街上下着雨，那些摊贩都在屋檐下、有顶的货摊和售货亭下挤成一团。
一辆从利奇菲尔德驶来的轻便马车，在市场的入口处停了下来。
一个老人从车上走了下来，他看上去大概有70岁。他身材魁梧，但是身材已走了样。他的脸缝合过，并留下了疤痕。从马车上爬下来的时候，他的脸上露出了一种怪异的痛苦表情。他呼吸困难，不停喘息着，好像被哮喘病折磨着。他走路时拄着一根笨重的拐棍。
他拖着缓慢沉重的脚步走进了市场，并向四周看了看，似乎不知道在下雨。
他看着沿市场围墙排列的货摊。一些有顶的货摊成了这个闹市的中心。其他的则没有人使用，已经空出来了。
这个陌生人在后面的一个货摊前停了下来。“是的，就是这个。”他说道。他有一个奇怪的习惯，就是大声地自言自语。“我记得很清楚，在固定的集市日，我的父亲就是在这儿，把书卖给乡村的神职人员。那些善良的人从各个教区来到这儿，看看他的书，听听他对这些书的介绍。”书包 网 想看书来
约翰逊博士和他的父亲（2）
他突然转过身。“是的，就是这个地方。”他重复着。
他一动不动，直挺挺地站在那里，就站在那个陈旧的小货摊的前面。他把帽子摘了下来，夹在胳膊下面。他的那根大拐棍倒在了水沟中。他低下头，紧握双手，似乎不知道在下雨。
市场上方钟塔里的钟敲了11下。过路人停了下来，盯着陌生人。市场里的人也从货摊和售货亭里盯着他。当雨水顺着他那张留下伤疤的苍老面孔上流下来时，一些人大笑起来。那是雨水？还是泪水？
一些男孩子冲着他大声叫喊着。一些更加粗鲁的人甚至暗示朝他扔泥巴。然而，一种羞愧感使他们没有做出这样的行为。
“他是一个可怜的疯子。随他去吧。”一些稍有同情心的人说。
雨水落在了他光秃的头顶和宽阔的肩膀上。他全身已经湿透了，而且冻得僵硬。然而，他一动不动地站在那里，一言不发，眼睛直瞪瞪地看着前方。
“那个老蠢货是谁？”一个碰巧经过这里的年轻人脱口而出。
“你问他是谁吗？”一个从伦敦来的绅士答道，“哎呀，他就是塞谬尔?约翰逊博士，英国最有名气的人。《拉塞拉斯》《诗人传》《艾琳》，还有许多其他被大众称道的作品，都是他写的。我们这个时代最令人惊奇的书籍——伟大的《英语词典》也是他编著的。在伦敦，最尊贵的贵族绅士和女士都以能向他问好而感到荣幸。他是英国的文学名流。”
“那么，他为什么来到尤托克西特，还这样站在滂沱大雨中呢？”
“我无法回答你的问题，然而，毫无疑问，他这么做是有原因的。”接着，那个绅士就走开了。
暴风雨终于停了。小鸟在屋顶之间唧唧喳喳地鸣叫起来。人们想知道雨是否停了，就大胆地走进了湿滑的街道。
市场上方钟塔里的钟敲了12下。那个有名气的陌生人一动不动地在市场里站了整整一个小时。紧接着，雨又下了起来。
这时，他缓缓地戴上帽子，在拐棍倒落的地方找到了它。他虔诚地向天空看了一会儿，然后，笨拙而气派地走进街道，那辆准备返回利奇菲尔德的轻便马车正在那儿等着他。
在淅淅沥沥的雨中，我们跟随他到了他出生的城镇。
“哎呀，约翰逊博士！”女主人惊叫道。“我们一整天没见到你。你全身又湿又冷！你去哪里了？”
“夫人，”这个伟大的人说道，“50年前的今天，我沉默地拒绝服从父亲。我一定让他感到痛苦了，从那时到现在，这件事情一直萦绕在我的心头。为了洗脱那个时候造成的罪恶，今天早上，我坐着一辆轻便马车去了尤托克西特，并且在父亲以前用过的货摊前公开地忏悔了。”
这个伟大的男人把头埋在双手中，啜泣起来。
屋外，雨一直下着。
Dr. Johnson and His Father
Ⅰ
IT is in a little bookshop in the city of Lichfield, England. The floor has just been swept and the shutter taken down from the one small window. The hour is early, and customers hāve not yet begun to drop in. Out of doors the rain is falling.
At a small table near the door, a feeble, white-haired old man is making up some packages of books. As he arranges them in a large basket, he stops now and then as though disturbed by pain. He puts his hand to his side; he coughs in a most distressing way; then he sits down and rests himself, leaning his elbows upon the table.
“Samuel!” he calls.
In the farther corner of the room there is a young man busily reading from a large book that is spread open before him. He is a very odd-looking fellow, perhaps eighteen years of age, but you would take him to be older. He is large and awkward, with a great round face, scarred and marked by a strange disease. His eyesight must be poor, for, as he reads, he bends down until his face is quite near the printed 电子书分享平台
约翰逊博士和他的父亲（3）
“Samuel!” again the old man calls.
But Samuel makes no re-ply. He is so deeply interested in his book that he does not hear. The old man rests himself a little longer and then finishes tying his packages. He lifts the heāvy basket and sets it on the table. The exertion brings on another fit of coughing; and when it is over he calls for the third time, “Samuel!”
“What is it, father?” This time the call is heard.
“You know, Samuel,” he says,“that tomorrow is market day at Uttoxeter, and our stall must be attended to. Some of our friends will be there to look at the new books which they expect me to bring. One of us must go down on the stage this morning and get everything in readiness. But I hardly feel able for the journey. My cough troubles me quite a little, and you see that it is raining very hard.”
“Yes, father; I am sorry,” answers Samuel; and his face is again bent over the book.
“I thought perhaps you would go down to the market, and that I might stay here at the shop,” says his father. But Samuel does not hear. He is deep in the study of some Latin classic.
The old man goes to the door and looks out. The rain is still falling. He shivers, and buttons his coat.
It is a twenty-mile ride to Uttoxeter. In five minutes the stage will pass the door.
“Samuel, will you not go down to the market for me this time?”
The old man is putting on his great coat. He is reaching for his hat. The basket is on his arm.
He casts a beseeching glance at his son, hoping that he will relent at the last moment.
“Here comes the coach, Samuel，” and the old man is choked by another fit of coughing.
Whether Samuel hears or not, I do not know. He is still reading, and he makes no sign nor motion.
The stage comes rattling down the street.
The old man with his basket of books staggers out of the door. The stage halts for a moment while he climbs inside. Then the driver swings his whip, and all are away.
Samuel, in the shop, still bends over his book.
Out of doors the rain is falling.
Ⅱ
Just fifty years hāve passed, and again it is market day at Uttoxeter.
The rain is falling in the streets. The people who hāve wares to sell huddle under the eāves and in the stalls and booths that hāve roofs above them.
A chaise from Lichfield pulls up at the entrance to the market square.
An old man alights. One would guess him to be seventy years of age. He is large and not well-shaped. His face is seamed and scarred, and he makes strange grimaces as he clambers out of the chaise. He wheezes and puffs as though afflicted with asthma. He walks with the aid of a heāvy stick.
With slow but ponderous strides he enters the market place and looks around. He seems not to know that the rain is falling.
He looks at the little stalls ranged along the walls of the market place. Some hāve roofs over them and are the centers of noisy trade. Others hāve fallen into disuse and are empty.
约翰逊博士和他的父亲（4）
The stranger halts before one of the latter. “Yes, this is it,” he says. He has a strange habit of talking aloud to himself. “I remember it well. It was here that my father, on certain market days, sold books to the clergy of the county. The good men came from every parish to see his wares and to hear him describe their contents.”
He turns abruptly around. “Yes, this is the place,” he repeats.
He stands quite still and upright, directly in front of the little old stall. He takes off his hat and holds it beneath his arm. His great walking stick has fallen into the gutter. He bows his head and clasps his hands. He does not seem to know that the rain is falling.
The clock in the tower above the market strikes eleven. The passers-by stop and gaze at the stranger. The market people peer at him from their booths and stalls. Some laugh as the rain runs in streams down his scarred old cheeks. Rain is it? Or can it be tears?
Boys hoot at him. Some of the ruder ones even hint at throwing mud; but a sense of shame withholds them from the act.
“He is a poor lunatic. Let him alone,” say the more com-passionate.
The rain falls upon his bare head and his broad shoulders. He is drenched and chilled. But he stands motionless and silent, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
“Who is that old fool?” asks a thoughtless young man who chances to be passing.
“Do you ask who he is?” answers a gentleman from London. “Why, he is Dr. Samuel Johnson, the most famous man in England. It was he who wrote Rasselas and The Lives of the Poets and Irene and many another work which all men are praising. It was he who made the great English Dictionary, the most wonderful book of our times. In London, the noblest lords and ladies take pleasure in doing him honor. He is the literary lion of England.”
“Then why does he come to Uttoxeter and stand thus in the pouring rain?”
“I cannot tell you; but doubtless he has reasons for doing so，” and the gentleman passes on.
At length there is a lull in the storm. The birds are chirping among the housetops. The people wonder if the rain is over, and venture out into the slippery street.
The clock in the tower above the market strikes twelve. The renowned stranger has stood a whole hour motionless in the market place. And again the rain is falling.
Slowly now he returns his hat to his head. He finds his walking stick where it had fallen. He lifts his eyes reverently for a moment, and then, with a lordly, lumbering motion, walks down the street to meet the chaise which is ready to return to Lichfield.
We follow him through the pattering rain to his native town.
“Why, Dr. Johnson!” exclaims his hostess; “we hāve missed you all day. And you are so wet and chilled! Where hāve you been?”
“Madam,” says the great man, “fifty years ago, this very day, I tacitly refused to oblige or obey my father. The thought of the pain which I must hāve caused him has haunted me ever since. To do away the sin of that hour, I this morning went in a chaise to Uttoxeter and did do penance publicly before the stall which my father had formerly used.”
The great man bows his head upon his hands and sobs.
Out of doors the rain is falling.
韦伯斯特和土拨鼠（1）
在新汉普郡小山间的一座农场里，有一个叫丹尼尔?韦伯斯特的小男孩。在同龄的孩子中间，他是个头最小的一个。他长着一头乌黑的头发，大眼睛又黑又亮，见过他的人永远都不会忘记。
他长得还不够强壮，还不能在农场上帮什么忙。因此，他大部分时间就在森林和旷野中玩耍。与很多农夫的孩子不同，他心地非常善良。他热爱花草树木，还有那些在花草树木间筑巢的无害的野生动物。
但是，他并非所有的时间都在玩耍。在远远不到上学年龄的时候，他就已经开始认字读书了，他读得非常动听，大家都喜欢听他阅读，从不会感到厌倦。每当邻居们从他父亲的房子前经过，都会把马停下来，让丹尼尔?韦伯斯特出来朗读给他们听。
那个时候，不像现在这样有那么多的儿童读物。在新汉普郡农民的家中，不管是哪个种类的书数量都很少。然而，丹尼尔能找到什么书就读什么书。他把那些书读了一遍又一遍，直到了解了其中所有的内容。就这样，他学习了《圣经》中的大量内容，并且学得非常好，他能够抑扬顿挫地背诵其中的内容，却不出现一个错误。而且，这些篇章他终生记得。
丹尼尔的父亲不仅是一个农民，还是乡村法院的一名法官。他非常热爱法律，并且希望丹尼尔长大以后成为一名律师。
那件事发生在一个夏天，一只土拨鼠在韦伯斯特家房子附近的小山边安了家。在漆黑温暖的夜晚，它都会从山上跑到菜园里，偷吃种在那里的卷心菜和其他植物的嫩叶。没人知道，这最终会造成多大的损失。
丹尼尔和哥哥伊奇基尔下定决心要抓住那只土拨鼠。他们尝试过各种各样的抓捕方法，然而，很长时间以来，那些方法对于狡猾的土拨鼠来说不起任何作用。后来，他们在土拨鼠的必经之路设了一个陷阱。第二天早晨，土拨鼠就困在了陷阱中。
“我们终于捉到它了！”伊奇基尔喊道。“现在，土拨鼠先生，你罪大恶极，我将要处死你。”
然而，丹尼尔觉得这只小动物很可怜。“不，不要伤害它，”他说道，“我们把它带到山那头远处的森林中，把它放了。”
然而，伊奇基尔不同意这么做。他的心地不如他的弟弟那么善良。他一心想要杀死这只土拨鼠，并且嘲笑放生的提议。
“我们去问问父亲的意见。”丹尼尔说道。
“好吧，”伊奇基尔说道，“我知道法官将会如何判决。”
他们抬着装着土拨鼠的陷阱去找父亲，询问应该怎么做。
“好吧，孩子们，”韦伯斯特先生说道，“我们将用下面这种方法解决这件事。我们就在这儿设立一个法庭。我作法官，你们当律师。你们两个人都要进行辩护，支持或反对囚犯，我将会判决如何惩罚罪犯。”
作为检举人的伊奇基尔首先辩护。他陈述了囚犯的重大罪行。他表示所有的土拨鼠都是有害的，不能相信。他谈及了捉捕这个贼所耗费的时间和精力，并且宣称如果现在把它放掉，它将会变成一个比以前危害更大的贼。
“一张土拨鼠皮，”他说道，“或许能够卖10美分。这一小笔钱能够对它偷吃的卷心菜做一些赔偿。但是，如果我们把它放生了，我们将如何获得补偿，即使是我们损失的一美分？显然，它被处死比活着有更大的价值，因此，它应该马上被处死。”
伊奇基尔的辩护很精彩，这大大取悦了法官。他的陈述真实中肯，这让丹尼尔难以做出任何答复。
丹尼尔开始为这只可怜动物的生命进行辩护。他仰头看着法官的脸，然后说道：“上帝创造了土拨鼠。他让它生活在明媚的阳光和清新的空气中。他让它享受自由的大自然和绿色的森林。土拨鼠有生存的权利，因为上帝赐予了它这一切。
“上帝赐给我们食物。我们现在所拥有的一切都是他恩赐的。对于上帝赐予我们的礼物，它拥有同样的权利。因此，难道我们应该拒绝与这只不会说话的可怜动物分享一点点吗？ txt小说上传分享
韦伯斯特和土拨鼠（2）
“土拨鼠与令人厌恶的狼或狐狸不一样，它生活在宁静与和平中。它所需要的只是山边的一个洞|茓和一点点的食物。除了为了生存吃一点点的庄稼外，它没有任何危害。它有生存、吃东西和自由的权利。而且，我们没有权利说它不能拥有这些。
“看看这双温柔、充满祈求的眼睛，看看它因恐惧而发抖的身体。它不能为自己辩护，这是它唯一能够为自己美好生命辩护的方式。我们杀死它是不是太残忍了？如果我们剥夺了上帝赋予它的生命是不是太自私了？”
法官听着听着，泪水溢满了双眼。他的心颤动了起来。他认为上帝赐给了他一个以后将会闻名世界的儿子。
没等丹尼尔结束发言，他便站了起来，一边拭去眼中的泪水，一边喊道：“伊奇基尔，把土拨鼠放掉！”
Webster and the Woodchuck
ON a farm among the hills of New Hampshire there once lived a little boy whose name was Daniel Webster. He was a tiny fellow for one of his age. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were so dark and wonderful that nobody who once saw them could ever forget them.
He was not strong enough to help much on the farm; and so he spent much of his time in playing in the woods and fields. Unlike many farmers’ boys, he had a very gentle heart. He loved the trees and flowers and the harmless wild creatures that made their homes among them.
But he did not play all the time. Long before he was old enough to go to school, he learned to read; and he read so well that everybody liked to hear him and never grew tired of listening. The neighbors, when driving past his father’s house, would stop their horses and call for Dannie Webster to come out and read to them.
At that time there were no children’s books such as you hāve now. Indeed, there were but very few books of any kind in the homes of the New Hampshire farmers. But Daniel read such books as he could get; and he read them over and over again till he knew all that was in them. In this way he learned a great deal of the Bible so well that he could repeat verse after verse without making a mistake; and these verses he remembered as long as he lived.
Daniel’s father was not only a farmer, but he was a judge in the county court. He had a great love for the law, and he hoped that Daniel when he became a man would be a lawyer.
It happened one summer that a woodchuck made its burrow in the side of a hill near Mr. Webster’s house. On warm, dark nights it would come down into the garden and eat the tender leāves of the cabbages and other plants that were growing there. Nobody knew how much harm it might do in the end.
Daniel and his elder brother Ezekiel made up their minds to catch the little thief. They tried this thing and that, but for a long time he was too cunning for them. Then they built a strong trap where the woodchuck would be sure to walk into it; and the next morning, there he was.
“We hāve him at last!” cried Ezekiel.“Now, Mr. Woodchuck, you’ve done mischief enough, and I’m going to kill you.”txt电子书分享平台
韦伯斯特和土拨鼠（3）
But Daniel pitied the little animal. “No, don’t hurt him,” he said. “Let us carry him over the hills, far into the woods, and let him go.”
Ezekiel，however,would not agree to this. His heart was not so tender as his little brother’s. He was bent on killing the woodchuck, and laughed at the thought of letting it go.
“Let us ask father about it,” said Daniel.
“All right,” said Ezekiel， “I know what the judge will decide.”
They carried the trap, with the woodchuck in it, to their father, and asked what they should do.
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Webster, “we will settle the question in this way. We will hold a court right here. I will be the judge, and you shall be the lawyers. You shall each plead your case, for or against the prisoner, and I will decide what his punishment shall be.”
Ezekiel, as the prosecutor, made the first speech. He told about the mischief that had been done. He showed that all woodchucks are bad and cannot be trusted. He spoke of the time and labor that had been spent in trying to catch the thief, and declared that if they should now set him free he would be a worse thief than before.
“A woodchuck’s skin,” he said, “may perhaps be sold for ten cents. Small as that sum is, it will go a little way toward paying for the cabbage he has eaten. But, if we set him free, how shall we ever recover even a penny of what we hāve lost? Clearly, he is of more value dead than alive, and therefore he ought to be put out of the way at once.”
Ezekiel’s speech was a good one, and it pleased the judge very much. What he said was true and to the point, and it would be hard for Daniel to make any answer to it.
Daniel began by pleading for the poor animal’s life. He looked up into the judge’s face, and said:
“God made the woodchuck. He made him to live in the bright sunlight and the pure air. He made him to enjoy the free fields and the green woods. The woodchuck has a right to his life, for God gāve it to him.
“God gives us our food. He gives us all that we hāve. And shall we refuse to share a little of it with this poor dumb creature who has as much right to God’s gifts as we hāve?
“The woodchuck is not a fierce animal like the wolf or the fox. He lives in quiet and peace. A hole in the side of a hill, and a little food, is all he wants. He has harmed nothing but a few plants, which he ate to keep himself alive. He has a right to life, to food, to liberty; and we hāve no right to say he shall not hāve them.
“Look at his soft, pleading eyes，see him tremble with fear. He cannot speak for himself, and this is the only way in which he can plead for the life that is so sweet to him. Shall we be so cruel as to kill him? Shall we be so selfish as to take from him the life that God gāve him?”
The judge’s eyes were filled with tears as he listened. His heart was stirred. He felt that God had given him a son whose name would some day be known to the world.
He did not wait for Daniel to finish his speech. He sprang to his feet, and as he wiped the tear from his eyes, he cried out, “Ezekiel, let the woodchuck go!”
培根修道士和黄铜头像（1）
一黄铜头像
7年以来，培根修道士与本盖修道士隐秘地进行着艰辛的研究。每天，他们在塔楼里修建的熔炉都会窜出白色的火焰，烟囱上也会冒出黑色的烟，当地的村民再一次笼罩在恐惧之中。从国外收集来的旧罐子、珍贵的盘子和装饰品，全部被他们打碎熔化了。陈旧的铜制剑柄被扔进熔化罐。以后的一天又一天中，就是浇铸、成型和安装。最终，当两人看到努力的全部成果时，心里非常高兴。这就是那张图像上的黄铜头——完美无瑕，每个线条都那么优美，看起来简直是一个奇迹。
然后，魔术师的真正戏法开始了。黄铜头被固定在一个大理石的底座上。头里面安装了一个时钟机构。舌头、眼球和其他部件都用金属丝连接了起来。这些都被连接到一个装化学药品的神秘罐子中，罐子放在一个黑壁橱里。一切都严格按照手稿上的说明小心地进行着。
当工作终于完成，两个修道士轮流日夜看守黄铜头像。一个多月以来，他们其中的一个每天都要坐在黄铜头像前，竖起耳朵等待发出的任何声音。后来，本盖修道士由于劳累过度而生病了，剩下修道士培根一人看守。然而，不管是修道士还是哲学家都不能长时间不睡觉，在第5天的夜晚，他终于精疲力竭。
“如果我还能守上至少12个小时，”他咕哝道，“它就会发出奇妙的声音，揭开那个伟大的秘密。”
但是，他无法支撑下去了。他的眼睛不听使唤地闭上了，脑袋垂到了胸部，轻轻地倚在椅子上睡着了。没过多长时间，他又被惊醒了，然后又睡着了。这样的状态反反复复地发生，直到凌晨3点。
“我再也坚持不下去了，”他叹息道。“啊，如果本盖修道士能来该多好呀！”
随后，他脑中冒出了一个新主意。他摇响铃，几分钟后，仆人迈尔斯满脸睡意地进来了，手里还拿着一根笨重的棍子。
“迈尔斯，”修道士说道，“今晚你愿意帮我一个大忙吗？”
“我愿意做我任何能做的事情，主人，”迈尔斯一边揉着眼睛一边答道，“但是，我既不能飞，也不会游泳。你想要我做什么事情呢？”
“你看到这个黄铜头像了吗？”修道士说道，他一边说着一边碰了一下隐密处的发条，这使得头像的眼睛闪现出闪亮的火花。
“哦，主人，您知道我看到它了，”迈尔斯边说边警惕地向后退。
“好吧，那么，你一定知道我和本盖修道士看守了39个夜晚。从早到晚，是的，或许就在明天破晓之前，将会从它的嘴里讲出对于每个英国人来说都非常重要的秘密。如果我们错过了他所说的，那将会是一件非常遗憾的事情。”
“是的，主人，”迈尔斯说，他一边扫视着房间一边发抖。
“你用不着害怕这个黄铜头像，”修道士说道，这时他触碰了一下另一根发条。“它也许会做出奇怪的事情，但不会伤害人。”一阵滚动的雷声充斥着房间，头像的眼睛又闪了一次，一股蓝色的烟雾从它的鼻孔中喷了出来。迈尔斯吓得脸都白了，要不是修道士抓住了他的胳膊，他就要夺门而逃了。
“不要害怕，”他说，“这个头像不会伤害你。这些都是根据我的命令做的。如果你不碰它，它就会像现在一样，安静地待在原地。”
“我明白了，主人，我明白了，”迈尔斯说道。“我怎么会害怕一个黄铜组装起来的东西呢。嗯，我曾经在法国和弗兰德斯40次征战疆场，还从来不知道什么是害怕呢。”
“你当然是一个勇士，迈尔斯，这也正是我叫你来的原因。我请你帮忙的事情就是：当我不得不需要休息时，你能在这儿替我看守一两个小时吗？如你所知，本盖老兄已经有5天不在这儿了，我无法继续保持清醒了。”
“您是希望我看守这栋房子吗？这当然不成问题。我将会握着这根结实的棍子，监视着每扇门、每扇窗户，没有一个强盗胆敢靠近。”
培根修道士和黄铜头像（2）
“但是，我想要你看守的是这个黄铜头像。盯着它，如果它一开口说话，就赶快叫醒我。”
“是这个黄铜头像吗？当然，它不会伤害我的，因为您说过。不过，你是要我拿着这根棍子，以备强盗进来时用吗？”
“哦，当然可以了，迈尔斯。”
“那么相信我吧，主人。去休息吧，我会像一个岗位上的哨兵那样守护它的。”
“我当然相信你，迈尔斯。晚安！”疲倦的修道士走进自己的房间，一头倒在了床上。
二看守人
迈尔斯手握棍子坐在门旁。他环视着屋子四周主人用来做试验的古怪物件，保持了一段时间的清醒。他对它们并不是一无所知，因为每天他给主人送饭的时候已经见过了。但是，现在在闪烁昏暗的灯光中，它们看起来是如此离奇，好像时刻准备着向他袭来，然后毁掉他。他更加用力地握紧了棍子，看着黄铜头像。那个头像的脸上好像散发着温和的微笑，因此迈尔斯的胆子大了起来。
“黄铜头像不会伤害我，”他自言自语道，“那么我为什么要害怕其他的东西呢？不，不，我不害怕。”
在他右手边远处的角落里，有一个仔细封闭好的桶，桶里装着令牛津大学所有教授闻之色变的黑火药。迈尔斯一看到它就祈祷起来，然后稍稍挪远了点。然后，他的眼睛落在了一片奇怪的玻璃上，那块玻璃就像马车轮子那样圆，修道士经常用它来研究星星。在旁边的一张桌子上，放着各种尺寸、各种形状的瓶子，熔化金属用的坩埚以及只有魔法师才知道如何使用的仪器。当迈尔斯正沉浸在这些奇奇怪怪的物件上时，一阵轻微的声音使他又看了看黄铜头像。它的脸上仍然挂着令他勇气大增的微笑，这使他有了足够的勇气与它讲话。
“啊，你这个黄铜头像，”他说道，“你只是一堆黄|色的金属。你是用我为主人找来的旧罐子和剑柄制造的。那些浪费时间看守着你的人是多么愚蠢呀！为了买制造你的黄铜，我的主人让他自己和我忍饥挨饿是多么愚蠢呀。像他这样的巫师应该更加清楚。手指发出的劈啪一声将会带给我们只有国王才配享用的食物和服饰。然而，他却把时间花在了你的身上，我们却一无所有，缺吃少穿。嗨，黄铜头像主人，把你的秘密说出来吧！请告诉我的主人变得富有的秘诀。”
就在他说出最后一句话的时候，闪电般的一道光闪过黄铜头像的脸，接着一阵如雷鸣般的低沉声音响彻整个房间。头像的嘴张开了，它的嘴唇看起来在蠕动，声音与低语一般，它说出了这样的话——
现在时间是！
迈尔斯紧紧地握着棍子靠近门，准备逃跑。但是，由于头像被固定在支架上，没有动弹，不一会儿他又变得非常勇敢。
“那就是你要说的吗，古老的黄铜头像？”他问道。“‘现在时间是’，你是这么说的吗？好吧，对于像培根修道士一样的学者，那会是个好消息。在我叫醒他之前，你必须说出一个更好的消息。”
雷鸣般的声音再一次响起，一道更加耀眼的闪电划过房间。那张嘴再一次张开了，嘴唇蠕动着，如黄铜罐子发出的卡嗒声，嘀咕道——
时间曾经是！
迈尔斯把一只手放在门闩上，另一只手向头像挥舞着棍子。
“想想吧，”他说道，“我的主人和本盖修道士用了7年时间制造这个头像，除此之外不会讲任何其他秘密的头！每个人都知道‘现在时间是’。呸，你这个黄铜骗子，老黄铜头像！如果你只会讲一点希伯来或拉丁语，我会认为你真的有秘密要说出来，我就会叫醒主人来听。”
还没等他说完，整个房间又被白昼般的光照亮了。头像脸上不再有微笑，反而皱起了眉头，样子很可怕。地板颤栗起来。黄铜头似乎要从支架上拔起，然后用雷鸣般的声音喊道——
时光一去不复返！ txt小说上传分享
培根修道士和黄铜头像（3）
迈尔斯害怕极了，他吓得瘫在门旁，失去了意识。一阵可怕的碰撞声和一股令人目眩的烟雾之后，一切又恢复了平静。培根修道士被声音惊醒了，冲进了房间。黄铜头掉在了地上，被摔成了碎片。
“迈尔斯！迈尔斯！”修道士心烦意乱地喊道。
“黄铜头像说话了吗？”主人问道。“快点告诉我。”
“是的，主人，他说话了，”迈尔斯咕哝道，恐惧地颤抖着。“但是，他说的话一点都没用。”
“他说什么了？”
“嗯，他先说，‘现在时间是’，那是众所周知的秘密，我就催促他多说点。不久，他又开口了，说道‘时间曾经是’。最后，在我跑去叫你之前，他咆哮道‘时光一去不复返’，就向我坠落下来，然后我就失去了意识。”
“天哪，你这个无可救药的蠢货！”培根修道士喊道，愤怒地把这个人从房间推了出去。“不要让我看到你！你这个蠢货击碎了我的希望。7年的努力全都完了。在醒着的时候，我本应该让机器运转来防止这样的毁灭。黄铜头像会告诉我如何做最完美的事情。它将会告诉我如何围绕英国建造一堵墙，从而使英国成为全世界最强大的国家。他本应该告诉我的——但是，现在，所有的一切都毁了。我不会继续做试验，我要烧掉所有的书，结束我的研究。我的余生就会像一个普通的修道士那样，在修道院一个安静的单人房间里度过。当我死去的时候，我可怜的名字也会被人们忘记。”
Friar Bacon and the Brazen Head
Ⅰ The Brazen Head
FOR seven years, Friar Bacon and Bungay toiled in secret. Every day the furnace which they had built in the tower glowed with white flame, and from the chimney top such clouds of black smoke issued as caused the hearts of the country folk to beat again with fear. Old kettles and precious plates and ornaments gathered in foreign lands were broken up and melted. The brass hilts of old swords were thrown into the melting pot. Then came days upon days of molding and shaping and fitting. And at last the eyes of the two friends were gladdened by the sight of the object of all their labor. It was the head of an image of brass—faultlessly made, beautiful in every line, a wonder to look upon.
Then began the true work of the magician. The head was fastened upon a pedestal of marble. Clockwork was placed inside of it. Wires were attached to the tongue, the eyeballs, and other parts of the image. These were carried to mysterious jars of chemicals hidden away in a dark closet. Everything was done with care, strictly according to the directions given in the manuscript.
When at last the work was ended, the two friars took turns in watching the brazen head day and night. For more than a month there was never a minute that one of them was not sitting before it, and listening for any sound that it might utter. Then, worn out by his watching, Friar Bungay became ill and Friar Bacon watched alone. But neither friars nor philosophers can live long without sleep, and on the fifth night he was wholly exhausted.
“If I can keep awake but twelve hours longer,” he muttered, “the wonderful voice will speak and the great secret will be known.”
培根修道士和黄铜头像（4）
But he could not keep awake. His eyes closed in spite of himself; his head sank upon his breast; he fell gently back in his chair, and was asleep. In a moment he roused himself only to do the same thing again. Over and over this happened, until at last it lacked but three hours of midnight.
“I can hold out no longer,” he sighed.“Ah, if only Friar Bungay could come!”
Then a new thought came into his mind. He rang a bell, and in a few minutes the servant Miles came sleepily in, carrying a heāvy cudgel.
“Miles,” said the friar, “will you do me a great fāvor tonight?”
“I will do anything that I can, master,” answered Miles, rubbing his eyes， “but I can neither fly nor swim. What is it you would hāve done?”
“Do you see this brazen head?” said the friar; and as he spoke he touched a secret spring which caused sparks of light to flash from the image’s eyes.
“Oh, master, you know that I see it,” said Miles, stepping back in alarm.
“Well, then, you must know that for nine and thirty nights Friar Bungay and myself hāve watched this head. Sooner or later, yes, perhaps even before another morning dawns, its lips will utter a secret of the greatest importance to every Englishman. And sad will it be for us if we fail to hear what is said.”
“Yes, master,” said Miles, trembling as he glanced about the room.
“You need not be afraid of the brazen head,” said the friar, as he touched another spring. “It may do strange things, but it will harm no man.” A sound like rolling thunder filled the room, the image’s eyes flashed again, and a cloud of blue smoke came pouring from its nostrils. Miles turned white with fear, and would hāve run out at the door had not the friar held him by the arm.
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “The head will not hurt you. It does these things at my bidding. If you do not touch it, it will remain quiet in its place, just as it is now.”
“I see, master, I see,” said Miles，“and it is not myself that will be afraid of a collection of brass. Why, I hāve fought in forty battles in France and in Flanders, and never yet hāve I known fear.”
“You are certainly a brāve man, Miles, and that is why I hāve called you. The fāvor that I ask of you is this: Will you watch here for me for an hour or two while I get a little needed rest? You know that Brother Bungay has failed me these five nights, and I cannot keep awake longer.”
“Is it to watch the house that you wish me? There is certainly nothing hard in that. I will hold my good cudgel in my hand, and keep my eyes on every door and window so that no robbers will dare to come near.”
“But it is the brazen head that I wish you to watch. Keep your eyes on it, and if it should begin to speak, then call me quickly.”
“The brazen head, is it? Sure, and it cannot hurt me, for you hāve said so. But you will let me keep the cudgel, in case the robbers might come, won’t you?”
培根修道士和黄铜头像（5）
“Oh, certainly, Miles.”
“Then trust me, master. Go and take your rest, and I will watch like a sentinel at his post.”
“I do trust you, Miles. Good night!” And the weary friar went sleepily to his chamber and threw himself upon his bed.
Ⅱ The Watchman
Miles sat down close to the door with his cudgel in his hand. For a while he kept himself awake by looking about at the strange objects which his master used when carrying on his studies. They were not unknown to him, for he had seen them daily when serving the friar’s meals; but now in the dim light of the flickering lamp they seemed to him like uncanny beings ready to pounce upon him and destroy him. He grasped his cudgel with a firmer grip, and looked at the brazen head. The face of the image seemed to be beaming with a kindly smile, and Miles felt much brāver.
“The head cannot hurt me,” he said to himself，“and so why should I fear those other things? No, no, I am not afraid.”
In the farthest corner upon his right was the carefully closed cask in which was stored the wonderful black powder that had so frightened the Oxford professors. Miles crossed himself when he saw it, and drew a little farther away. Then his eyes rested on a strange piece of glass, round like a wagon wheel, through which the friar sometimes looked when studying the stars. On a table close by were flasks of all sizes and shapes, crucibles for melting metals, and instruments whose use was known only to magicians. While Miles was lost in thought about these strange things a slight noise caused him to look again at the brazen head. Its face still bore the smile that had braced his courage up, and he grew bold enough to speak to it.
“Ah, you head of brass,” he said,“you are nothing but yellow metal. You were made of the old kettles and sword hilts that I brought to my master. How foolish for any one to waste his time in watching you!How silly of my master to starve himself and me, in order to buy brass for your making!A magician like him ought to know better. A snap of his fingers would bring us food and raiment fit for kings; but, instead, he spends his time with you, and we hāve nought but scraps to eat and rags to wear. Come, Master Brassy-head, out with your secret! And let it be a recipe for my master to tell him how to get rich.”
Just as he spoke the last words a bright flash as of lightning lit up the brazen face, and a low sound like muttering thunder filled the room. The mouth of the image opened, its lips seemed to move, and in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, it uttered the words—
TIME IS!
Miles grasped his cudgel very hard and stood close by the door, ready to run. But, as the image sat bolted fast to its pedestal, and moved not, he soon grew very brāve again.
培根修道士和黄铜头像（6）
“Is that all you can say, old Brassy-head?” he asked. “‘Time is,’ did you say? Well, that would be fine news to carry to a scholar like Friar Bacon. You will hāve to tell a better secret than that before I waken him to hear it.”
Again the thunder rolled, and a brighter flash of lightning filled the room. Again the mouth opened, the lips moved, and a voice like the rattling of a brass kettle muttered,—
TIME WAS!
Miles put one hand on the door latch and with the other shook the cudge at the image.
“Only to think,” he said,“that my master and Friar Bungay should spend seven years in making a head which can tell no other secret than that!Why everybody knows that TIME WAS. Fie upon you for a brazen fraud, old Brassy-head! If you would only speak a little Hebrew or Latin, I should begin to think that you really hāve a secret to tell, and I should waken my master to hear it.”
Scarcely had he spoken when the room was lighted up with the brightness of day. The face of the image was no longer smiling, but it bore a dreadful frown. The floor swayed and trembled. The head appeared to lift itself from its pedestal, and in a voice of thunder it cried,—
TIME IS PAST!
Miles in his great fright fainted and fell in a senseless heap by the door. There was a dreadful crash, a blinding cloud of smoke, and then all was still. Friar Bacon, roused by the noise, rushed into the room. The brazen head lay on the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces.
“Miles! Miles!” cried the distracted friar.
The serving man slowly raised himself on his knees and groaned.
“Did the head speak?” asked the master. “Tell me quickly.” “Yes, master, he did speak,” muttered Miles, shaking with terror. “But he said nothing worth remembering.”
“What did he say?”
“Why, at first he said, ‘Time is,’ and as that is a secret which everybody knows, I urged him to say more. Presently he spoke up again and said, ‘Time was’; and then, before I could run and call you, he roared out, ‘Time is past,’ and fell over against me with such a crash as to knock my senses out of me.”
“Oh, wretched fool!” cried Friar Bacon, angrily pushing the man from the room. “Leāve my sight! your foolishness has caused the wreck of all my hopes. The labor of seven years is lost. Had I been wakened, I would hāve set machinery in motion to prevent this ruin; and the brazen head would hāve told me how to do most wonderful things. It would hāve told me how to build a wall around England and make her the strongest of all nations. It would hāve told me—But now, all is lost. I will make no more experiments; I will burn my books; I will close my study. The rest of my life shall be spent, like that of any other monk, in the quiet cell of a monastery; and when I die my poor name will be forgotten.”
“像克罗伊斯一样富有”（1）
几千年以前，亚洲有一位名叫克罗伊斯的国王。他统治的国家并不大，但是人民生活富足，并以富有闻名于世。据说，克罗伊斯是世界上最富有的人。直到今天，他的名字仍然很有名气，人们在形容一个人非常富有的时候常常说“像克罗伊斯一样富有”。
国王拥有让自己感到快乐的一切——土地、房子、奴隶、华美的衣服以及精致的东西。他想不出能有什么东西能够令他更加舒服和满意。“我是世界上最快乐的人，”他说道。
一年夏天，发生了这样一件事情：一位伟人漂洋过海来到亚洲旅行。这个人叫索伦，他是希腊雅典的立法者。他以智慧而著称，在他去世之后的几个世纪中，对于有学问人的最高的称赞就是“他就像索伦一样聪明”。
索伦听说了克罗伊斯。于是，一天他就去那座漂亮的宫殿拜访他。克罗伊斯从没有像现在这样高兴和自豪，因为世界上最聪明的人成了他的客人。他领着索伦走进了宫殿，带他参观了豪华的房间、精美的毯子、柔软的睡椅、奢华的家具、画以及书籍。然后，又邀请他到外面参观他的花园、果园和马厩。他让索伦参观了数以千计珍贵漂亮的宝贝，这是他从世界各地收集而来的。
晚上，当最聪明的人和最富有的人共进晚餐的时候，国王对他的客人说：“现在，请你告诉我，索伦，你认为谁是世界上最快乐的人？”他想索伦会说“克罗伊斯”。
聪明人沉默了一分钟，说道：“我记得雅典曾经生活着一个穷人，他的名字叫忒耳斯。我毫不怀疑，他是最快乐的人。”
这并不是克罗伊斯想要的答案，但是他没有表现出失望，而是问：“你为什么这样认为？”
“因为，”他的客人答道，“忒耳斯是一个诚实的人，他通过辛勤劳动把自己的孩子抚养长大，让他们接受良好的教育。当他们长大成|人，能够独立生活后，他就参加了雅典军队，并且在保卫国家时勇敢地献出了自己的生命。您能想到任何一个比他更应感到幸福的人吗？”
“也许没有，”克罗伊斯答道，他因失望而变得呼吸不畅。“但是，你认为谁应该排在忒耳斯之后呢？”他现在非常确信，索伦会说“克罗伊斯”。
“我记得，”索伦说道，“应该是两个生活在希腊的年轻人。他们很小的时候父亲就去世了，他们生活贫困。然而，他们像男子汉一样劳动，一家人在一起，并且奉养着身体衰弱的母亲。他们年复一年地辛勤劳作，除了让母亲能够舒适生活外，别无他求。最后母亲去世的时候，他们把自己所有的爱都献给了雅典——他们的祖国，并且为国家奉献了光荣的一生。”
这时，克罗伊斯发怒了。“为什么？”他问道，“你为什么不考虑我，将我的财富和权利视若无物？你为什么把这些穷苦的劳动者置于最富有的国王之上？”
“哦，国王，”索伦说道，“直到您去世之前，没有人能够断定您是否快乐。因为没有人会知道将有什么灾难降临到您的身上，或者这种荣耀被什么悲惨所代替。”
许多年以后，亚洲出现了一位强大的国王，他的名字是塞勒斯。他率领军队从一个国家征战到另一个国家，推翻了许多王国，将他们吞并为他的伟大帝国——巴比伦的一部分。国王和他的财富无法与这位强大的勇士相抗衡。他尽自己所能抵抗了一段时间。后来，他的国家被侵吞了，华丽的宫殿被烧毁，他的果园和花园被摧毁，他的财富被掠走了，他自己也沦为阶下囚。
“克罗伊斯的顽强抵抗，”塞勒斯国王说道，“给我们造成了很大的麻烦，我们失去了大量优秀的士兵。把他带出去，给那些胆敢阻碍我们道路的小王国的国王点教训。”
于是，士兵抓起克罗伊斯，把他拖到了市场，并从始至终粗暴地对待他。然后，他们堆起了一大堆干柴，并从他那座昔日漂亮宫殿的废墟上搬来一些木头。当他们把这一切准备就绪之后，就把这个不幸的国王绑在中间，一个士兵赶忙去拿来一支火炬，点起了火。
“像克罗伊斯一样富有”（2）
“现在我们将会看到一丛欢快的火焰，”那些野蛮的家伙说道，“现在，他所有的财产又能帮他什么呢？”
当可怜的克罗伊斯满身伤痕、血流不止地躺在那堆柴火上时，没有一个朋友来抚慰他的不幸。这时，他想起几年前索伦对他说的话“一个人死亡之前，没有人能够断定他幸福与否”。于是他呻吟道：“哦，索伦！哦，索伦！哦，索伦！”
在这个时候，塞勒斯碰巧从这里驶过，并且听到了他的呻吟声。“他说什么呢？”他问士兵。
“他说，‘索伦，索伦，索伦！’”其中一个士兵答道。