“Ah, it's you, monsieur!” he said “I received your letter this evening, and have lost no time.” He looked down at himself and tittered, as though to say, “But what a state I 'm in!”
The young foreigner's condition was indeed more desperate than on the occasion of their first meeting, and Shelton invited him upstairs.
“You can well understand,” stammered4 Ferrand, following his host, “that I did n't want to miss you this time. When one is like this—” and a spasm5 gripped his face.
“I 'm very glad you came,” said Shelton doubtfully.
His visitor's face had a week's growth of reddish beard; the deep tan of his cheeks gave him a robust6 appearance at variance7 with the fit of, trembling which had seized on him as soon as he had entered.
“Sit down-sit down,” said Shelton; “you 're feeling ill!”
Ferrand smiled. “It's nothing,” said he; “bad nourishment8.”
Shelton left him seated on the edge of an armchair, and brought him in some whisky.
“Clothes,” said Ferrand, when he had drunk, “are what I want. These are really not good enough.”
The statement was correct, and Shelton, placing some garments in the bath-room, invited his visitor to make himself at home. While the latter, then, was doing this, Shelton enjoyed the luxuries of self-denial, hunting up things he did not want, and laying them in two portmanteaus. This done, he waited for his visitor's return.
The young foreigner at length emerged, unshaved indeed, and innocent of boots, but having in other respects an air of gratifying affluence9.
“This is a little different,” he said. “The boots, I fear”—and, pulling down his, or rather Shelton's, socks he exhibited sores the size of half a crown. “One does n't sow without reaping some harvest or another. My stomach has shrunk,” he added simply. “To see things one must suffer. 'Voyager, c'est plus fort que moi'.”
Shelton failed to perceive that this was one way of disguising the human animal's natural dislike of work—there was a touch of pathos10, a suggestion of God-knows-what-might-have-been, about this fellow.
“I have eaten my illusions,” said the young foreigner, smoking a cigarette. “When you've starved a few times, your eyes are opened. 'Savoir, c'est mon metier; mais remarquez ceci, monsieur'. It 's not always the intellectuals who succeed.”
“When you get a job,” said Shelton, “you throw it away, I suppose.”
“You accuse me of restlessness? Shall I explain what I think about that? I'm restless because of ambition; I want to reconquer an independent position. I put all my soul into my trials, but as soon as I see there's no future for me in that line, I give it up and go elsewhere. 'Je ne veux pas etre rond de cuir,' breaking my back to economise sixpence a day, and save enough after forty years to drag out the remains11 of an exhausted12 existence. That's not in my character.” This ingenious paraphrase13 of the words “I soon get tired of things” he pronounced with an air of letting Shelton into a precious secret.
“Yes; it must be hard,” agreed the latter.
“It's not all butter,” he replied; “one is obliged to do things that are not too delicate. There's nothing I pride myself on but frankness.”
Like a good chemist, however, he administered what Shelton could stand in a judicious15 way. “Yes, yes,” he seemed to say, “you'd like me to think that you have a perfect knowledge of life: no morality, no prejudices, no illusions; you'd like me to think that you feel yourself on an equality with me, one human animal talking to another, without any barriers of position, money, clothes, or the rest—'ca c'est un peu trop fort'. You're as good an imitation as I 've come across in your class, notwithstanding your unfortunate education, and I 'm grateful to you, but to tell you everything, as it passes through my mind would damage my prospects16. You can hardly expect that.”
In one of Shelton's old frock-coats he was impressive, with his air of natural, almost sensitive refinement17. The room looked as if it were accustomed to him, and more amazing still was the sense of familiarity that he inspired, as, though he were a part of Shelton's soul. It came as a shock to realise that this young foreign vagabond had taken such a place within his thoughts. The pose of his limbs and head, irregular but not ungraceful; his disillusioned18 lips; the rings of smoke that issued from them—all signified rebellion, and the overthrow19 of law and order. His thin, lopsided nose, the rapid glances of his goggling20, prominent eyes, were subtlety21 itself; he stood for discontent with the accepted.
“How do I live when I am on the tramp?” he said, “well, there are the consuls23. The system is not delicate, but when it's a question of starving, much is permissible24; besides, these gentlemen were created for the purpose. There's a coterie25 of German Jews in Paris living entirely26 upon consuls.” He hesitated for the fraction of a second, and resumed: “Yes, monsieur; if you have papers that fit you, you can try six or seven consuls in a single town. You must know a language or two; but most of these gentlemen are not too well up in the tongues of the country they represent. Obtaining money under false pretences27? Well, it is. But what's the difference at bottom between all this honourable28 crowd of directors, fashionable physicians, employers of labour, ferry-builders, military men, country priests, and consuls themselves perhaps, who take money and give no value for it, and poor devils who do the same at far greater risk? Necessity makes the law. If those gentlemen were in my position, do you think that they would hesitate?”
Shelton's face remaining doubtful, Ferrand went on instantly: “You're right; they would, from fear, not principle. One must be hard pressed before committing these indelicacies. Look deep enough, and you will see what indelicate things are daily done by the respectable for not half so good a reason as the want of meals.”
Shelton also took a cigarette—his own income was derived29 from property for which he gave no value in labour.
“I can give you an instance,” said Ferrand, “of what can be done by resolution. One day in a German town, 'etant dans la misere', I decided30 to try the French consul22. Well, as you know, I am a Fleming, but something had to be screwed out somewhere. He refused to see me; I sat down to wait. After about two hours a voice bellowed31: 'Has n't the brute32 gone?' and my consul appears. 'I 've nothing for fellows like you,' says he; 'clear out!'
“'Monsieur,' I answered, 'I am skin and bone; I really must have assistance.'
“'Clear out,' he says, 'or the police shall throw you out!'
“The sergeant comes.
“'Sergeant,' says the consul, 'turn this creature out.'
“'Sergeant,' I say, 'this house is France!' Naturally, I had calculated upon that. In Germany they're not too fond of those who undertake the business of the French.
“'He is right,' says the sergeant; 'I can do nothing.'
“'You refuse?'
“'Absolutely.' And he went away.
“'What do you think you'll get by staying?' says my consul.
“'I have nothing to eat or drink, and nowhere to sleep,' says I.
“'What will you go for?'
“'Ten marks.'
“'Here, then, get out!' I can tell you, monsieur, one must n't have a thin skin if one wants to exploit consuls.”
His yellow fingers slowly rolled the stump35 of his cigarette, his ironical36 lips flickered37. Shelton thought of his own ignorance of life. He could not recollect38 ever having gone without a meal.
“I suppose,” he said feebly, “you've often starved.” For, having always been so well fed, the idea of starvation was attractive.
Ferrand smiled.
“Four days is the longest,” said he. “You won't believe that story.... It was in Paris, and I had lost my money on the race-course. There was some due from home which didn't come. Four days and nights I lived on water. My clothes were excellent, and I had jewellery; but I never even thought of pawning39 them. I suffered most from the notion that people might guess my state. You don't recognise me now?”
“How old were you then?” said Shelton.
“Seventeen; it's curious what one's like at that age.”
By a flash of insight Shelton saw the well-dressed boy, with sensitive, smooth face, always on the move about the streets of Paris, for fear that people should observe the condition of his stomach. The story was a valuable commentary. His thoughts were brusquely interrupted; looking in Ferrand's face, he saw to his dismay tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I 've suffered too much,” he stammered; “what do I care now what becomes of me?”
Shelton was disconcerted; he wished 'to say something sympathetic,' but, being an Englishman, could only turn away his eyes.
“Your turn 's coming,” he said at last.
“Ah! when you've lived my life,” broke out his visitor, “nothing 's any good. My heart's in rags. Find me anything worth keeping, in this menagerie.”
Moved though he was, Shelton wriggled40 in his chair, a prey41 to racial instinct, to an ingrained over-tenderness, perhaps, of soul that forbade him from exposing his emotions, and recoiled42 from the revelation of other people's. He could stand it on the stage, he could stand it in a book, but in real life he could not stand it. When Ferrand had gone off with a portmanteau in each hand, he sat down and told Antonia:
. . . The poor chap broke down and sat crying like a child; and instead of making me feel sorry, it turned me into stone. The more sympathetic I wanted to be, the gruffer I grew. Is it fear of ridicule43, independence, or consideration, for others that prevents one from showing one's feelings?
He went on to tell her of Ferrand's starving four days sooner than face a pawnbroker44; and, reading the letter over before addressing it, the faces of the three ladies round their snowy cloth arose before him—Antonia's face, so fair and calm and wind-fresh; her mother's face, a little creased45 by time and weather; the maiden46 aunt's somewhat too thin-and they seemed to lean at him, alert and decorous, and the words “That's rather nice!” rang in his ears. He went out to post the letter, and buying a five-shilling order enclosed it to the little barber, Carolan, as a reward for delivering his note to Ferrand. He omitted to send his address with this donation, but whether from delicacy47 or from caution he could not have said. Beyond doubt, however, on receiving through Ferrand the following reply, he felt ashamed and pleased.
3, BLANK ROW, WESTMINSTER.
From every well-born soul humanity is owing. A thousand thanks. I received this morning your postal48 order; your heart henceforth for me will be placed beyond all praise.
J. CAROLAN.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
rusty
|
|
| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sleeper
|
|
| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
variance
|
|
| n.矛盾，不同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
nourishment
|
|
| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
affluence
|
|
| n.充裕，富足 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
paraphrase
|
|
| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
disillusioned
|
|
| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
overthrow
|
|
| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
goggling
|
|
| v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
21
subtlety
|
|
| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
consul
|
|
| n.领事；执政官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
consuls
|
|
| 领事( consul的名词复数 )； （古罗马共和国时期）执政官 （古罗马共和国及其军队的最高首长，同时共有两位，每年选举一次） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
permissible
|
|
| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
coterie
|
|
| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pretences
|
|
| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
bellowed
|
|
| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
budge
|
|
| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
stump
|
|
| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
pawning
|
|
| v.典当，抵押( pawn的现在分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
wriggled
|
|
| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
pawnbroker
|
|
| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
creased
|
|
| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
postal
|
|
| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |