bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第288节
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sandwiches； with homage。 Then is she kind and cruel； stately and
unassuming； various； beautifully wilful。 Then is there a singular
kind of parallel between her and the little glass chandeliers of
another age； embellishing that assembly…room； which； with their
meagre stems； their spare little drops； their disappointing knobs
were no drops are； their bare little stalks from which knobs and
drops have both departed； and their little feeble prismatic
twinkling； all seem Volumnias。
For the rest； Lincolnshire life to Volumnia is a vast blank of
overgrown house looking out upon trees； sighing； wringing their
hands； bowing their heads； and casting their tears upon the
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window…panes in monotonous depression。 A labyrinth of
grandeur； less the property of an old family of human beings and
their ghostly likenesses； than of an old family of echoings and
thunderings which start out of their hundred graves at every
sound； and go resounding through the building。 A waste of unused
passages and staircases； in which to drop a comb upon a bedroom
floor at night is to send a stealthy footfall on an errand through the
house。 A place where few people care to go about alone； where a
maid screams if an ash drops from the fire； takes to crying at all
times and seasons； becomes the victim of a low disorder of the
spirits； and gives warning and departs。
Thus Chesney Wold。 With so much of itself abandoned to
darkness and vacancy； with so little change under the summer
shining or the wintry lowering； so sombre and motionless
always—no flag flying now by day； no rows of light sparkling by
night； with no family to come and go； no visitors to be the souls of
pale cold shapes of rooms； no stir of life about it；—passion and
pride； even to the stranger’s eye； have died away from the place of
Lincolnshire； and yielded it to dull repose。
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Chapter 67
The Close Of Esther’s Narrative
ull seven happy years I have been the mistress of Bleak
House。 The few words that I have to add to what I have
F
written； are soon penned； then I； and the unknown friend
to whom I write； will part for ever。 Not without much dear
remembrance on my side。 Not without some； I hope； on his or
hers。
They gave my darling into my arms； and through many weeks I
never left her。 The little child who was to have done so much； was
born before the turf was planted on his father’s grave。 It was a
boy； and I； my husband； and my Guardian； gave him his father
name。
The help that my dear counted on； did come to her； though it
came in the Eternal Wisdom； for another purpose。 Though to bless
and restore his mother； not his father； was the errand of this baby；
its power was mighty to do it。 When I saw the strength of the weak
little hand； and how its touch could heal my darling’s heart； and
raise up hope within her； I felt a new sense of the goodness and
the tenderness of God。
They throve； and by degrees I saw my dear girl pass into my
country garden； and walk there with her infant in her arms。 I was
married then。 I was the happiest of the happy。
It was at this time that my Guardian joined us； and asked Ada
when she would come home。
“Both houses are your home； my dear；” said he； “but the older
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Bleak House claims priority。 When you and my boy are strong
enough to do it； come and take possession of your home。
Ada called him “her dearest cousin； John。” But he said； No； it
must be Guardian now。 He was her Guardian henceforth； and the
boy’s； and he had an old association with the name。 So she called
him Guardian； and has called him Guardian ever since。 The
children know him by no other name—I say the children； I have
two little daughters。
It is difficult to believe that Charley （round…eyed still； and not at
all grammatical） is married to a miller in our neighbourhood； yet
so it is； and even now； looking up from my desk as I write； early in
the morning at my summer window； I see the very mill beginning
to go round。 I hope the miller will not spoil Charley； but he is very
fond of her； and Charley is rather vain of such a match—for he is
well to do； and was in great request。 So far as my small maid is
concerned； I might suppose Time to have stood for seven years as
still as the mill did half an hour ago； since little Emma； Charley’s
sister； is exactly what Charley used to be。 As to Tom； Charley’s
brother； I am really afraid to say what he did at school in
ciphering； but I think it was Decimals。 He is apprenticed to the
miller； whatever it was； and is a good bashful fellow； always falling
in love with somebody； and being ashamed of it。
Caddy Jellyby passed her very last holidays with us； and was a
dearer creature than ever； perpetually dancing in and out of the
house with the children； as if she had never given a dancing…lesson
in her life。 Caddy keeps her own little carriage now； instead of
hiring one； and lives full two miles further westward than
Newman Street。 She works very hard； her husband （an excellent
one） being lame； and able to do very little。 Still； she is more than
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contented； and does all she has to do with all her heart。 Mr Jellyby
spends his evenings at her new house with his head against the
wall； as he used to do in her old one。 I have heard that Mrs Jellyby
was understood to suffer great mortification； from her daughter’s
ignoble marriage and pursuits； but I hope she got over it in time。
She has been disappointed in Borrioboola Gha； which turned out
a failure in consequence of the King of Borrioboola wanting to sell
everybody—who survived the climate—for Rum； but she has
taken up with the rights of women to sit in Parliament； and Caddy
tells me it is a mission involving more correspondence than the old
one。 I had almost forgotten Caddy’s poor little girl。 She is not such
a mite now； but she is deaf and dumb。 I believe there never was a
better mother than Caddy； who learns； in her scanty intervals of
leisure； innumerable deaf and dumb arts； to soften the affliction of
her child。
As if I were never to have done with Caddy； I am reminded here
of Peepy and old Mr Turveydrop。 Peepy is in the Custom…house；
and doing extremely well。 Old Mr Turveydrop； very apolectic； still
exhibits his Deportment about town； still enjoys himself in the old
manner； is still believed in； in the old way。 He is constant in his
patronage of Peepy； and is understood to have bequeathed him a
favourite French clock in his dressing…room—which is not his
property。
With the first money we saved at home； we added to our pretty
house by throwing out a little Growlery expressly for my
Guardian； which we inaugurated with great splendour the next
time he came down to see us。 I try to write all this lightly； because
my heart is full in drawing to an end； but when I write of him； my
tears will have their way。
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