That had been or that should be:
—Swinburne.
Michael in the meanwhile was running through the deserted1 streets like a man possessed2. Cloakless and hatless he ran, bending his head to the gusts3 of wind which tore down the narrow byways in the neighbourhood of the Strand5.
Fitful clouds chased one another over his head, obscuring the moon, and from time to time descending6 in sharp showers of icy rain.
But Michael loved the wind and cared naught7 for the wet. The rags he wore were soon soaked through, but he did not attempt to take shelter beneath the various yawning archways which he passed from time to time; on the contrary he liked the cold douches of these winter showers which seemed to cool his head, burning with inward fever.
Michael Kestyon, the gambler, the adventurer, the wastrel9, had begun the fight against his own soul.
For the space of a few seconds, there in the over-heated tavern10 room in the midst of all those drunkards, those profligates—scums of humanity—dying honour had called out in its agony: "Wilt11 sell me for gold?" but Michael had laughed out loud and long, and smothered12 those warning cries with the recklessness of the soldier of fortune who stakes his all on the winning card.
[127] His claim, his rights! His and those of that patient old soul dying of want in a lonely cottage, the while she should be living in the lap of luxury and of ease.
She was dying of want, of actual hard, bitter starvation. Michael knew it and could do naught to help, and in the midst of the dissolute life of the town had vainly striven to forget that even at the cost of his life's blood, which he would have given gladly drop by drop, he could not purchase for her a soft bed on which she would finally go to her eternal sleep.
His claim! His rights! Her happiness! The happiness of the one being in the whole wide world who had clung to him, who loved him for what he was and did not despise him for what he had become: this he could purchase for one hundred and twenty thousand pounds.
The lawyers had told Michael that only money was wanted to bring his claim before the Lords' House of Parliament now, and once publicly debated, justice could not stand against it.
Michael had oft laughed at those two words, "Only money!"
Only money! and when he sought and got a sword thrust that nearly killed him, he was given twenty crowns as blood-money. He reckoned at this rate that his miserable13 body would have to be as full of holes as a sieve14, before he obtained enough money wherewith to satisfy the first lawyer who would condescend15 once more to take up his case.
But now all that—lawyers' fees, fees for a first hearing, for a second and for a third, for pleadings, interrogatories and affidavits16, for petitions to the King and for[128] briberies17 to obtain a private audience—all that would be within his reach.
The price? A woman's honour and his own self-respect.
Once—very long ago, these would have mattered to him a great deal; in those days he had believed in men's honour and in women's virtue18.
But now? He had lost so much self-respect already—what mattered if a few more shreds19 of it went the way of all his other ideals.
He had once boldly said that he would give his life's blood drop by drop, endure every agony, undergo every torture to see his mother installed at Maries Castle, her rightful and proper place.
Well, that had been easy to say! These things were not asked of him, and he had gone through so much, suffered often so terribly from hunger, wounds and fatigue20 that the sacrifice of his life or the endurance of most bitter tortures would have been an easy sacrifice. He was hard and tough—what nerves he had had been jarred beyond all sensibility long ago.
But now something was asked of him. Fate had spoken in no uncertain accents. She had said: "Make a sacrifice of thine honour, and thy most cherished wish will be gratified!"
If those former bold words—offers of blood and life—were not the talk of a weak-kneed braggart22, then, Michael Kestyon, thou shouldst not hesitate!
Dost prize those paltry23 remnants of self-respect so highly that thou wouldst see thy mother starve ere thou sell them?
Starve, remember, starve!—in the direct, absolute, unmitigated sense of the word. If thou canst not provide her with the necessities of life, she must starve sooner or later, in a month, in a year, in two mayhap, that would depend[129] how charitably inclined the neighbours happened to be. But starve she must, if thou, her son, dost naught for her.
And Fate had whispered: "Money, power, justice await thee, at the price of thy self-respect and the honour of a woman who is a stranger to thee."
The subtle temptation had entered into Michael's heart like an insinuating24 poison which killed every objection, every argument, every moral rebellion in his soul. And the temptation assailed25 him just at this time when his whole being ached with the constant buffetings of life, when he longed with all the maddening strength of defiant27 impotence to hit right and left at the world which had derided28 him, to begin again a new life of action, of combat, of lofty aspirations29.
Try and pity him, for the temptation was over-great; pity him because Fate had struck him one blow after another, each more and more difficult to bear since his soul, his mind, his entire self had scarcely time to recover from one before the next came crashing down, leaving him with one hope the less, one more ideal shattered, one more misery30 to bear.
One hundred and twenty thousand pounds!—Michael kept repeating the half dozen wonderful words to himself over and over again as he walked.
Thus tottering31, buffeted32 by the wind, drunk with the magic of the thought which the words evoked33, he reached his lodgings34 at last.
He rapped loudly at a low door with his knuckles35, but had to wait some time before it was opened. A gnome-like figure wrapped in a tattered36 dressing37 gown and wearing a cotton night-cap appeared in the doorway38. It was difficult to distinguish if the figure was that of man or woman. In brown and wrinkled hands it held a guttering[130] tallow dip which threw a trembling light on the dank walls of the narrow passage and feebly illumined the approach to the rickety stairs beyond.
Michael paid no heed40 to the muttered grumblings of the creature, but walked straight past it along the passage, and then up the creaky stairs which led to the garret above. As he reached the several landings he nearly fell over various prostrate41 bundles made up of human rags from out of which issued sleepy oaths, as Michael's foot stumbled against them.
His own garret was not much better than those open landings across which he had tottered42 and fumbled43 in the dark. Here the roof sloped down to the tiny dormer window, innocent of curtains, and made up of some half dozen tiny panes44, mostly cracked and covered with thick coatings of grime.
Along the low wall opposite the window a row of ragged45 bundles—human only in shape—and similar to those which encumbered46 the landings, told their tale of misery and of degradation47. There were some half dozen of these bundles lying all of a row against the wall. They were Michael's room companions, the wreckages of man and womankind, with whom he had lived now for close on eighteen months.
Snores and drunken oaths, blasphemy48 too and noisome49 words spoken in sleep came from these bundles, greeting Michael's somewhat stormy entrance into this den26.
He shut the rickety door behind him, and made his way to the little window, through which the light of some street lanthorn opposite came shyly peeping through.
Michael threw the casement50 open, allowing that feeble light to enter more fully51, then he turned and surveyed his surroundings,—those bundles along the floor, the wooden[131] boards across which a crowd of vermin were scrampering out of sight, the two chairs, innocent of seats, the wooden packing case in lieu of table, the walls dank and grey, covered with obscene writing scribbled52 with shaky fingers dipped in grime!
Michael looked at it all, as if he had never seen it before. In an angle of the room was the straw paillasse still empty which awaited him, and around which the dying instincts of gentle birth had caused him to erect53 a kind of unseen barrier between that corner and the rest of the room. Here the floor was clean, the straw was fresh; above the paillasse the wall had been carefully wiped clean and rubbed over with lime, and on an overturned wooden case beside the miserable bed there were one or two books, and a small metal crucifix which profane54 fingers had apparently55 never dared to touch.
But these very trifling56 attempts at cleanliness were the only luxury which had come within Michael's reach, ever since he came home from that last campaign in Brandenburg and sent his last crown to his mother in Kent. And remember that such garrets, such degrading propinquity, such misery and such dirt represented the only kind of life which London offered in those days to the poor, to the outcast and the homeless. There was nothing else except the gutter39 itself.
Michael stood in the centre of this garret and looked upon the picture—his life! His life such as it had been for the past eighteen months, such as it would continue to be until he became too old and too feeble to drag himself up from that straw paillasse in the corner. Then he would lie there sick and starving until he was taken away feet foremost down the rickety stairway to the paupers57' graveyard58 out beyond St. Paul's.
[132] With arms akimbo, hands resting on his hips59 and feet firmly planted on the dust-covered floor, Michael looked and laughed; not bitterly or mirthlessly. Bitterness had gone—strangely enough—at sight of the picture. He laughed, mocking himself for the few scruples60 which had assailed him awhile ago, for having conjured61 up—yes! conjured up himself—those phantoms62 of honour which accused him of selling his self-respect.
Was this self-respect, this den of rogues63, this herd64 of miserable ne'er-do-wells, these filthy65 walls, this life of misery, of wretchedness, of shifts—growing day by day more unavowable for obtaining bread for the morrow? Was this manhood to stand against such odds66? Was this honour to endure such a life?
Bah! if it was, then far better sell it for the price of oak boards sufficient to make two coffins67: one for the man, the other for the old woman living the same life and enduring the same misery.
Michael turned back to the window and with a brusque, impatient gesture tore open the second casement. A gust4 of wind found its way into the musty corners of the garret and scattered68 the vitiated air, the while the moon emerging triumphantly69 from her long imprisonment70 behind the clouds searched with bluish and ghostly rays the grey walls opposite, the drunken sleepers71 on the floor, the vermin scuttling72 between those litters of straw more fit for cattle than for human beings.
The blustering73 wind, as it tore at the rickety casements74 roused some of the sleepers from their dreams. Volleys of oaths were flung at Michael, but he heard nothing now. He leaned out of the narrow window—as far out as he could—and looked on the forest of chimney stacks, the irregular roofs and tall spires75 of this great and heartless city.
[133] How peacefully she lay beneath the cool kiss of the moon! Invisible arms seemed to be stretched out toward the lonely watcher bidding him to come and conquer.
There was no longer any compunction in Michael's heart, and certainly no shame.
"I am a man," he said speaking to those unseen shadows, "and what I do, I do!"
The freshness of the air came as a bath of moral cleanliness to his soul; he felt an excitement, too, akin76 to that of a war horse when scenting77 the coming battle. To Michael now the whole transaction—to which on the morrow he would affix78 the seal of his pledged word—was but a mighty79 combat wherein a powerful weapon would be placed in his hand.
He would at last be able to hit right and left, to be even with that world which had buffeted him, which had scorned his efforts, but allowed his mother to starve.
Aye! He was a turbulent soul; a soul created to fight and not to endure.
And if at moments during that lonely watch above the chimney stacks and roofs of London there came floating to his mind the thought of the girl who was nothing to him, the stranger whom he would so bitterly wrong, then with a proud toss of the head, a joy which literally80 lighted up his whole being, he would send an unspoken challenge up to those swiftly-flying clouds which tended southwards, towards Paris.
"Go tell her!" he murmured, "that whoever she may be Michael Kestyon will serve her with gratitude81 and love all the days of his life. On his knees will he worship her, and devote his life to her happiness. And," he added mentally, whilst a quiver of excitement shook his broad shoulders, "tell her that an she desires to be Countess of Stow[134]maries, even that desire Michael Kestyon will gratify, for he will make her that—tell her—tell her that before next December's snows cover the earth there will be two Countesses of Stowmaries in England: Michael Kestyon's mother and Michael Kestyon's wife."
He did not attempt to go and rest on his miserable couch, but leant for hours up against the window watching the moon slowly drawing its peaceful course along the dark firmament82, seeing the fleecy, silvered clouds fly madly across the sky, lashed83 by the wind into fantastic shapes of witches' heads and of lurid84 beasts. He watched the roofs and towers of many churches as gradually they were wrapped in the mist-laden mantle85 of approaching dawn.
He watched until far away above chimney stacks and pointed86 steeples a feeble rosy87 glow precursed the rising sun. He was too weary now to think any more, too weary to dream, too weary he thought even to live.
And through the gathering88 mist it seemed to him that the ghostly spectres of his tumultuous past came to him enwrapped in white palls89, monstrous90 and majestic91, towering above mighty London, and that walking slowly in their wake, tottering and shy was his mother, enfeebled by starvation and the wretchedness of her life. She held out emaciated92 arms to him in a mute appeal for help, whilst the ghosts of the past spoke21 with unseen lips of all that he had suffered, of the great sorrows and the tiny pin-pricks.
And with every word they uttered his soul sank more and more to rest, and even as his aching head sank down upon his outstretched arms, and his eyes closed in a dreamless sleep, his lips murmured with final defiance93:
"I am a man! and what I do, I do."
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收听单词发音
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1
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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2
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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3
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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6
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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7
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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8
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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9
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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10
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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12
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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14
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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15
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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16
affidavits
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| n.宣誓书，（经陈述者宣誓在法律上可采作证据的）书面陈述( affidavit的名词复数 ) | |
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17
briberies
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| n.行贿，受贿，贿赂( bribery的名词复数 ) | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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19
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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22
braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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23
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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24
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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25
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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26
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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27
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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28
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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30
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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31
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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32
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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33
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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35
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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36
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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37
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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38
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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40
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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41
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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42
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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43
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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44
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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45
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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46
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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48
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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49
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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50
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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51
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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52
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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53
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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54
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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55
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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56
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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57
paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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58
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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59
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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60
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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62
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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63
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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64
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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65
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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66
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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72
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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73
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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75
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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82
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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83
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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85
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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palls
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| n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 )；墓衣；棺罩；深色或厚重的覆盖物v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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