hard times(艰难时世)-第16章
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Stephen Blackpool
entertain a weak idea that the English people are as hard
worked as any people upon whom the sun shines。 I
Iacknowledge to this ridiculous idiosyncrasy； as a reason why I
would give them a little more play。
In the hardest working part of Coketown； in the innermost
fortifications of that ugly citadel； where Nature was as strongly
bricked out as killing airs and gases were bricked in； at the heart
of the labyrinth of narrow courts upon courts； and close streets
upon streets； which had come into existence piecemeal； every
piece in a violent hurry for some one man’s purpose； and the
whole an unnatural family； shouldering； and trampling； and
pressing one another to death； in the last close nook of this great
exhausted receiver； where the chimneys； for want of air to make a
draught； were built an immense variety of stunted and crooked
shapes； as though every house put out a sign of the kind of people
who might be expected to be born in it； among the multitude of
Coketown； generically called “the Hands；”—a race who would
have found more favour with some people； if Providence had seen
fit to make them only hands； or； like the lower creatures of the sea…
shore； only hands and stomachs—lived a certain Stephen
Blackpool； forty years of age。
Stephen looked older； but he had had a hard life。 It is said that
every life has its roses and thorns； there seemed； however； to have
been a misadventure or mistake in Stephen’s case； whereby
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somebody else had become possessed of his roses and he had
become possessed of the same somebody else’s thorns in addition
to his own。 He had known； to use his words； a peck of trouble。 He
was usually called Old Stephen； in a kind of rough homage to the
fact。
A rather stooping man； with a knitted brow； a pondering
expression of face； and a hard…looking head sufficiently capacious；
on which his iron…grey hair lay long and thin； Old Stephen might
have passed for a particularly intelligent man in his condition。 Yet
he was not。 He took no place among those remarkable “Hands；”
who； piecing together their broken intervals of leisure through
many years； had mastered difficult sciences； and acquired a
knowledge of most unlikely things。 He held no station among the
Hands who could make speeches and carry on debates。 Thousands
of his compeers could talk much better than he； at any time。 He
was a good power…loom weaver； and a man of perfect integrity。
What more he was； or what else he had in him； if anything； let him
show for himself。
The lights in the great factories； which looked； when they were
illuminated； like Fairy palaces—or the travellers by express…train
said so—were all extinguished； and the bells had rung for
knocking off for the night； and had ceased again； and the Hands；
men and women； boy and girl； were clattering home。 Old Stephen
was standing in the street； with the odd sensation upon him which
the stoppage of the machinery always produced—the sensation of
its having worked and stopped in his own head。
“Yet I don’t see Rachael； still！” said he。
It was a wet night； and many groups of young women passed
him； with their shawls drawn over their bare heads and held close
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under their chins to keep the rain out。 He knew Rachael well； for a
glance at any one of these groups was sufficient to show him that
she was not there。 At last； there was no more to come； and then he
turned away； saying in a tone of disappointment； “Why； then； I ha’
missed her！”
But； he had not gone the length of three streets； when he saw
another of the shawled figures in advance of him； at which he
looked so keenly that perhaps its mere shadow indistinctly
reflected on the wet pavement—if he could have seen it without
the figure itself moving along from lamp to lamp； brightening and
fading as it went—would have been enough to tell him who was
there。 Making his pace at once much quicker and much softer； he
darted on until he was very near this figure； then fell into his
former walk； and called “Rachael！”
She turned； being then in the brightness of a lamp； and raising
her hood a little； showed a quite oval face； dark and rather
delicate； irradiated by a pair of very gentle eyes； and further set off
by the perfect order of her shining black hair。 It was not a face in
its first bloom； she was a woman five and thirty years of age。
“Ah； lad！ ’Tis thou？” When she had said this； with a smile
which would have been quite expressed； though nothing of her
had been seen but her pleasant eyes； she replaced her hood again；
and they went on together。
“I thought thou wast ahind me； Rachael？”
“No。”
“Early t’night； lass？”
“’Times I’m a little early； Stephen； ’times a little late。 I’m never
to be counted on； going home。”
“Nor going t’other way； neither； ’t seems to me； Rachael？”
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“No； Stephen。”
He looked at her with some disappointment in his face； but with
a respectful and patient conviction that she must be right in
whatever she did。 The expression was not lost upon her； she laid
her hand lightly on his arm a moment as if to thank him for it。
“We are such true friends； lad； and such old friends； and getting
to be such old folk； now。”
“No； Rachael； thou’rt as young as ever thou wast。”
“One of us would be puzzled how to get old； Stephen； without
t’other getting so too； both being alive；” she answered； laughing；
“but； any ways； we’re such old friends； that t’ hide a word of
honest truth fro’ one another would be a sin and a pity。 ’Tis better
not to walk too much together。 ’Times； yes！ ’Twould be hard；
indeed； if ’twas not to be at all；” she said； with a cheerfulness she
sought to communicate to him。
“’Tis hard； anyways； Rachel。”
“Try to think not； and ’twill seem better。”
“I’ve tried a long time； and ’ta’nt got better。 But thou’rt right；
’tmight mak fok talk； even of thee。 Thou hast been that to me；
Rachel； through so many year： thou hast done me so much good；
and heartened of me in that cheering way； that thy word is a law to
me。 Ah lass； and a bright good law！ Better than some real ones。”
“Never fret about them； Stephen；” she answered quickly； and
not without an anxious glance at his face。 “Let the laws be。”
“Yes；” he said； with a slow nod or two。 “Let ’em be。 Let
everything be。 Let all sorts alone。 ’Tis a muddle； and that’s aw。”
“Always a muddle？” said Rachael； with another gentle touch
upon his arm； as if to recall him out of the thoughtfulness； in
which he was biting the long ends of his loose neckerchief as he
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walked along。 The touch had its instantaneous effect。 He let them
fall； turned a smiling face upon her； and said； as he broke into a
good…humoured laugh； “Ay； Rachael； lass； awlus a muddle。 That’s
where I stick。 I come to the muddle many times and agen； and I
never get beyond it。”
They had walked some distance； and were near their own
homes。 The woman’s was the first reached。 It was in one of the
many small streets for which the favourite undertaker （who
turned a handsome sum out of the one poor ghastly pomp of the
neighbourhood） kept a black ladder； in order that those who had
done their daily groping up and down the narrow stairs might
slide out of this working world by the windows。 She stopped at the
corner； and putting her hand in his； wished him good night。
“Good night； dear lass； good night！”
She went； with her neat figure and her sober womanly step；
down the dark street； and he stood looking after her until she
turned into one of the small houses。 There was not a flutter of her
coarse shawl； perhaps； but had its interest in this man’s eyes； not a
tone of her voice but had its echo in his innermost heart。
When she was lost to his view； he pursued his homeward way；
glancing up sometimes at the sky； where the clouds were sailing
fast and wildly。 But； they were broken now； and the rain had
ceased； and the moon shone—looking down the high chimneys of
Coketown on the deep furnaces below； and casting Titanic
shadows of the steam engines at rest； upon the walls where they
were lodged。 The man seemed to have brightened with the night；
as he went on。
His home； in such another street as the first； saving that it was
narrower； was over a little shop。 How it came to pass that any
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people found it worth their while to sell or buy the wretched little
toys； mixed up in its window with cheap newspapers and pork
（there was a leg to be raffled for tomorrow night）； matters not
here。 He took his end of candle from a shelf；
