高中生经典英文小说阅读与欣赏系列 Sredni Vashtar
李惠利中学-幼儿园数学说课稿
Sredni Vashtar
by H.H. Munro (SAKI)
Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had
pronounced his professional
opinion that the
boy would not live another five years. The doctor
was silky and
effete, and counted for little,
but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who
counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp
was Conradin's cousin and guardian,
and in his
eyes she represented those three-fifths of the
world that are necessary
and disagreeable and
real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual
antagonism to the
foregoing, were summed up in
himself and his imagination. One of these days
Conradin supposed he would succumb to the
mastering pressure of wearisome
necessary
things---such as illnesses and coddling
restrictions and drawn-out
dullness. Without
his imagination, which was rampant under the spur
of loneliness,
he would have succumbed long
ago.
Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her
honestest moments, have confessed to
herself
that she disliked Conradin, though she might have
been dimly aware that
thwarting him his
goodwas a duty which she did not find particularly
irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate
sincerity which he was perfectly able
to mask.
Such few pleasures as he could contrive for
himself gained an added relish
from the
likelihood that they would be displeasing to his
guardian, and from the
realm of his
imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing,
which should find
no entrance.
In the
dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many
windows that were ready
to open with a message
not to do this or that, or a reminder that
medicines were due,
he found little
attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained
were set jealously
apart from his plucking, as
though they were rare specimens of their kind
blooming
in an arid waste; it would probably
have been difficult to find a market-gardener
who would have offered ten shillings for their
entire yearly produce. In a forgotten
corner,
however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery,
was a disused tool-shed
of respectable
proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a
haven, something
that took on the varying
aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had
peopled it
with a legion of familiar phantoms,
evoked partly from fragments of history and
partly from his own brain, but it also boasted
two inmates of flesh and blood. In
one corner
lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the
boy lavished an
affection that had scarcely
another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a
large
hutch, divided into two compartments,
one of which was fronted with close iron
bars.
This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret,
which a friendly butcher-boy had
once
smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters,
in exchange for a
1
long-
secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was
dreadfully afraid of the lithe,
sharp-fanged
beast, but it was his most treasured possession.
Its very presence in
the tool-shed was a
secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously
from the
knowledge of the Woman, as he
privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of
Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast
a wonderful name, and from that
moment it grew
into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in
religion once a
week at a church near by, and
took Conradin with her, but to him the church
service
was an alien rite in the House of
Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty
silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with
mystic and elaborate ceremonial
before the
wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great
ferret. Red flowers
in their season and
scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at
his shrine, for
he was a god who laid some
special stress on the fierce impatient side of
things, as
opposed to the Woman's religion,
which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to
great lengths in the contrary direction. And
on great festivals powdered nutmeg was
strewn
in front of his hutch, an important feature of the
offering being that the
nutmeg had to be
stolen. These festivals were of irregular
occurrence, and were
chiefly appointed to
celebrate some passing event. On one occasion,
when Mrs. De
Ropp suffered from acute
toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the
festival
during the entire three days, and
almost succeeded in persuading himself that
Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for
the toothache. If the malady had
lasted for
another day the supply of nutmeg would have given
out.
The Houdan hen was never drawn into the
cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had
long ago
settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not
pretend to have the remotest
knowledge as to
what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped
that it was dashing
and not very respectable.
Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based
and detested all respectability.
After a
while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began
to attract the notice
of his guardian.
she
promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she
announced that the
Houdan hen had been sold
and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted
eyes
she peered at Conradin, waiting for an
outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was
ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent
precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said
nothing: there was nothing to be said.
Something perhaps in his white set face gave
her a momentary qualm, for at tea that
afternoon there was toast on the table, a
delicacy which she usually banned on the
ground that it was bad for him; also
because
the making of it trouble,a deadly offence in the
middle-class
feminine eye.
he did not
touch it.
2
In the shed
that evening there was an innovation in the
worship of the
hutch-god. Conradin had been
wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a
boon.
The thing was not specified. As
Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed
to know. And choking back a sob as he looked
at that other empty comer, Conradin
went back
to the world he so hated.
And every night, in
the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every
evening
in the dusk of the tool-shed,
Conradin's bitter litany went up:
Sredni
Vashtar.
Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits
to the shed did not cease, and one day she
made a further journey of inspection.
are
you keeping in that locked hutch?she asked.
believe it's
guinea-pigs. I'll have them all
cleared away.
Conradin shut his lips tight, but
the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she
found
the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched
down to the shed to
complete her discovery. It
was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden
to
keep to the house. From the furthest window
of the dining-room the door of the
shed could
just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery,
and there Conradin
stationed himself. He saw
the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening
the
door of the sacred hutch and peering down
with her short-sighted eyes into the
thick
straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she
would prod at the straw in
her clumsy
impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his
prayer for the last time.
But he knew as he
prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the
Woman would
come out presently with that
pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and
that
in an hour or two the gardener would
carry away his wonderful god, a god no
longer,
but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew
that the Woman would
triumph always as she
triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more
sickly
under her pestering and domineering and
superior wisdom, till one day nothing
would
matter much more with him, and the doctor would be
proved right. And in
the sting and misery of
his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly
the hymn
of his threatened idol:
Sredni
Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red
thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies
called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.
And then of
a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer
to the
window-pane. The door of the shed still
stood ajar as it had been left, and the
minutes were slipping by. They were long
minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless.
3
He watched the starlings running
and flying in little parties across the lawn; he
counted them over and over again, with one eye
always on that swinging door. A
sour-faced
maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still
Conradin stood and waited
and watched. Hope
had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look
of triumph
began to blaze in his eyes that had
only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under
his breath, with a furtive exultation, he
began once again the pan of victory and
devastation. And presently his eyes were
rewarded: out through that doorway came
a
long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes
a-blink at the waning daylight, and
dark wet
stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin
dropped on his knees.
The great polecat-ferret
made its way down to a small brook at the foot of
the
garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a
little plank bridge and was lost to sight
in
the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni
Vashtar.
ready,the sour-faced maid; the
mistress?went
down to the shed some time
ago,said Conradin. And while the maid went to
summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a
toasting-fork out of the sideboard
drawer and
proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And
during the toasting of
it and the buttering of
it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of
eating it,
Conradin listened to the noises and
silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the
dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming
of the maid, the answering chorus of
wondering
ejaculations from the kitchen region, the
scuttering footsteps and
hurried embassies for
outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared
sobbings and
the shuffling tread of those who
bore a heavy burden into the house.
will break
it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of
me!
exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they
debated the matter among themselves,
Conradin
made himself another piece of toast.
4
Sredni Vashtar
by H.H. Munro
(SAKI)
Conradin was ten years old, and the
doctor had pronounced his professional
opinion
that the boy would not live another five years.
The doctor was silky and
effete, and counted
for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs.
De Ropp, who
counted for nearly everything.
Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian,
and in his eyes she represented those three-
fifths of the world that are necessary
and
disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in
perpetual antagonism to the
foregoing, were
summed up in himself and his imagination. One of
these days
Conradin supposed he would succumb
to the mastering pressure of wearisome
necessary things---such as illnesses and
coddling restrictions and drawn-out
dullness.
Without his imagination, which was rampant under
the spur of loneliness,
he would have
succumbed long ago.
Mrs. De Ropp would never,
in her honestest moments, have confessed to
herself that she disliked Conradin, though she
might have been dimly aware that
thwarting him
his goodwas a duty which she did not find
particularly
irksome. Conradin hated her with
a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able
to mask. Such few pleasures as he could
contrive for himself gained an added relish
from the likelihood that they would be
displeasing to his guardian, and from the
realm of his imagination she was locked out---
an unclean thing, which should find
no
entrance.
In the dull, cheerless garden,
overlooked by so many windows that were ready
to open with a message not to do this or that,
or a reminder that medicines were due,
he
found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that
it contained were set jealously
apart from his
plucking, as though they were rare specimens of
their kind blooming
in an arid waste; it would
probably have been difficult to find a market-
gardener
who would have offered ten shillings
for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten
corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal
shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed
of
respectable proportions, and within its walls
Conradin found a haven, something
that took on
the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral.
He had peopled it
with a legion of familiar
phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history
and
partly from his own brain, but it also
boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In
one
corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on
which the boy lavished an
affection that had
scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom
stood a large
hutch, divided into two
compartments, one of which was fronted with close
iron
bars. This was the abode of a large
polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had
once smuggled, cage and all, into its present
quarters, in exchange for a
1
long-secreted hoard of small silver.
Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe,
sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most
treasured possession. Its very presence in
the
tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept
scrupulously from the
knowledge of the Woman,
as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day,
out of
Heaven knows what material, he spun the
beast a wonderful name, and from that
moment
it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman
indulged in religion once a
week at a church
near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him
the church service
was an alien rite in the
House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and
musty
silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped
with mystic and elaborate ceremonial
before
the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the
great ferret. Red flowers
in their season and
scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at
his shrine, for
he was a god who laid some
special stress on the fierce impatient side of
things, as
opposed to the Woman's religion,
which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to
great lengths in the contrary direction. And
on great festivals powdered nutmeg was
strewn
in front of his hutch, an important feature of the
offering being that the
nutmeg had to be
stolen. These festivals were of irregular
occurrence, and were
chiefly appointed to
celebrate some passing event. On one occasion,
when Mrs. De
Ropp suffered from acute
toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the
festival
during the entire three days, and
almost succeeded in persuading himself that
Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for
the toothache. If the malady had
lasted for
another day the supply of nutmeg would have given
out.
The Houdan hen was never drawn into the
cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had
long ago
settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not
pretend to have the remotest
knowledge as to
what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped
that it was dashing
and not very respectable.
Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based
and detested all respectability.
After a
while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began
to attract the notice
of his guardian.
she
promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she
announced that the
Houdan hen had been sold
and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted
eyes
she peered at Conradin, waiting for an
outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was
ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent
precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said
nothing: there was nothing to be said.
Something perhaps in his white set face gave
her a momentary qualm, for at tea that
afternoon there was toast on the table, a
delicacy which she usually banned on the
ground that it was bad for him; also
because
the making of it trouble,a deadly offence in the
middle-class
feminine eye.
he did not
touch it.
2
In the shed
that evening there was an innovation in the
worship of the
hutch-god. Conradin had been
wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a
boon.
The thing was not specified. As
Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed
to know. And choking back a sob as he looked
at that other empty comer, Conradin
went back
to the world he so hated.
And every night, in
the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every
evening
in the dusk of the tool-shed,
Conradin's bitter litany went up:
Sredni
Vashtar.
Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits
to the shed did not cease, and one day she
made a further journey of inspection.
are
you keeping in that locked hutch?she asked.
believe it's
guinea-pigs. I'll have them all
cleared away.
Conradin shut his lips tight, but
the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she
found
the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched
down to the shed to
complete her discovery. It
was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden
to
keep to the house. From the furthest window
of the dining-room the door of the
shed could
just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery,
and there Conradin
stationed himself. He saw
the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening
the
door of the sacred hutch and peering down
with her short-sighted eyes into the
thick
straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she
would prod at the straw in
her clumsy
impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his
prayer for the last time.
But he knew as he
prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the
Woman would
come out presently with that
pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and
that
in an hour or two the gardener would
carry away his wonderful god, a god no
longer,
but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew
that the Woman would
triumph always as she
triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more
sickly
under her pestering and domineering and
superior wisdom, till one day nothing
would
matter much more with him, and the doctor would be
proved right. And in
the sting and misery of
his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly
the hymn
of his threatened idol:
Sredni
Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red
thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies
called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.
And then of
a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer
to the
window-pane. The door of the shed still
stood ajar as it had been left, and the
minutes were slipping by. They were long
minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless.
3
He watched the starlings running
and flying in little parties across the lawn; he
counted them over and over again, with one eye
always on that swinging door. A
sour-faced
maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still
Conradin stood and waited
and watched. Hope
had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look
of triumph
began to blaze in his eyes that had
only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under
his breath, with a furtive exultation, he
began once again the pan of victory and
devastation. And presently his eyes were
rewarded: out through that doorway came
a
long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes
a-blink at the waning daylight, and
dark wet
stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin
dropped on his knees.
The great polecat-ferret
made its way down to a small brook at the foot of
the
garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a
little plank bridge and was lost to sight
in
the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni
Vashtar.
ready,the sour-faced maid; the
mistress?went
down to the shed some time
ago,said Conradin. And while the maid went to
summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a
toasting-fork out of the sideboard
drawer and
proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And
during the toasting of
it and the buttering of
it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of
eating it,
Conradin listened to the noises and
silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the
dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming
of the maid, the answering chorus of
wondering
ejaculations from the kitchen region, the
scuttering footsteps and
hurried embassies for
outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared
sobbings and
the shuffling tread of those who
bore a heavy burden into the house.
will break
it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of
me!
exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they
debated the matter among themselves,
Conradin
made himself another piece of toast.
4