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坎特维尔的幽灵——奥斯卡·王尔德短篇小说选

亚瑟·萨维尔勋爵之罪 _ 第五章|LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME _ Chapter 5

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 -[作者: 王尔德] 阅读：[17585]
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默顿先生对第二次推迟婚期万分痛苦，朱莉娅太太已经为婚礼订购了婚纱，竭尽全力劝说西比尔中断婚约。然而，西比尔深爱她母亲的同时，也已经把自己的整个生命交到了亚瑟勋爵的手里，朱莉娅太太说什么都无法使她动摇信念。至于亚瑟勋爵本人，他花了几天时间才战胜了自己可怕的失望情绪，期间他一度心灰意冷。然而，他出色的常识很快就显示了威力，健全务实的心智没有让他踌躇不前。已经证明毒药完全失败后，炸药或某种其他形式的爆炸物显然也是可以尝试的。

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于是，他又看了一遍那份亲友名单，经过慎重考虑后，决定炸掉他的叔叔——奇切斯特的教长。教长学识渊博，特别喜欢时钟，收藏了一批从十五世纪至今的奇妙钟表，在亚瑟勋爵看来，正是教长的这个嗜好给他提供了实施计划的绝佳机会。到哪里购买一个爆炸装置当然是件不容易的事。伦敦工商目录没有给他提供这方面的任何信息，他觉得去苏格兰场也没有多大用处，因为他们似乎总要到爆炸发生后才能知道关于炸药的内情，甚至在那之后也所知寥寥。

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突然，他想到了他的朋友鲁瓦洛夫。鲁瓦洛夫是一个具有强烈革命倾向的俄罗斯年轻人，他是冬天在温德米尔夫人的家里遇见这个年轻人的。鲁瓦洛夫伯爵被委派写一本关于彼得大帝生活的书，并已来到英格兰，目的是研究那位沙皇在这个国家做造船木匠时的住所的相关文件，但人们普遍怀疑他是一名无政府主义特工。毫无疑问的是，他出现在伦敦，俄罗斯大使馆对此并不看好。亚瑟勋爵觉得他正是自己要找的那个人，便选了一天早晨驱车前往他在布鲁姆斯伯里的住处，寻求他的建议和帮助。

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“那么，你是要认真从事政治吗？”当亚瑟勋爵告诉他此行的目的之时，鲁瓦洛夫伯爵问道。但是，亚瑟勋爵讨厌任何形式的招摇自大，觉得他不得不对他承认自己对社会问题没有丝毫兴趣，只是因为纯粹的家庭问题想要爆炸装置，除了他自己之外，谁也不关心这个问题。

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鲁瓦洛夫伯爵惊讶地看了他一会儿，然后看到他相当认真，就在一张纸上写了一个地址，签上自己名字的首写字母，隔着桌子递给了他。

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“为了得到这个地址，苏格兰场会给一个大价钱，我亲爱的伙计。”

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“他们不会得到的。”亚瑟勋爵朗声笑道。他热情地握过俄罗斯小伙子的手之后跑下楼，仔细查看了那张纸，然后吩咐车夫把车开到苏荷广场。

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到了那里，他打发走了车夫，沿着希腊街走，直至一个叫贝尔院的地方。他穿过拱门，发现自己到了一个奇怪的死胡同。一家法国洗衣房显眼地盘踞在路的尽头，晾衣绳织成的紧密的网从房子的一边延伸至另一边，白色亚麻布在晨风中拂动着。他走到尽头，敲响了一间绿色小屋的房门。门一时没有开，院子里的窗口如同一个个模糊的窥探着什么的面孔。之后，一个模样有些粗野的外国人探出头来，用非常蹩脚的英语问他有何贵干。亚瑟勋爵把鲁瓦洛夫伯爵给他的那张纸递了过去。那个人看到那张纸的时候，鞠了一躬，邀请亚瑟勋爵进入一楼一个非常简陋的前厅等待。过了一会儿，那个在英国被称为温克尔科普夫先生的人匆匆走进房间，脖子上围着一块酒迹斑斑的餐巾，左手拿着叉子。

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“鲁瓦洛夫伯爵向我介绍了你，”亚瑟勋爵鞠了一躬说，“我想和你就一件事聊几句。我的名字叫史密斯，罗伯特·史密斯先生，我想要你给我提供一座爆炸时钟。”

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“亚瑟勋爵，很高兴见到你，”这个和颜悦色的矮个德国人笑着说道，“不要那么惊慌，了解大家是我的职责，我记得有一天晚上在温德米尔夫人的家里见过你。我希望夫人很好。你介意和我一起用早餐吗？有一种非常棒的肉酱，而且我的朋友都好心地说我的莱茵白葡萄酒比他们在德国大使馆得到的都好。”还没有从被认出的惊讶中回过神来，亚瑟勋爵就发现自己坐在了后屋里，正用标有帝国字母组合的淡黄色霍克杯呷着最美味的白葡萄酒，以尽可能最友好的方式跟那个有名的阴谋家聊着天。

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“爆炸时钟，”温克尔科普夫先生说，“不是非常容易向外国出口的东西，因为即使成功通过海关，火车时刻表也没个准点，它们通常会在到达目的地之前发生爆炸。但如果你想要一个适合家庭使用的，我这里正好就有一个质量优良的爆炸时钟，保证你会对结果感到满意。我可以问一下这是针对谁的吗？如果是针对警察，或者任何一个跟苏格兰场有关的警察，恐怕我就不能为你做任何事儿了。英国警探的确是我们最好的朋友，拜他们的愚蠢所赐，我们总是可以想做什么就做什么。我可不想做任何针对他们的事儿。”

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“我向你保证，”亚瑟勋爵说，“这跟警察没有任何关系。实际上，时钟是针对奇切斯特教长的。”

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“天哪！我原来不知道你对宗教有如此强烈的感情，亚瑟勋爵。如今这样的年轻人寥寥无几。”

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“温克尔科普夫先生，恐怕你高估我了，”亚瑟勋爵红着脸说，“事实上，我对神学一无所知。”

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“那么，这是一件纯私人的事情吗？”

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“是纯私人的。”

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温克尔科普夫先生耸了耸肩，离开了房间，几分钟后带回来一颗一便士大小、圆蛋糕似的炸弹，是一座漂亮的法国小时钟，时钟顶端是自由女神镀金铜像，铜像脚下踩着象征独裁的九头蛇。

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亚瑟勋爵看到它，脸上露出了笑容。“这正是我想要的东西，”他喊道，“现在告诉我它如何爆炸。”

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“啊！这是我的秘密，”温克尔科普夫先生用一种理所当然的骄傲神情注视着他的发明答道，“告诉我，你希望它什么时候爆炸，我会将机器设置到那个时刻。”

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“好吧，今天是星期二，如果你能马上寄出去——”

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“那不可能，我手头上还有许多莫斯科朋友委托的重要工作。不过，也许我明天能把它寄出。”

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“噢，如果明天夜里或星期四早上送到，时间就会绰绰有余！”亚瑟勋爵礼貌地说，“对于爆炸的那个时刻，定在星期五中午正好。教长总是那个时刻在家。”

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“星期五中午。”温克尔科普夫先生重复道，壁炉旁边的书桌上放着一个大账簿，他把大意记了下来。

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“现在，”亚瑟勋爵一边说，一边从座位上站了起来，“请告诉我该付你多少钱。”

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“亚瑟勋爵，这样的区区小事，我本不愿收任何费用。炸药共计六先令七便士，时钟三英镑十先令，运费大约五先令。我非常高兴帮助鲁瓦洛夫伯爵的任何朋友。”

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“可是，还有给你添的麻烦，温克尔科普夫先生？”

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“噢，那没什么！这是我的荣幸。我不为金钱工作，完全是为自己的手艺而活。”

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亚瑟勋爵在桌子上放下四英镑两先令六便士，对那位矮个子德国人的帮助表示感谢，成功地谢绝了下星期六在牛肉茶会上会见一些无政府主义者的邀请，离开后便去了海德公园。

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随后的两天里，他处在一种极度亢奋的状态中。星期五中午十二点钟，他驱车前往白金汉俱乐部，等候消息传来。整个下午，那个缺乏热情的大厅门房不停地张贴着来自全国各地的电报，这些电报提供赛马结果、离婚诉讼判决、天气状况等等，而自动收报机嘀嘀嗒嗒地打印着一些乏味的琐事，说的是下议院的一次通宵会议，以及证券交易上的一次小小恐慌。下午四点钟，晚报送了进来，亚瑟勋爵拿着《蓓尔美尔公报》《圣詹姆斯公报》《环球报》和《回声报》钻进了藏书室。此举让古德柴尔德上校大为光火，上校想读那天上午他在市长大厦的演讲报告，演讲的主题是南非的传教工作，每个省安排黑人主教的可取性，以及出于某种原因对《新闻晚报》的严词抨击。然而，没有一家报纸提及奇切斯特，亚瑟勋爵觉得他的尝试一定是失败了。这对他是一个可怕的打击，一时间他十分气馁。第二天，温克尔科普夫先生去见他，心情复杂，充满歉意，并表示愿意提供给他另一座时钟，或者以成本价卖给他一盒硝基甘油炸弹。但是，他已经对炸药失去了所有信心。温克尔科普夫先生本人承认，如今的一切东西都十分伪劣，就连真正的炸药也几乎难以买到。然而，尽管那位矮个子德国人认为一定是机器出了问题，但他又不无希望地说着时钟仍有可能爆炸，举例说他曾给位于敖德萨的军事长官寄过气压表，尽管时间定在十天内爆炸，但差不多三个月都没有爆炸。的确，它真正爆炸的时候，只是成功地把一个女佣炸成了碎片，那个军事长官六个星期前就已经出城走了，但这至少表明，炸药作为一种破坏力量，在机械的控制下仍是一种有些不守时却又强大的力量。德国人的反省让亚瑟勋爵得到了一点儿安慰，但即便如此，他也是注定要失望的——两天后，就在他上楼时公爵夫人把他叫到了她的会客室，给他看了一封她刚收到的从教长宅邸寄来的信。

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“简写的信非常迷人，”公爵夫人说，“你必须好好读读她的最后一封。这完全像穆迪寄给我们的小说一样出色。”

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亚瑟勋爵一把从她的手里夺过那封信。信的内容如下：

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最亲爱的姑妈：

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非常感谢你为多加会送来了法兰绒和多纹棉布。我完全同意你的看法，他们想穿漂亮的东西是无稽之谈，但如今每个人都如此激进，没有信仰，很难让他们明白他们不应该尝试穿得像上等人一样。我确信我不知道将来会发生什么。正如爸爸经常在他的布道里所说，我们生活在一个没有信仰的时代。

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一个不明身份的仰慕者上星期四寄给爸爸一座时钟，我们开心极了。时钟是装在木箱里从伦敦寄来的，运费已付。爸爸觉得，这一定是读过他非凡的布道词《放纵是自由吗？》的某个人寄来的，因为时钟顶部是一个女人的雕像，爸爸说她的头上是自由之冠。我自己认为它很不合适，但爸爸说这具有历史意义，所以我想这没什么问题。帕克打开箱子，爸爸把它放在书房里的壁炉台上。星期五上午，我们都坐在那里，正当时钟敲响十二下的时候，我们听到了一阵呼呼声，只见一小股烟雾从雕像底座升起，自由女神雕像摔了下来，在炉围上摔断了鼻梁！玛丽亚相当惊慌，但看上去是如此可笑，我和詹姆斯都突然大笑了起来，连爸爸也被逗乐了。仔细查看之后，我们发现这是一座特别的闹钟。如果你将它设置到一个特定时间，放一些火药，在小锤子下面放上引信，你想要它什么时候响它就什么时候响。爸爸说不要把它留在书房，因为它发出了响声，雷吉就把它拿到了教室。它一整天都没什么响动，只有一阵阵小小的爆炸声。你觉得亚瑟会想要一个作为结婚礼物吗？我想这种闹钟在伦敦相当流行。爸爸说这种闹钟很棒，它表明自由不可能持久，而是一定会倒下。爸爸说自由是在法国大革命时期发明的。听起来是多么可怕！

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我现在得去多加会，要在那里为她们读你那封极有启发性的信件。亲爱的姑妈，你的想法是如此明智，她们在那个阶层的生活中就应该穿些看上去不一样的衣服。我必须说，当今生和来世还有那么多更重要的事儿要做的时候，她们对着装的焦虑真是荒唐可笑。我很高兴收到你送来的花府绸衣服，看上去很合身，蕾丝也没有破。我穿着你星期三在主教家好心送给我的黄绸缎的衣服，觉得它看上去不错。你觉得再缝上蝴蝶结怎么样？詹宁斯说现在每个人都打蝴蝶结，衬裙应该饰有褶边。雷吉说闹钟刚刚又爆炸了一次，而爸爸已经吩咐他把它送到了马厩。我觉得爸爸不像当初那样喜欢它了，不过有人送给他这样一个漂亮精巧的玩具，他还是倍感荣幸。这表明人们读他的布道，并得益于此。

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爸爸送上他的爱，詹姆斯、雷吉和玛丽亚也一同问好，希望塞西尔姑父的痛风好转，相信我，亲爱的姑妈。

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永远爱你的侄女

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简·珀西

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附言：请告诉我有关蝴蝶结的情况。詹宁斯坚持认为它们是眼下的时尚。

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奇切斯特教长宅邸

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五月二十七日

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亚瑟勋爵看信的时候表情非常严肃，怏怏不乐，公爵夫人哈哈大笑起来。

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“我亲爱的亚瑟，”她大声说道，“我永远不会再给你看一个年轻太太的信了！可是，关于这种闹钟我想要说什么呢？我认为这是一个一流的发明，我自己也想要一个。”

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“我可不太看好。”亚瑟勋爵苦笑着说。亲吻他的母亲后，他就离开了房间。

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上楼后，他扑倒在沙发上，眼里充满了泪水。他已经尽力去实施这起谋杀，但两次都失败了，而且都不是他自己的过错。他曾试图尽职尽责，但好像命运自己变成了叛徒。好心好意，却竹篮打水一场空；试图完美，却徒劳无益，他感到压抑。或许，还是彻底取消婚约更好。诚然，西比尔将会痛苦，但痛苦并不能真正损伤她如此高贵的天性。至于他自己，那又有什么关系呢？总有某种可以让男人赴死的战争，某种可以让男人献身的事业，生命对他没有快乐可言，所以对于死亡他也没有任何恐惧。让命运女神解决他的厄运吧。他不会再主动帮她。

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七点半钟，他穿好衣服，下楼去俱乐部。瑟比顿在那里跟一群小伙子聚会，他不得不跟他们一起吃饭。他们琐碎的谈话和无聊的玩笑没有引起他的兴趣。为了脱身，咖啡端上来时他就说有一个约会，借口离开了他们。当他走出俱乐部的时候，大厅门房递给他一封信。这是温克尔科普夫先生寄来的，请他第二天晚上过去看一把炸弹伞，那把伞一打开就会爆炸。这是最新的发明，刚刚从日内瓦发货抵达。他把信撕成了碎片。他已经打定了主意，不再尝试任何别的实验。随后，他散步到泰晤士河堤岸，在河边坐了几个小时。月亮从黄褐色的鬃毛似的云团间露出来，就像是狮子的眼睛，无数的星星在天空中闪耀，仿佛金粉洒在紫色的圆顶上。偶尔有一只驳船晃荡着驶过，进入浑浊的溪流，顺流漂去。鸣笛的火车奔过大桥后，铁路信号灯由绿色变成了猩红色。过了一段时间，十二点的钟声从威斯敏斯特高高的塔楼上隆隆传来，钟声每响一下，夜空似乎就颤抖一次。随后，铁路灯熄灭，留下一盏孤灯像一颗大红宝石在巨大的桅杆上闪闪发亮，城市的喧闹声变得越来越微弱。

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到了两点钟，他站起来，朝黑衣修士桥走去。一切看上去都是如此虚幻！多么像一场奇怪的梦啊！河对岸的房子脱离了夜晚的黑暗。人们会说，银光和阴影已经重新塑造了世界。圣保罗教堂的巨大圆顶像气泡一样在朦胧的夜色中若隐若现。

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他走近克娄巴特拉方尖碑的时候，看到一个男人俯身在栏杆上面。他走得越来越近，那个男人抬起头，汽灯光完全照落在了他的脸上。

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这是手相师伯杰斯先生！谁也不会认错那张肥胖松弛的脸庞、金丝眼镜、惨白的微笑和充满欲望的嘴唇。

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亚瑟勋爵停住了脚步。一个绝妙的主意闪过他的脑海。他悄悄地绕到伯杰斯先生身后，一把抓住他的双腿，把他抛进了泰晤士河。这时传来了粗鲁的咒骂声和扑通的溅水声，随后万籁俱寂。亚瑟勋爵焦急地望过去，只见手相师的一顶高帽在月光下的水涡里打着转。过了一段时间，它也沉没了，再不见伯杰斯先生的一丝痕迹。他一度认为自己又看见了那个笨拙丑陋的巨大身影从大桥的楼梯处突然冒了出来，一种可怕的失败感向他袭来，但结果证明那原来仅仅是一道云影，当月亮从云后面钻出来的时候，它就消失了。最后，他似乎才意识到了命运的判决，如释重负地呼了口气，顺口说出了西比尔的名字。

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“你扔下了什么东西，先生？”他身后一个声音突然说道。

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他转过身，看到了一位手提靶心灯笼的警察。

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“并不是什么重要的东西，警官。”他一边微笑着回答，一边招呼一辆路过的双座马车，然后跳了进去，吩咐车夫前往贝尔格雷夫广场。

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接下来的几天，他时而充满希望，时而感到恐惧。有些时候，他简直盼望伯杰斯先生走进房间，但在其他时候，他觉得命运不能对他这么不公平。他两次前往位于西月街的手相师的办公室，都无法让自己按响门铃。他既渴望确定，又害怕确定。

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最后，真相大白。他坐在俱乐部抽烟室一边喝茶，一边有些无聊地听着索比顿讲述欢乐剧院最近的滑稽歌曲，这时服务员拿着晚报走了进来。他拿起《圣詹姆斯公报》，无精打采地翻看起来，这时下面这个奇怪的标题引起了他的注意：

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手相师的自杀

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他兴奋得脸色苍白，开始看了起来。这段内容如下：

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昨天早上七点钟，著名手相师塞普蒂默斯·R．伯杰斯先生的尸体被冲到了格林尼治镇的河岸上，就在航船酒店的前面。这位不幸的先生之前已经失踪了几天，手相界都为他的安全忧心忡忡。据推测，他是因积劳成疾在突发性精神错乱的影响下而自杀，验尸陪审团今天下午公布了裁定结果。伯杰斯先生刚刚完成了一篇关于手的主题详论，不久将会发表，到时一定将备受关注。死者六十五岁，似乎没有留下任何亲属。

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亚瑟勋爵手里还拿着那张报纸就冲出了俱乐部，让大厅门房大为惊讶，门房试图拦住他，但没有拦住。亚瑟勋爵马上乘车去了公园小巷。西比尔从窗户看见了他，情况向她表明他带来了好消息。她跑下来迎接他，看到他的脸，她知道一切都很好。

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“我亲爱的西比尔，”亚瑟勋爵嚷道，“我们明天结婚吧！”

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“你这个傻小子！哎呀，连蛋糕都还没有订呢！”西比尔眼泪汪汪地笑道。

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Mr. Merton was a good deal distressed at the second postponement of the marriage, and Lady Julia, who had already ordered her dress for the wedding, did all in her power to make Sybil break off the match. Dearly, however, as Sybil loved her mother, she had given her whole life into Lord Arthur’s hands, and nothing that Lady Julia could say could make her waver in her faith. As for Lord Arthur himself, it took him days to get over his terrible disappointment, and for a time his nerves were completely unstrung. His excellent common sense, however, soon asserted itself and his sound, practical mind did not leave him long in doubt about what to do. Poison having proved a complete failure, dynamite, or some other form of explosive, was obviously the proper thing to try.

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He accordingly looked again over the list of his friends and relatives, and, after careful consideration, determined to blow up his uncle, the Dean of Chichester. The Dean, who was a man of great culture and learning, was extremely fond of clocks, and had a wonderful collection of timepieces, ranging from the fifteenth century to the present day, and it seemed to Lord Arthur that this hobby of the good Dean’s offered him an excellent opportunity for carrying out his scheme. Where to procure an explosive machine was, of course, quite another matter. The London Directory gave him no information on the point, and he felt that there was very little use in going to Scotland Yard about it, as they never seemed to know anything about the movements of the dynamite faction till after an explosion had taken place, and not much even then.

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Suddenly he thought of his friend Rouvaloff, a young Russian of very revolutionary tendencies, whom he had met at Lady Windermere’s in the winter. Count Rouvaloff was supposed to be writing a life of Peter the Great, and to have come over to England for the purpose of studying the documents relating to that Tsar’s residence in this country as a ship carpenter; but it was generally suspected that he was a Nihilist agent, and there was no doubt that the Russian Embassy did not look with any favour upon his presence in London. Lord Arthur felt that he was just the man for his purpose, and drove down one morning to his lodgings in Bloomsbury, to ask his advice and assistance.

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“So you are taking up politics seriously?” said Count Rouvaloff, when Lord Arthur had told him the object of his mission; but Lord Arthur, who hated swagger of any kind, felt bound to admit to him that he had not the slightest interest in social questions, and simply wanted the explosive machine for a purely family matter, in which no one was concerned but himself.

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Count Rouvaloff looked at him for some moments in amazement, and then seeing that he was quite serious, wrote an address on a piece of paper, initialled it, and handed it to him across the table.

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“Scotland Yard would give a good deal to know this address, my dear fellow.”

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“They shan’t have it,” cried Lord Arthur, laughing; and after shaking the young Russian warmly by the hand he ran downstairs, examined the paper, and told the coachman to drive to Soho Square.

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There he dismissed him, and strolled down Greek Street, till he came to a place called Bayle’s Court. He passed under the archway, and found himself in a curious cul-de-sac, that was apparently occupied by a French Laundry, as a perfect network of clothes-lines was stretched across from house to house, and there was a flutter of white linen in the morning air. He walked right to the end, and knocked at a little green house. After some delay, during which every window became a blurred mass of peering faces, the door was opened by a rather rough-looking foreigner, who asked him in very bad English what his business was. Lord Arthur handed him the paper Count Rouvaloff had given him. When the man saw it he bowed, and invited Lord Arthur into a very shabby front parlour on the ground-floor, and in a few moments Herr Winckelkopf, as he was called in England, bustled into the room, with a very wine-stained napkin round his neck, and a fork in his left hand.

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“Count Rouvaloff has given me an introduction to you,” said Lord Arthur, bowing, “and I am anxious to have a short interview with you on a matter of business. My name is Smith, Mr. Robert Smith, and I want you to supply me with an explosive clock.”

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“Charmed to meet you, Lord Arthur,” said the genial little German laughing. “Don’t look so alarmed, it is my duty to know everybody, and I remember seeing you one evening at Lady Windermere’s. I hope her ladyship is quite well. Do you mind sitting with me while I finish my breakfast? There is an excellent paté, and my friends are kind enough to say that my Rhine wine is better than any they get at the German Embassy,” and before Lord Arthur had got over his surprise at being recognised, he found himself seated in the back-room, sipping the most delicious Marcobrunner out of a pale yellow hock-glass marked with the Imperial monogram, and chatting in the friendliest manner possible to the famous conspirator.

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“Explosive clocks,” said Herr Winckelkopf, “are not very good things for foreign exportation, as, even if they succeed in passing the Custom House, the train service is so irregular, that they usually go off before they have reached their proper destination. If, however, you want one for home use, I can supply you with an excellent article, and guarantee that you will be satisfied with the result. May I ask for whom it is intended? If it is for the police, or for any one connected with Scotland Yard, I am afraid I cannot do anything for you. The English detectives are really our best friends, and I have always found that by relying on their stupidity, we can do exactly what we like. I could not spare one of them.”

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“I assure you,” said Lord Arthur, “that it has nothing to do with the police at all. In fact, the clock is intended for the Dean of Chichester.”

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“Dear me! I had no idea that you felt so strongly about religion, Lord Arthur. Few young men do nowadays.”

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“I am afraid you overrate me, Herr Winckelkopf,” said Lord Arthur, blushing. “The fact is, I really know nothing about theology.”

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“It is a purely private matter then?”

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“Purely private.”

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Herr Winckelkopf shrugged his shoulders, and left the room, returning in a few minutes with a round cake of dynamite about the size of a penny, and a pretty little French clock, surmounted by an ormolu figure of Liberty trampling on the hydra of Despotism.

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Lord Arthur’s face brightened up when he saw it. “That is just what I want,” he cried, “and now tell me how it goes off.”

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“Ah! there is my secret,” answered Herr Winckelkopf, contem-plating his invention with a justifiable look of pride; “let me know when you wish it to explode, and I will set the machine to the moment.”

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“Well, to-day is Tuesday, and if you could send it off at once——”

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“That is impossible; I have a great deal of important work on hand for some friends of mine in Moscow. Still, I might send it off to-morrow.”

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“Oh, it will be quite time enough!” said Lord Arthur politely, “if it is delivered to-morrow night or Thursday morning. For the moment of the explosion, say Friday at noon exactly. The Dean is always at home at that hour.”

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“Friday, at noon,” repeated Herr Winckelkopf, and he made a note to that effect in a large ledger that was lying on a bureau near the fireplace.

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“And now,” said Lord Arthur, rising from his seat, “pray let me know how much I am in your debt.”

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“It is such a small matter, Lord Arthur, that I do not care to make any charge. The dynamite comes to seven and sixpence, the clock will be three pounds ten, and the carriage about five shillings. I am only too pleased to oblige any friend of Count Rouvaloff’s.”

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“But your trouble, Herr Winckelkopf?”

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“Oh, that is nothing! It is a pleasure to me. I do not work for money; I live entirely for my art.”

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Lord Arthur laid down ￡4 2s 6d. on the table, thanked the little German for his kindness, and, having succeeded in declining an invitation to meet some Anarchists at a meat-tea on the following Saturday, left the house and went off to the Park.

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For the next two days he was in a state of the greatest excitement, and on Friday at twelve o’clock he drove down to the Buckingham to wait for news. All the afternoon the stolid hall-porter kept posting up telegrams from various parts of the country giving the results of horse-races, the verdicts in divorce suits, the state of the weather, and the like, while the tape ticked out wearisome details about an all-night sitting in the House of Commons, and a small panic on the Stock Exchange. At four o’clock the evening papers came in, and Lord Arthur disappeared into the library with the Pall Mall, the St James’s, the Globe, and the Echo, to the immense indignation of Colonel Goodchild, who wanted to read the reports of a speech he had delivered that morning at the Mansion House, on the subject of South African Missions, and the advisability of having black Bishops in every province, and for some reason or other had a strong prejudice against the Evening News. None of the papers, however, contained even the slightest allusion to Chichester, and Lord Arthur felt that the attempt must have failed. It was a terrible blow to him, and for a time he was quite unnerved. Herr Winckelkopf, whom he went to see the next day, was full of elaborate apologies, and offered to supply him with another clock free of charge, or with a case of nitro-glycerine bombs at cost price. But he had lost all faith in explosives, and Herr Winckelkopf himself acknowledged that everything is so adulterated nowadays, that even dynamite can hardly be got in a pure condition. The little German, however, while admitting that something must have gone wrong with the machinery, was not without hope that the clock might still go off and instanced the case of a barometer that he had once sent to the military Governor at Odessa, which, though timed to explode in ten days, had not done so for something like three months. It was quite true that when it did go off, it merely succeeded in blowing a housemaid to atoms, the Governor having gone out of town six weeks before, but at least it showed that dynamite, as a destructive force, was, when under the control of machinery, a powerful, though somewhat unpunctual agent. Lord Arthur was a little consoled by this reflection, but even here he was destined to disappointment, for two days afterwards, as he was going upstairs, the Duchess called him into her boudoir, and showed him a letter she had just received from the Deanery.

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“Jane writes charming letters,” said the Duchess; “you must really read her last. It is quite as good as the novels Mudie sends us.”

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Lord Arthur seized the letter from her hand. It ran as follows:

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The Deanery, Chichester,

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27th May

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My Dearest Aunt,

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Thank you so much for the flannel for the Dorcas Society, and also for the gingham. I quite agree with you that it is nonsense their wanting to wear pretty things, but everybody is so Radical and irreligious nowadays, that it is difficult to make them see that they should not try and dress like the upper classes. I am sure I don’t know what we are coming to. As papa has often said in his sermons, we live in an age of unbelief.

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We have had great fun over a clock that an unknown admirer sent Papa last Thursday. It arrived in a wooden box from London, carriage paid; and papa feels it must have been sent by some one who had read his remarkable sermon, ‘Is License Liberty?’ for on the top of the clock was a figure of a woman, with what papa said was the cap of Liberty on her head. I didn’t think it very becoming myself, but papa said it was historical, so I suppose it is all right. Parker unpacked it, and papa put it on the mantelpiece in the library, and we were all sitting there on Friday morning, when just as the clock struck twelve, we heard a whirring noise, a little puff of smoke came from the pedestal of the figure, and the goddess of Liberty fell off, and broke her nose on the fender! Maria was quite alarmed, but it looked so ridiculous, that James and I went off into fits of laughter, and even papa was amused. When we examined it, we found it was a sort of alarum clock, and that, if you set it to a particular hour, and put some gunpowder and a cap under a little hammer, it went off whenever you wanted. Papa said it must not remain in the library, as it made a noise, so Reggie carried it away to the schoolroom, and does nothing but have small explosions all day long. Do you think Arthur would like one for a wedding present? I suppose they are quite fashionable in London. Papa says they should do a great deal of good, as they show that Liberty can’t last, but must fall down. Papa says Liberty was invented at the time of the French Revolution. How awful it seems!

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I have now to go to the Dorcas, where I will read your most instructive letter. How true, dear aunt, your idea is, that in their rank of life they should wear what is unbecoming. I must say it is absurd, their anxiety about dress, when there are so many more important things in this world, and in the next. I am so glad your flowered poplin turned out so well, and that your lace was not torn. I am wearing my yellow satin, that you so kindly gave me, at the Bishop’s on Wednesday, and think it will look all right. Would you have bows or not? Jennings says that every one wears bows now, and that the underskirt should be frilled. Reggie has just had another explosion, and papa has ordered the clock to be sent to the stables. I don’t think papa likes it so much as he did at first, though he is very flattered at being sent such a pretty and ingenious toy. It shows that people read his sermons, and profit by them.

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Papa sends his love, in which James, and Reggie, and Maria all unite, and, hoping that Uncle Cecil’s gout is better, believe me, dear aunt, ever your affectionate niece,

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Jane Percy

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PS. ——Do tell me about the bows. Jennings insists they are the fashion.

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Lord Arthur looked so serious and unhappy over the letter, that the Duchess went into fits of laughter.

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“My dear Arthur,” she cried, “I shall never show you a young lady’s letter again! But what shall I say about the clock? I think it is a capital invention, and I should like to have one myself.”

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“I don’t think much of them,” said Lord Arthur, with a sad smile, and, after kissing his mother, he left the room.

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When he got upstairs, he flung himself on a sofa, and his eyes filled with tears. He had done his best to commit this murder, but on both occasions he had failed, and through no fault of his own. He had tried to do his duty, but it seemed as if Destiny herself had turned traitor. He was oppressed with the sense of the barrenness of good intentions, of the futility of trying to be fine. Perhaps, it would be better to break off the marriage altogether. Sybil would suffer, it is true, but suffering could not really mar a nature so noble as hers. As for himself, what did it matter? There is always some war in which a man can die, some cause to which a man can give his life, and as life had no pleasure for him, so death had no terror. Let Destiny work out his doom. He would not stir to help her.

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At half-past seven he dressed, and went down to the club. Surbiton was there with a party of young men, and he was obliged to dine with them. Their trivial conversation and idle jests did not interest him, and as soon as coffee was brought he left them, inventing some engagement in order to get away. As he was going out of the club, the hall-porter handed him a letter. It was from Herr Winckelkopf, asking him to call down the next evening, and look at an explosive umbrella, that went off as soon as it was opened. It was the very latest invention, and had just arrived from Geneva. He tore the letter up into fragments. He had made up his mind not to try any more experiments. Then he wandered down to the Thames Embankment, and sat for hours by the river. The moon peered through a mane of tawny clouds, as if it were a lion’s eye, and innumerable stars spangled the hollow vault, like gold dust powdered on a purple dome. Now and then a barge swung out into the turbid stream, and floated away with the tide, and the railway signals changed from green to scarlet as the trains ran shrieking across the bridge. After some time, twelve o’clock boomed from the tall tower at Westminster and at each stroke of the sonorous bell the night seemed to tremble. Then the railway lights went out, one solitary lamp left gleaming like a large ruby on a giant mast, and the roar of the city became fainter.

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At two o’clock he got up, and strolled towards Blackfriars. How unreal everything looked! How like a strange dream! The houses on the other side of the river seemed built out of darkness. One would have said that silver and shadow had fashioned the world anew. The huge dome of St. Paul’s loomed like a bubble through the dusky air.

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As he approached Cleopatra’s Needle he saw a man leaning over the parapet, and as he came nearer the man looked up, the gaslight falling full upon his face.

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It was Mr. Podgers, the chiromantist! No one could mistake the fat, flabby face, the gold-rimmed spectacles, the sickly feeble smile, the sensual mouth.

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Lord Arthur stopped. A brilliant idea flashed across him, and he stole softly up behind. In a moment he had seized Mr. Podgers by the legs, and flung him into the Thames. There was a coarse oath, a heavy splash, and all was still. Lord Arthur looked anxiously over, but could see nothing of the chiromantist but a tall hat, pirouetting in an eddy of moonlit water. After a time it also sank, and no trace of Mr. Podgers was visible. Once he thought that he caught sight of the bulky misshapen figure striking out for the staircase by the bridge, and a horrible feeling of failure came over him, but it turned out to be merely a reflection, and when the moon shone out from behind a cloud it passed away. At last he seemed to have realised the decree of destiny. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, and Sybil’s name came to his lips.

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“Have you dropped anything, sir?” said a voice behind him suddenly.

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He turned round, and saw a policeman with a bull’s-eye lantern.

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“Nothing of importance, sergeant,” he answered, smiling, and hailing a passing hansom, he jumped in, and told the man to drive to Belgrave Square.

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For the next few days he alternated between hope and fear. There were moments when he almost expected Mr. Podgers to walk into the room, and yet at other times he felt that Fate could not be so unjust to him. Twice he went to the chiromantist’s address in West Moon Street, but he could not bring himself to ring the bell. He longed for certainty, and was afraid of it.

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Finally it came. He was sitting in the smoking-room of the club having tea, and listening rather wearily to Surbiton’s account of the last comic song at the Gaiety, when the waiter came in with the evening papers. He took up the St. James’s, and was listlessly turning over its pages, when this strange heading caught his eye:

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SUICIDE OF A CHIROMANTIST.

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He turned pale with excitement, and began to read. The paragraph ran as follows:

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Yesterday morning, at seven o’clock, the body of Mr. Septimus R. Podgers, the eminent chiromantist, was washed on shore at Greenwich, just in front of the Ship Hotel. The unfortunate gentleman had been missing for some days, and considerable anxiety for his safety had been felt in chiromantic circles. It is supposed that he committed suicide under the influence of a temporary mental derangement, caused by overwork, and a verdict to that effect was returned this afternoon by the coroner’s jury. Mr. Podgers had just completed an elaborate treatise on the subject of the Human Hand, that will shortly be published when it will no doubt attract much attention. The deceased was sixty-five years of age, and does not seem to have left any relations.

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Lord Arthur rushed out of the club with the paper still in his hand, to the immense amazement of the hall-porter, who tried in vain to stop him, and drove at once to Park Lane. Sybil saw him from the window, and something told her that he was the bearer of good news. She ran down to meet him, and, when she saw his face, she knew that all was well.

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“My dear Sybil,” cried Lord Arthur, “let us be married tomorrow!”

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“You foolish boy! Why, the cake is not even ordered!” said Sybil, laughing through her tears.

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

distressingly

[dɪ’stres]

n.不幸;危难;苦恼;痛苦

unstring

[’ʌn’strɪŋ]

vt. 解开(使 ... 混乱)

Poison

[’pɔɪzn]

n.毒药;毒害;败坏道德之事

explosive

[ɪk’spləʊsɪv]

adj.爆炸(性)的

timepiece

[’taɪmpiːs]

n.钟;表;计时器

Directory

[də’rektəri]

n.目录

felted

[’feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

faction

[’fækʃn]

n.内讧

lodging

[’lɒdʒɪŋ]

n.寄宿处;借宿

politic

[’pɒlətɪk]

adj.精明的;圆滑的;慎重的

amazement

[ə’meɪzmənt]

n.惊愕;惊异

downstairs

[ˌdaʊn’steəz]

adj.楼下的

coachman

[’kəʊtʃmən]

n.赶马车人

stroll

[strəʊl]

n.闲逛;漫步

stretchable

[stretʃəbl]

v.伸展;延伸;张开;夸大

linen

[’lɪnɪn]

n.亚麻布;亚麻线;亚麻制品

blur

[blɜː(r)]

v.弄脏;使 ... 模糊

parlor

[’pɑːlə]

n. (机关、银行等)接待室，客厅;

bustle

[’bʌsl]

n.喧哗;匆忙;裙撑;衬垫

sip

[sɪp]

n.啜饮

delicious

[dɪ’lɪʃəs]

adj.美味的;可口的

Imperial

[ɪm’pɪəriəl]

adj.帝国的;皇帝的

Explosive

[ɪk’spləʊsɪv]

adj.爆炸(性)的

exportation

[ˌekspɔː’teɪʃn]

n.出口

irregular

[ɪ’reɡjələ(r)]

adj.不规则的;不整齐的;不合法的;不合规矩的

overrate

[ˌəʊvə’reɪt]

vt.评价过高;高估;估价过高

blush

[blʌʃ]

n.脸红;羞愧

penny

[’peni]

n.便士;【美】分

surmount

[sə’maʊnt]

vt.克服;越过;登上 ... 最高点

trample

[’træmpl]

n.踩踏

brighten

[’braɪtn]

v.使变亮;使生辉;发亮;开颜

justifiable

[’dʒʌstɪfaɪəbl]

adj.可辩解的;可证明为正当的;有理的

fireplace

[’faɪəpleɪs]

n.壁炉

carriage

[’kærɪdʒ]

n.四轮马车

shilling

[’ʃɪlɪŋ]

n.先令(货币单位)

oblige

[ə’blaɪdʒ]

vt.迫使;责成;使感激;施恩于;帮 ... 的忙;使…成为必要

Herr

[heə]

n. 先生

anarchist

[’ænəkɪst]

n.无政府主义者

verdict

[’vɜːdɪkt]

n.裁决;定论

tick

[tɪk]

n. 【口语】片刻；刹那间;

Commons

[’kɒmənz]

n.英国国会下院(the House of Common)

Echo

[’ekəʊ]

①[C][U]回声；反响；共鸣;

Colonel

[’kɜːnl]

n.上校

adulterate

[ə’dʌltəreɪt]

v.搀 ... 使品质变劣

machinery

[mə’ʃiːnəri]

n.机械

barometer

[bə’rɒmɪtə(r)]

n.气压计;晴雨表

console

[kən’səʊl]

vt.安慰;慰藉

Duchess

[’dʌtʃəs]

n.公爵夫人;女公爵

Deanery

[’diːnəri]

n.教区;院长办公室

Dearest

[’dɪərɪst]

n.最亲爱的人;最可爱的人

sermon

[’sɜːmən]

n.布道;说教

unpack

[ˌʌn’pæk]

v.打开取出;卸下

whir

[wɜː]

v.作呼呼声;发飕飕声的飞或转

puff

[pʌf]

n. (一)喷，(一)吹；一阵(股)(空气、烟雾等);

goddess

[’ɡɒdes]

n.女神;受崇拜的女性

hammer

[’hæmə(r)]

n.锤子;榔头

instructive

[ɪn’strʌktɪv]

adj.教育性的;有启发的;有益的

lace

[leɪs]

n.鞋带;饰带;花边;缎带

satin

[’sætɪn]

n.缎子

kindly

[’kaɪndli]

adj.和蔼的;温和的;爽快的

frill

[frɪl]

n.衣饰上的绉边;褶皱(复数)frills: 虚饰; 装腔作势.

flatter

[’flætə(r)]

v.奉承;恭维;取悦;显得好看

mare

[meə(r)]

n.母马;母驴;(月球等)表面阴暗处

kissing

[’kɪsɪŋ]

adj.接吻的;关系亲密的,

fling

[flɪŋ]

vt. 投，抛，扔，掷;

Destiny

[’destəni]

n.命运

dine

[daɪn]

v.用正餐;进餐

trivial

[’trɪviəl]

adj.不重要的;琐碎的

conversation

[ˌkɒnvə’seɪʃn]

n.谈话;会话

latest

[’leɪtɪst]

adj.最近的;最新的

Geneva

[dʒə’niːvə]

n.日内瓦(瑞士城市)

Embankment

[ɪm’bæŋkmənt]

n.堤防;筑堤

dome

[dəʊm]

n. 圆屋顶；圆盖;

barge

[bɑːdʒ]

n.驳船

railway

[’reɪlweɪ]

n.【C】铁路

shriek

[ʃriːk]

v.尖叫;叫喊

Westminster

[’westmɪnstə(r)]

威斯敏斯特

gleam

[ɡliːm]

v.闪烁;隐约地闪现

ruby

[’ruːbi]

adj.红宝石色的

roar

[rɔː(r)]

v.吼叫;咆哮

loom

[luːm]

n.织布机

gaslight

[’ɡæslaɪt]

n.煤气灯光;煤气灯

sickly

[’sɪkli]

adj.病弱的;令人作呕的;无精打采的

feeble

[’fiːbl]

adj.虚弱的;无力的

coarse

[kɔːs]

adj.粗糙的;粗俗的

oath

[əʊθ]

n.誓言;誓约;咒骂语

staircase

[’steəkeɪs]

n.楼梯

decree

[dɪ’kriː]

n.法令;判决

destiny

[’destəni]

n.命运

heaving

[’hiːvɪŋ]

n.举起;拿起;扔

hansom

[’hænsəm]

n.双轮双座马车

alternate

[’ɔːltɜːnət]

v.交替;轮流

unjust

[ˌʌn’dʒʌst]

adj.不公平的

wearily

[’wɪərəli]

adv.疲倦地;厌烦地

listless

[’lɪstləs]

adj.无精打采的

paragraph

[’pærəɡrɑːf]

n.段落

eminent

[’emɪnənt]

adj.著名的;卓越的

overwork

[ˌəʊvə’wɜːk]

n.过度操劳;过度工作

treatise

[’triːtɪs]

n.论文;论述;故事

decease

[dɪ’siːs]

n.【U】死;死亡

bearer

[’beərə(r)]

n.持票者;带信人;承担人;脚夫;搬运工;能开花结果的植物;柩夫

Sybil

[’sɪbɪl]

n.女预言家;女相命家.

Sybil

[’sɪbɪl]

n.女预言家;女相命家.

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