And I, walking head and shoulders above my two companions, remembered my own husky West, and the stalwart men it had been my custom, in turn, to envy there. Also, as I looked at the mite of a youth with the heart of a lion, I thought, this is the type that on occasion rears barricades11 and shows the world that men have not forgotten how to die.
But up spoke12 my other companion, a man of twenty-eight, who eked13 out a precarious14 existence in a sweating den15.
“I’m a ’earty man, I am,” he announced. “Not like the other chaps at my shop, I ain’t. They consider me a fine specimen16 of manhood. W’y, d’ ye know, I weigh ten stone!”
I was ashamed to tell him that I weighed one hundred and seventy pounds, or over twelve stone, so I contented17 myself with taking his measure. Poor, misshapen little man! His skin an unhealthy colour, body gnarled and twisted out of all decency18, contracted chest, shoulders bent19 prodigiously20 from long hours of toil21, and head hanging heavily forward and out of place! A “’earty man,’ ’e was!”
“How tall are you?”
“Five foot two,” he answered proudly; “an’ the chaps at the shop . . . ”
“Let me see that shop,” I said.
The shop was idle just then, but I still desired to see it. Passing Leman Street, we cut off to the left into Spitalfields, and dived into Frying-pan Alley22. A spawn23 of children cluttered24 the slimy pavement, for all the world like tadpoles25 just turned frogs on the bottom of a dry pond. In a narrow doorway26, so narrow that perforce we stepped over her, sat a woman with a young babe, nursing at breasts grossly naked and libelling all the sacredness of motherhood. In the black and narrow hall behind her we waded27 through a mess of young life, and essayed an even narrower and fouler28 stairway. Up we went, three flights, each landing two feet by three in area, and heaped with filth29 and refuse.
There were seven rooms in this abomination called a house. In six of the rooms, twenty-odd people, of both sexes and all ages, cooked, ate, slept, and worked. In size the rooms averaged eight feet by eight, or possibly nine. The seventh room we entered. It was the den in which five men “sweated.” It was seven feet wide by eight long, and the table at which the work was performed took up the major portion of the space. On this table were five lasts, and there was barely room for the men to stand to their work, for the rest of the space was heaped with cardboard, leather, bundles of shoe uppers, and a miscellaneous assortment30 of materials used in attaching the uppers of shoes to their soles.
In the adjoining room lived a woman and six children. In another vile31 hole lived a widow, with an only son of sixteen who was dying of consumption. The woman hawked32 sweetmeats on the street, I was told, and more often failed than not to supply her son with the three quarts of milk he daily required. Further, this son, weak and dying, did not taste meat oftener than once a week; and the kind and quality of this meat cannot possibly be imagined by people who have never watched human swine eat.
“The w’y ’e coughs is somethin’ terrible,” volunteered my sweated friend, referring to the dying boy. “We ’ear ’im ’ere, w’ile we’re workin’, an’ it’s terrible, I say, terrible!”
And, what of the coughing and the sweetmeats, I found another menace added to the hostile environment of the children of the slum.
My sweated friend, when work was to be had, toiled33 with four other men in his eight-by-seven room. In the winter a lamp burned nearly all the day and added its fumes34 to the over-loaded air, which was breathed, and breathed, and breathed again.
In good times, when there was a rush of work, this man told me that he could earn as high as “thirty bob a week.”— Thirty shillings! Seven dollars and a half!
“But it’s only the best of us can do it,” he qualified35. “An’ then we work twelve, thirteen, and fourteen hours a day, just as fast as we can. An’ you should see us sweat! Just running from us! If you could see us, it’d dazzle your eyes — tacks36 flyin’ out of mouth like from a machine. Look at my mouth.”
I looked. The teeth were worn down by the constant friction37 of the metallic38 brads, while they were coal-black and rotten.
“I clean my teeth,” he added, “else they’d be worse.”
After he had told me that the workers had to furnish their own tools, brads, “grindery,” cardboard, rent, light, and what not, it was plain that his thirty bob was a diminishing quantity.
“But how long does the rush season last, in which you receive this high wage of thirty bob?” I asked.
“Four months,” was the answer; and for the rest of the year, he informed me, they average from “half a quid” to a “quid” a week, which is equivalent to from two dollars and a half to five dollars. The present week was half gone, and he had earned four bob, or one dollar. And yet I was given to understand that this was one of the better grades of sweating.
I looked out of the window, which should have commanded the back yards of the neighbouring buildings. But there were no back yards, or, rather, they were covered with one-storey hovels, cowsheds, in which people lived. The roofs of these hovels were covered with deposits of filth, in some places a couple of feet deep — the contributions from the back windows of the second and third storeys. I could make out fish and meat bones, garbage, pestilential rags, old boots, broken earthenware39, and all the general refuse of a human sty.
“This is the last year of this trade; they’re getting machines to do away with us,” said the sweated one mournfully, as we stepped over the woman with the breasts grossly naked and waded anew through the cheap young life.
We next visited the municipal dwellings40 erected41 by the London County Council on the site of the slums where lived Arthur Morrison’s “Child of the Jago.” While the buildings housed more people than before, it was much healthier. But the dwellings were inhabited by the better-class workmen and artisans. The slum people had simply drifted on to crowd other slums or to form new slums.
“An’ now,” said the sweated one, the ’earty man who worked so fast as to dazzle one’s eyes, “I’ll show you one of London’s lungs. This is Spitalfields Garden.” And he mouthed the word “garden” with scorn.
The shadow of Christ’s Church falls across Spitalfields Garden, and in the shadow of Christ’s Church, at three o’clock in the afternoon, I saw a sight I never wish to see again. There are no flowers in this garden, which is smaller than my own rose garden at home. Grass only grows here, and it is surrounded by a sharp-spiked iron fencing, as are all the parks of London Town, so that homeless men and women may not come in at night and sleep upon it.
As we entered the garden, an old woman, between fifty and sixty, passed us, striding with sturdy intention if somewhat rickety action, with two bulky bundles, covered with sacking, slung43 fore42 and aft upon her. She was a woman tramp, a houseless soul, too independent to drag her failing carcass through the workhouse door. Like the snail44, she carried her home with her. In the two sacking-covered bundles were her household goods, her wardrobe, linen45, and dear feminine possessions.
We went up the narrow gravelled walk. On the benches on either side arrayed a mass of miserable46 and distorted humanity, the sight of which would have impelled47 Dore to more diabolical48 flights of fancy than he ever succeeded in achieving. It was a welter of rags and filth, of all manner of loathsome49 skin diseases, open sores, bruises50, grossness, indecency, leering monstrosities, and bestial51 faces. A chill, raw wind was blowing, and these creatures huddled52 there in their rags, sleeping for the most part, or trying to sleep. Here were a dozen women, ranging in age from twenty years to seventy. Next a babe, possibly of nine months, lying asleep, flat on the hard bench, with neither pillow nor covering, nor with any one looking after it. Next half-a-dozen men, sleeping bolt upright or leaning against one another in their sleep. In one place a family group, a child asleep in its sleeping mother’s arms, and the husband (or male mate) clumsily mending a dilapidated shoe. On another bench a woman trimming the frayed53 strips of her rags with a knife, and another woman, with thread and needle, sewing up rents. Adjoining, a man holding a sleeping woman in his arms. Farther on, a man, his clothing caked with gutter54 mud, asleep, with head in the lap of a woman, not more than twenty-five years old, and also asleep.
It was this sleeping that puzzled me. Why were nine out of ten of them asleep or trying to sleep? But it was not till afterwards that I learned. It is a law of the powers that be that the homeless shall not sleep by night. On the pavement, by the portico55 of Christ’s Church, where the stone pillars rise toward the sky in a stately row, were whole rows of men lying asleep or drowsing, and all too deep sunk in torpor56 to rouse or be made curious by our intrusion.
“A lung of London,” I said; “nay, an abscess, a great putrescent sore.”
“Oh, why did you bring me here?” demanded the burning young socialist, his delicate face white with sickness of soul and stomach sickness.
“Those women there,” said our guide, “will sell themselves for thru’pence, or tu’pence, or a loaf of stale bread.”
He said it with a cheerful sneer57.
But what more he might have said I do not know, for the sick man cried, “For heaven’s sake let us get out of this.”
点击收听单词发音
1 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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2 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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3 socialist | |
n.社会主义者;adj.社会主义的 | |
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4 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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5 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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6 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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7 constables | |
n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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8 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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9 wrecked | |
adj.失事的,遇难的 | |
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10 mite | |
n.极小的东西;小铜币 | |
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11 barricades | |
路障,障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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12 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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13 eked | |
v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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14 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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15 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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16 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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17 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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18 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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19 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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20 prodigiously | |
adv.异常地,惊人地,巨大地 | |
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21 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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22 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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23 spawn | |
n.卵,产物,后代,结果;vt.产卵,种菌丝于,产生,造成;vi.产卵,大量生产 | |
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24 cluttered | |
v.杂物,零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 );乱糟糟地堆满,把…弄得很乱;(以…) 塞满… | |
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25 tadpoles | |
n.蝌蚪( tadpole的名词复数 ) | |
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26 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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27 waded | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 fouler | |
adj.恶劣的( foul的比较级 );邪恶的;难闻的;下流的 | |
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29 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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30 assortment | |
n.分类,各色俱备之物,聚集 | |
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31 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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32 hawked | |
通过叫卖主动兜售(hawk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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33 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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34 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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35 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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36 tacks | |
大头钉( tack的名词复数 ); 平头钉; 航向; 方法 | |
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37 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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38 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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39 earthenware | |
n.土器,陶器 | |
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40 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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41 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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42 fore | |
adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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43 slung | |
抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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44 snail | |
n.蜗牛 | |
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45 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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46 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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47 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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49 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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50 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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51 bestial | |
adj.残忍的;野蛮的 | |
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52 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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53 frayed | |
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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54 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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55 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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56 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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57 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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