Salem, Oct. 4th, 1840—? past 10 A.M.
Mine ownest,
Here sits thy husband in his old accustomed chamber1, where he used to sit in years gone by, before his soul became acquainted with thine. Here I have written many tales—many that have been burned to ashes—many that doubtless deserved the same fate. This deserves to be called a haunted chamber, for thousands upon thousands of visions have appeared to me in it; and some few of them have become visible to the world. If ever I should have a biographer, he ought to make great mention of this chamber in my memoirs2, because so much of my lonely youth was wasted here, and here my mind and character were formed; and here I have been glad and hopeful, and here I have been despondent3; and here I sat a long, long time, waiting patiently for the world to know me, and sometimes wondering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever 224 know me at all—at least, till I were in my grave. And sometimes (for I had no wife then to keep my heart warm) it seemed as if I were already in the grave, with only life enough to be chilled and benumbed. But oftener I was happy—at least, as happy as I then knew how to be, or was aware of the possibility of being. By and bye, the world found me out in my lonely chamber, and called me forth4—not, indeed, with a loud roar of acclamation, but rather with a still, small voice; and forth I went, but found nothing in the world that I thought preferable to my old solitude5, till at length a certain Dove was revealed to me, in the shadow of a seclusion6 as deep as my own had been. And I drew nearer and nearer to the Dove, and opened my bosom7 to her, and she flitted into it, and closed her wings there—and there she nestles now and forever, keeping my heart warm, and renewing my life with her own. So now I begin to understand why I was imprisoned8 so many years in this lonely chamber, and why I could never break through the viewless bolts and bars; for if I had sooner made my escape into the world, I should have grown hard and rough, and been covered with earthly dust, and my heart would have become callous9 by rude encounters with the multitude; so that I should have been all unfit to shelter 225 a heavenly Dove in my arms. But living in solitude till the fulness of time was come, I still kept the dew of my youth and the freshness of my heart, and had these to offer to my Dove.
Well, dearest, I had no notion what I was going to write, when I began, and indeed I doubted whether I should write anything at all; for after such communion as that of our last blissful evening, it seems as if a sheet of paper could only be a veil betwixt us. Ownest, in the times that I have been speaking of, I used to think that I could imagine all passions, all feelings, all states of the heart and mind; but how little did I know what it is to be mingled10 with another's being! Thou only hast taught me that I have a heart—thou only hast thrown a light deep downward, and upward, into my soul. Thou only hast revealed me to myself; for without thy aid, my best knowledge of myself would have been merely to know my own shadow—to watch it flickering11 on the wall, and mistake its fantasies for my own real actions. Indeed, we are but shadows—we are not endowed with real life, and all that seems most real about us is but the thinnest substance of a dream—till the heart is touched. That touch creates us—then we begin to be—thereby we are beings of reality, and inheritors of eternity12. Now, dearest, 226 dost thou comprehend what thou hast done for me? And is it not a somewhat fearful thought, that a few slight circumstances might have prevented us from meeting, and then I should have returned to my solitude, sooner or later (probably now, when I have thrown down my burthen of coal and salt) and never should [have] been created at all! But this is an idle speculation13. If the whole world had stood between us, we must have met—if we had been born in different ages, we could not have been sundered14.
Belovedest, how dost thou do? If I mistake not, it was a southern rain yesterday, and, next to the sunshine of Paradise, that seems to be thy element.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Boston, Mass.
点击收听单词发音
1 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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2 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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3 despondent | |
adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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4 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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5 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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6 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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7 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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8 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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10 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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11 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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12 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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13 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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14 sundered | |
v.隔开,分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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