One December night, a long long time ago, a family sat around thefireplace in their home. A golden light from the fire filled the room.
The mother and father laughed at something their oldest daughter hadjust said. The girl was seventeen, much older than her little brotherand sister who were only five and six years old. A very old woman, thefamily's grandmother, sat knitting in the warmest corner of the room.
And a baby, the youngest child, smiled at the fire's light from itstiny bed.
This family had found happiness in the worst place in all of NewEngland. They had built their home high up in the White Mountains,where the wind blows violently all year long. The family lived in anespecially cold and dangerous spot. Stones from the top of themountain above their house would often roll down the mountainside andwake them in the middle of the night.
No other family lived near them on the mountain. But this family wasnever lonely. They enjoyed each other's company, and often hadvisitors. Their house was built near an important road that connectedthe White Mountains to the St. Lawrence River. People travelingthrough the mountains in wagons, always stopped at the family's door,for a drink of water and a friendly word. Lonely travelers crossingthe mountains on foot would step into the house to share a hot meal.
Sometimes, the wind became so wild and cold that these strangers wouldspend the night with the family. The family offered every traveler whostopped at their home, a kindness that money could not buy.
On that December evening, the wind came rushing down the mountain. Itseemed to stop at their house to knock at the door before it roareddown into the valley. The family fell silent for a moment, but thenthey realized that someone really was knocking at their door.
The oldest girl opened the door and found a young man standing in thedark. The old grandmother put a chair near the fireplace for him. Theoldest daughter gave him a warm shy smile. And the baby held up itslittle arms to him.
"This fire is just what I needed," the young man said, "the wind hasbeen blowing in my face for the last two hours."The father took the young man's travel bag.
"Are you going to Vermont?" the older man asked.
"Yes; to Burlington," the traveler replied. "I wanted to reach thevalley tonight. But when I saw the light in your window. I decided tostop. I would like to sit and enjoy your fire and your company for awhile."As the young man took his place by the fire, something like heavyfootsteps was heard outside. It sounded as if someone was running downthe side of the mountain taking enormous steps.
The father looked out of one of the windows.
"That old mountain has thrown another stone at us again. He must havebeen afraid we would forget him. He sometimes shakes his head andmakes us think he will come down on top of us." the father explainedto the young man.
"But we are old neighbors," he smiled, "and we manage to get alongtogether pretty well. Besides, I have made a safe hiding place outsideto protect us in case a slide brings the mountain down on our heads."As the father spoke, the mother prepared a hot meal for their guest.
While he ate, he talked freely to the family as if it were his own.
This young man did not trust people easily. Yet on this evening,something made him share his deepest secret with these simple mountainpeople. The young man's secret was that he was ambitious. He did notknow what he wanted to do with his life yet. But he did know that hedid not want to be forgotten after he had died. He believed that sometime during his life, he would become famous and be admired bythousands of people.
"So far," the young man said, "I have done nothing. If I disappearedtomorrow from the face of the Earth, no one would know anything aboutme. No one would ask, 'who was he?' 'where did he go?' But I cannotdie until I have reached to my destiny. Then let death come. I willhave built my monument."The young man's powerful emotions touched the family. They smiled.
"You laugh at me," the young man said, taking the oldest daughter'shand, "you think my ambition is silly."She was very shy and her face became pink with embarrassment.
"It is better to sit here by the fire," she whispered," and be happyeven if nobody thinks of us."Her father stared into the fire, "I think there is something naturalin what the young man says; and his words have made me think about ourlives here. It would have been nice if we had had a little farm downin the valley. Some place where we could see our mountains withoutbeing afraid they would fall on our heads. I would have been respectedby all our neighbors. And when I had grown old, I would die happy inmy bed. You would put a stone over my grave so everyone would know Ilived an honest life.""You see," the young man cried out, "it is in our nature to want amonument. Some want only a stone on their grave. Others want to be apart of everyone's memory. But we all want to be remembered after wedie."The young man threw some more wood on the fire to chase away thedarkness. The firelight fell on the little group around the fireplace,the father's strong arms, and mother's gentle smile. It touched theyoung man's proud face and the daughter's shy one. It warmed the oldgrandmother still knitting in the corner.
She looked up from her knitting and with her fingers still moving theneedles, she said, "old people have their secrets just as young peopledo." The old woman said she had made her funeral clothes some yearsearlier. They were the finest clothes she had made since her weddingdress. She said her secret was a fear that she would not be buried inher best clothes.
The young man stared into the fire.
"Old and young," he said, "we dream of graves and monuments. I wonderhow sailors feel when their ship is sinking; and they know they wouldbe buried in the wide and nameless grave that is the ocean."A sound rising like the roar of the ocean shook the house. Young andold exchanged one wild look. Then the same words burst from all theirlips. "The Slide! The Slide!"They rushed away from the house into the darkness to the secret's spotthat father had built to protect them from the mountain slide.
The whole side of the mountain came rushing toward the house like awaterfall of destruction. But just before it reached the little house,the wave of earth divided in two and went around the family's home.
Everyone and everything in the path of the terrible slide wasdestroyed except the little house.
The next morning, smoke was seen coming from the chimney of the houseon the mountain. Inside, the fire was still burning. The chairs werestill drawn up in a half circle around the fireplace. It looked as ifthe family had just gone out for a walk.
Some people thought that a stranger had been with the family on thatterrible night. But no one ever discovered who the stranger was. Hisname and way of life remained a mystery. His body was never found.
You have just heard the story The Ambitious Guest. It was written byNathaniel Hawthorne and adapted for Special English by Dona deSanctis. Your narrator was Harry Monroe.
纳撒尼尔.霍桑(Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804～1864)19世纪美国小说家, 其代表作品《红字》(The Scarlet Letter)《七角楼》（The House of the SevenGables）。 |