Mrs. Rusk would say in her confidences in my room —
“Where does she come from? — is she a French or a Swiss one, or is she a Canada woman? I remember one of them when I was a girl, and a nice limb she was, too! And who did she live with? Where was her last family? Not one of us knows nothing about her, no more than a child; except, of course, the Master — I do suppose he made enquiry. She’s always at hugger-mugger with Anne Wixted. I’ll pack that one about her business, if she don’t mind. Tattling and whispering eternally. It’s not about her own business she’s a-talking. Madame de la Rougepot, I call her. She does know how to paint up to the ninety-nines — she does, the old cat. I beg your pardon, Miss, but that she is — a devil, and no mistake. I found her out first by her thieving the Master’s gin, that the doctor ordered him, and filling the decanter up with water — the old villain2; but she’ll be found out yet, she will; and all the maids is afraid of her. She’s not right, they think — a witch or a ghost — I should not wonder. Catherine Jones found her in her bed asleep in the morning after she sulked with you, you know, Miss, with all her clothes on, whatever was the meaning; and I think she has frightened you, Miss, and has you as nervous as anythink — I do,” and so forth3.
It was true. I was nervous, and growing rather more so; and I think this cynical4 woman perceived and intended it, and was pleased. I was always afraid of her concealing5 herself in my room, and emerging at night to scare me. She began sometimes to mingle6 in my dreams, too — always awfully7; and this nourished, of course, the kind of ambiguous fear in which, in waking hours, I held her.
I dreamed one night that she led me, all the time whispering something so very fast that I could not understand her, into the library, holding a candle in her other hand above her head. We walked on tiptoe, like criminals at the dead of night, and stopped before that old oak cabinet which my father had indicated in so odd a way to me. I felt that we were about some contraband8 practice. There was a key in the door, which I experienced a guilty horror at turning, she whispering in the same unintelligible9 way, all the time, at my ear. I did turn it; the door opened quite softly, and within stood my father, his face white and malignant10, and glaring close in mine. He cried in a terrible voice, “Death!” Out went Madame’s candle, and at the same moment, with a scream, I waked in the dark — still fancying myself in the library; and for an hour after I continued in a hysterical11 state.
Every little incident about Madame furnished a topic of eager discussion among the maids. More or less covertly12, they nearly all hated and feared her. They fancied that she was making good her footing with “the Master;” and that she would then oust13 Mrs. Rusk — perhaps usurp14 her place — and so make a clean sweep of them all. I fancy the honest little housekeeper15 did not discourage that suspicion.
About this time I recollect16 a pedlar — an odd, gipsified-looking man — called in at Knowl. I and Catherine Jones were in the court when he came, and set down his pack on the low balustrade beside the door.
All sorts of commodities he had — ribbons, cottons, silks, stockings, lace, and even some bad jewellery; and just as he began his display — an interesting matter in a quiet country house — Madame came upon the ground. He grinned a recognition, and hoped “Madamasel” was well, and “did not look to see her here.”
“Madamasel” thanked him. “Yes, vary well,” and looked for the first time decidedly “put out.”
“Wat a pretty things!” she said. “Catherine, run and tell Mrs. Rusk. She wants scissars, and lace too — I heard her say.”
So Catherine, with a lingering look, departed; and Madame said —
“Will you, dear cheaile, be so kind to bring here my purse, I forgot on the table in my room; also, I advise you, bring your.”
Catherine returned with Mrs. Rusk. Here was a man who could tell them something of the old Frenchwoman, at last! Slyly they dawdled17 over his wares18, until Madame had made her market and departed with me. But when the coveted19 opportunity came, the pedlar was quite impenetrable. “He forgot everything; he did not believe as he ever saw the lady before. He called a Frenchwoman all the world over, Madamasel — that wor the name on ’em all. He never seed her in partiklar afore, as he could bring to mind. He liked to see ’em always, ‘cause they makes the young uns buy.”
This reserve and oblivion were very provoking, and neither Mrs. Rusk nor Catherine Jones spent sixpence with him; — he was a stupid fellow, or worse.
Of course Madame had tampered20 with him. But truth, like murder, will out some day. Tom Williams, the groom21, had seen her, when alone with him, and pretending to look at his stock, with her face almost buried in his silks and Welsh linseys, talking as fast as she could all the time, and slipping money, he did suppose, under a piece of stuff in his box.
In the mean time, I and Madame were walking over the wide, peaty sheep-walks that lie between Knowl and Church Scarsdale. Since our visit to the mausoleum in the wood, she had not worried me so much as before. She had been, indeed, more than usually thoughtful, very little talkative, and troubled me hardly at all about French and other accomplishments22. A walk was a part of our daily routine. I now carried a tiny basket in my hand, with a few sandwiches, which were to furnish our luncheon23 when we reached the pretty scene, about two miles away, whither we were tending.
We had started a little too late; Madame grew unwontedly fatigued24 and sat down to rest on a stile before we had got half-way; and there she intoned, with a dismal25 nasal cadence26, a quaint27 old Bretagne ballad28, about a lady with a pig’s head:—
“This lady was neither pig nor maid, And so she was not of human mould; Not of the living nor the dead. Her left hand and foot were warm to touch; Her right as cold as a corpse29’s flesh! And she would sing like a funeral bell, with a ding-dong tune30. The pigs were afraid, and viewed her aloof31; And women feared her and stood afar. She could do without sleep for a year and a day; She could sleep like a corpse, for a month and more. No one knew how this lady fed — On acorns32 or on flesh. Some say that she’s one of the swine-possessed, That swam over the sea of Gennesaret. A mongrel body and a demon33 soul. Some say she’s the wife of the Wandering Jew, And broke the law for the sake of pork; And a swinish face for a token doth bear, That her shame is now, and her punishment coming.”
And so it went on, in a gingling rigmarole. The more anxious I seemed to go on our way, the more likely was she to loiter. I therefore showed no signs of impatience34, and I saw her consult her watch in the course of her ugly minstrelsy, and slyly glance, as if expecting something, in the direction of our destination.
When she had sung to her heart’s content, up rose Madame, and began to walk onward35 silently. I saw her glance once or twice, as before, toward the village of Trillsworth, which lay in front, a little to our left, and the smoke of which hung in a film over the brow of the hill. I think she observed me, for she enquired36 —
“Wat is that a smoke there?”
“That is Trillsworth, Madame; there is a railway station there.”
“Oh, le chemin de fer, so near! I did not think. Where it goes?”
I told her, and silence resumed.
Church Scarsdale is a very pretty and odd scene. The slightly undulating sheep-walk dips suddenly into a wide glen, in the lap of which, by a bright, winding37 rill, rise from the sward the ruins of a small abbey, with a few solemn trees scattered38 round. The crows’ nests hung untenanted in the trees; the birds were foraging39 far away from their roosts. The very cattle had forsaken40 the place. It was solitude41 itself.
Madame drew a long breath and smiled.
“Come down, come down, cheaile — come down to the churchyard.”
As we descended42 the slope which shut out the surrounding world, and the scene grew more sad and lonely, Madame’s spirits seemed to rise.
“See ‘ow many grave-stones — one, two hundred. Don’t you love the dead, cheaile? I will teach you to love them. You shall see me die here to-day, for half an hour, and be among them. That is what I love.”
We were by this time at the little brook’s side, and the low churchyard wall with a stile, reached by a couple of stepping stones, across the stream, immediately at the other side.
“Come, now!” cried Madame, raising her face, as if to sniff43 the air; “we are close to them. You will like them soon as I. You shall see five of them. Ah, ?a ira, ?a ira, ?a ira! Come cross quickily! I am Madame la Morgue — Mrs. Deadhouse! I will present you my friends, Monsieur Cadavre and Monsieur Squelette. Come, come, leetle mortal, let us play, Ouaah!” And she uttered a horrid44 yell from her enormous mouth, and pushing her wig45 and bonnet46 back, so as to show her great, bald head. She was laughing, and really looked quite mad.
“No, Madame, I will not go with you,” I said, disengaging my hand with a violent effort, receding47 two or three steps.
“Not enter the churchyard! Ma foi — wat mauvais go?t! But see, we are already in shade. The sun he is setting soon — where well you remain, cheaile? I will not stay long.”
“I’ll stay here,” I said, a little angrily — for I was angry as well as nervous; and through my fear was that indignation at her extravagances which mimicked48 lunacy so unpleasantly, and were, I knew, designed to frighten me.
Over the stepping-stones, pulling up her dress, she skipped with her long, lank49 legs, like a witch joining a Walpurgis. Over the stile she strode, and I saw her head wagging, and heard her sing some of her ill-omened rhymes, as she capered50 solemnly, with many a grin and courtesy, among the graves and headstones, towards the ruin.
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收听单词发音
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1
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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3
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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6
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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7
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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8
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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9
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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10
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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usurp
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| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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17
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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20
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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21
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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23
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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24
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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26
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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28
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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29
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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30
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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31
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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32
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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33
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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34
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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35
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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36
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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37
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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38
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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39
foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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40
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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41
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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42
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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43
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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44
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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45
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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46
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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47
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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48
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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49
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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50
capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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