And then the squalor, the mysterious ugliness of the North Wall! The air of affronted5 leisure that greets you on all sides. A filthy6 porter slouches over to you, with an indulgent, quizzical look in his kindly7 eyes. "Is it a porther ye'll be wanting?" he asks, in suppressed wonderment at any such unreasonable9 need on your part. When he has sufficiently10 recovered from the shock, he lounges in among the boxes, heroically resolved to make a joke of his martyrdom.[Pg 189] He meets your irritated glance with a reassuring11 smile, nods, and drawls out cheerily: "Aisy, now, aisy. Sure an' 'twill be all the same in a hundred years." When at last your trunks are discovered in the disorderly heap, he volunteers, with the same suggestion of indifferent indulgence: "I suppose 'twill be a cab or a cyar you'll be wanting next." By implication you are made to understand that the cab or the cyar is another exorbitant13 demand on your part, and that properly speaking you should shoulder your trunk yourself and march off contentedly14 to your inn or lodging15 or palace. "If ye loike, I'll lift it on to the cab for you," he adds, good-naturedly.
There are travellers whom these odd ways of Erin amuse; others there are who are exasperated16 to the verge17 of insanity18 by them. But they amply explain the lamentable20 condition of the island and the imperturbable21 good-humour of the least troubled and least ambitious of races. The porter's philosophy resumes the philosophy of the land: "Aisy, now, aisy. Sure an' 'twill be all the same in a hundred years."
With patience and good-humour on your side, and much voluble sympathy and information on that of your driver, you are sure to arrive[Pg 190] somewhere, even from such remote latitudes22 as that of the North Wall and the Pigeon-house. You are jerked over two lock-bridges, and you thank your stars with reason that the discoloured and malodorous waters of the Liffey have not closed over you and your luggage. The catastrophe23 would find your driver phlegmatic24 and philosophic25, with a twinkle in his eye above the infamous26 depths of mire27 that suffocated28 you, assuring you that when a man is ass12 enough to travel he must take the consequences of his folly29. For Erin and Iberia, moist shamrock and flaunting30 carnation31, meet in their conviction that the sage32 sits at home and smokes his pipe or twangs his guitar in leisure while the fool alone courts the perils33 of foreign highways.
As soon as the hall-door opened, and I stood with my foot upon the first step of the familiar stairs, a chorus of young voices shouted my name in glee. "An—gel—a!"
How flat and strange and inharmonious sounded that first greeting of my name in ears attuned34 to accents shriller and more thin! The English Angela was quick and clear; but the long-drawn Dublin Angela set all my teeth on an edge, and such was the shock that the ardour of my satisfaction in seeing them all again, and[Pg 191] of appearing in their midst as a travelled personage, was damped.
"How odd you all talk," I remember remarking at tea, and being promptly35 crushed: "It's you with your horrid36 English accent that talks odd."
Still, in spite of this slight skirmish, they were glad enough to see me. The quaint37 little booby of Kildare, whom they had bullied38 to their liking39, had grown into a lean, delicate, and resolute40 fiend, prepared to meet every blow by a buffet41, every injustice42 by passionate43 revolt. I no longer needed Mrs. Clement44's submissive protection. I had tasted the glory of independent fight, and henceforth my tormentors were entitled to some meed of pity, though justice bids me, in recording45 my iniquities46, to remember that their misfortunes were merited and earned with exceeding rigour.
The first thrill of home-coming, that inexplicable47 vibration48 of memory's chord, which so early marks the development of the creature, and signifies the sharp division of past and present, ran like a flame through all my body when the noise of Mrs. Clement's big bunch of keys, rattling49 below stairs, reached me through the open drawing-room door.
"Mrs. Clement is down-stairs!" I shouted joyously50, and instantly the band of blond-headed scamps carried me off in triumph.
Into whose hands has that sombre town-house of my parents passed? Heaven grant the children that play there are happier than ever I was; but if the old store-room, with the big linen-presses, and the long china-press with upper doors of wire-screen, the long table and square mahogany and leather armchairs and sofa, gives to the occupants to-day half the pleasure it always gave me, they are not to be pitied whatever their fate.
The wide window looked out upon a hideous51 little street, but in front there was a stone terrace, with two huge eagles, where Mrs. Clement kept pots of plants and flowers that, alas52! never bloomed, watered she them never so sedulously53; and above the terraces, if you ignored the sordid54 street, the sunset traced all its fairest and rarest effects upon the broad arch of heaven that spanned the street opening. Those Irish skies! you must go to Italy and Greece to find hues55 as heavenly. How many a sorrow unsuspected, that filled me with such intensity57 of despair as only childhood can feel, has been smoothed by that mysterious slip of sky between two dull[Pg 193] rows of houses, against which in the liquid summer of blue dusk the eagles, with all the lovely significance of a romantic image, were sketched58 in sculptured stone. I dried my eyes to dream of lands where eagles flew as common as sparrows. I cannot now tell why, but I remember well that I grew to associate that distant glimpse of heaven from the old store-room with the isle59 of Prospero and Miranda. And when I learnt the Sonnets—which I knew by heart, as well as "The Tempest" and "The Merchant of Venice" before the holidays were over—I always found some strange connection between the abortive60, sickly cowslips and primroses61 Mrs. Clement cultivated on her terrace in wooden boxes and those magic lines—
"From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything."
What can it be that poetry says to children, since they can neither understand the rhythm, nor metre, nor beauty, nor sentiment of it? And the child who (as I was then) is susceptible62 to the charm of poetry that sweeps through the infinite, weeps with delicious emotion without the ghost of an idea why. I was but a child of nine, when my sister in response to my prayer, with[Pg 194] my cheek still stinging from that blow along the Warwick road, opened the fairyland of Shakespeare to me. With a rapture63 I would I now could feel, I thrilled to the glamour64 of the moonlight scene of the "Merchant." We never went to bed without rehearsing it, each in turn being Jessica or Lorenzo. I only remember one other sensation as passionate and vivid and absorbing, my first hearing of the Moonlight Sonata66, also at an age when it was perfectly67 impossible that I should understand more than a mouse or a linnet a particle of its beauty or meaning. Yet there they stand out in extraordinary relief from a confusion of childish impressions, two distinct moments of inexplicable ecstasy68, the reveries of Lorenzo and Jessica and the impassioned utterance69 of the master's soul in the divinest of sound played, possibly not well, by my eldest70 sister's governess in a soft summer twilight71 so long ago.
Meanwhile I have left Mrs. Clement, excited and pathetic, holding my thin little visage in the cup of her folded palms. She was just as faded and fair and melancholy72 as ever, and the same young man's head showed in the brooch frame on the unchanged black silk gown. She kissed me several times, and stroked my hair, and [Pg 195]expressed amazement73 at the change in me. And while she, dear kindly soul, was only thinking of me, there was I, volatile74 little rascal75, looking around me, delighted to see again the beautiful big red-and-white cups, and smell the spices of the cupboard. Has tea, have bread-and-milk, ever tasted again as these modest luxuries tasted in those beautiful cups? The very remembrance of them brings the water of envy to the mouth of age. I forget the miseries76 of childhood only to recall the pleasure I took in that warm and rich pottery77, and the brilliant effect of bowls and plates and cups upon the morning and evening damask.
And that first night at home, four little girls sleeping together in two large beds, three night-dressed forms perched on a single bed, while I, the stranger returned from abroad, mimicked78 Mr. Parker for their shrieking79 delight, and held my night-dress high up on either side to perform the famous curtsey of Queen Anne. And then a furious shout outside on the landing, and my mother's voice—
"What's the meaning of that noise? Go to sleep instantly, or I'll come in and whip you all round."
A sudden scamper80 of white-robed limbs, and[Pg 196] in a twinkling four heads are hidden under the sheets. Silence down the corridors, silence throughout the high old house; only the breathing of night, and four little heads are again bobbing over the pillows.
"Oh, I say, Angela, we didn't tell you, there's a new baby up-stairs. Susanna! Did you ever hear of such a name? Everybody has pretty names but us. Birdie was so jealous when it came, because nurse said her nose would be out of joint81, that she tried to smash its head with a poker82 one day. She was caught in time."
And so there was. Another lamentable little girl born into this improvident83 dolorous84 vale of Irish misery85. Elsewhere boys are born in plenty. In Ireland,—the very wretchedest land on earth for woman, the one spot of the globe where no provision is made for her, and where parents consider themselves as exempt86 of all duty, of tenderness, of justice in her regard, where her lot as daughter, wife, and old maid bears no resemblance to the ideal of civilisation,—a dozen girls are born for one boy. The parents moan, and being fatalists as well as Catholics, reflect that it is the will of God, as if they were not in the least responsible; and while they assure you that they have not wherewith to fill an extra[Pg 197] mouth, which is inevitably87 true, they continue to produce their twelve, fifteen, or twenty infants with alarming and incredible indifference88. This is Irish virtue89. The army of inefficient90 Irish governesses and starving illiterate91 Irish teachers cast upon the Continent, forces one to lament19 a virtue whose results are so heartless and so deplorable. If my most sympathetic and most satisfactory race were only a little less virtuous92 in its own restricted sense of the word, and a tiny bit more rational! And not content, alas! with the iniquity93 of driving these poor maimed creatures upon foreign shores in the quest of daily bread, hopelessly ill-equipped for the task, without education, or knowledge of domestic or feminine lore65, incapable94 of handling a needle or cooking an egg, without the most rudimentary instinct of order or personal tidiness, incompetent95, and vague, and careless,—these same parents at home expect these martyrs96 abroad to replenish97 their coffers with miserably98 earned coin. I have never met an Irish governess on the Continent who had a sou to spend on her private pleasures, for the simple reason that she sent every odd farthing home. It's the iniquitous99 old story. Irishmen go to America, marry, and make their fortunes; but the [Pg 198]landlord and shopkeeper at home are paid by the savings100 of the peasant-girls, without a "Thank you" from their parents. Let Jack101 or Tom send them a five-pound note in the course of a prosperous career, "Glory be to God, but 'tis the good son he is," piously102 ejaculate the old folk. Let Bessy or Jane give them her heart's blood, deny herself every pleasure, not only the luxuries but the very necessaries of life, and the same old folk nod their sapient103 heads,—"'Tis but her duty, to be sure."
Needless to say, this inappropriate burst of indignation was not inspired in those days by the sight of my new little sister in her cradle, as white as milk, with eyes like big blue stars, the eyes of her Irish father, soft and luminous104 and gay. She dwelt on earth just eighteen months, and then took flight to some region where it is to be hoped she found a warmer nest than fate would have offered her here below.
My grandmother was dead, but Dennis and Mary Ann still lived with my uncle Lionel. What a joy our meeting! So "thim English" hadn't made mince-meat of me! I was whole and sound, Mary Ann remarked, but mighty105 spare of flesh and colour. "Just a rag of a creature," Dennis commented, as he lifted my arm. "Why didn't ye write and tell us ye were hungry, alannah?"
"I did so," I promptly retorted; "but Sister Esmeralda rubbed it out, and put in something else which wasn't a bit true."
"Troth, and 'tis meself 'ud enjoy givin' that wan8 a piece of me moind."
The whiff of the brogue was strong enough to waft106 you to the clouds. But how good to be with these two honest souls again! Uncle Lionel gave me a crown-piece, when he had tortured my check with his chaven chin, and called me a little renegade because of my English accent, and then I went out to the garden, neglected ever since the death of my grandfather.
Where was Hamlet, and whither had vanished Elsinore? Where was the youth with the future revolutionary name, who used to come bounding over the hedge, cheerily humming "Love among the Roses"? There were no roses now, and the house next door was to let.
After the trim gardens of England, this desolate107 old slip of garden, where weeds and thick grasses grew along the uncared paths, seemed a cemetery108 of dead seasons. Fruit-trees that bore neither blossom nor fruit; flower-beds where never leaf nor flower now bloomed; alleys109 where last year's autumn leaves still lay; broken pots that used to make such a gay parterre of geraniums of every hue56 when my grandfather lived; defoliaged rose-bushes, now mere110 summer urns111 of unfulfilled promise, and scarce a red bunch on the currant-boughs. And the pool, with the circle of watering-cans above, now rusty112 and untouched, where I used to watch for the first faint line of shadow cast by the gathering113 dusk, which stole across its clear face in keeping with the stealing flight of light above—how dead and sad all this seemed, despite its quaint familiarity. I was but a child, and yet as I stood once more in that neglected garden, I had some premonition of the immitigable sadness of remembrance, the feeling that there was already a past that had slipped through my fingers, as the waters run ceaselessly from the fountain of life to mingle114 with the still river of death.
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1
surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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3
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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vowel
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| n.元音；元音字母 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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35
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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46
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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48
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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49
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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50
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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51
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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52
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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53
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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54
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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55
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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57
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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58
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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60
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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61
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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63
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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64
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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65
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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66
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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67
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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68
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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69
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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70
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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71
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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73
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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74
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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75
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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80
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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81
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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82
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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83
improvident
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| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
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dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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85
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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86
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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88
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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89
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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92
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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93
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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96
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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97
replenish
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| vt.补充；(把…)装满；(再)填满 | |
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98
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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100
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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101
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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102
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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103
sapient
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| adj.有见识的，有智慧的 | |
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104
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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106
waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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107
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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108
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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109
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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111
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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112
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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113
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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114
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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