From even the greatest of horrors irony3 is seldom absent. Sometimes it enters directly into the composition of the events, while sometimes it relates only to their fortuitous position among persons and places. The latter sort is splendidly exemplified by a case in the ancient city of Providence4, where in the late forties Edgar Allan Poe used to sojourn5 often during his unsuccessful wooing of the gifted poetess, Mrs. Whitman. Poe generally stopped at the Mansion6 House in Benefit Street—the renamed Golden Ball Inn whose roof has sheltered Washington, Jefferson, and Lafayette—and his favorite walk led northward7 along the same street to Mrs. Whitman's home and the neighboring hillside churchyard of St. John's, whose hidden expanse of Eighteenth Century gravestones had for him a peculiar8 fascination9.
Howard Phillips Lovecraft died last March, at the height of his career. Though only forty-six years of age, he had built up an international reputation by the artistry and impeccable literary craftsmanship10 of his weird tales; and he was regarded on both sides of the Atlantic as probably the greatest contemporary master of weird fiction. His ability to create and sustain a mood of brooding dread11 and unnamable horror is nowhere better shown than in the posthumous tale presented here: "The Shunned13 House."
Now the irony is this. In this walk, so many times repeated, the world's greatest master of the terrible and the bizarre was obliged to pass a particular house on the eastern side of the street; a dingy14, antiquated15 structure perched on the abruptly16 rising side hill, with a great unkempt yard dating from a time when the region was partly open country. It does not appear that he ever wrote or spoke17 of it, nor is there any evidence that he even noticed it. And yet that house, to the two persons in possession of certain information, equals or outranks in horror the wildest fantasy of the genius who so often passed it unknowingly, and stands starkly18 leering as a symbol of all that is unutterably hideous19.
The house was—and for that matter still is—of a kind to attract the attention of the curious. Originally a farm or semi-farm building, it followed the average New England colonial lines of the middle Eighteenth Century—the prosperous peaked-roof sort, with two stories and dormerless attic20, and with the Georgian doorway21 and interior panelling dictated22 by the progress of taste at that time. It faced south, with one gable end buried to the lower windows in the eastward23 rising hill, and the other exposed to the foundations toward the street. Its construction, over a century and a half ago, had followed the grading and straightening of the road in that especial vicinity; for Benefit Street—at first called Back Street—was laid out as a lane winding24 amongst the graveyards25 of the first settlers, and straightened only when the removal of the bodies to the North Burial Ground made it decently possible to cut through the old family plots.
At the start, the western wall had lain some twenty feet up a precipitous lawn from the roadway; but a widening of the street at about the time of the Revolution sheared26 off most of the intervening space, exposing the foundations so that a brick basement wall had to be made, giving the deep cellar a street frontage with door and one window above ground, close to the new line of public travel. When the sidewalk was laid out a century ago the last of the intervening space was removed; and Poe in his walks must have seen only a sheer ascent27 of dull gray brick flush with the sidewalk and surmounted28 at a height of ten feet by the antique shingled29 bulk of the house proper.
"That awful door in Benefit Street which I had left ajar."
The farm-like ground extended back very deeply up the hill, almost to Wheaton Street. The space south of the house, abutting30 on Benefit Street, was of course greatly above the existing sidewalk level, forming a terrace bounded by a high bank wall of damp, mossy stone pierced by a steep flight of narrow steps which led inward between canyon-like surfaces to the upper region of mangy lawn, rheumy brick walks, and neglected gardens whose dismantled31 cement urns32, rusted33 kettles fallen from tripods of knotty34 sticks, and similar paraphernalia35 set off the weather-beaten front door with its broken fanlight, rotting Ionic pilasters, and wormy triangular36 pediment.
What I heard in my youth about the shunned house was merely that people died there in alarmingly great numbers. That, I was told, was why the original owners had moved out some twenty years after building the place. It was plainly unhealthy, perhaps because of the dampness and fungous growths in the cellar, the general sickish smell, the drafts of the hallways, or the quality of the well and pump water. These things were bad enough, and these were all that gained belief among the persons whom I knew. Only the notebooks of my antiquarian uncle, Doctor Elihu Whipple, revealed to me at length the darker, vaguer surmises37 which formed an undercurrent of folklore38 among old-time servants and humble39 folk; surmises which never travelled far, and which were largely forgotten when Providence grew to be a metropolis40 with a shifting modern population.
The general fact is, that the house was never regarded by the solid part of the community as in any real sense "haunted." There were no widespread tales of rattling41 chains, cold currents of air, extinguished lights, or faces at the window. Extremists sometimes said the house was "unlucky," but that is as far as even they went. What was really beyond dispute is that a frightful42 proportion of persons died there; or more accurately43, had died there, since after some peculiar happenings over sixty years ago the building had become deserted44 through the sheer impossibility of renting it. These persons were not all cut off suddenly by any one cause; rather did it seem that their vitality45 was insidiously46 sapped, so that each one died the sooner from whatever tendency to weakness he may have naturally had. And those who did not die displayed in varying degree a type of anemia47 or consumption, and sometimes a decline of the mental faculties48, which spoke ill for the salubriousness of the building. Neighboring houses, it must be added, seemed entirely49 free from the noxious50 quality.
This much I knew before my insistent51 questioning led my uncle to show me the notes which finally embarked52 us both on our hideous investigation53. In my childhood the shunned house was vacant, with barren, gnarled and terrible old trees, long, queerly pale grass and nightmarishly misshapen weeds in the high terraced yard where birds never lingered. We boys used to overrun the place, and I can still recall my youthful terror not only at the morbid54 strangeness of this sinister55 vegetation, but at the eldritch atmosphere and odor of the dilapidated house, whose unlocked front door was often entered in quest of shudders56. The small-paned windows were largely broken, and a nameless air of desolation hung round the precarious57 panelling, shaky interior shutters58, peeling wall-paper, falling plaster, rickety staircases, and such fragments of battered59 furniture as still remained. The dust and cobwebs added their touch of the fearful; and brave indeed was the boy who would voluntarily ascend60 the ladder to the attic, a vast raftered length lighted only by small blinking windows in the gable ends, and filled with a massed wreckage61 of chests, chairs, and spinning-wheels which infinite years of deposit had shrouded62 and festooned into monstrous63 and hellish shapes.
But after all, the attic was not the most terrible part of the house. It was the dank, humid cellar which somehow exerted the strongest repulsion on us, even though it was wholly above ground on the street side, with only a thin door and window-pierced brick wall to separate it from the busy sidewalk. We scarcely knew whether to haunt it in spectral64 fascination, or to shun12 it for the sake of our souls and our sanity65. For one thing, the bad odor of the house was strongest there; and for another thing, we did not like the white fungous growths which occasionally sprang up in rainy summer weather from the hard earth floor. Those fungi66, grotesquely67 like the vegetation in the yard outside, were truly horrible in their outlines; detestable parodies68 of toadstools and Indian-pipes, whose like we had never seen in any other situation. They rotted quickly, and at one stage became slightly phosphorescent; so that nocturnal passers-by sometimes spoke of witch-fires glowing behind the broken panes69 of the fetor-spreading windows.
We never—even in our wildest Halloween moods—visited this cellar by night, but in some of our daytime visits could detect the phosphorescence, especially when the day was dark and wet. There was also a subtler thing we often thought we detected—a very strange thing which was, however, merely suggestive at most. I refer to a sort of cloudy whitish pattern on the dirt floor—a vague, shifting deposit of mold or niter which we sometimes thought we could trace amidst the sparse70 fungous growths near the huge fireplace of the basement kitchen. Once in a while it struck us that this patch bore an uncanny resemblance to a doubled-up human figure, though generally no such kinship existed, and often there was no whitish deposit whatever.
On a certain rainy afternoon when this illusion seemed phenomenally strong, and when, in addition, I had fancied I glimpsed a kind of thin, yellowish, shimmering71 exhalation rising from the nitrous pattern toward the yawning fireplace, I spoke to my uncle about the matter. He smiled at this odd conceit72, but it seemed that his smile was tinged73 with reminiscence. Later I heard that a similar notion entered into some of the wild ancient tales of the common folk—a notion likewise alluding74 to ghoulish, wolfish shapes taken by smoke from the great chimney, and queer contours assumed by certain of the sinuous75 tree-roots that thrust their way into the cellar through the loose foundation-stones.
点击收听单词发音
1 posthumous | |
adj.遗腹的;父亡后出生的;死后的,身后的 | |
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2 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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3 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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4 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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5 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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6 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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7 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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8 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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9 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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10 craftsmanship | |
n.手艺 | |
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11 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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12 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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13 shunned | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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15 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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16 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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17 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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18 starkly | |
adj. 变硬了的,完全的 adv. 完全,实在,简直 | |
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19 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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20 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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21 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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22 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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23 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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24 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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25 graveyards | |
墓地( graveyard的名词复数 ); 垃圾场; 废物堆积处; 收容所 | |
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26 sheared | |
v.剪羊毛( shear的过去式和过去分词 );切断;剪切 | |
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27 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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28 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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29 shingled | |
adj.盖木瓦的;贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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30 abutting | |
adj.邻接的v.(与…)邻接( abut的现在分词 );(与…)毗连;接触;倚靠 | |
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31 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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32 urns | |
n.壶( urn的名词复数 );瓮;缸;骨灰瓮 | |
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33 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 knotty | |
adj.有结的,多节的,多瘤的,棘手的 | |
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35 paraphernalia | |
n.装备;随身用品 | |
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36 triangular | |
adj.三角(形)的,三者间的 | |
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37 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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38 folklore | |
n.民间信仰,民间传说,民俗 | |
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39 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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40 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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41 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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42 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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43 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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44 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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45 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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46 insidiously | |
潜在地,隐伏地,阴险地 | |
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47 anemia | |
n.贫血,贫血症 | |
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48 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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49 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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50 noxious | |
adj.有害的,有毒的;使道德败坏的,讨厌的 | |
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51 insistent | |
adj.迫切的,坚持的 | |
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52 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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53 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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54 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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55 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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56 shudders | |
n.颤动,打颤,战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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57 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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58 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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59 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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60 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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61 wreckage | |
n.(失事飞机等的)残骸,破坏,毁坏 | |
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62 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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63 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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64 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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65 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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66 fungi | |
n.真菌,霉菌 | |
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67 grotesquely | |
adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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68 parodies | |
n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 );恶搞;滑稽的模仿诗文;表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿,拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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70 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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71 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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72 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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73 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74 alluding | |
提及,暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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75 sinuous | |
adj.蜿蜒的,迂回的 | |
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