通译双语文库:小妇人第八章　乔遇上了恶魔

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`Girls, where are you going?’ asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out, with an air of secrecy, which excited her curiosity.

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`Never mind; little girls shouldn’t ask questions,’ returned Jo, sharply.

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Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings, when we are young, it is to be told that; and to be bidden to `run away, dear’, is still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who never refused her anything very long, she said coaxingly, `Do tell me! I should think you might let me go too; for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I haven’t got anything to do, and am so lonely.’

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`I can’t, dear, because you aren’t invited,’ began Meg; but Jo broke in impatiently, `Now, Meg, be quiet, or you will spoil it all. You can’t go, Amy; so don’t be a baby and whine about it.’

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`You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are; you were whispering and laughing together, on the sofa, last night, and you stopped when I came in. Aren’t you going with him?’

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`Yes, we are; now do be still and stop bothering.’ Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket.

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`I know! I know! you’re going to the hall to see "The Seven Castles"!’ she cried, adding resolutely, `and I shall go, for Mother said I might see it; and I’ve got my rag-money, and it was mean not to tell me in time.’

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`Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,’ said Meg, soothingly. `Mother doesn’t wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.’

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`I don’t like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me; I’ve been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I’m dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I’ll be ever so good,’ pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could.

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`Suppose we take her. I don’t believe Mother would mind, if we bundle her up well,’ began Meg.

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`If she goes I shan’t; and if I don’t, Laurie won’t like it; and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I should think she’d hate to poke herself where she isn’t wanted,’ said Jo, crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child, when she wanted to enjoy herself.

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Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, `I shall go; Meg says I may; and if I pay for myself, Laurie hasn’t anything to do with it.’

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`You can’t sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn’t sit alone; so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our pleasure; or he’ll get another seat for you, and that isn’t proper, when you weren’t asked. You shan’t stir a step; so you may just stay where you are,’ scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry.

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Sitting on the floor, with one boot on, Amy began to cry, and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing; for now and then she forgot her grown-up ways, and acted like a spoilt child. Just as the party were setting out, Amy called over the bannisters, in a threatening voice, `You’ll be sorry for this, Jo March; see if you ain’t.’

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`Fiddlesticks!’ returned Jo, slamming the door.

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They had a charming time, for "The Seven Castles of the Diamond Lake" was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. But, in spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and gorgeous princes and princesses, Jo’s pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it; the fairy queen’s yellow curls reminded her of Amy; and between the acts she amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her "sorry for it". She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives, for both had quick tempers, and were apt to be violent when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, Jo irritated Amy, and semi-occasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterwards. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble; her anger never lasted long, and having humbly confessed her fault she sincerely repented and tried to do better. Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a fury because she was such an angel afterwards. Poor Jo tried desperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her; and it took years of patient effort to subdue it.

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When they got home they found Amy reading in the parlour. She assumed an injured air as they came in; never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire, and receive a glowing description of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo’s first look was towards the bureau; for, in their last quarrel, Amy had soothed her feelings by turning Jo’s top drawer upside down on the floor. Everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.

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There Jo was mistaken; for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited, and demanding breathlessly, `Has anyone taken my book?’

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Meg and Beth said `No,’ at once, and looked surprised; Amy poked the fire, and said nothing. Jo saw her colour rise, and was down upon her in a minute.

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`Amy, you’ve got it.’

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`No, I haven’t.’

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`You know where it is, then!’

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`No, I don’t.’

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`That’s a fib!’ cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.

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`It isn’t. I haven’t got it, don’t know where it is now, and don’t care.’

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`You know something about it, and you’d better tell at once, or I’ll make you,’ and Jo gave her a slight shake.

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`Scold as much as you like, you’ll never see your silly old book again,’ cried Amy, getting excited in her turn.

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`Why not?’

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`I burnt it up.’

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`What! my little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before Father got home! Have you really burnt it?’ said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously.

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`Yes, I did! I told you I’d make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so——’

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Amy got no further, for Jo’s hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head; crying in a passion of grief and anger:`You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again and I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.’

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Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself; and with a parting box on her sister’s ear, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone.

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The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister. Jo’s book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her family as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting her whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to print. She had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old manuscript, so that Amy’s bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and Meg refused to defend her pet; Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted more than any of them.

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When the tea-bell rang Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable, that it took all Amy’s courage to say meekly:`Please forgive me, Jo; I’m very, very sorry.’

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`I never shall forgive you,’ was Jo’s stern answer; and from that moment she ignored Amy entirely.

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No one spoke of the great trouble - not even Mrs. March - for all had learned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words were wasted; and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her own generous nature, softened Jo’s resentment, and healed the breach. It was not a happy evening; for though they sewed as usual, while their mother read aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting and the sweet home peace was disturbed. They felt this most when singing time came; for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, and Amy broke down, so Meg and Mother sang alone. But in spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flute-like voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune.

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As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently:`My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow.’

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Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn’t quite forgive yet. So she winked hard, shook her head, and said gruffly, because Amy was listening: `It was an abominable thing, and she don’t deserve to be forgiven.’

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With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night.

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Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been repulsed, and began to wish she had not humbled herself, to feel more injured than ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which was particularly exasperating. Jo still looked like a thundercloud, and nothing went well all day.

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It was bitter cold in the morning, she dropped her precious turnover in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack of fidgets, Meg was pensive, Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home, and Amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking about being good, and yet wouldn’t try, when other people set them a virtuous example.

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`Everybody is so hateful, I’ll ask Laurie to go skating. He is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know,’ said Jo to herself, and off she went.

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Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation: `There! she promised I should go next time, for this is the last ice we shall have. But it’s no use to ask such a cross-patch to take me.’

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`Don’t say that; you were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book; but I think she might do it now, and I guess she will, if you try her at the right minute,’ said Meg. `Go after them; don’t say anything till Jo has got good-natured with Laurie, then take a quiet minute, and just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and I’m sure she’ll be friends again with all her heart.’

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`I’ll try,’ said Amy, for the advice suited her; and, after a flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing over the hill.

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It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back; Laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spell had preceded the cold snap.

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`I’ll go on to the first bend, and see if it’s all right, before we begin to race,’ Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young Russian, in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.

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Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing her fingers, as she tried to put her skates on; but Jo never turned, and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister’s troubles.

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She had cherished her anger till it grew strong, and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do, unless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back: `Keep near the shore, it isn’t safe in the middle.’

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Jo heard, but Amy was just struggling to her feet, and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harbouring said in her ear: `No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself.’ Laurie had vanished round the bend; Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out towards the smoother ice in the middle of the river. For a minute Jo stood still, with a strange feeling at her heart; then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that made Jo’s heart stand still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone; she tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them; and, for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring, with a terror-stricken face, at the little blue hood above the black water. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie’s voice cried out: `Bring a rail; quick, quick!’

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How she did it, she never knew; but for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and, lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Jo dragged a rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, more frightened than hurt.

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`Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can; pile our things on her, while I get off these confounded skates,’ cried Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps, which never seemed so intricate before.

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Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home; and, after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets, before a hot fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken, but flown about looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the bed, she called Jo to her, and began to bind up the hurt hands.

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`Are you sure she is safe?’ whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight for ever under the treacherous ice.

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`Quite safe, dear; she is not hurt, and won’t even take cold, I think, you were so sensible in covering her and getting her home quickly,’ replied her mother, cheerfully.

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`Laurie did it all; I only let her go. Mother, if she should de, it would be my fault’; and Jo dropped down beside the bed, in a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.

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`It’s my dreadful temper! I try to cure it; I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. Oh, Mother, what shall I do? what shall I do?’ cried poor Jo, in despair.

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`Watch and pray, dear; never get tired of trying; and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault,’ said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder, and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried harder than ever.

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`You don’t know, and you can’t guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I’m in a passion; I get so savage, I could hurt anyone, and enjoy it. I’m afraid I shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me. Oh, Mother, help me, do help me!’

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第八章 乔遇上了恶魔|Chapter 8 Jo Meets Apollyon

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`Girls, where are you going?’ asked Amy, coming into their room one Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out, with an air of secrecy, which excited her curiosity.

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`Never mind; little girls shouldn’t ask questions,’ returned Jo, sharply.

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`I can’t, dear, because you aren’t invited,’ began Meg; but Jo broke in impatiently, `Now, Meg, be quiet, or you will spoil it all. You can’t go, Amy; so don’t be a baby and whine about it.’

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`You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are; you were whispering and laughing together, on the sofa, last night, and you stopped when I came in. Aren’t you going with him?’

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`Yes, we are; now do be still and stop bothering.’ Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket.

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`I know! I know! you’re going to the hall to see "The Seven Castles"!’ she cried, adding resolutely, `and I shall go, for Mother said I might see it; and I’ve got my rag-money, and it was mean not to tell me in time.’

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`Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child,’ said Meg, soothingly. `Mother doesn’t wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time.’

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`I don’t like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let me; I’ve been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I’m dying for some fun. Do, Meg! I’ll be ever so good,’ pleaded Amy, looking as pathetic as she could.

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`Suppose we take her. I don’t believe Mother would mind, if we bundle her up well,’ began Meg.

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Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, `I shall go; Meg says I may; and if I pay for myself, Laurie hasn’t anything to do with it.’

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`Fiddlesticks!’ returned Jo, slamming the door.

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There Jo was mistaken; for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited, and demanding breathlessly, `Has anyone taken my book?’

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Meg and Beth said `No,’ at once, and looked surprised; Amy poked the fire, and said nothing. Jo saw her colour rise, and was down upon her in a minute.

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`Amy, you’ve got it.’

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`No, I haven’t.’

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`You know where it is, then!’

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`No, I don’t.’

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`That’s a fib!’ cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.

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`It isn’t. I haven’t got it, don’t know where it is now, and don’t care.’

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`You know something about it, and you’d better tell at once, or I’ll make you,’ and Jo gave her a slight shake.

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`Scold as much as you like, you’ll never see your silly old book again,’ cried Amy, getting excited in her turn.

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`Why not?’

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`I burnt it up.’

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`What! my little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before Father got home! Have you really burnt it?’ said Jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously.

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`Yes, I did! I told you I’d make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so——’

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Amy got no further, for Jo’s hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head; crying in a passion of grief and anger:`You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again and I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.’

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Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself; and with a parting box on her sister’s ear, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone.

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When the tea-bell rang Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable, that it took all Amy’s courage to say meekly:`Please forgive me, Jo; I’m very, very sorry.’

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`I never shall forgive you,’ was Jo’s stern answer; and from that moment she ignored Amy entirely.

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As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently:`My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow.’

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With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night.

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`Everybody is so hateful, I’ll ask Laurie to go skating. He is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know,’ said Jo to herself, and off she went.

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Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation: `There! she promised I should go next time, for this is the last ice we shall have. But it’s no use to ask such a cross-patch to take me.’

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第八章　乔遇上了恶魔|Chapter 8 Jo Meets Apollyon