CHAPTER VI. LONDON.
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ThenextdaywasthefirstofMarch,andwhenIawoke,rose,andopenedmycurtain,Isawtherisensunstrugglingthroughfog.Abovemyhead,abovethehouse-tops,co-elevatealmostwiththeclouds,Isawasolemn,orbedmass,darkblueanddim—THEDOME.WhileIlooked,myinnerselfmovedmyspiritshookitsalways-fetteredwingshalflooseIhadasuddenfeelingasifI,whoneveryettrulylived,wereatlastabouttotastelife.InthatmorningmysoulgrewasfastasJonah’sgourd.
“Ididwelltocome,”Isaid,proceedingtodresswithspeedandcare.“IlikethespiritofthisgreatLondonwhichIfeelaroundme.Whobutacowardwouldpasshiswholelifeinhamletsandforeverabandonhisfacultiestotheeatingrustofobscurity?”
Beingdressed,Iwentdownnottravel-wornandexhausted,buttidyandrefreshed.Whenthewaitercameinwithmybreakfast,Imanagedtoaccosthimsedately,yetcheerfullywehadtenminutes’discourse,inthecourseofwhichwebecameusefullyknowntoeachother.
Hewasagrey-haired,elderlymanand,itseemed,hadlivedinhispresentplacetwentyyears.Havingascertainedthis,Iwassurehemustremembermytwouncles,CharlesandWilmot,who,fifteen,yearsago,werefrequentvisitorshere.Imentionedtheirnamesherecalledthemperfectly,andwithrespect.Havingintimatedmyconnection,mypositioninhiseyeswashenceforthclear,andonarightfooting.HesaidIwaslikemyuncleCharles:Isupposehespoketruth,becauseMrs.Barrettwasaccustomedtosaythesamething.AreadyandobligingcourtesynowreplacedhisformeruncomfortablydoubtfulmannerhenceforthIneednolongerbeatalossforacivilanswertoasensiblequestion.
Thestreetonwhichmylittlesitting-roomwindowlookedwasnarrow,perfectlyquiet,andnotdirty:thefewpassengerswerejustsuchasoneseesinprovincialtowns:herewasnothingformidableIfeltsureImightventureoutalone.
Havingbreakfasted,outIwent.Elationandpleasurewereinmyheart:towalkaloneinLondonseemedofitselfanadventure.PresentlyIfoundmyselfinPaternosterRow—classicgroundthis.Ienteredabookseller’sshop,keptbyoneJones:Iboughtalittlebook—apieceofextravaganceIcouldillaffordbutIthoughtIwouldonedaygiveorsendittoMrs.Barrett.Mr.Jones,adried-inmanofbusiness,stoodbehindhisdesk:heseemedoneofthegreatest,andIoneofthehappiestofbeings.
ProdigiouswastheamountoflifeIlivedthatmorning.FindingmyselfbeforeSt.Paul’s,IwentinImountedtothedome:IsawthenceLondon,withitsriver,anditsbridges,anditschurchesIsawantiqueWestminster,andthegreenTempleGardens,withsunuponthem,andaglad,bluesky,ofearlyspringaboveandbetweenthemandit,nottoodense,acloudofhaze.
Descending,Iwentwanderingwhitherchancemightlead,inastillecstasyoffreedomandenjoymentandIgot—Iknownothow—Igotintotheheartofcitylife.IsawandfeltLondonatlast:IgotintotheStrandIwentupCornhillImixedwiththelifepassingalongIdaredtheperilsofcrossings.Todothis,andtodoitutterlyalone,gaveme,perhapsanirrational,butarealpleasure.Sincethosedays,IhaveseentheWestEnd,theparks,thefinesquaresbutIlovethecityfarbetter.Thecityseemssomuchmoreinearnest:itsbusiness,itsrush,itsroar,aresuchseriousthings,sights,andsounds.Thecityisgettingitsliving—theWestEndbutenjoyingitspleasure.AttheWestEndyoumaybeamused,butinthecityyouaredeeplyexcited.
Faint,atlast,andhungry(itwasyearssinceIhadfeltsuchhealthyhunger),Ireturned,abouttwoo’clock,tomydark,old,andquietinn.Idinedontwodishes—aplainjointandvegetablesbothseemedexcellent:howmuchbetterthanthesmall,daintymessesMissMarchmont’scookusedtosenduptomykind,deadmistressandme,andtothediscussionofwhichwecouldnotbringhalfanappetitebetweenus!Delightfullytired,Ilaydown,onthreechairsforanhour(theroomdidnotboastasofa).Islept,thenIwokeandthoughtfortwohours.
Mystateofmind,andallaccompanyingcircumstances,werejustnowsuchasmosttofavourtheadoptionofanew,resolute,anddaring—perhapsdesperate—lineofaction.Ihadnothingtolose.Unutterableloathingofadesolateexistencepast,forbadereturn.IfIfailedinwhatInowdesignedtoundertake,who,savemyself,wouldsuffer?IfIdiedfarawayfrom—home,Iwasgoingtosay,butIhadnohome—fromEngland,then,whowouldweep?
ImightsufferIwasinuredtosuffering:deathitselfhadnot,Ithought,thoseterrorsformewhichithasforthesoftlyreared.Ihad,erethis,lookedonthethoughtofdeathwithaquieteye.Prepared,then,foranyconsequences,Iformedaproject.
ThatsameeveningIobtainedfrommyfriend,thewaiter,informationrespecting,thesailing