For You to Read
属于您的小说阅读网站
双城记英文版 - Part 2 Chapter XI. THE JACKAL
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  Those were drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is the improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its Bacchanalian propensities; neither was Mr. Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative practice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the drier parts of the legal race.A favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite, specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King’s Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a rank gardenful of flaring companions.It had once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among the most striking and necessary of the advocate’s accomplishments. But, a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his fingers’ ends in the morning.Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver’s great ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary term and Michaelmas, might have floated a king’s ship. Stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton was rumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity.“Ten o’clock, sir,” said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to wake him—“ten o’clock, sir.”“What’s the matter?”“Ten o’clock, sir.”“What do you mean? Ten o’clock at night?”“Yes, sir. Your honour told me to call you.”“Oh! I remember. Very well, very well.”After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned into the Temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of King’s Bench-walk and Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers.The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. He had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes which may be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of Jeffries downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of Art, through the portraits of every Drinking Age.“You are a little late, Memory,” said Stryver.“About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.”They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers, where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons.“You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.”“Two tonight I think. I have been dining with the day’s client; or seeing him dine—it’s all one!”“That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike you?”“I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I thought I should have been much the same sort of fellow, if I had had any luck.”Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch.“You and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work.”Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining room, and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel or two. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down at the table, and said, “Now I am ready!”“Not much boiling down to be done tonight, Memory,” said Mr. Stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers.“How much?”“Only two sets of them.”“Give me the worst first.”“There they are, Sydney. Fire away!”The lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of the drinking table, while the jackal sat at his own paperbestrewn table proper, on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his hand. Both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in a different way; the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in his waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter document; the jackal, with knitted brows and intent face, so deep in his task, that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out for his glass—which often groped about, for a minute or more, before it found the glass for his lips. Two or three times, the matter in hand became so knotty, that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up, and steep his towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin, he returned with such eccentricities of damp head-gear as no words can describe; which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity.At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, and proceeded to offer it to him. The lion took it with care and caution, made his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal assisted both. When the repast was fully discussed, the lion put his hands in his waistband again, and lay down to meditate. The jackal then invigorated himself with a bumper for his throttle, and a fresh application to his head, and applied himself to the collection of a second meal; this was administered to the lion in the same manner, and was not disposed of until the clock struck three in the morning.“And now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of punch,” said Mr. Stryver.The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steaming again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied.“You were very sound, Sydney, in the matter of those crown witnesses today. Every question told.”“I always am sound; am I not?”“I don’t gainsay it. What has roughened your temper? Put some punch to it and smooth it again.”With a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied.“The old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School,” said Stryver, nodding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, “the old seesaw Sydney. Up one minute and down the next; now in spirits and now in despondency!”“Ah!” returned the other sighing: “Yes! The same Sydney, with the same luck. Even then, I did exercise for other boys, and seldom did my own.”“And why not?”“God knows. It was my way, I suppose.”He sat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before him, looking at the fire. “Carton,” said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying air, as if the fire-grate had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour was forged, and one delicate thing to be done for the old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School was to shoulder him into it, “your way is, and always was, a lame way. You summon no energy and purpose. Look at me.”“Oh, botheration!” returned Sydney, with a lighter and more good-humoured laugh, “don’t you be moral!”“How have I done what I have done?” said Stryver; “how do I do what I do?”“Partly through paying me to help you, I suppose. But it’s not worth while to apostrophise me, or the air, about it; what you want to do, you do. You were always in the front rank, and I was always behind.”“I had to get into the front rank; I was not born there, was I?”“I was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were,” said Carton. At this, he laughed again, and they both laughed.“Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury,” pursued Carton, “you have fallen into your rank, and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were fellow-students in the Student-Quarter of Paris, picking up French, and French law, and other French crumbs that we didn’t get much good of, you were always somewhere and I was always—nowhere.”“And whose fault was that?”“Upon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were always driving and riving and shouldering and pressing, to that restless degree that I had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. It’s a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one’s own past, with the day breaking. Turn me in some other direction before I go.”“Well then! Pledge me to the pretty witness,” said Stryver, holding up his glass. “Are you turned in a pleasant direction?”Apparently not, for he became gloomy again.“Pretty witness,” he muttered, looking down into his glass. “I have had enough of witnesses today and tonight: who’s your pretty witness?”“The picturesque doctor’s daughter, Miss Manette.”“She pretty?”“Is she not?”“No.”“Why, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole court?”“Rot the admiration of the whole court! Who made the Old Bailey a judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll!”“Do you know, Sydney,” said Mr. Stryver, looking at him with sharp eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face; “do you know, I rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised with the golden-haired doll, and were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired doll?”“Quick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within a yard or two of a man’s nose, he can see it without a perspective-glass. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now I’ll have no more drink; I’ll get to bed.”When his host followed him out on the staircase with a candle, to light him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy windows. When he got out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the dull sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless desert. And wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the morning blast, as if the desert-sand had risen far away, and the fine spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city.Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber, in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears.Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
或许您还会喜欢:
局外人
作者:佚名
章节:28 人气:2
摘要:人道主义思想加缪的思想,其核心就是人道主义,人的尊严问题,一直是缠绕着他的创作、生活和政治斗争的根本问题。《西西弗斯神话》和《局外人》构成了加缪文学创作的母题,包含着加缪未来作品的核心问题。书中,西西弗斯的幸福假设的提出,其本质动机,不在荒诞,荒诞既不能告诉我们幸福,也不能告诉我们不幸,之所以加缪假设西西弗斯是幸福的,是因为他认为只有幸福的生活才符合人的尊严,被责为永罚,却幸福,这绝对是一种反抗, [点击阅读]
巴黎圣母院
作者:佚名
章节:24 人气:2
摘要:维克多•雨果(VictorHugo)(l802~1885)是法国文学史上最伟大的作家之一,法国浪漫主义学运动的领袖。他的一生几乎跨越整个19世纪,他的文学生涯达60年之久,创作力经久不衰。他的浪漫主义小说精彩动人,雄浑有力,对读者具有永久的魅力。【身世】雨果1802年生于法国南部的贝尚松城。 [点击阅读]
布登勃洛克一家
作者:佚名
章节:98 人气:2
摘要:(上)在!”9世纪30年代中期到40年代中期德国北部的商业城市吕贝克。这一家人的老一代祖父老约翰·布登洛克,年轻的时候正值反对拿破仑的战争,靠为普鲁士军队供应粮食发了财。他建立了一个以自己名字命名的公司,此外,他还拥有许多粮栈、轮船和地产,儿子小约翰又获得了尼德兰政府赠予的参议员荣誉头衔,因而他和他的一家在吕贝克享有很高的声望。这一家人最近在孟街买下了一所大邸宅,布置得既富丽又典雅。 [点击阅读]
希区柯克悬念故事集
作者:佚名
章节:127 人气:2
摘要:悬念大师希区柯克什么是悬念?希区柯克曾经给悬念下过一个著名的定义:如果你要表现一群人围着一张桌子玩牌,然后突然一声爆炸,那么你便只能拍到一个十分呆板的炸后一惊的场面。另一方面,虽然你是表现这同一场面,但是在打牌开始之前,先表现桌子下面的定时炸弹,那么你就造成了悬念,并牵动观众的心。其实,希区柯克的作品并非只靠悬念吸引人,其内涵要深刻得多。希区柯克对人类的心理世界有着深刻的体悟。 [点击阅读]
底牌
作者:佚名
章节:31 人气:2
摘要:"亲爱的白罗先生!"这个人的声音软绵绵的,呼噜呼噜响--存心做为工具使用--不带一丝冲动或随缘的气息。赫邱里·白罗转过身子。他鞠躬,郑重和来人握手。他的目光颇不寻常。偶尔邂逅此人可以说勾起了他难得有机会感受的情绪。"亲爱的夏塔纳先生,"他说。他们俩都停住不动,象两个就位的决斗者。他们四周有一群衣着考究,无精打采的伦敦人轻轻回旋着;说话拖拖拉拉或喃喃作响。 [点击阅读]
彗星来临
作者:佚名
章节:11 人气:2
摘要:我决定亲自写《彗星来临》这个故事,充其量只是反映我自己的生活,以及与我关系密切的一两个人的生活。其主要目的不过是为了自娱。很久以前,当我还是一个贫苦的青年时,我就想写一本书。默默无闻地写点什么及梦想有一天成为一名作家常常是我从不幸中解放出来的一种方法。我怀着羡慕和交流情感的心情阅读于幸福之中,这样做仍可以使人得到休闲,获得机会,并且部分地实现那些本来没有希望实现的梦想。 [点击阅读]
怪钟
作者:佚名
章节:30 人气:2
摘要:九月九日的下午,一如平常的下午,没有两样。任何人对于那天即将发生的不幸,毫无一丝预感。(除了一人例外,那就是住在威尔布朗姆胡同四十七号的巴克太太,她对于预感特别有一套,每次她心头觉得一阵怪异之后,总要将那种不安的感觉,详详细细地描述一番。但是巴克太太住在四十七号,离开十九号甚远,那儿会发生什么事,与她无干,所以她觉得似乎没有必要去做什么预感)。“加文狄希秘书打字社”社长K-玛汀戴小姐。 [点击阅读]
恶魔
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:2
摘要:决斗茶桌上摆着两只酒杯,杯子里各装有八成透明如水的液体。那是恰似用精密的计量仪器量过一样精确、标准的八成。两只杯子的形状毫无二致,位置距中心点的距离也像用尺子量过似地毫厘不差。两只杯子从杯子中装的,到外形、位置的过于神经质的均等,总给人一种异乎寻常的感觉。茶桌两边,两张大藤椅同样整齐地对面地放在完全对等的位置;椅上,两个男人像木偶一样正襟危坐。 [点击阅读]
惹我你就死定了
作者:佚名
章节:139 人气:2
摘要:“喂,你去见男朋友,我干嘛要跟着啊?”“嘻嘻,我和宗浩说好了,要带你去见他的啊^o^”晕~-_-^,这么闷热的天,本来就够闹心的了,还要去给朋友当电灯泡,可怜芳龄十八的我啊,这些年都干嘛了?我好想有个男人啊,做梦都想…“朴宗浩有什么呀?他是公高的吧?公高那帮小子太危险了,你离他们远点儿。 [点击阅读]
我弥留之际
作者:佚名
章节:59 人气:2
摘要:朱厄尔和我从地里走出来,在小路上走成单行。虽然我在他前面十五英尺,但是不管谁从棉花房里看我们,都可以看到朱厄尔那顶破旧的草帽比我那顶足足高出一个脑袋。小路笔直,像根铅垂线,被人的脚踩得光溜溜的,让七月的太阳一烤,硬得像砖。小路夹在一行行碧绿的中耕过的棉花当中,一直通到棉花地当中的棉花房,在那儿拐弯,以四个柔和的直角绕棉花房一周,又继续穿过棉花地,那也是脚踩出来的,很直,但是一点点看不清了。 [点击阅读]