bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第55节
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Colonies to Loodle； and the Foreign Office to Moodle； what are
you to do with Noodle？ You can’t offer him the Presidency of the
Council； that is reserved for Poodle。 You can’t put him in the
Woods and Forests； that is hardly good enough for Quoodle。 What
follows？ That the country is shipwrecked； lost； and gone to pieces
（as is made manifest to the patriotism of Sir Leicester Dedlock）；
because you can’t provide for Noodle！
On the other hand； the Right Honourable William Buffy； M。P。；
contends across the table with some one else； that the shipwreck
of the country—about which there is no doubt； it is only the
manner of it that is in question—is attributable to Cuffy。 If you had
done with Cuffy what you ought to have done when he first came
into Parliament； and had prevented him from going over to Duffy；
you would have got him into an alliance with Fuffy； you would
have had with you the weight attaching as a smart debater to
Guffy； you would have brought to bear upon the elections the
wealth of Huffy； you would have got in for three counties Juffy；
Kuffy； and Luffy； and you would have strengthened your
administration by the official knowledge and the business habits of
Muffy。 All this； instead of being as you now are； dependent on the
mere caprice of Puffy！
As to this point； and as to some minor topics； there are
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differences of opinion； but it is perfectly clear to the brilliant and
distinguished circle； all round； that nobody is in question but
Boodle and his retinue； and Buffy and his retinue。 These are the
great actors for whom the stage is reserved。 A People there are； no
doubt—a certain large number of supernumeraries； who are to be
occasionally addressed and relied upon for shouts and choruses；
as on the theatrical stage； but Boodle and Buffy； their followers
and families； their heirs； executors； administrators； and assigns；
are the born first actors； managers； and leaders； and no others can
appear upon the scene for ever and ever。
In this； too； there is perhaps more Dandyism at Chesney Wold
than the brilliant and distinguished circle will find good for itself
in the long run。 For it is； even with the stillest and politest circles；
as with the circle the necromancer draws around him—very
strange appearances may be seen in active motion outside。 With
this difference： that； being realities and not phantoms； there is the
greater danger of their breaking in。
Chesney Wold is quite full； anyhow； so full； that a burning sense
of injury arises in the breasts of ill…lodged ladies’ maids； and is not
to be extinguished。 Only one room is empty。 It is a turret chamber
of the third order of merit； plainly but comfortably furnished； and
having an old…fashioned business air。 It is Mr Tulkinghorn’s room；
and is never bestowed on anybody else； for he may come at any
time。 He is not come yet。 It is his quiet habit to walk across the
park from the village； in fine weather； to drop into this room； as if
he had never been out of it since he was last seen there； to request
a servant to inform Sir Leicester that he is arrived； in case he
should be wanted； and to appear ten minutes before dinner； in the
shadow of the library door。 He sleeps in his turret； with a
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complaining flag…staff over his head； and has some leads outside；
on which； any fine morning； when he is down here； his black
figure may be seen walking before breakfast like a larger species
of rook。
Every day before dinner； my Lady looks for him in the dusk of
the library； but he is not there。 Every day at dinner； my Lady
glances down the table for the vacant place； that would be waiting
to receive him if he had just arrived； but there is no vacant place。
Every night； my Lady casually asks her maid：—
“Is Mr Tulkinghorn come？”
Every night the answer is； “No； my Lady； not yet。”
One night； while having her hair undressed； my Lady loses
herself in deep thought after this reply； until she sees her own
brooding face； in the opposite glass； and a pair of black eyes
curiously observing her。
“Be so good as to attend；” says my Lady then； addressing the
reflection of Hortense； “to your business。 You can contemplate
your beauty at another time。”
“Pardon！ It was your Ladyship’s beauty。”
“That；” says my Lady； “you needn’t contemplate at all。”
At length； one afternoon a little before sunset； when the bright
groups of figures； which have for the last hour or two enlivened
the Ghost’s Walk； are all dispersed； and only Sir Leicester and my
Lady remain upon the terrace； Mr Tulkinghorn appears。 He
comes towards them at his usual methodical pace； which is never
quickened； never slackened。 He wears his usual expressionless
mask—if it be a mask—and carries family secrets in every limb of
his body； and every crease of his dress。 Whether his whole soul is
devoted to the great； or whether he yields them nothing beyond
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the services he sells； is his personal secret。 He keeps it； as he keeps
the secrets of his clients； he is his own client in that matter； and
will never betray himself。
“How do you do； Mr Tulkinghorn？” says Sir Leicester； giving
him his hand。
Mr Tulkinghorn is quite well。 Sir Leicester is quite well。 My
Lady is quite well。 All highly satisfactory。 The lawyer； with his
hands behind him； walks at Sir Leicester’s side； along the terrace。
My Lady walks upon the other side。
“We expected you before；” says Sir Leicester。 A gracious
observation。 As much as to say； “Mr Tulkinghorn； we remember
your existence when you are not here to remind us of it by your
presence。 We bestow a fragment of our minds upon you； sir； you
see！”
Mr Tulkinghorn； comprehending it； inclines his head； and says
he is much obliged。
“I should have come down sooner；” he explains； “but that I
have been much engaged with those matters in the several suits
between yourself and Boythorn。”
“A man of a very ill…regulated mind；” observes Sir Leicester；
with severity。 “An extremely dangerous person in any community。
A man of a very low character of mind。”
“He is obstinate；” says Mr Tulkinghorn。
“It is natural to such a man to be so；” says Sir Leicester； looking
most profoundly obstinate himself。 “I am not at all surprised to
hear it。”
“The only question is；” pursues the lawyer； “whether you will
give up anything。”
“No； sir；” replies Sir Leicester。 “Nothing。 I give up？”
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“I don’t mean anything of importance。 That； of course； I know
you would not abandon。 I mean any minor point。”
“Mr Tulkinghorn；” returns Sir Leicester； “there can be no
minor point between myself and Mr Boythorn。 If I go farther； and
observe that I cannot readily conceive how any right of mine can
be a minor point； I speak not so much in reference to myself as an
individual； as in reference to the family position I have it in charge
to maintain。”
Mr Tulkinghorn inclines his head again。 “I have now my
instructions；” he says。 “Mr Boythorn will give us a good deal of
trouble—”
“It is the character
