ANNE LISBETH故事

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　ANNE LISBETH故事
　　    ANNE LISBETH was a beautiful young woman, with a red and
　　    white complexion, glittering white teeth, and clear soft eyes;
　　    and her footstep was light in the dance, but her mind was
　　    lighter still. She had a little child, not at all pretty; so
　　    he was put out to be nursed by a laborer's wife, and his
　　    mother went to the count's castle. She sat in splendid rooms,
　　    richly decorated with silk and velvet; not a breath of air was
　　    allowed to blow upon her, and no one was allowed to speak to
　　    her harshly, for she was nurse to the count's child. He was
　　    fair and delicate as a prince, and beautiful as an angel; and
　　    how she loved this child! Her own boy was provided for by
　　    being at the laborer's where the mouth watered more frequently
　　    than the pot boiled, and where in general no one was at home
　　    to take care of the child. Then he would cry, but what nobody
　　    knows nobody cares for; so he would cry till he was tired, and
　　    then fall asleep; and while we are asleep we can feel neither
　　    hunger nor thirst. Ah, yes; sleep is a capital invention.
　　    As years went on, Anne Lisbeth's child grew apace like
　　    weeds, although they said his growth had been stunted. He had
　　    become quite a member of the family in which he dwelt; they
　　    received money to keep him, so that his mother got rid of him
　　    altogether. She had become quite a lady; she had a comfortable
　　    home of her own in the town; and out of doors, when she went
　　    for a walk, she wore a bonnet; but she never walked out to see
　　    the laborer: that was too far from the town, and, indeed, she
　　    had nothing to go for, the boy now belonged to these laboring
　　    people. He had food, and he could also do something towards
　　    earning his living; he took care of Mary's red cow, for he
　　    knew how to tend cattle and make himself useful.
　　    The great dog by the yard gate of a nobleman's mansion
　　    sits proudly on the top of his kennel when the sun shines, and
　　    barks at every one that passes; but if it rains, he creeps
　　    into his house, and there he is warm and dry. Anne Lisbeth's
　　    boy also sat in the sunshine on the top of the fence, cutting
            
            

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　　    out a little toy. If it was spring-time, he knew of three
　　    strawberry-plants in blossom, which would certainly bear
　　    fruit. This was his most hopeful thought, though it often came
　　    to nothing. And he had to sit out in the rain in the worst
　　    weather, and get wet to the skin, and let the cold wind dry
　　    the clothes on his back afterwards. If he went near the
　　    farmyard belonging to the count, he was pushed and knocked
　　    about, for the men and the maids said he was so horrible ugly;
　　    but he was used to all this, for nobody loved him. This was
　　    how the world treated Anne Lisbeth's boy, and how could it be
　　    otherwise. It was his fate to be beloved by no one. Hitherto
　　    he had been a land crab; the land at last cast him adrift. He
　　    went to sea in a wretched vessel, and sat at the helm, while
　　    the skipper sat over the grog-can. He was dirty and ugly,
　　    half-frozen and half-starved; he always looked as if he never
　　    had enough to eat, which was really the case.
　　    Late in the autumn, when the weather was rough, windy, and
　　    wet, and the cold penetrated through the thickest clothing,
　　    especially at sea, a wretched boat went out to sea with only
　　    two men on board, or, more correctly, a man and a half, for it
　　    was the skipper and his boy. There had only been a kind of
　　    twilight all day, and it soon grew quite dark, and so bitterly
　　    cold, that the skipper took a dram to warm him. The bottle was
　　    old, and the glass too. It was perfect in the upper part, but
　　    the foot was broken off, and it had therefore been fixed upon
　　    a little carved block of wood, painted blue. A dram is a great
　　    comfort, and two are better still, thought the
　　skipper, while
　　    the boy sat at the helm, which he held fast in his hard seamed
　　    hands. He was ugly, and his hair was matted, and he looked
　　    crippled and stunted; they called him the field-laborer's boy,
　　    though in the church register he was entered as Anne Lisbeth's
　　    son. The wind cut through the rigging, and the boat cut
　　    through the sea. The sails, filled by the wind, swelled out
　　    and carried them along in wild career. It was wet and rough
            
            

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　　    above and below, and might still be worse. Hold! what is that?
　　    What has struck the boat? Was it a waterspout, or a heavy sea
　　    rolling suddenly upon them?
　　    "Heaven help us!" cried the boy at the helm, as the boat
　　    heeled over and lay on its beam ends. It had struck on a rock,
　　    which rose from the depths of the sea, and sank at once, like
　　    an old shoe in a puddle. "It sank at once with mouse and man,"
　　    as the saying is. There might have been mice on board, but
　　    only one man and a half, the skipper and the laborer's boy. No
　　    one saw it but the skimming sea-gulls and the fishes beneath
　　    the water; and even they did not see it properly, for they
　　    darted back with terror as the boat filled with water and
　　    sank. There it lay, scarcely a fathom below the surface, and
　　    those two were provided for, buried, and forgotten. The glass
　　    with the foot of blue wood was the only thing that did not
　　    sink, for the wood floated and the glass drifted away to be
　　    cast upon the shore and broken; where and when, is indeed of
　　    no consequence. It had served its purpose, and it had been
　　    loved, which Anne Lisbeth's boy had not been. But in heaven no
　　    soul will be able to say, "Never loved."
　　    Anne Lisbeth had now lived in the town many years; she was
　　    called "Madame," and felt dignified in consequence; she
　　    remembered the old, noble days, in which she had driven in the
　　    carriage, and had associated with countess and baroness. Her
　　    beautiful, noble child had been a dear angel, and possessed
　　    the kindest heart; he had loved her so much, and she had loved
　　    him in return; they had kissed and loved each other, and the
　　    boy had been her joy, her second life. Now he was fourteen
　　    years of age, tall, handsome, and clever. She had not seen him
　　    since she carried him in her arms; neither had she been for
　　    years to the count's palace; it was quite a journey thither
　　    from the town.
　　    "I must make one effort to go," said Anne Lisbeth, "to see
　　    my darling, the count's sweet child, and press him to my
            
            

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　　    heart. Certainly he must long to see me, too, the young count;
　　    no doubt he thinks of me and loves me, as in those days when
　　    he would fling his angel-arms round my neck, and lisp 'Anne
　　    Liz.' It was music to my ears. Yes, I must make an effort to
　　    see him again." She drove across the country in a grazier's
　　    cart, and then got out, and continued her journey on foot, and
　　    thus reached the count's castle. It was as great and
　　    magnificent as it had always been, and the garden looked the
　　    same as ever; all the servants were strangers to her, not one
　　    of them knew Anne Lisbeth, nor of what consequence she had
　　    once been there; but she felt sure the countess would soon let
　　    them know it, and her darling boy, too: how she longed to see
　　    him!
　　    Now that Anne Lisbeth was at her journey's end, she was
　　    kept waiting a long time; and for those who wait, time passes
　　    slowly. But before the great people went in to dinner, she was
　　    called in and spoken to very graciously. She was to go in
　　    again after dinner, and then she would see her sweet boy once
　　    more. How tall, and slender, and thin he had grown; but the
　　    eyes and the sweet angel mouth were still beautiful. He looked
　　    at her, but he did not speak, he certainly did not know who
　　    she was. He turned round and was going away, but she seized
　　    his hand and pressed it to her lips.
　　    "Well, well," he said; and with that he walked out of the
　　    room. He who filled her every thought! he whom she loved best,
　　    and who was her whole earthly pride!
　　    Anne Lisbeth went forth from the castle into the public
　　    road, feeling mournful and sad; he whom she had nursed day and
　　    night, and even now carried about in her dreams, had been cold
　　    and strange, and had not a word or thought respecting her. A
　　    great black raven darted down in front of her on the high
　　    road, and croaked dismally.
　　    "Ah," said she, "what bird of ill omen art thou?"
　　    Presently she passed the laborer's hut; his wife stood at the
　　    door, and the two women spoke to each other.
            
            

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　　    "You look well," said the woman; "you're fat and plump;
　　    you are well off."
　　    "Oh yes," answered Anne Lisbeth.
　　    "The boat went down with them," continued the woman; "Hans
　　    the skipper and the boy were both drowned; so there's an end
　　    of them. I always thought the boy would be able to help me
　　    with a few dollars. He'll never cost you anything more, Anne
　　    Lisbeth."
　　    "So they were drowned," repeated Anne Lisbeth; but she
　　    said no more, and the subject was dropped. She felt very
　　    low-spirited, because her count-child had shown no inclination
　　    to speak to her who loved him so well, and who had travelled
　　    so far to see him. The journey had cost money too, and she had
　　    derived no great pleasure from it. Still she said not a word
　　    of all this; she could not relieve her heart by telling the
　　    laborer's wife, lest the latter should think she did not enjoy
　　    her former position at the castle. Then the raven flew over
　　    her, screaming again as he flew.
　　    "The black wretch!" said Anne Lisbeth, "he will end by
　　    frightening me today." She had brought coffee and chicory with
　　    her, for she thought it would be a charity to the poor woman
　　    to give them to her to boil a cup of coffee, and then she
　　    would take a cup herself.
　　    The woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime Anne
　　    Lisbeth seated her in a chair and fell asleep. Then she
　　    dreamed of something which she had never dreamed before;
　　    singularly enough she dreamed of her own child, who had wept
　　    and hungered in the laborer's hut, and had been knocked about
　　    in heat and in cold, and who was now lying in the depths of
　　    the sea, in a spot only known by God. She fancied she was
　　    still sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing
　　    the coffee, for she could smell the coffee-berries roasting.
　　    But suddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the
　　    threshold a beautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's
　　    child, and this apparition said to her, "The world is passing
            
            

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　　    away; hold fast to me, for you are my mother after all; you
　　    have an angel in heaven, hold me fast;" and the child-angel
　　    stretched out his hand and seized her. Then there was a
　　    terrible crash, as of a world crumbling to pieces, and the
　　    angel-child was rising from the earth, and holding her by the
　　    sleeve so tightly that she felt herself lifted from the
　　    ground; but, on the other hand, something heavy hung to her
　　    feet and dragged her down, and it seemed as if hundreds of
　　    women were clinging to her, and crying, "If thou art to be
　　    saved, we must be saved too. Hold fast, hold fast." And then
　　    they all hung on her, but there were too many; and as they
　　    clung the sleeve was torn, and Anne Lisbeth fell down in
　　    horror, and awoke. Indeed she was on the point of falling over
　　    in reality with the chair on which she sat; but she was so
　　    startled and alarmed that she could not remember what she had
　　    dreamed, only that it was something very dreadful
　　    They drank their coffee and had a chat together, and then
　　    Anne Lisbeth went away towards the little town where she was
　　    to meet the carrier, who was to drive her back to her own
　　    home. But when she came to him she found that he would not be
　　    ready to start till the evening of the next day. Then she
　　    began to think of the expense, and what the distance would be
　　    to walk. She remembered that the route by the sea-shore was
　　    two miles shorter than by the high road; and as the weather
　　    was clear, and there would be moonlight, she determined to
　　    make her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might
　　    reach home the next day.
　　    The sun had set, and the evening bells sounded through the
　　    air from the tower of the village church, but to her it was
　　    not the bells, but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. Then
　　    they ceased, and all around became still; not a bird could be
　　    heard, they were all at rest, even the owl had not left her
　　    hiding place; deep silence reigned on the margin of the wood
　　    by the sea-shore. As Anne Lisbeth walked on she could hear her
            
            

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　　    own footsteps in the sands; even the waves of the sea were at
　　    rest, and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence. There
　　    was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea. Anne
　　    Lisbeth walked on, thinking of nothing at all, as people say,
　　    or rather her thoughts wandered, but not away from her, for
　　    thought is never absent from us, it only slumbers. Many
　　    thoughts that have lain dormant are roused at the proper time,
　　    and begin to stir in the mind and the heart, and seem even to
　　    come upon us from above. It is written, that a good deed bears
　　    a blessing for its fruit; and it is also written, that the
　　    wages of sin is death. Much has been said and much written
　　    which we pass over or know nothing of. A light arises within
　　    us, and then forgotten things make themselves remembered; and
　　    thus it was with Anne Lisbeth. The germ of every vice and
　　    every virtue lies in our heart, in yours and in mine; they lie
　　    like little grains of seed, till a ray of sunshine, or the
　　    touch of an evil hand, or you turn the corner to the right or
　　    to the left, and the decision is made. The little seed is
　　    stirred, it swells and shoots up, and pours its sap into your
　　    blood, directing your course either for good or evil.
　　    Troublesome thoughts often exist in the mind, fermenting
　　    there, which are not realized by us while the senses are as it
　　    were slumbering; but still they are there. Anne Lisbeth walked
　　    on thus with her senses half asleep, but the thoughts were
　　    fermenting within her.
　　    From one Shrove Tuesday to another, much may occur to
　　    weigh down the heart; it is the reckoning of a whole year;
　　    much may be forgotten, sins against heaven in word and
　　    thought, sins against our neighbor, and against our own
　　    conscience. We are scarcely aware of their existence; and Anne
　　    Lisbeth did not think of any of her errors. She had committed
　　    no crime against the law of the land; she was an honorable
　　    person, in a good position- that she knew.
　　    She continued her walk along by the margin of the sea.
            
            

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分页标题#e#　　    What was it she saw lying there? An old hat; a man's hat. Now
　　    when might that have been washed overboard? She drew nearer,
　　    she stopped to look at the hat; "Ha! what was lying yonder?"
　　    She shuddered; yet it was nothing save a heap of grass and
　　    tangled seaweed flung across a long stone, but it looked like
　　    a corpse. Only tangled grass, and yet she was frightened at
　　    it. As she turned to walk away, much came into her mind that
　　    she had heard in her childhood: old superstitions of spectres
　　    by the sea-shore; of the ghosts of drowned but unburied
　　    people, whose corpses had been washed up on the desolate
　　    beach. The body, she knew, could do no harm to any one, but
　　    the spirit could pursue the lonely wanderer, attach itself to
　　    him, and demand to be carried to the churchyard, that it might
　　    rest in consecrated ground. "Hold fast! hold fast!" the
　　    spectre would cry; and as Anne Lisbeth murmured these words to
　　    herself, the whole of her dream was suddenly recalled to her
　　    memory, when the mother had clung to her, and uttered these
　　    words, when, amid the crashing of worlds, her sleeve had been
　　    torn, and she had slipped from the grasp of her child, who
　　    wanted to hold her up in that terrible hour. Her child, her
　　    own child, which she had never loved, lay now buried in the
　　    sea, and might rise up, like a spectre, from the waters, and
　　    cry, "Hold fast; carry me to consecrated ground!"
　　    As these thoughts passed through her mind, fear gave speed
　　    to her feet, so that she walked faster and faster. Fear came
　　    upon her as if a cold, clammy hand had been laid upon her
　　    heart, so that she almost fainted. As she looked across the
　　    sea, all there grew darker; a heavy mist came rolling onwards,
　　    and clung to bush and tree, distorting them into fantastic
　　    shapes. She turned and glanced at the moon, which had risen
　　    behind her. It looked like a pale, rayless surface, and a
　　    deadly weight seemed to hang upon her limbs. "Hold," thought
　　    she; and then she turned round a second time to look at the
            
            

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分页标题#e#　　    moon. A white face appeared quite close to her, with a mist,
　　    hanging like a garment from its shoulders. "Stop! carry me to
　　    consecrated earth," sounded in her ears, in strange, hollow
　　    tones. The sound did not come from frogs or ravens; she saw no
　　    sign of such creatures. "A grave! dig me a grave!" was
　　    repeated quite loud. Yes, it was indeed the spectre of her
　　    child. The child that lay beneath the ocean, and whose spirit
　　    could have no rest until it was carried to the churchyard, and
　　    until a grave had been dug for it in consecrated ground. She
　　    would go there at once, and there she would dig. She turned in
　　    the direction of the church, and the weight on her heart
　　    seemed to grow lighter, and even to vanish altogether; but
　　    when she turned to go home by the shortest way, it returned.
　　    "Stop! stop!" and the words came quite clear, though they were
　　    like the croak of a frog, or the wail of a bird. "A grave! dig
　　    me a grave!"
　　    The mist was cold and damp, her hands and face were moist
　　    and clammy with horror, a heavy weight again seized her and
　　    clung to her, her mind became clear for thoughts that had
　　    never before been there.
　　    In these northern regions, a beech-wood often buds in a
　　    single night and appears in the morning sunlight in its full
　　    glory of youthful green. So, in a single instant, can the
　　    consciousness of the sin that has been committed in thoughts,
　　    words, and actions of our past life, be unfolded to us. When
　　    once the conscience is awakened, it springs up in the heart
　　    spontaneously, and God awakens the conscience when we least
　　    expect it. Then we can find no excuse for ourselves; the deed
　　    is there and bears witness against us. The thoughts seem to
　　    become words, and to sound far out into the world. We are
　　    horrified at the thought of what we have carried within us,
　　    and at the consciousness that we have not overcome the evil
　　    which has its origin in thoughtlessness and pride. The heart
　　    conceals within itself the vices as well as the virtues, and
            
            

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　　    they grow in the shallowest ground. Anne Lisbeth now
　　    experienced in thought what we have clothed in words. She was
　　    overpowered by them, and sank down and crept along for some
　　    distance on the ground. "A grave! dig me a grave!" sounded
　　    again in her ears, and she would have gladly buried herself,
　　nbsp;   if in the grave she could have found forgetfulness of her
　　    actions.
　　    It was the first hour of her awakening, full of anguish
　　    and horror. Superstition made her alternately shudder with
　　    cold or burn with the heat of fever. Many things, of which she
　　    had feared even to speak, came into her mind. Silently, as the
　　    cloud-shadows in the moonshine, a spectral apparition flitted
　　    by her; she had heard of it before. Close by her galloped four
　　    snorting steeds, with fire flashing from their eyes and
　　    nostrils. They dragged a burning coach, and within it sat the
　　    wicked lord of the manor, who had ruled there a hundred years
　　    before. The legend says that every night, at twelve o'clock,
　　    he drove into his castleyard and out again. He was not as pale
　　    as dead men are, but black as a coal. He nodded, and pointed
　　    to Anne Lisbeth, crying out, "Hold fast! hold fast! and then
　　    you may ride again in a nobleman's carriage, and forget your
　　    child."
　　    She gathered herself up, and hastened to the churchyard;
　　    but black crosses and black ravens danced before her eyes, and
　　    she could not distinguish one from the other. The ravens
　　    croaked as the raven had done which she saw in the daytime,
　　    but now she understood what they said. "I am the raven-mother;
　　    I am the raven-mother," each raven croaked, and Anne Lisbeth
　　    felt that the name also applied to her; and she fancied she
　　    should be transformed into a black bird, and have to cry as
　　    they cried, if she did not dig the grave. And she threw
　　    herself upon the earth, and with her hands dug a grave in the
　　    hard ground, so that the blood ran from her fingers. "A grave!
　　    dig me a grave!" still sounded in her ears; she was fearful