adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第63章
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offered as usual a special prayer for help； seeing that he had
undertaken this hard task with a single eye to the nourishment of
his soul—that he might have a greater abundance of texts and
hymns wherewith to banish evil memories and the temptations of
old habit—or； in brief language； the devil。 For the brickmaker had
been a notorious poacher； and was suspected； though there was no
good evidence against him； of being the man who had shot a
neighbouring gamekeeper in the leg。 However that might be； it is
certain that shortly after the accident referred to； which was
coincident with the arrival of an awakening Methodist preacher at
Treddleston； a great change had been observed in the brickmaker；
and though he was still known in the neighbourhood by his old
sobriquet of “Brimstone；” there was nothing he held in so much
horror as any further transactions with that evil…smelling element。
He was a broad…chested fellow。 with a fervid temperament； which
helped him better in imbibing religious ideas than in the dry
process of acquiring the mere human knowledge of the alphabet。
Indeed； he had been already a little shaken in his resolution by a
brother Methodist； who assured him that the letter was a mere
obstruction to the Spirit； and expressed a fear that Brimstone was
too eager for the knowledge that puffeth up。
The third beginner was a much more promising pupil。 He was a
tall but thin and wiry man； nearly as old as Brimstone； with a very
pale face and hands stained a deep blue。 He was a dyer； who in the
course of dipping homespun wool and old women’s petticoats had
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got fired with the ambition to learn a great deal more about the
strange secrets of colour。 He had already a high reputation in the
district for his dyes； and he was bent on discovering some method
by which he could reduce the expense of crimsons and scarlets。
The druggist at Treddleston had given him a notion that he might
save himself a great deal of labour and expense if he could learn to
read； and so he had begun to give his spare hours to the night…
school； resolving that his “little chap” should lose no time in
coming to Mr。 Massey’s day…school as soon as he was old enough。
It was touching to see these three big men； with the marks of
their hard labour about them； anxiously bending over the worn
books and painfully making out； “The grass is green；” “The sticks
are dry；” “The corn is ripe”—a very hard lesson to pass to after
columns of single words all alike except in the first letter。 It was
almost as if three rough animals were making humble efforts to
learn how they might become human。 And it touched the
tenderest fibre in Bartle Massey’s nature； for such full…grown
children as these were the only pupils for whom he had no severe
epithets and no impatient tones。 He was not gifted with an
imperturbable temper； and on music…nights it was apparent that
patience could never be an easy virtue to him； but this evening； as
he glances over his spectacles at Bill Downes； the sawyer； who is
turning his head on one side with a desperate sense of blankness
before the letters d； r； y； his eyes shed their mildest and most
encouraging light。
After the reading class； two youths between sixteen and
nineteen came up with the imaginary bills of parcels； which they
had been writing out on their slates and were now required to
calculate “off…hand”—a test which they stood with such imperfect
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success that Bartle Massey； whose eyes had been glaring at them
ominously through his spectacles for some minutes； at length
burst out in a bitter； high…pitched tone； pausing between every
sentence to rap the floor with a knobbed stick which rested
between his legs。
“Now； you see； you don’t do this thing a bit better than you did
a fortnight ago； and I’ll tell you what’s the reason。 You want to
learn accounts—that’s well and good。 But you think all you need
do to learn accounts is to come to me and do sums for an hour or
so； two or three times a…week； and no sooner do you get your caps
on and turn out of doors again than you sweep the whole thing
clean out of your mind。 You go whistling about； and take no more
care what you’re thinking of than if your heads were gutters for
any rubbish to swill through that happened to be in the way； and if
you get a good notion in ’em； it’s pretty soon washed out again。
You think knowledge is to be got cheap—you’ll come and pay
Bartle Massey sixpence a…week； and he’ll make you clever at
figures without your taking any trouble。 But knowledge isn’t to be
got with paying sixpence； let me tell you。 If you’re to know figures；
you must turn ’em over in your heads and keep your thoughts
fixed on ’em。 There’s nothing you can’t turn into a sum； for there’s
nothing but what’s got number in it—even a fool。 You may say to
yourselves； ‘I’m one fool； and Jack’s another； if my fool’s head
weighed four pound； and Jack’s three pound three ounces and
three quarters； how many pennyweights heavier would my head
be than Jack’s？’ A man that had got his heart in learning figures
would make sums for himself and work ’em in his head。 When he
sat at his shoemaking； he’d count his stitches by fives； and then
put a price on his stitches； say half a farthing； and then see how
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much money he could get in an hour； and then ask himself how
much money he’d get in a day at that rate； and then how much ten
workmen would get working three； or twenty； or a hundred years
at that rate—and all the while his needle would be going just as
fast as if he left his head empty for the devil to dance in。 But the
long and the short of it is—I’ll have nobody in my night…school that
doesn’t strive to learn what he comes to learn； as hard as if he was
striving to get out of a dark hole into broad daylight。 I’ll send no
man away because he’s stupid： if Billy Taft； the idiot； wanted to
learn anything； I’d not refuse to teach him。 But I’ll not throw away
good knowledge on people who think they can get it by the
sixpenn’orth； and carry it away with ’em as they would an ounce of
snuff。 So never come to me again； if you can’t show that you’ve
been working with your own heads； instead of thinking that you
can pay for mine to work for you。 That’s the last word I’ve got to
say to you。”
With this final sentence； Bartle Massey gave a sharper rap than
ever with his knobbed stick； and the discomfited lads got up to go
with a sulky look。 The other pupils had happily only their writing…
books to show； in various stages of progress from pot…hooks to
round text； and mere pen…strokes； however perverse； were less
exasperating to Bartle than false arithmetic。 He was a little more
severe than usual on Jacob Storey’s Z’s； of which poor Jacob had
written a pageful； all with their tops turned the wrong way； with a
puzzled sense that they were not right “somehow。” But he
observed in apology； that it was a letter you never wanted hardly；
and he thought it had only been there “to finish off th’ alphabet；
like； though ampus…and （&） would ha’ done as well； for what he
could see。”
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At last the pupils had all taken their hats and said their “Good…
nights；” and Adam； knowing his old master’s habits； rose and said；
“Shall I put the candles out； Mr。 Massey？”
“Yes； my boy； yes； all but this； which I’ll carry into the house；
and just lock the outer door； now you’re near it；” said Bartle；
getting his stick in the fitting angle to help him in descending from
his stool。 He was no sooner on the ground than it became obvious
why the stick was necessary—the left leg was much shorter than
the right。 But the school…master was so active with his lameness
that it was hardly thought of as a misfortune； and if you had seen
him make his way along the schoolroom floor； and up the step into
his kitchen； you would perhaps have understood why the naughty
boys sometimes felt that his pace might be indefinitely quickened
and that he and his stick might overtake them even in their
swiftest run。
The moment he appeared at the kitchen door with the candle in
his hand； a faint whimpering began in the chimney…corner； and a
brown…and…tan…coloured bitch； of that wise…looking breed with
short legs and long body； known to an unmechanical generation as
turn…spits； came creeping along the floor； wagging her tail； and
hesitating at every other step； as if her affections were painfully
divided between the hamper in the chimney…corner and the
master； whom she could not leave without a greeting。
“Well； Vixen； well then； how are the babbies？” said the
schoolmaster； making haste towards the chimney…corner and
holding the candle over the low hamper； where
