米德尔马契 英文版 Middlemarch
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LXI. Page 2
He had long poured out utterances of repentance. But today arepentance had come which was of a bitterer flavor, and a threateningProvidence urged him to a kind of propitiation which was not simplya doctrinal transaction. The divine tribunal had changed itsaspect for him; self-prostration was no longer enough, and he mustbring restitution in his hand. It was really before his God thatBulstrode was about to attempt such restitution as seemed possible:a great dread had seized his susceptible frame, and the scorchingapproach of shame wrought in him a new spiritual need. Night and day,while the resurgent threatening past was making a conscience within him,he was thinking by what means he could recover peace and trust--by what sacrifice he could stay the rod. His belief in thesemoments of dread was, that if he spontaneously did something right,God would save him from the consequences of wrong-doing. For religioncan only change when the emotions which fill it are changed; and thereligion of personal fear remains nearly at the level of the savage.
He had seen Raffles actually going away on the Brassing coach,and this was a temporary relief; it removed the pressure of animmediate dread, but did not put an end to the spiritual conflict andthe need to win protection. At last he came to a difficult resolve,and wrote a letter to Will Ladislaw, begging him to be at theShrubs that evening for a private interview at nine o'clock. Willhad felt no particular surprise at the request, and connected itwith some new notions about the "Pioneer;" but when he was showninto Mr. Bulstrode's private room, he was struck with the painfullyworn look on the banker's face, and was going to say, "Are you ill?"when, checking himself in that abruptness, he only inquired afterMrs. Bulstrode, and her satisfaction with the picture bought for her.
"Thank you, she is quite satisfied; she has gone out with her daughtersthis evening. I begged you to come, Mr. Ladislaw, because I havea communication of a very private--indeed, I will say, of a sacredlyconfidential nature, which I desire to make to you. Nothing, I dare say,has been farther from your thoughts than that there had beenimportant ties in the past which could connect your history with mine."
Will felt something like an electric shock. He was already in a stateof keen sensitiveness and hardly allayed agitation on the subjectof ties in the past, and his presentiments were not agreeable.It seemed like the fluctuations of a dream--as if the action begunby that loud bloated stranger were being carried on by this pale-eyedsickly looking piece of respectability, whose subdued tone and glibformality of speech were at this moment almost as repulsive to himas their remembered contrast. He answered, with a marked changeof color--
"No, indeed, nothing."
"You see before you, Mr. Ladislaw, a man who is deeply stricken.But for the urgency of conscience and the knowledge that I ambefore the bar of One who seeth not as man seeth, I should be underno compulsion to make the disclosure which has been my objectin asking you to come here to-night. So far as human laws go,you have no claim on me whatever."
Will was even more uncomfortable than wondering. Mr. Bulstrodehad paused, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at the floor.But he now fixed his examining glance on Will and said--
"I am told that your mother's name was Sarah Dunkirk, and that sheran away from her friends to go on the stage. Also, that yourfather was at one time much emaciated by illness. May I askif you can confirm these statements?"
"Yes, they are all true," said Will, struck with the order in whichan inquiry had come, that might have been expected to be preliminaryto the banker's previous hints. But Mr. Bulstrode had to-night followedthe order of his emotions; he entertained no doubt that the opportunityfor restitution had come, and he had an overpowering impulse towardsthe penitential expression by which he was deprecating chastisement.
"Do you know any particulars of your mother's family?" he continued.
"No; she never liked to speak of them. She was a very generous,honorable woman," said Will, almost angrily.
"I do not wish to allege anything against her. Did she never mentionher mother to you at all?"
"I have heard her say that she thought her mother did not know thereason of her running away. She said `poor mother' in a pitying tone."
"That mother became my wife," said Bulstrode, and then paused amoment before he added, "you have a claim on me, Mr. Ladislaw: as Isaid before, not a legal claim, but one which my conscience recognizes.I was enriched by that marriage--a result which would probablynot have taken place--certainly not to the same extent--if yourgrandmother could have discovered her daughter. That daughter,I gather, is no longer living!"
"No," said Will, feeling suspicion and repugnance rising so stronglywithin him, that without quite knowing what he did, he took his hatfrom the floor and stood up. The impulse within him was to rejectthe disclosed connection.
"Pray be seated, Mr. Ladislaw," said Bulstrode, anxiously."Doubtless you are startled by the suddenness of this discovery.But I entreat your patience with one who is already bowed downby inward trial."
Will reseated himself, feeling some pity which was half contemptfor this voluntary self-abasement of an elderly man.
"It is my wish, Mr. Ladislaw, to make amends for the deprivationwhich befell your mother. I know that you are without fortune,and I wish to supply you adequately from a store which would haveprobably already been yours had your grandmother been certainof your mother's existence and been able to find her."
Mr. Bulstrode paused. He felt that he was performing a striking pieceof scrupulosity in the judgment of his auditor, and a penitentialact in the eyes of God. He had no clew to the state of WillLadislaw's mind, smarting as it was from the clear hints of Raffles,and with its natural quickness in construction stimulated by theexpectation of discoveries which he would have been glad to conjureback into darkness. Will made no answer for several moments,till Mr. Bulstrode, who at the end of his speech had cast hiseyes on the floor, now raised them with an examining glance,which Will met fully, saying--
"I suppose you did know of my mother's existence, and knew where shemight have been found."
Bulstrode shrank--there was a visible quivering in his face and hands.He was totally unprepared to have his advances met in this way,or to find himself urged into more revelation than he had beforehandset down as needful. But at that moment he dared not tell a lie,and he felt suddenly uncertain of his ground which he had troddenwith some confidence before.
"I will not deny that you conjecture rightly," he answered,with a faltering in his tone. "And I wish to make atonement to youas the one still remaining who has suffered a loss through me.You enter, I trust, into my purpose, Mr. Ladislaw, which has a referenceto higher than merely human claims, and as I have already said,is entirely independent of any legal compulsion. I am ready tonarrow my own resources and the prospects of my family by bindingmyself to allow you five hundred pounds yearly during my life,and to leave you a proportional capital at my death--nay, to dostill more, if more should be definitely necessary to any laudableproject on your part." Mr. Bulstrode had gone on to particularsin the expectation that these would work strongly on Ladislaw,and merge other feelings in grateful acceptance.
But Will was looking as stubborn as possible, with his lip poutingand his fingers in his side-pockets. He was not in the least touched,and said firmly,--
"Before I make any reply to your proposition, Mr. Bulstrode, I mustbeg you to answer a question or two. Were you connected with thebusiness by which that fortune you speak of was originally made?"
Mr. Bulstrode's thought was, "Raffles has told him." How could herefuse to answer when he had volunteered what drew forth the question?He answered, "Yes."
"And was that business--or was it not--a thoroughly dishonorable one--nay, one that, if its nature had been made public, might haveranked those concerned in it with thieves and convicts?"
Will's tone had a cutting bitterness: he was moved to put hisquestion as nakedly as he could.
Bulstrode reddened with irrepressible anger. He had been preparedfor a scene of self-abasement, but his intense pride and his habitof supremacy overpowered penitence, and even dread, when this young man,whom he had meant to benefit, turned on him with the air of a judge.
"The business was established before I became connected with it,sir; nor is it for you to institute an inquiry of that kind,"he answered, not raising his voice, but speaking with quick defiantness.
"Yes, it is," said Will, starting up again with his hat in his hand."It is eminently mine to ask such questions, when I have to decidewhether I will have transactions with you and accept your money.My unblemished honor is important to me. It is important to meto have no stain on my birth and connections. And now I find thereis a stain which I can't help. My mother felt it, and triedto keep as clear of it as she could, and so will I. You shall keepyour ill-gotten money. If I had any fortune of my own, I wouldwillingly pay it to any one who could disprove what you have told me.What I have to thank you for is that you kept the money till now,when I can refuse it. It ought to lie with a man's self that he isa gentleman. Good-night, sir."
Bulstrode was going to speak, but Will, with determined quickness,was out of the room in an instant, and in another the hall-door hadclosed behind him. He was too strongly possessed with passionaterebellion against this inherited blot which had been thrust on hisknowledge to reflect at present whether he had not been too hardon Bulstrode--too arrogantly merciless towards a man of sixty,who was making efforts at retrieval when time had rendered them vain.
No third person listening could have thoroughly understood theimpetuosity of Will's repulse or the bitterness of his words.No one but himself then knew how everything connected with thesentiment of his own dignity had an immediate bearing for him onhis relation to Dorothea and to Mr. Casaubon's treatment of him.And in the rush of impulses by which he flung back that offerof Bulstrode's there was mingled the sense that it would have beenimpossible for him ever to tell Dorothea that he had accepted it.
As for Bulstrode--when Will was gone he suffered a violent reaction,and wept like a woman. It was the first time he had encounteredan open expression of scorn from any man higher than Raffles;and with that scorn hurrying like venom through his system,there was no sensibility left to consolations. Rut the reliefof weeping had to be checked. His wife and daughters soon camehome from hearing the address of an Oriental missionary, and werefull of regret that papa had not heard, in the first instance,the interesting things which they tried to repeat to him.
Perhaps, through all other hidden thoughts, the one that breathedmost comfort was, that Will Ladislaw at least was not likelyto publish what had taken place that evening.