The tapers2 they all burned bright,
The monk3 her son, and her daughter the nun4,
They told their beads5 all night!
* * * *
The second night ————
* * * *
The monk and the nun they told their beads
As fast as they could tell,
And aye the louder grew the noise,
The faster went the bell!
* * * *
The third night came ————
* * * *
The monk and the nun forgot their beads,
They fell to the ground dismayed,
There was not a single saint in heaven
Whom they did not call to their aid!
SOUTHEY
Mon?ada here concluded the tale of the Indian, — the victim of Melmoth’s passion, no less than of his destiny, both alike unhallowed and unutterable. And he announced his intention of disclosing to him the fates of the other victims, whose skeletons were preserved in the vault6 of the Jew Adonijah in Madrid. He added, that the circumstances relating to them, were of a character still darker and more awful than those he had recited, as they were the result of impressions made on masculine minds, without any excitement but that of looking into futurity. He mentioned, too, that the circumstances of his residence in the house of the Jew, his escape from it, and the reasons of his subsequent arrival in Ireland, were scarcely less extraordinary than any thing he had hitherto related. Young Melmoth, (whose name perhaps the reader has forgot), did ‘seriously incline’ to the purpose of having his dangerous curiosity further gratified, nor was he perhaps altogether without the wild hope of seeing the original of that portrait he had destroyed, burst from the walls and take up the fearful tale himself.
The narrative7 of the Spaniard had occupied many days; at their termination, young Melmoth signified to his guest that he was prepared to hear the sequel.
A night was fixed8 for the continuation of the recital9. Young Melmoth and his guest met in the usual apartment — it was a dreary10, stormy night — the rain that had fallen all day, seemed now to have yielded to the wind, that came in strong and sudden bursts, suddenly hushed, as if collecting strength for the tempest of the night. Mon?ada and Melmoth drew their chairs closer to the fire, looking at each other with the aspect of men who wish to inspire each other with courage to listen, and to tell, and are the more eager to inspire it, because neither feels it himself.
At length Mon?ada collected his voice and resolution to proceed, but as he went on, he perceived he could not fix his hearer’s attention, and he paused.
‘I thought,’ said Melmoth, answering his silence, ‘I thought I heard a noise — as of a person walking in the passage.’ ‘Hush! and listen,’ said Mon?ada, ‘I would not wish to be overheard.’ They paused and held their breath — the sound was renewed — it was evidently that of steps approaching the door, and then retiring from it. ‘We are watched,’ said Melmoth, half-rising from his chair, but at that moment the door opened, and a figure appeared at it, which Mon?ada recognized for the subject of his narrative, and his mysterious visitor in the prison of the Inquisition, and Melmoth for the original of the picture, and the being whose unaccountable appearance had filled him with consternation11, as he sat beside his dying uncle’s bed.
The figure stood at the door for some time, and then advancing slowly till it gained the centre of the room, it remained there fixed for some time, but without looking at them. It then approached the table where they sat, in a slow but distinctly heard step, and stood before them as a living being. The profound horror that was equally felt by both, was differently expressed by each. Mon?ada crossed himself repeatedly, and attempted to utter many prayers. Melmoth, nailed to his chair, fixed his sightless eyes on the form that stood before him — it was indeed Melmoth the Wanderer — the same as he was in the past century — the same as he may be in centuries to come, should the fearful terms of his existence be renewed. His ‘natural force was not abated,’ but ‘his eye was dim,’ — that appalling13 and supernatural lustre14 of the visual organ, that beacon15 lit by an infernal fire, to tempt12 or to warn the adventurers of despair from that coast on which many struck, and some sunk — that portentous16 light was no longer visible — the form and figure were those of a living man, of the age indicated in the portrait which the young Melmoth had destroyed, but the eyes were as the eyes of the dead.
As the Wanderer advanced still nearer till his figure touched the table, Mon?ada and Melmoth started up in irrepressible horror, and stood in attitudes of defence, though conscious at the moment that all defence was hopeless against a being that withered17 and mocked at human power. The Wanderer waved his arm with an action that spoke18 defiance19 without hostility20 — and the strange and solemn accents of the only human voice that had respired mortal air beyond the period of mortal life, and never spoken but to the ear of guilt21 or suffering, and never uttered to that ear aught but despair, rolled slowly on their hearing like a peal22 of distant thunder.
‘Mortals — you are here to talk of my destiny, and of the events which it has involved. That destiny is accomplished23, I believe, and with it terminate those events that have stimulated24 your wild and wretched curiosity. I am here to tell you of both! — I— I— of whom you speak, am here! — Who can tell so well of Melmoth the Wanderer as himself, now that he is about to resign that existence which has been the object of terror and wonder to the world? — Melmoth, you behold25 your ancestor — the being on whose portrait is inscribed26 the date of a century and a half, is before you. — Mon?ada, you see an acquaintance of a later date.’ — (A grim smile of recognition wandered over his features as he spoke). — ‘Fear nothing,’ he added, observing the agony and terror of his involuntary hearers — ‘What have you to fear?’ he continued, while a flash of derisive27 malignity28 once more lit up the sockets29 of his dead eyes — ‘You, Senhor, are armed with your beads — and you, Melmoth, are fortified30 by that vain and desperate inquisitiveness31, which might, at a former period, have made you my victim,’ — (and his features underwent a short but horrible convulsion) — ‘but now makes you only my mockery.
‘Have you aught to quench32 my thirst?’ he added, seating himself. The senses of Mon?ada and his companion reeled in delirious33 terror, and the former, in a kind of wild confidence, filled a glass of water, and offered it to the Wanderer with a hand as steady, but somewhat colder, as he would have presented it to one who sat beside him in human companionship. The Wanderer raised it to his lips, and tasted a few drops, then replacing it on the table, said with a laugh, wild indeed, but no longer ferocious34 — ‘Have you seen,’ said he to Mon?ada and Melmoth, who gazed with dim and troubled sight on this vision, and wist not what to think — ‘Have you seen the fate of Don Juan, not as he is pantomimed on your paltry35 stage, but as he is represented in the real horrors of his destiny by the Spanish writer?1 There the spectre returns the hospitality of his inviter, and summons him in turn to a feast. — The banquet-hall is a church — he arrives — it is illuminated36 with a mysterious light — invisible hands hold lamps fed by no earthly substance, to light the apostate37 to his doom38! — He enters the church, and is greeted by a numerous company — the spirits of those whom he has wronged and murdered, uprisen from their charnel, and swathed in shrouds39, stand there to welcome him! — As he passes among them, they call on him in hollow sounds to pledge them in goblets40 of blood which they present to him — and beneath the altar, by which stands the spirit of him whom the parricide41 has murdered, the gulph of perdition is yawning to receive him! — Through such a band I must soon prepare to pass! — Isidora! thy form will be the last I must encounter — and — the most terrible! Now for the last drop I must taste of earth’s produce — the last that shall wet my mortal lips!’ He slowly finished the draught42 of water. Neither of his companions had the power to speak. He sat down in a posture43 of heavy musing44, and neither ventured to interrupt him.
1 Vide the original play, of which there is a curious and very obsolete45 translation.
They kept silence till the morning was dawning, and a faint light streamed through the closed shutters46. Then the Wanderer raised his heavy eyes, and fixed them on Melmoth. ‘Your ancestor has come home,’ he said; ‘his wanderings are over! — What has been told or believed of me is now of light avail to me. The secret of my destiny rests with myself. If all that fear has invented, and credulity believed of me be true, to what does it amount? That if my crimes have exceeded those of mortality, so will my punishment. I have been on earth a terror, but not an evil to its inhabitants. None can participate in my destiny but with his own consent — none have consented — none can be involved in its tremendous penalties, but by participation47. I alone must sustain the penalty. If I have put forth48 my hand, and eaten of the fruit of the interdicted49 tree, am I not driven from the presence of God and the region of paradise, and sent to wander amid worlds of barrenness and curse for ever and ever?
‘It has been reported of me, that I obtained from the enemy of souls a range of existence beyond the period allotted50 to mortality — a power to pass over space without disturbance51 or delay, and visit remote regions with the swiftness of thought — to encounter tempests without the hope of their blasting me, and penetrate52 into dungeons53, whose bolts were as flax and tow at my touch. It has been said that this power was accorded to me, that I might be enabled to tempt wretches54 in their fearful hour of extremity55, with the promise of deliverance and immunity56, on condition of their exchanging situations with me. If this be true, it bears attestation57 to a truth uttered by the lips of one I may not name, and echoed by every human heart in the habitable world.
‘No one has ever exchanged destinies with Melmoth the Wanderer. I have traversed the world in the search, and no one, to gain that world, would lose his own soul! — Not Stanton in his cell — nor you, Mon?ada, in the prison of the Inquisition — nor Walberg, who saw his children perishing with want — nor — another’ —
He paused, and though on the verge58 of his dark and doubtful voyage, he seemed to cast one look of bitter and retrospective anguish59 on the receding60 shore of life, and see, through the mists of memory, one form that stood there to bid him farewell. He rose — ‘Let me, if possible, obtain an hour’s repose61. Aye, repose — sleep!’ he repeated, answering the silent astonishment62 of his hearers’ looks, ‘my existence is still human!’ — and a ghastly and derisive smile wandered over his features for the last time, as he spoke. How often had that smile frozen the blood of his victims! Melmoth and Mon?ada quitted the apartment; and the Wanderer, sinking back in his chair, slept profoundly. He slept, but what were the visions of his last earthly slumber63?
The Wanderer’s Dream
He dreamed that he stood on the summit of a precipice64, whose downward height no eye could have measured, but for the fearful waves of a fiery65 ocean that lashed66, and blazed, and roared at its bottom, sending its burning spray far up, so as to drench67 the dreamer with its sulphurous rain. The whole glowing ocean below was alive — every billow bore an agonizing68 soul, that rose like a wreck69 or a putrid70 corse on the waves of earth’s oceans — uttered a shriek71 as it burst against that adamantine precipice — sunk — and rose again to repeat the tremendous experiment! Every billow of fire was thus instinct with immortal72 and agonizing existence, — each was freighted with a soul, that rose on the burning wave in torturing hope, burst on the rock in despair, added its eternal shriek to the roar of that fiery ocean, and sunk to rise again — in vain, and — for ever!
Suddenly the Wanderer felt himself flung half-way down the precipice. He stood, in his dream, tottering73 on a crag midway down the precipice — he looked upward, but the upper air (for there was no heaven) showed only blackness unshadowed and impenetrable — but, blacker than that blackness, he could distinguish a gigantic outstretched arm, that held him as in sport on the ridge74 of that infernal precipice, while another, that seemed in its motions to hold fearful and invisible conjunction with the arm that grasped him, as if both belonged to some being too vast and horrible even for the imagery of a dream to shape, pointed75 upwards76 to a dial-plate fixed on the top of that precipice, and which the flashes of that ocean of fire made fearfully conspicuous77. He saw the mysterious single hand revolve78 — he saw it reach the appointed period of 150 years — (for in this mystic plate centuries were marked, not hours) — he shrieked79 in his dream, and, with that strong impulse often felt in sleep, burst from the arm that held him, to arrest the motion of the hand.
In the effort he fell, and falling grasped at aught that might save him. His fall seemed perpendicular80 — there was nought81 to save him — the rock was as smooth as ice — the ocean of fire broke at its foot! Suddenly a groupe of figures appeared, ascending82 as he fell. He grasped at them successively; — first Stanton — then Walberg — Elinor Mortimer — Isidora — Mon?ada — all passed him, — to each he seemed in his slumber to cling in order to break his fall — all ascended83 the precipice. He caught at each in his downward flight, but all forsook84 him and ascended.
His last despairing reverted85 glance was fixed on the clock of eternity86 — the upraised black arm seemed to push forward the hand — it arrived at its period — he fell — he sunk — he blazed — he shrieked! The burning waves boomed over his sinking head, and the clock of eternity rung out its awful chime — ‘Room for the soul of the Wanderer!’ — and the waves of the burning ocean answered, as they lashed the adamantine rock — ‘There is room for more!’ — The Wanderer awoke.
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1
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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2
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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3
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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4
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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5
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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6
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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7
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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8
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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9
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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10
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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11
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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12
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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13
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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14
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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15
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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16
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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17
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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18
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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19
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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20
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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21
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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22
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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23
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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24
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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25
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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26
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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27
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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28
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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29
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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30
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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31
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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32
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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33
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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34
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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35
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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36
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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37
apostate
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| n.背叛者，变节者 | |
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38
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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39
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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40
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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41
parricide
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| n.杀父母；杀亲罪 | |
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42
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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43
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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44
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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45
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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46
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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47
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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48
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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49
interdicted
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| v.禁止（行动）( interdict的过去式和过去分词 )；禁用；限制 | |
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50
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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52
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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53
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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54
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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55
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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56
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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57
attestation
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| n.证词 | |
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58
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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59
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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60
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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61
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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62
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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63
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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64
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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65
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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66
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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67
drench
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| v.使淋透，使湿透 | |
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68
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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69
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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70
putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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71
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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72
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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73
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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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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81
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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