bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第169节
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between us。
I raised my mother up； praying and beseeching her not to stoop
before me in such affliction and humiliation。 I did so； in broken
incoherent words； for； besides the trouble I was in； it frightened
me to see her at my feet。 I told her—or I tried to tell her—that if it
were for me； her child； under any circumstances to take upon me
to forgive her； I did it； and had done it； many； many years。 I told
her that my heart overflowed with love for her； that it was natural
love； which nothing in the past had changed； or could change。
That it was not for me； then resting for the first time on my
mother’s bosom； to take her to account for having given me life；
but that my duty was to bless her and receive her； though the
whole world turned from her； and that I only asked her leave to do
it。 I held my mother in my embrace； and she held me in hers； and
among the still woods in the silence of the summer day； there
seemed to be nothing but our two troubled minds that was not at
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peace。
“To bless and receive me；” groaned my mother； “it is far too
late。 I must travel my dark road alone； and it will lead me where it
will。 From day to day； sometimes from hour to hour； I do not see
the way before my guilty feet。 This is the earthly punishment I
have brought upon myself。 I bear it and I hide it。”
Even in the thinking of her endurance； she drew her habitual
air of proud indifference about her like a veil； though she soon cast
it off again。
“I must keep this secret； if by any means it can be kept； not
wholly for myself。 I have a husband； wretched and dishonouring
creature that I am！”
These words she uttered with a suppressed cry of despair； more
terrible in its sound than any shriek。 Covering her face with her
hands； she shrunk down in my embrace as if she were unwilling
that I should touch her； nor could I； by my utmost persuasions； or
by any endearments I could use； prevail upon her to rise。 She said；
No； no； no； she could only speak to me so； she must be proud and
disdainful everywhere else； she would be humbled and ashamed
there； in the only natural moments of her life。
My unhappy mother told me that in my illness she had been
nearly frantic。 She had but then known that her child was living。
She could not have suspected me to be that child before。 She had
followed me down here； to speak to me but once in all her life。 We
never could associate； never could communicate； never probably
from that time forth could interchange another word； on earth。
She put into my hands a letter she had written for my reading
only； and said； when I had read it； and destroyed it—but not so
much for her sake； since she asked nothing； as for her husband’s
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and my own—I must evermore consider her as dead。 If I could
believe that she loved me； in this agony in which I saw her； with a
mother’s love； she asked me to do that； for then I might think of
her with a greater pity； imagining what she suffered。 She had put
herself beyond all hope； and beyond all help。 Whether she
preserved her secret until death； or it came to be discovered and
she brought dishonour and disgrace upon the name she had taken；
it was her solitary struggle always； and no affection could come
near her； and no human creature could render her any aid。
“But is the secret safe so far？” I asked。 “Is it safe now； dearest
mother？”
“No；” replied my mother。 “It has been very near discovery。 It
was saved by an accident。 It may be lost by another accident—
tomorrow； any day。”
“Do you dread a particular person？”
“Hush！ Do not tremble and cry so much for me。 I am not
worthy of these tears；” said my mother； kissing my hands。 “I dread
one person very much。”
“An enemy？”
“Not a friend。 One who is too passionless to be either。 He is Sir
Leicester Dedlock’s lawyer； mechanically faithful without
attachment； and very jealous of the profit； privilege； and
reputation of being master of the mysteries of great houses。”
“Has he any suspicions？”
“Many。”
“Not of you？” I said alarmed。
“Yes！ He is always vigilant； and always near me。 I may keep
him at a stand still； but I can never shake him off。”
“Has he so little pity or compunction？”
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“He has none； and no anger。 He is indifferent to everything but
his calling。 His calling is the acquisition of secrets； and the holding
possession of such power as they give him； with no sharer or
opponent in it。”
“Could you trust in him？”
“I shall never try。 The dark road I have trodden for so many
years will end where it will。 I follow it alone to the end； whatever
the end be。 It may be near； it may be distant； while the road lasts；
nothing turns me。”
“Dear mother； are you so resolved？”
“I am resolved。 I have long outbidden folly with folly； pride with
pride； scorn with scorn； insolence with insolence； and have
outlived many vanities with many more。 I will outlive this danger；
and outdie it； if I can。 It has closed around me； almost as awfully as
if these woods of Chesney Wold； had closed around the house； but
my course through it is the same。 I have but one； I can have but
one。”
“Mr Jarndyce—” I was beginning； when my mother hurriedly
inquired：—
“Does he suspect？”
“No；” said I。 “No； indeed！ Be assured that he does not！” And I
told her what he had related to me as his knowledge of my story。
“But he is so good and sensible；” said I； “that perhaps if he knew—
” My mother； who until this time had made no change in her
position； raised her hand up to my lips； and stopped me。
“Confide fully in him；” she said； after a little while。 “You have
my free consent—a small gift from such a mother to her injured
child！—but do not tell me of it。 Some pride is left in me； even yet。”
I explained； as nearly as I could then； or can recall now—for my
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agitation and distress throughout were so great that I scarcely
understood myself； though every word that was uttered in the
mother’s voice； so unfamiliar and so melancholy to me； which in
my childhood I had never learned to love and recognise； had never
been sung to sleep with； had never heard a blessing from； had
never had a hope inspired by； made an enduring impression on
my memory—I say I explained； or tried to do it； how I had only
hoped that Mr Jarndyce； who had been the best of fathers to me；
might be able to afford some counsel and support to her。 But my
mother answered no； it was impossible； no one could help her。
Through the desert that lay before her； she must go alone。
“My child； my child！” she said。 “For the last time！ These kisses
for the last time！ These arms upon my neck for the last time！ We
shall meet no more。 To hope to do what I seek to do； I must be
what I have been so long。 Such is my reward and doom。 If you
hear of Lady Dedlock； brilliant； prosperous； and flattered； think of
your wretched mother； conscience…stricken； underneath that
mask！ Think that the reality is in her suffering； in her useless
remorse； in her murdering within her breast
