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红字.Scarlet.Letter 01Salem, my home town, is a quiet place, and not    many ships call at the port here, though in the last century,before the war with Britain, the port was often busy. Now the ships go down the coast to the great seaports of Boston or New York, and grass grows in the streets around the old port buildings in Salem.     For a few years, when I was a young man, I worked in the port offices of Salem. Most of the time, there was very little work to do, and one day in 1849 I was looking through an old wooden box in one of the dusty, unused rooms of the building. It was full of papers about long-forgotten ships, but then something red caught my eye. I took it out and saw that it was a piece of red material, in the shape of a letter about ten   centimeters long. It was the capital letter A. It was a wonderful piece of needlework, with patterns of gold thread around the letter, but the material was now worn thin with age.  
It was a strange thing to find. What could it mean? Was it once part of some fashionable lady's dress long years ago?Perhaps a mark to show that the wearer was a famous person, or someone of good family or great importance?     I held it in my hands, wondering, and it seemed to me that the scarlet letter had some deep meaning， which I could not understand. Then I held the letter to my chest and —— you must not doubt my words —— experienced a strange feeling of burning heat. Suddenly the letter seemed to be not red material, but red-hot metal. I trembled, and let the letter fall upon the floor.     Then I saw that there was an old packet of papers next to its place in the box. I opened the packet carefully and began to read. There were several papers, explaining the history of the scarlet letter, and containing many details of the life and experiences of a woman called Hester Prynne.She had died long ago, sometime in the 1690s, but many people in the state of Massachusetts at that time had known her name and story.     And it is Hester Prynne's story that I tell you now. It is a story of the early years of Boston, soon after the City Fathers had built with their own hands the first wooden buildings ——the houses, the churches ... and the prison.  

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黑骏马

1 My first home
　
　　The first place I can remember well was a pleasant field with a pond of clear water in it．Trees made shadows over the pond，and water plants grew at the deep end．On one side was another field，and on the other side we looked over a gate at our master's house， which stood by the roadside．At the top of our field were more tall trees，and at the bottom was a fast-running stream．
　　While I was young，I lived on my mother's milk，but as soon as I was old enough to eat grass，my mother went out to work during the day and came back in the evening．
　　There were six other young horses in me field，although they were older than I was．We all galloped together round the field， and had great fun．But sometimes the others would kick and bite．
　　'They are young farm horses and haven't learned how to behave，'my mother told me．'You are different．Your father is well known， and your grandfather twice won the most important race at Newmarket．Your grandmother was quiet and gentle，and you have never seen me kick or bite，have you？ I hope you will grow up to be gentle and a willing worker， and never bite or kick．'
　　I have never forgotten my mother's advice．She was a clever and sensible old horse．Her name was Duchess，but our master often called her Pet．He was a good，kind man，and my mother loved him very much．Whenever she saw him at the gate，she trotted across．He used to pat her and say，'Well，old Pet，and how is your little Darkie？'I was a dull black colour，so he called me Darkie．He sometimes brought a piece of bread for me，or a carrot for my mother，and I think we were his favourites．
　　When I was two years old，something happened which I have never forgotten．It was early spring，and there was a light mist over the trees and fields．I and the other young horses were feeding at the lower end of the field when we heard the distant cry of dogs．
　　The oldest among us lifted his head to listen．'There are the hounds！'he said，and immediately raced off．The rest of us followed him to the top of the field，where we could see several fields beyond．
　　My mother and another old horse were standing near．'They've found a hare，'said my mother，'and if they come this way，we shall see the hunt．'
　　Soon the dogs were all racing down the field next to ours，making a loud'yo-yo-yo-yo！'sound at the top of their voices．After them came men on horses，some in green coats，and all galloping as fast as they could．Suddenly，the dogs be-came silent and ran around with their noses to the ground．
　　'They've lost the smell of the hare，'said the old horse．'Perhaps it will escape．'
　　But the dogs began their'yo-yo-yo-yo！'again and came at full speed towards our field．Just then a hare，wild with fear，ran towards the trees．The dogs jumped over the stream and ran across the field，followed by the huntsmen． Six or eight jumped their horses over the stream，close behind the dogs．Be-fore the hare could get away，the dogs were upon her with wild cries．
　　We heard a terrible scream，and that was the end of the hare．One of the men picked her up and held her by the leg．She was covered in blood， but all the huntsmen seemed pleased．
　　I was so greatly surprised that at first I did not see what was happening by the stream， but when I did look， I saw a sad sight．Two fine horses were down，one in the stream and the other on the grass． One rider， who seemed unhurt，was climb-ing out of the water，but the other lay quite still．
　　'His neck is broken，'said my mother．'I can't understand why men are so fond of this sport．They quite often hurt them-selves and ruin good horses，all for one hare that they could get more easily some other way． But we are only horses， and don't know why men do these things．'
　　They carried the dead rider to our master's house， and I heard afterwards that it was George Gordon， the only son of a local landowner， and a fine young man．
　　A man from the village came to look at the black horse on the grass．The animal was in great pain and one of his legs was broken．The man began to feel the horse all over，then he shook his head．Someone ran to our master's house and came back with a gun．Soon after， there was a loud bang and a terrible cry，then all was still．The black horse did not move again．
　　My mother was very unhappy．'I've known that horse for years，'she said．'His name was Rob Roy．He was a good brave horse．'She never went near that end of the field again．
　　Not many days after，we heard the church bell and saw a long，strange black carriage，pulled by black horses．they were taking the body of young George Gordon to the churchyard to bury him．He would never ride again．I never knew what they did with Rob Roy，but it was all for one little hare．

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2 Birtwick Park
　
　　I was beginning to grow handsome．My coat was fine and soft， and was a shiny black． I had one white foot，and a pretty white star on my forehead． When I was four years old，Mr Gordon came to look at me．He looked closely at my eyes，my mouth， and my legs， and then I had to walk and trot and gallop for him．
　　'When he has been trained，'Mr Gordon said to my master，'he will do very well．'
　　My master liked to train his horses himself before selling them，and the next day my training began．
　　To train a horse is to teach him to wear a saddle，and to carry a man，woman or child on his back．The horse must also learn to wear a collar， and to stand still when it is put on；then to have a carriage fixed behind him， and to go fast or slow，whichever his driver wishes． He must never bite or kick or talk to other horses， and must always do what his master tells him，however tired or hungry he feels．
　　Like all horses that have grown up，I had to wear a bit and bridle．A bit is a great piece of cold hard metal， as thick as a man's finger，which is pushed into a horse's mouth between his teeth and over his tongue， with the ends coming out at the corners． It is held there by straps which go over the horse's head，under his neck，round his nose and under his chin．Reins，which the rider holds，are fastened to each end of the bit．Slowly， with my master's kind words and gentle ways， I learned to wear my bit and bridle．
　　Next there was the saddle．My master put it on my back very gently， then fixed the straps under my body， speaking quietly to me all the time．Then one morning， he got on my back and rode me round the field on the soft grass．He did this every day until I was used to it． Then he took me to the village where a man fixed metal shoes on to each hoof．My feet felt heavy and strange，but I got used to this，too．
　　There were more new things to wear．First，a heavy collar on my neck，and a bridle with great side pieces against my eyes，called blinkers．With these on，I could only see in front of me．But in time I got used to everything，and could do my work as well as my mother．
　　For a fortnight， my master sent me to a neighbour's farm for another kind of training， which was very useful to me．One field was next to the railway and had sheep and cows in it， and I was put in among them．I shall never forget the first train that thundered by， and how I galloped to the far side of the field，trembling with fear at this terrible noise．But after a few days I cared as little as the sheep and cows when a train passed by．
　　It was early in May when a man came to take me away to Mr. Gordon's house．My master said，'Goodbye，Darkie．Be a good horse，and always do your best．'I put my nose into his hand and he patted me kindly，and then I left my first home．
* * *
　　Mr. Gordon's house，which was called the Hall，stood in Birtwick Park，near the village．We went into the Park through a large gate，then trotted along a smooth road between some trees to the house and gardens．Beyond this were the stables．
　　There was room for many horses and carriages．My stable had four good stalls and a large window．It was very pleasant．The first stall was called a loose box，where a horse is not tied up all the time but is free to move around as he likes．It is a great thing to have a loose box．The groom put me into it and gave me some oats．Then he patted me，spoke kindly，and went away．In the stall next to mine stood a little fat grey pony．
　　'Hello，'I said．'What is your name？'
　　'Merrylegs，'he said，turning round．'I'm very handsome．I carry the young ladies on my back， and sometimes I take Mrs Gordon out in one of the carriages．Are you going to live next to me in the box？'
　　'Yes，'I said．
　　'Then I hope you are well-behaved，'he said．'I don't like anyone who bites．'
　　A horse's head looked over from the stall beyond．It was a tall brown mare， and she did not look pleased．'So it's you who has turned me out of my box，'she said．
　　'I'm sorry，'I said，'but the man put me in here，so it is not my fault．I don't want to argue with anyone；I just wish to live in peace．
　　Later，Merrylegs told me about the tall brown mare．
　　'Ginger has a bad habit of biting people，'he explained．'One day，she bit James in the arm，and Miss Flora and Miss Jessie， the children， were afraid to come into the stable after that．If you don't bite， I hope they'll start to come again．'
　　I told him I never bit anything except grass and could not understand why Ginger bit people．
　　'No one was ever kind to her before she came here，'said Merrylegs．'John and James do all they can to please her，and our master is never unkind．I'm twelve years old， and I know that there isn't a better place for a horse all round the country than this．John has been here fourteen years and is the best groom there ever was．And you never saw a kinder stableboy than James．There was no reason for Ginger to bite anyone．It's her own fault that she did not stay in the box．'
　　The name of the groom was John Manly．The next morning， he got out his brushes and gave me a good grooming，then put a saddle on me．He rode me slowly at first，then at a trot， then at a gallop．As we came back through the Park， we met Mr. and Mrs Gordon．They stopped and John jumped off．
　　'Well，John， how does he go？'said Mr Gordon．
　　'He's a fine horse，sir，'said John．'He's fast，but the lightest touch of the rein will guide him．They were shooting birds near Highwood，and a gun went off close by． He pulled up a little，but I just held the rein and he wasn't frightened at all． It's my opinion he was never frightened or beaten when he was young．'
　　'Good，'said Mr Gordon．'I'll ride him tomorrow．'
　　I remembered my mother's advice， and the next day I tried to do exactly what my master wanted me to do．He was a very good rider，and when he came home his wife was waiting for him at the door．
　　'How do you like him， my dear？'she asked．
　　'I have never ridden a more pleasant horse，'answered Mr Gordon．'What shall we call him？'
　　'What about Blackbird，like your uncle's old horse？'said his wife．
　　'He's far handsomer than Blackbird，'said Mr Gordon．
　　'Yes，'she said，'he's quite a beauty， and he has a kind， intelligent face．Shall we call him Black Beauty？'
　　'Black Beauty—why，yes，I think that's a very good name，'said Mr Gordon．
　　John went into the stable and told James．
　　'I'd call him Rob Roy，'said James，'if it did not remind everyone of the past．I never saw two horses more alike．'
　　'That's not surprising，'said John．'Didn't you know that Farmer Grey's old Duchess was the mother of them both？'
　　So poor Rob Roy who was killed at the hunt was my brother！ Now I understood why my mother was so unhappy when he died．
　　John was very proud of me，and seemed to know just how a horse feels．And James was kind，too．
　　A day or two later，I went out in the carriage with Ginger．I wondered how we would get on together， but I found it easy to trot along beside her．
　　Merrylegs was a happy little pony and was everyone's favourite．We were soon great friends and I became quite happy in my new home．

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　　[化身博士 / 罗伯特•路易斯•史蒂文森 著]
　　Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson



■ 1 The mysterious door
　　Mr Utterson the lawyer was a quiet， serious man． Hewas shy with strangers and afraid of showing his feelings． Among friends， however， his eyes shone with kindness and goodness．And， although this goodness never found its way into his conversation， it showed itself in his way of life．He did not allow himself many enjoyable things in life． He ate and drank simply and， although he enjoyed the theatre，he had not been to a play for twenty years． However， he was gentler towards other men' s weaknesses，and was always ready to help rather than blame them． As a lawyer， he was often the last good person that evildoers met on their way toprison，or worse． These people often carried with them memories of his politeness and fairness．
　　Mr Utterson's best friend was a distant cousin calledRichard Enfield，who was well known as a fun-loving 'manabout town'．Nobody could understand why they werefriends， as they were different from each other in every way．They often took long walks together，however， marchingthrough the streets of London in companionable silence．
　　One of these walks used to take them down a narrow sidestreet in a busy part of London． It was a clean， busy， friendlystreet with bright little shops and shiny doorknockers． Nearthe end of this street， however， stood a dark， mysterious，windowless building．The door had neither bell nor knockerand looked dusty and uncared for． Dirty children played fearlessly on the doorstep， and nobody ever opened the door todrive them away．
　　One day，as Mr Enfield and his friend passed the building，Mr Enfield pointed to it．
　　'Have you ever noticed that place？'he asked．'It remindsme of a very strange story．'
　　'Really？'said Mr Utterson．'Tell me．'
　　'Well，'began Enfield，'I was coming home about threeo'clock on a black winter morning，when suddenly I saw twopeople．The first was a short man who was walking along thestreet，and the second was a little girl who was running as fastas she could． Well，the two bumped into each other and thechild fell down．Then a terrible thing happened．The mancalmly walked all over the child's body with his heavy boots，and left her screaming on the ground．It was an inhuman thingto do．I ran after the man， caught him and fetched him back．There was already a small crowd around the screaming child．The man was perfectly cool， but he gave me a very evil look，which made me feel sick in my stomach．The child's familythen arrived， and also a doctor． The child had been sent tofetch the doctor for a sick neighbour，and was on her wayhome again．
　　'“The child is more frightened than hurt，”said thedoctor—and that， you would think， was the end of the story．But， you see，I had taken a violent dislike to the short man．So had the child's family—that was only natural．But the doctor， who seemed a quiet， kindly man， was also looking at ourprisoner with murder in his eyes．
　　'The doctor and I understood each other perfectly．Together we shouted at the man， and told him we would tell this story all over London so that his name would be hated．
　　'He looked back at us with a proud，blach look．“Nameyour price，”he said．
　　'We made him agree to a hundred pounds for the child' sfamily． With another black look， the man led us to that doorover there．He took out a key and let himself into thebuilding．Presently he came out and handed us ten pounds ingold and a cheque for ninety pounds from Coutts's Bank． Thename on the cheque was a well-known one．
　　'“See here，”said the doctor doubtfully，“it isn't usual for aman to walk into an empty house at four in the morning andcome out with another man's cheque for nearly a hundredpounds．”
　　'“Don't worry，”said the man with an ugly look，“I'll staywith you until the banks open，and
　　change the chequemyself．”
　　'So we all went off， the doctor and the prisoner and myself，and spent the rest of the night at my house．In the morningwe went together to the bank． Sure enough， the cheque wasgood， and the money was passed to the child's family．'
　　'Well，well，'said Mr Utterson．
　　'Yes，'said Enfield，'it's a strange story．My prisoner wasclearly a hard， cruel man． But the man whose name was onthe cheque was well known all over London for his kind andgenerous acts．Why would a man like that give his cheque to acriminal？'
　　'And you don't know if the writer of the cheque lives inthat building？'asked Mr Utterson．
　　'I don't like to ask，'said his friend．'In my experience，it's not a good idea to ask too many questions，in case the answers are ugly，violent ones．But I've studied the place alittle．It doesn't seem like a house． There's no other door，and the only person who uses that door is the man I've just described to you．There are three windows on the side of thehouse，which look down onto a small courtyard．The windowsare shut，but they're always clean．There's a chimney too，which is usually smoking．So somebody must live there．'
　　The two men continued on their walk． Then Utterson brokethe silence．
　　'Enfield，'he said，'you're right about not asking toomany questions．However，I want to ask the name of the manwho walked over the child．'
　　'Very well，' said Enfield．'He told us his name wasHyde．'
　　'What does he look like？'
　　'He's not easy to describe， although I remember him perfectly．He's a strange-looking man．He's short，but has astrong， heavy body．There's something wrong with his appearance，something ugly and unpleasing—no，somethinghateful．I disliked him at once．'
　　Mr Utterson thought deeply．'Are you sure he used a key？'he asked．
　　'What do you mean？'asked Enfield in surprise．
　　'I know it must seem strange，'said his friend．'But yousee， if I don't ask you the name on the cheque， it's because Iknow it already…'
　　'Well， why didn't you tell me？'said his friend rathercrossly．'Anyway， he did have a key， and he still has it． Isaw him use it only a week ago．'
　　Mr Utterson looked at him thoughtfully，but said nothingmore．

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■ 2 In search of Mr Hyde
　　After dinner that evening Mr Utterson went into his office and unlocked a cupboard． He took out an envelope．It contained the will of Doctor Henry Jekyll，and was writtenin the doctor's own handwriting．
　　'If I die，or if I disappear for more than three months，'thewill began，'I wish to leave everything I own to my dearfriend Edward Hyde．'
　　This will had both worried and annoyed Mr Utterson． To alawyer it was an unusual and dangerous kind of will． It wasbad enough when Edward Hyde was only an unknown name，but now that the lawyer knew something about Hyde， the willworried him more than ever． It had seemed like madness before；now it began to seem shameful． With a heavy heart MrUtterson replaced the envelope in the cupboard，put on hiscoat and went to see his old friend Doctor Lanyon．
　　Doctor Lanyon was enjoying his after-dinner coffee．'Comein，old friend！' he cried． The two men had known each othersince their school days．They sat for several minutes，drinkingcoffee and talking companionably of this and that． At last MrUtterson mentioned the thoughts that were worrying him．
　　'I suppose，Lanyon，'he said，'that you and I are HenryJekyll's oldest friends？'
　　'I suppose so，'said Doctor Lanyon，'but I don't often seehim now．'
　　'Really？' said Mr Utterson in surprise．'I thought you andhe were interested in the same things．'
　　'We were at one time，'said Doctor Lanyon．'But morethan ten years ago Henry Jekyll became too—well，imaginativefor me． He developed some strange，wild， unscientific ideas． Itold him so，and I've seen very little of him since then．'
　　Mr Utterson looked at his friend's red， angry face．'Only adisagreement about some scientific question，'he thought．'It's nothing worse than that．' Calmly he continued，'Didyou ever meet a friend of Jekyll's a man called Hyde？'
　　'Hyde？'repeated Lanyon．'No， never．'
　　Soon the lawyer said goodnight and went home to bed，where he lay awake for a long time thinking about Enfield's description of Hyde，and Doctor Jekyll's will．When at last hefell asleep，he was troubled by dreams． In his mind's eye hesaw a faceless man marching over the child's body．Then hesaw his old friend Jekyll in bed，while the same faceless figurestood over him．The facelessness of that figure worried himdeeply．
　　'Very well，Mr Hyde，'said the lawyer to himself，'I willfind you，and I will see your face for myself．'
　　During the next few weeks Mr Utterson spent many hoursin the narrow street where Enfield had seen Hyde．He waitedpatiently near the mysterious door， hoping for a sight of MrHyde—and one dry， clear winter night he was successful．The street was empty and silent and small sounds carried along way．The lawyer heard footsteps． He stepped back intothe shadows and waited．A short figure turned the corner andwalked towards the mysterious door． Although Mr Uttersoncould not see his face， he felt a strong， almost violent， dislikefor the stranger．
　　Mr Utterson stepped forward and touched him on the shoulder．'Mr Hyde？'
　　'Yes，that's my name，'said the stranger coolly．' What doyou want？'
　　'I see that you're going in．I'm an old friend of DoctorJekyll's．My name is Utterson．You must have heard myname—may I come in with you？'
　　'Doctor Jekyll is not at home，'replied Mr Hyde．'How didyou know me？'he added sharply．
　　'First let me see your face，'replied the lawyer．
　　Mr Hyde hesitated for a moment， then he stood under thestreet light and the lawyer saw his face．'Thank you，' saidMr Utterson．'Now I shall know you again． It may beuseful．'
　　'Yes，'said Mr Hyde，'it may indeed be useful．Here，too，is my address．You may need it one day．'He gave the lawyerhis address，which was in a poor part of London．
　　'Good God！'thought the lawyer，'does Hyde know aboutJekyll's will？Is that what he's thinking of？'But he saidnothing．
　　'And now，'said Mr Hyde，'How did you know me？'
　　'You were described to me．'
　　'Who did that？'
　　'I know people who know you．'
　　'Who？' asked Mr Hyde sharply．
　　'Doctor Jekyll，for example，'said the lawyer．
　　'He never told you！'cried Mr Hyde in sudden anger．'Don't lie to me！'And before the lawyer could answer， heturned the key in the lock and disappeared into the house．
　　Mr Utterson stared at the closed door．'Why do I dislikehim so much？'he said to himself．'Enfield was right—thereis something evil about the man．Poor Henry Jekyll，I'm worried about you． Your new friend will mean trouble for you．'
　　Round the corner from the narrow street there was a squareof handsome old houses．One of these was Doctor．Jekyll's house，and Mr Utterson knocked at the front door． The servant answered and told him that Doctor Jekyll was not athome．
　　'I saw Mr Hyde go in by the laboratory door in the street atthe back of the house， said the lawyer．
　　'That's right，Mr Utterson，'replied the servant． 'MrHyde has his own key， and comes and goes when he likes． Wehave orders from Doctor Jekyll to obey him．'
　　Mr Utterson walked home more worried than ever．
　　A fortnight later Doctor Jekyll gave a dinner party for a fewold friends．Mr Utterson was among them and he remained after the others had left．
　　'I've been wanting to speak to you for some time，Jekyll，'said the lawyer，'about your will．'
　　Doctor Jekyll was a tall， well－made man of fifty with asmooth， kindly face．'My poor friend，'he said，'you doworry unnecessarily， you know． Like poor Lanyon when Itold him about my new ideas．“Imaginative rubbish”he calledthem… I'm very disappointed in Lanyon．'
　　But the lawyer did not want to talk about Doctor Lanyon．'You know I've never agreed with your will，'he continued．'You've told me often enough，'said his friend sharply．
　　'Well，I've learnt something about your friend Hyde，'continued the lawyer．
　　The colour of the doctor's handsome face changed from pinkto greyish-white．'I don't want to hear any more，'he said．'You don't understand． I'm in a very difficult，painful situation．
　　'Tell me everything，'said Mr Utterson，'and I'll do mybest to help you．'
　　'You're very kind，but this is a private matter．I'll tell youone thing—I can get rid of Mr Hyde any time I want． Youmust understand，however， that I take a great interest in poorHyde．I know you've seen him—he told me， and I'm afraidhe wasn't very polite to you． But I really do care about him．And if anything happens to me，I want you to promise tomake sure that he inherits my money．'
　　'I cannot pretend that I shall ever like him，' said thelawyer．
　　'I'm not asking you to like him，'said his friend．'I onlyask you to help him，when I'm gone．'
　　'I promise，'said Mr Utterson sadly．