A THRONG¹ of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments, and grey, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods², and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice³, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes⁴.

The founders⁵ of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue⁶ and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised it among their earliest practical necessities to allot⁷ a portion of the virgin⁸ soil as a cemetery⁹, and another portion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule, it may safely be assumed that the forefathers¹⁰ of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about his grave, which subsequently became the nucleus¹¹ of all the congregated¹² sepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel¹³. Certain it is that, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front. The rust¹⁴ on the ponderous¹⁵ iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique than any thing else in the New World. Like all that pertains¹⁶ to crime, it seemed never to have known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-peru, and such unsightly vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. But, on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems¹⁷, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance¹⁸ and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned¹⁹ criminal as he came forth²⁰ to his doom²¹, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity and be kind to him.

This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness²², so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it- or whether, as there is fair authority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann Hutchinson, as she entered the prison-door- we shall not take upon us to determine.

Finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative²³, which is now about to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader. It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom, that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty²⁴ and sorrow.

一群身穿黯色长袍、头戴灰色尖顶高帽、蓄着胡须的男人，混杂着一些蒙着兜头帽或光着脑袋的女人，聚在一所木头大扇子前面。房门是用厚实的橡木做的，上面密密麻麻地钉满大铁钉。

新殖民地的开拓者们，不管他们的头脑中起初有什么关于人类品德和幸福的美妙理想，总要在各种实际需要的草创之中，忘不了划出一片未开垦的处女地充当墓地，再则出另一片土地来修建监狱。根据这一惯例，我们可以有把握地推断：波士顿的先民们在谷山一带的某处地方修建第一座监狱，同在艾萨克．约朝逊①地段标出头一块垄地几乎是在同一时期。后来便以他的坟茔为核心，扩展成王家教堂的那一片累累墓群的古老墓地。可以确定无疑地说，早在镇子建立十五年或二十年之际，那座木造监狱就已经因风吹日晒雨淋和岁月的流逝而为它那狰狞和阴森的门面增加了几分晦暗凄楚的景象，使它那橡木大门上沉重的铁活的斑斑锈痕显得比新大陆的任何陈迹都益发古老。象一切与罪恶二字息息相关的事物一样，这座监狱似乎从来不曾经历过自己的青春韶华。从这座丑陋的大房子门前，一直到轧着车辙的街道，有一片草地，上面过于繁茂地簇生着牛蒡、茨藜、毒莠等等这类不堪入目的杂草，这些杂草显然在这块土地上找到了共通的东西，因为正是在这块土地上早早便诞生了文明社会的那栋黑花——监狱。然而，在大门的一侧，几乎就在门限处，有一丛野玫瑰挺然而立，在这六月的时分，盛开着精致的宝石般的花朵，这会使人想象，它们是在向步入牢门的囚犯或跨出阴暗的刑徒奉献着自己的芬芳和妩媚，借以表示在大自然的深深的心扉中，对他们仍存着一丝怜悯和仁慈。

由于某种奇异的机缘，这一丛野玫瑰得以历劫而永生；至于这丛野玫瑰，是否仅仅因为原先严严实实地遮藏着它的巨松和伟橡早巳倒落，才得以在古老面苛刻的原野中侥幸存活，抑或如为人深信不疑的确凿证据所说，当年圣徒安妮·哈钦逊②踏进狱门时，它便从她脚下破士而出，我们不必费神去确定。既然我们要讲述的故事要从这一不样的门口开篇，而拾恰在门限处一眼便可望见这丛野玫瑰，我们怎能不摘下一朵玫瑰花，将其呈献给读者呢！但愿这株玫瑰花，在叙述这篇人性脆弱和人生悲哀的故事的进程中，能够象征道德之花的馥郁，而在读完故事阴晦凄惨的结局时，仍可以得到一些慰藉。

①文萨克．约翰逊，北共马萨诸塞英国殖民地的创始人。

②安妮·哈钦逊(1591一1643)，出生于英国的英国教士，她认为灵魂的拯救只有通过个人对上帝感化的直觉，而不是依靠善行。此主张触怒马萨诺塞宗教界，并引起论战和分裂。1637遣审汛并被逐出，她和家人迁居罗得岛，后在纽约州被印第安人杀死。