bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第205章
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husband knows his wrongs； her shame will be published—may be
spreading while she thinks about it—and in addition to the
thunderbolt so long foreseen by her； so unforeseen by him； she is
denounced by an invisible accuser as the murderess of her enemy。
Her enemy he was； and she has often； often； often； wished him
dead。 Her enemy he is； even in his grave。 This dreadful accusation
comes upon her； like a new torment at his lifeless hand。 And when
she recalls how she was secretly at his door that night； and how
she may be represented to have sent her favourite girl away； so
soon before； merely to release herself from observation； she
shudders as if the hangman’s hands were at her neck。
She has thrown herself upon the floor； and lies with her hair all
wildly scattered； and her face buried in the cushions of a couch。
She rises up； hurries to and fro； flings herself down again； and
rocks and moans。 The horror that is upon her； is unutterable。 If
she really were the murderess； it could hardly be； for the moment；
more intense。
For； as her murderous perspective； before the doing of the
deed； however subtle the precautions for its commission； would
have been closed up by a gigantic dilatation of the hateful figure；
preventing her from seeing any consequences beyond it； and as
those consequences would have rushed in； in an unimagined
flood； the moment the figure was laid low—which always happens
when a murder is done； so； now she sees that when he used to be
on the watch before her； and she used to think； “if some mortal
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stroke would but fall on this old man and take him from my way！”
it was but wishing that all he held against her in his hand might be
flung to the winds； and chance…sown in many places。 So； too； with
the wicked relief she has felt in his death。 What was his death but
the keystone of a gloomy arch removed； and now the arch begins
to fall in a thousand fragments； each crushing and mangling
piecemeal！
Thus； a terrible impression steals upon and overshadows her；
that from this pursuer； living or dead—obdurate and
imperturbable before her in his well…remembered shape； or not
more obdurate and imperturbable in his coffin…bed；—there is no
escape but in death。 Hunted； she flies。 The complication of her
shame； her dread； remorse； and misery； overwhelms her at its
height； and even her strength of self…reliance is overturned and
whirled away； like a leaf before a mighty wind。
She hurriedly addresses these lines to her husband； seals； and
leaves them on her table。
“If I am sought for； or accused of； his murder； believe that I am
wholly innocent。 Believe no other good of me； for I am innocent of
nothing else that you have heard； or will hear； laid to my charge。
He prepared me on that fatal night； for his disclosure of my guilt to
you。 After he had left me； I went out； on pretence of walking in the
garden where I sometimes walk； but really to follow him； and
make one last petition that he would not protract the dreadful
suspense on which I have been racked by him； you do not know
how long； but would mercifully strike next morning。
“I found his house dark and silent。 I rang twice at his door； but
there was no reply； and I came home。
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“I have no home left。 I will encumber you no more。 May you； in
your just resentment； be able to forget the unworthy woman on
whom you have wasted a most generous devotion—who avoids
you； only with a deeper shame than that with which she hurries
from herself—and who writes this last adieu！”
She veils and dresses quickly； leaves all her jewels and her
money； listens； goes downstairs at a moment when the hall is
empty； opens and shuts the great door； flutters away； in the shrill；
frosty wind。
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Chapter 56
Pursuit
mpassive； as behoves its high breeding； the Dedlock town…
house stares at the other houses in the street of dismal
I
grandeur； and gives no outward sign of anything going wrong
within。 Carriages rattle； doors are battered at； the world
exchanges calls； ancient charmers with skeleton throats； and
peachy cheeks that have a rather ghastly bloom upon them seen
by daylight； when indeed these fascinating creatures look like
Death and the Lady fused together； dazzle the eyes of men。 Forth
from the frigid Mews come easily swinging carriages guided by
short…legged coachmen in flaxen wigs； deep sunk into downy
hammercloths； and up behind mount luscious Mercuries； bearing
sticks of state； and wearing cocked hats broadwise： a spectacle for
the Angels。
The Dedlock town house changes not externally； and hours
pass before its exalted dulness is disturbed within。 But Volumnia
the fair； being subject to the prevalent complaint of boredom； and
finding that disorder attacking her spirits with some virulence；
ventures at length to repair to the library for change of scene。 Her
gentle tapping at the door producing no response； she opens it and
peeps in； seeing no one there； takes possession。
The sprightly Dedlock is reputed； in that grass…grown city of the
ancients； Bath； to be stimulated by an urgent curiosity； which
impels her on all convenient and inconvenient occasions to sidle
about with a golden glass at her eye； peering into objects of every
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description。 Certain it is that she avails herself of the present
opportunity of hovering over her kinsman’s letters and papers；
like a bird； taking a short peck at this document； and a blink with
her head on one side at that document； and hopping about from
table to table； with her glass at her eye in an inquisitive and
restless manner。 In the course of these researches she stumbles
over something； and turning her glass in that direction； sees her
kinsman lying on the ground like a felled tree。
Volumnia’s pet little scream acquires a considerable
augmentation of reality from this surprise； and the house is
quickly in commotion。 Servants tear up and down stairs； bells are
violently rung； doctors are sent for； and Lady Dedlock is sought in
all directions； but not found。 Nobody has seen or heard her since
she last rang her bell。 Her letter to Sir Leicester is discovered on
her table；—but it is doubtful yet whether he has not received
another missive from another world； requiring to be personally
answered； and all the living languages； and all the dead； are as one
to him。
They lay him down upon his bed； and chafe； and rub； and fan；
and put ice to his head； and try every means of restoration。
Howbeit the day has ebbed away and it is night in his room； before
his stertorous breathing lulls； or his fixed eyes show any
consciousness of the candle that is occasionally passed before
them。 But when this change begins it goes on； and by and by he
nods； or moves his eyes； or even his hand； in token that he hears
and comprehends。
He fell down； this morning； a handsome stately gentleman；
somewhat infirm； but of a fine presence； and with a well…filled
face。 He lies upon his bed； an aged man with sunken cheeks； the
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decrepit shadow of himself。 His voice was rich and mellow： and he
had so long been thoroughly persuaded of the weight and import
to mankind of any word he said； that his words really had come to
sound as if there were something in them。 But now he can only
whisper； and what he whispers sounds like what it is—mere
jumble and jargon。
His favourite and faithful housekeeper stands at his bedside。 It
is the first fact he notices； and he clearly derives pleasure from it。
After vainly trying to make himself understood in speech； he
makes signs for a pencil。 So inexpressively； that they cannot at
first understand him； it is his old housekeeper who makes out
what he wants； and brings him a slate。
After pausing for some time； he slowly scrawls upon it； in a
hand that is not his； “Chesney Wold？”
No； she tells him； he is in London。 He was taken ill in the
library； this morning。 Right thankful she is that she happened to
come to London； and is able to attend upon him。
“It is not an illness of any serious consequence； Sir Leicester。
You will be much better tomorrow； Sir Leicester。 All the
gentlemen say so。” This； with the tears coursing down her fair old
face。
After making a survey of the room； and looking with particular
attention all round the bed where the doctors stand； he writes “My
Lady。”
“My Lady went out； Sir Leicester； before you were taken ill；
and don’t kn
