adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第10章
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leave your own country and kindred。 Do nothing without the
Lord’s clear bidding。 It’s a bleak and barren country there； not like
this land of Goshen you’ve been used to。 We mustn’t be in a hurry
to fix and choose our own lot； we must wait to be guided。”
“But you’d let me write you a letter； Dinah； if there was
anything I wanted to tell you？”
“Yes； sure； let me know if you’re in any trouble。 You’ll be
continually in my prayers。”
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They had now reached the yard…gate； and Seth said； “I won’t go
in； Dinah； so farewell。” He paused and hesitated after she had
given him her hand； and then said； “There’s no knowing but what
you may see things different after a while。 There may be a new
leading。”
“Let us leave that； Seth。 It’s good to live only a moment at a
time； as I’ve read in one of Mr。 Wesley’s books。 It isn’t for you and
me to lay plans； we’ve nothing to do but to obey and to trust。
Farewell。”
Dinah pressed his hand with rather a sad look in her loving
eyes； and then passed through the gate； while Seth turned away to
walk lingeringly home。 But instead of taking the direct road； he
chose to turn back along the fields through which he and Dinah
had already passed； and I think his blue linen handkerchief was
very wet with tears long before he had made up his mind that it
was time for him to set his face steadily homewards。 He was but
three…and…twenty； and had only just learned what it is to love—to
love with that adoration which a young man gives to a woman
whom he feels to be greater and better than himself。 Love of this
sort is hardly distinguishable from religious feeling。 What deep
and worthy love is so； whether of woman or child； or art or music。
Our caresses； our tender words； our still rapture under the
influence of autumn sunsets； or pillared vistas； or calm majestic
statues； or Beethoven symphonies all bring with them the
consciousness that they are mere waves and ripples in an
unfathomable ocean of love and beauty； our emotion in its keenest
moment passes from expression into silence； our love at its highest
flood rushes beyond its object and loses itself in the sense of divine
mystery。 And this blessed gift of venerating love has been given to
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too many humble craftsmen since the world began for us to feel
any surprise that it should have existed in the soul of a Methodist
carpenter half a century ago； while there was yet a lingering after…
glow from the time when Wesley and his fellow…labourer fed on
the hips and haws of the Cornwall hedges； after exhausting limbs
and lungs in carrying a divine message to the poor。
That after…glow has long faded away； and the picture we are apt
to make of Methodism in our imagination is not an amphitheatre
of green hills； or the deep shade of broad…leaved sycamores； where
a crowd of rough men and weary…hearted women drank in a faith
which was a rudimentary culture； which linked their thoughts
with the past； lifted their imagination above the sordid details of
their own narrow lives； and suffused their souls with the sense of a
pitying； loving； infinite Presence； sweet as summer to the
houseless needy。 It is too possible that to some of my readers
Methodism may mean nothing more than low…pitched gables up
dingy streets； sleek grocers； sponging preachers； and hypocritical
jargon—elements which are regarded as an exhaustive analysis of
Methodism in many fashionable quarters。
That would be a pity； for I cannot pretend that Seth and Dinah
were anything else than Methodists—not indeed of that modern
type which reads quarterly reviews and attends in chapels with
pillared porticoes； but of a very old…fashioned kind。 They believed
in present miracles； in instantaneous conversions； in revelations
by dreams and visions； they drew lots； and sought for Divine
guidance by opening the Bible at hazard； having a literal way of
interpreting the Scriptures； which is not at all sanctioned by
approved commentators； and it is impossible for me to represent
their diction as correct； or their instruction as liberal。 Still—if I
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have read religious history aright—faith； hope； and charity have
not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the
three concords； and it is possible—thank Heaven！—to have very
erroneous theories and very sublime feelings。 The raw bacon
which clumsy Molly spares from her own scanty store that she
may carry it to her neighbour’s child to “stop the fits；” may be a
piteously inefficacious remedy； but the generous stirring of
neighbourly kindness that prompted the deed has a beneficent
radiation that is not lost。
Considering these things； we can hardly think Dinah and Seth
beneath our sympathy； accustomed as we may be to weep over the
loftier sorrows of heroines in satin boots and crinoline； and of
heroes riding fiery horses； themselves ridden by still more fiery
passions。
Poor Seth！ He was never on horseback in his life except once；
when he was a little lad； and Mr。 Jonathan Burge took him up
behind； telling him to “hold on tight”； and instead of bursting out
into wild accusing apostrophes to God and destiny； he is resolving；
as he now walks homewards under the solemn starlight； to repress
his sadness； to be less bent on having his own will； and to live
more for others； as Dinah does。
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Chapter IV
Home and Its Sorrows
green valley with a brook running through it； full almost
Ato overflowing with the late rains； overhung by low
stooping willows。 Across this brook a plank is thrown； and
over this plank Adam Bede is passing with his undoubting step；
followed close by Gyp with the basket； evidently making his way to
the thatched house； with a stack of timber by the side of it； about
twenty yards up the opposite slope。
The door of the house is open； and an elderly woman is looking
out； but she is not placidly contemplating the evening sunshine；
she has been watching with dim eyes the gradually enlarging
speck which for the last few minutes she has been quite sure is her
darling son Adam。 Lisbeth Bede loves her son with the love of a
woman to whom her first…born has come late in life。 She is an
anxious； spare； yet vigorous old woman； clean as a snowdrop。 Her
grey hair is turned neatly back under a pure linen cap with a black
band round it； her broad chest is covered with a buff neckerchief；
and below this you see a sort of short bed…gown made of blue…
checkered linen； tied round the waist and descending to the hips；
from whence there is a considerable length of linsey…woolsey
petticoat。 For Lisbeth is tall； and in other points too there is a
strong likeness between her and her son Adam。 Her dark eyes are
somewhat dim now—perhaps from too much crying—but her
broadly marked eyebrows are still black； her teeth are sound； and
as she stands knitting rapidly and unconsciously with her work…
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hardened hands； she has as firmly upright an attitude as when she
is carrying a pail of water on her head from the spring。 There is
the same type of frame and the same keen activity of temperament
in mother and son； but it was not from her that Adam got his well…
filled brow and his expression of large…hearted intelligence。
Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it。 Nature； that
great tragic dramatist； knits us together by bone and muscle； and
divides us by the subtler web of our brains； blends yearning and
repulsion； and ties us by our heart…strings to the beings that jar us
at every movement。 We hear a voice with the very cadence of our
own uttering the thoughts we despise； we see eyes—ah； so like our
mother’s！—averted from us in cold alienation； and our last darling
child startles us with the air and gestures of the sister we parted
from in bitterness long years ago。 The father to whom we owe our
best heritage—the mechanical instinct； the keen sensibility to
harmony； the unconscious skill of the modelling hand—galls us
and puts us to shame by his daily errors； the long…lost mother；
whose face we begin to see in the glass as our own wrinkles come；
once fretted our young souls with her anxious humours and
irrational persistence。
It is such a fond anxious mother’s voice that you hear； as
Lisbeth says； “Well； my lad； it’s gone seven by th’ clock。 Thee ’t
allays stay till the last child’s born。 Thee wants thy supper； I’ll
warrand。 Where’s Seth？ Gone
