小鎮陽光隨筆

田園牧歌，簡單和樂，這是不少人都向往的生活。本期介紹的《小鎮陽光隨筆》就刻畫了這樣一個充滿牧歌情調的可愛小鎮。

本書的作者斯蒂芬·里柯克（Stephen Leacock，1869—1944）是加拿大著名幽默作家，也是加拿大最享有世界聲譽的作家之一。他的作品承繼了英國幽默傳統而又有其獨特的色彩，文筆生動風趣，意義耐人尋味，深得加拿大乃至全世界讀者的由衷喜愛。加拿大人常常自豪地說：英國有狄更斯，美國有馬克·吐溫，我們加拿大有里柯克。

《小鎮陽光隨筆》是里柯克出版于1912年的一部著名長篇幽默小說，也是他的主要代表作之一。這是里柯克專門為加拿大讀者寫的一部以加拿大為背景的小說，全書由幾個既相對獨立又相互關聯的短篇故事構成。作者以他生活過的安大略省的奧瑞利亞鎮（Orillia，Ontario）為原型，塑造了一個牧歌情調與喜劇色彩交融的典型的加拿大小鎮——馬里波薩，通過將鎮上發生的幾件趣事、怪事娓娓道來，生動地描摹了小鎮的風俗人情。書中采用漫畫式的筆法刻畫了一群既可笑又可愛的鎮民，在揶揄鎮民們可笑的人性弱點的同時始終保持著一份善意和同情，溫和的筆觸似一抹寬厚悲憫的微笑，在調侃小鎮的故人往事中也流露出對故鄉的追憶與回想。這本書的出版奠定了里柯克在加拿大文學史以及加拿大人民心中不可動搖的地位。里柯克當年居住過并用作馬里波薩鎮藍本的小鎮奧瑞利亞，如今已改名為“艷陽鎮”。

On the careless eye the scene on the Main Street of a summer afternoon is one of deep and unbroken peace. The empty street sleeps in the sunshine. There is a horse and buggy tied to the hitching post in front of Glovers hardware store. There is， usually and commonly， the burly figure of Mr. Smith， proprietor of Smiths Hotel， standing in his chequered waistcoat on the steps of his hostelry， and perhaps， further up the street， Lawyer Macartney going for his afternoon mail， or the Rev. Mr. Drone， the Rural Dean of the Church of England Church， going home to get his fishing rod after a mothers auxiliary meeting.

But this quiet is mere appearance. In reality， and to those who know it， the place is a perfect hive of activity. Why， at Netleys butcher shop （established in 1882） there are no less than four men working on the sausage machines in the basement; at the Newspacket office there are as many more job-printing; there is a long distance telephone with four distracting girls on high stools wearing steel caps and talking incessantly; in the offices in McCarthys block are dentists and lawyers with their coats off， ready to work at any moment; and from the big planing factory down beside the lake where the railroad siding is， you may hear all through the hours of the summer afternoon the long-drawn music of the running saw.

Busy—well， I should think so！ Ask any of its inhabitants if Mariposa isnt a busy， hustling， thriving town. Ask Mullins， the manager of the Exchange Bank， who comes hustling over to his office from the Mariposa House every day at 10：30 and has scarcely time all morning to go out and take a drink with the manager of the Commercial; or ask—well， for the matter of that， ask any of them if they ever knew a more rushing go-ahead town than Mariposa.

Of course if you come to the place fresh from New York， you are deceived. Your standard of vision is all astray. You do think the place is quiet. You do imagine that Mr. Smith is asleep merely because he closes his eyes as he stands. But live in Mariposa for six months or a year and then you will begin to understand it better： the buildings get higher and higher; the Mariposa House grows more and more luxurious; McCarthys block towers to the sky; the buses roar and hum to the station; the trains shriek; the traffic multiplies; the people move faster and faster; a dense crowd swirls to and fro in the post-office and the five and ten cent store—and amusements！ Well， now！ Lacrosse， baseball， excursions， dances， the Firemans Ball every winter and the Catholic picnic every summer; and music—the town band in the park every Wednesday evening， and the Oddfellows brass band on the street every other Friday; the Mariposa Quartette， the Salvation Army—why， after a few months residence you begin to realize that the place is a mere mad round of gaiety.

Not that the little town is always gay or always bright in the sunshine. There never was such a place for changing its character with the season. Dark enough and dull it seems of a winter night， the wooden sidewalks creaking with the frost， and the lights burning dim behind the shop windows. In olden times the lights were coal oil lamps; now， of course， they are， or are supposed to be， electricity， brought from the power house on the lower Ossawippi nineteen miles away. But， somehow， though it starts off as electricity from the Ossawippi rapids， by the time it gets to Mariposa and filters into the little bulbs behind the frosty windows of the shops， it has turned into coal oil again， as yellow and bleared as ever.

After the winter， the snow melts and the ice goes out of the lake， the sun shines high and the shanty-men come down from the lumber woods and lie round drunk on the sidewalk outside of Smiths Hotel—and thats spring time. Mariposa is then a fierce， dangerous lumber town， calculated to terrorize the soul of a newcomer who does not understand that this also is only an appearance， and that presently the rough-looking shanty-men will change their clothes and turn back again into farmers.

Then the sun shines warmer and the maple trees come out and Lawyer Macartney puts on his tennis trousers， and thats summer time. The little town changes to a sort of summer resort. There are visitors up from the city. Every one of the seven cottages along the lake is full. The Mariposa Belle churns the waters of the Wissanotti into foam as she sails out from the wharf， in a cloud of flags， the band playing and the daughters and sisters of the Knights of Pythias dancing gaily on the deck.

That changes too. The days shorten. The visitors disappear. The goldenrod beside the meadow droops and withers on its stem. The maples blaze in glory and die. The evening closes dark and chill， and in the gloom of the main corner of Mariposa the Salvation Army around a naphtha lamp lift up the confession of their sins—and that is autumn. Thus the year runs its round， moving and changing in Mariposa， much as it does in other places.

不留心細看的話，你會覺得夏日午后的主街沉浸在一片深沉的寧謐之中。空蕩蕩的街道在陽光下安睡著。一輛輕型馬車拴在格羅佛五金店門前的系留柱上。平常這個時候，史密斯旅館的老板——魁梧壯實的史密斯先生就穿著他那件格子西裝背心站在旅館的臺階上。沿街而上，你也許會看到麥卡特尼律師正走去取下午的郵件，或者看到圣公會教堂的鄉村教長德羅恩牧師在主持完母親輔助會后正回家拿釣魚竿。

但這種寧靜只是表象。事實上，對熟悉這里的人來說，馬里波薩實在是個喧雜熱鬧之地。你瞧，奈特利肉鋪（建于1882年）里至少有四個工人在地下室的幾臺香腸機旁忙活;新聞出版社的辦公室里也有好幾個人在忙著印刷各種紙品;負責長途電話接線的四位美女頭戴鋼帽，正坐在高腳凳子上講個不停;麥卡錫大樓的辦公室里，牙醫和律師們脫了外套，隨時準備開工;湖邊的鐵路側線旁有個大型的刨木廠，夏天的一整個下午你都能聽到從里面傳來吱吱呀呀的鋸木聲。