LESSON 98

LOCHINVAR

罗钦瓦尔

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone!

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,

He swam the Eske River where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:

Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword—

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word—

“Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;—

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide—

And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,

“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bridemaidens whispered, “’Twere better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near,

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur:

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

(Walter Scott)

【中文阅读】

啊，年轻的罗钦瓦尔来自西方，

整个边境就属他的马最棒，

除了大砍刀他不带别的武器，

他徒手上路，一个人全然不顾！

他忠于爱情，无畏战争，

从未见过罗钦瓦尔这样风度翩翩的勇士！

他马不停蹄，连巨石也不能阻挡，

没有浅滩他就游过埃斯科河，

未及他抵达荷比的大门，

他的新娘已经许了别人，勇士迟至，

那个对爱情迟钝，在战争面前畏缩的人，

却要娶勇敢的罗钦瓦尔的艾琳！

罗钦瓦尔大胆走进荷比的大厅，

里面聚满了新娘的家人，

新娘的父亲按剑断喝，

懦弱的新郎一言未发，

“年轻的罗钦瓦尔勋爵爷来此讲和还是力战，

抑或来参加舞会和婚宴不成？”

“我倾慕你的女儿很久了，却遭你拒绝，

昔日爱情就像索尔威湖一样波涛汹涌，如今已然退潮，

今日前来非为逝去的情愫，

只想饮一杯原本属于自己的酒而已，

仙女属苏格兰最多，

哪个不是欣然愿意给风度翩翩的罗钦瓦尔当新娘。”

新娘吻了一下酒杯，勇士接过把盏，

一饮而尽，掷杯于地。

她满面羞愧长埋头，悲不胜叹，

唇间绽出笑，眼里却噙泪，

她母亲欲阻拦，他已然上前握住她纤纤玉手，

“我们何不舞上一曲！” 罗钦瓦尔说道。

啊，他的身躯那样英武，她的玉容那样可爱，

哪个大厅曾有这样的俊男美女跳舞；

他的母亲不悦，她的父亲焦躁，

一旁的新郎呆立着摆弄呢帽和飞羽，

伴娘们悄声议论，“只有罗钦瓦尔才堪配我们漂亮的表姐！”

捏一把她的手，悄声低语把情传，

待他们来到大厅门口，战马就在附近等待，

他轻展双臂把心爱的人扶上马，

自己倏地跳到鞍上！

“你是我的人了！我们走，高山河谷树林全不在话下：

他们再快也休想赶上，”罗钦瓦尔说。

荷比里传来一片上马铮铮声；

亲朋好友一齐策马飞奔，

高山河谷都寻了个遍，

荷比丢失的姑娘再不见踪影。

这样忠于爱情，不畏战争，

你可曾听过像风度翩翩这样的勇士？

（沃尔特•司各特）

LESSON 99

SPEECH ON THE TRIAL OF A MURDERER

关于审判杀人凶手的演讲

Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I can not have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enormous crime at the bar of public justice.

This is a most extraordinary case. In some respects it has hardly a precedent anywhere; certainly none in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. The actors in it were not surprised by any lionlike temptation springing upon their virtue, and overcoming it before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long-settled and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all “hire and salary, not revenge.” It was the weighing of money against life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver against so many ounces of blood.

An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will show it as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example was last to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the bloodshot eye emitting livid fires of malice. Let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, a fiend in the ordinary display and development of his character.

The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet,—the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half-lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock by soft and continued pressure till it turns on its hinges without noise; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given! and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death!

It is the assassin’s purpose to make sure work; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart; and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder; no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon; such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that “murder will out.” True it is that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man’s blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and wilt come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, everything, every circumstance connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery.

Meantime, the guilty soul can not keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.

(Daniel Webster)

【中文阅读】

对于受到公开审判的囚犯，作为一个个体，我不能怀有哪怕最微不足道的偏见。我不会给他哪怕最小程度的伤害或不公正。但是，我不会假装对这一严重犯罪的侦破和惩罚无动于衷。不论有多大，我都欣然与大家共同分担这一耻辱，那些对参与策划或在暗杀当夜实施这一恶行的人，表示和显露出关切的人，这一耻辱会在他们内心投下挥不去的阴影，也许对为维护公义而公开审判的大量犯罪负有罪责。

这是一个最奇特的事例。从某方面看，在任何地方都几乎没有先例；可以肯定的是，在我们新英格兰历史上绝对没有出现过这种情形。这出血淋淋的戏剧并没有突然间展现出令人兴奋和无法控制的狂怒，其中的演员也没有被超越他们德性的任何狮子般的诱惑吓倒，在开始抗拒之前就战胜了这种诱惑。他们也没有做能充分满足残忍报复欲望的事情，或者对积郁已久的极端憎恨厌腻。这是一桩冷酷的，经过周密计划的因钱财而起的谋杀。这不过是因“雇佣和薪酬”而起的谋杀，不是因为报复。这是基于生活而对金钱进行的权衡；流了多少盎司的血，就能数出多少银币。

一位上了年纪的人，在这个世界上没有一个敌人，在他自己家里躺在自己的床上，却成为一桩残忍谋杀的牺牲品，凶手仅仅为了少得可怜的报酬。确实，这为画家和诗人提供了活生生的素材。此后不论谁来画凶手的肖像，倘若他能像在一个实例中表现的那样描绘出来的话，而这个实例在我们新英格兰社会非常温暖的怀抱中是人们希望看到的，那么就不要让他画狰狞的神情，不要画被因为复仇而眉头紧锁，不要画因为憎恨而面色铁青，不要画冒着歹毒的怒火布满血丝的眼睛为好。相反，要将恶魔那张冷酷的脸画得端庄得体，平静如水；要画他宁静安详的样子，而不是活动时的样子。不要过多渲染突发的犯罪中人类本性的堕落，作为一种内在的本性，不要过多渲染正常情况下流露出来的魔性及其个性的发展。

这种以泰然自若和坚定沉着的方式实施的行为，与经过周密计划实施的邪恶行为并没有什么两样。现在很明显，整个犯罪场景在我们面前展开了。命中注定的受害者在他家的屋檐底下，陷入沉睡。一位健康的老人，睡得很香甜。作为当夜第一个入睡的人，他成为他们的囊中物。已经做好准备的暗杀凶手破窗而入，溜进空着的房间。借助半明半暗的月光，他蹑足潜踪穿过空旷的大厅，一点声息也没有。他登上楼梯，来到卧室门口。他轻轻旋动门锁，悄无声息地压着把手，直到铰链开了。他闪身而入，站在被害者面前注视着他。屋内不寻常地从外面映进亮光。这个睡着了的无辜的人那张脸背着凶手，月光映在搭在那老年人特征明显的太阳穴上一缕灰暗的头发上，正好向凶手表明该朝哪儿动手。于是，老人太阳穴上遭到致命一击！被害者死了，甚至连挣扎或动弹一下都没有，就这样从入睡状态下的安详突然过渡到死亡的安详！

这是暗杀者的如意算盘。显然这条生命已经被那致命一击给结束了，但是他还要用匕首再捅上几下。他甚至抬起老人的胳膊，也许还会察看死者是否还有心跳的迹象，为了完成整个过程，他用手腕来测探脉搏！他摸索着，直到确信心脏已经不再跳动！到此，这个过程才算完成。暗杀行为实施完毕。他向后退，折回到窗前，顺着原路逃匿。在他实施谋杀的过程中，没有谁目睹这一骇人场景，也没有谁听到响声。他只要严守这个秘密，就是安全的。

啊，先生们，这是个可怕的错误。在这个世界上没有哪里是安全的。万能的上帝不会让犯罪隐匿于角落或无从查知之处而瞒天过海。更不用说我们的眼睛能穿透所有伪装，在皎洁的月光下将一切看得清清楚楚。所谓的犯罪秘密绝对不会幸免于侦查的。人们常说，“杀人凶手会逍遥法外。”事实上，上帝已经如此裁定，也是这样主宰万物的，通过让别人流血而践踏上帝订立法则的人，鲜有侥幸得脱的。尤其是一桩万众瞩目的案件，案发是必定的结果，只是迟早而已。成千上万双眼睛一齐盯着与时间、地点有关的每个人，每一个情境，每件事情；成千上万双耳朵在捕捉每一可疑的细语。成千上万人怀着激动的心情密切关注着犯罪现场，准备用最不经意的线索点然真相大白的火花。

与此同时，那个被罪恶折磨的人也无法守住秘密。这个秘密本身就是不真实的，它能感觉到良知有一种无法抗拒的冲动。良知已经被罪恶感占据了，不晓得该做什么。人类的内心世界是不允许有这样一个寓居者常驻的。结果，在寻觅猎物时他内心备受煎熬，不敢向上帝或别人坦承自己的罪恶。贪婪正在吞噬良知，而这时的良知是不会要上天原谅，不会向俗世寻求帮助的。谋杀者对守住秘密的渴望很快就占据他整个身心，就像我们在书上读到的恶魔的内心一样，这种渴望战胜了他的理智，一直伴随他。他能感到这种渴望在他心里跳动，上到喉咙处，控制着他不对别人披露。他以为整个世界都从他脸上发现了秘密，从他的眼神读出了秘密，他那些念头处于非常平静的状态时几乎听到了那种渴望在悸动。渴望成了他的主宰，他也背叛了自己的谨慎，削弱了他的勇气，征服了他的谨慎。当无缘由的怀疑开始令他困窘时，周围环境这张网束缚住了他，这个重大的秘密面临着更大的爆出的力量。必须坦白，这个秘密将大白于天下，除了自杀别无避免坦白的避风港，而自杀就是坦白。

（丹尼尔•韦伯斯特）