The days when I frequented that miserable1 corner which my dear girlbrightened can never fade in my remembrance. I never see it, and Inever wish to see it now; I have been there only once since, but inmy memory there is a mournful glory shining on the place which willshine for ever.
Not a day passed without my going there, of course. At first Ifound Mr. Skimpole there, on two or three occasions, idly playingthe piano and talking in his usual vivacious2 strain. Now, besidesmy very much mistrusting the probability of his being there withoutmaking Richard poorer, I felt as if there were something in hiscareless gaiety too inconsistent with what I knew of the depths ofAda's life. I clearly perceived, too, that Ada shared my feelings.
I therefore resolved, after much thinking of it, to make a privatevisit to Mr. Skimpole and try delicately to explain myself. Mydear girl was the great consideration that made me bold.
I set off one morning, accompanied by Charley, for Somers Town. AsI approached the house, I was strongly inclined to turn back, for Ifelt what a desperate attempt it was to make an impression on Mr.
Skimpole and how extremely likely it was that he would signallydefeat me. However, I thought that being there, I would go throughwith it. I knocked with a trembling hand at Mr. Skimpole's door--literally with a hand, for the knocker was gone--and after a longparley gained admission from an Irishwoman, who was in the areawhen I knocked, breaking up the lid of a water-butt with a poker3 tolight the fire with.
Mr. Skimpole, lying on the sofa in his room, playing the flute4 alittle, was enchanted5 to see me. Now, who should receive me, heasked. Who would I prefer for mistress of the ceremonies? Would Ihave his Comedy daughter, his Beauty daughter, or his Sentimentdaughter? Or would I have all the daughters at once in a perfectnosegay?
I replied, half defeated already, that I wished to speak to himselfonly if he would give me leave.
'My dear Miss Summerson, most joyfully6! Of course," he said,bringing his chair nearer mine and breaking into his fascinatingsmile, of course it's not business. Then it's pleasure!"I said it certainly was not business that I came upon, but it wasnot quite a pleasant matter.
"Then, my dear Miss Summerson," said he with the frankest gaiety,"don't allude7 to it. Why should you allude to anything that is NOTa pleasant matter? I never do. And you are a much pleasantercreature, in every point of view, than I. You are perfectlypleasant; I am imperfectly pleasant; then, if I never allude to anunpleasant matter, how much less should you! So that's disposedof, and we will talk of something else."Although I was embarrassed, I took courage to intimate that I stillwished to pursue the subject.
"I should think it a mistake," said Mr. Skimpole with his airylaugh, "if I thought Miss Summerson capable of making one. But Idon't!""Mr. Skimpole," said I, raising my eyes to his, "I have so oftenheard you say that you are unacquainted with the common affairs oflife--""Meaning our three banking-house friends, L, S, and who's thejunior partner? D?" said Mr. Skimpole, brightly. "Not an idea ofthem!""--That perhaps," I went on, "you will excuse my boldness on thataccount. I think you ought most seriously to know that Richard ispoorer than he was.""Dear me!" said Mr. Skimpole. "So am I, they tell me.""And in very embarrassed circumstances.""Parallel case, exactly!" said Mr. Skimpole with a delightedcountenance.
"This at present naturally causes Ada much secret anxiety, and as Ithink she is less anxious when no claims are made upon her byvisitors, and as Richard has one uneasiness always heavy on hismind, it has occurred to me to take the liberty of saying that--ifyou would--not--"I was coming to the point with great difficulty when he took me byboth hands and with a radiant face and in the liveliest wayanticipated it.
"Not go there? Certainly not, my dear Miss Summerson, mostassuredly not. Why SHOULD I go there? When I go anywhere, I gofor pleasure. I don't go anywhere for pain, because I was made forpleasure. Pain comes to ME when it wants me. Now, I have had verylittle pleasure at our dear Richard's lately, and your practicalsagacity demonstrates why. Our young friends, losing the youthfulpoetry which was once so captivating in them, begin to think, 'Thisis a man who wants pounds.' So I am; I always want pounds; not formyself, but because tradespeople always want them of me. Next, ouryoung friends begin to think, becoming mercenary, 'This is the manwho HAD pounds, who borrowed them,' which I did. I always borrowpounds. So our young friends, reduced to prose (which is much tobe regretted), degenerate8 in their power of imparting pleasure tome. Why should I go to see them, therefore? Absurd!"Through the beaming smile with which he regarded me as he reasonedthus, there now broke forth9 a look of disinterested10 benevolencequite astonishing.
"Besides," he said, pursuing his argument in his tone of light-hearted conviction, "if I don't go anywhere for pain--which wouldbe a perversion11 of the intention of my being, and a monstrous12 thingto do--why should I go anywhere to be the cause of pain? If I wentto see our young friends in their present ill-regulated state ofmind, I should give them pain. The associations with me would bedisagreeable. They might say, 'This is the man who had pounds andwho can't pay pounds,' which I can't, of course; nothing could bemore out of the question! Then kindness requires that I shouldn'tgo near them--and I won't."He finished by genially13 kissing my hand and thanking me. Nothingbut Miss Summerson's fine tact14, he said, would have found this outfor him.
I was much disconcerted, but I reflected that if the main pointwere gained, it mattered little how strangely he pervertedeverything leading to it. I had determined15 to mention somethingelse, however, and I thought I was not to be put off in that.
"Mr. Skimpole," said I, "I must take the liberty of saying before Iconclude my visit that I was much surprised to learn, on the bestauthority, some little time ago, that you knew with whom that poorboy left Bleak16 House and that you accepted a present on thatoccasion. I have not mentioned it to my guardian17, for I fear itwould hurt him unnecessarily; but I may say to you that I was muchsurprised.""No? Really surprised, my dear Miss Summerson?" he returnedinquiringly, raising his pleasant eyebrows18.
"Greatly surprised."He thought about it for a little while with a highly agreeable andwhimsical expression of face, then quite gave it up and said in hismost engaging manner, "You know what a child I am. Why surprised?"I was reluctant to enter minutely into that question, but as hebegged I would, for he was really curious to know, I gave him tounderstand in the gentlest words I could use that his conductseemed to involve a disregard of several moral obligations. He wasmuch amused and interested when he heard this and said, "No,really?" with ingenuous19 simplicity20.
"You know I don't intend to be responsible. I never could do it.
Responsibility is a thing that has always been above me--or belowme," said Mr. Skimpole. "I don't even know which; but as Iunderstand the way in which my dear Miss Summerson (alwaysremarkable for her practical good sense and clearness) puts thiscase, I should imagine it was chiefly a question of money, do youknow?"I incautiously gave a qualified21 assent22 to this.
"Ah! Then you see," said Mr. Skimpole, shaking his head, "I amhopeless of understanding it."I suggested, as I rose to go, that it was not right to betray myguardian's confidence for a bribe24.
"My dear Miss Summerson," he returned with a candid25 hilarity26 thatwas all his own, "I can't be bribed27.""Not by Mr. Bucket?" said I.
"No," said he. "Not by anybody. I don't attach any value tomoney. I don't care about it, I don't know about it, I don't wantit, I don't keep it--it goes away from me directly. How can I bebribed?"I showed that I was of a different opinion, though I had not thecapacity for arguing the question.
"On the contrary," said Mr. Skimpole, "I am exactly the man to beplaced in a superior position in such a case as that. I am abovethe rest of mankind in such a case as that. I can act withphilosophy in such a case as that. I am not warped28 by prejudices,as an Italian baby is by bandages. I am as free as the air. Ifeel myself as far above suspicion as Caesar's wife."Anything to equal the lightness of his manner and the playfulimpartiality with which he seemed to convince himself, as he tossedthe matter about like a ball of feathers, was surely never seen inanybody else!
"Observe the case, my dear Miss Summerson. Here is a boy receivedinto the house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.
The boy being in bed, a man arrives--like the house that Jackbuilt. Here is the man who demands the boy who is received intothe house and put to bed in a state that I strongly object to.
Here is a bank-note produced by the man who demands the boy who isreceived into the house and put to bed in a state that I stronglyobject to. Here is the Skimpole who accepts the bank-note producedby the man who demands the boy who is received into the house andput to bed in a state that I strongly object to. Those are thefacts. Very well. Should the Skimpole have refused the note? WHYshould the Skimpole have refused the note? Skimpole protests toBucket, 'What's this for? I don't understand it, it is of no useto me, take it away.' Bucket still entreats29 Skimpole to accept it.
Are there reasons why Skimpole, not being warped by prejudices,should accept it? Yes. Skimpole perceives them. What are they?
Skimpole reasons with himself, this is a tamed lynx, an activepolice-officer, an intelligent man, a person of a peculiarlydirected energy and great subtlety30 both of conception andexecution, who discovers our friends and enemies for us when theyrun away, recovers our property for us when we are robbed, avengesus comfortably when we are murdered. This active police-officerand intelligent man has acquired, in the exercise of his art, astrong faith in money; he finds it very useful to him, and he makesit very useful to society. Shall I shake that faith in Bucketbecause I want it myself; shall I deliberately31 blunt one ofBucket's weapons; shall I positively32 paralyse Bucket in his nextdetective operation? And again. If it is blameable in Skimpole totake the note, it is blameable in Bucket to offer the note--muchmore blameable in Bucket, because he is the knowing man. Now,Skimpole wishes to think well of Bucket; Skimpole deems itessential, in its little place, to the general cohesion33 of things,that he SHOULD think well of Bucket. The state expressly asks himto trust to Bucket. And he does. And that's all he does!"I had nothing to offer in reply to this exposition and thereforetook my leave. Mr. Skimpole, however, who was in excellentspirits, would not hear of my returning home attended only by"Little Coavinses," and accompanied me himself. He entertained meon the way with a variety of delightful34 conversation and assuredme, at parting, that he should never forget the fine tact withwhich I had found that out for him about our young friends.
As it so happened that I never saw Mr. Skimpole again, I may atonce finish what I know of his history. A coolness arose betweenhim and my guardian, based principally on the foregoing grounds andon his having heartlessly disregarded my guardian's entreaties35 (aswe afterwards learned from Ada) in reference to Richard. His beingheavily in my guardian's debt had nothing to do with theirseparation. He died some five years afterwards and left a diarybehind him, with letters and other materials towards his life,which was published and which showed him to have been the victim ofa combination on the part of mankind against an amiable36 child. Itwas considered very pleasant reading, but I never read more of itmyself than the sentence on which I chanced to light on opening thebook. It was this: "Jarndyce, in common with most other men I haveknown, is the incarnation of selfishness."And now I come to a part of my story touching37 myself very nearlyindeed, and for which I was quite unprepared when the circumstanceoccurred. Whatever little lingerings may have now and then revivedin my mind associated with my poor old face had only revived asbelonging to a part of my life that was gone--gone like my infancyor my childhood. I have suppressed none of my many weaknesses onthat subject, but have written them as faithfully as my memory hasrecalled them. And I hope to do, and mean to do, the same down tothe last words of these pages, which I see now not so very farbefore me.
The months were gliding38 away, and my dear girl, sustained by thehopes she had confided39 in me, was the same beautiful star in themiserable corner. Richard, more worn and haggard, haunted thecourt day after day, listlessly sat there the whole day long whenhe knew there was no remote chance of the suit being mentioned, andbecame one of the stock sights of the place. I wonder whether anyof the gentlemen remembered him as he was when he first went there.
So completely was he absorbed in his fixed40 idea that he used toavow in his cheerful moments that he should never have breathed thefresh air now "but for Woodcourt." It was only Mr. Woodcourt whocould occasionally divert his attention for a few hours at a timeand rouse him, even when he sunk into a lethargy of mind and bodythat alarmed us greatly, and the returns of which became morefrequent as the months went on. My dear girl was right in sayingthat he only pursued his errors the more desperately41 for her sake.
I have no doubt that his desire to retrieve42 what he had lost wasrendered the more intense by his grief for his young wife, andbecame like the madness of a gamester.
I was there, as I have mentioned, at all hours. When I was thereat night, I generally went home with Charley in a coach; sometimesmy guardian would meet me in the neighbourhood, and we would walkhome together. One evening he had arranged to meet me at eighto'clock. I could not leave, as I usually did, quite punctually atthe time, for I was working for my dear girl and had a few stitchesmore to do to finish what I was about; but it was within a fewminutes of the hour when I bundled up my little work-basket, gavemy darling my last kiss for the night, and hurried downstairs. Mr.
Woodcourt went with me, as it was dusk.
When we came to the usual place of meeting--it was close by, andMr. Woodcourt had often accompanied me before--my guardian was notthere. We waited half an hour, walking up and down, but there wereno signs of him. We agreed that he was either prevented fromcoming or that he had come and gone away, and Mr. Woodcourtproposed to walk home with me.
It was the first walk we had ever taken together, except that veryshort one to the usual place of meeting. We spoke43 of Richard andAda the whole way. I did not thank him in words for what he haddone--my appreciation44 of it had risen above all words then--but Ihoped he might not be without some understanding of what I felt sostrongly.
Arriving at home and going upstairs, we found that my guardian wasout and that Mrs. Woodcourt was out too. We were in the very sameroom into which I had brought my blushing girl when her youthfullover, now her so altered husband, was the choice of her youngheart, the very same room from which my guardian and I had watchedthem going away through the sunlight in the fresh bloom of theirhope and promise.
We were standing23 by the opened window looking down into the streetwhen Mr. Woodcourt spoke to me. I learned in a moment that heloved me. I learned in a moment that my scarred face was allunchanged to him. I learned in a moment that what I had thoughtwas pity and compassion45 was devoted46, generous, faithful love. Oh,too late to know it now, too late, too late. That was the firstungrateful thought I had. Too late.
"When I returned," he told me, "when I came back, no richer thanwhen I went away, and found you newly risen from a sick bed, yet soinspired by sweet consideration for others and so free from aselfish thought--""Oh, Mr. Woodcourt, forbear, forbear!" I entreated47 him. "I do notdeserve your high praise. I had many selfish thoughts at thattime, many!""Heaven knows, beloved of my life," said he, "that my praise is nota lover's praise, but the truth. You do not know what all aroundyou see in Esther Summerson, how many hearts she touches andawakens, what sacred admiration48 and what love she wins.""Oh, Mr. Woodcourt," cried I, "it is a great thing to win love, itis a great thing to win love! I am proud of it, and honoured byit; and the hearing of it causes me to shed these tears of mingledjoy and sorrow--joy that I have won it, sorrow that I have notdeserved it better; but I am not free to think of yours."I said it with a stronger heart, for when he praised me thus andwhen I heard his voice thrill with his belief that what he said wastrue, I aspired49 to be more worthy50 of it. It was not too late forthat. Although I closed this unforeseen page in my life to-night,I could be worthier51 of it all through my life. And it was acomfort to me, and an impulse to me, and I felt a dignity rise upwithin me that was derived52 from him when I thought so.
He broke the silence.
"I should poorly show the trust that I have in the dear one whowill evermore be as dear to me as now"--and the deep earnestnesswith which he said it at once strengthened me and made me weep--"if, after her assurance that she is not free to think of my love,I urged it. Dear Esther, let me only tell you that the fond ideaof you which I took abroad was exalted53 to the heavens when I camehome. I have always hoped, in the first hour when I seemed tostand in any ray of good fortune, to tell you this. I have alwaysfeared that I should tell it you in vain. My hopes and fears areboth fulfilled to-night. I distress54 you. I have said enough."Something seemed to pass into my place that was like the angel hethought me, and I felt so sorrowful for the loss he had sustained!
I wished to help him in his trouble, as I had wished to do when heshowed that first commiseration55 for me.
"Dear Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "before we part to-night, somethingis left for me to say. I never could say it as I wish--I nevershall--but--"I had to think again of being more deserving of his love and hisaffliction before I could go on.
"--I am deeply sensible of your generosity56, and I shall treasureits remembrance to my dying hour. I know full well how changed Iam, I know you are not unacquainted with my history, and I knowwhat a noble love that is which is so faithful. What you have saidto me could have affected57 me so much from no other lips, for thereare none that could give it such a value to me. It shall not belost. It shall make me better."He covered his eyes with his hand and turned away his head. Howcould I ever be worthy of those tears?
"If, in the unchanged intercourse58 we shall have together--intending Richard and Ada, and I hope in many happier scenes of life--you ever find anything in me which you can honestly think isbetter than it used to be, believe that it will have sprung up fromto-night and that I shall owe it to you. And never believe, deardear Mr. Woodcourt, never believe that I forget this night or thatwhile my heart beats it can be insensible to the pride and joy ofhaving been beloved by you."He took my hand and kissed it. He was like himself again, and Ifelt still more encouraged.
"I am induced by what you said just now," said I, "to hope that youhave succeeded in your endeavour.""I have," he answered. "With such help from Mr. Jarndyce as youwho know him so well can imagine him to have rendered me, I havesucceeded.""Heaven bless him for it," said I, giving him my hand; "and heavenbless you in all you do!""I shall do it better for the wish," he answered; "it will make meenter on these new duties as on another sacred trust from you.""Ah! Richard!" I exclaimed involuntarily, "What will he do whenyou are gone!""I am not required to go yet; I would not desert him, dear MissSummerson, even if I were."One other thing I felt it needful to touch upon before he left me.
I knew that I should not be worthier of the love I could not takeif I reserved it.
"Mr. Woodcourt," said I, "you will be glad to know from my lipsbefore I say good night that in the future, which is clear andbright before me, I am most happy, most fortunate, have nothing toregret or desire."It was indeed a glad hearing to him, he replied.
"From my childhood I have been," said I, "the object of theuntiring goodness of the best of human beings, to whom I am sobound by every tie of attachment59, gratitude60, and love, that nothingI could do in the compass of a life could express the feelings of asingle day.""I share those feelings," he returned. "You speak of Mr.
Jarndyce.""You know his virtues61 well," said I, "but few can know thegreatness of his character as I know it. All its highest and bestqualities have been revealed to me in nothing more brightly than inthe shaping out of that future in which I am so happy. And if yourhighest homage62 and respect had not been his already--which I knowthey are--they would have been his, I think, on this assurance andin the feeling it would have awakened63 in you towards him for mysake."He fervently64 replied that indeed indeed they would have been. Igave him my hand again.
"Good night," I said, "Good-bye.""The first until we meet to-morrow, the second as a farewell tothis theme between us for ever.""Yes.""Good night; good-bye."He left me, and I stood at the dark window watching the street.
His love, in all its constancy and generosity, had come so suddenlyupon me that he had not left me a minute when my fortitude65 gave wayagain and the street was blotted66 out by my rushing tears.
But they were not tears of regret and sorrow. No. He had calledme the beloved of his life and had said I would be evermore as dearto him as I was then, and I felt as if my heart would not hold thetriumph of having heard those words. My first wild thought haddied away. It was not too late to hear them, for it was not toolate to be animated67 by them to be good, true, grateful, andcontented. How easy my path, how much easier than his!
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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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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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allude
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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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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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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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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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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entreats
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的第三人称单数 ) | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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cohesion
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| n.团结，凝结力 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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touching
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gliding
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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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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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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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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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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derived
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| 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 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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