瓦尔登湖:Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors3

　　It chanced that I walked that way across the fields the following night， about the same hour， and hearing a low moaning at this spot， I drew near in the dark， and discovered the only survivor of the family that I know， the heir of both its virtues and its vices， who alone was interested in this burning， lying on his stomach and looking over the cellar wall at the still smouldering cinders beneath， muttering to himself， as is his wont.  He had been working far off in the river meadows all day， and had improved the first moments that he could call his own to visit the home of his fathers and his youth.  He gazed into the cellar from all sides and points of view by turns， always lying down to it， as if there was some treasure， which he remembered， concealed between the stones，where there was absolutely nothing but a heap of bricks and ashes. The house being gone， he looked at what there was left.  He was soothed by the sympathy which my mere presence， implied， and showed me， as well as the darkness permitted， where the well was covered up； which， thank Heaven， could never be burned； and he groped long about the wall to find the well-sweep which his father had cut and mounted， feeling for the iron hook or staple by which a burden had been fastened to the heavy end ―― all that he could now cling to ――to convince me that it was no common "rider."  I felt it， and still remark it almost daily in my walks， for by it hangs the history of a family.

　　Once more， on the left， where are seen the well and lilac bushes by the wall， in the now open field， lived Nutting and Le Grosse. But to return toward Lincoln.

　　Farther in the woods than any of these， where the road approaches nearest to the pond， Wyman the potter squatted， and furnished his townsmen with earthenware， and left descendants to succeed him.  Neither were they rich in worldly goods， holding the land by sufferance while they lived； and there often the sheriff came in vain to collect the taxes， and "attached a chip，" for form's sake， as I have read in his accounts， there being nothing else that he could lay his hands on.  One day in midsummer， when I was hoeing，a man who was carrying a load of pottery to market stopped his horse against my field and inquired concerning Wyman the younger.  He had long ago bought a potter's wheel of him， and wished to know what had become of him.  I had read of the potter's clay and wheel in Scripture， but it had never occurred to me that the pots we use were not such as had come down unbroken from those days， or grown on trees like gourds somewhere， and I was pleased to hear that so fictile an art was ever practiced in my neighborhood.

　　The last inhabitant of these woods before me was an Irishman，Hugh Quoil （if I have spelt his name with coil enough）， who occupied Wyman's tenement ―― Col. Quoil， he was called.  Rumor said that he had been a soldier at Waterloo.  If he had lived I should have made him fight his battles over again.  His trade here was that of a ditcher.  Napoleon went to St. Helena； Quoil came to Walden Woods. All I know of him is tragic.  He was a man of manners， like one who had seen the world， and was capable of more civil speech than you could well attend to.  He wore a greatcoat in midsummer， being affected with the trembling delirium， and his face was the color of carmine.  He died in the road at the foot of Brister's Hill shortly after I came to the woods， so that I have not remembered him as a neighbor.  Before his house was pulled down， when his comrades avoided it as "an unlucky castle，" I visited it.  There lay his old clothes curled up by use， as if they were himself， upon his raised plank bed.  His pipe lay broken on the hearth， instead of a bowl broken at the fountain.  The last could never have been the symbol of his death， for he confessed to me that， though he had heard of Brister's Spring， he had never seen it； and soiled cards， kings of diamonds， spades， and hearts， were scattered over the floor.  One black chicken which the administrator could not catch， black as night and as silent， not even croaking， awaiting Reynard， still went to roost in the next apartment.  In the rear there was the dim outline of a garden， which had been planted but had never received its first hoeing， owing to those terrible shaking fits， though it was now harvest time.  It was overrun with Roman wormwood and beggar-ticks， which last stuck to my clothes for all fruit.  The skin of a woodchuck was freshly stretched upon the back of the house， a trophy of his last Waterloo； but no warm cap or mittens would he want more.

　　第二天晚上，我凑巧又走过了火烧地，差不多在同样的时候，那里我听到了低沉的呻吟声，我在黑暗中摸索着走近去，发现我认识这个人，他是那家的唯一的子孙；他承继了这一家人的缺点和优点；也惟有他还关心这火灾，现在他扑倒在地窖边上，从地窖的墙边望到里面还在冒烟的灰烬，一面喃喃自语，这是他的一个习惯。一整天来，他在远远的河边草地上干活，一有自己可以支配的时间，就立即来到他的祖先的家，他的童年时代就是在这里过的。他轮流从各个方向，各个地点，望着地窖，身子总躺着，好像他还记得有什么宝藏，藏在石块中间，但什么也没有，只有砖石和灰烬。屋子已经烧去了，他要看看留下来的部分。仅仅因为我在他的身边，他就仿佛有了同情者，而得到安慰，他指点给我看一口井，尽可能从黑暗中看到它被盖没的地方；他还沿着墙久久地摸索过去，找出了他父亲亲手制造和架起来的吊水架，叫我摸摸那重的一端吊重物用的铁钩或锁环，――现在他还能够抓到的只有这一个东西了，――他要我相信这是一个不平凡的架子。我摸了它，后来每次散步到这里总要看看它；因为它上面还钩着一个家族的历史。

　　在左边，在可以看见井和墙边的丁香花丛的地方，在现在的空地里，曾经住过纳丁和勒。格洛斯。可是，让我们回到林肯去吧。

　　在森林里比上述任何一个地方还要远些，就在路最最靠近湖的地点，陶器工人魏曼蹲在那里，制出陶器供应乡镇人民，还留下了子孙来继续他的事业。在世俗的事物上，他们也是很贫穷的，活着的时候，勉勉强强地被允许拥有那块土地：镇长还常常来征税，来也是白来，只能“拖走了一些不值钱的东西”，做做形式，因为他实在是身无长物；我从他的报告里发现过上述的活。仲夏的一天，我正在锄地，有个带着许多陶器到市场去的人勒住了马，在我的田畔问我小魏曼的近况。很久以前，他向他买下了一个制陶器用的轮盘，他很希望知道他现在怎么样。我只在经文之中读到过制陶器的陶土和辘盘，我却从未注意过，我们所用的陶器并不是从那时留传到今天的丝毫无损的古代陶器，或者在哪儿像葫芦般长在树上的，我很高兴地听说，这样一种塑造的艺术，在我们附近，也有人干了。

　　在我眼前的最后一个林中居民是爱尔兰人休。夸尔（这是说如果我说他的名字舌头卷得够的活），他借住在魏曼那儿，――他们叫他夸尔上校。传说他曾经以士兵的身份参加过滑铁卢之战。如果他还活着，我一定要他把战争再打一遍。他在这里的营生是挖沟。拿破仑到了圣赫勒拿岛，而夸尔来到了瓦尔登森林。凡我所知道的他的事情都是悲剧。他这人风度很好，正是见过世面的人，说起话来比你所能听得到的还要文雅得多呢。

　　夏天里，他穿了一件大衣，因为他患着震颤性谵妄症，他的脸是胭脂红色的。我到森林中之后不久，他就死在勃立斯特山下的路上，所以我没把他当作邻居来记忆了。在他的房子被拆以前，他的朋友都认为这是“一座凶险的堡垒”，都是避而不去的，我进去看了看，看到里面他那些旧衣服，都穿皱了，就好像是他本人一样，放在高高架起的木板床上。火炉上放着他的断烟斗，而不是在泉水边打破的碗。所谓泉水，不能作为逝世的象征而言，因为他对我说，虽然他久闻勃立斯特泉水之名，却没有去看过；此外，地板上全是肮脏的纸牌，那些方块。黑桃、红心的老K等等。有一只黑羽毛的小鸡，没有给行政官长捉去，黑得像黑夜，静得连咯咯之声也发不出来的，在等着列那狐吧，它依然栖宿在隔壁房间里。屋后有一个隐约像园子似的轮廓，曾经种过什么，但一次也没有锄过，因为他的手抖得厉害，现在不觉已是收获的时候了。罗马苦艾和叫化草长满了，叫化草的小小的果实都贴在我的衣服上。一张土拨鼠皮新近张绷在房屋背后，这是他最后一次滑铁卢的战利品，可是现在他不再需要什么温暖的帽子，或者温暖的手套了。

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