NEVER did the sun go down with a brighter glory on the quiet comer in Soho, than one memorable1 evening when Doctor and his daughter sat under the plane-tree together. Never did the moon rise with a milder radiance over great London, than on that night when it found them still seated under the tree, and shone upon their faces through its leaves.
Lucie was to be married to-morrow. She had reserved this last evening for her father, and they sat alone under the plane-tree.
`You are happy, my dear father?'
`Quite, my child.'
They had said little though they had been there a long time. When it was yet light enough to work and read, she had neither engaged herself in her usual work, nor had she read to him. She had employed herself in both ways, at his side under the tree, many and many a time; but, this time was not quite like any other, and nothing could make it so.
And I am very happy to-night, dear father. I am deeply happy in the love that Heaven has so blessed--my love for Charles, and Charles's love for me. But, if my life were not to be still consecrated2 to you, or if my marriage were so arranged as that it would part us, even by the length of a few of these streets, I should be more unhappy and self-reproachful now than I can tell you. Even as it is---'
Even as it was, she could not command her voice.
In the sad moonlight, she clasped him by the neck, and lad her face upon his breast. In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself Bas the light called human life is---at its coming and its going.
`Dearest dear! Can you tell me, this last time, that you feel quite, quite sure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will ever interpose between us? I know it well, but do you know it? In your own heart, do you feel quite certain?'
Her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he could scarcely have assumed, `Quite sure, my darling! More than that,' he added, as he tenderly kissed her: `my future is far brighter, Lucie, seen through your marriage, than it could have been--nay, than it ever was--without it.'
`If I could hope that, my father!---'
`Believe it, love! Indeed it is so. Consider how natural and how plain it is, my dear, that it should be so. You, devoted3 and young, cannot fully4 appreciate the anxiety I have felt that your life should not be wasted'
She moved her hand towards his lips, but he took it in his, and repeated the word.
`--wasted, my child--should not be wasted, struck aside from the natural order of things--for my sake. Your unselfishness cannot entirely5 comprehend how much my mind has gone on this; but, only ask yourself how could my happiness be perfect, while yours was incomplete?'
`If I had never seen Charles, my father, I should have been quite happy with you.'
He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have been unhappy without Charles, having seen him; and replied:
`My child, you did see him, and it is Charles. If it had not been Charles, it would have been another. Or, if it had been no other, I should have been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would have cast its shadow beyond myself and would have fallen on you.'
It was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hearing him refer to the period of his suffering. It gave her a strange and new sensation while his words were in her ears; and she remembered it long afterwards.
`See!' said the Doctor of Beauvais, raising his hand towards the moon. `I have looked at her from my prison-window, when I could not bear her light. I have looked at her when it has been such torture to me to think of her shining upon what I had lost, that I have beaten my head against my prison-walls. I have looked at her, in a state so dull and lethargic6, that I have thought of nothing but the number of horizontal lines `I could draw across her at the full, and the number of perpendicular7 lines with which I could intersect them.' He added in his inward and pondering manner, as he looked at the moon, `It was twenty either way, I remember, and the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in.'
The strange thrill with which she heard him go back to that time, deepened as he dwelt upon it; but, there was nothing to shock her in the manner of his reference. He only seemed to contrast his present cheerfulness and felicity with the dire8 endurance that
was over.
`I have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unborn child from whom I had been rent. Whether it was alive. Whether it had been born alive, or the poor mother's shock had killed it. Whether it was a son who would some day avenge9 his father. (There was a time in my imprisonment10, when my desire for vengeance11 was unbearable12.) Whether it was a son who would never know his father's story; who might even live to weigh the possibility of his father's having disappeared of his own will and act. Whether it was a daughter who would grow to be a woman.'
She drew closer to him, and kissed his cheek and his hand. `I have pictured my daughter, to myself, as perfectly13 forgetful of me--rather, altogether ignorant of me, and unconscious of me. I have cast up the years of her age, year after year. I have seen her married to a man who knew nothing of my fate. I have altogether perished from the remembrance of the living, and in the next generation my place was a blank.'
`My father! Even to hear that you had such thoughts of a daughter who never existed, strikes to my heart as if I had been that child.'
`You, Lucie? It is out of the consolation14 and restoration you have brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and pass between us and the moon on this last night.--what did I say just now?'
She knew nothing of you. She cared nothing for you.'
`So! But on other moonlight nights, when the sadness and the silence have touched me in a different way--have affected15 me with something as like a sorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its foundations could--I have imagined her as coming to me in my cell, and leading me out into the freedom beyond the fortress16. I have seen her image in the moonlight often, as I now see you; except that I never held her in my arms; it stood between the little grated window and the door. But, you understand that that was not the child I am speaking of?'
`The figure was not; the--the--image; the fancy?'
`No. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense of sight, but it never moved. The phantom17 that my mind pursued, was another and more real child. Of her outward appearance I know no more than that she was like her mother. The other had that likeness18 too--as you have--but was not the same. Can you follow me, Lucie? Hardly, I think I `doubt you must have beer, a solitary19 prisoner to understand these prisoner perplexed20 distinctions.
His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from running cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition.
`In that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the moonlight, coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her married life was lull21 of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My picture was in her room, and I was in her prayers.
Her life was active, cheerful, useful; hut my poor history pervaded22 it all.'
`I was that child,my father. I was not half so good, but in my love that was I.'
`And she showed me her children,' said the Doctor of Beauvais, `and they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. When they passed a prison of the State, they kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up at its bars, and spoke23 in whispers. She could never deliver me; I imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such things. But then, blessed with the relief of tears, I fell upon my knees, and blessed her.'
`I am that child, I hope, my father. O my dear, my dear, will you bless me as fervently24 to-morrow?'
`Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night for loving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my great happiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the happiness that I have known with you, and that we have before us.
He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humbly25 thanked Heaven for having bestowed26 her on him. By-and-by, they went into the house.
There was no one hidden to the marriage but Mr. Lorry; there was even to be no bridesmaid but the gaunt Miss Pross. The marriage was to make no change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend it, by taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly27 belonging to the apocryphal28 invisible lodger29, and they desired nothing more.
Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. They were only three at table, and Miss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately.
So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated. But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came down stairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand.
All things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay asleep, his white hair picturesque30 on the untroubled pillow, and his hands lying quiet on the coverlet. She put her needless candle in the shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, leaned over him, and looked at him.
Into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity31 had worn; but, he covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the mastery of them even in his sleep. A more remarkable32 face in its quiet, resolute33, and guarded struggle with an unseen assailant, was not to be beheld34 in all the wide dominions35 of sleep, that night.
She timidly laid her hand on his dear breast, and put up a prayer that she might ever be as true to him as her love aspired36 to be, and as his sorrows deserved. Then, she withdrew her hand, and kissed his lips once more, and went away. So, the sunrise came, and the shadows of the leaves of the plane-tree moved upon his face, as softly as her lips had moved in praying for him.
太阳在索霍那平静的街角以从不曾有过的辉煌落了山。那是一个值得纪念的黄昏，医生和他的女儿一起坐在梧桐树下。月亮的光也以从不曾有过的温柔照在伟大的伦敦城头。她看见了他俩坐在树下，并透过树叶照在他们脸上。
露西明天就要结婚了。她把这最后的晚上留给了爸爸。两人单独坐在梧桐树下。
“你高兴吗，亲爱的爸爸？”
“很高兴，孩子。”
两人在那儿已坐了许久，却没有多说话。在天色还明亮可以工作和读书时，她没有做日常的女红针黹，也没有念书给爸爸听——她曾不知多少次坐在树下他的身边，做过针线活儿，给他念过书，这一回却不同，她没有理由那样做。
“我今天晚上很高兴，爸爸。上天赐给了我爱情：我对查尔斯的爱情和查尔斯对我的爱情。我感到非常快乐。可是如果我不能依旧把我的生命奉献给你，或是我婚姻的安排竟要我跟你分开，即使不过几条街的距离，我也不会像我刚才告诉你的那么快乐的。我会责备自己。即使就像现在这样—一”
即使像现在这样，她已经禁不住带了些哽咽。
她在凄清的月光下搂住了爸爸的脖子，把脸靠在他的胸脯上。在月光下——月光总是冷清的，正如太阳的光本身——正如被称作人类的生命的那种光——正如生命的光的到来和离去一样，都那么冷清。
“我最最亲爱的！这是最后的一次了。你能否告诉我，你能非常非常肯定我的新情感和新职责不会影响我们的关系？这一点我是很明白的，但是你明白么？在你自己的心里，你是否很肯定？”
她的父亲以他很少表现的欢乐而坚定的信心回答道，“很肯定，我亲爱的！还有，”他温柔地亲吻她，“从你的婚姻情况看来，露西，我的未来肯定会比没有这桩婚事时更要好得多一—是的，会比以前好得多的。”
“但愿我能有那样的希望，爸爸——”
“相信我的话，亲爱的！的确会的。你想想看，这事很自然，也很简单，原是顺理成章的事，亲爱的。你年轻，一心只想到我，却不懂得我为你所操的心，我怕你蹉跎了——”
她用手捂住了他的嘴，他却抓住了她的手，重复道：
“磋跪了，孩子，不应该为我磋跎了时光。你的忘我帮神使你不能完全理解我对这事有多着急。你可以问问自己，若是你不能完全幸福，我还能完全幸福么？”
“若是我没遇到查尔斯，爸爸，我跟你也一定会很幸福的。”
他笑了，因为她已不自觉地承认了在遇到查尔斯之后若是再没有了他，她就不会幸福了。他说：
“孩子，你已经遇到了他，他是查尔斯。若不是查尔斯，也会是别的什么人的，或者，若是连别的人也没有，原因就落在我身上了，那就会是我生命中黑暗时期的阴影落到了我的身体之外，投到你的身上了。”
除了那次审判之外，这还是她第一次听见他提起自己受难的日子。这话在她耳里产生了
一种奇待的新鲜感受，此后久久难以忘记。
“你看，”波维的医生伸手指着月亮说，“我从监狱的窗户看过月亮，那时它的光使我难堪，总让我想起它也照耀着我失去的一切。那对我是个折磨，使我拿头去撞监狱的墙。我曾在非常迟钝懵懂的状态下望过月亮，那时心里什么都不能想，只想到在满月时，我能在它上面画下的横线的数目和跟横线交叉的竖线的数目，”他带着沉思的神情望着月亮说下去，“横竖都可以画二十条线，我记得，第二十条线就很难挤进去了。”
她听着他的话，一种奇怪的刺激把她带回到他所叙达的时光。他的叙述发展，她受到的刺激也加深，但他叙述时的神态并不令她害怕。他只不过像是拿他今天的欢乐幸福跟已成过去的苦痛经历做着对比。
“我曾千万次地望着月亮想象过从我身边抢走的尚未出生的孩子。它能活着吗？它母亲受了惊吓，它出生时是活着，还是死了？它是个可以为父亲复仇的男孩么？（在监狱里有一个时期我复仇的欲望强烈得叫我受不了）那男孩会不会永远不知道他父亲的遭遇？他甚至会认为他父亲是自动消失的吧？会不会是个女孩？她以后还能长大成人么？”
她靠近了他，吻着他的面颊和手。
“我独自想象过，我的女儿说不定会把我忘得干干净净—一更可能的是根本不知道我，没有意识到我的存在。我一年又一年地设想她那时的样子。我曾想象她跟一个完全不知道我的命运的人结婚；我已经完全从活着的人的记忆里消失；我在下一代人心里的地位是一个空白。”
“爸爸！对于一个还不曾出生的女儿，你竟想象了这么多，真叫我从心底感动，好像我就是你想象中的那个孩子！”
“你，露西么？是你给了安慰，使我恢复健康才引起了这些回忆，在这个最后的晚上，在你、我和月亮之间文流——我刚才说了什么？”
“你说你的女儿完全不知道你，对你一点也不关心。”
“正是那样！但在另外的月明之夜，在悲伤和寂静以另外一种方式感动了我的时候——在一种类似于忧伤的平静之感激动了我的时候——这种平静感是任何以悲痛为基础的感情都可能产生的。那时我曾想象她进了我的牢房，到了我的身边，带着我离开了城堡，走进了自由。我常在月光中看见她的形象，就像我现在看见你一样。只是我从没有把她抱在怀里过；她的形象站在带铁栅的窗户和门之间。但是，那可不是我现在说起的孩于，你知道不？”
“它的样子不对；那只是关于它的想象，是一种幻象，是么？”
“不是的。那是另外的东西。我心情激动，两眼昏花，她在我面前，却从不活动。我的心灵追求的幻影是另一个较为真切的孩子。我只知道她的外形像她母亲，别人也有像她的——比如你——但跟她不同。你明白我的意思么，露西？我想是不太明白吧？要理解这种必须饱经忧患才能感受到的差别，你得要孤独地坐过牢才行。”
剖析着往日的心情他的态度虽然平静，却无法不使姑娘感到血液发凉。
“我在心情比较平静的时候常望着月光想象着她向我走来，带我出去，告诉我她婚后的家庭充满了对她失去的父亲的回忆，那回忆里洋溢着爱。她的屋里有我的肖像，她的祈祷里有我这个人。她的生活朝气蓬勃，快活，有益于他人，却处处有我那不幸的历史。”
“我就是那个孩子，爸爸。我虽没有她一半好，爱你却不亚于她。”
“她让我看她的孩子，”波维的医生说，“孩于们都听说过我，都受到过教育要同情我。他们经过国家监狱时都离那阴森的墙壁远远的，只抬头仰望它的铁窗，说话也放低了声音。可她却无法解救我。我想象她在让我看过这一切之后总把我送了回去。但是那时眼泪却已减轻了我的痛苦，我跪了下来为她祝福。”
“我希望我就是那孩子，爸爸。啊，我亲爱的，亲爱的，你明天也愿这样热烈地为我祝
福么？”
“露西，我回忆往日的种种苦难，因为我今晚有理由对你具有言语无法描述的爱，还要感谢上帝给了我这巨大的幸福。即使在我放任想象奔驰的时候，也还不曾想象到现在跟你在一起的这种幸福和未来的美好。”
他拥抱她，向上天庄严地赞美她，谦卑地感谢上天把她赐给了他。过了一会儿两人才进了屋子。
除了罗瑞先生之外再没有邀请别的客人，连伴娘都没有，只有瘦高的普洛丝小姐。他们婚后并不改变住处，只是扩大了住房，连楼上的房子也租了过来，此外不打算再增加什么——楼上的房子以前是由传说中的看不见的住户居住的。
曼内特医生在简单的晚餐上十分高兴。他们一共只有三个人，第三位是普洛丝小姐。医生为查尔斯不在而感到遗憾，他颇有几分不赞成那个出自爱心而排斥了查尔斯的小策略。他真心地为查尔斯祝了酒。
三个人就像这样一直过到跟露西道了晚安才分手。但是等到凌晨三点万籁俱寂的时候，露西却又下了楼，偷愉地进了父亲的卧室：她仍然没有摆脱她自己也弄不清楚的某种担心。
不过，一切依然如故，十分平静。父亲睡着了，白发衬在不曾受到干扰的枕上，像幅图画；双手安详地放在盖被上。她把手上那用不着的蜡烛放在远远的暗处，悄悄走到他的床前，把嘴唇放到他的嘴唇上，然后躬下身子端详着他。
牢狱生活的辛酸泪浸透了他那漂亮的面孔，他却用坚强的决心把泪痕掩盖了，即使入睡后也没有流露。那天晚上在睡眠的广阔世界中跟不可见的敌人进行着斗争的面孔里怕是没有比他那面孔，更为惊人的了：它是那么平静、坚定，却又机警。
她把手怯生生地放在他亲爱的胸脯上，做了一个祷告：她要永远忠实于他，因为那出自她的爱心，也是他的辛酸应得的安慰。然，后她缩回了手，再亲了亲他的嘴唇，离开了。这样，黎明到来了，桐叶的影子在他的脸上晃动，轻柔得如她为他祈祷时的双唇。
收听单词发音 |
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memorable
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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devoted
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fully
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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lethargic
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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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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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avenge
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imprisonment
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vengeance
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unbearable
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perfectly
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consolation
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affected
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fortress
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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likeness
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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perplexed
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lull
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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apocryphal
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| adj.假冒的，虚假的 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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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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