classic mystery and detective stories- 第35部分

scholars　and　literati；　the　intelligent；　the　idle；　and　the　curious；

wandered　over　the　Continent　for　years；　like　Tom　Corvat；　though　they

had　the　modesty；　on　their　return；　to　entitle　the　result　of　their

multiplied　observations　and　labors　only　〃crudities。〃



Stanton；　about　the　year　1676；　was　in　Spain；　he　was；　like　most　of

the　travelers　of　that　age；　a　man　of　literature；　intelligence；　and

curiosity；　but　ignorant　of　the　language　of　the　country；　and

fighting　his　way　at　times　from　convent　to　convent；　in　quest　of　what

was　called　〃Hospitality；〃　that　is；　obtaining　board　and　lodging　on

the　condition　of　holding　a　debate　in　Latin；　on　some　point

theological　or　metaphysical；　with　any　monk　who　would　become　the

champion　of　the　strife。　　Now；　as　the　theology　was　Catholic；　and　the

metaphysics　Aristotelian；　Stanton　sometimes　wished　himself　at　the

miserable　Posada　from　whose　filth　and　famine　he　had　been　fighting

his　escape；　but　though　his　reverend　antagonists　always　denounced

his　creed；　and　comforted　themselves；　even　in　defeat；　with　the

assurance　that　he　must　be　damned；　on　the　double　score　of　his　being

a　heretic　and　an　Englishman；　they　were　obliged　to　confess　that　his

Latin　was　good；　and　his　logic　unanswerable；　and　he　was　allowed；　in

most　cases；　to　sup　and　sleep　in　peace。　　This　was　not　doomed　to　be

his　fate　on　the　night　of　the　17th　August　1677；　when　he　found

himself　in　the　plains　of　Valencia；　deserted　by　a　cowardly　guide；

who　had　been　terrified　by　the　sight　of　a　cross　erected　as　a

memorial　of　a　murder；　had　slipped　off　his　mule　unperceived；

crossing　himself　every　step　he　took　on　his　retreat　from　the

heretic；　and　left　Stanton　amid　the　terrors　of　an　approaching　storm；

and　the　dangers　of　an　unknown　country。　　The　sublime　and　yet

softened　beauty　of　the　scenery　around；　had　filled　the　soul　of

Stanton　with　delight；　and　he　enjoyed　that　delight　as　Englishmen

generally　do；　silently。



The　magnificent　remains　of　two　dynasties　that　had　passed　away；　the

ruins　of　Roman　palaces；　and　of　Moorish　fortresses；　were　around　and

above　him；the　dark　and　heavy　thunder　clouds　that　advanced　slowly；

seemed　like　the　shrouds　of　these　specters　of　departed　greatness；

they　approached；　but　did　not　yet　overwhelm　or　conceal　them；　as　if

Nature　herself　was　for　once　awed　by　the　power　of　man；　and　far

below；　the　lovely　valley　of　Valencia　blushed　and　burned　in　all　the

glory　of　sunset；　like　a　bride　receiving　the　last　glowing　kiss　of

the　bridegroom　before　the　approach　of　night。　　Stanton　gazed　around。

The　difference　between　the　architecture　of　the　Roman　and　Moorish

ruins　struck　him。　　Among　the　former　are　the　remains　of　a　theater；

and　something　like　a　public　place；　the　latter　present　only　the

remains　of　fortresses；　embattled；　castellated；　and　fortified　from

top　to　bottom；not　a　loophole　for　pleasure　to　get　in　by；the

loopholes　were　only　for　arrows；　all　denoted　military　power　and

despotic　subjugation　a　l'outrance。　　The　contrast　might　have　pleased

a　philosopher；　and　he　might　have　indulged　in　the　reflection；　that

though　the　ancient　Greeks　and　Romans　were　savages　（as　Dr。　Johnson

says　all　people　who　want　a　press　must　be；　and　he　says　truly）；　yet

they　were　wonderful　savages　for　their　time；　for　they　alone　have

left　traces　of　their　taste　for　pleasure　in　the　countries　they

conquered；　in　their　superb　theaters；　temples　（which　were　also

dedicated　to　pleasure　one　way　or　another）；　and　baths；　while　other

conquering　bands　of　savages　never　left　anything　behind　them　but

traces　of　their　rage　for　power。　　So　thought　Stanton；　as　he　still

saw　strongly　defined；　though　darkened　by　the　darkening　clouds；　the

huge　skeleton　of　a　Roman　amphitheater；　its　arched　and　gigantic

colonnades　now　admitting　a　gleam　of　light；　and　now　commingling　with

the　purple　thunder　cloud；　and　now　the　solid　and　heavy　mass　of　a

Moorish　fortress；　no　light　playing　between　its　impermeable　walls；

the　image　of　power；　dark；　isolated；　impenetrable。　　Stanton　forgot

his　cowardly　guide；　his　loneliness；　his　danger　amid　an　approaching

storm　and　an　inhospitable　country；　where　his　name　and　country　would

shut　every　door　against　him；　and　every　peal　of　thunder　would　be

supposed　justified　by　the　daring　intrusion　of　a　heretic　in　the

dwelling　of　an　old　Christian；　as　the　Spanish　Catholics　absurdly

term　themselves；　to　mark　the　distinction　between　them　and　the

baptized　Moors。



All　this　was　forgot　in　contemplating　the　glorious　and　awful　scenery

before　him；light　struggling　with　darkness；and　darkness　menacing

a　light　still　more　terrible；　and　announcing　its　menace　in　the　blue

and　livid　mass　of　cloud　that　hovered　like　a　destroying　angel　in　the

air；　its　arrows　aimed；　but　their　direction　awfully　indefinite。　　But

he　ceased　to　forget　these　local　and　petty　dangers；　as　the　sublimity

of　romance　would　term　them；　when　he　saw　the　first　flash　of　the

lightning；　broad　and　red　as　the　banners　of　an　insulting　army　whose

motto　is　Vae　victis；　shatter　to　atoms　the　remains　of　a　Roman

tower；the　rifted　stones　rolled　down　the　hill；　and　fell　at　the

feet　of　Stanton。　　He　stood　appalled；　and；　awaiting　his　summons　from

the　Power　in　whose　eye　pyramids；　palaces；　and　the　worms　whose　toil

has　formed　them；　and　the　worms　who　toil　out　their　existence　under

their　shadow　or　their　pressure；　are　perhaps　all　alike　contemptible；

he　stood　collected；　and　for　a　moment　felt　that　defiance　of　danger

which　danger　itself　excites；　and　we　love　to　encounter　it　as　a

physical　enemy；　to　bid　it　〃do　its　worst；〃　and　feel　that　its　worst

will　perhaps　be　ultimately　its　best　for　us。　　He　stood　and　saw

another　flash　dart　its　bright；　brief；　and　malignant　glance　over　the

ruins　of　ancient　power；　and　the　luxuriance　of　recent　fertility。

Singular　contrast！　　The　relics　of　art　forever　decaying；the

productions　of　nature　forever　renewed。（Alas！　for　what　purpose　are

they　renewed；　better　than　to　mock　at　the　perishable　monuments　which

men　try　in　vain　to　rival　them　by。）　　The　pyramids　themselves　must

perish；　but　the　grass　that　grows　between　their　disjointed　stones

will　be　renewed　from　year　to　year。



Stanton　was　thinking　thus；　when　all　power　of　thought　was　suspended；

by　seeing　two　persons　bearing　between　them　the　body　of　a　young；　and

apparently　very　lovely　girl；　who　had　been　struck　dead　by　the

lightning。　　Stanton　approached；　and　heard　the　voices　of　the　bearers

repeating；　〃There　is　none　who　will　mourn　for　her！〃　　〃There　is　none

who　will　mourn　for　her！〃　said　other　voices；　as　two　more　bore　in

their　arms　the　blasted　and　blackened　figure　of　what　had　once　been　a

man；　comely　and　graceful；〃there　is　not　ONE　to　mourn　for　her　now！〃

They　were　lovers；　and　he　had　been　consumed　by　the　flash　that　had

destroyed　her；　while　in　the　act　of　endeavoring　to　defend　her。　　As

they　were　about　to　remove　the　bodies；　a　person　approached　with　a

calmness　of　step　and　demeanor；　as　if　he　were　alone　unconscious　of

danger；　and　incapable　of　fear；　and　after　looking　on　them　for　some

time；　burst　into　a　laugh　so　loud；　wild；　and　protracted；　that　the

peasants；　starting　with　as　much　horror　at　the　sound　as　at　that　of

the　storm；　hurried　away；　bearing　the　corpses　with　them。　　Even

Stanton's　fears　were　subdued　by　his　astonishment；　and；　turning　to

the　stranger；　who　remained　standing　on　the　same　spot；　he　asked　the

reason　of　such　an　outrage　on　humanity。　　The　stranger；　slowly

turning　round；　and　disclosing　a　countenance　which（Here　the

manuscript　was　illegible　for　a　few　lines）；　said　in　English（A　long

hiatus　followed　here；　and　the　next　passage　that　was　legible；　though

it　proved　to　be　a　continuation　of　the　narrative；　was　but　a

fragment。）



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The　terrors　of　the　night　rendered　Stanton　a　sturdy　and　unappeasable

applicant；　and　the　shrill　voice　of　the　old　woman；　repeating；　〃no

hereticno　EnglishMother　of　God　protect　usavaunt　Satan！〃

combined　with　the　clatter　of　the　wooden　casement　（peculiar　to　the

houses　in　Valencia）　which　she　opened　to　discharge　her　volley　of

anathematization；　and　shut　again　as　the　lightning　glanced　through

the　aperture；　were　unable　to　repel　his　importunate　request　for

admittance；　in　a　night　whose　terrors　ought　to　soften　all　the

miserable　petty　local　passions　into　one　awful　feeling　of　fear　for

the　Power　who　caused　it；　and　compassion　for　those　who　were　exposed

to　it。But　Stanton　felt　there　was　something　more　than　national

bigotry　in　the　exclamations　of　the　old　woman；　there　was　a　peculiar

and　personal　horror　of　the　English。And　he　was　right；　but　this　did

not　diminish　the　eagerness　of　his。　。　。　。



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The　house　was　handsome　and　spacious；　but　the　melancholy　appearance

of　desertion　。　。　。　。



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The　benches　were　by　the　wall；　but　there　were　none　to　sit　there；

the　tables　were　spread　in　what　had　been　the　hall；　but　it　seemed　as

if　none　had　gathered　round　them　for　many　years；the　clock　struck

audibly；　there　was　no　voice　of　mirth　or　of　occupation　to　drown　its

sound；　time　told　his　awful　lesson　to　silence　alone；the　hearths

were　black　with　fuel　long　since　consumed；the　family　portraits

looked　as　if　they　were　the　only　tenants　of　the　mansion；　they　seemed

to　say；　from　their　moldering　frames；　〃there　are　none　to　gaze　on

us；〃　and　the　echo　of　the　steps　of　Stanton　and　his　feeble　guide；　was

the　only　sound　audible　between　the　peals　of　thunder　that　rolled

still　awfully；　but　more　distantly；every　peal　like　the　exhausted

murmurs　of　a　spent　heart。　　As　they　passed　on；　a　shriek　was　heard。

Stanton　paused；　and　fearful　images　of　the　dangers　to　which

travelers　on　the　Continent　are　exposed　in　deserted　and　remote

habitations；　came　into　his　mind。　　〃Don't　heed　it；〃　said　the　old

woman；　lighting　him　on　with　a　miserable　lamp；〃it　is　only　he。　。　。　。



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The　old　woman　having　now　satisfied　herself；　by　ocular

demonstration；　that　her　English　guest；　even　if　he　was　the　devil；

had　neither　horn；　hoof；　nor　tail；　that　he