In the first tale the river, not “Rose,” is the principal character; no one realizes this better than I. If an author spends her summers on the banks of Saco Water it fills the landscape. It flows from the White Mountains to the Atlantic in a tempestuous4 torrent5, breaking here and there into glorious falls of amber6 glimpsed through snowy foam7; its rapids dash through rocky cliffs crowned with pine trees, under which blue harebells and rosy8 columbines blossom in gay profusion9. There is the glint of the mirror-like lake above the falls, and the sound of the surging floods below; the witchery of feathery elms reflected in its clear surfaces, and the enchantment10 of the full moon on its golden torrents11, never twice alike and always beautiful! How is one to forget, evade12, scorn, belittle13 it, by leaving its charms untold14; and who could keep such a river out of a book? It has flowed through many of mine and the last sound I expect to hear in life will be the faint, far-away murmur15 of Saco Water!
The old Tory Hill Meeting House bulks its way into the foreground of the next story, and the old Peabody Pew (which never existed) has somehow assumed a quasi-historical aspect never intended by its author. There is a Dorcas Society, and there is a meeting house; my dedication16 assures the reader of these indubitable facts; and the Dorcas Society, in a season of temporary bankruptcy17, succeeding a too ample generosity18, did scrub the pews when there was no money for paint. Rumors19 of our strenuous20, and somewhat unique, activities spread through our parish to many others, traveling so far (even over seas) that we became embarrassed at our easily won fame. The book was read and people occasionally came to church to see the old Peabody Pew, rather resenting the information that there had never been any Peabodys in the parish and, therefore, there could be no Peabody Pew. Matters became worse when I made, very reverently21, what I suppose must be called a dramatic version of the book, which we have played for several summers in the old meeting house to audiences far exceeding our seating capacity. Inasmuch as the imaginary love-tale of my so-called Nancy Wentworth and Justin Peabody had begun under the shadow of the church steeple, and after the ten years of parting the happy reunion had come to them in the selfsame place, it was possible to present their story simply and directly, without offense22, in a church building. There was no curtain, no stage, no scenery, no theatricalism23. The pulpit was moved back, and four young pine trees were placed in front of it for supposed Christmas decoration. The pulpit platform, and the “wing pews” left vacant for the village players, took the place of a stage; the two aisles24 served for exits and entrances; and the sexton with three rings of the church bell, announced the scenes. The Carpet Committee of the Dorcas Society furnished the exposition of the first act, while sewing the last breadths of the new, hardly-bought ingrain carpet. The scrubbing of the pews ends the act, with dialogue concerning men, women, ministers, church-members and their ways, including the utter failure of Justin Peabody, Nancy's hero, to make a living anywhere, even in the West. The Dorcas members leave the church for their Saturday night suppers of beans and brown bread, but Nancy returns with her lantern at nightfall to tack25 down the carpet in the old Peabody pew and iron out the tattered26, dog's eared leaves of the hymn-book from which she has so often sung “By cool Siloam's shady rill” with her lover in days gone by. He, still a failure, having waited for years for his luck to turn, has come back to spend Christmas in the home of his boyhood; and seeing a dim light in the church, he enters quietly and surprises Nancy at her task of carpeting the Peabody Pew, so that it shall look as well as the others at next day's services. The rest is easy to imagine. One can deny the reality of a book, but when two or three thousand people have beheld27 Justin Peabody and Nancy Wentworth in the flesh, and have seen the paint of the old Peabody Pew wiped with a damp cloth, its cushion darned and its carpet tacked28 in place, it is useless to argue; any more than it would be to deny the validity of the egg of Columbus or the apple of William Tell.
As for “Susanna and Sue” the story would never have been written had I not as a child and girl been driven once a year to the Shaker meeting at the little village of Alfred, sixteen miles distant. The services were then open to the public, but eventually permission to attend them was withdrawn29, because of the careless and sometimes irreverent behavior of young people who regarded the Shaker costumes, the solemn dances or marches, the rhythmic30 movements of the hands, the almost hypnotic crescendo31 of the singing, as a sort of humorous spectacle. I learned to know the brethren and sisters, and the Elder, as years went by, and often went to the main house to spend a day or two as the guest of Eldress Harriet, a saint, if ever there was one, or, later, with dear Sister Lucinda.
The shining cleanliness and order, the frugality32 and industry, the serenity33 and peace of these people, who had resigned the world and “life on the plane of Adam,” vowing34 themselves to celibacy35, to public confession36 of sins, and the holding of goods in common,—all this has always had a certain exquisite37 and helpful influence upon my thought, and Mr. W. D. Howells paid a far more beautiful tribute to them in “The Undiscovered Country.”
It is needless to say that I read every word of the book to my Shaker friends before it was published. They took a deep interest in it, evincing keen delight in my rather facetious38 but wholly imaginary portrait of “Brother Ansel,” a “born Shaker,” and sadly confessing that my two young lovers, “Hetty” and “Nathan,” who could not endure the rigors39 of the Shaker faith and fled together in the night to marry and join the world's people,—that this tragedy had often occurred in their community.
Here, then, are the three simple homespun tales. I believe they are true to life as I see it. I only wish my readers might hear the ripple40 of the Maine river running through them; breathe the fragrance41 of New England for-ests, and though never for a moment getting, through my poor pen, the atmosphere of Maine's rugged42 cliffs and the tang of her salt sea air, they might at least believe for an instant that they had found a modest Mayflower in her pine woods.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN. July, 1920.
点击收听单词发音
1 decorative | |
adj.装饰的,可作装饰的 | |
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2 margins | |
边( margin的名词复数 ); 利润; 页边空白; 差数 | |
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3 stringent | |
adj.严厉的;令人信服的;银根紧的 | |
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4 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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5 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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6 amber | |
n.琥珀;琥珀色;adj.琥珀制的 | |
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7 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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8 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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9 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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10 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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11 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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12 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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13 belittle | |
v.轻视,小看,贬低 | |
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14 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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15 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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16 dedication | |
n.奉献,献身,致力,题献,献辞 | |
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17 bankruptcy | |
n.破产;无偿付能力 | |
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18 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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19 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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20 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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21 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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22 offense | |
n.犯规,违法行为;冒犯,得罪 | |
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23 theatricalism | |
n.演出法,戏剧风格 | |
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24 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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25 tack | |
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝 | |
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26 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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27 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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28 tacked | |
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝 | |
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29 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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30 rhythmic | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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31 crescendo | |
n.(音乐)渐强,高潮 | |
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32 frugality | |
n.节约,节俭 | |
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33 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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34 vowing | |
起誓,发誓(vow的现在分词形式) | |
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35 celibacy | |
n.独身(主义) | |
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36 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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37 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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38 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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39 rigors | |
严格( rigor的名词复数 ); 严酷; 严密; (由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体)僵直 | |
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40 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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41 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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42 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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