描述
开 本: 16开纸 张: 轻型纸包 装: 平装-胶订是否套装: 否国际标准书号ISBN: 9787544767958
《汤姆叔叔的小屋》是美国作家哈里特·比彻·斯托于1852年发表的一部反奴隶制小说。这部小说中关于非裔美国人与美国奴隶制度的观点曾产生过意义深远的影响，并在某种程度上激化了导致美国内战的地区局部冲突。该小说是19世纪*畅销的小说（以及第二畅销的书，仅次于*畅销的书《圣经》），并被认为是刺激1850年代废奴主义兴起的一大原因。在它发表的头一年里，在美国本土便销售出了三十万册。
CONTENTS
Introduction
Note
on the Text
Select
Bibliography
A
Chronology of Harriet Beecher Stowe
Map
UNCLE
TOM’S CABIN
Appendix
1: Correspondence: Harriet Beecher Stowe to [Eliza Cabot Pollen], 16 December 1853
[1852]
Appendix
2: Excerpt from The Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin
Appendix
3: Frederick Douglass, “The Heroic Slave”
Explanatory
Notes
价格低廉，安于书架的小小一角。普通读者可以用这些书建构出一座图书馆。它们已经融入了我们的生活理念之中，我们还想要把它们请入我们的家里。
——牛津大学出版社
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH THE READER
IS INTRODUCED TO A MAN OF HUMANITY
Late in
the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over
their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P——, in Kentucky. There
were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed
to be discussing some subject with great earnestness.
For convenience
sake, we have said, hitherto, two gentlemen.
One of the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem, strictly speaking,
to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse, commonplace
features, and that swaggering air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying
to elbow his way upward in the world. He was much over-dressed, in a gaudy vest
of many colors, a blue neckerchief, bedropped gayly with yellow spots, and arranged
with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping with the general air of the man. His hands,
large and coarse, were
plentifully
bedecked with rings; and he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle of seals
of portentous size, and a great variety of colors, attached to it,—which, in the
ardor of conversation, he was in the habit of flourishing and jingling with evident
satisfaction. His conversation was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar,
and was garnished at convenient intervals with various profane expressions, which
not even the desire to be graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe.
His companion,
Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentleman; and the arrangements of the house,
and the general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even opulent circumstances.
As we before stated, the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation.
“That
is the way I should arrange the matter,” said Mr. Shelby.
“I
can’t make trade that way—I positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the other,
holding up a glass of wine between his eye and the light.
“Why,
the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere,—steady,
honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock.”
“You
mean honest, as niggers go,” said Haley, helping himself to a glass of brandy.
“No;
I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow. He got religion at
a camp-meeting, four years ago; and I believe he really did get it. I’ve trusted him, since then, with everything I have,—money,
house, horses,—and let him come and go round the country; and I always found him
true and square in everything.”
“Some
folks don’t believe there is pious niggers, Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid
flourish of his hand, “but I do.
I had a fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans—’t was as good as a
meetin, now, really, to hear that critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet
like. He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap of a man that was ‘bliged
to sell out; so I realized six hundred on him. Yes, I consider religion a valeyable
thing in a nigger, when it’s the genuine article, and no mistake.”
“Well,
Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,” rejoined the other. “Why,
last fall, I let him go to Cincinnati
alone, to do business for me, and bring home five hundred dollars. ‘Tom,’ says I
to him, ‘I trust you, because I think you’re a Christian—I know you wouldn’t cheat.’
Tom comes back, sure enough; I knew he would. Some low fellows, they say, said to
him—’Tom, why don’t you make tracks for Canada? ‘ ‘Ah, master trusted me, and
I couldn’t,’—they told me about it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You
ought to let him cover the whole balance of the debt; and you would, Haley, if you
had any conscience.”
“Well,
I’ve got just as much conscience as any man in business can afford to keep,—just
a little, you know, to swear by, as ‘t were,” said the trader, jocularly; “and,
then, I’m ready to do anything in reason to ‘blige friends; but this yer, you see,
is a leetle too hard on a fellow—a leetle too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively,
and poured out some more brandy.
“Well,
then, Haley, how will you trade?” said Mr. Shelby, after an uneasy interval
of silence.
“Well,
haven’t you a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom?”
“Hum!—none
that I could well spare; to tell the truth, it’s only hard necessity makes me willing
to sell at all. I don’t like parting with any of my hands, that’s a fact.”
Here the
door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered
the room. There was something in his appearance remarkably beautiful and engaging.
His black hair, fine as floss silk, hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled
face, while a pair of large dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from
beneath the rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into the apartment. A gay
robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage
the dark and rich style of his beauty; and a certain comic air of assurance, blended
with bashfulness, showed that he had been not unused to being petted and noticed
by his master.
“Hulloa,
Jim Crow!” said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and snapping a bunch of raisins towards
him, “pick that up, now!”
The child
scampered, with all his little strength, after the prize, while his master laughed.
“Come
here, Jim Crow,” said he. The child came up, and the master patted the curly
head, and chucked him under the chin.
“Now,
Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing.” The boy commenced one
of those wild, grotesque songs common among the negroes, in a rich, clear voice,
accompanying his singing with many comic evolutions of the hands, feet, and whole
body, all in perfect time to the music.
“Bravo!”
said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an orange.
“Now,
Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe, when he has the rheumatism,” said his master.
Instantly
the flexible limbs of the child assumed the appearance of deformity and distortion,
as, with his back humped up, and his master’s stick in his hand, he hobbled about
the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker, and spitting from right
to left, in imitation of an old man.
Both gentlemen
laughed uproariously.
“Now,
Jim,” said his master, “show us how old Elder Robbins leads the psalm.”
The boy drew his chubby faced own to a formidable length, and commenced toning a
psalm tune through his nose, with imperturbable gravity.
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