米德尔马契 英文版 Middlemarch
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LXXI. Page 1
Clown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed,you have a delight to sit, have you not?Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter.Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths.--Measure for Measure.
Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was standingat his leisure under the large archway leading into the yard of theGreen Dragon. He was not fond of solitary contemplation, but hehad only just come out of the house, and any human figure standingat ease under the archway in the early afternoon was as certainto attract companionship as a pigeon which has found something worthpeeking at. In this case there was no material object to feed upon,but the eye of reason saw a probability of mental sustenance in theshape of gossip. Mr. Hopkins, the meek-mannered draper opposite,was the first to act on this inward vision, being the more ambitiousof a little masculine talk because his customers were chiefly women.Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkinswas of course glad to talk to _him_, but that he was not goingto waste much of his talk on Hopkins. Soon, however, there wasa small cluster of more important listeners, who were eitherdeposited from the passers-by, or had sauntered to the spot expresslyto see if there were anything going on at the Green Dragon;and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say manyimpressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing and thepurchases he had made on a journey in the north from which he hadjust returned. Gentlemen present were assured that when they couldshow him anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four,which was to be seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and lookat it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot "from hereto Hereford." Also, a pair of blacks which he was going to putinto the break recalled vividly to his mind a pair which he had soldto Faulkner in '19, for a hundred guineas, and which Faulkner hadsold for a hundred and sixty two months later--any gent who coulddisprove this statement being offered the privilege of callingMr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry.
When the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. FrankHawley. He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging atthe Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street andseeing Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long stridesacross to ask the horsedealer whether he had found the first-rategig-horse which he had engaged to look for. Mr. Hawley was requestedto wait until he had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: if that didnot meet his wishes to a hair, Bambridge did not know a horse when hesaw it, which seemed to be the highest conceivable unlikelihood.Mr. Hawley, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a time forlooking at the gray and seeing it tried, when a horseman passed slowly by.
"Bulstrode!" said two or three voices at once in a low tone, one of them,which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the "Mr.;" but nobodyhaving more intention in this interjectural naming than if they had said"the Riverston coach" when that vehicle appeared in the distance.Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at Bulstrode's back,but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a sarcastic grimace.
"By jingo! that reminds me," he began, lowering his voice a little,"I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse,Mr. Hawley. I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode.Do you know how he came by his fortune? Any gentleman wantinga bit of curious information, I can give it him free of expense.If everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode might have had to sayhis prayers at Botany Bay."
"What do you mean?" said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands intohis pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway.If Bulstrode should turn out to be a rascal, Frank Hawley hada prophetic soul.
"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's.I'll tell you where I first picked him up," said Bambridge,with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger. "He was at Larcher's sale,but I knew nothing of him then--he slipped through my fingers--was after Bulstrode, no doubt. He tells me he can tap Bulstrodeto any amount, knows all his secrets. However, he blabbed to meat Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass. Damme if I think he meantto turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow,the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, till he'd brag of aspavin as if it 'ud fetch money. A man should know when to pull up."Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of disgust, satisfied thathis own bragging showed a fine sense of the marketable.
"What's the man's name? Where can he be found?" said Mr. Hawley.
"As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head;but his name is Raffles."
"Raffles!" exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. "I furnished his funeral yesterday.He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A verydecent funeral." There was a strong sensation among the listeners.Mr. Bambridge gave an ejaculation in which "brimstone" was themildest word, and Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bendinghis head forward, exclaimed, "What?--where did the man die?"
"At Stone Court," said the draper. "The housekeeper said he wasa relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday."
"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him," interposed Bambridge.
"Did any doctor attend him?" said Mr. Hawley
"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night.He died the third morning."
"Go on, Bambridge," said Mr. Hawley, insistently. "What did thisfellow say about Bulstrode?"
The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence beinga guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there;and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven.It was mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw,with some local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrodehad dreaded the betrayal of--and hoped to have buried forever withthe corpse of Raffles--it was that haunting ghost of his earlierlife which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he wastrusting that Providence had delivered him from. Yes, Providence.He had not confessed to himself yet that he had done anythingin the way of contrivance to this end; he had accepted what seemedto have been offered. It was impossible to prove that he had doneanything which hastened the departure of that man's soul.
But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch likethe smell of fire. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his informationby sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court on a pretextof inquiring about hay, but really to gather all that could belearned about Raffles and his illness from Mrs. Abel. In this wayit came to his knowledge that Mr. Garth had carried the man to StoneCourt in his gig; and Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunityof seeing Caleb, calling at his office to ask whether he had timeto undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then askinghim incidentally about Raffles. Caleb was betrayed into no wordinjurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which he was forced to admit,that he had given up acting for him within the last week.Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that Raffleshad told his story to Garth, and that Garth had given up Bulstrode'saffairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr. Toller.The statement was passed on until it had quite lost the stampof an inference, and was taken as information coming straightfrom Garth, so that even a diligent historian might have concludedCaleb to be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors.
Mr. Hawley was not slow to perceive that there was no handlefor the law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in thecircumstances of his death. He had himself ridden to Lowick villagethat he might look at the register and talk over the whole matterwith Mr. Farebrother, who was not more surprised than the lawyerthat an ugly secret should have come to light about Bulstrode,though he had always had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathyfrom turning into conclusions. But while they were talking anothercombination was silently going forward in Mr. Farebrother's mind,which foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarchas a necessary "putting of two and two together." With the reasonswhich kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thoughtthat the dread might have something to do with his munificencetowards his medical man; and though he resisted the suggestionthat it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he hada foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignanteffect on Lydgate's reputation. He perceived that Mr. Hawley knewnothing at present of the sudden relief from debt, and he himselfwas careful to glide away from all approaches towards the subject.
"Well," he said, with a deep breath, wanting to wind up theillimitable discussion of what might have been, though nothing couldbe legally proven, "it is a strange story. So our mercurial Ladislawhas a queer genealogy! A high-spirited young lady and a musicalPolish patriot made a likely enough stock for him to spring from,but I should never have suspected a grafting of the Jew pawnbroker.However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand.Some sorts of dirt serve to clarify."
"It's just what I should have expected," said Mr. Hawley,mounting his horse. "Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy."
"I know he's one of your black sheep, Hawley. But he is reallya disinterested, unworldly fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling.
"Ay, ay, that is your Whiggish twist," said Mr. Hawley, who had beenin the habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was sucha damned pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory.
Mr. Hawley rode home without thinking of Lydgate's attendance onRaffles in any other light than as a piece of evidence on the sideof Bulstrode. But the news that Lydgate had all at once becomeable not only to get rid of the execution in his house but to payall his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering roundit conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus,and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley,who were not slow to see a significant relation between this suddencommand of money and Bulstrode's desire to stifle the scandalof Raffles. That the money came from Bulstrode would infalliblyhave been guessed even if there had been no direct evidence of it;for it had beforehand entered into the gossip about Lydgate's affairs,that neither his father-in-law nor his own family would do anythingfor him, and direct evidence was furnished not only by a clerkat the Bank, but by innocent Mrs. Bulstrode herself, who mentionedthe loan to Mrs. Plymdale, who mentioned it to her daughter-in-lawof the house of Toller, who mentioned it generally. The businesswas felt to be so public and important that it required dinnersto feed it, and many invitations were just then issued and acceptedon the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate;wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to teaoftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the GreenDragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which could not be won fromthe question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill.
For hardly anybody doubted that some scandalous reason or other was atthe bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Mr. Hawley indeed,in the first instance, invited a select party, including thetwo physicians, with Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to holda close discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness,reciting to them all the particulars which had been gathered fromMrs. Abel in connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the deathwas due to delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who allstood undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease,declared that they could see nothing in these particulars which couldbe transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. But the moralgrounds of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrodeclearly had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and the fact that atthis critical moment he had given Lydgate the help which he mustfor some time have known the need for; the disposition, moreover,to believe that Bulstrode would be unscrupulous, and the absenceof any indisposition to believe that Lydgate might be as easilybribed as other haughty-minded men when they have found themselvesin want of money. Even if the money had been given merely to makehim hold his tongue about the scandal of Bulstrode's earlier life,the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate, who had long been sneeredat as making himself subservient to the banker for the sake of workinghimself into predominance, and discrediting the elder members ofhis profession. Hence, in spite of the negative as to any directsign of guilt in relation to the death at Stone Court, Mr. Hawley'sselect party broke up with the sense that the affair had "an ugly look."
But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enoughto keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantialprofessional seniors, had for the general mind all the superiorpower of mystery over fact. Everybody liked better to conjecturehow the thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon becamemore confident than knowledge, and had a more liberal allowancefor the incompatible. Even the more definite scandal concerningBulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the massof mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue,and to take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.
This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. Dollop,the spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had oftento resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to thinkthat their reports from the outer world were of equal force withwhat had "come up" in her mind. How it had been brought to her shedidn't know, but it was there before her as if it had been "scoredwith the chalk on the chimney-board--" as Bulstrode should say,"his inside was _that black_ as if the hairs of his head knowedthe thoughts of his heart, he'd tear 'em up by the roots."
"That's odd," said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weakeyes and a piping voice. "Why, I read in the `Trumpet' that waswhat the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and wentover to the Romans."
"Very like," said Mrs. Dollop. "If one raskill said it, it's morereason why another should. But hypo_crite_ as he's been,and holding things with that high hand, as there was no parson i'the country good enough for him, he was forced to take Old Harryinto his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him."
"Ay, ay, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country,"said Mr. Crabbe, the glazier, who gathered much news and gropedamong it dimly. "But by what I can make out, there's them saysBulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out,before now."
"He'll be drove away, whether or no," said Mr. Dill, the barber,who had just dropped in. "I shaved Fletcher, Hawley's clerk,this morning--he's got a bad finger--and he says they're all of onemind to get rid of Bulstrode. Mr. Thesiger is turned against him,and wants him out o' the parish. And there's gentlemen in this townsays they'd as soon dine with a fellow from the hulks. `And a dealsooner I would,' says Fletcher; `for what's more against one's stomachthan a man coming and making himself bad company with his religion,and giving out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him,and all the while he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?'Fletcher said so himself."
"It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's moneygoes out of it," said Mr. Limp, quaveringly.
"Ah, there's better folks spend their money worse," said afirm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keepingwith his good-natured face.
"But he won't keep his money, by what I can make out," said the glazier."Don't they say as there's somebody can strip it off him?By what I can understan', they could take every penny off him,if they went to lawing."
"No such thing!" said the barber, who felt himself a little abovehis company at Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. "Fletcher saysit's no such thing. He says they might prove over and over againwhose child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more thanif they proved I came out of the Fens--he couldn't touch a penny."
"Look you there now!" said Mrs. Dollop, indignantly. "I thankthe Lord he took my children to Himself, if that's all the lawcan do for the motherless. Then by that, it's o' no use who yourfather and mother is. But as to listening to what one lawyer sayswithout asking another--I wonder at a man o' your cleverness,Mr. Dill. It's well known there's always two sides, if no more;else who'd go to law, I should like to know? It's a poor tale,with all the law as there is up and down, if it's no use provingwhose child you are. Fletcher may say that if he likes, but I say,don't Fletcher _me_!"
Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. Dollop,as a woman who was more than a match for the lawyers; being disposedto submit to much twitting from a landlady who had a long scoreagainst him.
"If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say,there's more to be looked to nor money," said the glazier."There's this poor creetur as is dead and gone; by what I can make out,he'd seen the day when he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode."
"Finer gentleman! I'll warrant him," said Mrs. Dollop; "and a farpersonabler man, by what I can hear. As I said when Mr. Baldwin,the tax-gatherer, comes in, a-standing where you sit, and says,`Bulstrode got all his money as he brought into this town by thievingand swindling,'--I said, `You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin:it's set my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he cameinto Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head:folks don't look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if theywanted to see into your backbone for nothingk.' That was what I said,and Mr. Baldwin can bear me witness."
"And in the rights of it too," said Mr. Crabbe. "For by what I canmake out, this Raffles, as they call him, was a lusty, fresh-colored manas you'd wish to see, and the best o' company--though dead he liesin Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can understan',there's them knows more than they _should_ know about how he got there."
"I'll believe you!" said Mrs. Dallop, with a touch of scornat Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness. "When a man's been 'ticedto a lone house, and there's them can pay for hospitals and nursesfor half the country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day,and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk,and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o'money as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill hasbeen running on for the best o' joints since last Michaelmas wasa twelvemonth--I don't want anybody to come and tell me as there'sbeen more going on nor the Prayer-book's got a service for--I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking."