双城记——看热闹

2017-02-20 09:38:38   Tag:

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双城记——看热闹:“你对老贝勒很熟,是吗?”一个衰老的行员对跑腿的杰瑞说。“没--错,先生,”杰瑞带几分抵触地回答说,“我对它的确很熟。”“那好。你也认识罗瑞先生?”

A SIGHT 


“Y ou know the Old Bailey well, no doubt?” said one of the oldest of clerks to Jerry the messenger. “Ye-es, sir,” returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. “I do know the Bailey.” 


“Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry.” 


“I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much better,” said Jerry, not unlike a reluctant witness at the establishment in question, “than I, as a honest tradesman, wish to know the Bailey.” 


“Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the door-keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in.” 


“Into the court, sir?” 


“Into the court.” 


Mr. Cruncher’s eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to interchange the inquiry, “What do you think of this?” 


“Am I to wait in the court, sir?” he asked, as the result of that conference. 


“I am going to tell you. The door-keeper will pass the note to Mr. Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will attract Mr. Lorry’s attention, and show him where you stand. Then what you have to do is, to remain there until he wants you.” 


“Is that all, sir?” 


“That is all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. This is to tell him you are there.” 


As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr. Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-paper stage, remarked: 


“I suppose they’ll be trying Forgeries this morning?” 


“Treason!” 


“That’s quartering,” said Jerry. “Barbarous!” 


“It is the law,” remarked the ancient clerk, turning his surprised spectacles upon him. “It is the law.” 


“It’s hard in the law to spile a man, I think. It’s hard enough to kill him, but it’s werry hard to spile him, sir.” 


“Not at all,” returned the ancient clerk. “Speak well of the law. Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take care of itself. I give you that advice.” 


“It’s the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice,” said Jerry. “I leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living mine is.” 


“Well, well,” said the old clerk; “we all have our various ways of gaining a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of us have dry ways. Here is the letter. Go along.” 


Jerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less internal deference than he made an outward show of, “You are a lean old one, too,” made his bow, informed his son, in passing, of his destination, and went his way. 


They hanged at Tyburn in those days, so the street outside Newgate had not obtained one infamous notoriety that has since attached to it. But, the gaol was a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and villainy were practised, and where dire diseases were bred, that came into court with the prisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock at my Lord Chief Justice himself, and pulled him off the bench. It had more than once happened, that the Judge in the black cap pronounced his own doom as certainly as the prisoner’s, and even died before him. For the rest, the Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly inn-yard, from which pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a violent passage into the other world: traversing some two miles and a half of public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if any. So powerful is use, and so desirable to be good use in the beginning. It was famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted a punishment of which no one could foresee the extent; also, for the whipping-post, another dear old institution, very humanising and softening to behold in action; also, for extensive transactions in blood-money, another fragment of ancestral wisdom, systematically leading to the most frightful mercenary crimes that could be committed under Heaven. Altogether, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choice illustration of the precept that “Whatever is, is right”; an aphorism that would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence, that nothing that ever was, was wrong. 


Making his way through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down this hideous scene of action, with the skill of a man accustomed to make his way quietly, the messenger found out the door he sought, and handed in his letter through a trap in it. For, people then paid to see the play at the Old Bailey, just as they paid to see the play in Bedlam—only the former entertainment was much the dearer. Therefore, all the Old Bailey doors were well guarded—except, indeed, the social doors by which the criminals got there, and those were always left wide open. 


After some delay and demur, the door grudgingly turned on its hinges a very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himself into court. 


“What’s on?” he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found himself next to. 


“Nothing yet.” 


“What’s coming on?” 


“The Treason case.” 


“The quartering one, eh?” 


“Ah!” returned the man, with a relish; “he’ll be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he’ll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off, and he’ll be cut into quarters. That’s the sentence.” 


“If he’s found Guilty, you mean to say?” Jerry added, by way of proviso. 


“Oh! they’ll find him guilty,” said the other. “Don’t you be afraid of that.” 


Mr. Cruncher’s attention was here diverted to the door-keeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman, the prisoner’s counsel, who had a great bundle of papers before him: and nearly opposite another wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who quietly nodded and sat down again. 


“What’s he got to do with the case?” asked the man he had spoken with. 


“Blest if I know,” said Jerry. 


“What have you got to do with it, then, if a person may inquire?” 


“Blest if I know that either,” said Jerry. 


The entrance of the Judge, and a consequent great stir and settling down in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dock became the central point of interest. Two gaolers, who had been standing there, went out, and the prisoner was brought in, and put to the bar. 


Everybody present, except the one wigged gentleman who looked at the ceiling, stared at him. All the human breath in the place, rolled at him, like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager faces strained round pillars and corners, to get a sight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to miss a hair of him; people on the floor of the court, laid their hands on the shoulders of the people before them, to help themselves, at anybody’s cost, to a view of him, stood a-tiptoe, got upon ledges, stood upon next to nothing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuous among these latter, like an animated bit of the spiked wall of Newgate, Jerry stood: aiming at the prisoner the beery breath of a whet he had taken as he came along, and discharging it to mingle with the waves of other beer, and gin, and tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, and already broke upon the great windows behind him in an impure mist and rain. 


The object of all this staring and blaring, was a young man of about five and twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheek and a dark eye. His condition was that of a young gentleman. He was plainly dressed in black, or very dark grey, and his hair, which was long and dark, was gathered in a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be out of his way than for ornament. As an emotion of the mind will express itself through any covering of the body, so the paleness which his situation engendered came through the brown upon his cheek, showing the soul to be stronger than the sun. He was otherwise quite self-possessed, bowed to the Judge, and stood quiet. 


The sort of interest with which this man was stared and breathed at, was not a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less horrible sentence—had there been a chance of any one of its savage details being spared—by just so much would he have lost in his fascination. The form that was to be doomed to be so shamefully mangled, was the sight; the immortal creature that was to be so butchered and torn asunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever gloss the various spectators put upon the interest, according to their several arts and powers of self-deceit, the interest was, at the root of it, Ogreish. 


Silence in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday pleaded Not Guilty to an indictment denouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle) for that he was a false traitor to our serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, prince, our Lord the King, by reason of his having, on divers occasions, and by divers means and ways, assisted Lewis, the French King, in his wars against our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth; that was to say, by coming and going, between the dominions of our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and those of the said French Lewis, and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, and otherwise eviladverbiously, revealing to the said French Lewis what forces our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, had in preparation to send to Canada and North America. This much, Jerry, with his head becoming more and more spiky as the law terms bristled it, made out with huge satisfaction, and so arrived circuitously at the understanding that the aforesaid, and over and over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon his trial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General was making ready to speak. 


The accused, who was (and who knew he was) being mentally hanged, beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched from the situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and attentive; watched the opening proceedings with a grave interest; and stood with his hands resting on the slab of wood before him, so composedly, that they had not displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it was strewn. The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with vinegar, as a precaution against gaol air and gaol fever. 


Over the prisoner’s head there was a mirror, to throw the light down upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been reflected in it, and had passed from its surface and this earth’s together. Haunted in a most ghastly manner that abominable place would have been, if the glass could ever have rendered back its reflections, as the ocean is one day to give up its dead. Some passing thought of the infamy and disgrace for which it had been reserved, may have struck the prisoner’s mind. Be that as it may, a change in his position making him conscious of a bar of light across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass his face flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away. 


It happened that the action turned his face to that side of the court which was on his left. About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in that corner of the Judge’s bench, two persons upon whom his look immediately rested; so immediately, and so much to the changing of his aspect, that all the eyes that were turned upon him, turned to them. 


The spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of little more than twenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a very remarkable appearance in respect of the absolute whiteness of his hair, and a certain indescribable intensity of face: not of an active kind, but pondering and self-communing. When this expression was upon him, he looked as if he were old; but when it was stirred and broken up—as it was now, in a moment, on his speaking to his daughter—he became a handsome man, not past the prime of life. 


His daughter had one of her hands drawn through his arm, as she sat by him, and the other pressed upon it. She had drawn close to him, in her dread of the scene, and in her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had been strikingly expressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that saw nothing but the peril of the accused. This had been so very noticeable, so very powerfully and naturally shown, that starers who had had no pity for him were touched by her; and the whisper went about, “Who are they?” 


Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his own manner, and who had been sucking the rust off his fingers in his absorption, stretched his neck to hear who they were. The crowd about him had pressed and passed the inquiry on to the nearest attendant, and from him it had been more slowly pressed and passed back; at last it got to Jerry: 


“Witnesses.” 


Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics 


 A Tale of Two Cities 


“For which side?” 


“Against.” 


“Against what side?” 


“The prisoner’s.” 


The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, recalled them, leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily at the man whose life was in his hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe, and hammer the nails into the scaffold. 

看热闹


“你对老贝勒很熟,是吗?”一个衰老的行员对跑腿的杰瑞说。


“没--错,先生,”杰瑞带几分抵触地回答说,“我对它的确很熟。”


“那好。你也认识罗瑞先生?”


“我对罗瑞先生比对老贝勒要熟悉得多,先生,”杰瑞说,那口气并非不像迫不得已到老贝勒去出庭作证。“我作为一个诚实的生意人宁可熟悉罗瑞先生,而不愿熟悉老贝勒。”


“很好。你去找到证人出入的门,把这个写给罗瑞先生的条子给门房看看,他就会让你进去的。”


“进法庭去么,先生?”


“要进去。”


克朗彻的两只眼睛似乎靠得更近了,而且在互相探问,“你对此有何高见?”


“要我在法庭里等候么,先生?”作为双眼彼此探问的结果,他问。


“我来告诉你吧。门房会把条子递给罗瑞先生,那时你就向罗瑞先生打个手势,引起他的注意,让他看到你守候的地方。然后你就就地等待,听候差遣。”


“就这样么,先生?”


“就这样。他希望身边有个人送信。这信就是通知他有你在那儿。”


老行员仔细折好字条,写上收件人姓名。克朗彻先生一声不响地观察着他,在他吸干墨水时说:


“我估计今天上午要审伪证案吧?”


“叛国案!”


“那可是要破腹分尸的呀,”杰瑞说。“野蛮着呢!”


“这是法律,”衰老的行员把他吃惊的眼镜转向他。“这是法律!”


“我认为法律把人分尸也太厉害了点。杀了他就够厉害的,分尸太过分了,先生。”


“一点也不,”老行员说。“对法律要说好话。好好保护你的胸口和嗓子,好朋友,别去管法律的闲事,我奉劝你。”


“我这胸口和嗓子都是叫湿气害的,先生,”杰瑞说。“我挣钱过日子要受多少湿气,你想想看。”


“好了,好了,”衰老的行员说,“咱们谁都挣钱过日子,可办法各有不同。有人受潮,有人枯燥。信在这儿,去吧。”


杰瑞接过信,外表毕恭毕敬,心里却不服,说,“你也是个干瘦的老头儿呢。”他鞠了一躬,顺便把去向告诉了儿子,才上了路。


那时绞刑还在泰本执行,因此新门监狱大门外那条街还不像后来那么声名狼籍,但监狱却是个恶劣的地方,各种堕落荒唐与流氓行为都在那里出现,各种可怕的疾病也都在那里孳生,而且随着囚徒进入法庭,有时甚至从被告席径直传染给大法官,把他从宝座上拉下来。戴黑色礼帽的法官对囚犯宣判死刑时,也宣判了自己的毁灭,甚至毁灭得比囚犯还早的事出现过不止一次。此外,老贝勒还以“死亡逆旅”闻名。面无人色的旅客不断从那儿出发,坐着大车或马车经过一条充满暴烈事件的路去到另一个世界。在穿过大约两英里半的大街和公路时,并没有几个公民(即使有的话)为此感到惭傀。习惯是强有力的,习惯成自然在开始时也很有用处。这监狱还以枷刑闻名。那是一种古老而聪明的制度,那种惩罚伤害之深没有人可以预见。它也以鞭刑柱闻名,那也是一种可爱而古老的制度,看了之后是会令人大发慈悲,心肠变软的。它也以大量的“血钱”交易闻名,那也是我们祖宗聪明的一种表现,它能系统全面地引向天下最骇人听闻的雇佣犯罪。总而言之,那时的老贝勒是“存在便是合理”这句名言的最佳例证。这个警句若是没有包含“过去不存在的也都不合理”这个令人尴尬的推论的话,倒可以算作是结论性的,虽然并不管用。


肮脏的人群满布在这种恐怖活动的现场。送信人以习惯于一声不响穿过人群的技巧穿过了人群,找到了他要找的门,从一道小活门递进了信。那时人们花钱看老贝勒的表演正像花钱看贝德兰的表演一样,不过老贝勒要贵得多。因此老贝勒的门全都严加把守--只有罪犯进出的交通口例外,那倒是大敞开的。


在一阵耽误和踌躇之后,那门很不情愿地开了一条缝,让杰瑞·克朗彻挤进了法庭。


“在干啥?”他悄声问身边的人。


“还没开始。”


“要审什么案?”


“叛国案。”


“要分尸的,是么?”


“啊!”那人兴致勃勃地回答,“先要在架于上绞个半死,再放下来让他眼看着一刀一刀割,再掏出内脏,当着他的面烧掉。最后才砍掉头,卸作四块。这种刑罚就是这样。”


“你是说,若是认定他有罪的话?”杰瑞说道,仿佛加上一份“但书”。


啊!他们会认定他犯罪的,”对方说,“别担心。”


克朗彻先生的注意力此刻被门卫分散了。他看见门卫拿着信向罗瑞先生逛去。罗瑞先生跟戴假发的先生们一起坐在桌前,距离囚犯的辩护人不远。那辩护人戴着假发,面前有一大捆文件。差不多跟他们正对面还坐着另一个戴假发的先生,双手插在口袋里。克朗彻先生当时和后来看他时,他的注意力似乎都集中在法庭的天花板上。杰瑞大声咳嗽了一下,又揉了揉下巴,做了个手势,引起了罗瑞先生的注意一一罗瑞先生已站起身在找他,见了他便点点头又坐下了。


“他跟这案子有什么关系?”刚才和他谈话的人问。


“我要是知道就好了,”杰瑞说。


“若是有人调查起来,你跟这案子有什么关系么?”


“我要是知道就好了,”杰瑞说。


法官进场,引起了一番忙乱,然后静了下来,这就阻止了他俩的对话。被告席马上成了注意力的中心。一直站在那儿的两个狱史走出去,带来了囚犯,送进了被告席。


除了那个戴假发望天花板的人之外,每个人的注意力都集中到了被告身上。那儿的全部人类的呼吸都向他滚去,像海涛,像凤,像火焰。急切的面孔努力绕过柱头,转过犄角,都想看到他。后排的观众站起了身,连他的一根头发也不肯放过;站着的人手扶着前面的人的肩头往前看,不管是否影响了别人,只想看个明白--他们或踮起脚尖、或踩在墙裙上、或踩在简直踩不住的东西上,要想看到囚徒身上的各个部位。杰瑞站在站立的人群中很显眼,好像是新门监狱带铁蒺藜的墙壁的一个活的部分,他那有啤酒味儿的鼻息向囚犯吹去(他在路上才喝了一盅),也把那气味跟别人的气味-一啤酒味、杜松子酒味、茶味、咖啡味等等--混合到了一起,形成了一股浪潮。那浪潮已融合为一股浑浊的雾和雨向他冲刷过来,也已经向他身后的大窗户冲刷过去。


这一切注视与喧哗的目标是一个大约二十五岁的青年男子,身材匀称,气色良好,有一张被阳光晒黑的面孔和一对深色的眼睛,看样子是一个年轻的绅士。他穿着朴素的黑色(或许是深灰色)的衣服,长长的深色头发用带于系好挂在脑后;主要是避免麻烦而不是为了装饰。心里的情绪总是要通过身体表面透露出来的,因此他的处境所产生的苍白便透过黄褐的面颊透露了出来,表现出他的灵魂比阳光更为有力。除此之外他很冷静。他向法官行过了礼,便一声不响地站着。


人们注视此人、向他喷着雾气时所表现出的兴趣并非是能使人类崇高的那一类兴趣。若是他所面对的判决不是那么恐怖,若是那刑罚野蛮的细节有可能减少一部分,他的魅力也就会相应减少。此人的好看之处正在于他要被那么卑鄙地一刀刀地脔切;一个活生生的人要被屠杀,被撕成几块,轰动情绪就是从这儿产生的。不同的观众尽管可以用不同的辞藻和自欺本领为这种兴趣辩解,可它归根到底是丑恶凶残的。


法庭里鸦雀无声!查尔斯·达尔内昨天对公诉提出了无罪申辩。那公诉状里有数不清的响亮言辞,说他是一个丧心病狂的叛徒,出卖了我们沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的君主、国王、主子。因为他在不同的时机,采用了不同的方式方法,帮助了法国国王路易进攻我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王。这就是说,他在我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王的国土和上述的法国国王路易的国土上穿梭往来,从而十恶不赦地、背信弃义地、大逆不道地,诸如此类地向上述法国国王路易透露了我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王已经部署齐备打算派遣到加拿大和北美洲的兵力。法律文件里芒铩森然,杰瑞的脑袋上也渐渐毛发直竖,揸开了铁蒺藜,他经过种种曲折之后才大为满足地获得了结论,懂得了上述那个一再被重复提起的查尔斯·达尔内此时正站在他面前受审,陪审团正在宣誓;检察长先生已准备好发言。


被告此时已被在场的每一个人在想象中绞了个半死、砍掉了脑袋、卸成了几块。这一点被告也明白。可他却没有在这种形势前表现出畏怯,也没有摆出戏剧性的英雄气概。他一言不发,神情专注,带着沉静的兴趣望着开幕式进行,一双手摆在面前的木栏杆上。木栏杆上满是草药,他的手却很泰然,连一片叶子也不曾碰动-一为了预防狱臭和监狱热流行,法庭里已摆满了草药,洒满了醋。


囚徒头上有一面镜子,是用来向他投射光线的。不知多少邪恶的人和不幸的人曾反映在镜子里,又从它的表面和地球的表面消失。若是这面镜子能像海洋会托出溺死者一样把它反映过的影象重现,那可憎的地方一定会是鬼影幢幢,令人毛骨竦然的。也许囚犯心里曾掠过保留这面镜子正是为让囚犯们感到难堪和羞辱的念头吧,总之他挪了挪位置,却意识到一道光线射到脸上,抬头一看,见到了镜子时脸上泛出了红晕,右手一伸,碰掉了草药。


原来这个动作使他把头转向了他左边的法庭。在法官座位的角落上坐着两个人,位置大体跟他的目光齐平。他的目光立即落到两人身上。那目光闪落之快,他的脸色变化之大,使得转向他的目光全都又转向了那两个人。


观众看到的两个人一个是刚过二十的小姐,另一个显然是她的父亲。后者以他满头的白发十分引人注目。他脸上带着一种难以描述的紧张表情:并非活跃性的紧张,而是沉思的内心自省的紧张。这种表情在他脸上时,他便显得憔悴苍老,可是那表情一消失--现在它就暂时消失了,因为他跟女儿说话一-他又变成了一个漂亮的男人,还没有超过他的最佳年华。


他的女儿坐在他身边,一只手挽着他的胳膊,另一只手搭在胳膊上面。她因害怕这场面,也因怜悯那囚徒,身子挪得更靠近他了。因为只看到被告的危险,她的额头鲜明地表现出了专注的恐怖与同情。这种表情太引人注目,太强有力,流露得太自然,那些对囚犯全无同情的看客也不禁受到感染。一片窃窃私语随之而起,“这两人是谁呀?”


送信人杰瑞以自己的方式作了观察,又在专心观察时吮过了手上的铁锈,此时便伸长了脖子去看那两人是谁。他身边的人彼此靠拢,依次向距离最近的出庭人传递询问;答案又更缓慢地传递回来,最后到达了杰瑞的耳里。


“是证人。”


“哪一边的?”


“反对的。”


“反对哪一边的?”


“反对被告一边的。”


法官收回了适才散射的目光,向椅背上一靠,目不转睛地望着那青年--那人的性命就摸在他手心里。此时,检察长先生站起身来,绞起了绞索,磨起了斧头,把钉子钉进了断头墩。


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