life in the iron-mills-第2部分

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Perhaps　the　weak；　flaccid　wretch　had　some　stimulant　in　her　pale

life　to　keep　her　up；some　love　or　hope；　it　might　be；　or　urgent

need。　　When　that　stimulant　was　gone；　she　would　take　to　whiskey。

Man　cannot　live　by　work　alone。　　While　she　was　skinning　the

potatoes；　and　munching　them；　a　noise　behind　her　made　her　stop。



〃Janey！〃　she　called；　lifting　the　candle　and　peering　into　the

darkness。　　〃Janey；　are　you　there？〃



A　heap　of　ragged　coats　was　heaved　up；　and　the　face　of　a

young；girl　emerged；　staring　sleepily　at　the　woman。



〃Deborah；〃　she　said；　at　last；　〃I'm　here　the　night。〃



〃Yes；　child。　　Hur's　welcome；〃　she　said；　quietly　eating　on。



The　girl's　face　was　haggard　and　sickly；　her　eyes　were　heavy　with

sleep　and　hunger：　　real　Milesian　eyes　they　were；　dark；　delicate

blue；　glooming　out　from　black　shadows　with　a　pitiful　fright。



〃I　was　alone；〃　she　said；　timidly。



〃Where's　the　father？〃　　asked　Deborah；　holding　out　a　potato；

which　the　girl　greedily　seized。



〃He's　beyant；wid　Haley；in　the　stone　house。〃　　（Did　you　ever

hear　the　word　tail　from　an　Irish　mouth？）　〃I　came　here。　　Hugh

told　me　never　to　stay　me…lone。〃



〃Hugh？〃



〃Yes。〃



A　vexed　frown　crossed　her　face。　　The　girl　saw　it；　and　added

quickly；



〃I　have　not　seen　Hugh　the　day；　Deb。　　The　old　man　says　his　watch

lasts　till　the　mornin'。〃



The　woman　sprang　up；　and　hastily　began　to　arrange　some　bread　and

flitch　in　a　tin　pail；　and　to　pour　her　own　measure　of　ale　into　a

bottle。　　Tying　on　her　bonnet；　she　blew　out　the　candle。



〃Lay　ye　down；　Janey　dear；〃　she　said；　gently；　covering　her　with

the　old　rags。　　〃Hur　can　eat　the　potatoes；　if　hur's　hungry。



〃Where　are　ye　goin'；　Deb？　　The　rain's　sharp。〃



〃To　the　mill；　with　Hugh's　supper。〃



〃Let　him　bide　till　th'　morn。　　Sit　ye　down。〃



〃No；　no；〃sharply　pushing　her　off。　　〃The　boy'll　starve。〃



She　hurried　from　the　cellar；　while　the　child　wearily　coiled

herself　up　for　sleep。　　The　rain　was　falling　heavily；　as　the

woman；　pail　in　hand；　emerged　from　the　mouth　of　the　alley；　and

turned　down　the　narrow　street；　that　stretched　out；　long　and

black；　miles　before　her。　　Here　and　there　a　flicker　of　gas

lighted　an　uncertain　space　of　muddy　footwalk　and　gutter；　the

long　rows　of　houses；　except　an　occasional　lager…bier　shop；　were

closed；　now　and　then　she　met　a　band　of　millhands　skulking　to　or

from　their　work。



Not　many　even　of　the　inhabitants　of　a　manufacturing　town　know

the　vast　machinery　of　system　by　which　the　bodies　of　workmen　are

governed；　that　goes　on　unceasingly　from　year　to　year。　　The　hands

of　each　mill　are　divided　into　watches　that　relieve　each　other　as

regularly　as　the　sentinels　of　an　army。　　By　night　and　day　the

work　goes　on；　the　unsleeping　engines　groan　and　shriek；　the　fiery

pools　of　metal　boil　and　surge。　　Only　for　a　day　in　the　week；　in

half…courtesy　to　public　censure；　the　fires　are　partially　veiled；

but　as　soon　as　the　clock　strikes　midnight；　the　great　furnaces

break　forth　with　renewed　fury；　the　clamor　begins　with　fresh；

breathless　vigor；　the　engines　sob　and　shriek　like　〃gods　in

pain。〃



As　Deborah　hurried　down　through　the　heavy　rain；　the　noise　of

these　thousand　engines　sounded　through　the　sleep　and　shadow　of

the　city　like　far…off　thunder。　　The　mill　to　which　she　was　going

lay　on　the　river；　a　mile　below　the　city…limits。　　It　was　far；　and

she　was　weak；　aching　from　standing　twelve　hours　at　the　spools。

Yet　it　was　her　almost　nightly　walk　to　take　this　man　his　supper；

though　at　every　square　she　sat　down　to　rest；　and　she　knew　she

should　receive　small　word　of　thanks。



Perhaps；　if　she　had　possessed　an　artist's　eye；　the　picturesque

oddity　of　the　scene　might　have　made　her　step　stagger　less；　and

the　path　seem　shorter；　but　to　her　the　mills　were　only　〃summat

deilish　to　look　at　by　night。〃



The　road　leading　to　the　mills　had　been　quarried　from　the　solid

rock；　which　rose　abrupt　and　bare　on　one　side　of　the　cinder…

covered　road；　while　the　river；　sluggish　and　black；　crept　past　on

the　other。　　The　mills　for　rolling　iron　are　simply　immense　tent…

like　roofs；　covering　acres　of　ground；　open　on　every　side。

Beneath　these　roofs　Deborah　looked　in　on　a　city　of　fires；　that

burned　hot　and　fiercely　in　the　night。　　Fire　in　every　horrible

form：　　pits　of　flame　waving　in　the　wind；　liquid　metal…flames

writhing　in　tortuous　streams　through　the　sand；　wide　caldrons

filled　with　boiling　fire；　over　which　bent　ghastly　wretches

stirring　the　strange　brewing；　and　through　all；　crowds　of　half…

clad　men；　looking　like　revengeful　ghosts　in　the　red　light；

hurried；　throwing　masses　of　glittering　fire。　　It　was　like　a

street　in　Hell。　　Even　Deborah　muttered；　as　she　crept　through；

〃looks　like　t'　Devil's　place！〃　　It　did；in　more　ways　than　one。



She　found　the　man　she　was　looking　for；　at　last；　heaping　coal　on

a　furnace。　　He　had　not　time　to　eat　his　supper；　so　she　went

behind　the　furnace；　and　waited。　　Only　a　few　men　were　with　him；

and　they　noticed　her　only　by　a　〃Hyur　comes　t'hunchback；　Wolfe。〃



Deborah　was　stupid　with　sleep；　her　back　pained　her　sharply；　and

her　teeth　chattered　with　cold；　with　the　rain　that　soaked　her

clothes　and　dripped　from　her　at　every　step。　　She　stood；　however；

patiently　holding　the　pail；　and　waiting。



〃Hout；　woman！　ye　look　like　a　drowned　cat。　　Come　near　to　the

fire；〃said　one　of　the　men；　approaching　to　scrape　away　the

ashes。



She　shook　her　head。　　Wolfe　had　forgotten　her。　　He　turned；

hearing　the　man；　and　came　closer。



〃I　did　no'　think；　gi'　me　my　supper；　woman。



She　watched　him　eat　with　a　painful　eagerness。　　With　a　woman's

quick　instinct；　she　saw　that　he　was　not　hungry；was　eating　to

please　her。　　Her　pale；　watery　eyes　began　to　gather　a　strange

light。



〃Is't　good；　Hugh？　　T'　ale　was　a　bit　sour；　I　feared。〃



〃No；　good　enough。〃　　He　hesitated　a　moment。　　〃Ye're　tired；　poor

lass！　　Bide　here　till　I　go。　　Lay　down　there　on　that　heap　of　ash；

and　go　to　sleep。〃



He　threw　her　an　old　coat　for　a　pillow；　and　turned　to　his　work。

The　heap　was　the　refuse　of　the　burnt　iron；　and　was　not　a　hard

bed；　the　half…smothered　warmth；　too；　penetrated　her　limbs；

dulling　their　pain　and　cold　shiver。



Miserable　enough　she　looked；　lying　there　on　the　ashes　like　a

limp；　dirty　rag；yet　not　an　unfitting　figure　to　crown　the　scene

of　hopeless　discomfort　and　veiled　crime：　　more　fitting；　if　one

looked　deeper　into　the　heart　of　things；　at　her　thwarted　woman's

form；　her　colorless　life；　her　waking　stupor　that　smothered　pain

and　hunger；even　more　fit　to　be　a　type　of　her　class。　　Deeper

yet　if　one　could　look；　was　there　nothing　worth　reading　in　this

wet；　faded　thing；　halfcovered　with　ashes？　　no　story　of　a　soul

filled　with　groping　passionate　love；　heroic　unselfishness；

fierce　jealousy？　　of　years　of　weary　trying　to　please　the　one

human　being　whom　she　loved；　to　gain　one　look　of　real　heart…

kindness　from　him？　　If　anything　like　this　were　hidden　beneath

the　pale；　bleared　eyes；　and　dull；　washed…out…looking　face；　no

one　had　ever　taken　the　trouble　to　read　its　faint　signs：　　not　the

half…clothed　furnace…tender；　Wolfe；　certainly。　　Yet　he　was　kind

to　her：　　it　was　his　nature　to　be　kind；　even　to　the　very　rats

that　swarmed　in　the　cellar：　　kind　to　her　in　just　the　same　way。

She　knew　that。　　And　it　might　be　that　very　knowledge　had　given　to

her　face　its　apathy　and　vacancy　more　than　her　low；　torpid　life。

One　sees　that　dead；　vacant　look　steal　sometimes　over　the　rarest；

finest　of　women's　faces；in　the　very　midst；　it　may　be；　of　their

warmest　summer's　day；　and　then　one　can　guess　at　the　secret　of

intolerable　solitude　that　lies　hid　beneath　the　delicate　laces

and　brilliant　smile。　　There　was　no　warmth；　no　brilliancy；　no

summer　for　this　woman；　so　the　stupor　and　vacancy　had　time　to

gnaw　into　her　face　perpetually。　　She　was　young；　too；　though　no

one　guessed　it；　so　the　gnawing　was　the　fiercer。



She　lay　quiet　in　the　dark　corner；　listening；　through　the

monotonous　din　and　uncertain　glare　of　the　works；　to　the　dull

plash　of　the　rain　in　the　far　distance；　shrinking　back　whenever

the　man　Wolfe　happened　to　look　towards　her。　　She　knew；　in　spite

of　all　his　kindness；　that　there　was　that　in　her　face　and　form

which　made　him　loathe　the　sight　of　her。　　She　felt　by　instinct；

although　she　could　not　comprehend　it；　the　finer　nature　of　the

man；　which　made　him　among　his　fellow…workmen　something　unique；

set　apart。　　She　knew；　that；　down　under　all　the　vileness　and

coarseness　of　his　life；　there　was　a　groping　passion　for　whatever

was　beautiful　and　pure；　that　his　soul　sickened　with　disgust　at

her　deformity；　even　when　his　words　were　kindest。　　Through　this

dull　consciousness；　which　never　left　her；　came；　like　a　sting；

the　recollection　of　the　dark　blue　eyes　and　lithe　figure　of　the

little　Irish　girl　she　had　left　in　the　cellar。　　The　recollection

struck　through　even　her　stupid　intellect　with　a　vivid　glow　of

beauty　and　of　grace。　　Little　Janey；　timid；　helpless；　clinging　to

Hugh　as　her　only　friend：　　that　was　the　sharp　thought；　the　bitter

thought；　that　drove　into　the　glazed　eyes　a　fierce　light　of　pain。

You　laugh　at　it？　　Are　pain　and　jealousy　less　savage　realities

down　here　in　this　place　I　am　taking　you　to　than　in　your　own

house　or　your　own　heart；your　heart；　which　they　clutch　at

sometimes？　　The　note　is　the　same；　I　fancy；　be　the　octave　high　or

low。



If　you　could　go　into　this　mill　where　Deborah　lay；　and　drag　out

from　the　hearts　of　these　men　the　terrible　tragedy　of　their

lives；　taking　it　as　a　symptom　of　the　disease　of　their　class；　no

ghost　Horror　would　terrify　you　more。　　A　reality　of　soul…

starvation；　of　living　death；　that　meets　you　every　day　under　the

besotted　faces　on　the　street；I　can　paint　nothing　of　this；　only

give　you　the　outside　outlines　of　a　night；　a　crisis　in　the　life

of　one　man：　　whatever　muddy　depth　of　soul…history　lies　beneath

you　can　read　according　to　the　eyes　God　has　given　you。



Wolfe；　while　Deborah　watched　him　as　a　spaniel　its　master；　bent

over　the　furnace　with　his　iron