life in the iron-mills-第3部分

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

over　the　furnace　with　his　iron　pole；　unconscious　of　her

scrutiny；　only　stopping　to　receive　orders。　　Physically；　Nature

had　promised　the　man　but　little。　　He　had　already　lost　the

strength　and　instinct　vigor　of　a　man；　his　muscles　were　thin；　his

nerves　weak；　his　face　（　a　meek；　woman's　face）　haggard；　yellow

with　consumption。　　In　the　mill　he　was　known　as　one　of　the　girl…

men：　　〃Molly　Wolfe〃　was　his　sobriquet。　　He　was　never　seen　in　the

cockpit；　did　not　own　a　terrier；　drank　but　seldom；　when　he　did；

desperately。　　He　fought　sometimes；　but　was　always　thrashed；

pommelled　to　a　jelly。　　The　man　was　game　enough；　when　his　blood

was　up：　　but　he　was　no　favorite　in　the　mill；　he　had　the　taint　of

school…learning　on　him；not　to　a　dangerous　extent；　only　a

quarter　or　so　in　the　free…school　in　fact；　but　enough　to　ruin　him

as　a　good　hand　in　a　fight。



For　other　reasons；　too；　he　was　not　popular。　　Not　one　of

themselves；　they　felt　that；　though　outwardly　as　filthy　and　ash…

covered；　silent；　with　foreign　thoughts　and　longings　breaking　out

through　his　quietness　in　innumerable　curious　ways：　　this　one；

for　instance。　　In　the　neighboring　furnace…buildings　lay　great

heaps　of　the　refuse　from　the　ore　after　the　pig…metal　is　run。

Korl　we　call　it　here：　　a　light；　porous　substance；　of　a　delicate；

waxen；　flesh…colored　tinge。　　Out　of　the　blocks　of　this　korl；

Wolfe；　in　his　off…hours　from　the　furnace；　had　a　habit　of

chipping　and　moulding　figures；hideous；　fantastic　enough；　but

sometimes　strangely　beautiful：　　even　the　mill…men　saw　that；

while　they　jeered　at　him。　　It　was　a　curious　fancy　in　the　man；

almost　a　passion。　　The　few　hours　for　rest　he　spent　hewing　and

hacking　with　his　blunt　knife；　never　speaking；　until　his　watch

came　again；working　at　one　figure　for　months；　and；　when　it　was

finished；　breaking　it　to　pieces　perhaps；　in　a　fit　of

disappointment。　　A　morbid；　gloomy　man；　untaught；　unled；　left　to

feed　his　soul　in　grossness　and　crime；　and　hard；　grinding　labor。



I　want　you　to　come　down　and　look　at　this　Wolfe；　standing　there

among　the　lowest　of　his　kind；　and　see　him　just　as　he　is；　that

you　may　judge　him　justly　when　you　hear　the　story　of　this　night。

I　want　you　to　look　back；　as　he　does　every　day；　at　his　birth　in

vice；　his　starved　infancy；　to　remember　the　heavy　years　he　has

groped　through　as　boy　and　man；the　slow；　heavy　years　of

constant；　hot　work。　　So　long　ago　he　began；　that　he　thinks

sometimes　he　has　worked　there　for　ages。　　There　is　no　hope　that

it　will　ever　end。　　Think　that　God　put　into　this　man's　soul　a

fierce　thirst　for　beauty；to　know　it；　to　create　it；　to

besomething；　he　knows　not　what；other　than　he　is。　　There　are

moments　when　a　passing　cloud；　the　sun　glinting　on　the　purple

thistles；　a　kindly　smile；　a　child's　face；　will　rouse　him　to　a

passion　of　pain；when　his　nature　starts　up　with　a　mad　cry　of

rage　against　God；　man；　whoever　it　is　that　has　forced　this　vile；

slimy　life　upon　him。　　With　all　this　groping；　this　mad　desire；　a

great　blind　intellect　stumbling　through　wrong；　a　loving　poet's

heart；　the　man　was　by　habit　only　a　coarse；　vulgar　laborer；

familiar　with　sights　and　words　you　would　blush　to　name。　　Be

just：　　when　I　tell　you　about　this　night；　see　him　as　he　is。　　Be

just；not　like　man's　law；　which　seizes　on　one　isolated　fact；

but　like　God's　judging　angel；　whose　clear；　sad　eye　saw　all　the

countless　cankering　days　of　this　man's　life；　all　the　countless

nights；　when；　sick　with　starving；　his　soul　fainted　in　him；

before　it　judged　him　for　this　night；　the　saddest　of　all。



I　called　this　night　the　crisis　of　his　life。　　If　it　was；　it　stole

on　him　unawares。　　These　great　turning…days　of　life　cast　no

shadow　before；　slip　by　unconsciously。　　Only　a　trifle；　a　little

turn　of　the　rudder；　and　the　ship　goes　to　heaven　or　hell。



Wolfe；　while　Deborah　watched　him；　dug　into　the　furnace　of

melting　iron　with　his　pole；　dully　thinking　only　how　many　rails

the　lump　would　yield。　　It　was　late；nearly　Sunday　morning；

another　hour；　and　the　heavy　work　would　be　done；　only　the

furnaces　to　replenish　and　cover　for　the　next　day。　　The　workmen

were　growing　more　noisy；　shouting；　as　they　had　to　do；　to　be

heard　over　the　deep　clamor　of　the　mills。　　Suddenly　they　grew

less　boisterous；at　the　far　end；　entirely　silent。　　Something

unusual　had　happened。　　After　a　moment；　the　silence　came　nearer；

the　men　stopped　their　jeers　and　drunken　choruses。　　Deborah；

stupidly　lifting　up　her　head；　saw　the　cause　of　the　quiet。　　A

group　of　five　or　six　men　were　slowly　approaching；　stopping　to

examine　each　furnace　as　they　came。　　Visitors　often　came　to　see

the　mills　after　night：　　except　by　growing　less　noisy；　the　men

took　no　notice　of　them。　　The　furnace　where　Wolfe　worked　was　near

the　bounds　of　the　works；　they　halted　there　hot　and　tired：　　a

walk　over　one　of　these　great　foundries　is　no　trifling　task。　　The

woman；　drawing　out　of　sight；　turned　over　to　sleep。　　Wolfe；

seeing　them　stop；　suddenly　roused　from　his　indifferent　stupor；

and　watched　them　keenly。　　He　knew　some　of　them：　　the　overseer；

Clarke；a　son　of　Kirby；　one　of　the　mill…owners；and　a　Doctor

May；　one　of　the　town…physicians。　　The　other　two　were　strangers。

Wolfe　came　closer。　　He　seized　eagerly　every　chance　that　brought

him　into　contact　with　this　mysterious　class　that　shone　down　on

him　perpetually　with　the　glamour　of　another　order　of　being。

What　made　the　difference　between　them？　　That　was　the　mystery　of

his　life。　　He　had　a　vague　notion　that　perhaps　to…night　he　could

find　it　out。　　One　of　the　strangers　sat　down　on　a　pile　of　bricks；

and　beckoned　young　Kirby　to　his　side。



〃This　is　hot；　with　a　vengeance。　　A　match；　please？〃lighting　his

cigar。　　〃But　the　walk　is　worth　the　trouble。　　If　it　were　not　that

you　must　have　heard　it　so　often；　Kirby；　I　would　tell　you　that

your　works　look　like　Dante's　Inferno。〃



Kirby　laughed。



〃Yes。　　Yonder　is　Farinata　himself　in　the　burning　tomb；〃

pointing　to　some　figure　in　the　shimmering　shadows。



〃Judging　from　some　of　the　faces　of　your　men；〃　said　the　other；

〃they　bid　fair　to　try　the　reality　of　Dante's　vision；　some　day。〃



Young　Kirby　looked　curiously　around；　as　if　seeing　the　faces　of

his　hands　for　the　first　time。



〃They're　bad　enough；　that's　true。　　A　desperate　set；　I　fancy。

Eh；　Clarke？〃



The　overseer　did　not　hear　him。　　He　was　talking　of　net　profits

just　then；giving；　in　fact；　a　schedule　of　the　annual　business

of　the　firm　to　a　sharp　peering　little　Yankee；　who　jotted　down

notes　on　a　paper　laid　on　the　crown　of　his　hat：　　a　reporter　for

one　of　the　city…papers；　getting　up　a　series　of　reviews　of　the

leading　manufactories。　　The　other　gentlemen　had　accompanied　them

merely　for　amusement。　　They　were　silent　until　the　notes　were

finished；　drying　their　feet　at　the　furnaces；　and　sheltering

their　faces　from　the　intolerable　heat。　　At　last　the　overseer

concluded　with



〃I　believe　that　is　a　pretty　fair　estimate；　Captain。〃



〃Here；　some　of　you　men！〃　said　Kirby；　〃bring　up　those　boards。　　We

may　as　well　sit　down；　gentlemen；　until　the　rain　is　over。　　It

cannot　last　much　longer　at　this　rate。〃



〃Pig…metal；〃mumbled　the　reporter；〃um！　coal　facilities；um！

hands　employed；　twelve　hundred；bitumen；um！all　right；　I

believe；　Mr。　Clarke；sinking…fund；what　did　you　say　was　your

sinking…fund？〃



〃Twelve　hundred　hands？〃　　said　the　stranger；　the　young　man　who

had　first　spoken。　　〃Do　you　control　their　votes；　Kirby？〃



〃Control？　　No。〃　　The　young　man　smiled　complacently。　　〃But　my

father　brought　seven　hundred　votes　to　the　polls　for　his

candidate　last　November。　　No　force…work；　you　understand；only

a　speech　or　two；　a　hint　to　form　themselves　into　a　society；　and

a　bit　of　red　and　blue　bunting　to　make　them　a　flag。　　The

Invincible　Roughs；I　believe　that　is　their　name。　　I　forget　the

motto：　　'Our　country's　hope；'　I　think。〃



There　was　a　laugh。　　The　young　man　talking　to　Kirby　sat　with　an

amused　light　in　his　cool　gray　eye；　surveying　critically　the

half…clothed　figures　of　the　puddlers；　and　the　slow　swing　of

their　brawny　muscles。　　He　was　a　stranger　in　the　city；spending

a　couple　of　months　in　the　borders　of　a　Slave　State；　to　study　the

institutions　of　the　South；a　brother…in…law　of　Kirby's；

Mitchell。　　He　was　an　amateur　gymnast；hence　his　anatomical　eye；

a　patron；　in　a　blase'　way；　of　the　prize…ring；　a　man　who　sucked

the　essence　out　of　a　science　or　philosophy　in　an　indifferent；

gentlemanly　way；　who　took　Kant；　Novalis；　Humboldt；　for　what　they

were　worth　in　his　own　scales；　accepting　all；　despising　nothing；

in　heaven；　earth；　or　hell；　but　one…idead　men；　with　a　temper

yielding　and　brilliant　as　summer　water；　until　his　Self　was

touched；　when　it　was　ice；　though　brilliant　still。　　Such　men　are

not　rare　in　the　States。



As　he　knocked　the　ashes　from　his　cigar；　Wolfe　caught　with　a

quick　pleasure　the　contour　of　the　white　hand；　the　blood…glow　of

a　red　ring　he　wore。　　His　voice；　too；　and　that　of　Kirby's；

touched　him　like　music；low；　even；　with　chording　cadences。

About　this　man　Mitchell　hung　the　impalpable　atmosphere　belonging

to　the　thoroughbred　gentleman；　Wolfe；　scraping　away　the　ashes

beside　him；　was　conscious　of　it；　did　obeisance　to　it　with　his

artist　sense；　unconscious　that　he　did　so。



The　rain　did　not　cease。　　Clarke　and　the　reporter　left　the　mills；

the　others；　comfortably　seated　near　the　furnace；　lingered；

smoking　and　talking　in　a　desultory　way。　　Greek　would　not　have

been　more　unintelligible　to　the　furnace…tenders；　whose　presence

they　soon　forgot　entirely。　　Kirby　drew　out　a　newspaper　from　his

pocket　and　read　aloud　some　article；　which　they　discussed

eagerly。　　At　every　sentence；　Wolfe　listened　more　and　more　like

a　dumb；　hopeless　animal；　with　a　duller；　more　stolid　look

creeping　over　his　face；　glancing　now　and　then　at　Mitchell；

marking　acutely　every　smallest　sign　of　refinement；　then　back　to

himself；　seeing　as　in　a　mirror　his　filthy　body；　his　more　stained

soul。



Never！　　He　had　no　words　for　such　a　tho