书名：Rob Roy罗布·罗伊

作者：Sir Walter Scott沃尔特·司各特
出版社名称：Signet Classics
出版时间：2015
语种：英文
ISBN：9780451472854
商品尺寸：10.6 x 3 x 17.3 cm
包装：简装
页数：544 （以实物为准）
Rob Roy《罗布·罗伊》是英国作家沃尔特·司各特创作的一部取材于苏格兰历史的小说，描写了1715年詹姆斯党人第1次起义前夕苏格兰山地人民反抗英国政权的斗争。罗布·罗伊是“苏格兰的罗宾汉”，本是正直的山地氏族领袖，在封建压迫下铤而走险，成了反抗统治阶级、杀富济贫的绿林好汉。

根据该小说改编的苏格兰民族英雄电影《罗布·罗伊》荣获第68届奥斯卡金像奖。
本书为Signet Classics推出的英文原版，由Caroline McCraken-Flesher写导言，A. N. Wilson写后记，内容完整无删减，书本轻巧便携。
Outlaw Rob Roy Macgregor comes alive in this classic epic of the Scottish borderlands. The narrative follows the adventures of Frank Osbaldistone, a businessman’s son who falls out of favor with his father and is sent to stay in Scotland. English and Protestant, Frank has never felt more out of place, but the wild and noble land intrigues him. And he is immediately drawn to the powerful, enigmatic figure of Rob Roy, who, alongside his fiercely passionate wife, fights for justice and dignity for all of Scotland. Twists of plot, a romantic outlaw’s cunning escapes, and uprisings against England make this a classic epic. At the same time, Frank’s fervent but forbidden love for a Catholic girl makes it a breathtaking romance. Combine these elements with superb period detail, and one has an incomparable portrait of the haunted Highlands, a legendary hero, and a glorious Scottish past.
With a New Introduction by Caroline McCracken-Flesher and an Afterword by A. N. Wilson.
Review
“When I think of Rob Roy, I am impatient with all other novels.”  —Robert Louis Stevenson

沃尔特·司各特，英国著名的历史小说家和诗人。他生于苏格兰的爱丁堡市，自幼患有小儿麻痹症，爱丁堡大学法律系毕业后，当过副郡长，他以苏格兰为背景的诗歌十分有名，但拜伦出现后，他意识到无法超越，转行开始写作历史小说，终于成为英语历史文学的一代鼻祖。在他死后，浪漫主义时代也随之走向结束。

Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832) was born in Edinburgh, educated for the law, and employed as a government official for thirty years. His lifelong interest in Scottish antiquity and the ballads that recorded Scottish history led him to try his hand at narrative poems of adventure and action. The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805), Marmion (1808), and The Lady of the Lake (1810) made his reputation as one of the leading poets of his time. Waverly, a novel he had begun in 1805, was published in 1814 and catapulted the author to transatlantic fame. The most famous of his many novels are Old Mortality (1815), Rob Roy (1817), Ivanhoe (1819), Kenilworth (1821), and Quentin Durward (1823). In recognition of his literary work, Scott was made a baronet in 1819. During his last years, he held various official positions and published biographies, editions of Swift and Dryden, tales, lyric poetry, and various studies of history and antiquity.

Caroline McCracken-Flesher is a Professor of English at the University of Wyoming. Her publications include Possible Scotlands: Walter Scott and the Story of Tomorrow, The Doctor Dissected: A Cultural Autopsy of the Burke and Hare Murders, the edited volumes Culture, Nation and the New Scottish Parliament, Scotland As Science Fiction, and the MLA volume Approaches to Teaching the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson. She will give the annual talk on Scottish Literature at the Scottish Parliament in 2015. 

A. N. Wilson was born in 1950 and educated at Rugby and New College, Oxford. A Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, he has held a prominent position in the world of literature and journalism. Among his acclaimed biographies are Lives of Sir Walter Scott (John Llewellyn Rhys Prize), Tolstoy (Whitbread Award for Biography), C. S. Lewis, Hilaire Belloc, and Iris Murdoch. The Victorians, his study of the Victorian Age, and its sequel, After the Victorians, were both published to the widest critical acclaim, and he is the award-winning author of such novels as My Name Is Legion and The Healing Art.
CHAPTER I

How have I sinn’d, that this affliction
Should light so heavy on me? I have no more sons,
And this no more mine own. — My grand curse
Hang o’er his head that thus transform’d thee! — Travel?
I’ll send my horse to travel next.
Monsieur Thomas.
YOU HAVE requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that leisure, with which Providence has blessed the decline of my life, in registering the hazards and difficulties which attended its commencement. The recollection of those adventures, as you are pleased to term them, has indeed left upon my mind a checkered and varied feeling of pleasure and of pain, mingled, I trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to the Disposer of human events, who guided my early course through much risk and labor, that the ease with which he has blessed my prolonged life, might seem softer from remembrance and contrast. Neither is it possible for me to doubt, what you have often affirmed, that the incidents which befell me among a people singularly primitive in their government and manners, have something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear an old man’s stories of a past age.
Still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one friend, and listened to by another, loses half its charms when committed to paper; and that the narratives to which you have attended with interest, as heard from the voice of him to whom they occurred, will appear less deserving of attention when perused in the seclusion of your study. But your greener age and robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all human probability, be the lot of your friend. Throw, then, these sheets into some secret drawer of your escritoire till we are separated from each other’s society by an event which may happen at any moment, and which must happen within the course of a few—a very few years. When we are parted in this world, to meet, I hope, in a better, you will, I am well aware, cherish more than it deserves the memory of your departed friend, and will find in those details which I am now to commit to paper, matter for melancholy, but not unpleasing reflection. Others bequeath to the confidants of their bosom portraits of their external features—I put into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts and feelings, of my virtues and of my failings, with the assured hope, that the follies and headstrong impetuosity of my youth will meet the same kind construction and forgiveness which have so often attended the faults of my matured age.
One advantage, among the many, of addressing my Memoirs (if I may give these sheets a name so imposing) to a dear and intimate friend, is, that I may spare some of the details, in this case unnecessary, with which I must needs have detained a stranger from what I have to say of greater interest. Why should I bestow all my tediousness upon you, because I have you in my power, and have ink, paper, and time before me? At the same time, I dare not promise that I may not abuse the opportunity so temptingly offered me, to treat of myself and my own concerns, even though I speak of circumstances as well known to you as to myself. The seductive love of narrative, when we ourselves are the heroes of the events which we tell, often disregards the attention due to the time and patience of the audience, and the best and wisest have yielded to its fascination. I need only remind you of the singular instance evinced by the form of that rare and original edition of Sully’s Memoirs, which you (with the fond vanity of a book-collector) insist upon preferring to that which is reduced to the useful and ordinary form of Memoirs, but which I think curious, solely as illustrating how far so great a man as the author was accessible to the foible of self-importance. If I recollect rightly, that venerable peer and great statesman had appointed no fewer than four gentlemen of his household to draw up the events of his life, under the title of Memorials of the Sage and Royal Affairs of State, Domestic, Political, and Military, transacted by Henry IV., and so forth. These grave recorders, having made their compilation, reduced the Memoirs containing all the remarkable events of their master’s life into a narrative, addressed to himself in propria persona. And thus, instead of telling his own story, in the third person, like Julius Cæsar, or in the first person, like most who, in the hall, or the study, undertake to be the heroes of their own tale, Sully enjoyed the refined, though whimsical pleasure, of having the events of his life told over to him by his secretaries, being himself the auditor, as he was also the hero, and probably the author, of the whole book. It must have been a great sight to have seen the ex-minister, as bolt upright as a starched ruff and laced cassock could make him, seated in state beneath his canopy, and listening to the recitation of his compilers, while, standing bare in his presence, they informed him gravely, “Thus said the duke—so did the duke infer—such were your grace’s sentiments upon this important point—such were your secret counsels to the king on that other emergency,”—circumstances, all of which must have been much better known to their hearer than to themselves, and most of which could only be derived from his own special communication.