A Ro for Emily
by William Faulkner
I
When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to e the inside of her hou, which no o ne save an old manrvant---a combined gardener and cook-had en in at least ten years.
It was a big, squarish frame hou that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the venties, t on what had once been our most lect street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighbourhood; only Miss Emily's hou was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wago ns and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the reprentatives of tho august names where they lay in the cedarbemud cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor-he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-- remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss' Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have
invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
When the next generation, with its more modem ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himlf, offering to call or to nd his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all.
宽慰和安慰的区别The tax notice was also enclod, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had pasd since she cead giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by the old Negro into a dim hall from which a stairca mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disu-a clo, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlour. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could e that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust ro sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sunray. On a tarnished gilt eal before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of Miss Emily's father.
They ro when she entered-a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal presd into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She did not ask them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman cam
e to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.中国节日
Her voice was dry and cold. 'I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourlves.'
“But we have. We are the city authorities. Miss Emily. Didn't you get notice from the sheriff, signed by him?"
“I received a paper, yes,' Miss Emily said. 'Perhaps he considers he lf I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you e. We must go, by the-“
"See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily…”
“See Colonel Sartoris, (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” The Negro appeared. “Show the gentlemen out.”
II
So she vanquished them, hor and foot, just as she had vanquished their fathers thirty years before about the smell. That was two years after her father's death and a short time after her sweetheart--the one we believe( would marry her-had derted her. After her纪念日文案
father's death she went out very little; after her sweetheart went away, people hardly saw her at an. A few of the ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received, and th4 only sign of life about the place was the Negro man-a young man then--going in and out with a market basket.
“Just as if a man-any man-could keep a kitchen property,” the ladies said; so they were not surprid when the smell developed. It was another link between the gross, teeming world and the high and mighty Griersons. A neighbour, a woman complained to the mayor, judge Stevens, eighty years old.
“But what will you have me do about it, madam?” he said.
“Why, nd her word to stop it,” the woman said. “Isn't there a law?”
烽火四起“I'm sure that won't be necessary," judge Stevens said. “It's probably
just a snake or a rat that nigger of hers killed in the yar d. I'll speak to him about it.”
The next day he received two more complaints, one from a man who came in diffident deprecation. "We really must do something about it judge. I'd be the last one in the world to bother Miss Em ily, but we've got to do something.” That night the Board of Aldermen met-three grey-beard and one younger man, a member of the rising generation.
“It's simple enough,” he said. “Send her word to have her place cleaned up. Give her a certain time to d o it in, and if she don't. . .”
网站备案流程“Dammit, sir,” judge Stevens said, “will you accu a lady to her face of smelling bad?”
So the next night, after midnight, four men crosd Miss Em ily's lawn and slunk about the hou like burglars, sniffing along the ba of the brickwork and at the cellar openings while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a sack stung from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there, and in all the outbuildings. As they recrosd the lawn, a window that had been dark was lighted and Miss Emily sat in it, the light behind her, and her upright torso motion less as that of an idol. They crept quietly across the lawn and into the shadow of the locusts that lined the street. After a week or two the smell went away.
That was when people had begun to feel really sorry for her. People in our town, remembering how o
ld lady Wyatt, her great-aunt, had gone completely crazy at last,
believed that the Griersons held themlves a little too high for what they really were. None of the young men were quite good enough for Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau; Miss Emily a slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horwhip, the two of them framed by the back-flung front door. So when she got to be thirty and was still single, we were not plead exactly, but vindicated; even with insanity in the family she wouldn't have turned down all of her chances if they had really materialized.
When her father died, it got about that the hou was all that was left to her; and in a way, people were glad. At last they could pity Miss Emily. Being left alone, and a pauper, she had become humanized. Now she too would know the old thrill and the old despair of a penny more or less.
The day after his death all the ladies prepared to call at the hou and offer condolence and aid, as is our custom. Miss Emily met them at the door, dresd as usual and with no trace of grief on her face. She told them that her father was not dead. She did that for three days, with the ministers calling on her, and the doctors, trying to persuade her to let them dispo of the body. just as they were about to resort to law and force, she broke down, and they buried her father quickly.
We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to d o that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.
III
She was sick for a long time. When we saw her again, her hair was cut short, making her look like a girl, with a vague remblance to tho angels in colored church windows-sort of tragic and rene.
The town had just let the contracts for paving the sidewalks, and in the summer after her father's death they began the work. The construction company came with niggers and mules and machinery, and a foreman named Homer Barron, a Yankee-a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and eyes lighter than his face. The little boys would follow in groups to hear him cuss the niggers, and the niggers singing in time to the ri and fall of picks. Pretty soon he knew everybody in town.
Whenever you heard a lot of laughing anywhere about the square, Home r
Barron would be in the centre of the group. Prently we began to e him and Miss Emily on Sunday afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of bays from the livery stable.
At first we were glad that Miss Emily would have an interest, be cau the ladies all said, “Of cour a Grierson would not think riously of a Northerner, a day labourer.” But there were still others, older people, who said that even grief could not cau a real lady to forget nobles oblige-without calling it no bles oblige. They just said, “Poor Emily. Her kinsfolk should come to her.” She had some kin in Alabama; but years ago her father had fallen out with them over the estate o f old lady Wyatt, the crazy woman, and there was no communication between the two families. They had not even been reprented at the funeral.
And as soon as the old people said, “Poor Emily,” the whispering began. “Do you suppo it's really so?” they said to one another. “Of cour it is. What el could. . .” This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies clod upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team pasd: “Poor Emily.”
She carried her head high enough-even when we believed that she was fallen. It was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last Grierson; as if it had wanted that touch of earthiness to re her imperviousness. Like when she bought the rat poison, the arnic. That was over a year after they had begun to say 'Poor Emily," and while the two female cousins were visiting her.
“I want some poison,” she said to the druggist. She was over thirty then, still a slight woman, though thinner than usual, with cold, haughty black ey es in a face the flesh of which was strained across the temples and about the eye sockets as you imagine a lighthou keeper's face ought to look. “I want some poison,” she said.
“Yes, Miss Emily. What kind? For rats and such? I'd recom---”
“I want the best you have. I don't care what kind.”
The druggist named veral. "They'll kill anything up to an elephant.
But what you want is---”
“Arnic,” Miss Emily said. “Is that a good one?”
“Is.. . arnic? Yes. ma'am. But what you want---”
“I want arnic.”
The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her
face like a strained flag. “Why, of cour,” the druggist said. “If that's what you want. But the law requires you to tell what you are going to u it for.”
Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arnic and wrapped it up. The Negro delivery boy brought her the package; the druggist didn't come back. When she opened the package at home there was written on the box under the skull and bones: “For rats.”
IV
So the next day we all said, 'She will kill herlf'; and we said it wou ld be the best thing.
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When she had first begun to be en with Homer Barron, we had said, “She will marry him.
Then we said, “She will persuade him yet,” becau Homer himlf had remarked-he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the younger men in the Elks' Club-that he was not a marrying man. Later we said, “Poor Emily” behind the jalousies as they pasd on Sunday afternoon in the glittering buggy, Miss Emily with her head high and Homer Barron with his hat cocked and a cigar in his teeth, reins and whip in a yellow glove.
Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad example to the young people. The men did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the Baptist minister-Miss Emily's people were Episcopal-to call upon her. He would never divulge what happened during that interview, but he refud to go back again. The next Sunday they again drove about the streets, and the following day the minister's wife wrote to Miss Emily's relations in Alabama.
So she had blood-kin under her roof again and we sat back to watch developments. At first nothing happened. Then we were sure that they were to be married. We learned that Miss Emily had been to the jeweller's and ordered a man's toilet t in silver, with the letters H. B. on each piece. Two days later we learned that she had bought a complete outfit of men's clothing, including a nightshirt, and we said, “They are married.” We were really glad. We were glad becau the two female cousins were even more Grierson than Miss Emily had ever been.
So we were surprid when Homer Barron-the streets had been finished some time since-was gone. We were a little disappointed that there was no t a public blowing-off, but we believed that he had gone on to prepare for Miss Emily's coming, or to give her a chance to get rid of the cousins. (By that time it was a cabal, and we were all Miss Emily's allies to help circumvent the cousins.) Sure enough, after another week they departed. And, as we had expected all along, within three days Ho
mer Barron was back in town. A neighbour saw the Negro man admit him at the kitchen door at dusk one evening.
And that was the last we saw of Homer Barron. And of Miss Emily for some time. The Negro man went in and out with the market basket, but the front door remained clod. Now and then we would e her at a window for a moment, as the men did that night when they sprinkled the lime, but for almost six months she did not appear on the streets. Then we knew that this was to be expected too; as if that quality of her father which had thwarted her woman's life so many times had been too virulent and too furious to die.
When we next saw Miss Emily, she had grown fat and her hair was turning grey. During the next few years it grew greyer and greyer until it attained an even pepper-and-salt iron-gray when it cead turning. Up to the day of her death at venty-four it was still that vigorous iron-grey, like the hair of an active man.
From that time on her front door remained clod, save for a period of six or ven years, when she was about forty, during which she gave lessons in china-painting. She fitted up a studio in one of the downstairs rooms. where the daughters and grand-daughters of Colon el Sartoris' contemporaries w
ere nt to her with the same regularity and in the same spirit that they were nt to church on Sundays with a twenty-five-cent piece for the collection plate. Meanwhile her taxes had been remitted.
Then the newer generation became the backbone and the spirit of the town, and the painting pupils grew up and fell away and did not nd their children to her with boxes of colour and tedious brushes and pictures cut from the ladies' magazines. The front door clod
upon the last one and remained clod for good. When the town got free postal delivery, Miss Emily alone refud to let them fasten the metal numbers above her door and attach a mailbox to it. She would not listen to them.
Daily, monthly, yearly we watched the Negro grow greyer and more stooped, going in and out with the market basket. Each December we nt her a tax notice, which would be returned by the post office a week later, unclaimed. Now and then we would e her in one of the downstairs windows-she had evidently shut up the top floor of the hou-like the carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could neve r tell which. Thus she pasd from generation to generation-dear, inescapable, impervious, tranquil, and perver.
And so she died. Fell in the hou filled with dust and shadows, with only a doddering Negro man to wait on her. We did not even know she was sick; we had long since given up trying to get any information from the Negro. He talked to no one, probably not even to her, for his voice had grown harsh and rusty, as if from disu.
She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed with a curtain, her gray head propped on a pillow yellow and moldy with age and lack of sunlight.
V
The Negro met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with their hushed, sibilant voices and their quick, curious glances, and then disappeared. He walked right through the hou and out the back and was not en again.
The two female cousins came at once. They held the funeral o n the cond day, with the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought flowers, with the crayon face of her father musing profoundly above the bier and the ladies sibi lant and macabre; and the very old men-some in their brushed Confederate uniforms-on the porch and the lawn, talking of Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs, believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps, con
fusing time with its mathematical progression, as the old do, to whom
all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge mea dow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottleneck of the most recent decade of years.
Already, we knew that there was one room in that region above stairs which no one had en in forty years, and which would have to be forced. They waited until Miss Emily was decently in the ground before they opened it.
The violence of breaking down the door emed to fill this room with pervading dust. A thin, acrid pall as of the tomb emed to lie everywhere upon this room decked and furnished as for a bridal: upon the valance curtains of faded ro colour. upon the ro-shaded lights, upon the dressing table. upon the delicate array of crystal and the man's toilet things backed with tarnished silver, silver so tarnished that the monogram was obscured. Among them lay collar and tie, as if they had just been removed, which, lifted, left upon the surface a pale crescent in the dust. Upon a chair hung the suit, carefully folded; beneath it the two mute shoes and the discarded socks.
The man himlf lay in the bed.
For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him. What was left of him, rotted beneath what was left of the nightshirt, had become inextricable from the bed in which he lay; and upon him and upon the pillow beside him lay that even coating of the patient and biding dust.
Then we noticed that in the cond pillow was the indentation of a head One of us lifted something from it, and leaving forward, that faint and invisible dust dry and acrid in the nostrils, we saw a long strand of iron-grey hair.高铁可以带充电宝吗
“A Ro for Emily” – William Faulkner
Questions
1. Does this story contain elements that you associate with Gothic traditions in horror stories
or mystery stories? What makes it an example of Southern Gothic fiction?
2. When you first read the story, when did you realize how it would end? What is your
respon to the end?
3. After you read the ending, did your view of earlier scenes change, such as the parts about
buying poison and the odour? In retrospect, where are there hints about the plot?
4. What is the conflict in this story? If Miss Emily is the protagonist, who is the antagonist (a
character or force that acts against the protagonist, denying his or her desires)?
5. In the beginning, Miss Emily receives a deputation from the Board of Aldermen. We
already know her attitude toward taxes before this. If this anecdote does not advance the plot or offer a clue to the eventual story of Emily and her lover, what function does it rve in the story?
6. Does your view of the narrator affect your reception of the story? Why does Faulkner u
this particular narrator? What do you know about him? Can you list his "values," and if so, are they shared by the town? Is this narrator reliable? Does the fact he is male matter?
7. In paragraphs 1 and 2, the author speaks of buildings and structures, describing Miss Emily
as a fallen monument. Where el do related images occur? If Miss Emily is a fallen
monument, to what is she a monument?
8. Notice references to the Civil War in this story. Where do they occur? How does that war
play a role in the story?
9. In this story, an aristocratic Southerner murders a Yankee carpetbagger. Is the story about
the triumph of a defeated South over a suppodly triumphant North? What is this story really about?
10. See question 4. If you are tempted to think of Homer Barron as antagonist, does it matter
that the story continues thirty years after his death? (Remember that conflict in stories does not necessarily occur between individuals.)
当兵体重标准是多少斤11. In paragraph 15, what do hor and foot mean? To what or to whom is Miss Emily being
compared here?
12. What is the significance of sidewalks?
13. What do you think happened when the Baptist minister called on Miss Emily? Is it
important that you think you understand what happened?
14. Why are we not surprid when Homer disappears? How does the storyteller ensure that
we are not surprid?
15. After reading, reconstruct the quence of events. When did Homer Barron die? How did
he die? Why is the story structured in the way that it is?
16. It has been said of this story that "Miss Emily has a shadow, and by this shadow we tell the
time of her life." What is her shadow?
