽着古旧的接骨木烟斗。半空中，坎伯兰山脉在下午的薄雾中呈现出蓝灰色。一只花斑母鸡在“居民点”的主街上大摇大摆地走着，咯咯地傻叫着。

大路上传来了吱呀的车轴声，然后慢慢升起一片烟尘。接着是兰西·比尔布罗和他老婆的牛车。车子在审判厅门口停住了，两个人从车上爬下来。兰西身高6英尺，体形瘦削，皮肤黝黑，头发发黄，浑身散发着高山一般的沉静，像给他罩上了一套盔甲。女人穿着印花衣服，瘦骨伶仃，打扮入时，莫名的渴望使她神色憔悴。透过这一切，流露出来的是对不觉间逝去的青春虚弱的抗议。

为了保持尊严，治安法官把脚伸进了鞋子，起身让他们进来。

“我们，”女人说道，声音宛如风吹过松枝，“都想离婚。”她看了兰西一眼，生怕他发觉在她关于二人事件的陈述中有所漏洞、含糊、借口或偏心袒护自己。

“离婚，”兰西点着头严肃地重申着，“我俩没法过了。一个男人在山里整天对着一个女人，够寂寞无聊了。她还在屋子里像只野猫似的盯着你嘟囔，不然就把脸沉得像只猫头鹰。男人没有理由守着她过这种日子。”

“他呢，一个无用的窝囊废，”女人说，并不是特别激动，“成天跟在一帮流氓无赖、酒贩子身后转。他不是喝酒，就是睡觉。还养了一群没用的饿狗，真烦人！”

“她还光摔锅盖呢，”兰西开始反击，“滚开的水就往坎伯兰最好的猎狗身上浇。她不给男人吃饭，还唠唠叨叨个没完，闹得人整夜不得安宁！”

“他总是逃税抗税，山里远远近近都知道他的臭名，都知道他是个恶棍，谁夜里睡得着觉？”

治安法官开始一本正经地履行他的职责。他给自己的两个客户搬了一把椅子和一张木凳子，然后翻开桌子上的法典大全查看目录索引。此刻，他擦了擦眼镜，移开了墨水瓶。

“法律条文，”他说，“在本庭的司法权限内未涉及离婚问题。但是，根据平衡法、宪法、和黄金法则，买卖不能两便就不是好的交易。既然治安法官能批准结婚，当然也能批准离婚。本庭可以给你们发离婚证，并依据最高法院决定认为判决有效。”

兰西从裤袋里掏出一个小烟袋，打开袋子往桌子上抖出一张5美元的票子，“这是一张熊皮和两张狐皮卖的钱，”他说道，“我们总共就这么多了。”

“本庭办理离婚手续的正规价格，”法官说，“正是5美元。”他假装满不在乎的样子，把钞票掖进了土布做的背心口袋里。然后，他费了九牛二虎之力，挖空心思，才在公文纸上胡诌了半页判决词，并在下面半张上又抄写了一份。兰西和他的老婆听他宣读了这份给予他们自由的判决书。

“兹告知众人：兰西·比尔布罗与妻子埃丽娜·比尔布罗于今日亲自来到本法官的面前，生理与精神状况良好。他们承诺：今后无论境遇如何，他们将永不相爱相敬，永不依从对方，并同意接受离婚判决以维护本州的治安和尊严。上帝作证，永不反悔。

田纳西州皮德蒙特县治安法官贝纳杰·威德普法官正要把文件递给兰西，就被埃丽娜的声音给拦住了。两个男人都看着她。迟钝的男性特性不得不面对这个女人突如其来的变化。

“法官，先别把纸给他，事还没完呢。我先得把我的权利找回来，得拿到赡养费，哪有丈夫不给妻子1分钱就想离婚的。我要去霍格巴克山，到我的埃德弟弟家住两天。我得买双鞋啊，还有鼻烟什么的。兰西交得起离婚费，就得给我赡养费。”

兰西被搅得蒙头转向，他从来也没有听她提起过什么赡养费，女人总是提一些古古怪怪的问题让人摸不着头脑。

法官贝纳杰·威德普觉得这点要求应依法裁决。法典里对赡养费也没有作明文规定。但女人光着脚啊，而去霍格巴克山的路真是又陡又硬。

“埃丽娜·比尔布罗，”他打着官腔问，“本庭为你办理此案，你认为赡养费的最低限额是多少？”

“依我看，”她答道，“鞋子一类的东西加起来总得5元吧。这点赡养费不算多，不过还够我去埃德弟弟家一趟。”“这个数目，”法官说，“不算过分。兰西·比尔布罗，在你如数付给原告5美元以前，本庭暂不发放离婚证书。”

“我哪儿还有钱，”兰西粗重地喘着气，“我的钱早都给你了。”

“否则，”法官透过眼镜片，严肃地盯着他，“你就是藐视法庭。”

“我想要是你答应我推迟到明天，”丈夫恳求道，“我或许能想法在哪儿弄到这笔钱。我可做梦也没想过要付什么赡养费！”

“本案暂停审理。”贝纳杰·威尔普说，“明天，你们一起出席本庭，听候裁决，然后颁发离婚证书。”他坐到门口，开始解鞋带。

“我们到山下的齐阿大叔家，”兰西决定，“到那里过夜吧。”他从一边爬上车，埃丽娜从另一边也上了车。随着手中缰绳的挥动，小红牛慢慢掉转了方向，牛车在车轮扬起的灰尘中缓缓地向前爬去。

治安法官贝纳杰·威德普抽着他那只接骨木烟斗。傍晚，他拿到了周报，一直看到暮色使报上的字迹模糊不清。然后他又点燃桌上油脂做的蜡烛，看到月亮升起。该吃晚饭了。他住在山坡上的两间小木屋里，旁边是一棵剥了皮的白杨树。回家吃饭要穿过一条被浓密的月桂树遮掩得黑糊糊的小岔道。一个黑影从月桂丛中窜了出来，举起一杆长枪对准了他的胸口。那人帽子很低，大半张脸也不知是用什么东西包了起来。

“把你的钱掏出来，”黑影说，“别废话。我很紧张，我这抠扳机的手指在发抖。”

“我只有5、5——5美元。”法官说着，从背心口袋里掏出了那张钞票。

“卷起来，”那人命令道，“塞进我的枪口里！”

这是张脆生生的崭新的票子。那法官的手指虽然笨拙又在发抖，但并没有费多大劲，就把它卷成了卷儿，稍稍一用力，就把它塞进了枪口。

“现在你可以走了。”强盗说道。

法官撒开腿，一溜烟跑了。

第二天，小红牛又拉着车来到了法庭门口。法官贝纳杰·威德普已经穿好鞋子在等候他们了。当着法官的面，兰西·比尔布罗把那张5元的钞票交给了妻子。法官眼睛锐利地注视着。钞票是被卷过的，好像被卷起放进过枪口。但是法官忍着没有说话。是啊，别的钱卷过，角上也会翘起的。他把离婚证书递给了他们。两个人站在那里没有说话，局促不安，慢慢叠起了那张自由保障书。女人羞怯而局促地瞟了兰西一眼。

“我看你就要赶着牛回木屋了，”她说，“面包在架子上的铁盒里。我把熏肉放在煮开水的大锅里了，猎狗拖不走的。今晚别忘了给钟上发条。”

“你这就要去埃德弟弟家吗？”兰西极为漫不经心地问。

“我得在天黑之前到那里。我不是说他们会不嫌麻烦地来欢迎我，但我也没有别的地方可去啊。这路远着呢，我想我还是现在就走吧。该说再见了，兰西——我的意思是如果你还想说的话。”

“我不知谁会像猎狗一样，”兰西说，宛然一个殉道者的口气，“连声再见也不说——除非你急着走，不想听我说。”

埃丽娜沉默了。她小心地把那离婚书和5元的票子叠好，放进胸前的衣服里。贝纳杰·威尔普的镜片后的神色是悲哀的，他眼睁睁地看着钞票就这样没了。

他接下来的话是——顺着他的思路想——你既可把他当成这个世界上众多富有同情心的人之一，也可把他看成少数几个金融寡头中的一员。

他说：“今晚，在那间老木屋里可就孤单喽，兰西。”

兰西·比尔布罗瞪着外面的坎伯兰山脉，此时的大山在阳光下，一片青翠。他没有看埃丽娜。

“我知道会孤单的，”他说，“但人家死活闹着要离，你还怎么让人家留啊。”

“想离婚的另有其人，”埃丽娜对着木凳说道，“再说，谁又想留谁了？”

“也没人说过他不留啊。”

“那也没说过要留啊。我想我最好还是现在就动身去埃德弟弟家吧。”

“没有人给老钟上发条了。”

“想我和你一起坐车回去上发条吗，兰西？”

这个山里人的脸上没有任何激动的表情。但是他伸开大手，攥住了埃丽娜褐色的纤瘦的手。埃丽娜内心的喜悦一下子从脸上流露出来，那没有表情的脸顿时出现了光彩。

“那几条猎狗不会再惹你生气了，”兰西说，“我承认我既粗俗又没出息。你来上那钟表吧，埃丽娜。”

“我的心还挂在那个小屋里，兰西，”她轻声说，“和你在一起，我不会再对你发脾气了，我们现在就走吧，兰西，这样，在太阳落山以前，我们还能赶回家。”

他俩径直向外走去，居然忽视了治安法官贝纳杰·威尔普在场。法官插话了。

“以田纳西州的名义，”他说，“我绝不允许你们无视本州的法律法规。本庭看到爱人心头的不和与误解消散时，非常欣慰，但是，我们的职责是维护本州的道德和正义。本庭提醒你们，既然办了正式离婚手续，你们就不再是夫妻，也就不能再享有婚姻状态下的各种权利了。”

埃丽娜抓着兰西的胳膊，难道这意味着，在他们刚接受了生活的教训后，她现在又必须失去他吗？

“不过本庭准备，”法官继续说，“撤消你们的离婚判决书，并马上为你们举行庄严的婚礼，让问题得到圆满的解决，也让本案双方重新获得他们所渴望的光荣而崇高的婚姻。上述仪式的手续费也同样是五元。”

他的话让埃丽娜抓住了一线希望。她的手轻快地伸进怀里，那钞票便像俯冲的鸽子一般，拍动着羽翅，飞向了法官的桌子。当她和兰西手牵手站着倾听复婚判词时，她那菜色的双颊飞起了红晕。

兰西扶她上了车子，自个儿也爬上去坐在她旁边。那小红牛又一次转过身，他们手拉着手，向山里进发了。

治安法官坐在门口脱掉鞋子，他又一次伸出手摸了摸背心口袋里皱巴巴的钞票。又一次抽起了他的接骨木烟斗。那只花斑母鸡又一次在“居民点”的主街上大摇大摆地走着，咯咯地傻叫着。

The Whirligig of Life

Justice of the peace Benaja Widdup sat in the door of his office smoking his elder-stem pipe. Halfway to the zenith the Cumberland range rose bluegray in the afternoon haze. A speckled hen swaggered down the main street of the "settlement", cackling foolishly.

Up the road came a sound of creaking axles, and then a slow cloud of dust, and then a bull-cart bearing Ransie Bilbro and his wife. The cart stopped at the Justice's door, and the two climbed down. Ransie was a narrow six feet of sallow brown skin and yellow hair. The imperturbability of the mountains hung upon him like a suit of armor. The woman was calicoed, angled, snuff-brushed, and weary with unknown desires. Through it all gleamed a faint protest of cheated youth unconscious of its loss.

The Justice of the Peace slipped his feet into his shoes, for the sake of dignity, and moved to let them enter.

"We-all," said the woman, in a voice like the wind blowing through pine boughs, "wants a divorce". She looked at Ransie to see if he noted any flaw or ambiguity or evasion or partiality or self-partisanship in her statement of their business.

"A divorce," repeated Ransie, with a solemn nod. "We all can't git along together nohow. It' s lonesome enough fur to live in the mountains when a man and a woman keers fur one another. But when she's a-spitting like a wildcat or a-sullening like a hoot-owl in the cabin, a man ain't got no call to live with her."

"When he's a no-count varmint," said the woman, without any especial warmth, "atraipsm along of scalawags and moonshiners and a-layingon his back pizen with corn whiskey, and a-pestering folks with a pack o'hungry, trifling houn's to feed!"

"When she keeps a-throwing skillet lids," came Ransie's antiphony, "and slings boiling water on the best coon-dog in the Cumberlands, and sets herself aging cooking a man's victuals, and keeps him awake o'nights accusing him of a sight of doings!"

"When he's always a-fighting the revenues, and gits a hard name in the mountains fur a mean man, who's g'wine to be able fur to sleep o'nights?"

The Justice of the Peace stirred deliberately to his duties. He placed his one chair and a wooden stool for his petitioners. He opened his book of statutes on the table and scanned the index. Presently he wiped his spectacles and shifted his inkstand.

"The law and the statutes," said he, "air silent on the subject of divorce as fur as the jurisdiction of this cort air concerned. But, according to equitv and the Constitution and the golden rule, it's a bad bargain that can't run both ways. If a justice of the peace can marry a couple, it's plain that he is bound to be able to divorce 'em. This here office will issue a decree of divor ce and abide by the decision of the Supreme Cort to hold it good."

Ransie Bilbro drew a small tobacco-bag from his trousers pocket. Out of this he shook upon the table a five-dollar note. "Sold a bearskin and two foxes fur that," he remarked. "It's all the money we got."

"The regular price of a divorce in this cort," said the Justice, "air five dollars." He stuffed the bill into the pocket of his homespun vest with a deceptive air of indifference. With much bodily toil and mental travail he wrote the decree upon half a sheet of foolscap, and then copied it upon the other. Ransie Bilbro and his wife listened to his reading of the document that was to give them freedom:

"Know all men by these presents that Ransie Bilbro and his wife, Ariela Bilbro, this day personally appeared before me and promises that herein-after they will neither love, honor, nor obey each other, neither for better nor worse, being of sound mind and body, and accept summons for divorce according to the peace and dignity of the State. Herein fail not, so help you God. Benaja Widdup, Justice of the peace in and for the county of Piedmont, State of Tennessee."

The Justice was about to hand one of the documents to Ransic. The voice of Ariela delayed the transfer. Both men looked at her. Their dull masculinity was confronted by something sudden and unexpected in the woman.

"Judge, don't you give him that air paper yit.' Tain't all settled, nohow. I got to have my rights first. I got to have my ali-money.' Tain't no kind of a way to do fur a man to divorce his wife wthout her having a cent fur to do with. I'm a-laying off to be a-going up to brother Ed's up on Hogback Mountain. I'm bound fur to hey a pair of shoes and some snuff and things besides. Ef Rance kin afford a divorce, let him pay me alimoney."

Ransie Bilbro was stricken to dumb perplexity. There had been no previous hint of alimony. Women were always bringing up startling and unlooked-for issues.

Justice Benaja Widdup felt that the point demanded judicial decision. The authorities were also silent on the subject of alimony. But the woman's feet were bare. The trail to Hogback Mountain was steep and flinty.

"Ariela Bilbro," he asked, in official tones, "how much did youlow would be good and sufficient alimoney in the case before the cort."

"I' lowed," she answered, "fur the shoes and all, to say five dollars. That ain't much fur ali-money, but I reckon that'll git me up to brother Ed's."

"The amount," said the Justice, "air not onreasonable. Ransie Bilbro, you air ordered by the cort to pay the plaintiff the sum of five dollars before the decree of divorce air issued."

"I hain't no more money," breathed Ransie, heavily. "I done paid you all I had."

"Otherwise," said the Justice, looking severely over his spectacles, "you air in contempt of cort."

"I reckon if you gimme till tomorrow," pleaded the husband, "I mout be able to rake or scrape it up somewhars. I never looked for to be a-paying no ali-money."

"The case air adjourned," said Benaja Widdup, "till tomorrow, when you-all will present your selves and obey the order of the cort. Following of which the decrees of divorce will be delivered." He sat down in the door and began to loosen a shoestring.

"We mout as well go down to Uncle Ziah's," decided Ransie, "and spend the night." He climbed into the cart on one side, and Ariela climbed in on the other. Obeying the flap of his rope, the little red bull slowly came around on a tack, and the cart crawled away in the nimbus arising from its wheels.

Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup smoked his elderstem pipe. Late in the aftemoon he got his weekly paper, and read it until the twilight dimmed its lines. Then he lit the tallow candle on his table, and read until the moon rose, marking the time for supper. He lived in the double log cabin on the slope near the girdled poplar. Going home to supper he crossed a little branch darkened by a laurel thicket. The dark figure of a man stepped from the laurels and pointed a rifle at his breast. His hat was pulled down low, and something covered most of his face.

"I want your money," said the figure, "without any talk. I'm getting nervous, and my finger's a-wahbling on this here trigger."

"I've only got f-f-five dollars," said the Justice, producing it from his vest pocket.

"Roll it up," came the order, "and stick it in the end of this here gunbarrel."

The bill was crisp and new. Even fingers that were clumsy and trembling found little difficulty in making a spill of it and inserting it (this with less ease) into the muzzle of the rifle.

"Now I reckon you kin be going along," said the robber.

The Justice lingered not on his way.

The next day came the little red bull, drawing the cart to the office door. Justice Benaja Widdup had his shoes on, for he was expecting the visit. In his presence Ransie Bilbro handed to his wife a five-dollar bill. The official's eye sharply viewed it. It seemed to curl up as though it had been rolled and inserted into the end of a gunbarrel. But the Justice refrained from comment. It is true that other bills might be inclined to curl. He handed each one a decree of divorce. Each stood awkwardly silent, slowly folding the guarantee of freedom. The woman cast a shy glance full of constraint at Ransie.

"I reckon you'll be going back up to the cabin," she said, "along with the bull-cart. There's bread in the tin box settin' on the shelf. I put the bacon in the boiling-pot to keep the hounds from gittin'it. Don't forget to wind the clock tonight."

"You air a-going to your brother Ed's?" asked Ransie, with fine unconcern.

"I was' lowing to get along up thar afore night. I ain't saying as they'll pester they-selves any to make me welcome, but I hain't nowhar else fur to go. It's a right smart ways, and I reckon I better be going. I'll be a-saying good-bye, Ranse—that is, if you keer fur to say so."

"I don't know as anybody's a hound dog," said Ransie, in a martyr's voice, "fur to not want to say good-bye—unless you air so anxious to git away that you don't want me to say it."

Ariela was silent. She folded the five-dollar bill and her decree carefully, and placed them in the bosom of her dress. Benaja Widdup watched the money disappear with mournful eyes behind his spectacles.

And then with his next words he achieved rank (as his thoughts ran) with either the great crowd of the world's sympathizers or the little crowd of its great financiers.

"Be kind o'lonesome in the old cabin to-night, Ranse," he said.

Ransie Bilbro stared out at the Cumberlands, clear blue now in the sunlight. He did not look at Ariela.

"I'low it might be lonesome," he said; "but when folks gits mad and wants a divorce, you can't make folks stay."

"There's others wanted a divorce," said Ariela, speaking to the wooden stool. Besides, nobody don't want nobody to stay.

"Nobody never said they didn't.

"Nobody never said they did. I reckon I better start on now to brother Ed's."

"Nobody can't wind that old clock.

"Want me to go back along with you in the cart and wind it fur you, Ranse?"

The mountaineer's countenance was proof against emotion. But he reached out a big hand and enclosed Ariela's thin brown one. Her soul peeped out once through her impassive face, hallowing it.

"Them hounds shan't pester you no more," said Ransie. "I reckon I been mean and low down. You wind that clock, Ariela."

"My heart hit's in that Cabin, Ranse," she whispered, "along with you. I ain't a-going to git mad no more. Le's be starting, Ranse, so's we kin git home by sundown."

Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup interposed as they started for the door, forgetting his presence.

"In the name of the State of Tennessee," he said, "I forbid you-all to be a-defying of its laws and statutes. This cort is more than willing and full of joy to see the clouds of discord and misunderstanding rolling away from two loving hearts, but it air the duty of the cort to preserve the morals and integrity of the State. The cort reminds you that you air no longer man and wife, but air divorced by regular decree, and as such air not entitled to the benefits and ' purtenances of the mattermonal estate."

Ariela caught Ransie's arm. Did those words mean that she must lose him now when they had just learned the lesson of life?

"But the cort air prepared," went on the Justice, "fur to remove the disabilities set up by the decree of divorce. The cort air on hand of perform the solemn ceremony of marriage, thus fixing things up and enabling the parties in the case to resum the honorable and elevating state of mattermony which they desires. The fee fur performing said ceremony will be, in this case, to wit, five dollars."

Ariela caught the gleam of promise in his words. Swiftly her hand went to her bosom. Freely as an alighting dove the bill fluttered to the Justice's table. Her sallow cheek colored as she stood hand in hand with Ransie and listened to the reuniting words.

Ransie helped her into the cart, and climbed in beside her. The little red bull turned once more, and they set out, handelasped, for the mountains.

Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup sat in his door and took off his shoes. Once again he fingered the bill tucked down in his vest pocket. Once again he smoked his elder-stem pipe. Once again the speckled hen swaggered down the main street of the "settlement", cackling foolishly.

骗术

埃德加·爱伦·坡／Edgar Allen Poe

自从有了万物世界，出现了两个杰罗米（男子名）。其中一位写了一部关于高利贷剥削的长篇伤心故事，他就是杰罗米·边沁，曾经受到约翰·尼尔先生的高度称赞，是一位善于以小见大的杰出人物。另一位杰罗米把骗术这门精确科学提到了很重要的位置，是一位行走很广的大人物，可以说，是那种最广为人知的人。

人们对于骗术，或者说“欺骗”这个动词所蕴涵的抽象意义，已经知道得很多了。但实际上，要想给“骗术”下一个具体的定义，却有点难度。不过，我们避开“骗术”这个词，而去定义使用骗术的人类，也许会对这个词的概念有几分清晰的认识。如果柏拉图（古希腊哲学家）当时能想到只有人类会使用骗术，就不会为那个退毛鸡的难题受众人嘲笑了。

针对柏拉图关于人类是没有羽毛的两足动物的定义，当时就有人提出了疑问：为什么一只被拔光了羽毛的鸡不是人类呢？如果当初这个问题摆在我面前，我就不会陷入尴尬的境地。我会说，人类是一种会玩欺骗游戏的动物，除了人类，其他任何动物都不会这种骗术。鸡若想玩这种欺骗游戏，恐怕需要整个鸡窝的所有成员，拔光羽毛，共同努力才行。

其实，仔细想想骗术的本质、核心，以及它的原理，我们会发现它是专门为那些身着外套和马裤的人类所准备的。就像乌鸦善于偷窃，狐狸善于狡诈，黄鼠狼善于以智取胜一样，人类则善于欺骗。欺骗是他整个的人生。有句诗叫做“人，生而哀之”，我不敢苟同，我认为“人，生而骗之”。欺骗是人类的追求，是人类的目标，是人类最终的目的。因此，当一个人被欺骗了，我们会说这是再正常不过了。

确切来说，骗术是一个复合词，在骗术里常常会出现这些词：精细，利益，毅力，智慧，胆大，从容，独创，无礼和狞笑。

精细——骗子是一个精打细算的人，这种骗子的欺骗活动是小规模的。比如他是一个零售商，那么他的眼里只有现金或者是能换成现金的票子。但是，如果他想做大规模投机生意的话，就会使这种骗子的特点不再明显，而成为人们所谓的“金融家”。不过，“金融家”一词除了表明规模巨大以外，几乎表达出了骗术思想的所有含义。因此，一个骗子可以被认为是小人国里的银行主，而“金融业务”则可以被认为是大人国里的欺骗行为。二者之间的不同，就像霍默之于弗拉库斯，大象之于小老鼠，彗星尾之于猪尾。

利益——骗子奉行的是利己主义。他绝不会为了欺骗行为本身而去骗人。他在时刻注意着什么，那就是他的钱袋以及你的钱袋。他总是关注着最佳获利的时机。在他的眼里，他个人的利益是最重要的。千万别奢望他会照顾你的利益，所以，只有自己才是可依靠的。

毅力——骗子会一直坚持下去。在他的人生词典里没有气馁这个词，就算是有一天他的银行破产了，他也毫不在意。他坚定地向着既定目标努力，绝不会轻易放弃他的游戏。

智慧——骗子一般都很聪明。他的构造能力超凡脱俗。他善于密谋规划。他既能伺机策划行骗，也能见机回避躲藏。他即便不会成为另一位亚历山大，也会做到另一个戴奥真尼斯（希腊的哲学家）。假如他改行不做骗子，那么他一定会获得那些捕鼠夹或者钓鱼钩的发明专利权。

胆大——骗子是有冒险精神的。可以说他是一个无所畏惧的人。他能使非洲发生战乱。他可以突袭并打败所有的人。他不可能被弗雷·赫伦的利剑吓倒。假如当初迪克·特平考虑得稍微长远一点，他现在早就是一个非常在行的骗子了；假如当初丹尼尔·奥康尼尔专心做事，而不只是夸夸其谈，如今也会精通骗术；假如当初查尔斯十二世再聪明一点，恐怕现在也是骗子界的大人物了。

从容——骗子遇事都很镇静。他根本不知道什么叫做担忧。他的神经从来都不紧张过敏。他绝不会被别人弄得手忙脚乱。他也从来不会主动退出，除非被人赶出门外。他很镇定，镇定得像根黄瓜；他很冷静，冷静得像白瑞女士的微笑；他很放松，放松得就像一只老旧的手套，或者像是古代巴亚城里未出阁的姑娘。

独创——骗子具有创新精神，并且他会很认真地这样做。他的想法绝对是他自己原创的。他不屑于利用别人的伎俩。他更反感那些老掉牙的骗人计策。我确信，如果哪天他不是凭借自己原创的骗术获得了一个钱包，他会物归原主的。

无礼——骗子是粗鲁无礼的。他会在大街上大摇大摆地走路；他双手会叉在腰上；他也会把两只手插在裤兜里；他会当着你的面讥笑你；他会在你的玉米地里大肆践踏；他会在你家蹭吃蹭喝，还向你借钱；他甚至会揪你的鼻子，踢你的宠物狗，挑逗亲吻你的老婆。

狞笑——真正的骗子在做完事情后总是一副狞笑的嘴脸。不过，只有他自己才能清清楚楚地看见这种狞笑。当他做完了日常工作，完成了分配的任务，晚上回到属于自己的小天地里，就会露出狞笑的嘴脸，完全是为了自娱自乐。他回到家，锁上门，脱掉衣服，熄灭蜡烛，上床，躺下，把头放在枕头上。一切就绪之后，这位骗子便会在黑暗中露出那副狞笑的嘴脸。这些情景不是凭空想象的，而是一种必然的结果。根据先前的逻辑，如果没有狞笑，欺骗就不能称为欺骗。

在人类的发展之初，就开始培育骗术的种子。也许亚当就是人类史上第一个行骗的人。在任何情况下，我们都能把这门科学追溯到一个很远很远的远古时期。而今，当代人已经把这门科学发展到了极致，我们那些未开化的祖先们估计做梦都想不到会发展得如此之快。因此，我已经没有耐心去讲那些古老的故事了，只想简要地描述一些当代的骗术。

下面就是一个应用骗术的绝好案例。一个女管家想购置一张沙发，为此，她参观了好几家家具店。最后，她来到了一家品种齐全、质量上乘的家具店。一个站在店门口的人热情地问候着她，很有礼貌地把她领进了店内，并滔滔不绝地向她介绍着产品。这位女管家看上了一款合意的沙发，而价钱也出乎意料地比她的期望值至少低了两成。女管家欢喜极了，急急忙忙地便付了款，得到一张收据和发票，给那个人留下了地址，并要求店家尽快送货上门。那个人满口答应着不断鞠躬，送女管家走出了店门。一直等到晚上，女管家还没有收到所购的沙发，便派人去家具店询问情况。结果，家具店一口否认了这笔交易，称没有售出过沙发，也没有收到过款项。这笔钱的真正得主是那个骗子，那个临时扮演家具店店主的骗子。

家具店处在一种完全无人照看的状态，因此才为那些欺骗行为提供了种种便利。顾客进入店内，参观家具，然后离开，整个过程都没有店内服务员的照顾，甚至他们都没有发现顾客进出。如果有顾客想买家具，或者咨询某件家具的价钱，可以按响铃声，然后才有人过来服务，店家认为这样管理就足够了。

还有一个非常体面的骗术。一个穿着非常考究的人来到一家商店，想购买一个价值一美元的物品，使人恼火的是，他发现钱包放在另一件衣服的口袋里，身上一文没有。于是，他对商店的老板说：“亲爱的先生，请您别介意，能不能麻烦您把这个包裹送到我家，不过，等一下，我想即使在我那件大衣的口袋里也没有少于五元的票子了。但是，您可以把找我的四元零钱和包裹一起送到我家，这您也知道。”

“先生，您真是太好了，”听完那位顾客的诉说后，店老板立刻对他的高尚德行表示敬意。“我了解有些人，”店老板自言自语，“他们只管把想要的东西往胳膊下面一夹，说下午经过这里时再来付钱，然后头也不回地就走了。”

店老板打发一个服务生去送包裹和零钱。非常凑巧地是，这个服务生竟然在路上遇见了那位顾客，只听顾客喊道：“啊呀！这就是我买的那个东西，我知道了，我还以为你已经把它送到我家了呢。赶紧去吧，东西送到我家后，我妻子特罗特夫人会把五元钱给你，我已经跟她说好了。你先把找给我钱交给我吧，我去邮局需要用点钱。不错，我数一下，一个，两个，咦？这个没问题吧，三个，四个，刚好四元钱！到了我家后告诉特罗特夫人你在路上碰见了我，放心吧，别在路上耽误时间。”

服务生在路上没有耽误一丁点儿时间，不过，他很久才办完事情，因为他怎么也找不到那个所谓的特罗特夫人。但是，他还是感到一丝欣慰，他觉得自己并不蠢笨，因为他手里毕竟还拿着那个包裹，没有白白地给别人，于是，他带着这份满足返回到商店里。可是当店老板问起找给顾客的四元钱时，他突然意识到自己是十足的受害人，心里恼火之至。

实际上，这里还有一个很简单的骗术。一艘轮船马上要起航了，这时，一位长官模样的人向船长递了一张城市收费税单，上面写着各个税种的款项，价格非常合理，船长在暗自庆幸能够这么容易脱身的同时，对税单上的一百多种税项表示不解，不过他还是毫不拖延地把钱交给了那个长官模样的人。大概过了十五分钟，又有一个人递给这位船长一张价格不太合理的税单，这时，船长才意识到，第一个收税的人原来是骗子，之前的税收纯属欺骗。

一个跟上述有点类似的案例是这样的。一艘汽艇正要驶离码头，这时，一个手提旅行箱的游客快速向码头跑来。突然，他停了下来，弯腰捡起了掉在地上的什么东西，他看上去十分不安的样子。他从地上捡起来的是一个钱包。“哪位先生丢了钱包？”他大声地询问着。这时，没有一个人站出来确定地说丢了钱包，可是，当得知钱包有价值不菲的钱财时，游客们像炸了锅似的骚动起来了。不过，客船出发时间是不能更改的，马上要起航了。

“起航时间即到，请旅客立即上船。”船长大声催促着。

“看在上帝的份上，再等一会儿吧，就一会儿的时间，”捡到钱包的那个人哀求着，“失主马上就会来的。”

“不能等了！”船长严厉地回答说，“马上解开缆绳，听见没有？”

“这可怎么办呢？”捡到钱包的人十分着急地问到，“我马上要离开这里了，并且一去数年，要是把这么一大笔钱据为己有，我的良心会不安的。这位先生，求求您，”（此时他对一位还没上船的绅士说话）“您看上去是一位诚实善良的好人，您能否愿意帮我保管好这个钱包，我的直觉告诉我你是一个可以信赖的人，您能否为这个钱包做一个失物招领的启事？您也看到了，钱包里有这么多的钱，物归原主后，失主肯定会酬谢您为此付出的代价的——”

“酬谢我？不，不，应该酬谢您才对，是您捡到的钱包。”

“那好，如果您坚持认为要酬谢我的话，那我就从里面拿一点报酬，权当是为了解除您良心上的不安了。我看一下——为什么这些钞票都是百元的呢，上天啊，一百元简直是太多了，我不能拿，五十元就足够了，我确定——”

“开船啦！”船长大声喊道。

“但是，我身上没带零钱，找不开一百元的钞票啊，”捡到钱包的人焦急地说。

“开船啦！”船长又一次大声喊道。

“没关系！”岸上的那位绅士检查了一下自己的钱包后大声说道，“没关系，我可以找开，这是一张北美银行的五十面值钞票，快把钱包给我，船马上要开了！”

那位看起来非常善良的捡拾钱包者，看上去很不情愿地接过了五十面值的钞票，然后把捡到的钱包扔给了那位已经上了船的绅士。此时，船已驶离码头，冒着浓烟，驶向远方。大概过了半个多小时，钱包里的“巨款”才被发现原来是假钞，整个事情其实是一场绝妙的骗局。

下面的这个骗术有点冒险。一次露营聚会或者类似的活动将在一个既定的地点举行，在去往活动地点的途中要经过一座桥，平时这座桥是不收过桥费的。骗子抓住了时机，早早地就守在了大桥入口处，很恭敬地告诉过桥的人，说县城最新有令要收取过桥费，收取标准如下：徒步者每人收一分，马和驴每匹收二分，等等。有些人不满地发了几句牢骚，但是最终都按“规定”上交了过桥费。这样，当骗子回家的时候，他的口袋里早就多了五六十元钱。不过，像他这样向这么多人征收过桥费的确是一件很冒险的行为。

下面是一个非常利索的骗术。一个朋友手里握有骗子的欠款字据，这张字据是一张用红墨印刷的普通表格，欠款内容和签名都在字据上。于是，骗子买了几十张相同的表格纸，然后每天都会把这些表格纸蘸点面汤，训练他的狗跳起来抢食，最后，这张蘸有面汤的表格纸就成了狗的美味佳肴了。还款的日期到了，骗子牵着他的狗一起来见我的这位朋友，很快就谈到了还款这件事。朋友从抽屉里拿出那张欠款字据，正要交给那个骗子，不料骗子的狗突然跳了起来，抢到字据后便把它像美食一样吞进了肚子。见此情景，骗子先是表现得很吃惊，甚至显得很生气，他立刻向我的朋友表态，说只要找到那份字据，他随时会按约还款。

下面是一个精打细算的骗术。一位女士在大街上遭人侮辱，侮辱女士的这个人正是骗子的同伙。骗子自己假装好人，帮助女士脱离危险，还给了他的同伙一顿舒舒服服的“教训”，并坚持要护送女士回家。当到了女士家门前时，骗子手放胸前，谦恭地向女士鞠躬后便要辞别。那位女士心存感激，恳求他进屋见见父亲和兄长，骗子轻叹一口气，婉拒了女士的邀请。“先生，我怎样做才能表达出我对您的感激之情呢？”女士喃喃地对骗子说。

“小姐，如果您真想这么做，那么，不知您是否愿意借给我几个先令呢？”

女士听到这样的要求，差点晕了过去，不过，又仔细想了想，还是打开了她的钱包，拿出来几个先令给了骗子。我之所以说这是一个精打细算的骗局，是因为骗子从女士这里得到的这些钱要拿出去一半分给他的同伙，因为同伙刚才假装侮辱女士出了力，并且还一动不动地站在那里挨了几下。

下面这个骗术虽然比较小，但还是讲求技巧的。一个骗子走到一家旅馆的吧台前面，向老板要了两支卷烟，当他拿到卷烟后，稍微检查了一下，然后说：“我不怎么喜欢这种烟，退了，换一杯加水的白兰地。”骗子接到加水的白兰地后一饮而尽，喝完就走向旅店大门，要走的样子。不过，旅店老板喊他留步。

“先生，我记得您还没有为那杯加水的白兰地付钱。”

“为加水的白兰地付钱？我不是用卷烟换的加水白兰地吗？我还想要什么钱？”

“先生，请您原谅，你记得您还没有为卷烟付钱。”

“你这个恶棍，你到底是什么意思？难道我没有把卷烟退掉吗？你的卷烟不是明明放在那里了吗？难道你还想让我不买东西白白付钱吗？”

“可是，先生，”此时的酒店老板被弄得不知该说什么，“可是，先生——”

“先生，别在我这‘可是可是’的了，”骗子打断了酒店老板的话，看上去很生气的样子，然后头也不回地走出酒店，狠狠地甩上了门，逃走了。酒店里还回响着他的话“先生，别在我这‘可是可是’的了，不要在顾客身上耍把戏”。

下面又是一个十分聪明的骗术，这种骗术的可取之处是简单方便。这一次是真的有人丢钱包了。失主在一个大城市里选择了一家日报刊登寻物启事。

当骗子得知这件事后，他把寻物启事的具体内容抄了下来，然后换了标题、措辞和地址。原来的广告内容比较长，比如标题是“寻找钱包”，捡到钱包的人把物品送至汤姆大街一号。经过骗子的改动，标题只有两个字“寻物”，送还地址变成迪克大街二号或哈里大街三号，有失主等候。而且，骗子把改动后的广告发布在至少当地五六家的报纸上，发布时间在真正的寻物广告仅仅发布几个小时之后。即使骗子的虚假广告被真正的失主看到了，他也不会把这则广告与自己的遭遇联系起来。

当然，骗子得逞的几率很高，大概五比一，或者六比一，捡到钱包的人在很大程度上会把钱包送至骗子留下的地址，而非真正的失主指定的地址。于是，骗子得到钱包后，付出酬金，然后逃之夭夭。

下面的这个骗术与上一个非常相似。一位女士不小心把一枚非常昂贵的钻戒丢在了大街上。为了找到它，这为女士承诺四五十元的酬金答谢捡到钻戒并归还的人。她在寻物广告里详细地描述了钻戒的各种特征，然后宣称，只要捡拾者把钻戒送到指定的地址，她将毫无疑问地立即付出酬金。一两天之后，广告上写的那个地址的门铃响了。这一天，丢失钻戒的女士刚好不在家，仆人去开门，访客说要见丢失钻戒的女士，当得知该女士不在家时，访客显得非常惋惜的样子。他说他有急事要告知该女士，因为他很幸运地在大街上捡到了该女士丢失的钻戒。不过，由于该女士不在家，这位访客表示他也许只能下次再来了。仆人听罢连忙说道：“千万不要走！”这时，那位女士的妹妹和妹夫也闻讯赶到了，赶紧拦住访客：“千万不要走！”在吵闹中，他们对送来的钻戒粗粗地检查了一番，然后把酬金付给了访客，这位拾到钻戒的人几乎是被推出门的。等到那位女士回家后，看到了那枚送来的钻戒，对她的妹妹和妹夫抱怨了一番，因为他们竟然为一个伪造的钻戒付出了四五十元的酬金。那件钻戒赝品是用正宗的金色铜和铅质玻璃制成的。

骗术真是五花八门，一言难尽，即便是简单介绍骗术的一般种类，都要进行长篇大论。不过，写到这里，我必须要为这个文章进行结尾了，我想再好不过的结尾办法就是再简单讲一个骗术。这个骗术非常体面，但看得出来，骗子是费劲了周折。不久之前，就在这座城市里，上演了一番这种骗术，之后，这种骗术竟然在其他地方继续出现，并屡试不爽。事情的经过是这样的：

不知道从哪来的一位中年绅士，突然拜访这座城市。通过他的一言一行，可以看出，他是一位非常稳重、谨慎的人。他戴着一条白色围巾，穿着一件硕大的马甲，上面只有一个扣眼，脚上穿着一双看上去温暖舒适的厚底鞋，还穿着一条没有背带的马裤。实际上，从表面看起来，他就是一个庄重谨慎受人尊敬的富商。这种人看起来总是那么严肃，但是心地善良，很像在喜剧里看到的那类人物形象——从嘴里说出来的都是各种各样的契约，一边为慈善事业奔走呼告，一边又不让分厘地攫取利润。

他费了好大的劲才找到一个合意的住所。他讨厌和孩子们在一起。他早就习惯了安静的环境。他做事总是有条不紊的，因此他更喜欢待在一个私人的、体面的小住所里面。他从不计较住宿费，但是他坚持一点要求，即在每个月的第一天交费（今天是这个月的第二天），他恳求他的房东太太千万不要忘记这一点——要在每个月的第一天上午10点整，把缴费账单和收据送过来，千万不要推迟到第二天。

安排完这些事情之后，这位富商又租了一间办公室，周围的环境虽不奢华，但口碑还算不错。他最厌恶的是虚荣炫耀，他总是说“炫耀的越多，实质的东西越少”。这句话深深地触动了房东太太，于是，她搬出了家里那本巨大的《圣经》，用铅笔把这句话记录在“所罗门箴言”的空白处。

富商接下来做的事情是登广告，他没有像别人那样选择城里的几家便宜广告商，因为他觉得不够体面，并且这些便宜的广告商要求提前交付广告费。这位富商坚持认为，只有事情办成之后才交付费用。广告内容如下：

招聘启事——公司因在本地拓展业务，现急需聪明能干的员工三到四名，薪酬优厚，有意者请把最好的推荐信寄来。推荐内容包括能力的介绍，以及品德素质的说明。因为职位的内容是处理巨额钱款，所以要求员工有强烈的责任心，并且每位应聘者要支付50元的押金。如果应聘者不接受50元押金的要求，请另寻高就，优先录取具有诚意的年轻人。应聘者请在每天上午10点至12点和下午4点至5点准时到以下地点面试：

道格斯大街110号

鲍格斯、豪格斯、劳格斯、弗劳格斯公司

截至这个月的三十一号，已经有十五或二十个左右的年轻人到鲍格斯、豪格斯、劳格斯、弗劳格斯公司的办公室来应聘了。不过，这位富商并不着急和应聘者签合同，因为商人从不鲁莽办事。他对每一位应聘者进行了严格的面试，然后才决定要聘用谁，并签署50元押金的收据，富商解释说这也是鲍格斯、豪格斯、劳格斯、弗劳格斯公司的正当防备手段。

就在第二天上午，也就是下个月的第一天上午，房东太太没有按照富商嘱咐的那样送去账单，这一疏忽恐怕要遭到那位优雅的富商一顿狠批，但愿他还在这座城市里，为了交房费而多待一两天。

房东太太报警后，警察们着实费了一番劲，四处寻找那位富商，始终无果，最后不得不宣布那个所谓的富商其实“是一个名不见经传的人”，一些人就想象成他只是个“无名小辈”，又一些人干脆就理解为根本查不到这个人。再看看那些应聘的年轻人，相信他们都不会像之前那样“诚心诚意”了。再看看那位房东太太，她买了一块最好的橡皮，价值1先令，拿出那本庞大的《圣经》，仔仔细细地擦掉了她刚刚写在“所罗门箴言”旁边的那句话。

Diddling

Since the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way. The other gave name to the most important of the Exact Sciences, and was a great man in a great way—I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.

Diddling—or the abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle—is sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact, the deed, the thing diddling, is somewhat difficult to define. We may get, however, at a tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining-not the thing, diddling, in itself—but man, as an animal that diddles. Had Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront of the picked chicken.

Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken, which was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to his own definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens to get over that.

What constitutes the essence, the pare, the principle of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear coats and pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the poet. But not so:—he was made to diddle. This is his aim—his object-his end. And for this reason when a man's diddled we say he's "done."

Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin.

Minuteness: —Your diddler is minute. His operations are upon a small scale. His business is retail, for cash, or approved paper at sight. Should he ever be tempted into magnificent speculation, hethen, at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we term "financier." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every respect except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a banker in petto—a "financial operation," as a diddle at Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus—as a Mastodon to a mouse—as the tail of a comet to that of a pig.

Interest: —Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view-his pocket—and yours. He regards always the main chance. He looks to Number One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.

Perseverance: —Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily discouraged. Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it. He steadily pursues his end, and Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto. so he never lets go of his game.

Ingenuity: —Your diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness large. He understands plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.

Audacity: —Your diddler is audacious. —He is a bold man. He carries the war into Africa. He conquers all by assault. He would not fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With a little more prudence Dick Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Daniel O'Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the Twelfth.

Nonchalance: —Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He is never put out—unless put out of doors. He is cool—cool as a cucumber. He is calm—"calm as a smile from Lady Bury." He is easy-easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.

Originality: —Your diddler is original—conscientiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another. A stale trick is his aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.

Impertinence. —Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts his hands in his trowsers' pockets. He sneers in your face. He treads on your corns. He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle, and he kisses your wife.

Grin: —Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody sees but himself. He grins when his daily work is done—when his allotted labors are accomplished—at night in his own closet, and altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without agrin.

The origin of the diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human Race. Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace the science back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns, however, have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our thick-headed progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws," therefore, I shall content myself with a compendious account of some of the more "modern instances."

A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for instance, is seen to go in and out of several cabinet warehouses. At length she arrives at one offering an excellent variety. She is accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at least twenty per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to make the purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a request that the article be sent home as speedily as possible, and retires amid a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The night arrives and no sofa. A servant is sent to make inquiry about the delay. The whole transaction is denied. No sofa has been sold—no money received—except by the diddler, who played shop-keeper for the nonce.

Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford every facility for a trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at furniture, and depart unheeded and unseen. Should any one wish to purchase, or to inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand, and this is considered amply sufficient.

Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual enters a shop, makes a purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much to his vexation, that he has left his pocket-book in another coat pocket; and so says to the shopkeeper——"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the bundle home? But stay! I really believe that I have nothing less than a five dollar bill, even there. However, you can send four dollars in change with the bundle, you know."

"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who entertains, at once, a lofty opinion of the high-mindedness of his customer. "I know fellows," he says to himself, "who would just have put the goods under their arm, and walked off with a promise to call and pay the dollar as they came by in the afternoon."

A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On the route, quite accidentally, he is met by the purchaser, who exclaims: "Ah! This is my bundle, I see—I thought you had been home with it, long ago. Well, go on! My wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five dollars—I left instructions with her to that effect. The change you might as well give to me—I shall want some silver for the Post Office. Very good! One, two, is this a good quarter? -three, four—quite right! Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure now and do not loiter on the way."

The boy doesn't loiter at all—but he is a very long time in getting back from his errand—for no lady of the precise name of Mrs. Trotter is to be discovered. He consoles himself, however, that he has not been such a fool as to leave the goods without the money, and re-entering his shop with a self-satisfied air, feels sensibly hurt and indignant when his master asks him what has become of the change.

A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain of a ship, which is about to sail, is presented by an official looking person with an unusually moderate bill of city charges. Glad to get off so easily, and confused by a hundred duties pressing upon him all at once, he discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes, another and less reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evident that the first collector was a diddler, and the original collection a diddle.

And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A steamboat is casting loose from the wharf. A traveller, portmanteau in hand, is discovered running toward the wharf, at full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead halt, stoops, and picks up something from the ground in a very agitated manner. It is a pocketbook, and—"Has any gentleman lost a pocketbook?" he cries. No one can say that he has exactly lost a pocket-book; but a great excitement ensues, when the treasure trove is found to be of value. The boat, however, must not be detained.

"Time and tide wait for no man," says the captain.

"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the book—"the true claimant will presently appear."

"Can't wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast off there, d'ye hear?"

"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about to leave the country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously retain this large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir," [here he addresses a gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an honest man. Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of this pocket-book—I know I can trust you—and of advertising it? The notes, you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding you for your trouble—"

"Me! —no, you! —it was you who found the book."

"Well, if you must have it so—I will take a small reward—just to satisfy your scruples. Let me see—why these notes are all hundreds-bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take—fifty would be quite enough, I am sure—"

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon the whole, you had better—

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining his own pocket-book for the last minute or so—"never mind! I can fix it—here is a fifty on the Bank of North America—throw the book."

And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while the steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour after her departure, the "large amount" is seen to be a "counterfeit presentment," and the whole thing a capital diddle.

A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to be held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of a free bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully informs all passers by of the new county law, which establishes a toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and so forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler goes home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earned. This taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively troublesome thing.

A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises to pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the ordinary blanks printed in red ink. The diddler purchases one or two dozen of these blanks, and every day dips one of them in his soup, makes his dog jump for it, and finally gives it to him as a bonne bouche. The note arriving at maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon the friend, and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion. The friend produces it from his escritoire, and is in the act of reaching it to the diddler, when up jumps the diddler's dog and devours it forthwith. The diddler is not only surprised but vexed and incensed at the absurd behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire readiness to cancel the obligation at any moment when the evidence of the obligation shall be forthcoming.

A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in the street by a diddler's accomplice. The diddler himself flies to her assistance, and, giving his friend a comfortable thrashing, insists upon attending the lady to her own door. He bows, with his hand upon his heart, and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him, as her deliverer, to walk in and be introduced to her big brother and her papa. With a sigh, he declines to do so. "Is there no way, then, sir," she murmurs, "in which I may be permitted to testify my gratitude?"

"Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind enough to lend me a couple of shillings?"

In the first excitement of the moment the lady decides upon fainting outright. Upon second thought, however, she opens her purse-strings and delivers the specie. Now this, I say, is a diddle minute—for one entire moiety of the sum borrowed has to be paid to the gentleman who had the trouble of performing the insult, and who had then to stand still and be thrashed for performing it.

Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a couple of twists of tobacco. These are handed to him, when, having slightly examinedthem, he says: "I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me a glass of brandy and water in its place." The brandy and water is furnished and imbibed, and the diddler makes his way to the door. But the voice of the tavern-keeper arrests him.

"I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for your brandy and water."

"Pay for my brandy and water! —didn't I give you the tobacco for the brandy and water? What more would you have?"

"But, sir, if you please, I don't remember that you paid me for the tobacco."

"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel? —Didn't I give you back your tobacco? Isn't that your tobacco lying there? Do you expect men to pay for what I did not take?"

"But, sir," says the publican, now rather at a loss what to say, "but sir—"

"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler, apparently in very high dudgeon, and slamming the door after him, as he makes his escape. —"But me no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upontravellers."

Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the simplicity is not its least recommendation. A purse, or pocket-book, being really lost, the loser inserts in one of the daily papers of a large city a fully descriptive advertisement.

Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this advertisement, with a change of heading, of general phraseology and address. The original, for instance, is long, and verbose, is headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!" and requires the treasure, when found, to be left at No. 1 Tom Street. The copy is brief, and being headed with "Lost" only, indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3 Harry Street, as the locality at which the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is inserted in at least five or six of the daily papers of the day, while in point of time, it makes its appearance only a few hours after the original. Should it be read by the loser of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to have any reference to his own misfortune.

But, of course, the chances are five or six to one, that the finder will repair to the address given by the diddler, rather than to that pointed out bythe rightful proprietor. The former pays the reward, pockets the treasure and decamps.

Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped, some where in the street, a diamond ring of very unusual value. For its recovery, she offers some forty or fifty dollars reward—giving, in her advertisement, a very minute description of the gem, and of its settings, and declaring that, on its restoration at No. so and so, in such and such Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a single question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a day or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so and so, in such and such Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of the house is asked for and is declared to be out, at which astounding information, the visitor expresses the most poignant regret. His business is of importance and concerns the lady herself. In fact, he had the good fortune to find her diamond ring. But perhaps it would be as well that he should call again. "By no means!" says the servant; and "By no means!" says the lady's sister and the lady's sister-in-law, who are summoned forthwith. The ring is clamorously identified, the reward is paid, and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The lady returns and expresses some little dissatisfaction with her sister and sister-in-law, because they happen to have paid forty or fifty dollars for a fac-simile of her diamond ring—a fac-simile made out of real pinch-beck and unquestionable paste.

But as there is really no end to diddling, so there would be none to this essay, were I even to hint at half the variations, or inflections, of which this science is susceptible. I must bring this paper, perforce, to a conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by a summary notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of which our own city was made the theatre, not very long ago, and which was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more verdant localities of the Union.

A middle-aged gentleman arrives in town from parts unknown. He is remarkably precise, cautious, staid, and deliberate in his demeanor. His dress is scrupulously neat, but plain, unostentatious. He wears a white cravat, an ample waistcoat, made with an eye to comfort alone; thick-soled cosy-looking shoes, and pantaloons without straps. He has the whole air, in fact, of your well-to-do, sober-sided, exact, and respectable "man of business," Par excellence—one of the stern and outwardly hard, internally soft, sort of people that we see in the crack high comedies—fellows whose words are so many bonds, and who are noted for giving away guineas, in charity, with the one hand, while, in the way of mere bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing with the other.

He makes much ado before he can get suited with a boarding house. He dislikes children. He has been accustomed to quiet. His habits are methodical—and then he would prefer getting into a private and respectable small family, piously inclined. Terms, however, are no object—only he must insist upon settling his bill on the first of every month, (it is now the second) and begs his landlady, when he finally obtains one to his mind, not on any account to forget his instructions upon this point—but to send in a bill, and receipt, precisely at ten o'clock, on the first day of every month, and under no circumstances to put it off to the second.

These arrangements made, our man of business rents an office in a reputable rather than a fashionable quarter of the town. There is nothing he more despises than pretense. "Where there is much show," he says, "there is seldom any thing very solid behind" —an observation which so profoundly impresses his landlady's fancy, that she makes a pencil memorandum of it forthwith, in her great family Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.

The next step is to advertise, after some such fashion as this, in the principal business six-pennies of the city—the pennies are eschewed as not "respectable" —and as demanding payment for all advertisements in advance. Our man of business holds it as a point of his faith that work should never be paid for until done.

"WANTED—The advertisers, being about to commence extensive business operations in this city, will require the services of three or four intelligent and competent clerks, to whom a liberal salary will be paid. The very best recommendations, not so much for capacity, as for integrity, will be expected. Indeed, as the duties to be performed involve high responsibilities, and large amounts of money must necessarily pass through the hands of those engaged, it is deemed advisable to demand a deposit of fifty dollars from each clerk employed. No person need apply, therefore, who is not prepared to leave this sum in the possession of the advertisers, and who cannot furnish the most satisfactory testimonials of morality. Young gentlemen piously inclined will be preferred. Application should be made between the hours of ten and eleven A. M., and four and five P. M., of Messrs.

"Bogs, Hogs Logs, Frogs & Co.,

"No. 110 Dog Street"

By the thirty-first day of the month, this advertisement has brought to the office of Messrs. Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company, some fifteen or twenty young gentlemen piously inclined. But our man of business is in no hurry to conclude a contract with any—no man of business is ever precipitate—and it is not until the most rigid catechism in respect to the piety of each young gentleman's inclination, that his services are engaged and his fifty dollars receipted for, just by way of proper precaution, on the part of the respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company.

On the morning of the first day of the next month, the landlady does not present her bill, according to promise—a piece of neglect for which the comfortable head of the house ending in ogs would no doubt have chided her severely, could he have been prevailed upon to remain in town a day or two for that purpose.

As it is, the constables have had a sad time of it, running hither and thither, and all they can do is to declare the man of business most emphatically, a "hen knee high" —by which some persons imagine them to imply that, in fact, he is n. e. i.—by which again the very classical phrase non est inventus, is supposed to be understood. In the meantime the young gentlemen, one and all, are somewhat less piously inclined than before, while the landlady purchases a shilling's worth of the Indian rubber, and very carefully obliterates the pencil memorandum that some fool has made in her great family Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.