She took a fly at the station in the valley, but halfway4 up the steep road which leads to the village she descended5 precipitately6; the fly and the horse had executed a right angle. She walked the rest of the distance, the rough stones giving a foothold, and soon reached the long crooked7 street which begins with the Black Bull Inn and finishes at the moor8. Short streets ending nowhere radiated from this central thoroughfare at irregular intervals9. There was no business to speak of in Haworth. The men worked in Keighley or Bradford, the young women in the worsted mills of the valley. Julia, driving the day before, had watched the long procession of girls, shawls pinned about their heads, file out of the factories, and, two by two, cross the valley either to the road that led up to Haworth, or to another village higher above the moor. It was the proud boast of Haworth that every inhabitant had a bank book, and Julia felt it would be a relief to visit one village where there was no poverty. It looked trim and prosperous, picturesque10 though it was, and such men and women as were to be seen had none of that pinched hopeless look which had put fire into so many of her speeches.
After she had duly admired Branwell Bront?’s chair, which the landlady11 of the inn assumed she had come to see, and had made it understood that she really intended to stay overnight, she was shown to a large room upstairs, overlooking the churchyard. The inn, in fact, formed one of its walls, and there were flat stones directly beneath her window. It was a gloomy crowded churchyard, with toppling box-tombs and heavy dusty trees, its farther boundary the low stone parsonage that had sheltered the Bront?s. They, too, could read the inscriptions12 on the stones from their windows. Small wonder they died of consumption.
From the street came the sound of children’s voices and wooden clogs13. Her room, with its old four-post bed, was almost sumptuous14. Julia would have liked to stay a month. But time pressed. She established herself comfortably and slit15 the large envelope containing her letters.
At sight of one she sat upright and changed color, but put it aside to read last.
The first she opened was from the duke. He wrote tersely16 and to the point. This was his final warning. The next time she should receive his communication through his solicitors. Another was from Hadji Sadr? containing much advice and some approval. Her mother, to whom Mrs. Winstone had sent numerous printed accounts of her “performances,” wrote as briefly17 as the duke and even more to the point. Julia was a public woman and a disgrace to her blood. (It would never have occurred to Mrs. Edis to add that she was a disgrace to her sex.) The request for Fanny had some time since been curtly18 refused.
Then she looked at the envelope of Tay’s letter, and finally opened it. To her surprise it was dated May second. It began characteristically.
“Do I remember you? Gee19! Well! Rather, oh, princess of the eyes and hair. Things have happened since last we met, not forgetting April sixteenth of the current year, but I can see you as plainly as I saw the chimney fall on my bed on the date just mentioned. Yes, I’ve grown some, and you may imagine me, at the present moment, if you please, dressed in khaki and top-boots, with a beard of three weeks’ growth (I’m as smooth as a play-actor generally) and almost as much dirt; for water, like everything else in this now historic town, is mighty20 scarce. At the present moment I am stifling21 in the linen22 closet, that being the only room in my wrecked24 home without a window; if I lit a candle where it could be seen I’d be liable to a bullet in my devoted25 head, such being the stern ardors of those new to authority. I’ve not had a minute to answer your letter in the daytime. What between standing26 in the bread-line for hours on end (often with a Chinaman in front and a nigger behind) that my poor old parents may not starve—every servant deserted27 on the 16th—and cooking two meals a day in the street (lucky I’ve always been a good camper), and hustling28 round Oakland the rest of the time, trying to patch up the house of Tay, besides inditing29 many pages of foolscap to assure the eastern and Central American firms we do business with that we are still at the same old stand (so they won’t sell us out to somebody else),—well, my golden princess of the tower, you can figure out that I’m pretty busy.
“I wish you could have seen the old town, for there’ll never be a new one like it, conglomeration30 of weird31 and separate eras as it was; but on the whole I’d rather you saw it now. It makes the Roman Forum32 look like thirty cents. Imagine miles of broken walls, columns, and arches, of all shades of red and brown and smoky gray, yawning cellars full of twisted débris, one heap of ruins with a dome33 like an immense bird-cage, still supporting something they called a statue, but never much to look at until its present chance to appear suspended in air. If it wasn’t the wreck23 of my town, I’d have some artistic34 spasms35, but as it is, I’m only thinking out ways and means to get rid of these artistic ruins as quickly as possible.
“It’s rather fine, do you know, the enthusiasm of these homeless, meatless, pretty-well-cleaned-out inhabitants, for the great new city that is to be. We all feel like pioneers—and look like them!—but with this difference: we know that we are in at the making of a great new city, and the old boys never knew what was coming to them, or how soon they’d move on. Here we stick, and sixty earthquakes couldn’t shake us off, or take the courage out of us. It is almost worth while.
“And, oh, Lord, how we do love one another. (Or did.) No ‘Society.’ All Socialists36 (accidental and temporary but real). It’s a good object-lesson of what the world would be if there was no money in it. But alas37! over in Oakland—where there is a little business doing—the phrase ‘earthquake love’ is now heard, and carries its own subtle meaning. I don’t fancy the original man in us has altered much. He just got a jolt38 out of the saddle, but the saddle is still there and so is the man.
“It seemed odd to get your letter, fairly reeking39 with the Old World, in the midst of all this chaos40, and for at least half an hour I was transported, hypnotized. You’re some writer, dear lady, and in those all too brief paragraphs I saw considerably41 more of England than I have recalled during the past ten years—to say nothing of what you call the East. What an experience of life you have had, you dainty princess that should be kept in a glass case. But thank God you’ve shut him up. By Jove, I believe if this hadn’t happened I’d have taken the first train east (our east), and the first boat over to renew my former distinguished42 offer. I’ve never been hit so hard, and I’ve known some corking43 girls, too. I don’t say I haven’t been hit, but not all the way through; at all events you have the honor of having received my one proposal. Perhaps I’ve worked too hard to think seriously of getting married, and I’ve gone little into society—sometimes one party a winter. Yes, I was well on the road to making my everlasting44 pile when the old city went to pot, but this fire (the earthquake wouldn’t have stopped business twenty-four hours, bad as it was) has set us all back ten years. But I’ll get there all the same, and I rather like the prospect45 of the fight.
“So! You’re in sympathy with the suffragettes? I can’t see you in any such r?le, and hope you’ll have a new fad46 by the time you get this—heaven knows when that will be, for our post-office is stuck in the mud, and those across the bay are so congested with mail that it will take another earthquake to turn them inside out. I got your letter by a miracle.
“To go back to your suffragettes, I haven’t heard a word about them since April 16th; or any other outside news, for the matter of that. The newspapers set up at once in Oakland, but nobody is interested in any news outside of this afflicted47 district, and the newspapers don’t print any. All Europe might be at war and we wouldn’t be any the wiser. Nor would we care a five-cent piece if we were.
“But I hope they’ve been suppressed, and that when I get over—as I will the moment I dare leave—they will be as dead as William Jennings Bryan. At all events I hope you will be well out of it. I don’t like the idea one little bit. Why don’t you come here? To a traveller like you that would be but a nice little jaunt48. The railroads are going to advertise our poor old city as the greatest ruin in the world, and we hope the tourist will swallow the bait and drop a few thousands in our lonesome pockets. This house will be patched up as soon as the great American Working-man can be induced to work, but at present he is camping on the hills and eating out of the hand of the Government. Until that paternal49 hand is withdrawn50 not a stroke will he do. But we could put you up somehow, and maybe you’d enjoy it.
“Poor Cherry lost her house on Nob Hill, and all that was in it—except her jewels. She put those in a pillow-case and hiked for the Presidio—her machines were commandeered at once to carry hospital patients to safety, to say nothing of dynamite51. Now, she’s camping with us and does the house work, and pares potatoes, while I fry them—on a stove we’ve rigged up just off the sidewalk, and surrounded with inside window-blinds. She’s game, like all the women, doesn’t kick about anything, and only screams when we have one of our numerous little imitations of the grand shake. Emily, luckily for her, had married and gone to New York to live, but her personal income will be nil52 for some time to come. Her name is Morison, if you ever happen to run across her.
“Well, dear little princess, my candle is guttering53, and I can’t buy another to-night. No stores in S. F., and it’s a toss-up if I remember to get another to-morrow in Oakland. The moment two men are gathered together—well, you have imagination—we talked nothing but earthquake and fire for a week after April 16th, and now we talk nothing but insurance. What’s more, I’ve had architects at work for the last three weeks drawing plans for our new business house, and when I can induce the great American Working-man to clean out the débris, I’ll get to work and do something besides talk. But what a letter from a pioneer and busted54 capitalist! Yes, please write to me and tell me the story of your life—perhaps I should explain that that is slang. But you couldn’t write enough to satisfy me, and the minute I’m free (as free as an American man ever is) I’ll make tracks for little old London—unless you come here. Why not? Do. You shall have your daily tub if I have to haul water from the bay. And I can cook. If I’ve got any imagination, you’ve a lien55 on it all right. Perhaps you think this is what you call chaff56. Just you wait. I’m not what you call reckless, either, but—Oh, hang it! I’m in no position to write a love letter.
“Yes, I’m twenty-six, but I can tell you there are times I feel forty. I’ve worked like a dog these last five years, and not only at business. We—a few of us have been trying to clean up the politics of this abandoned town. Well, it’s all to do.
“Really, no more; I’m writing in the dark.
“But always your devoted
“Daniel Tay.”
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1
spoke
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| 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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2
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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4
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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5
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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7
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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9
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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10
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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12
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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13
clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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14
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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15
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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16
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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17
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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18
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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19
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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20
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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21
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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22
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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23
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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24
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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25
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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26
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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27
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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28
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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29
inditing
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的现在分词 ) | |
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30
conglomeration
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| n.团块，聚集，混合物 | |
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31
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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32
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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33
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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34
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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35
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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36
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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37
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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38
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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39
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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40
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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41
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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42
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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43
corking
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| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
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44
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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45
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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46
fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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47
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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49
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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50
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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51
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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52
nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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53
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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54
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
lien
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| n.扣押权，留置权 | |
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56
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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