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雙語《霍桑短篇小說集》 雪人

所屬教程:譯林版·牧師的黑面紗:霍桑短篇小說集

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2022年06月25日

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THE SNOW-IMAGE: A CHILDISH MIRACLE

One afternoon of a cold winter's day, when the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow. The elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her parents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call Violet. But her brother was known by the style and title of Peony, on account of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. The father of these two children, a certain Mr. Lindsey, it is important to say, was an excellent but exceedingly matter-of-fact sort of man, a dealer in hardware, and was sturdily accustomed to take what is called the common-sense view of all matters that came under his consideration. With a heart about as tender as other people's, he had a head as hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty, as one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to sell. The mother's character, on the other hand, had a strain of poetry in it, a trait of unworldly beauty,—a delicate and dewy flower, as it were, that had survived out of her imaginative youth, and still kept itself alive amid the dusty realities of matrimony and motherhood.

So, Violet and Peony, as I began with saying, besought their mother to let them run out and play in the new snow; for, though it had looked so dreary and dismal, drifting downward out of the gray sky, it had a very cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shining on it. The children dwelt in a city, and had no wider play-place than a little garden before the house, divided by a white fence from the street, and with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing it, and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor-windows. The trees and shrubs, however, were now leafless, and their twigs were enveloped in the light snow, which thus made a kind of wintry foliage, with here and there a pendent icicle for the fruit.

“Yes, Violet,—yes, my little Peony,”said their kind mother,“you may go out and play in the new snow.”

Accordingly, the good lady bundled up her darlings in woollen jackets and wadded sacks, and put comforters round their necks, and a pair of striped gaiters on each little pair of legs, and worsted mittens on their hands, and gave them a kiss apiece, by way of a spell to keep away Jack Frost. Forth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump, that carried them at once into the very heart of a huge snow-drift, whence Violet emerged like a snow-bunting, while little Peony floundered out with his round face in full bloom. Then what a merry time had they! To look at them, frolicking in the wintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless storm had been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for Violet and Peony; and that they themselves had beer created, as the snow-birds were, to take delight only in the tempest, and in the white mantle which it spread over the earth.

At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was struck with a new idea.

“You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony,”said she,“if your cheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make an image out of snow,—an image of a little girl,—and it shall be our sister, and shall run about and play with us all winter long. Won't it be nice?”

“Oh yes!”cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was but a little boy.“That will be nice! And mamma shall see it!”

“Yes,”answered Violet;“mamma shall see the new little girl. But she must not make her come into the warm parlor; for, you know, our little snow-sister will not love the warmth.”

And forthwith the children began this great business of making a snow-image that should run about; while their mother, who was sitting at the window and overheard some of their talk, could not help smiling at the gravity with which they set about it. They really seemed to imagine that there would be no difficulty whatever in creating a live little girl out of the snow. And, to say the truth, if miracles are ever to be wrought, it will be by putting our hands to the work in precisely such a simple and undoubting frame of mind as that in which Violet and Peony now undertook to perform one, without so much as knowing that it was a miracle. So thought the mother; and thought, likewise, that the new snow, just fallen from heaven, would be excellent material to make new beings of, if it were not so very cold. She gazed at the children a moment longer, delighting to watch their little figures,—the girl, tall for her age, graceful and agile, and so delicately colored that she looked like a cheerful thought more than a physical reality; while Peony expanded in breadth rather than height, and rolled along on his short and sturdy legs as substantial as an elephant, though not quite so big. Then the mother resumed her work. What it was I forget; but she was either trimming a silken bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockings for little Peony's short legs. Again, however, and again, and yet other agains, she could not help turning her head to the window to see how the children got on with their snow-image.

Indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight, those bright little souls at their task! Moreover, it was really wonderful to observe how knowingly and skilfully they managed the matter. Violet assumed the chief direction, and told Peony what to do, while, with her own delicate fingers, she shaped out all the nicer parts of the snow-figure. It seemed, in fact, not so much to be made by the children, as to grow up under their hands, while they were playing and prattling about it. Their mother was quite surprised at this; and the longer she looked, the more and more surprised she grew.

“What remarkable children mine are!”thought she, smiling with a mother's pride; and, smiling at herself, too, for being so proud of them.“What other children could have made anything so like a little girl's figure out of snow at the first trial? Well; but now I must finish Peony's new frock, for his grandfather is coming to-morrow, and I want the little fellow to look handsome.”

So she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work again with her needle as the two children with their snow-image. But still, as the needle travelled hither and thither through the seams of the dress, the mother made her toil light and happy by listening to the airy voices of Violet and Peony. They kept talking to one another all the time, their tongues being quite as active as their feet and hands. Except at intervals, she could not distinctly hear what was said, but had merely a sweet impression that they were in a most loving mood, and were enjoying themselves highly, and that the business of making the snow-image went prosperously on. Now and then, however, when Violet and Peony happened to raise their voices, the words were as audible as if they had been spoken in the very parlor where the mother sat. Oh how delightfully those words echoed in her heart, even though they meant nothing so very wise or wonderful, after all!

But you must know a mother listens with her heart much more than with her ears; and thus she is often delighted with the trills of celestial music, when other people can hear nothing of the kind.

“Peony, Peony!”cried Violet to her brother, who had gone to another part of the garden,“bring me some of that fresh snow, Peony, from the very farthest corner, where we have not been trampling. I want it to shape our little snow-sister's bosom with. You know that part must be quite pure, just as it came out of the sky!”

“Here it is, Violet!”answered Peony, in his bluff tone,—but a very sweet tone, too,—as he came floundering through the half-trodden drifts.“Here is the snow for her little bosom. O Violet, how beau-ti-ful she begins to look!”

“Yes,”said Violet, thoughtfully and quietly;“our snow-sister does look very lovely. I did not quite know, Peony, that we could make such a sweet little girl as this.”

The mother, as she listened, thought how fit and delightful an incident it would be, if fairies, or still better, if angel-children were to come from paradise, and play invisibly with her own darlings, and help them to make their snow-image, giving it the features of celestial babyhood! Violet and Peony would not be aware of their immortal playmates,—only they would see that the image grew very beautiful while they worked at it, and would think that they themselves had done it all.

“My little girl and boy deserve such playmates, if mortal children ever did!”said the mother to herself; and then she smiled again at her own motherly pride.

Nevertheless, the idea seized upon her imagination; and, ever and anon, she took a glimpse out of the window, half dreaming that she might see the golden-haired children of paradise sporting with her own golden-haired Violet and bright-cheeked Peony.

Now, for a few moments, there was a busy and earnest, but indistinct hum of the two children's voices, as Violet and Peony wrought together with one happy consent. Violet still seemed to be the guiding spirit, while Peony acted rather as a laborer, and brought her the snow from far and near. And yet the little urchin evidently had a proper understanding of the matter, too!

“Peony, Peony!”cried Violet; for her brother was again at the other side of the garden.“Bring me those light wreaths of snow that have rested on the lower branches of the pear-tree. You can clamber on the snowdrift, Peony, and reach them easily. I must have them to make some ringlets for our snow-sister's head!”

“Here they are, Violet!”answered the little boy.“Take care you do not break them. Well done! Well done! How pretty!”

“Does she not look sweetly?”said Violet, with a very satisfied tone;“and now we must have some little shining bits of ice, to make the brightness of her eyes. She is not finished yet. Mamma will see how very beautiful she is; but papa will say, 'Tush! nonsense!— come in out of the cold!'”

“Let us call mamma to look out,”said Peony; and then he shouted lustily,“mamma! mamma!! mamma!!! Look out, and see what a nice 'ittle girl we are making!”

The mother put down her work for an instant, and looked out of the window. But it so happened that the sun—for this was one of the shortest days of the whole year—had sunken so nearly to the edge of the world that his setting shine came obliquely into the lady's eyes. So she was dazzled, you must understand, and could not very distinctly observe what was in the garden. Still, however, through all that bright, blinding dazzle of the sun and the new snow, she beheld a small white figure in the garden, that seemed to have a wonderful deal of human likeness about it. And she saw Violet and Peony,—indeed, she looked more at them than at the image,—she saw the two children still at work; Peony bringing fresh snow, and Violet applying it to the figure as scientifically as a sculptor adds clay to his model. Indistinctly as she discerned the snow-child, the mother thought to herself that never before was there a snow-figure so cunningly made, nor ever such a dear little girl and boy to make it.

“They do everything better than other children,”said she, very complacently.“No wonder they make better snow-images!”

She sat down again to her work, and made as much haste with it as possible; because twilight would soon come, and Peony's frock was not yet finished, and grandfather was expected, by railroad, pretty early in the morning. Faster and faster, therefore, went her flying fingers. The children, likewise, kept busily at work in the garden, and still the mother listened, whenever she could catch a word. She was amused to observe how their little imaginations had got mixed up with what they were doing, and carried away by it. They seemed positively to think that the snow-child would run about and play with them.

“What a nice playmate she will be for us, all winter long!”said Violet.“I hope papa will not be afraid of her giving us a cold! Sha'n't you love her dearly, Peony?”

“Oh yes!”cried Peony.“And I will hug her, and she shall sit down close by me and drink some of my warm milk!”

“Oh no, Peony!”answered Violet, with grave wisdom.“That will not do at all. Warm milk will not be wholesome for our little snow-sister. Little snow people, like her, eat nothing but icicles. No, no, Peony; we must not give her anything warm to drink!”

There was a minute or two of silence; for Peony, whose short legs were never weary, had gone on a pilgrimage again to the other side of the garden. All of a sudden, Violet cried out, loudly and joyfully,—“Look here, Peony! Come quickly! A light has been shining on her cheek out of that rose-colored cloud! and the color does not go away! Is not that beautiful!”

“Yes; it is beau-ti-ful,”answered Peony, pronouncing the three syllables with deliberate accuracy.“O Violet, only look at her hair! It is all like gold!”

“Oh certainly,”said Violet, with tranquillity, as if it were very much a matter of course.“That color, you know, comes from the golden clouds, that we see up there in the sky. She is almost finished now. But her lips must be made very red,—redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, it will make them red if we both kiss them!”

Accordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as if both her children were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. But, as this did not seem to make the lips quite red enough, Violet next proposed that the snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony's scarlet cheek.

“Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!”cried Peony.

“There! she has kissed you,”added Violet,“and now her lips are very red. And she blushed a little, too!”

“Oh, what a cold kiss!”cried Peony.

Just then, there came a breeze of the pure west-wind, sweeping through the garden and rattling the parlor-windows. It sounded so wintry cold, that the mother was about to tap on the window-pane with her thimbled finger, to summon the two children in, when they both cried out to her with one voice. The tone was not a tone of surprise, although they were evidently a good deal excited; it appeared rather as if they were very much rejoiced at some event that had now happened, but which they had been looking for, and had reckoned upon all along.

“Mamma! mamma! We have finished our little snow-sister, and she is running about the garden with us!”

“What imaginative little beings my children are!”thought the mother, putting the last few stitches into Peony's frock.“And it is strange, too that they make me almost as much a child as they themselves are! I can hardly help believing, now, that the snow-image has really come to life!”

“Dear mamma!”cried Violet,“pray look out and see what a sweet playmate we have!”

The mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay to look forth from the window. The sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving, however, a rich inheritance of his brightness among those purple and golden clouds which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent. But there was not the slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window or on the snow; so that the good lady could look all over the garden, and see everything and everybody in it. And what do you think she saw there? Violet and Peony, of course, her own two darling children. Ah, but whom or what did she see besides? Why, if you will believe me, there was a small figure of a girl, dressed all in white, with rose-tinged cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about the garden with the two children! A stranger though she was, the child seemed to be on as familiar terms with Violet and Peony, and they with her, as if all the three had been playmates during the whole of their little lives. The mother thought to herself that it must certainly be the daughter of one of the neighbors, and that, seeing Violet and Peony in the garden, the child had run across the street to play with them. So this kind lady went to the door, intending to invite the little runaway into her comfortable parlor; for, now that the sunshine was withdrawn, the atmosphere, out of doors, was already growing very cold.

But, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on the threshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in, or whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, she almost doubted whether it were a real child after all, or only a light wreath of the new-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by the intensely cold west-wind. There was certainly something very singular in the aspect of the little stranger. Among all the children of the neighborhood, the lady could remember no such face, with its pure white, and delicate rose-color, and the golden ringlets tossing about the forehead and cheeks. And as for her dress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in the breeze, it was such as no reasonable woman would put upon a little girl, when sending her out to play, in the depth of winter. It made this kind and careful mother shiver only to look at those small feet, with nothing in the world on them, except a very thin pair of white slippers. Nevertheless, airily as she was clad, the child seemed to feel not the slightest inconvenience from the cold, but danced so lightly over the snow that the tips of her toes left hardly a print in its surface; while Violet could but just keep pace with her, and Peony's short legs compelled him to lag behind.

Once, in the course of their play, the strange child placed herself between Violet and Peony, and taking a hand of each, skipped merrily forward, and they along with her. Almost immediately, however, Peony pulled away his little fist, and began to rub it as if the fingers were tingling with cold; while Violet also released herself, though with less abruptness, gravely remarking that it was better not to take hold of hands. The white-robed damsel said not a word, but danced about, just as merrily as before. If Violet and Peony did not choose to play with her, she could make just as good a playmate of the brisk and cold west-wind, which kept blowing her all about the garden, and took such liberties with her, that they seemed to have been friends for a long time. All this while, the mother stood on the threshold, wondering how a little girl could look so much like a flying snow-drift, or how a snow-drift could look so very like a little girl.

She called Violet, and whispered to her.

“Violet my darling, what is this child's name?”asked she.“Does she live near us?”

“Why, dearest mamma,”answered Violet, laughing to think that her mother did not comprehend so very plain an affair,“this is our little snow-sister whom we have just been making!”

“Yes, dear mamma,”cried Peony, running to his mother, and looking up simply into her face.“This is our snow-image! Is it not a nice 'ittle child?”

At this instant a flock of snow-birds came flitting through the air. As was very natural, they avoided Violet and Peony. But—and this looked strange—they flew at once to the white-robed child, fluttered eagerly about her head, alighted on her shoulders, and seemed to claim her as an old acquaintance. She, on her part, was evidently as glad to see these little birds, old Winter's grandchildren, as they were to see her, and welcomed them by holding out both her hands. Hereupon, they each and all tried to alight on her two palms and ten small fingers and thumbs, crowding one another off, with an immense fluttering of their tiny wings. One dear little bird nestled tenderly in her bosom; another put its bill to her lips. They were as joyous, all the while, and seemed as much in their element, as you may have seen them when sporting with a snow-storm.

Violet and Peony stood laughing at this pretty sight; for they enjoyed the merry time which their new playmate was having with these small-winged visitants, almost as much as if they themselves took part in it.

“Violet,”said her mother, greatly perplexed,“tell me the truth, without any jest. Who is this little girl?”

“My darling mamma,”answered Violet, looking seriously into her mother's face, and apparently surprised that she should need any further explanation,“I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image, which Peony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I.”

“Yes, mamma,”asseverated Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little phiz;“this is 'ittle snow-child. Is not she a nice one? But, mamma, her hand is, oh, so very cold!”

While mamma still hesitated what to think and what to do, the street-gate was thrown open, and the father of Violet and Peony appeared, wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a fur cap drawn down over his ears, and the thickest of gloves upon his hands. Mr. Lindsey was a middle-aged man, with a weary and yet a happy look in his wind-flushed and frost-pinched face, as if he had been busy all the day long, and was glad to get back to his quiet home. His eyes brightened at the sight of his wife and children, although he could not help uttering a word or two of surprise, at finding the whole family in the open air, on so bleak a day, and after sunset too. He soon perceived the little white stranger sporting to and fro in the garden, like a dancing snow-wreath, and the flock of snow-birds fluttering about her head.

“Pray, what little girl may that be?”inquired this very sensible man.“Surely her mother must be crazy to let her go out in such bitter weather as it has been to-day, with only that flimsy white gown and those thin slippers!”

“My dear husband,”said his wife,“I know no more about the little thing than you do. Some neighbor's child, I suppose. Our Violet and Peony,”she added, laughing at herself for repeating so absurd a story,“insist that she is nothing but a snow-image, which they have been busy about in the garden, almost all the afternoon.”

As she said this, the mother glanced her eyes toward the spot where the children's snow-image had been made. What was her surprise, on perceiving that there was not the slightest trace of so much labor!—no image at all!—no piled up heap of snow!—nothing whatever, save the prints of little footsteps around a vacant space!

“This is very strange!”said she.

“What is strange, dear mother?”asked Violet.“Dear father, do not you see how it is? This is our snow-image, which Peony and I have made, because we wanted another playmate. Did not we, Peony?”

“Yes, papa,”said crimson Peony.“This be our 'ittle snow-sister. Is she not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me such a cold kiss!”

“Poh, nonsense, children!”cried their good, honest father, who, as we have already intimated, had an exceedingly common-sensible way of looking at matters.“Do not tell me of making live figures out of snow. Come, wife; this little stranger must not stay out in the bleak air a moment longer. We will bring her into the parlor; and you shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and make her as comfortable as you can. Meanwhile, I will inquire among the neighbors; or, if necessary, send the city-crier about the streets, to give notice of a lost child.”

So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was going toward the little white damsel, with the best intentions in the world. But Violet and Peony, each seizing their father by the hand, earnestly besought him not to make her come in.

“Dear father,”cried Violet, putting herself before him,“it is true what I have been telling you! This is our little snow-girl, and she cannot live any longer than while she breathes the cold west-wind. Do not make her come into the hot room!”

“Yes, father,”shouted Peony, stamping his little foot, so mightily was he in earnest,“this be nothing but our 'ittle snow-child! She will not love the hot fire!”

“Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!”cried the father, half vexed, half laughing at what he considered their foolish obstinacy.“Run into the house, this moment! It is too late to play any longer, now. I must take care of this little girl immediately, or she will catch her death-a-cold!”

“Husband! dear husband!”said his wife, in a low voice,—for she had been looking narrowly at the snow-child, and was more perplexed than ever,—“there is something very singular in all this. You will think me foolish,—but—but—may it not be that some invisible angel has been attracted by the simplicity and good faith with which our children set about their undertaking? May he not have spent an hour of his immortality in playing with those dear little souls? and so the result is what we call a miracle. No, no! Do not laugh at me; I see what a foolish thought it is!”

“My dear wife,”replied the husband, laughing heartily,“you are as much a child as Violet and Peony.”

And in one sense so she was, for all through life she had kept her heart full of childlike simplicity and faith, which was as pure and clear as crystal; and, looking at all matters through this transparent medium, she sometimes saw truths so profound that other people laughed at them as nonsense and absurdity.

But now kind Mr. Lindsey had entered the garden, breaking away from his two children, who still sent their shrill voices after him, beseeching him to let the snow-child stay and enjoy herself in the cold west-wind. As he approached, the snow-birds took to flight. The little white damsel, also, fled backward, shaking her head, as if to say,“Pray, do not touch me!”and roguishly, as it appeared, leading him through the deepest of the snow. Once, the good man stumbled, and floundered down upon his face, so that, gathering himself up again, with the snow sticking to his rough pilot-cloth sack, he looked as white and wintry as a snow-image of the largest size. Some of the neighbors, meanwhile, seeing him from their windows, wondered what could possess poor Mr. Lindsey to be running about his garden in pursuit of a snow-drift, which the west-wind was driving hither and thither! At length, after a vast deal of trouble, he chased the little stranger into a corner, where she could not possibly escape him. His wife had been looking on, and, it being nearly twilight, was wonder-struck to observe how the snow-child gleamed and sparkled, and how she seemed to shed a glow all round about her; and when driven into the corner, she positively glistened like a star! It was a frosty kind of brightness, too, like that of an icicle in the moonlight. The wife thought it strange that good Mr. Lindsey should see nothing remarkable in the snow-child's appearance.

“Come, you odd little thing!”cried the honest man, seizing her by the hand,“I have caught you at last, and will make you comfortable in spite of yourself. We will put a nice warm pair of worsted stockings on your frozen little feet, and you shall have a good thick shawl to wrap yourself in. Your poor white nose, I am afraid, is actually frost-bitten. But we will make it all right. Come along in.”

And so, with a most benevolent smile on his sagacious visage, all purple as it was with the cold, this very well-meaning gentleman took the snow-child by the hand and led her towards the house. She followed him, droopingly and reluctant; for all the glow and sparkle was gone out of her figure; and whereas just before she had resembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimson gleam on the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as a thaw. As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of the door, Violet and Peony looked into his face,—their eyes full of tears, which froze before they could run down their cheeks,—and again entreated him not to bring their snow-image into the house.

“Not bring her in!”exclaimed the kind-hearted man.“Why, you are crazy, my little Violet!—quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold, already, that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick gloves. Would you have her freeze to death?”

His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long, earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little white stranger. She hardly knew whether it was a dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the delicate print of Violet's fingers on the child's neck. It looked just as if, while Violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression quite away.

“After all, husband,”said the mother, recurring to her idea that the angels would be as much delighted to play with Violet and Peony as she herself was,—“after all, she does look strangely like a snow-image! I do believe she is made of snow!”

A puff of the west-wind blew against the snow-child, and again she sparkled like a star.

“Snow!”repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over his hospitable threshold.“No wonder she looks like snow. She is half frozen, poor little thing! But a good fire will put everything to rights!”

Without further talk, and always with the same best intentions, this highly benevolent and common-sensible individual led the little white damsel—drooping, drooping, drooping, more and more out of the frosty air, and into his comfortable parlor. A Heidenberg stove, filled to the brim with intensely burning anthracite, was sending a bright gleam through the isinglass of its iron door, and causing the vase of water on its top to fume and bubble with excitement. A warm, sultry smell was diffused throughout the room. A thermometer on the wall farthest from the stove stood at eighty degrees. The parlor was hung with red curtains, and covered with a red carpet, and looked just as warm as it felt. The difference betwixt the atmosphere here and the cold, wintry twilight out of doors, was like stepping at once from Nova Zembla to the hottest part of India, or from the North Pole into an oven. Oh, this was a fine place for the little white stranger!

The common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the hearth-rug, right in front of the hissing and fuming stove.

“Now she will be comfortable!”cried Mr. Lindsey, rubbing his hands and looking about him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw.“Make yourself at home, my child.”

Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden, as she stood on the hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her like a pestilence. Once, she threw a glance wistfully toward the windows, and caught a glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs, and the stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of the cold night. The bleak wind rattled the window-panes, as if it were summoning her to come forth. But there stood the snow-child, drooping, before the hot stove!

But the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss.

“Come wife,”said he,“let her have a pair of thick stockings and a woollen shawl or blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her some warm supper as soon as the milk boils. You, Violet and Peony, amuse your little friend. She is out of spirits, you see, at finding herself in a strange place. For my part, I will go around among the neighbors, and find out where she belongs.”

The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings; for her own view of the matter, however subtle and delicate, had given way, as it always did, to the stubborn materialism of her husband. Without heeding the remonstrances of his two children, who still kept murmuring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, good Mr. Lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlor-door carefully behind him. Turning up the collar of his sack over his ears, he emerged from the house, and had barely reached the street-gate, when he was recalled by the screams of Violet and Peony, and the rapping of a thimbled finger against the parlor window.

“Husband! husband!”cried his wife, showing her horror-stricken face through the window-panes.“There is no need of going for the child's parents!”

“We told you so, father!”screamed Violet and Peony, as he re-entered the parlor.“You would bring her in; and now our poor— dear-beau-ti-ful little snow-sister is thawed!”

And their own sweet little faces were already dissolved in tears; so that their father, seeing what strange things occasionally happen in this every-day world, felt not a little anxious lest his children might be going to thaw too! In the utmost perplexity, he demanded an explanation of his wife. She could only reply, that, being summoned to the parlor by the cries of Violet and Peony, she found no trace of the little white maiden, unless it were the remains of a heap of snow, which, while she was gazing at it, melted quite away upon the hearth-rug.

“And there you see all that is left of it!”added she, pointing to a pool of water in front of the stove.

“Yes, father,”said Violet looking reproachfully at him, through her tears,“there is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!”

“Naughty father!”cried Peony, stamping his foot, and—I shudder to say—shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man.“We told you how it would be! What for did you bring her in?”

And the Heidenberg stove, through the isinglass of its door, seemed to glare at good Mr. Lindsey, like a red-eyed demon, triumphing in the mischief which it had done!

This, you will observe, was one of those rare cases, which yet will occasionally happen, where common-sense finds itself at fault. The remarkable story of the snow-image, though to that sagacious class of people to whom good Mr. Lindsey belongs it may seem but a childish affair, is, nevertheless, capable of being moralized in various methods, greatly for their edification. One of its lessons, for instance, might be, that it behooves men, and especially men of benevolence, to consider well what they are about, and, before acting on their philanthropic purposes, to be quite sure that they comprehend the nature and all the relations of the business in hand. What has been established as an element of good to one being may prove absolute mischief to another; even as the warmth of the parlor was proper enough for children of flesh and blood, like Violet and Peony,—though by no means very wholesome, even for them,—but involved nothing short of annihilation to the unfortunate snow-image.

But, after all, there is no teaching anything to wise men of good Mr. Lindsey's stamp. They know everything,—oh, to be sure!— everything that has been, and everything that is, and everything that, by any future possibility, can be. And, should some phenomenon of nature or providence transcend their system, they will not recognize it, even if it come to pass under their very noses.

“Wife,”said Mr. Lindsey, after a fit of silence,“see what a quantity of snow the children have brought in on their feet! It has made quite a puddle here before the stove. Pray tell Dora to bring some towels and mop it up!”

雪人

一個(gè)寒冷冬日的下午,當(dāng)太陽在漫長的暴風(fēng)雪過后發(fā)出寒光的時(shí)候,兩個(gè)孩子央求媽媽準(zhǔn)許他們跑出家門,到地里新降的雪中去玩耍。大孩子是個(gè)小姑娘,因?yàn)樗郧闇厝嶂t和,大家又都覺得她長得挺美,所以父母親和熟悉她的人總是叫她“紫羅蘭”。不過大家都知道她弟弟的名字叫作“牡丹”,因?yàn)樗麍A嘟嘟的小臉老是紅通通的,讓每個(gè)人都想到陽光和一朵朵大紅花。兩個(gè)孩子的父親叫林賽先生,我們必須著重說明,他是一位很優(yōu)秀的卻又特別務(wù)實(shí)的人,經(jīng)營五金生意,考慮一切事情都毫不動搖地慣于采取所謂“常識”的觀點(diǎn)。他的心腸差不多跟別人的一樣軟,但腦筋卻跟他賣的鐵茶壺一樣堅(jiān)硬和難以穿透,因此大概也是同樣的空空如也。至于那位母親,性格中卻含有一種詩意的氣質(zhì),一種超越凡俗的美——就好像一朵嬌柔帶露的鮮花,安然無損地度過了富于想象力的青春時(shí)代,在充當(dāng)主婦與母親的枯燥無聊的現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中依然保持著勃勃生機(jī)。

就這樣,正像我開頭所說的,紫羅蘭與牡丹央求媽媽讓他們跑出去,到新降的雪中去玩耍。因?yàn)楸M管原先雪花看上去那么陰沉乏味,一直從灰蒙蒙的天空飄飄墜落著,但現(xiàn)在陽光正照射在雪地上,呈現(xiàn)出一派非常歡樂的景象。孩子們住在城里,沒有更寬敞的游玩地,只是家門前有一個(gè)小小的花園,一道白色的籬笆把它與街道隔開,一棵梨樹和兩三棵李子樹向園中投下濃蔭,客廳窗下還長著一叢玫瑰。不過,果樹和玫瑰這時(shí)節(jié)都落光了葉子,細(xì)枝上裹著一層薄雪,仿佛是冬季的葉簇,這兒那兒還掛著冰柱,權(quán)且充作果實(shí)。

“好吧,紫羅蘭——好吧,我的小牡丹,”他們那和藹的母親說,“你們可以出去到雪地里玩。”

于是,這位好太太用羊毛外套和厚襪子把兩個(gè)小寶貝裹起來,在他們的脖子上圍上羊毛圍巾,再給他們各自的小腿套上一雙帶綁腿的高筒靴,給他們的小手戴上毛線手套,然后給他們各自一個(gè)親吻當(dāng)作驅(qū)走嚴(yán)寒的咒語。兩個(gè)孩子沖出門去,蹦蹦跳跳地立刻扎進(jìn)了一大堆雪的中央,然后紫羅蘭像只雪鹀那樣鉆出了雪堆,小牡丹則手腳撲騰著爬出來,露出鮮花盛開般的圓臉蛋。他們玩得多么快活??!看著他們在冬日的花園中嬉戲,你會覺得陰郁無情的暴風(fēng)雪所以會到來并不為別的,只是為了給紫羅蘭和牡丹提供一種新游戲;兩個(gè)孩子所以會被創(chuàng)造出來,也與雪鹀一樣是為了要在暴風(fēng)雪中、在大地的銀裝素裹中求取歡樂。

最后,當(dāng)他們彼此用一把把白雪撒滿全身時(shí),紫羅蘭開心地對著小牡丹大笑了一陣,然后猛然冒出了一個(gè)新主意。

“你看起來活像一個(gè)雪人,牡丹,”她說,“要是你的臉蛋兒不這么紅的話。這讓我想出了一個(gè)好主意!讓我們堆個(gè)雪人吧——堆個(gè)小姑娘——她可以做我們的妹妹,整個(gè)冬天都跟著我們到處跑、一起玩。這不是個(gè)好主意嗎?”

“啊,好!”牡丹叫道,他盡量想把意思表達(dá)清楚,因?yàn)樗€只是個(gè)小男孩。“這個(gè)主意真好!媽媽也會看見它的!”

“是呀,”紫羅蘭回答說,“媽媽也會看見這個(gè)新來的小姑娘。不過她不能讓小姑娘進(jìn)溫暖的客廳里去;因?yàn)椋阒?,我們的小雪妹妹是不喜歡溫暖的。”

于是孩子們立即著手執(zhí)行這項(xiàng)重大任務(wù),要堆出一個(gè)會到處跑的雪人;這時(shí)候媽媽正坐在窗前,聽到了他們的談話,忍不住對他們開始行動時(shí)那一本正經(jīng)的模樣發(fā)笑。他們似乎真以為用雪堆出一個(gè)活生生的小姑娘一點(diǎn)兒也不困難。說句真話,假如能夠創(chuàng)造出奇跡的話,其實(shí)正應(yīng)該像紫羅蘭和牡丹這樣頭腦純樸、心無疑慮,馬上開始動手干,甚至于不知道它是否是一樁奇跡。母親就是這么想的;她還想到剛從天上降下來的新雪倒是創(chuàng)造新生命的絕好材料,假如不是那么冰冷就好了。她再看了一會兒孩子們,高興地望著他們小小的身影——女兒,個(gè)頭兒長得超過了年齡,體態(tài)優(yōu)雅而靈活,膚色嬌嫩,看上去就像一種歡樂的意念,而不像血肉之軀——牡丹的個(gè)子卻往寬處長不往高處長,邁著又短又結(jié)實(shí)的雙腿滾來滾去,像一頭大象般壯實(shí),雖說并沒有那么龐大。接著媽媽又繼續(xù)干她的活兒。我記不起她干的是什么活兒了;總之不是在為紫羅蘭修整綢帽,就是在織補(bǔ)小牡丹的短腿穿的一雙長襪吧。不過她忍不住一而再、再而三地把頭轉(zhuǎn)向窗口,去看孩子們的雪人堆得怎么樣了。

的確,這真是極其令人愉悅的景象,兩個(gè)生氣勃勃的小家伙在忙著干自己的工作!看著他們干得那么內(nèi)行那么熟練,又是多么的美妙。紫羅蘭擔(dān)任指揮,吩咐弟弟該干什么,而她則用自己纖細(xì)的小手塑造雪人更細(xì)致的部位。事實(shí)上,雪人似乎不是兩個(gè)孩子堆出來的,倒像是在他們手下逐漸長大的,而他們一直在同雪人玩耍和天真地交談著。他們的母親看到這一切非常驚奇;她看得越久,就越是驚奇。

“我的孩子多出色呀!”她心想,懷著母親的驕傲微笑著,同時(shí)也在笑自己怎么會為孩子感到如此驕傲。“別的孩子第一次嘗試就能用雪堆出這么活靈活現(xiàn)的小姑娘嗎?唔——可我現(xiàn)在必須縫好牡丹的新外衣,因?yàn)樗麪敔斆魈煲獊?,我想讓小家伙看上去漂亮些?rdquo;

于是她拿起那件外衣,很快就像兩個(gè)孩子忙著堆雪人那樣又忙碌地縫起來。不過當(dāng)母親在衣服上飛針走線的時(shí)候,仍然傾聽著紫羅蘭和牡丹快活的聲音,從而使她的勞作變得輕巧而愉快。兩個(gè)孩子一直在相互交談著,舌頭和手腳一樣地動個(gè)不停。時(shí)不時(shí)地,她會聽不清他們談些什么,只是喜滋滋地感到他們彼此親親愛愛,正玩得非常開心,堆雪人的活兒也進(jìn)行得很順利。不過有時(shí)候紫羅蘭和牡丹碰巧會提高聲音,他們說的話便能字字聽清,就像在母親眼下置身的客廳里說話一樣。啊,這些話在她心里多么愉快地回響著啊,即使他們自己根本無意說得這么聰明和精彩!

不過你應(yīng)該明白,一位母親在傾聽時(shí)用心遠(yuǎn)勝于用耳朵,這樣她就常常會因仙樂的顫音而感到歡悅,別的人對此卻一無所聞。

“牡丹!牡丹!”紫羅蘭高聲喊著弟弟,他跑到花園的另一邊去了。“給我運(yùn)一些新雪來,牡丹,從最遠(yuǎn)的那個(gè)角落,我們還沒踩過的地方。我要用它來做小雪妹妹的胸膛。你知道那部分必須非常潔白,就同剛從天上落下的雪一樣。”

“給你,紫羅蘭!”牡丹回答道,他的語氣很粗率——但那語氣也非??蓯?mdash;—一面從踏得半緊的雪堆中踉踉蹌蹌地走過來。“給你做胸膛的白雪。啊,紫羅蘭,她的模樣開始變得多么——美——麗呀!”

“是呀,”紫羅蘭若有所思地輕聲說,“我們的雪妹妹的確很可愛。我真沒有想到,牡丹,我們能堆出一個(gè)這么漂亮的小姑娘。”

媽媽一邊聽一邊想,假如仙女們——或者更好些——小天使們能從天堂下凡,隱著身形同她的寶貝們一起玩耍,幫助他們堆雪人,并賦予它仙童般的相貌,那該是多么美妙的事情?。∽狭_蘭和牡丹是不會覺察到這些神仙玩伴的,他們只會在干活兒的時(shí)候看到雪人變得非常美麗,還以為全是自己的功勞呢。

“我的小姑娘和小男孩配有這種玩伴,只要人間的孩子曾經(jīng)有過這種經(jīng)歷!”母親自語道,接著又為自己母性的驕傲而自嘲地笑起來。

然而,這個(gè)念頭卻牢牢抓住了她的想象;她不時(shí)地朝窗外瞥上一眼,半夢半真地覺得自己會看到來自天堂的金發(fā)仙童正在同金發(fā)的紫羅蘭和紅臉蛋的牡丹玩耍著。

現(xiàn)在,有一陣子,又傳來兩個(gè)孩子匆促而熱切的卻又不太分明的說話聲,這是紫羅蘭和牡丹正高興地協(xié)力干活兒。紫羅蘭好像仍然在當(dāng)指揮,牡丹則更像是出勞力的,從遠(yuǎn)處近處給她運(yùn)雪過來。不過這小淘氣顯然很通曉自己的行當(dāng)!

“牡丹,牡丹!”紫羅蘭喊道,因?yàn)榈艿苡峙艿交▓@另一邊去了。“把繞在梨樹矮枝上的小雪圈弄些過來。你可以爬到雪堆上去,牡丹,這樣就容易摸到了。給雪妹妹做鬈發(fā)非得要用它!”

“給你,紫羅蘭!”小男孩回答,“當(dāng)心別弄碎了。干得好!干得好!多漂亮??!”

“她是不是很可愛啊?”紫羅蘭的聲音里含著滿足,“現(xiàn)在我們還得弄些閃亮的小冰塊來,給她做亮晶晶的眼睛。她還沒完工哪。媽媽會覺得她非常美麗;不過爸爸會說:‘啐!瞎胡鬧!——快從冰冷的外面進(jìn)屋來!’”

“我們叫媽媽朝窗外看,”牡丹說,接著就大聲喊,“媽媽!媽媽!!媽媽?。?!朝外看,看我們做了一個(gè)多可愛的小雪妹妹呀!”

母親暫時(shí)放下手中的活兒,朝窗外望去??墒桥銮蛇@時(shí)太陽已經(jīng)降落得接近地球邊緣——因?yàn)榻裉鞂儆谝荒曛邪讜冏疃痰募竟?jié)——余暉正斜照著這位太太的雙眼。所以你要明白,她被晃得眼花繚亂,不太能看清花園里的東西。不過,透過夕陽與新雪那明亮炫目的光線,她還是看到園中有一個(gè)小小的白色身影,似乎跟真人一模一樣。她也看到了紫羅蘭和牡丹——實(shí)際上她看他們的時(shí)間比看雪人更長——她看到兩個(gè)孩子還在忙著干活兒;牡丹在運(yùn)送新雪,紫羅蘭則把雪堆到雪人身上,謹(jǐn)嚴(yán)得就像一個(gè)雕塑家在給他的塑像雛形添加黏土。她雖然不太能看清雪娃娃的模樣,卻暗自思忖過去從沒見過誰能把雪人做得這么精巧,更沒見過有這么可愛的小姑娘和小男孩能做得出來。

“他們干什么事都比別的孩子強(qiáng),”媽媽說,心里很是得意,“難怪雪人也堆得更好!”

她又坐下來干她的活兒,而且盡量干得更快些;因?yàn)樘焐芸炀鸵迪聛砹耍档さ耐庖逻€沒有完工,預(yù)計(jì)爺爺明天一大早就會乘火車到達(dá)。于是她飛針走線,縫得越來越快。孩子們也一直在花園里忙碌著,不過母親仍然在傾聽,盡量捕捉到他們的只言片語。她頗有興味地注意到兩個(gè)孩子把自己幼稚的想象同正在干的事兒融合在一起,不由自主地完全沉浸在想象之中。他們似乎認(rèn)定雪孩子真的會跟著他們跑來跑去,一道玩耍哩。

“她會是我們多好的玩伴啊,整整一個(gè)冬天!”紫羅蘭說,“我希望爸爸不會害怕她讓我們患感冒!你能不喜歡她嗎,牡丹?”

“啊,喜歡!”牡丹叫道,“我還要抱住她,她會緊挨著我坐,喝我的熱牛奶!”

“啊,不行,牡丹!”紫羅蘭回答,一本正經(jīng)地顯示自己有見識,“那根本不行。熱牛奶不適宜我們的小雪妹妹的身體健康。像她這樣的小雪人除了冰棍兒什么也不吃。不,不,牡丹;我們不能給她喝任何熱東西!”

有那么一兩分鐘靜默無聲,因?yàn)樾⊥葍翰恢>氲哪档び峙艿交▓@的另一邊去了。突然,紫羅蘭快樂地大叫起來:“快看這兒,牡丹!快來呀!從那片玫瑰紅的云彩里射出了一道光,正照在她的臉蛋兒上!玫瑰紅色一直不消失!不是很美麗嗎?”

“是呀,真——美——麗,”牡丹回答道,特意留神把三個(gè)音節(jié)念準(zhǔn)確,“啊,紫羅蘭,看看她的頭發(fā)!像金子一樣!”

“啊,當(dāng)然,”紫羅蘭平靜地說,好像這完全是毋庸置疑的事,“這種顏色,你知道,是從我們看見的天上那些金色云彩里得來的。她現(xiàn)在差不多完工了。不過她的嘴唇應(yīng)當(dāng)很紅——比她的臉蛋兒更紅。牡丹,要是我們都親親她的嘴唇,說不定就能使它變紅!”

于是,母親聽見了兩下輕快的親吻聲,好像兩個(gè)孩子都在雪孩子那冰涼的嘴上親了親。不過,似乎這樣并沒有使雪孩子的嘴唇足夠紅潤,紫羅蘭又建議讓雪孩子去親吻牡丹的紅臉蛋兒。

“來吧,小雪妹妹,親親我!”牡丹喊道。

“好啦!她親過你了,”紫羅蘭接著說,“現(xiàn)在她的嘴唇很紅了。她還窘得有點(diǎn)臉紅了哩!”

“啊,多涼的吻?。?rdquo;牡丹叫了起來。

這在這時(shí)候,西邊吹來一股潔凈無塵的微風(fēng),掃過花園,刮得客廳的窗戶咯咯作響。風(fēng)聲令人頓感料峭的冬寒,母親正要用她戴著頂針的手指去敲窗玻璃,喚兩個(gè)孩子進(jìn)屋來,他們卻突然齊聲對她發(fā)出喊叫。那并不是驚詫的聲音,不過能明顯地聽出他們非常激動;像是因?yàn)檠矍鞍l(fā)生的什么事而歡欣鼓舞,而那件事他們一直在盼望著并且料想到會發(fā)生。

“媽媽!媽媽!我們的小雪妹妹做成了,她正在跟我們一道在花園里跑呢!”

“多么富于想象力的小家伙??!”母親心想,一面給牡丹的外衣縫上最后幾針,“說來也怪,他們讓我?guī)缀跻沧兂伤麄兡菢拥男『⒆恿?!現(xiàn)在,我也禁不住相信那個(gè)小雪人真的變活啦!”

“親愛的媽媽!”紫羅蘭喊道,“請往外面看,看看我們有個(gè)多么可愛的玩伴啊!”

母親被孩子們這么一央求,再也不能耽擱,趕緊從窗戶往外看。太陽這時(shí)已從天際消失,但把光明的豐厚遺產(chǎn)留給了那些紫色和金色的云霞,使得冬日的黃昏顯得如此壯觀。不過,窗戶上和雪地上沒有一絲刺眼和炫目的亮光,所以那位慈愛的太太能夠?qū)⒒▓@遍覽無遺,看清園中的每一件東西和每一個(gè)人。你猜她在花園里看見了什么?當(dāng)然,看見了紫羅蘭和牡丹,她的兩個(gè)寶貝孩子。啊,可是除了他們,她還看見了什么東西或者什么人呢?嗨,如果你肯相信的話,花園里還有一個(gè)小姑娘的身影,她穿著一身雪白的衣裳,臉頰泛著玫瑰色的紅暈,鬈發(fā)輝耀著金黃的光澤,正同兩個(gè)孩子在那兒玩哩!盡管她是個(gè)陌生人,卻顯得跟紫羅蘭和牡丹挺親密,他們對她也是這樣,仿佛三個(gè)人自出生以來就一直在一起玩似的。母親心中暗想,這一定是某位鄰居家的小女兒,看到紫羅蘭和牡丹在花園里,就穿過大街跑來同他們一起玩耍。于是,這位慈愛的太太就走到門口,想邀請這個(gè)偷跑出來的小姑娘進(jìn)自己舒適的客廳里來;因?yàn)殛柟庖呀?jīng)消逝,戶外的空氣正變得越來越寒冷了。

可是,她打開房門后,卻在門檻前站立了片刻,猶豫著是不是該請這孩子進(jìn)來,或者是不是該跟她講話。的確,她幾乎懷疑這究竟是不是個(gè)真孩子,或者只是新降下的雪所映照出的一個(gè)光圈,被猛烈的寒風(fēng)刮得在花園里到處轉(zhuǎn)。這個(gè)陌生小孩的模樣頗有些不尋常。在所有鄰居的孩子中,太太想不起誰有這樣一張臉孔,有這么潔白的皮膚,有這樣精致的玫瑰紅的臉蛋兒,額前和臉頰邊還有金色的鬈發(fā)在飄揚(yáng)。至于她的衣裳,一身都是雪白的,在風(fēng)中招展著,在嚴(yán)寒的冬季,有理智的女人是絕不會讓孩子穿著這樣的衣裳到戶外去玩耍的。只要看一看那雙小腳,慈愛而細(xì)心的母親就不禁打了個(gè)寒戰(zhàn);腳上什么也沒有穿,只有一雙極薄的白色小拖鞋。然而,她盡管穿得極其單薄,卻似乎絲毫也不感覺寒冷,竟那么輕盈地在雪地里翩翩起舞,腳尖在地面上幾乎沒留下一個(gè)腳印。紫羅蘭只能勉強(qiáng)趕上她的腳步,牡丹的腿太短,不得不落在后頭。

在他們游戲的過程中,新來的孩子有一次跑到紫羅蘭和牡丹中間,分別牽起他們的一只手,快活地朝前跳,他們也跟著她跳。可是,牡丹幾乎立刻就抽出了他的小手,開始用力地搓,好像手指頭被凍疼了似的。紫羅蘭也松開了她的手,不過動作沒有那么突然,同時(shí)一本正經(jīng)地說還是別拉手好些。穿白袍子的小姑娘什么也沒說,只是繼續(xù)跳舞,和原先一樣的快活。就算紫羅蘭和牡丹不愿意跟她一起玩,她也能讓輕快而寒冷的西風(fēng)做她的好玩伴,讓風(fēng)兒把她刮得在花園里轉(zhuǎn)悠,任風(fēng)兒對她那么隨意放肆,似乎他們已是多年相熟的老朋友了。母親一直站在門口看著,心里納悶小姑娘怎么會那樣像飛舞的雪花,或者說雪花怎么會那樣像小姑娘。

她把紫羅蘭叫過來,悄聲地說:

“紫羅蘭,我的寶貝,這個(gè)孩子叫什么名字?”她問道,“她就住在我們附近吧?”

“嗨,親愛的媽媽,”女兒大笑著回答,心想媽媽連這么明白的事情都不懂,“這就是我們剛才一直在做的小雪妹妹呀!”

“是呀,親愛的媽媽,”牡丹高聲說,一面朝媽媽跟前跑去,抬起頭率真地望著她的臉,“這就是我們的小雪人!她不是一個(gè)可愛的小孩子嗎?”

就在這時(shí)候,有一群雪鹀從空中飛掠而至。很自然,它們躲開了紫羅蘭和牡丹,但是——這看來很奇怪——它們立刻就向白衣小姑娘飛去,在她頭上急匆匆拍翅飛翔著,然后停落到她肩頭上,仿佛確認(rèn)她是一個(gè)老朋友似的。而小雪人呢,見到這些小鳥兒——冬爺爺?shù)男O子——顯然很高興,就像它們見到她很高興一樣,并且伸出她的雙手來歡迎它們。于是小鳥們?nèi)技敝涞剿膬芍皇终粕虾褪∈种干?,你擠我我擠你,小翅膀使勁地?fù)潋v著。一只可愛的小鳥溫柔地蜷在她的胸懷中,另一只則伸出嘴去親她的嘴唇。它們始終是那么快活,那么愜意,正像你也許見過的它們同暴風(fēng)雪嬉戲時(shí)的情景。

紫羅蘭和牡丹站在那里,看著這美妙的情景開懷大笑;他們分享著新伙伴與這些長著小翅膀的客人共度的歡樂時(shí)光,就像自己也參與其中一樣。

“紫羅蘭,”母親頗感困惑地說,“跟我講實(shí)話,別開玩笑,這個(gè)小姑娘是誰?”

“我親愛的媽媽,”紫羅蘭回答道,她嚴(yán)肅地望著母親的臉,顯然對她竟需要進(jìn)一步的解釋感到吃驚,“我已經(jīng)告訴過你她是誰了。她是我們的小雪人,是牡丹同我一起造出來的。牡丹也會像我這樣告訴你。”

“是的,媽媽,”牡丹斷然肯定說,紅紅的小臉顯得非常嚴(yán)肅,“這就是雪孩子。她不是很可愛嗎?不過,媽媽,她的手多冷啊!”

正當(dāng)媽媽猶豫著不知該怎么想和怎么做的時(shí)候,臨街的大門忽然被推開了,紫羅蘭和牡丹的父親走了進(jìn)來。他穿著寬大的厚絨呢短外衣,毛皮帽低低拉下來罩在耳朵上,戴著一雙極厚的手套。林賽先生是個(gè)中年人,那張被風(fēng)吹紅、被霜刺疼的臉上顯露出疲乏卻又快樂的神情,仿佛他已經(jīng)忙碌了一整天,現(xiàn)在很高興能回到安寧的家中。他看到妻子和孩子們,不由得雙眼一亮,雖然發(fā)現(xiàn)全家人在這么陰冷的天氣,而且在日落之后都站在露天里,忍不住說了一兩句表示驚奇的話。他很快就發(fā)覺了那個(gè)穿白衣的陌生小姑娘,正在花園里跑來跑去,就像一只旋舞的雪花圈,還有一群雪鹀在她頭上飛翔著。

“嗨,那個(gè)小姑娘是誰呀?”這位深明事理的男人問道,“她母親一定是瘋了,竟讓她在今天這樣冷得刺骨的天氣里跑出來,只穿著那件輕飄飄的白袍子,那么一雙薄薄的拖鞋!”

“親愛的丈夫,”他妻子說,“關(guān)于這個(gè)小家伙我知道的并不比你多。我猜想,大概是哪家鄰居的孩子吧。可我們的紫羅蘭和牡丹,”她接著又補(bǔ)充道,暗自笑話自己居然會重復(fù)一個(gè)如此荒唐的故事,“卻硬說她只不過是個(gè)小雪人,他倆差不多整個(gè)下午都在花園里忙著干這件事。”

母親一邊說著,一邊把目光投向孩子們原來堆雪人的地方。當(dāng)她看到孩子們費(fèi)了那么多工夫堆成的雪人竟然無蹤無影,是何等驚異啊!——根本沒有雪人——甚至也沒有雪堆!——什么也沒有,除了一塊空地周圍留下的一圈小腳印!

“這真是太奇怪了!”她說。

“有什么奇怪的,親愛的媽媽?”紫羅蘭問,“親愛的爸爸,難道你還不明白嗎?這就是我們的小雪人,是牡丹和我造出來的,因?yàn)槲覀兿朐儆袀€(gè)玩伴。是不是,牡丹?”

“是呀,爸爸,”紅臉蛋兒的牡丹說,“這是我們的小雪妹妹,她不是很——美——麗嗎?可是她給了我一個(gè)那么冷的吻!”

“啐!胡說八道,孩子們!”他們那正直而誠實(shí)的父親大喝道,我們已經(jīng)提到過,他看待事物特別符合常情常理。“別告訴我什么用雪造出活人來的胡話。好啦,太太;這個(gè)陌生的小姑娘片刻也不能在陰冷的戶外待下去了。我們要把她帶進(jìn)客廳里去;你用熱面包和熱牛奶給她做一餐晚飯,盡量讓她舒適些。同時(shí),我到幾個(gè)鄰居家去問一問;如果有必要,叫城里傳呼消息的人沿街喊一喊,通知大家這兒有個(gè)走丟了的孩子。”

這位為人誠實(shí)而且心地非常仁慈的男子一邊這么說著,一邊朝白衣小姑娘走去,心中懷著世上最良好的意愿??墒亲狭_蘭和牡丹每人拉住父親的一只手,急切地懇求他別帶她進(jìn)屋。

“親愛的爸爸,”紫羅蘭喊道,把身子朝他跟前一擋,“我給你說的是實(shí)話!這是我們的小雪妹妹,她不呼吸寒風(fēng)就一刻也活不下去。別帶她進(jìn)暖和的屋子!”

“是的,爸爸,”牡丹高聲叫道,熱切地用力跺著他的小腳,“這就是我們的小雪娃娃!她不喜歡熱烘烘的爐火!”

“胡說八道,孩子們,胡說八道,胡說八道!”父親喝道,他認(rèn)為他們這是愚蠢的固執(zhí),半覺惱怒,半覺好笑。“跑步進(jìn)屋去,馬上跑!現(xiàn)在天太晚了,不能再玩了。我必須趕緊照料這個(gè)小姑娘,不然她會凍死的!”

“親愛的丈夫!”妻子悄聲地說——她一直在仔細(xì)觀看那個(gè)雪孩子,現(xiàn)在感到比原先更迷惑了——“這件事里有些地方真的很奇特。你會覺得我在犯傻——不過——不過——說不定我們的孩子做雪人的那種單純與真誠,吸引了某個(gè)隱身的天使吧?說不定她在那永恒生命中花上一個(gè)鐘頭,來和兩個(gè)可愛的小家伙玩耍了一會兒吧?其結(jié)果就產(chǎn)生了人們所說的奇跡。不,不!別笑我;我知道這是個(gè)愚蠢的想法!”

“我親愛的太太,”丈夫開心大笑著回答,“你簡直跟紫羅蘭和牡丹一樣是個(gè)孩子。”

在某種意義上看,她的確是如此,因?yàn)樗K其一生都讓自己的心充滿了孩子般的單純與真誠,她的心就像水晶一樣純潔清澈;而且她透過這明澈的心去看待一切事物,常常能看到極為深刻的真理,其他人卻將其視為愚蠢與荒唐而加以嘲笑。

然而此刻,好心的林賽先生已經(jīng)掙脫了兩個(gè)孩子,走進(jìn)了花園;兩個(gè)孩子仍然在他身后尖叫著,央求他讓雪孩子自由自在地留在寒冷的西風(fēng)中。當(dāng)他一走近,那群雪鹀就全飛走了。白衣小姑娘也往后逃,一邊搖著頭,仿佛在說:“請別碰我!”看上去她好像還淘氣地把他引向雪堆的最深處。有一次,那位好心人腳下一絆,踉蹌著摔了個(gè)嘴啃泥,爬起來的時(shí)候粗呢外衣上沾滿了雪,白花花的活像個(gè)最大號的雪人。與此同時(shí),有些鄰居從自家窗戶里望見他,都納悶可憐的林賽先生中了哪門子邪,竟在自己的花園里跑來跑去,追趕被西風(fēng)刮得四處竄的一團(tuán)雪!終于,經(jīng)過了千辛萬苦,他把陌生的小姑娘趕進(jìn)了一個(gè)角落,這下她再也沒法從他手中逃走了。妻子一直在旁邊看著,這時(shí)已接近天黑時(shí)分,她突然驚奇地發(fā)現(xiàn)雪孩子身上晶瑩閃爍,好像渾身上下都在發(fā)光;被趕進(jìn)那個(gè)角落里時(shí),她簡直就像一顆星星那樣閃耀著光輝!那是一種冷若冰霜的光輝,猶如冰柱在月光下發(fā)出的寒光。妻子心想,奇怪的是林賽先生竟看不出雪孩子有任何異常的地方。

“過來,你這古怪的小家伙!”誠實(shí)的人喊叫道,一把抓住雪孩子的手,“我終于逮住你啦,我要讓你舒舒服服的,不管你愿意不愿意。我們要給你凍傷的小腳穿上一雙暖和的毛線襪,再用又軟又厚的披巾把你包起來。我擔(dān)心你那可憐的小白鼻子已經(jīng)凍壞啦,不過我們會把一切弄妥帖的。快跟我進(jìn)屋去。”

就這樣,這位意愿極其良好的先生盡管滿臉凍成了青紫色,卻仍然帶著最慈愛的笑容,拉住雪孩子的手朝家門走去。雪孩子跟著他,垂頭喪氣,滿心的不樂意;她身上所有的光輝和閃光都消失了。剛才她還像霜凍時(shí)節(jié)綴滿群星的明亮黃昏,在寒冷的地平線上煥發(fā)出緋紅的余暉,現(xiàn)在卻像融化了的冰雪一樣陰郁暗淡,沒精打采。在慈愛的林賽先生帶她走上門前的臺階時(shí),紫羅蘭和牡丹窺視著他的臉——他們眼中充滿了淚水,沒等流下臉蛋兒就凍成了冰——姐弟倆再次懇求他別帶小雪人進(jìn)屋。

“不帶她進(jìn)去!”那位好心腸的人驚呼道,“嗨,你瘋啦,我的小紫羅蘭!——真是瘋了,我的小牡丹!她已經(jīng)這么冰涼啦,她的手幾乎把我的手給凍壞了,盡管我戴著厚厚的手套。你們想讓她凍死嗎!”

在他走上臺階的時(shí)候,妻子又久久地凝視著陌生的白衣小姑娘,目光熱切,幾乎充滿了敬畏。她不知道這是不是一場夢,但她總覺得自己看到這孩子的脖子上印著紫羅蘭細(xì)小的手指印。大概紫羅蘭在堆雪人的時(shí)候曾經(jīng)用手輕輕地拍過她一下,卻忘了把跡印抹平。

“不管怎么說,我的丈夫,”母親再次想起天使們也許會跟她自己一樣,很高興同紫羅蘭和牡丹一起玩,“不管怎么說,這孩子的確出奇地像個(gè)雪人!我相信她是雪做成的!”

一陣西風(fēng)刮到雪孩子身上,她又像一顆星星那樣閃光了。

“雪做成的!”林賽先生重復(fù)道,硬把不情愿的客人拉進(jìn)他那殷勤好客的房門,“難怪她看上去就像雪。她都凍得半死啦,可憐的小家伙!不過旺旺的一爐火就能使她一切正常!”

這位極其仁慈和富于常識的好人不再多說,而且懷著一貫的良好愿望,把白衣小姑娘拽離嚴(yán)寒的戶外,帶進(jìn)了舒適的客廳;而小姑娘則垂頭喪氣,越來越萎靡不振??蛷d里一只海德堡火爐里填滿了熊熊燃燒的無煙煤,正透過鐵門上的云母薄板射出明亮的火光,把爐子上的水壺?zé)渺F氣騰騰,咕咕歡唱。一股溫暖悶人的氣息彌漫在整個(gè)房間里。離爐子最遠(yuǎn)的一面墻上掛著一只溫度計(jì),顯示著八十度??蛷d里掛著紅色窗簾,鋪著紅色地毯,看上去和室內(nèi)的溫度一樣使人感到暖融融的。這兒的氣氛同室外寒冷的冬日黃昏真有天壤之別,正像從新地島一步跨入印度最熱的地區(qū),或者從北極一下子鉆進(jìn)了火爐。啊,這對陌生的白衣小姑娘可真是個(gè)好地方!

那位通曉常識的人讓雪孩子站在爐前的地毯上,正對著嘶嘶作響、騰騰冒氣的火爐。

“現(xiàn)在她會感覺舒服啦!”林賽先生高聲說,一邊搓著雙手,環(huán)顧左右,臉上露出你所見過的最愉悅的微笑。“就跟在自己家里一樣別拘束,我的孩子。”

白衣小姑娘站在爐前的地毯上,爐火的熱浪像瘟疫一樣猛撲過來,她顯得是那么憂傷,憂傷而又消沉。有那么一次,她渴望地朝窗外投去一道目光,透過紅色窗簾瞥見了白雪覆蓋的屋頂,閃著寒光的星星,以及寒夜一切激動人心的美妙景象。寒風(fēng)吹得窗戶玻璃咯咯作響,仿佛正在召喚她前去,可是雪孩子卻站在火熱的爐前,越來越萎靡!

然而,通曉常識的林賽先生卻看不出有什么不恰當(dāng)。

“好啦,太太,”他說,“馬上給她穿一雙厚襪子,裹一條羊毛披巾或者毯子;告訴朵拉,牛奶一燒開就給她吃點(diǎn)暖和的東西當(dāng)晚飯。你們,紫羅蘭和牡丹,逗你們的小朋友開開心。你們看看,她發(fā)現(xiàn)自己來到一個(gè)陌生的地方,是那么沒精打采。至于我嘛,要去幾家鄰居那兒轉(zhuǎn)轉(zhuǎn),弄清楚她是誰家的孩子。”

這時(shí)候母親就去找披巾和襪子,因?yàn)闊o論她生性多么敏感而細(xì)膩,到頭來自己的觀點(diǎn)總是會向丈夫頑固的實(shí)利主義讓步。林賽先生毫不理睬兩個(gè)孩子的抗議,任他們咕噥著說什么小雪妹妹不喜歡暖和,徑直走了出去,還小心地回手把客廳門關(guān)好。他把大衣領(lǐng)子翻上去罩住耳朵,走出了屋子,剛走到臨街的大門前,就聽到紫羅蘭和牡丹在尖聲叫他回來,還有一只戴著頂針的手指在敲客廳的窗戶。

“丈夫!丈夫!”妻子喊道,她驚恐的臉出現(xiàn)在窗戶玻璃后面,“用不著去找孩子的父母啦!”

“我們告訴過你的,父親!”當(dāng)他回到客廳里的時(shí)候,紫羅蘭和牡丹尖叫著說,“你非要帶她進(jìn)來;現(xiàn)在我們可憐的——可愛的——美麗的小雪妹妹融化了!”

兩個(gè)孩子自己可愛的小臉蛋也融化出了滔滔淚水;父親看到在這平凡無奇的世界上竟會偶爾發(fā)生這等怪事,于是頗為憂慮自己的孩子也會融化掉!他懷著極度的困惑,要求妻子給他解釋一下,而她只能回答說,自己被紫羅蘭和牡丹的叫喊聲喚回客廳,發(fā)現(xiàn)白衣小姑娘已經(jīng)渺無蹤影,只留下一堆白雪,就在她仔細(xì)查看的時(shí)候,白雪也快在地毯上融化光了。

“你看那兒,就只剩下這個(gè)啦!”她補(bǔ)充說,指著爐子跟前的一汪水。

“是呀,爸爸,”紫羅蘭說,她透過淚水用責(zé)備的目光看著他,“我們可愛的小雪妹妹只剩下一攤水啦!”

“討厭的爸爸!”牡丹跺著腳喊道——我講到這兒發(fā)起抖來——他還朝那位通曉常識的人揮舞著小拳頭哩,“我們告訴過你會發(fā)生什么事!你為什么非要拉她進(jìn)來?”

海德堡火爐似乎也透過鐵門上的云母薄板對好心的林賽先生怒目而視,就像一個(gè)紅眼魔鬼,為自己的惡作劇而揚(yáng)揚(yáng)得意!

你會說這是一樁罕見的怪事,然而它也會偶爾發(fā)生,常識一碰上這種事就不知所措。對于林賽先生所屬的那個(gè)精明階層的人來說,盡管小雪人的奇特故事或許只是件孩子氣的傻事,然而也可以按照不同方式引出種種教訓(xùn),給他們帶來巨大的啟示。譬如說教訓(xùn)之一就是,人們,尤其是心地仁慈的人們,應(yīng)該預(yù)先考慮清楚自己要做的事,在按照自己的慈善目的行動之前,應(yīng)該確信自己弄清了行動的性質(zhì)和一切與之相關(guān)的東西。對某一個(gè)人而言是確鑿無疑的有益之事,對另一個(gè)人來說則可能是絕對的災(zāi)禍。即使是客廳的溫暖吧,對于像紫羅蘭和牡丹這樣的血肉之軀可謂適宜——盡管并不能說對他們的健康就非常有益——但對于不幸的小雪人來說,卻只會導(dǎo)致毀滅。

但是,說到底,對于林賽先生這種類型的聰明人而言,是不可能引出任何教訓(xùn)的。他們通曉一切——啊,的確!——包括過去的一切,現(xiàn)在的一切,將來可能發(fā)生的一切。假如有某種源于自然或者出于天意的現(xiàn)象超越了他們的思維,他們是辨認(rèn)不出來的,哪怕就在他們的鼻子尖下面發(fā)生。

“太太,”林賽先生在沉默片刻之后說,“你看孩子們的腳帶進(jìn)來多少雪??!弄得爐子前面那么大一攤水。叫朵拉拿幾條毛巾來吸干它!”

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