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I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title—“Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.” And while I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering. I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text—“Seventy Times Seven;” and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the “First of the Seventy-First,” and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated. We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached—good God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously. Oh, how weary I grew. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the “First of the Seventy-First.” At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon. “Sir,” I exclaimed, “sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart—Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!” “Thou art the Man!” cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. “Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul—Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!” With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man’s hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before. This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. “I must stop it, nevertheless!” I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, “Let me in—let me in!” “Who are you?” I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. “Catherine Linton,” it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton)—“I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!” As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, “Let me in!” and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear. “How can I!” I said at length. “Let me go, if you want me to let you in!” The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! “Begone!” I shouted. “I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.” “It is twenty years,” mourned the voice: “twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!” Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering, yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, “Is any one here?” I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. |
看著這字跡模糊的書頁，我開始打起盹來，眼睛從手稿遊走到了印刷文字上。我看見一個紅色花字標題——“七十乘七，與第七十一的第一條。詹伯茲•布然德罕牧師在真默登艘教堂宣講的一篇虔誠文章。”正在我神誌不清、絞盡腦汁猜想詹伯茲•布然德罕牧師將如何書寫他這篇文章的時候，我身子往後一仰，倒在床上睡著了。嗨，這都是劣等茶和壞脾氣的後果啊！還能有什麽可以讓我度過這可怕的夜晚呢？自從我學會吃苦以來，我實在想不起哪一次能和這一夜相比。 我開始做夢了，幾乎在我還沒忘記自己目前所處的位置時夢就開始了。我覺得天亮了，我已經走在回家的路上，前麵有周思福帶路。路上的雪有好幾米厚。我們在雪地裏撲騰著向前走，我的同伴嘴裏罵罵咧咧個不停，惹得我心煩意亂。他罵我為啥不帶一根朝聖者拐杖，告訴我不帶拐杖就永遠也進不了家，還得意地舞動著一根大頭棍棒，我這才明白這就是他所說的朝聖者拐杖。當時我覺得回個家還需要這麽個武器，未免有些荒唐。接著我的頭腦中閃過一個新念頭。我並不是回家，我們是在長途跋涉去聽那個有名的詹伯茲•布然德罕布道——從“七十乘七”的經文講起，而周思福、牧師和我其中有一位如果犯了這“第七十一章的第一條”，就要被當眾揭發，並且被教會開除。 我們來到了教堂。我平時散步時，還真地到那兒走過兩三回。教堂位於兩山之間的峽穀中——峽穀高出地麵，靠近一片沼澤，據說沼澤泥炭的濕氣對存放在那兒的幾具死屍足可以起到防腐作用。房頂至今保存完好，但是當地教師的收入每年隻有二十英鎊，外帶一座有兩間房的屋子，而且眼看恐怕就要決定隻給一間了，所以沒有一個教士願意擔當“牧羊人”的責任，特別是當前據說他的“羊群”寧可把“牧羊人”餓死，也不願從他們自己腰包裏多掏出一個子兒來養活他。但是在我的夢裏，詹伯茲的聽眾不僅坐滿會堂，而且專心致誌地在聽他講經說道。他開始布道了——好我的那個天啊！這是一篇什麽樣的布道啊，共分為四百九十節，每一節完全等同一篇普通的布道，每一節分別討論一種罪過！我都不知道他是從哪兒搜羅出來那些罪過。他講解辭句有其獨到的秘密方式，仿佛教友時刻都會犯種種不同的罪過。這些罪過的性質極其古怪——我以前從沒想象過這些古怪離奇的罪過。 啊，我心裏太煩啦！我翻動身子、打嗬欠、點著頭、又醒過來！我連掐帶紮自己、揉眼睛、站起來、又坐下，而且用胳膊肘懟周思福，要他告訴我有沒有講完的時候。我是注定要聽完的了。最後，他講到“第七十一章的第一條”。正在這個危機當口，好像有神靈降臨到我身上，我不由自主地站起身來，痛責詹伯茲•布然德罕是個罪人，任何基督徒都無法饒恕他所犯的罪。 “先生，”我叫道，“我坐在這四堵牆中間，對你這篇說教的四百九十個題目，我已經一口氣兒忍受而且表示諒解。有七十個七次我拿起我的帽子，打算離開。——有七十個七次你硬逼著我又坐下。這第四百九十一可真叫人夠受的。信教的難友們，揍他呀！把他拉下來，把他搗成碎蛋，在知道有他這麽個人的這個地方，從此讓人再也看不到他！” “你就是個罪人！”一陣莊嚴的靜默之後，詹伯茲從他的座墊上欠身大叫。“七十個七次你張大嘴作怪相——七十個七次我和我的靈魂商量著——看啊，這就是人類的弱點，這也可以赦免！第七十一章的第一條來啦。弟兄們，請在他身上執行寫好的審判詞吧。祂所有的聖徒有這種光榮的權力！” 話音剛落，全體會眾舉起他們的朝聖者拐杖，一起向我衝來。我沒有武器自衛反抗，便開始扭住周思福，他是離我最近也是最凶猛的行凶者，我搶他的手杖。在人潮匯集之中，好多根棍子交叉起來，朝著我而來的打擊卻落在別人的腦袋上。整個教堂立刻乒乒乓乓響成一片。每個人都對他旁邊的人動起手來。而布然德罕也不甘袖手旁觀，對著講壇板壁一陣子使勁猛敲，好發泄他內心的狂熱，聲音很響亮，最後竟把我從夢中驚醒，我有說不出來的輕鬆。到底是什麽令人聯想到那劇烈的騷亂？在這場吵鬧中是誰扮演了詹伯茲的角色？隻不過是狂風嗚咽經過時，一棵冷杉樹枝打到我住的房間窗格，冷杉樹的幹果球在窗麵玻璃上碰得嘎嘎作響而已！我滿腹狐疑地傾聽了一會兒——弄清攪得我無法睡安穩覺的就是那個幹果球，然後翻身又睡了，我又開始做夢了——如果我有可能做夢的話，這夢應該比先前的那個更令人不愉快。 這回我記得躺在了那個橡木套間裏，清清楚楚地聽見狂風攪著雪花；同時我也聽見那冷杉樹枝重複著它挑逗的聲音，而且我也知道這聲音的根由。可是那聲音聽起來實在令我心煩，於是我決定止住那聲音，如果有可能止住的話。我感覺我的身體起來了，並且努力想弄開那扇窗戶。窗鉤焊在鉤環裏——我清醒時注意到這種情況，但是又忘記了。“不管怎樣，我非得把這聲音止住！”我喃喃地說著，用拳頭指關節打穿了窗玻璃，伸出一隻胳臂去抓那根糾纏不休的樹枝。我的手指沒抓到那根樹枝，卻抓到了一隻冰涼小手的手指頭！噩夢般的強烈恐怖把我壓倒，我極力把胳臂往回抽去，可是那隻手卻纏著不放，一個極憂鬱的聲音抽泣著：“讓我進去——讓我進去！”“你是誰？”我問道，同時拚命想把手掙脫。“闞思睿•林騰，”那聲音顫抖著答道（我為什麽會想到林騰？我每念到林騰時都會念成俄韶，有二十遍之多）。——“我回家來啦，我在曠野上迷路啦！”這個聲音說著，我模模糊糊地辨認出一張小孩的臉向窗裏張望。恐怖使我狠下了心，發現要想甩掉這個小家夥無濟於事，我就把她的手腕拽到那個破窗玻璃上，前後來回摩擦，直到鮮血滴下來，浸透了床單。可她還是哀哭著，“讓我進去！”而且還是緊抓住我不放，簡直要把我嚇瘋了。“我怎樣才能做到呢？”我終於說。“如果你想要我讓你進來，請先放開我！”手指鬆開了。我把自己的手從窗洞中抽回，趕忙把書堆得向金字塔一樣抵住窗洞，捂住耳朵不聽那傷心的哀求，我覺得捂了有一刻鍾以上。可是等到我再聽，那淒慘的哀號聲繼續叫著！“走開！”我喊著，“就是你求我二十年，我也絕不讓你進來。”“已經二十年啦，”這聲音嗚咽著說，“二十年啦。我已經流浪二十年啦！” 接著窗外傳出一陣微弱的刮擦聲，那堆書也挪動了，仿佛有人推開似的。我想跳起來，可是四肢動彈不得，於是驚恐地大聲喊叫。令我感到困惑的是我發現這聲喊叫並非虛幻——一陣急促的腳步聲走近我的臥房門口。有人用一隻強有力的手使勁把門推開，一道光從床頂的方洞外微微照進來。我坐著渾身哆嗦，用手擦著額上的汗——闖進來的人好像遲疑了一下，自言自語咕嚕著。最後他壓低聲音小聲說：“這兒有人嗎？”顯然並不期望有人答話。我想最好還是承認我在這兒吧，因為我聽出是黑思克裏夫的口音，唯恐如果我保持沉默，他還會進一步搜查。 |
