Harriet Beecher Stowe1 to the Abolitionist Eliza Cabot Follen2斯托夫人给废奴主义者福伦的信

哈丽雅特·比彻·斯托

Andover

February 16， 1853

My dear Madam，

I hasten to reply to your letter， to me， the more interesting that I have long been acquainted with you， and during all the nursery part of my life， made daily use of your little poems for children. I used to think sometimes in those days， that I would write to you and tell you how much I was obliged to you for the pleasure which they gave us all.

I am a little bit of a woman， somewhat more than 40， about as thin and dry as a pinch of snuff， never very much to look at in my best days， and looking like a used-up article now. I was married when I was 25 years old to a man rich in Greek and Hebrew， Latin and Arabic， and alas！ rich in nothing else…

But then I was abundantly enriched with wealth of another kind. I had 2 little curly-headed twin daughters to begin with， and my stock in this line has gradually increased till I have been the mother of 7 children， the most beautiful of whom， and the most loved， lies buried near my Cincinnati residence. It was at his dying bed， and at his grave， that I learnt what a poor slave mother may feel when her child is torn away from her. In the depths of sorrow， which seemed to me immeasurable3， it was my only prayer to God that such anguish might not be suffered in vain！ …

I allude to this now， because I have often felt that much that is in this book had its root in the awful scenes and bitter sorrows of that summer. It has left now， I trust， no trace in my mind， except a deep compassion for the sorrowful， especially for mothers who are separated from their children…

During these long years of struggling with poverty and sickness， and a hot debilitating climate， my children grew up around me. The nursery and the kitchen were my principal fields of labour.

Some of my friends pitying my toils， copied and sent some of my little sketches to certain liberally paying annuals， with my name. With the first money that I earned in this way， I bought a feather bed！ For as I had married into poverty and without a dowry， and as my husband had only a large library of books， and a great deal of learning， this bed and pillows were thought on the whole， the most profitable investment. After this， I thought I had discovered the philosopher’s stone， and when a new carpet， or a mattress was going to be needed， or when at the close of the year， it began to be evident that my family accounts， like poor Dora’s， “wouldn’t add up”， then I used to say to my faithful friend and factotum4 Anna， who shared all my joys and sorrows， “Now if you’ll keep the babies， and attend to all the things in the house for one day， I’ll write a piece， and then we shall be out of the scrape”， and so I became an authoress.

I lived 2 miles from the city of Cincinnati， in the country， and domestic service you know， not always to be found in the city， is next to an impossibility to be obtained in the country， even by those who are willing to give the highest wages， so what was to be expected for poor me who had very little of this world’s goods to offer？…You may imagine， therefore how glad I was when our Seminary property being divided into small lots which were rented out at a low price， a number of poor families settled in our vicinity， from whom we could occasionally obtain domestic services. About a dozen families of liberated slaves were among the number， and they became my favorite resorts in cases of emergency.

If anybody wants to have a black face look handsome， let them be left as I have been， in feeble health， in oppressive， hot weather， with a sick baby in arms， and two or three other little ones in the nursery， and not a servant in the whole house to do a single turn. And then if they should see my good old Aunt Frankie， coming in， with her honest， bluff， black face， her long， strong arms， her chest as big and stout as a barrel， and her hilarious hearty laugh， perfectly delighted to take one’s washing， and do it at a fair price， they would appreciate the beauty of black people.

My cook， poor Eliza Buck was a regular epitome of slave life in herself， fat， gentle， easy， loving and lovable， always calling my very modest house and door yard “The Place，” as if it had been a plantation with 700 hands on it.

She had lived through the whole sad story of a Virginia raised slave’s life. In her youth she must have been a very handsome mulatto girl. Her voice was sweet， and her manners refined and agreeable. She was raised in a good family as nurse and sempstress. When the family became embarrassed， she was suddenly sold on to a plantation in Louisiana. She has often told me how， without any warning， she was suddenly forced into a carriage， and saw her little mistress screaming and stretching her arms from the window towards her as she was driven away. She has told me of scenes on the Louisiana plantations and how she has often been out in the night by stealth， ministering5 to poor slaves， who had been mangled and lacerated by the whip.

I have very much at heart， a design to erect in some of the Northern States a normal school， for the education of coloured teachers in the United States and Canada. I have very much wished that some permanent memorial of good to the coloured race might be created out of the proceeds of a work which promises to have so unprecedented a sale. My own share of the profits will be less than that of the publishers either English or American， but I am willing to give largely for this purpose， and I feel no doubt that the American and English publishers， will be willing to unite with me， for nothing tends more immediately to the emancipation of the slave， than the education and elevation of the free.

I am now writing a work which will contain perhaps an equal amount of matter with Uncle Tom’s Cabin.6 It will contain all the facts and documents， on which that story was founded， and an immense body of facts， reports of trials， legal decisions and testimony of people living in the South， which will more than confirm every statement in it and show how much more fact than fiction it is.

I suffer excessively in writing these things. It may truly be said I write with heart’s blood. This horror， this night mare， abomination！ Can it be in my country！ It lies like lead on my heart， it shadows my life with sorrow; the more so that I feel， as for my own brothers， for the South， and I am pained by every horror that I am obliged to write， as one who is forced by an awful oath to disclose in a court some family disgrace！ Many times I have thought I must die， and yet， I pray God that I may live to see something done...

Yours Affectly

H. B. STOWE

安多弗

1853年2月16日

親爱的夫人：

我急切地给您回信。对我来说有意思的是，我结识您很久了，在照顾幼儿的日子里，我每天都给孩子们念您的诗。那时我常常想，有一天要给您写信，告诉您那些儿歌给我们带来了多少乐趣，我对您是多么感激。

我是个40出头的小个子女人，干干瘦瘦，弱不禁风，在最好的年华也不曾出众，如今看上去更是憔悴。25岁时，我嫁给了一个除通晓希腊语、希伯来语、拉丁语和阿拉伯语知识以外一无所有的男士……

但是我在另一方面非常富有。起初我有了两个卷发双胞胎小女儿，后来这个宝库逐渐增加，直到我成为七个宝宝的妈妈。其中最漂亮、最受宠爱的一个，埋葬在辛辛那提的住所附近。在他的病床和坟墓旁，我体验到可怜的奴隶母亲被夺走孩子时的心情。在无以言表的悲痛中，我唯有向上帝祈祷，不要让我白白受苦！

我现在提起这件事，是因为我常常觉得，这本书在很大程度上源于那个夏天惨痛的场景和苦涩的伤痛。现在，我相信这件事在我的心里已经没有痕迹，只剩下对悲伤者，尤其是对被迫与孩子分离的母亲深深的同情。

在贫病和折磨人的炎热气候中挣扎的漫长岁月里，围绕着我的孩子们长大了，那时我的主要工作就是育儿和烹饪。

有些朋友同情我的辛苦劳作，将我的一些小文章复印，署上我的名字发给了一些年刊，稿费很优厚。这样挣来的第一笔钱，我买了一床羽毛褥垫。因为结婚时很穷，我没有嫁妆，丈夫只有一个大图书室和满腹学识，总的来说，我认为这床褥垫和枕头投资得最值。这之后，我好像发现了点金石。每当我们需要一张新地毯或床垫，或者年关将近时，像可怜的朵拉一样，明摆着“要入不敷出了”，我就会求助于同甘共苦的忠实朋友和勤杂工安娜，“如果你能抽出一天时间帮我照顾孩子、料理家务，我会写出一篇小文，我们就会摆脱困境”，就这样，我成了一名女作家。

我住在距离辛辛那提两英里的乡下，你知道，家政服务在城市都不易找到，在乡村更是稀缺，即使对那些愿意出最高工资的人都是如此，更不用说对一穷二白的我们……你可以想象，当附近的神学院地产被分割成小块、以低价出租给贫苦家庭，而他们偶尔可以为我提供家政服务时，我是多么高兴。其中有大约12个解放的奴隶家庭，他们成为紧急情况下我最爱求助的对象。

如果有人想让一张黑色面孔看上去美丽动人，就让他们沦落至我这样的境遇：身体虚弱，天气闷热，怀中抱着一个生病的娃娃，还有两三个在襁褓中，整个家中没有一个用人可以搭一把手。这时，如果弗兰基大妈出现，面庞黝黑，一脸诚恳直率，长长的胳膊强壮有力，胸膛如桶般宽广结实，时不时开怀大笑，非常愉快地以相当公允的价格为我清洗衣物，他们就会欣赏黑人的美。

我的厨娘，可怜的伊丽莎·巴克是典型的黑人生活缩影。她胖胖的，温柔随和，慈爱又惹人爱，总是称我那简陋的房间和院子“这地方”，好像是有700人手的大农场。

她以前过的是在弗吉尼亚长大的奴隶典型的悲惨生活。年轻时，她肯定是个很漂亮的混血儿。她嗓音甜美，举止优雅怡人，在一个不错的家庭长大，是那家的护士和裁缝。当那家陷入窘境，她突然被卖到路易斯安那州的一个种植园。她经常跟我说起，没有任何预兆，她被强塞进马车，驶离时看见她的小女主人尖叫着从窗口向她伸出胳膊。她曾经告诉我路易斯安那种植园的场景，她常常在夜里偷偷溜出去，照顾受尽鞭打摧残的贫苦奴隶。

我很想在北方某州建一个师范学校，为美国和加拿大的黑人教师提供培训。这本书空前畅销，我非常希望用稿费做一些能给黑人带来永久福祉的事。虽然我自己的收益比英美的出版商都少，但是我愿意为此目的多出钱。我也相信，英美的出版商们会乐意与我合作，因为没有什么能比自由人的教育和提升更有利于奴隶的解放。

我正在写一部篇幅可能和《汤姆叔叔的小屋》差不多的东西。这本书包含创作《汤姆叔叔的小屋》时基于的所有事实和文件，还有大量有关南方人民的事实、审判书、法律决议和他们的证词，这些都充分证明小说中所写的一切都基于事实而非虚构。

写这些东西让我备受折磨，说实话，写这本书时我的心在滴血。这恐怖的、令人发指的噩梦！这种事怎能发生在我的国度！它像铅块一样压在我心头，使我的生活笼罩在悲伤的阴影里。我对南方人民的感情就像对自己的兄弟一样，为自己被迫写下的一切而痛心，就像在法庭上被可怕的誓言所迫自揭家丑。许多次，我觉得自己要死了。然而，我祈求上帝，保佑我活到改变到来的那一天！

H.B.斯托