robert falconer-第115节

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It　was　a　blowing；　moon…lit　night。　　The　gaslights　flickered　and

wavered　in　the　gusts　of　wind。　　It　was　cold；　very　cold　for　the

season。　　Even　Falconer　buttoned　his　coat　over　his　chest。　　He　got　a

few　paces　in　advance　of　me　sometimes；　when　I　saw　him　towering　black

and　tall　and　somewhat　gaunt；　like　a　walking　shadow。　　The　wind

increased　in　violence。　　It　was　a　north…easter；　laden　with　dust；　and

a　sense　of　frozen　Siberian　steppes。　　We　had　to　stoop　and　head　it　at

the　corners　of　streets。　　Not　many　people　were　out；　and　those　who

were；　seemed　to　be　hurrying　home。　　A　few　little　provision…shops；　and

a　few　inferior　butchers'　stalls　were　still　open。　　Their　great　jets

of　gas；　which　looked　as　if　they　must　poison　the　meat；　were　flaming

fierce　and　horizontal；　roaring　like　fiery　flags；　and　anon　dying　into

a　blue　hiss。　　Discordant　singing；　more　like　the　howling　of　wild

beasts；　came　from　the　corner　houses；　which　blazed　like　the　gates　of

hell。　　Their　doors　were　ever　on　the　swing；　and　the　hot　odours　of

death　rushed　out；　and　the　cold　blast　of　life　rushed　in。　　We　paused　a

little　before　one　of　themover　the　door；　upon　the　sign；　was　in　very

deed　the　name　Death。　　There　were　ragged　women　within　who　took　their

half…dead　babies　from　their　bare；　cold；　cheerless　bosoms；　and　gave

them　of　the　poison　of　which　they　themselves　drank　renewed　despair　in

the　name　of　comfort。　　They　say　that　most　of　the　gin　consumed　in

London　is　drunk　by　women。　　And　the　little　clay…coloured　baby…faces

made　a　grimace　or　two；　and　sank　to　sleep　on　the　thin　tawny　breasts

of　the　mothers；　who　having　gathered　courage　from　the　essence　of

despair；　faced　the　scowling　night　once　more；　and　with　bare　necks　and

hopeless　hearts　wentwhither？　　Where　do　they　all　go　when　the

gin…hells　close　their　yawning　jaws？　　Where　do　they　lie　down　at

night？　　They　vanish　like　unlawfully　risen　corpses　in　the　graves　of

cellars　and　garrets；　in　the　charnel…vaults　of　pestiferously…crowded

lodging…houses；　in　the　prisons　of　police…stations；　under　dry　arches；

within　hoardings；　or　they　make　vain　attempts　to　rest　the　night　out

upon　door…steps　or　curbstones。　　All　their　life　long　man　denies　them

the　one　right　in　the　soil　which　yet　is　so　much　theirs；　that　once

that　life　is　over；　he　can　no　longer　deny　itthe　right　of　room　to

lie　down。　　Space　itself　is　not　allowed　to　be　theirs　by　any　right　of

existence：　the　voice　of　the　night…guardian　commanding　them　to　move

on；　is　as　the　howling　of　a　death…hound　hunting　them　out　of　the　air

into　their　graves。



In　St。　James's　we　came　upon　a　group　around　the　gates　of　a　great

house。　　Visitors　were　coming　and　going；　and　it　was　a　show　to　be　had

for　nothing　by　those　who　had　nothing　to　pay。　　Oh！　the　children　with

clothes　too　ragged　to　hold　pockets　for　their　chilled　hands；　that

stared　at　the　childless　duchess　descending　from　her　lordly　carriage！

Oh！　the　wan　faces；　once　lovely　as　theirs；　it　may　be；　that　gazed

meagre　and　pinched　and　hungry　on　the　young　maidens　in　rose…colour

and　blue；　tripping　lightly　through　the　avenue　of　their　eager

eyesnot　yet　too　envious　of　unattainable　felicity　to　gaze　with

admiring　sympathy　on　those　who　seemed　to　them　the　angels；　the

goddesses　of　their　kind。　'O　God！'　　I　thought；　but　dared　not　speak；

'and　thou　couldst　make　all　these　girls　so　lovely！　　Thou　couldst　give

them　all　the　gracious　garments　of　rose　and　blue　and　white　if　thou

wouldst！　　Why　should　these　not　be　like　those？　　They　are　hungry　even；

and　wan　and　torn。　　These　too　are　thy　children。　　There　is　wealth

enough　in　thy　mines　and　in　thy　green　fields；　room　enough　in　thy

starry　spaces；　O　God！'　　But　a　voicethe　echo　of　Falconer's

teaching；　awoke　in　my　heart'Because　I　would　have　these　more

blessed　than　those；　and　those　more　blessed　with　them；　for　they　are

all　my　children。'



By　the　Mall　we　came　into　Whitehall；　and　so　to　Westminster　Bridge。

Falconer　had　changed　his　mind；　and　would　cross　at　once。　　The

present　bridge　was　not　then　finished；　and　the　old　bridge　alongside

of　it　was　still　in　use　for　pedestrians。　　We　went　upon　it　to　reach

the　other　side。　　Its　centre　rose　high　above　the　other；　for　the　line

of　the　new　bridge　ran　like　a　chord　across　the　arc　of　the　old。

Through　chance　gaps　in　the　boarding　between；　we　looked　down　on　the

new　portion　which　was　as　yet　used　by　carriages　alone。　　The　moon　had；

throughout　the　evening；　alternately　shone　in　brilliance　from　amidst

a　lake　of　blue　sky；　and　been　overwhelmed　in　billowy　heaps　of

wind…tormented　clouds。　　As　we　stood　on　the　apex　of　the　bridge；

looking　at　the　night；　the　dark　river；　and　the　mass　of　human　effort

about　us；　the　clouds　gathered　and　closed　and　tumbled　upon　her　in

crowded　layers。　　The　wind　howled　through　the　arches　beneath；　swept

along　the　boarded　fences；　and　whistled　in　their　holes。　　The

gas…lights　blew　hither　and　thither；　and　were　perplexed　to　live　at

all。



We　were　standing　at　a　spot　where　some　shorter　pieces　had　been　used

in　the　hoarding；　and；　although　I　could　not　see　over　them；　Falconer；

whose　head　rose　more　than　half　a　foot　above　mine；　was　looking　on　the

other　bridge　below。　　Suddenly　he　grasped　the　top　with　his　great

hands；　and　his　huge　frame　was　over　it　in　an　instant。　　I　was　on　the

top　of　the　hoarding　the　same　moment；　and　saw　him　prostrate　some

twelve　feet　below。　　He　was　up　the　next　instant；　and　running　with

huge　paces　diagonally　towards　the　Surrey　side。　　He　had　seen　the

figure　of　a　woman　come　flying　along　from　the　Westminster　side；

without　bonnet　or　shawl。　　When　she　came　under　the　spot　where　we

stood；　she　had　turned　across　at　an　obtuse　angle　towards　the　other

side　of　the　bridge；　and　Falconer；　convinced　that　she　meant　to　throw

herself　into　the　river；　went　over　as　I　have　related。　　She　had　all

but　scrambled　over　the　fencefor　there　was　no　parapet　yetby　the

help　of　the　great　beam　that　ran　along　to　support　it；　when　he　caught

her　by　her　garments。　　So　poor　and　thin　were　those　garments；　that　if

she　had　not　been　poor　and　thin　too；　she　would　have　dropped　from　them

into　the　darkness　below。　　He　took　her　in　his　arms；　lifted　her　down

upon　the　bridge；　and　stood　as　if　protecting　her　from　a　pursuing

death。　　I　had　managed　to　find　an　easier　mode　of　descent；　and　now

stood　a　little　way　from　them。



'Poor　girl！　poor　girl！'　he　said；　as　if　to　himself：　'was　this　the

only　way　left？'



Then　he　spoke　tenderly　to　her。　　What　he　said　I　could　not　hearI

only　heard　the　tone。



'O　sir！'　she　cried；　in　piteous　entreaty；　'do　let　me　go。　　Why　should

a　wretched　creature　like　me　be　forced　to　live？　　It's　no　good　to　you；

sir。　　Do　let　me　go。'



'Come　here；'　he　said；　drawing　her　close　to　the　fence。　'Stand　up

again　on　the　beam。　　Look　down。'



She　obeyed；　in　a　mechanical　kind　of　way。　　But　as　he　talked；　and　she

kept　looking　down　on　the　dark　mystery　beneath；　flowing　past　with

every　now　and　then　a　dull　vengeful　glittercontinuous；　forceful；

slow；　he　felt　her　shudder　in　his　still　clasping　arm。



'Look；'　he　said；　'how　it　crawls　alongblack　and　slimy！　how　silent

and　yet　how　fierce！　　Is　that　a　nice　place　to　go　to　down　there？

Would　there　be　any　rest　there；　do　you　think；　tumbled　about　among

filth　and　creeping　things；　and　slugs　that　feed　on　the　dead；　among

drowned　women　like　yourself　drifting　by；　and　murdered　men；　and

strangled　babies？　　Is　that　the　door　by　which　you　would　like　to　go

out　of　the　world？'



'It's　no　worse；'　she　faltered；　'not　so　bad　as　what　I　should　leave

behind。'



'If　this　were　the　only　way　out　of　it；　I　would　not　keep　you　from　it。

I　would　say；　〃Poor　thing！　there　is　no　help：　she　must　go。〃　　But

there　is　another　way。'



'There　is　no　other　way；　sirif　you　knew　all；'　she　said。



'Tell　me；　then。'



'I　cannot。　　I　dare　not。　　PleaseI　would　rather　go。'



She　looked；　from　the　mere　glimpses　I　could　get　of　her；　somewhere

about　five…and…twenty；　making　due　allowance　for　the　wear　of

suffering　so　evident　even　in　those　glimpses。　　I　think　she　might　have

been　beautiful　if　the　waste　of　her　history　could　have　been　restored。

That　she　had　had　at　least　some　advantages　of　education；　was　evident

from　both　her　tone　and　her　speech。　　But　oh；　the　wild　eyes；　and　the

tortured　lips；　drawn　back　from　the　teeth　with　an　agony　of

hopelessness；　as　she　struggled　anew；　perhaps　mistrusting　them；　to

escape　from　the　great　arms　that　held　her！



'But　the　river　cannot　drown　you；'　Falconer　said。　'It　can　only　stop

your　breath。　　It　cannot　stop　your　thinking。　　You　will　go　on

thinking；　thinking；　all　the　same。　　Drowning　people　remember　in　a

moment　all　their　past　lives。　　All　their　evil　deeds　come　up　before

them；　as　if　they　were　doing　them　all　over　again。　　So　they　plunge

back　into　the　past　and　all　its　misery。　　While　their　bodies　are

drowning；　their　souls　are　coming　more　and　more　awake。'



'That　is　dreadful；'　she　murmured；　with　her　great　eyes　fixed　on　his；

and　growing　steadier　in　their　regard。　　She　had　ceased　to　struggle；

so　he　had　slackened　his　hold　of　her；　and　she　was　leaning　back

against　the　fence。



'And　then；'　he　went　on；　'what　if；