bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第170章
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Tom shall be got right。 Whether he shall be put into the main road
by constables； or by beadles； or by bell…ringing； or by force of
figures； or by correct principles of taste； or by high church； or by
low church； or by no church； whether he shall be set to splitting
trusses of polemical straws with the crooked knife of his mind； or
whether he shall be put to stone…breaking instead。 In the midst of
which dust and noise； there is but one thing perfectly clear； to wit；
that Tom only may and can； or shall and will； be reclaimed
according to somebody’s theory but nobody’s practice。 And； in the
hopeful meantime； Tom goes to perdition head foremost in his old
determined spirit。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
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Bleak House 862
But he has his revenge。 Even the winds are his messengers； and
they serve him in these hours of darkness。 There is not a drop of
Tom’s corrupted blood but propagates infection and contagion
somewhere。 It shall pollute； this very night； the choice stream （in
which chemists on analysis would find the genuine nobility） of a
Norman house； and his Grace shall not be able to say Nay to the
infamous alliance。 There is not an atom of Tom’s slime； not a cubic
inch of any pestilential gas in which he lives； not one obscenity or
degradation about him； not an ignorance； not a wickedness； not a
brutality of his committing； but shall work its retribution； through
every order of society； up to the proudest of the proud； and to the
highest of the high。 Verily； what with tainting； plundering； and
spoiling； Tom has his revenge。
It is a moot point whether Tom…all…Alone’s be uglier by day or
by night； but on the argument that the more that is seen of it the
more shocking it must be； and that no part of it left to the
imagination is at all likely to be made so bad as the reality； day
carries it。 The day begins to break now； and in truth it might be
better for the national glory even that the sun should sometimes
set upon the British dominions； than that it should ever rise upon
so vile a wonder as Tom。
A brown sunburnt gentleman； who appears in some inaptitude
for sleep to be wandering abroad rather than counting the hours
on a restless pillow； strolls hitherward at this quiet time。 Attracted
by curiosity； he often pauses and looks about him； up and down
the miserable byways。 Nor is he merely curious； for in his bright
dark eye there is compassionate interest； and as he looks here and
there； he seems to understand such wretchedness； and to have
studied it before。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
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Bleak House 863
On the banks of the stagnant channel of mud which is the main
street of Tom…all…Alone’s； nothing is to be seen but the crazy
houses； shut up and silent。 No waking creature save himself
appears； except in one direction； where he sees the solitary figure
of a woman sitting on a doorstep。 He walks that way。 Approaching；
he observes that she has journeyed a long distance； and is footsore
and travel…stained。 She sits on the doorstep in the manner of one
who is waiting； with her elbow on her knee and her head upon her
hand。 Beside her is a canvas bag； or bundle； she has carried。 She is
dozing probably； for she gives no heed to his steps as he comes
toward her。
The broken footway is so narrow； that when Allan Woodcourt
comes to where the woman sits； he has to turn into the road to
pass her。 Looking down at her face； his eye meets hers； and he
stops。
“What is the matter？”
“Nothing sir。”
“Can’t you make them hear？ Do you want to be let in？”
“I’m waiting till they get up at another house—a lodging…
house—not here；” the woman patiently returns。 “I’m waiting here
because there will be sun here presently to warm me。”
“I am afraid you are tired。 I am sorry to see you sitting in the
street。”
“Thank you sir。 It don’t matter。”
A habit in him of speaking to the poor； and of avoiding
patronage or condescension； or childishness （which is the
favourite device； many people deeming it quite a subtlety to talk to
them like little spelling books）； has put him on good terms with the
woman easily。
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Bleak House 864
“Let me look at your forehead；” he says； bending down。 “I am a
doctor。 Don’t be afraid。 I wouldn’t hurt you for the world。”
He knows that by touching her with his skilful and accustomed
hand； he can soothe her yet more readily。 She makes a slight
objection； saying； “It’s nothing；” but he has scarcely laid his
fingers on the wounded place when she lifts it up to the light。
“Aye！ A bad bruise； and the skin sadly broken。 This must be
very sore。”
“It do ache a little； sir；” returns the woman； with a started tear
upon her cheek。
“Let me try to make it more comfortable。 My handkerchief
won’t hurt you。”
“O dear no； sir； I’m sure of that！”
He cleanses the injured place and dries it； and having carefully
examined it and gently pressed it with the palm of his hand； takes
a small case from his pocket； dresses it； and binds it up。 While he
is thus employed； he says； after laughing at his establishing a
surgery in the street：
“And so your husband is a brickmaker？”
“How you know that； sir？” asked the woman； astonished。
“Why； I suppose so； from the colour of the clay upon your bag
and on your dress。 And I know brickmakers go about working at
piecework in places。 And I am sorry to say I have known them
cruel to their wives too。”
The woman hastily lifts up her eyes； as if she would deny that
her injury is referable to such a cause。 But feeling the hand upon
her forehead； and seeing his busy and composed face； she quietly
drops them again。
“Where is he now？” asks the surgeon。
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Bleak House 865
“He got into trouble last night； sir； but he’ll look for me at the
lodging…house。”
“He will get into worse trouble if he often misuses his large and
heavy hand as he has misused it here。 But you forgive him； brutal
as he is； and I say no more of him； except that I wish he deserved
it。 You have no young child？”
The woman shakes her head。 “One as I calls mine； sir； but it’s
Liz’s。”
“Your own is dead。 I see！ Poor little thing！”
By this time he has finished； and is putting up his case。 “I
suppose you have some settled home。 Is it far from here？” he asks；
good…humouredly making light of what he has done； as she gets up
and curtseys。
“It’s a good two or three…and…twenty mile from here； sir。 At
Saint Albans。 You know Saint Albans； sir？ I thought you gave a
start like； as if you did？”
“Yes； I know something of it。 And now I will ask you a question
in return。 Have you money for your lodging？”
“Yes； sir；” she says； “really and truly。” And she shows it。 He
tells her； in acknowledgement of her many subdued thanks； that
she is very welcome； gives her good day； and walks away。 Tom…all…
Alone’s is still asleep； and nothing is astir。
Yes； something is！ As he retraces his way to the point from
which he descried the woman at a distance sitting on the step； he
sees a ragged figure coming very cautiously along； crouching close
to the soiled walls—which the wretchedest figure might as well
avoid—and furtively thrusting a hand before it。 It is the figure of a
youth； whose face is hollow； and whose eyes have an emaciated
glare。 He is so intent on getting along unseen； that even the
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
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Bleak House 866
apparition of a stranger in whole garments does not tempt him to
look back。 He shades his face with his ragged elbow as he passes
on the other side of the way； and goes shrinking and creeping on；
with his anxious hand before him； and his shapeless clothes
hanging in shreds。 Clothes made for what purpose； or of what
material； it would be impossible to say。 They look； in colour and in
substance； like a bundle of rank leaves of swampy growth； that
rotted long ago。
Allan Woodcourt pauses to look after him and note all this； with
a shadowy belief that he has seen the boy before。 He cannot recall
how； or where； but there is some association in his mind with such
a form。 He imagines that he must have seen it in some hospital or
refuge； still； cannot make out why it comes with any special force
on his remembrance。
He is gradually emerging from Tom…all…Alone’s in the morning
light； thinking about it； when he hears running feet behind him；
and looking round； sees the boy； scouring towards him at great
speed； followed by the woman。
“Stop him； stop him！” cries the woman； almost breathless。
“Stop him； sir！”
He darts across the road into the boy’s path； but the boy is
quicker than he—makes a curve—ducks—dives under his hands—
comes up half…a…dozen yards beyond him； and scours away again。
Still； the woman follows； crying； “Stop him； sir； pray stop him！”
Allan； not knowing but that he has just robbed her of her money；
follows in chase； and runs so hard； that he runs the boy down a
dozen times； but each time he repeats the curve；
