bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第46章
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instructions；” he says。 “Mr Boythorn will give us a good deal of
trouble—”
“It is the character of such a mind； Mr Tulkinghorn；” Sir
Leicester interrupts him； “to give trouble。 An exceedingly ill…
conditioned； levelling person。 A person who； fifty years ago； would
probably have been tried at the Old Bailey for some demagogue
proceeding； and severely punished—if not；” adds Sir Leicester；
after a moment’s pause； “if not hanged； drawn； and quartered。”
Sir Leicester appears to discharge his stately breast of a
burden； in passing this capital sentence； as if it were the next
satisfactory thing to having the sentence executed。
“But night is coming on；” says he； “and my Lady will take cold。
My dear； let us go in。”
As they turn towards the hall…door； Lady Dedlock addresses Mr
Tulkinghorn for the first time。
“You sent me a message respecting the person whose writing I
happened to inquire about。 It was like you to remember the
circumstances； I had quite forgotten it。 Your message reminded
me of it again。 I can’t imagine what association I had； with a hand
like that； but I surely had some。”
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“You had some？” Mr Tulkinghorn repeats。
“O yes！” returns my Lady； carelessly。 “I think I must have had
some。 And did you really take the trouble to find out the writer of
that actual thing—what is it！—Affidavit？”
“Yes。”
“How very odd！”
They pass into a sombre breakfast…room on the ground…floor；
lighted in the day by two deep windows。 It is now twilight。 The fire
glows brightly on the panelled wall； and palely on the window…
glass； where； through the cold reflection of the blaze； the colder
landscape shudders in the wind； and a grey mist creeps along： the
only traveller besides the waste of clouds。
My Lady lounges in a great chair in the chimney…corner； and
Sir Leicester takes another great chair opposite。 The lawyer
stands before the fire； with his hand out at arm’s length； shading
his face。 He looks across his arm at my Lady。
“Yes；” he says； “I inquired about the man； and found him。 And
what is very strange； I found him—”
“Not to be any out…of…the…way person； I am afraid！” Lady
Dedlock languidly anticipates。
“I found him dead！”
“O dear me！” remonstrated Sir Leicester。 Not so much shocked
by the fact； as by the fact of the fact being mentioned。
“I was directed to his lodging—a miserable； poverty…stricken
place—and I found him dead。”
“You will excuse me； Mr Tulkinghorn；” observes Sir Leicester。
“I think the less said—”
“Pray； Sir Leicester； let me hear the story out” （it is my Lady
speaking）。 “It is quite a story for twilight。 How very shocking！
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Dead？”
Mr Tulkinghorn reasserts it by another inclination of his head。
“Whether by his own hand—”
“Upon my honour！” cries Sir Leicester。 “Really！”
“Do let me hear the story！” says my Lady。
“Whatever you desire； my dear。 But； I must say—”
“No； you mustn’t say！ Go on； Mr Tulkinghorn。”
Sir Leicester’s gallantry concedes the point； though he still feels
that to bring this sort of squalor among the upper classes is
really—really—“I was about to say；” resumes the lawyer； with
undisturbed calmness； “that whether he had died by his own hand
or not； it was beyond my power to tell you。 I should amend that
phrase； however； by saying that he had unquestionably died of his
own act； though whether by his own deliberate intention； or by
mischance； can never certainly be known。 The coroner’s jury
found that he took the poison accidentally。”
“And what kind of man；” my Lady asks； “was this deplorable
creature？”
“Very difficult to say；” returns the lawyer； shaking his head。
“He had lived so wretchedly； and was so neglected； with his gypsy
colour； and his wild black hair and beard； that I should have
considered him the commonest of the common。 The surgeon had a
notion that he had once been something better； both in
appearance and condition。”
“What did they call the wretched being？”
“They called him what he had called himself； but no one knew
his name。”
“Not even any one who had attended on him？”
“No one had attended on him。 He was found dead。 In fact； I
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found him。”
“Without any clue to anything more？”
“Without any； there was；” says the lawyer meditatively； “an old
portmanteau； but—No； there were no papers。”
During the utterance of every word of this short dialogue； Lady
Dedlock and Mr Tulkinghorn； without any other alteration in their
customary deportment； have looked very steadily at one another—
as was natural； perhaps； in the discussion of so unusual a subject。
Sir Leicester has looked at the fire； with the general expression of
the Dedlock on the staircase。 The story being told； he renews his
stately protest； saying； that as it is quite clear that no association in
my Lady’s mind can possibly be traceable to this poor wretch
（unless he was a begging…letter writer）； he trusts to hear no more
about a subject so far removed from my Lady’s station。
“Certainly； a collection of horrors；” says my Lady； gathering up
her mantles and furs； “but they interest one for the moment！ Have
the kindness； Mr Tulkinghorn； to open the door for me。”
Mr Tulkinghorn does so with deference； and holds it open；
while she passes out。 She passes close to him； with her usual
fatigued manner； and insolent grace。 They meet again at dinner—
again； next day—again； for many days in succession。 Lady
Dedlock is always the same exhausted deity； surrounded by
worshippers； and terribly liable to be bored to death； even while
presiding at her own shrine。 Mr Tulkinghorn is always the same
speechless repository of noble confidences： so oddly out of place；
and yet so perfectly at home。 They appear to take as little note of
one another； as any two people； enclosed within the same walls；
could。 But； whether each evermore watches and suspects the
other； evermore mistrustful of some great reservation； whether
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each is evermore prepared at all points for the other； and never to
be taken unawares； what each would give to know how much the
other knows—all this is hidden； for the time； in their own hearts。
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Chapter 13
Esther’s Narrative
e held many consultations about what Richard was to
Wbe； first； without Mr Jarndyce； as he had requested； and
afterwards with him； but it was a long time before we
seemed to make progress。 Richard said he was ready for anything。
When Mr Jarndyce doubted whether he might not already be too
old to enter the Navy； Richard said he had thought of that； and
perhaps he was。 When Mr Jarndyce asked him what he thought of
the Army； Richard said he had thought of that； too； and it wasn’t a
bad idea。 When Mr Jarndyce advised him to try and decide within
himself； whether his old preference for the sea was an ordinary
boyish inclination； or a strong impulse； Richard answered； well； he
really had tried very often； and he couldn’t make out。
“How much of this indecision of character；” Mr Jarndyce said
to me； “is chargeable on that incomprehensible heap of
uncertainty and procrastination on which he has been thrown
from his birth； I don’t pretend to say； but that Chancery； among its
other sins； is responsible for some of it； I can plainly see。 It has
engendered or confirmed in him a habit of putting off—and
trusting to this； that； and the other chance； without knowing what
chance—and dismissing everything as unsettled； uncertain； and
confused。 The character of much older and steadier people may be
even changed by the circumstances surrounding them。 It would be
too much to expect that a boy’s； in its formation； should be the
subject of such influences； and escape them。”
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I felt this to be true； though； if I may venture to mention what I
thought besides； I thought it much to be regretted that Richard’s
education had not counteracted those influences； or directed his
character。 He had been eight years at a public school； and had
learnt； I understood； to make Latin Verses of several sorts； in the
most admirable manner。 But I never heard that it had been
anybody’s business to find out what his natural bent was； or where
his failings lay； or to adapt any kind of knowledge to him。 He had
been adapted to the Verses； and had learnt the art of making them
to such perfection； that if he had remained at school until he was
of age； I suppose he coul
