As I passed along the High Street, I heard the Waits at a distance, and struck off to find them. They were playing near one of the old gates of the City, at the corner of a wonderfully quaint1 row of red-brick tenements2, which the clarionet obligingly informed me were inhabited by the Minor-Canons. They had odd little porches over the doors, like sounding-boards over old pulpits; and I thought I should like to see one of the Minor-Canons come out upon his top stop, and favour us with a little Christmas discourse3 about the poor scholars of Rochester; taking for his text the words of his Master relative to the devouring4 of Widows’ houses.
The clarionet was so communicative, and my inclinations5 were (as they generally are) of so vagabond a tendency, that I accompanied the Waits across an open green called the Vines, and assisted—in the French sense—at the performance of two waltzes, two polkas, and three Irish melodies, before I thought of my inn any more. However, I returned to it then, and found a fiddle6 in the kitchen, and Ben, the wall-eyed young man, and two chambermaids, circling round the great deal table with the utmost animation7.
I had a very bad night. It cannot have been owing to the turkey or the beef,—and the Wassail is out of the question—but in every endeavour that I made to get to sleep I failed most dismally8. I was never asleep; and in whatsoever9 unreasonable10 direction my mind rambled11, the effigy12 of Master Richard Watts13 perpetually embarrassed it.
In a word, I only got out of the Worshipful Master Richard Watts’s way by getting out of bed in the dark at six o’clock, and tumbling, as my custom is, into all the cold water that could be accumulated for the purpose. The outer air was dull and cold enough in the street, when I came down there; and the one candle in our supper-room at Watts’s Charity looked as pale in the burning as if it had had a bad night too. But my Travellers had all slept soundly, and they took to the hot coffee, and the piles of bread-and-butter, which Ben had arranged like deals in a timber-yard, as kindly14 as I could desire.
While it was yet scarcely daylight, we all came out into the street together, and there shook hands. The widow took the little sailor towards Chatham, where he was to find a steamboat for Sheerness; the lawyer, with an extremely knowing look, went his own way, without committing himself by announcing his intentions; two more struck off by the cathedral and old castle for Maidstone; and the book-pedler accompanied me over the bridge. As for me, I was going to walk by Cobham Woods, as far upon my way to London as I fancied.
When I came to the stile and footpath15 by which I was to diverge16 from the main road, I bade farewell to my last remaining Poor Traveller, and pursued my way alone. And now the mists began to rise in the most beautiful manner, and the sun to shine; and as I went on through the bracing17 air, seeing the hoarfrost sparkle everywhere, I felt as if all Nature shared in the joy of the great Birthday.
Going through the woods, the softness of my tread upon the mossy ground and among the brown leaves enhanced the Christmas sacredness by which I felt surrounded. As the whitened stems environed me, I thought how the Founder18 of the time had never raised his benignant hand, save to bless and heal, except in the case of one unconscious tree. By Cobham Hall, I came to the village, and the churchyard where the dead had been quietly buried, “in the sure and certain hope” which Christmas time inspired. What children could I see at play, and not be loving of, recalling who had loved them! No garden that I passed was out of unison19 with the day, for I remembered that the tomb was in a garden, and that “she, supposing him to be the gardener,” had said, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.” In time, the distant river with the ships came full in view, and with it pictures of the poor fishermen, mending their nets, who arose and followed him,—of the teaching of the people from a ship pushed off a little way from shore, by reason of the multitude,—of a majestic20 figure walking on the water, in the loneliness of night. My very shadow on the ground was eloquent21 of Christmas; for did not the people lay their sick where the more shadows of the men who had heard and seen him might fall as they passed along?
Thus Christmas begirt me, far and near, until I had come to Blackheath, and had walked down the long vista22 of gnarled old trees in Greenwich Park, and was being steam-rattled through the mists now closing in once more, towards the lights of London. Brightly they shone, but not so brightly as my own fire, and the brighter faces around it, when we came together to celebrate the day. And there I told of worthy23 Master Richard Watts, and of my supper with the Six Poor Travellers who were neither Rogues24 nor Proctors, and from that hour to this I have never seen one of them again.
《荒凉的小屋 Bleak House》
《荒凉的小屋 Bleak House》
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1 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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2 tenements | |
n.房屋,住户,租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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3 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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4 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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5 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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6 fiddle | |
n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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7 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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8 dismally | |
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
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9 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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10 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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11 rambled | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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12 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
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13 watts | |
(电力计量单位)瓦,瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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14 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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15 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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16 diverge | |
v.分叉,分歧,离题,使...岔开,使转向 | |
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17 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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18 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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19 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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20 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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21 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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22 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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23 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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24 rogues | |
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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