CHAPTER XXIII
關燈
小
中
大
ITwastwoo’clockwhenIreturnedtomylodgingsmydinner,justbroughtinfromaneighbouringhotel,smokedonthetableIsatdownthinkingtoeat—hadtheplatebeenheapedwithpotsherdsandbrokenglass,insteadofboiledbeefandharicots,Icouldnothavemadeamoresignalfailure:appetitehadforsakenme.ImpatientofseeingfoodwhichIcouldnottaste,Iputitallasideintoacupboard,andthendemanded,“WhatshallIdotillevening?”forbeforesixP.M.itwouldbevaintoseektheRueNotreDameauxNeigesitsinhabitant(formeithadbutone)wasdetainedbyhervocationelsewhere.IwalkedinthestreetsofBrussels,andIwalkedinmyownroomfromtwoo’clocktillsixneveronceinthatspaceoftimedidIsitdown.Iwasinmychamberwhenthelast-namedhourstruckIhadjustbathedmyfaceandfeverishhands,andwasstandingneartheglassmycheekwascrimson,myeyewasflame,stillallmyfeatureslookedquitesettledandcalm.Descendingswiftlythestairandsteppingout,IwasgladtoseeTwilightdrawingonincloudssuchshadewastomelikeagratefulscreen,andthechilloflatterAutumn,breathinginafitfulwindfromthenorth-west,metmeasarefreshingcoolness.StillIsawitwascoldtoothers,forthewomenIpassedwerewrappedinshawls,andthemenhadtheircoatsbuttonedclose.
Whenarewequitehappy?WasIsothen?Noanurgentandgrowingdreadworriedmynerves,andhadworriedthemsincethefirstmomentgoodtidingshadreachedme.HowwasFrances?ItwastenweekssinceIhadseenher,sixsinceIhadheardfromher,orofher.Ihadansweredherletterbyabriefnote,friendlybutcalm,inwhichnomentionofcontinuedcorrespondenceorfurthervisitswasmade.Atthathourmybarkhungonthetopmostcurlofawaveoffate,andIknewnotonwhatshoaltheonwardrushofthebillowmighthurlitIwouldnotthenattachherdestinytominebytheslightestthreadifdoomedtosplitontherock,orrunagroundonthesand-bank,Iwasresolvednoothervesselshouldsharemydisaster:butsixweekswasalongtimeandcoulditbethatshewasstillwellanddoingwell?Werenotallsagesagreedindeclaringthathappinessfindsnoclimaxonearth?DaredIthinkthatbuthalfastreetnowdividedmefromthefullcupofcontentment—thedraughtdrawnfromwaterssaidtoflowonlyinheaven?
IwasatthedoorIenteredthequiethouseImountedthestairsthelobbywasvoidandstill,allthedoorsclosedIlookedfortheneatgreenmatitlaydulyinitsplace.
“Signalofhope!”Isaid,andadvanced.“ButIwillbealittlecalmerIamnotgoingtorushin,andgetupascenedirectly.”Forciblystayingmyeagerstep,Ipausedonthemat.
“Whatanabsolutehush!Isshein?Isanybodyin?”Idemandedtomyself.Alittletinkle,asofcindersfallingfromagrate,repliedamovement—afirewasgentlystirredandtheslightrustleoflifecontinuing,asteppacedequablybackwardsandforwards,backwardsandforwards,intheapartment.Fascinated,Istood,morefixedlyfascinatedwhenavoicerewardedtheattentionofmystrainedear—solow,soself-addressed,Ineverfanciedthespeakerotherwisethanalonesolitudemightspeakthusinadesert,orinthehallofaforsakenhouse.
“‘Andne’erbutonce,myson,’hesaid,
‘Wasyondarkcaverntrod
Inpersecution’sirondays,
WhenthelandwasleftbyGod.
FromBewley’sbog,withslaughterred,
Awandererhitherdrew
Andofthestopp’dandturn’dhishead,
Asbyfitsthenight-windsblew.
FortramplingroundbyCheviot-edge
Wereheardthetrooperskeen
AndfrequentfromtheWhitelawridge
Thedeath-shotflash’dbetween.’”&c.&c.
TheoldScotchballadwaspartlyrecited,thendroptapauseensuedthenanotherstrainfollowed,inFrench,ofwhichthepurport,translated,ranasfollows:—
Igave,atfirst,attentionclose
Theninterestwarmensued
Frominterest,asimprovementrose,
Succeededgratitude.
Obediencewasnoeffortsoon,
Andlabourwasnopain
Iftired,aword,aglancealone
Wouldgivemestrengthagain.
Fromothersofthestudiousband,
Erelonghesingledme
Butonlybymoreclosedemand,
Andsternerurgency.
Thetaskhefromanothertook,
Frommehedidreject
Hewouldnoslightomissionbrook,
Andsuffernodefect.
Ifmycompanionswentastray,
Hescarcetheirwanderingsblam’d
IfIbutfalter’dintheway,
Hisangerfiercelyflam’d.
Somethingstirredinanadjoiningchamberitwouldnotdotobesurprisedeaves-droppingItappedhastily,andashastilyentered.Franceswasjustbeforemeshehadbeenwalkingslowlyinherroom,andherstepwascheckedbymyadvent:Twilightonlywaswithher,andtranquil,ruddyFirelighttothesesisters,theBrightandtheDark,shehadbeenspeaking,ereIentered,inpoetry.SirWalterScott’svoice,toheraforeign,far-offsound,amountainecho,haduttereditselfinthefirststanzasthesecond,Ithought,fromthestyleandthesubstance,wasthelanguageofherownheart.Herfacewasgrave,itsexpressionconcentratedshebentonmeanunsmilingeye—aneyejustreturningfromabstraction,justawakingfromdreams:well-arrangedwashersimpleattire,smoothherdarkhair,orderlyhertranquilroombutwhat—withherthoughtfullook,herseriousself-reliance,h