It was just about that time that our friend, Dr. Sturk, had two or three odd dreams that secretly acted disagreeably upon his spirits. His liver he thought was a little wrong, and there was certainly a little light gout sporting about him. His favourite ‘pupton,’ at mess, disagreed with him; so did his claret, and hot suppers as often as he tried them, and that was, more or less, nearly every night in the week. So he was, perhaps, right, in ascribing these his visions to the humours, the spleen, the liver, and the juices. Still they sat uncomfortably upon his memory, and helped his spirits down, and made him silent and testy1, and more than usually formidable to poor, little, quiet, hard-worked Mrs. Sturk.
Dreams! What talk can be idler? And yet haven’t we seen grave people and gay listening very contentedly2 at times to that wild and awful sort of frivolity3; and I think there is in most men’s minds, sages4 or zanies, a secret misgiving5 that dreams may have an office and a meaning, and are perhaps more than a fortuitous concourse of symbols, in fact, the language which good or evil spirits whisper over the sleeping brain.
There was an ugly and ominous6 consistency7 in these dreams which might have made a less dyspeptic man a little nervous. Tom Dunstan, a sergeant8 whom Sturk had prosecuted9 and degraded before a court-martial, who owed the doctor no good-will, and was dead and buried in the church-yard close by, six years ago, and whom Sturk had never thought about in the interval10 — made a kind of resurrection now, and was with him every night, figuring in these dreary11 visions and somehow in league with a sort of conspirator-inchief, who never showed distinctly, but talked in scoffing12 menaces from outside the door, or clutched him by the throat from behind his chair, and yelled some hideous13 secret into his ear, which his scared and scattered14 wits, when he started into consciousness, could never collect again. And this fellow, with whose sneering15 cavernous talk — with whose very knock at the door or thump16 at the partition-wall he was as familiar as with his own wife’s voice, and the touch of whose cold convulsive hand he had felt so often on his cheek or throat, and the very suspicion of whose approach made him faint with horror, his dreams would not present to his sight. There was always something interposed, or he stole behind him, or just as he was entering and the door swinging open, Sturk would awake — and he never saw him, at least in a human shape.
But one night he thought he saw, as it were, his sign or symbol. As Sturk lay his length under the bed-clothes, with his back turned upon his slumbering17 helpmate, he was, in the spirit, sitting perpendicularly18 in his great balloon-backed chair at his writing-table, in the window of the back one-pair-of-stairs chamber19 which he called his library, where he sometimes wrote prescriptions20, and pondering over his pennyweights, his Roman numerals, his gutt? and pillul?, his 3s, his 5s, his 9s, and the other arabesque21 and astrological symbols of his mystery, he looked over his pen into the church-yard, which inspiring prospect22 he thence commanded.
Thus, as out of the body sat our recumbent doctor in the room underneath23 the bed in which his snoring idolon lay, Tom Dunstan stood beside the table, with the short white threads sticking out on his blue sleeve, where the stitching of the stripes had been cut through on that twilight24 parade morning when the doctor triumphed, and Tom’s rank, fortune, and castles in the air, all tumbled together in the dust of the barrack pavement; and so, with his thin features and evil eye turned sideways to Sturk, says he, with a stiff salute26 —‘A gentleman, Sir, that means to dine with you,’ and there was the muffled27 knock at the door which he knew so well, and a rustling28 behind him. So the doctor turned him about quickly with a sort of chill between his shoulders, and perched on the back of his chair sat a portentous29 old quizzical carrion-crow, the antediluvian30 progenitor31 of the whole race of carrion-crows, monstrous32, with great shining eyes, and head white as snow, and a queer human look, and the crooked33 beak34 of an owl35, that opened with a loud grating ‘caw’ close in his ears; and with a ‘bo-o-oh!’ and a bounce that shook the bed and made poor Mrs. Sturk jump out of it, and spin round in the curtain, Sturk’s spirit popped back again into his body, which sat up wide awake that moment.
It is not pretended that at this particular time the doctor was a specially36 good sleeper37. The contrary stands admitted; and I don’t ask you, sagacious reader, to lay any sort of stress upon his dreams; only as there came a time when people talked of them a good deal over the fireside in Chapelizod, and made winter’s tales about them, I thought myself obliged to tell you that such things were.
He did not choose to narrate38 them to his brother-officers, and to be quizzed about them at mess. But he opened his budget to old Dr. Walsingham, of course, only as a matter to be smiled at by a pair of philosophers like them. But Dr. Walsingham, who was an absent man, and floated upon the ocean of his learning serenely39 and lazily, drawn40 finely and whimsically, now hither, now thither41, by the finest hair of association, glided42 complacently43 off into the dim region of visionary prognostics and warnings, and reminded him how Joseph dreamed, and Pharaoh, and Benvenuto, Cellini’s father, and St. Dominick’s mother, and Edward II. of England, and dodged44 back and forward among patriarchs and pagans, and modern Christians45, men and women not at all suspecting that he was making poor Sturk, who had looked for a cheerful, sceptical sort of essay, confoundedly dismal46 and uncomfortable.
And, indeed, confoundedly distressed47 he must have been, for he took his brother-chip, Tom Toole, whom he loved not, to counsel upon his case — of course, strictly48 as a question of dandelion, or gentian, or camomile flowers; and Tom, who, as we all know, loved him reciprocally, frightened him as well as he could, offered to take charge of his case, and said, looking hard at him out of the corner of his cunning, resolute49 little eye, as they sauntered in the park —
‘But I need not tell you, my good Sir, that physic is of small avail, if there is any sort of — a — a — vexation, or — or — in short — a — a — vexation, you know, on your mind.’
‘A— ha, ha, ha!— what? Murdered my father, and married my grandmother?’ snarled50 Sturk, sneeringly51, amused or affecting to be so, and striving to laugh at the daisies before his toes, as he trudged52 along, with his hands in his breeches’ pockets. ‘I have not a secret on earth, Sir. ’Tis not a button to me, Sir, who talks about me; and I don’t owe a guinea, Sir, that is, that I could not pay tomorrow, if I liked it; and there’s nothing to trouble me — nothing, Sir, except this dirty, little, gouty dyspepsy, scarce worth talking about.
Then came a considerable silence; and Toole’s active little mind, having just made a note of this, tripped off smartly to half-a-dozen totally different topics, and he was mentally tippling his honest share of a dozen of claret, with a pleasant little masonic party at the Salmon-leap, on Sunday next, and was just going to charm them with his best song, and a new verse of his own compounding, when Sturk, in a moment, dispersed53 the masons, and brought him back by the ear at a jump from the Salmon-leap, with a savage54 ——
‘And I’d like to know, Sir, who the deuce, or, rather, what the ——(plague we’ll say) could put into your head, Sir, to suppose any such matter?’
But this was only one of Sturk’s explosions, and he and little Toole parted no better and no worse friends than usual, in ten minutes more at the latter’s door-step.
So Toole said to Mrs. T. that evening ——
‘Sturk owes money, mark my words, sweetheart. Remember I say it — he’ll cool his heels in a prison, if he’s no wiser than of late, before a twel’month. Since the beginning of February he has lost — just wait a minute, and let me see — ay, that, ￡150 by the levanting of old Tom Farthingale; and, I had it today from little O’Leary, who had it from Jim Kelly, old Craddock’s conducting clerk, he’s bit to the tune25 of three hundred more by the failure of Larkin, Brothers, and Hoolaghan. You see a little bit of usury55 under the rose is all very well for a vulgar dog like Sturk, if he knows the town, and how to go about it; but hang, it, he knows nothing. Why, the turnpike-man, over the way, would not have taken old Jos. Farthingale’s bill for fippence — no, nor his bond neither; and he’s stupid beside — but he can’t help that, the hound!— and he’ll owe a whole year’s rent only six weeks hence, and he has not a shilling to bless himself with. Unfortunate devil — I’ve no reason to like him — but, truly, I do pity him.’
Saying which Tom Toole, with his back to the fire, and a look of concern thrown into his comic little mug, and his eyebrows56 raised, experienced a very pleasurable glow of commiseration57.
Sturk, on the contrary, was more than commonly silent and savage that evening, and sat in his drawing-room, with his fists in his breeches’ pockets, and his heels stretched out, lurid58 and threatening, in a gloomy and highly electric state. Mrs. S. did not venture her usual ‘would my Barney like a dish of tea?’ but plied59 her worsted and knitting-needles with mild concentration, sometimes peeping under her lashes60 at Sturk, and sometimes telegraphing faintly to the children if they whispered too loud — all cautious pantomime — nutu signisque loquuntur.
Sturk was incensed61 by the suspicion that Tom Toole knew something of his losses, ‘the dirty, little, unscrupulous spy and tattler.’ He was confident, however, that he could not know their extent. It was certainly a hard thing, and enough to exasperate62 a better man than Sturk, that the savings63 of a shrewd, and, in many ways, a self-denying life should have been swept away, and something along with them, by a few unlucky casts in little more than twelve months. And he such a clever dog, too! the best player, all to nothing, driven to the wall, by a cursed obstinate64 run of infernal luck. And he used to scowl65, and grind his teeth, and nearly break the keys and shillings in his gripe in his breeches’ pocket, as imprecations, hot and unspoken, coursed one another through his brain. Then up he would get, and walk sulkily to the brandy-flask and have a dram, and feel better, and begin to count up his chances, and what he might yet save out of the fire; and resolve to press vigorously for the agency, which he thought Dangerfield, if he wanted a useful man, could not fail to give him; and he had hinted the matter to Lord Castlemallard, who, he thought, understood and favoured his wishes. Yes; that agency would give him credit and opportunity, and be the foundation of his new fortunes, and the saving of him. A precious, pleasant companion, you may suppose, he was to poor little Mrs. Sturk, who knew nothing of his affairs, and could not tell what to make of her Barney’s eccentricities67.
And so it was, somehow, when Dangerfield spoke66 his greeting at Sturk’s ear, and the doctor turned short round, and saw his white frizzed hair, great glass eyes, and crooked, short beak, quizzical and sinister68, close by, it seemed for a second as if the ‘caw’ and the carrion-crow of his dream was at his shoulder; and, I suppose, he showed his discomfiture69 a little, for he smiled a good deal more than Sturk usually did at a recognition.
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1
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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13
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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28
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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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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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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38
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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40
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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42
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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44
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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45
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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46
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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47
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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48
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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49
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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50
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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51
sneeringly
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| 嘲笑地，轻蔑地 | |
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52
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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53
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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54
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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55
usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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56
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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57
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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59
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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60
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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61
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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62
exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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65
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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66
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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67
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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