“But I don’t want to see the police,” I protested. “What I wish to do is to go down into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to know how those people are living there, and why they are living there, and what they are living for. In short, I am going to live there myself.”
“You don’t want to live down there!” everybody said, with disapprobation writ4 large upon their faces. “Why, it is said there are places where a man’s life isn’t worth tu’pence.”
“The very places I wish to see,” I broke in.
“But you can’t, you know,” was the unfailing rejoinder.
“Which is not what I came to see you about,” I answered brusquely, somewhat nettled5 by their incomprehension. “I am a stranger here, and I want you to tell me what you know of the East End, in order that I may have something to start on.”
“But we know nothing of the East End. It is over there, somewhere.” And they waved their hands vaguely6 in the direction where the sun on rare occasions may be seen to rise.
“Then I shall go to Cook’s,” I announced.
“Oh yes,” they said, with relief. “Cook’s will be sure to know.”
But O Cook, O Thomas Cook & Son, path-finders and trail-clearers, living sign-posts to all the world, and bestowers of first aid to bewildered travellers — unhesitatingly and instantly, with ease and celerity, could you send me to Darkest Africa or Innermost Thibet, but to the East End of London, barely a stone’s throw distant from Ludgate Circus, you know not the way!
“You can’t do it, you know,” said the human emporium of routes and fares at Cook’s Cheapside branch. “It is so — hem2 — so unusual.”
“Consult the police,” he concluded authoritatively7, when I had persisted. “We are not accustomed to taking travellers to the East End; we receive no call to take them there, and we know nothing whatsoever8 about the place at all.”
“Never mind that,” I interposed, to save myself from being swept out of the office by his flood of negations. “Here’s something you can do for me. I wish you to understand in advance what I intend doing, so that in case of trouble you may be able to identify me.”
“Ah, I see! should you be murdered, we would be in position to identify the corpse9.”
He said it so cheerfully and cold-bloodedly that on the instant I saw my stark10 and mutilated cadaver11 stretched upon a slab12 where cool waters trickle13 ceaselessly, and him I saw bending over and sadly and patiently identifying it as the body of the insane American who would see the East End.
“No, no,” I answered; “merely to identify me in case I get into a scrape with the ‘bobbies.’” This last I said with a thrill; truly, I was gripping hold of the vernacular14.
“That,” he said, “is a matter for the consideration of the Chief Office.”
“It is so unprecedented15, you know,” he added apologetically.
The man at the Chief Office hemmed16 and hawed. “We make it a rule,” he explained, “to give no information concerning our clients.”
“But in this case,” I urged, “it is the client who requests you to give the information concerning himself.”
Again he hemmed and hawed.
“Of course,” I hastily anticipated, “I know it is unprecedented, but —”
“As I was about to remark,” he went on steadily17, “it is unprecedented, and I don’t think we can do anything for you.”
However, I departed with the address of a detective who lived in the East End, and took my way to the American consul-general. And here, at last, I found a man with whom I could “do business.” There was no hemming18 and hawing, no lifted brows, open incredulity, or blank amazement19. In one minute I explained myself and my project, which he accepted as a matter of course. In the second minute he asked my age, height, and weight, and looked me over. And in the third minute, as we shook hands at parting, he said: “All right, Jack20. I’ll remember you and keep track.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Having burnt my ships behind me, I was now free to plunge21 into that human wilderness22 of which nobody seemed to know anything. But at once I encountered a new difficulty in the shape of my cabby, a grey-whiskered and eminently23 decorous personage who had imperturbably24 driven me for several hours about the “City.”
“Drive me down to the East End,” I ordered, taking my seat.
“Where, sir?” he demanded with frank surprise.
“To the East End, anywhere. Go on.”
The hansom pursued an aimless way for several minutes, then came to a puzzled stop. The aperture25 above my head was uncovered, and the cabman peered down perplexedly at me.
“I say,” he said, “wot plyce yer wanter go?”
“East End,” I repeated. “Nowhere in particular. Just drive me around anywhere.”
“But wot’s the haddress, sir?”
“See here!” I thundered. “Drive me down to the East End, and at once!”
It was evident that he did not understand, but he withdrew his head, and grumblingly26 started his horse.
Nowhere in the streets of London may one escape the sight of abject27 poverty, while five minutes’ walk from almost any point will bring one to a slum; but the region my hansom was now penetrating28 was one unending slum. The streets were filled with a new and different race of people, short of stature29, and of wretched or beer-sodden appearance. We rolled along through miles of bricks and squalor, and from each cross street and alley30 flashed long vistas31 of bricks and misery32. Here and there lurched a drunken man or woman, and the air was obscene with sounds of jangling and squabbling. At a market, tottery33 old men and women were searching in the garbage thrown in the mud for rotten potatoes, beans, and vegetables, while little children clustered like flies around a festering mass of fruit, thrusting their arms to the shoulders into the liquid corruption35, and drawing forth36 morsels37 but partially38 decayed, which they devoured39 on the spot.
Not a hansom did I meet with in all my drive, while mine was like an apparition40 from another and better world, the way the children ran after it and alongside. And as far as I could see were the solid walls of brick, the slimy pavements, and the screaming streets; and for the first time in my life the fear of the crowd smote41 me. It was like the fear of the sea; and the miserable42 multitudes, street upon street, seemed so many waves of a vast and malodorous sea, lapping about me and threatening to well up and over me.
“Stepney, sir; Stepney Station,” the cabby called down.
I looked about. It was really a railroad station, and he had driven desperately43 to it as the one familiar spot he had ever heard of in all that wilderness.
“Well,” I said.
He spluttered unintelligibly44, shook his head, and looked very miserable. “I’m a strynger ’ere,” he managed to articulate. “An’ if yer don’t want Stepney Station, I’m blessed if I know wotcher do want.”
“I’ll tell you what I want,” I said. “You drive along and keep your eye out for a shop where old clothes are sold. Now, when you see such a shop, drive right on till you turn the corner, then stop and let me out.”
I could see that he was growing dubious45 of his fare, but not long afterwards he pulled up to the curb46 and informed me that an old-clothes shop was to be found a bit of the way back.
“Won’tcher py me?” he pleaded. “There’s seven an’ six owin’ me.”
“Yes,” I laughed, “and it would be the last I’d see of you.”
“Lord lumme, but it’ll be the last I see of you if yer don’t py me,” he retorted.
But a crowd of ragged47 onlookers48 had already gathered around the cab, and I laughed again and walked back to the old-clothes shop.
Here the chief difficulty was in making the shopman understand that I really and truly wanted old clothes. But after fruitless attempts to press upon me new and impossible coats and trousers, he began to bring to light heaps of old ones, looking mysterious the while and hinting darkly. This he did with the palpable intention of letting me know that he had “piped my lay,” in order to bulldose me, through fear of exposure, into paying heavily for my purchases. A man in trouble, or a high-class criminal from across the water, was what he took my measure for — in either case, a person anxious to avoid the police.
But I disputed with him over the outrageous49 difference between prices and values, till I quite disabused50 him of the notion, and he settled down to drive a hard bargain with a hard customer. In the end I selected a pair of stout51 though well-worn trousers, a frayed52 jacket with one remaining button, a pair of brogans which had plainly seen service where coal was shovelled53, a thin leather belt, and a very dirty cloth cap. My underclothing and socks, however, were new and warm, but of the sort that any American waif, down in his luck, could acquire in the ordinary course of events.
“I must sy yer a sharp ’un,” he said, with counterfeit54 admiration55, as I handed over the ten shillings finally agreed upon for the outfit56. “Blimey, if you ain’t ben up an’ down Petticut Lane afore now. Yer trouseys is wuth five bob to hany man, an’ a docker ’ud give two an’ six for the shoes, to sy nothin’ of the coat an’ cap an’ new stoker’s singlet an’ hother things.”
“How much will you give me for them?” I demanded suddenly. “I paid you ten bob for the lot, and I’ll sell them back to you, right now, for eight! Come, it’s a go!”
But he grinned and shook his head, and though I had made a good bargain, I was unpleasantly aware that he had made a better one.
I found the cabby and a policeman with their heads together, but the latter, after looking me over sharply, and particularly scrutinizing57 the bundle under my arm, turned away and left the cabby to wax mutinous58 by himself. And not a step would he budge59 till I paid him the seven shillings and sixpence owing him. Whereupon he was willing to drive me to the ends of the earth, apologising profusely60 for his insistence61, and explaining that one ran across queer customers in London Town.
But he drove me only to Highbury Vale, in North London, where my luggage was waiting for me. Here, next day, I took off my shoes (not without regret for their lightness and comfort), and my soft, grey travelling suit, and, in fact, all my clothing; and proceeded to array myself in the clothes of the other and unimaginable men, who must have been indeed unfortunate to have had to part with such rags for the pitiable sums obtainable from a dealer62.
Inside my stoker’s singlet, in the armpit, I sewed a gold sovereign (an emergency sum certainly of modest proportions); and inside my stoker’s singlet I put myself. And then I sat down and moralised upon the fair years and fat, which had made my skin soft and brought the nerves close to the surface; for the singlet was rough and raspy as a hair shirt, and I am confident that the most rigorous of ascetics63 suffer no more than I did in the ensuing twenty-four hours.
The remainder of my costume was fairly easy to put on, though the brogans, or brogues, were quite a problem. As stiff and hard as if made of wood, it was only after a prolonged pounding of the uppers with my fists that I was able to get my feet into them at all. Then, with a few shillings, a knife, a handkerchief, and some brown papers and flake64 tobacco stowed away in my pockets, I thumped65 down the stairs and said good-bye to my foreboding friends. As I paused out of the door, the “help,” a comely66 middle-aged67 woman, could not conquer a grin that twisted her lips and separated them till the throat, out of involuntary sympathy, made the uncouth68 animal noises we are wont69 to designate as “laughter.”
No sooner was I out on the streets than I was impressed by the difference in status effected by my clothes. All servility vanished from the demeanour of the common people with whom I came in contact. Presto70! in the twinkling of an eye, so to say, I had become one of them. My frayed and out-at-elbows jacket was the badge and advertisement of my class, which was their class. It made me of like kind, and in place of the fawning71 and too respectful attention I had hitherto received, I now shared with them a comradeship. The man in corduroy and dirty neckerchief no longer addressed me as “sir” or “governor.” It was “mate” now — and a fine and hearty72 word, with a tingle73 to it, and a warmth and gladness, which the other term does not possess. Governor! It smacks74 of mastery, and power, and high authority — the tribute of the man who is under to the man on top, delivered in the hope that he will let up a bit and ease his weight, which is another way of saying that it is an appeal for alms.
This brings me to a delight I experienced in my rags and tatters which is denied the average American abroad. The European traveller from the States, who is not a Croesus, speedily finds himself reduced to a chronic75 state of self-conscious sordidness76 by the hordes77 of cringing78 robbers who clutter79 his steps from dawn till dark, and deplete80 his pocket-book in a way that puts compound interest to the blush.
In my rags and tatters I escaped the pestilence81 of tipping, and encountered men on a basis of equality. Nay82, before the day was out I turned the tables, and said, most gratefully, “Thank you, sir,” to a gentleman whose horse I held, and who dropped a penny into my eager palm.
Other changes I discovered were wrought83 in my condition by my new garb34. In crossing crowded thoroughfares I found I had to be, if anything, more lively in avoiding vehicles, and it was strikingly impressed upon me that my life had cheapened in direct ratio with my clothes. When before I inquired the way of a policeman, I was usually asked, “Bus or ’ansom, sir?” But now the query84 became, “Walk or ride?” Also, at the railway stations, a third-class ticket was now shoved out to me as a matter of course.
But there was compensation for it all. For the first time I met the English lower classes face to face, and knew them for what they were. When loungers and workmen, at street corners and in public-houses, talked with me, they talked as one man to another, and they talked as natural men should talk, without the least idea of getting anything out of me for what they talked or the way they talked.
And when at last I made into the East End, I was gratified to find that the fear of the crowd no longer haunted me. I had become a part of it. The vast and malodorous sea had welled up and over me, or I had slipped gently into it, and there was nothing fearsome about it — with the one exception of the stoker’s singlet.
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收听单词发音
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1
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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6
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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7
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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8
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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9
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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cadaver
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| n.尸体 | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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14
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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15
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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16
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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17
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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18
hemming
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| 卷边 | |
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19
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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20
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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21
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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23
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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grumblingly
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| 喃喃报怨着，发牢骚着 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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29
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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30
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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31
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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32
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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tottery
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| adj.蹒跚的，摇摇欲倒 | |
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34
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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35
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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36
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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40
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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41
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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42
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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43
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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44
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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45
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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46
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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47
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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48
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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49
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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50
disabused
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| v.去除…的错误想法( disabuse的过去式和过去分词 )；使醒悟 | |
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52
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
shovelled
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| v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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54
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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55
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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56
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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57
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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58
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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59
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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60
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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61
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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62
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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63
ascetics
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| n.苦行者，禁欲者，禁欲主义者( ascetic的名词复数 ) | |
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64
flake
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| v.使成薄片；雪片般落下；n.薄片 | |
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65
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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67
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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68
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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69
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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70
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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71
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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72
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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73
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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74
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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75
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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76
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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77
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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78
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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79
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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80
deplete
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| v.弄空，排除，减轻，减少...体液，放去...的血 | |
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81
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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82
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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83
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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84
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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