bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第65节
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through every step and every part of the figure； and never rested
for an instant。 His distinguished father did nothing whatever； but
stand before the fire； a model of Deportment。
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“And he never does anything else；” said the old lady of the
censorious countenance。 “Yet would you believe that it’s his name
on the door…plate？”
“His son’s name is the same； you know；” said I。
“He wouldn’t let his son have any name； if he could take it from
him；” returned the old lady。 “Look at the son’s dress！” It certainly
was plain—threadbare—almost shabby。 “Yet the father must be
garnished and tricked out；” said the old lady； “because of his
Deportment。 I’d deport him！ Transport him would be better！”
I felt curious to know more； concerning this person。 I asked；
“Does he give lessons in Deportment； now？”
“Now！” returned the old lady； shortly。 “Never did。”
After a moment’s consideration； I suggested that perhaps
fencing had been his accomplishment？
“I don’t believe he can fence at all； ma’am；” said the old lady。
I looked surprised and inquisitive。 The old lady； becoming more
and more incensed against the Master of Deportment as she dwelt
upon the subject； gave me some particulars of his career； with
strong assurances that they were mildly stated。
He had married a meek little dancing…mistress； with a tolerable
connection （having never in his life before done anything but
deport himself）； and had worked her to death； or had； at the best；
suffered her to work herself to death； to maintain him in those
expenses which were indispensable to his position。 At once to
exhibit his Deportment to the best models； and to keep the best
models constantly before himself； he had found it necessary to
frequent all public places of fashionable and lounging resort； to be
seen at Brighton and elsewhere at fashionable times； and to lead
an idle life in the very best clothes。 To enable him to do this； the
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affectionate little dancing…mistress had toiled and laboured； and
would have toiled and laboured to that hour； if her strength had
lasted so long。 For； the mainspring of the story was； that； in spite
of the man’s absorbing selfishness； his wife （overpowered by his
Deportment） had； to the last； believed in him； and had； on her
death…bed； in the most moving terms； confided him to their son as
one who had an inextinguishable claim upon him； and whom he
could never regard with too much pride and deference。 The son；
inheriting his mother’s belief； and having the Deportment always
before him； had lived and grown in the same faith； and now； at
thirty years of age； worked for his father twelve hours a…day； and
looked up to him with veneration on the old imaginary pinnacle。
“The airs the fellow gives himself！” said my informant； shaking
her head at old Mr Turveydrop with speechless indignation； as he
drew on his tight gloves： of course unconscious of the homage she
was rendering。 “He fully believes he is one of the aristocracy！ And
he is so condescending to the son he so egregiously deludes that
you might suppose him the most virtuous of parents。 O！” said the
old lady； apostrophising him with infinite vehemence； “I could bite
you！”
I could not help being amused； though I heard the old lady out
with feelings of real concern。 It was difficult to doubt her； with the
father and son before me。 What I might have thought of them
without the old lady’s account； or what I might have thought of the
old lady’s account without them； I cannot say。 There was a fitness
of things in the whole that carried conviction with it。
My eyes were yet wandering； from young Mr Turveydrop
working so hard to old Mr Turveydrop deporting himself so
beautifully； when the latter came ambling up to me； and entered
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into conversation。
He asked me； first of all； whether I conferred a charm and a
distinction on London by residing in it？ I did not think it
necessary to reply that I was perfectly aware I should not do that；
in any case； but merely told him where I did reside。
“A lady so graceful and accomplished；” he said； kissing his right
glove； and afterwards extending it towards the pupils； “will look
leniently on the deficiencies here。 We do our best to polish—
polish—polish！”
He sat down beside me； taking some pains to sit on the form； I
thought； in imitation of the print of his illustrious model on the
sofa。 And really he did look very like it。
“To polish—polish—polish！” he repeated； taking a pinch of
snuff and gently fluttering his fingers。 “But we are not—if I may
say so； to one formed to be graceful both by Nature and Art；” with
the high…shouldered bow； which it seemed impossible for him to
make without lifting up his eyebrows and shutting his eyes—“we
are not what we used to be in point of Deportment。”
“Are we not； sir？” said I。
“We have degenerated；” he returned； shaking his head； which
he could do； to a very limited extent； in his cravat。 “A levelling age
is not favourable to Deportment。 It develops vulgarity。 Perhaps I
speak with some little partiality。 It may not be for me to say that I
have been called； for some years now； Gentleman Turveydrop； or
that His Royal Highness the Prince Regent did me the honour to
inquire； on my removing my hat as he drove out of the Pavilion at
Brighton （that fine building） ‘Who is he？ Who the Devil is he？ Why
don’t I know him？ Why hasn’t he thirty thousand a year？’ But
these are little matters of anecdote—the general property；
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ma’am；—still repeated occasionally； among the upper classes。”
“Indeed？” said I。
He replied with the high…shouldered bow。 “Where what is left
among us of Deportment；” he added； “still lingers。 England—alas；
my country！—has degenerated very much； and is degenerating
every day。 She has not many gentlemen left。 We are few。 I see
nothing to succeed us； but a race of weavers。”
“One might hope that the race of gentlemen would be
perpetuated here；” said I。
“You are very good；” he smiled； with the high…shouldered bow
again。 “You flatter me。 But； no—no！ I have never been able to
imbue my poor boy with that part of his art。 Heaven forbid that I
should disparage my dear child； but he has—no Deportment。”
“He appears to be an excellent master；” I observed。
“Understand me； my dear madam； he is an excellent master。 All
that can be acquired； he has acquired。 All that can be imparted； he
can impart。 But there are things”—he took another pinch of snuff
and made the bow again； as if to add； “this kind of thing； for
instance。”
I glanced towards the centre of the room； where Miss Jellyby’s
lover； now engaged with single pupils； was undergoing greater
drudgery than ever。
“My amiable child；” murmured Mr Turveydrop； adjusting his
cravat。
“Your son is indefatigable；” said I。
“It is my reward；” said Mr Turveydrop； “to hear you say so。 In
some respects； he treads in the footsteps of his sainted mother。
She was a devoted creature。 But Wooman； lovely Wooman；” said
Mr Turveydrop； with very disagreeable gallantry； “what a sex you
Charles Dickens
