MASTER OF BALLANTRAE, THE(ISBN=9780375759307)pdf/txt下载_在线阅读全文

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　　Stevenson’s brooding historical romance demonstrates his most abiding theme—the elemental struggle between good and evil—as it unfolds against a hauntingly beautiful Scottish landscape, amid the fierce loyalties and violent enmities that characterized Scottish history. When two brothers attempt to split their loyalties between the warring factions of the 1745 Jacobite rising, one family finds itself tragically divided. Stevenson’s remarkably vivid characterizations create an acutely moving, psychologically complex work; as Andrea Barrett points out in her Introduction, “The brothers’ characters, not the historical facts, shape the drama.”
　　This Modern Library Paperback Classic includes illustrations reproduced from the original edition.

作者简介

　　Andrea Barrett is the author of five novels, most recently The Voyage of the Narwhal, and two collections of stories: Ship Fever, which received the National Book Award, and Servants of the Map. She lives in Rochester, New York.

目　　录

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
INTRODUCTION: THE DEVIL IN THE MOUNTAINS
by Andrea Barrett
A NOTE ON THE TEXT
THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE
PREFACE
SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING
THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS
SUMMARY OF EVENTS (continued)
THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS: From the Memoirs of the
Chevalier de Burke
PERSECUTIONS ENDURED BY MR. HENRY
ACCOUNT OF ALL THAT PASSED

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　　?If a strong story, strongly told, full of human interest, and absolutely original in its situations, makes a masterpiece, then this may lay claim to the title.??Arthur Conan Doyle -- Review

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　　Preface
　　Although an old, consistent exile, the editor of the followingpages revisits now and again the city of which he exults to be anative; and there are few things more strange, more painful, ormore salutary, than such revisitations. Outside, in foreign spots,he comes by surprise and awakens more attention than he hadexpected; in his own city, the relation is reversed, and he standsamazed to be so little recollected. Elsewhere he is refreshed tosee attractive faces, to remark possible friends; there he scoutsthe long streets, with a pang at heart, for the faces and friendsthat are no more. Elsewhere he is delighted with the presence ofwhat is new, there tormented by the absence of what is old.Elsewhere he is content to be his present self; there he is smittenwith an equal regret for what he once was and for what he oncehoped to be.
　　He was feeling all this dimly, as he drove from the station, onhis last visit; he was feeling it still as he alighted at the doorof his friend Mr. Johnstone Thomson, W.S., with whom he was tostay. A hearty welcome, a face not altogether changed, a few wordsthat sounded of old days, a laugh provoked and shared, a glimpse inpassing of the snowy cloth and bright decanters and the Piranesison the dining-room wall, brought him to his bed-room with asomewhat lightened cheer, and when he and Mr. Thomson sat down afew minutes later, cheek by jowl, and pledged the past in apreliminary bumper, he was already almost consoled, he had alreadyalmost forgiven himself his two unpardonable errors, that he shouldever have left his native city, or ever returned to it.
　　?I have something quite in your way,? said Mr. Thomson. ?I wishedto do honour to your arrival; because, my dear fellow, it is my ownyouth that comes back along with you; in a very tattered andwithered state, to be sure, but?well!?all that?s left of it.?
　　?A great deal better than nothing,? said the editor. ?But what isthis which is quite in my way?? ?I was coming to that,? said Mr.Thomson: ?Fate has put it in my power to honour your arrival withsomething really original by way of dessert. A mystery.?
　　?A mystery?? I repeated.

Preface 
　　Although an old, consistent exile, the editor of the following
pages revisits now and again the city of which he exults to be a
native; and there are few things more strange, more painful, or
more salutary, than such revisitations. Outside, in foreign spots,
he comes by surprise and awakens more attention than he had
expected; in his own city, the relation is reversed, and he stands
amazed to be so little recollected. Elsewhere he is refreshed to
see attractive faces, to remark possible friends; there he scouts
the long streets, with a pang at heart, for the faces and friends
that are no more. Elsewhere he is delighted with the presence of
what is new, there tormented by the absence of what is old.
Elsewhere he is content to be his present self; there he is smitten
with an equal regret for what he once was and for what he once
hoped to be. 
　　He was feeling all this dimly, as he drove from the station, on
his last visit; he was feeling it still as he alighted at the door
of his friend Mr. Johnstone Thomson, W.S., with whom he was to
stay. A hearty welcome, a face not altogether changed, a few words
that sounded of old days, a laugh provoked and shared, a glimpse in
passing of the snowy cloth and bright decanters and the Piranesis
on the dining-room wall, brought him to his bed-room with a
somewhat lightened cheer, and when he and Mr. Thomson sat down a
few minutes later, cheek by jowl, and pledged the past in a
preliminary bumper, he was already almost consoled, he had already
almost forgiven himself his two unpardonable errors, that he should
ever have left his native city, or ever returned to it. 
　　?I have something quite in your way,? said Mr. Thomson. ?I wished
to do honour to your arrival; because, my dear fellow, it is my own
youth that comes back along with you; in a very tattered and
withered state, to be sure, but?well!?all that?s left of it.? 
　　?A great deal better than nothing,? said the editor. ?But what is
this which is quite in my way?? ?I was coming to that,? said Mr.
Thomson: ?Fate has put it in my power to honour your arrival with
something really original by way of dessert. A mystery.? 
　　?A mystery?? I repeated. 
　　?Yes,? said his friend, ?a mystery. It may prove to be nothing,
and it may prove to be a great deal. But in the meanwhile it is
truly mysterious, no eye having looked on it for near a hundred
years; it is highly genteel, for it treats of a titled family; and
it ought to be melodramatic, for (according to the superscription)
it is concerned with death.? 
　　?I think I rarely heard a more obscure or a more promising
annunciation,? the other remarked. ?But what is It?? 
　　?You remember my predecessor?s, old Peter M?Brair?s
business?? 
　　?I remember him acutely; he could not look at me without a pang
of reprobation, and he could not feel the pang without betraying
it. He was to me a man of a great historical interest, but the
interest was not returned.? 
　　?Ah well, we go beyond him,? said Mr. Thomson. ?I daresay old
Peter knew as little about this as I do. You see, I succeeded to a
prodigious accumulation of old law-papers and old tin boxes, some
of them of Peter?s hoarding, some of his father?s, John, first of
the dynasty, a great man in his day. Among other collections, were
all the papers of the Durrisdeers.? 
　　?The Durrisdeers!? cried I. ?My dear fellow, these may be of the
greatest interest. One of them was out in the ?45; one had some
strange passages with the devil?you will find a note of it in Law?s
Memorials, I think; and there was an unexplained tragedy, I know
not what, much later, about a hundred years ago??? 
　　?More than a hundred years ago,? said Mr. Thomson. ?In
1783.? 
　　?How do you know that? I mean some death.? 
　　?Yes, the lamentable deaths of my Lord Durrisdeer and his
brother, the Master of Ballantrae (attainted in the troubles),?
said Mr. Thomson with something the tone of a man quoting. ?Is that
it?? 
　　?To say truth,? said I, ?I have only seen some dim reference to
the things in memoirs; and heard some traditions dimmer still,
through my uncle (whom I think you knew). My uncle lived when he
was a boy in the neighbourhood of St. Bride?s; he has often told me
of the avenue closed up and grown over with grass, the great gates
never opened, the last lord and his old maid sister who lived in
the back parts of the house, a quiet, plain, poor, hum-drum couple
it would seem?but pathetic too, as the last of that stirring and
brave house?and, to the country folk, faintly terrible from some
deformed traditions.? 
　　?Yes,? said Mr. Thomson. ?Henry Graeme Durie, the last lord, died
in 1820; his sister, the Honourable Miss Katherine Durie, in ?27;
so much I know; and by what I have been going over the last few
days, they were what you say, decent, quiet people and not rich. To
say truth, it was a letter of my lord?s that put me on the search
for the packet we are going to open this evening. Some papers could
not be found; and he wrote to Jack M?Brair suggesting they might be
among those sealed up by a Mr. Mackellar. M?Brair answered, that
the papers in question were all in Mackellar?s own hand, all (as
the writer understood) of a purely narrative character; and
besides, said he, ?I am bound not to open them before the year
1889.? You may fancy if these words struck me: I instituted a hunt
through all the M?Brair repositories; and at last hit upon that
packet which (if you have had enough wine) I propose to show you at
once.? 
　　In the smoking-room, to which my host now led me, was a packet,
fastened with many seals and enclosed in a single sheet of strong
paper thus endorsed: 
　　Papers relating to the lives and lamentable deaths of the late
Lord Durisdeer, and his elder brother James, commonly called Master
of Ballantrae, attainted in the troubles: entrusted into the hands
of John M?Brair in the Lawnmarket of Edinburgh, W.S.; this 20th day
of September Anno Domini 1789; by him to be kept secret until the
revolution of one hundred years complete, or until the 20th day of
September 1889: the same compiled and written by me, Ephraim
Mackellar, For near forty years Land Steward on the estates of his
Lordship. 
　　As Mr. Thomson is a married man, I will not say what hour had
struck when we laid down the last of the following pages; but I
will give a few words of what ensued. 
　　?Here,? said Mr. Thomson, ?is a novel ready to your hand: all you
have to do is to work up the scenery, develop the characters, and
improve the style.? 
　　?My dear fellow,? said I, ?they are just the three things that I
would rather die than set my hand to. It shall be published as it
stands.? 
　　?But it?s so bald,? objected Mr. Thomson. 
　　?I believe there is nothing so noble as baldness,? replied I,
?and I am sure there is nothing so interesting. I would have all
literature bald, and all authors (if you like) but one.? 
　　?Well, well,? said Mr. Thomson, ?we shall see.? 
　　[?Johnstone Thomson, W.S.,? is Mr. C. Baxter, W.S. (afterwards
the author?s executor), with whom, as ?Thomson Johnstone,?
Stevenson frequently corresponded in the broadest of broad
Scots.?The scene is laid in Mr. Baxter?s house, 7, Rothesay Place,
Edinburgh.] 
　　Summary of Events During the Master?s Wanderings 
　　The full truth of this odd matter is what the world has long been
looking for, and public curiosity is sure to welcome. It so befell
that I was intimately mingled with the last years and history of
the house; and there does not live one man so able as myself to
make these matters plain, or so desirous to narrate them
faithfully. I knew the Master; on many secret steps of his career I
have an authentic memoir in my hand; I sailed with him on his last
voyage almost alone; I made one upon that winter?s journey of which
so many tales have gone abroad; and I was there at the man?s death.
As for my late Lord Durrisdeer, I served him and loved him near
twenty years; and thought more of him the more I knew of him.
Altogether, I think it not fit that so much evidence should perish;
the truth is a debt I owe my lord?s memory; and I think my old
years will flow more smoothly, and my white hair lie quieter on the
pillow, when the debt is paid. 
　　The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong family in
the south-west from the days of David First. A rhyme still current
in the countryside? 
　　Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers, They ride wi? ower mony
spears? 
　　bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in an-
other, which common report attributes to Thomas of Ercildoune
himself?I cannot say how truly, and which some have applied?I dare
not say with how much justice?to the events of this
narration: 
　　Twa Duries in Durrisdeer, Ane to tie and ane to ride, An ill day
for the groom And a waur day for the bride. 
　　Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits which (to
our modern eyes) seem not very commendable: and the family suffered
its full share of those ups and downs to which the great houses of
Scotland have been ever liable. But all these I pass over, to come
to that memorable year 1745, when the foundations of this tragedy
were laid.

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