Spring had come once more to Green Gables—the beautiful capricious, reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in a succession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover’s Lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad’s Bubble. Away up in the barrens, behind Mr. Silas Sloane’s place, the Mayflowers blossomed out, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves. All the school girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, coming home in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full of flowery spoil.
“I’m so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no Mayflowers,” said Anne. “Diana says perhaps they have something better, but there couldn’t be anything better than Mayflowers, could there, Marilla? And Diana says if they don’t know what they are like they don’t miss them. But I think that is the saddest thing of all. I think it would be TRAGIC, Marilla, not to know what Mayflowers are like and NOT to miss them. Do you know what I think Mayflowers are, Marilla? I think they must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer and this is their heaven. But we had a splendid time today, Marilla. We had our lunch down in a big mossy hollow by an old well—such a ROMANTIC spot. Charlie Sloane dared Arty Gillis to jump over it, and Arty did because he wouldn’t take a dare. Nobody would in school. It is very FASHIONABLE to dare. Mr. Phillips gave all the Mayflowers he found to Prissy Andrews and I heard him to say ‘sweets to the sweet.’ He got that out of a book, I know; but it shows he has some imagination. I was offered some Mayflowers too, but I rejected them with scorn. I can’t tell you the person’s name because I have vowed never to let it cross my lips. We made wreaths of the Mayflowers and put them on our hats; and when the time came to go home we marched in procession down the road, two by two, with our bouquets and wreaths, singing ‘My Home on the Hill.’ Oh, it was so thrilling, Marilla. All Mr. Silas Sloane’s folks rushed out to see us and everybody we met on the road stopped and stared after us. We made a real sensation.”
“Not much wonder! Such silly doings!” was Marilla’s response.
After the Mayflowers came the violets, and Violet Vale was empurpled with them. Anne walked through it on her way to school with reverent steps and worshiping eyes, as if she trod on holy ground.
“Somehow,” she told Diana, “when I’m going through here I don’t really care whether Gil—whether anybody gets ahead of me in class or not. But when I’m up in school it’s all different and I care as much as ever. There’s such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I’m such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn’t be half so interesting.”
One June evening, when the orchards were pink blossomed again, when the frogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of the Lake of Shining Waters, and the air was full of the savor of clover fields and balsamic fir woods, Anne was sitting by her gable window. She had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see the book, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past the boughs of the Snow Queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom.
In all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged. The walls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stiffly and yellowly upright as ever. Yet the whole character of the room was altered. It was full of a new vital, pulsing personality that seemed to pervade it and to be quite independent of schoolgirl books and dresses and ribbons, and even of the cracked blue jug full of apple blossoms on the table. It was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its vivid occupant had taken a visible although unmaterial form and had tapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and moonshine. Presently Marilla came briskly in with some of Anne’s freshly ironed school aprons. She hung them over a chair and sat down with a short sigh. She had had one of her headaches that afternoon, and although the pain had gone she felt weak and “tuckered out,” as she expressed it. Anne looked at her with eyes limpid with sympathy.
“I do truly wish I could have had the headache in your place, Marilla. I would have endured it joyfully for your sake.”
“I guess you did your part in attending to the work and letting me rest,” said Marilla. “You seem to have got on fairly well and made fewer mistakes than usual. Of course it wasn’t exactly necessary to starch Matthew’s handkerchiefs! And most people when they put a pie in the oven to warm up for dinner take it out and eat it when it gets hot instead of leaving it to be burned to a crisp. But that doesn’t seem to be your way evidently.”
Headaches always left Marilla somewhat sarcastic.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Anne penitently. “I never thought about that pie from the moment I put it in the oven till now, although I felt INSTINCTIVELY that there was something missing on the dinner table. I was firmly resolved, when you left me in charge this morning, not to imagine anything, but keep my thoughts on facts. I did pretty well until I put the pie in, and then an irresistible temptation came to me to imagine I was an enchanted princess shut up in a lonely tower with a handsome knight riding to my rescue on a coal-black steed. So that is how I came to forget the pie. I didn’t know I starched the handkerchiefs. All the time I was ironing I was trying to think of a name for a new island Diana and I have discovered up the brook. It’s the most ravishing spot, Marilla. There are two maple trees on it and the brook flows right around it. At last it struck me that it would be splendid to call it Victoria Island because we found it on the Queen’s birthday. Both Diana and I are very loyal. But I’m sorry about that pie and the handkerchiefs. I wanted to be extra good today because it’s an anniversary. Do you remember what happened this day last year, Marilla?”
“No, I can’t think of anything special.”
“Oh, Marilla, it was the day I came to Green Gables. I shall never forget it. It was the turning point in my life. Of course it wouldn’t seem so important to you. I’ve been here for a year and I’ve been so happy. Of course, I’ve had my troubles, but one can live down troubles. Are you sorry you kept me, Marilla?”
“No, I can’t say I’m sorry,” said Marilla, who sometimes wondered how she could have lived before Anne came to Green Gables, “no, not exactly sorry. If you’ve finished your lessons, Anne, I want you to run over and ask Mrs. Barry if she’ll lend me Diana’s apron pattern.”
“Oh—it’s—it’s too dark,” cried Anne.
“Too dark? Why, it’s only twilight. And goodness knows you’ve gone over often enough after dark.”
“I’ll go over early in the morning,” said Anne eagerly. “I’ll get up at sunrise and go over, Marilla.”
“What has got into your head now, Anne Shirley? I want that pattern to cut out your new apron this evening. Go at once and be smart too.”
“I’ll have to go around by the road, then,” said Anne, taking up her hat reluctantly.
“Go by the road and waste half an hour! I’d like to catch you!”
“I can’t go through the Haunted Wood, Marilla,” cried Anne desperately.
Marilla stared.
“The Haunted Wood! Are you crazy? What under the canopy is the Haunted Wood?”
“The spruce wood over the brook,” said Anne in a whisper.
“Fiddlesticks! There is no such thing as a haunted wood anywhere. Who has been telling you such stuff?”
“Nobody,” confessed Anne. “Diana and I just imagined the wood washaunted. All the places around here are so—so—COMMONPLACE. We just gotthis up for our own amusement. We began it in April. A haunted wood isso very romantic, Marilla. We chose the spruce grove because it’s sogloomy. Oh, we have imagined the most harrowing things. There’s a whitelady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wringsher hands and utters wailing cries. She appears when there is to be adeath in the family. And the ghost of a little murdered child haunts thecorner up by Idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold fingerson your hand—so. Oh, Marilla, it gives me a shudder to think of it. Andthere’s a headless man stalks up and down the path and skeletons glowerat you between the boughs. Oh, Marilla, I wouldn’t go through theHaunted Wood after dark now for anything. I’d be sure that white thingswould reach out from behind the trees and grab me.” listened in dumb amazement. “Anne Shirley, do you mean to tell me youbelieve all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?” “Not believe EXACTLY,” faltered Anne. “At least, I don’t believe it in daylight. But after dark, Marilla, it’s different. That is when ghosts walk.”
“Did ever anyone hear the like!” ejaculated Marilla, who had listened in dumb amazement. “Anne Shirley, do you mean to tellme you believe all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?”
“Not believe EXACTLY,” faltered Anne. “At least, I don’tbelieve it in daylight. But after dark, Marilla, it’sdifferent. That is when ghosts walk.”
“There are no such things as ghosts, Anne.”
“Oh, but there are, Marilla,” cried Anne eagerly. “I know people who have seen them. And they are respectable people. Charlie Sloane says that his grandmother saw his grandfather driving home the cows one night after he’d been buried for a year. You know Charlie Sloane’s grandmother wouldn’t tell a story for anything. She’s a very religious woman. And Mrs. Thomas’s father was pursued home one night by a lamb of fire with its head cut off hanging by a strip of skin. He said he knew it was the spirit of his brother and that it was a warning he would die within nine days. He didn’t, but he died two years after, so you see it was really true. And Ruby Gillis says—”
“Anne Shirley,” interrupted Marilla firmly, “I never want to hear you talking in this fashion again. I’ve had my doubts about that imagination of yours right along, and if this is going to be the outcome of it, I won’t countenance any such doings. You’ll go right over to Barry’s, and you’ll go through that spruce grove, just for a lesson and a warning to you. And never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woods again.”
Anne might plead and cry as she liked—and did, for her terror was very real. Her imagination had run away with her and she held the spruce grove in mortal dread after nightfall. But Marilla was inexorable. She marched the shrinking ghost-seer down to the spring and ordered her to proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats of wailing ladies and headless specters beyond.
“Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel?” sobbed Anne. “What would you feel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off?”
“I’ll risk it,” said Marilla unfeelingly. “You know I always mean what I say. I’ll cure you of imagining ghosts into places. March, now.”
Anne marched. That is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shuddering up the horrible dim path beyond. Anne never forgot that walk. Bitterly did she repent the license she had given to her imagination. The goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them into being. A white strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow over the brown floor of the grove made her heart stand still. The long-drawn wail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out the perspiration in beads on her forehead. The swoop of bats in the darkness over her was as the wings of unearthly creatures. When she reached Mr. William Bell’s field she fled across it as if pursued by an army of white things, and arrived at the Barry kitchen door so out of breath that she could hardly gasp out her request for the apron pattern. Diana was away so that she had no excuse to linger. The dreadful return journey had to be faced. Anne went back over it with shut eyes, preferring to take the risk of dashing her brains out among the boughs to that of seeing a white thing. When she finally stumbled over the log bridge she drew one long shivering breath of relief.
“Well, so nothing caught you?” said Marilla unsympathetically.
“Oh, Mar—Marilla,” chattered Anne, “I’ll b-b-be contt-tented with c-c-commonplace places after this.”
背景介绍和作者介绍
这段摘录选自《绿山墙的安妮》，这是一部由加拿大作家露西·莫德·蒙哥马利创作的经典小说，于1908年首次出版。故事发生在加拿大爱德华王子岛虚构的艾凡里村庄，讲述了安妮·雪莉的冒险和成长，她是一个富有想象力和活力的孤儿女孩，被误送到玛丽拉和马修·卡斯伯特那里，他们是一对兄妹，原本打算收养一个男孩来帮助他们在农场工作。
露西·莫德·蒙哥马利深受她在爱德华王子岛乡村长大的经历的影响，她的作品充满了对大自然的生动描写，并对季节的变化之美有着深刻的欣赏。她笔下的安妮·雪莉已成为世界儿童文学中最受欢迎的角色之一。
故事的详细解读和意义
这段话抓住了安妮的本质——她生动的想象力，她与大自然的深厚联系，以及她情感上的敏感。春天的到来象征着更新和希望，反映了安妮在新家中的成长和绽放。五月花和紫罗兰不仅仅是花朵；它们代表着美丽、纯真和安妮深深珍视的生活中的小快乐。
安妮对“鬼森林”的想象中的恐惧揭示了她年轻的纯真和讲故事的力量，同时也突出了想象与现实之间的紧张关系——这是小说中的一个核心主题。玛丽拉务实和不苟言笑的态度与安妮爱幻想的天性形成了对比，创造了一种推动故事温暖和幽默的动态。
这个故事讲述了成长的普遍经历——平衡梦想与现实，学习责任，并在世界上找到自己的位置。安妮对她多个“自我”的反思表明了她的自我意识和复杂性，这使她成为年轻读者可以产生共鸣和鼓舞人心的形象。
给儿童和学生的教训和见解
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想象力的力量： 安妮丰富的想象力既是她的优势，也是她的挑战。学生们可以学会拥抱创造力，同时也要理解在必要时将他们的想法建立在现实基础上的重要性。
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对自然的欣赏： 对花朵、季节和景观的详细描述鼓励读者观察和欣赏周围的自然世界，培养一种敬畏感和环境意识。
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韧性和成长： 安妮从孤儿到社区中受人爱戴的成员的旅程教会了韧性。尽管面临困难，她仍然充满希望和决心，这对学生来说是一个宝贵的教训，他们正在面对自己的困难。
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平衡情感和实用性： 安妮的情感反应与玛丽拉的实用性之间的对比表明了平衡情感与理性的重要性——这在个人和学术生活中都是一项有用的技能。
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友谊和社区： 安妮与戴安娜和其他人的互动说明了友谊、善良和社会联系的价值，鼓励学生建立支持性的关系。
如何在生活和学习中应用这些教训
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在学校： 学生们可以将他们的创造力引导到写作、艺术和解决问题中，同时也要像安妮一样，在她的课程和家务中练习纪律和责任。
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在社交场合： 像安妮一样，学生们应该拥抱他们的独特性，同时也尊重他人的观点。他们可以学会公开交流，并以同情心处理冲突。
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在个人成长中： 安妮的故事鼓励自我反思和接受自己的复杂性。学生们可以受到启发，探索他们的身份，并充满信心地追求他们的梦想。
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在克服恐惧中： 安妮与鬼森林的对抗教会了勇气。学生们可以通过理解他们的恐惧并采取小步骤来克服它们来学会面对他们的恐惧。
培养积极的精神和行为
为了培养安妮所体现的积极品质，学生们可以：
- 通过创意项目练习想象性思维。
- 花时间在大自然中培养正念和欣赏。
- 设定个人目标并坚持克服挑战。
- 用深思熟虑的决策来平衡情绪。
- 建立在善良和信任基础上的友谊。
- 勇敢地面对恐惧，并在需要时寻求支持。
《绿山墙的安妮》仍然是一个永恒的故事，它不仅娱乐，而且教育和激励年轻读者成长为有思想、有想象力和有韧性的人。
