Chapter 21
CASTING my eyes on Mr Wemmick as we went along, to see what he was like in the light of day, I found him to be a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to have been imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. There were some marks in it that might have been dimples, if the material had been softer and the instrument finer, but which, as it was, were only dints. The chisel had made three or four of these attempts at embellishment over his nose, but had given them up without an effort to smooth them off. I judged him to be a bachelor from the frayed condition of his linen, and he appeared to have sustained a good many bereavements; for, he wore at least four mourning rings, besides a brooch representing a lady and a weeping willow at a tomb with an urn on it. I noticed, too, that several rings and seals hung at his watch chain, as if he were quite laden with remembrances of departed friends. He had glittering eyes - small, keen, and black - and thin wide mottled lips. He had had them, to the best of my belief, from forty to fifty years.
`So you were never in London before?' said Mr Wemmick to me.
`No,' said I.
`I was new here once,' said Mr Wemmick. `Rum to think of now!'
`You are well acquainted with it now?'
`Why, yes,' said Mr Wemmick. `I know the moves of it.'
`Is it a very wicked place?' I asked, more for the sake of saying something than for information.
`You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered, in London. But there are plenty of people anywhere, who'll do that for you.'
`If there is bad blood between you and them,' said I, to soften it off a little.
`Oh! I don't know about bad blood,' returned Mr Wemmick; `there's not much bad blood about. They'll do it, if there's anything to be got by it.'
`That makes it worse.'
`You think so?' returned Mr Wemmick. `Much about the same, I should say.'
He wore his hat on the back of his head, and looked straight before him: walking in a self-contained way as if there were nothing in the streets to claim his attention. His mouth was such a postoffice of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling. We had got to the top of Holborn Hill before I knew that it was merely a mechanical appearance, and that he was not smiling at all.
`Do you know where Mr Matthew Pocket lives?' I asked Mr Wemmick.
`Yes,' said he, nodding in the direction. `At Hammersmith, west of London.'
`Is that far?'
`Well! Say five miles.'
`Do you know him?'
`Why, you're a regular cross-examiner!' said Mr Wemmick, looking at me with an approving air. `Yes, I know him. I know him!'
There was an air of toleration or depreciation about his utterance of these words, that rather depressed me; and I was still looking sideways at his block of a face in search of any encouraging note to the text, when he said here we were at Barnard's Inn. My depression was not alleviated by the announcement, for, I had supposed that establishment to be an hotel kept by Mr Barnard, to which the Blue Boar in our town was a mere public-house. Whereas I now found Barnard to be a disembodied spirit, or a fiction, and his inn the dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together in a rank corner as a club for Tom-cats.
We entered this haven through a wicket-gate, and were disgorged by an introductory passage into a melancholy little square that looked to me like a flat burying-ground. I thought it had the most dismal trees in it, and the most dismal sparrows, and the most dismal cats, and the most dismal houses (in number half a dozen or so), that I had ever seen. I thought the windows of the sets of chambers into which those houses were divided, were in every stage of dilapidated blind and curtain, crippled flower-pot, cracked glass, dusty decay, and miserable makeshift; while To Let To Let To Let, glared at me from empty rooms, as if no new wretches ever came there, and the vengeance of the soul of Barnard were being slowly appeased by the gradual suicide of the present occupants and their unholy interment under the gravel. A frouzy mourning of soot and smoke attired this forlorn creation of Barnard, and it had strewn ashes on its head, and was undergoing penance and humiliation as a mere dust-hole. Thus far my sense of sight; while dry rot and wet rot and all the silent rots that rot in neglected roof and cellar - rot of rat and mouse and bug and coaching-stables near at hand besides - addressed themselves faintly to my sense of smell, and moaned, `Try Barnard's Mixture.'
So imperfect was this realization of the first of my great expectations, that I looked in dismay at Mr Wemmick. `Ah!' said he, mistaking me; `the retirement reminds you of the country. So it does me.'
He led me into a corner and conducted me up a flight of stairs - which appeared to me to be slowly collapsing into sawdust, so that one of those days the upper lodgers would look out at their doors and find themselves without the means of coming down - to a set of chambers on the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was a label on the letter-box, `Return shortly.'
`He hardly thought you'd come so soon,' Mr Wemmick explained. `You don't want me any more?'
`No, thank you,' said I.
`As I keep the cash,' Mr Wemmick observed, `we shall most likely meet pretty often. Good day.'
`Good day.'
I put out my hand, and Mr Wemmick at first looked at it as if he thought I wanted something. Then he looked at me, and said, correcting himself,
`To be sure! Yes. You're in the habit of shaking hands?'
I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion, but said yes.
`I have got so out of it!' said Mr Wemmick - `except at last. Very glad, I'm sure, to make your acquaintance. Good day!'
When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window and had nearly beheaded myself, for, the lines had rotted away, and it came down like the guillotine. Happily it was so quick that I had not put my head out. After this escape, I was content to take a foggy view of the Inn through the window's encrusting dirt, and to stand dolefully looking out, saying to myself that London was decidedly overrated.
Mr Pocket, Junior's, idea of Shortly was not mine, for I had nearly maddened myself with looking out for half an hour, and had written my name with my finger several times in the dirt of every pane in the window, before I heard footsteps on the stairs. Gradually there arose before me the hat, head, neckcloth, waistcoat, trousers, boots, of a member of society of about my own standing. He had a paper-bag under each arm and a pottle of strawberries in one hand, and was out of breath.
`Mr Pip?' said he.
`Mr Pocket?' said I.
`Dear me!' he exclaimed. `I am extremely sorry; but I knew there was a coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would come by that one. The fact is, I have been out on your account - not that that is any excuse - for I thought, coming from the country, you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Convent Garden Market to get it good.'
For a reason that I had, I felt as if my eyes would start out of my head. I acknowledged his attention incoherently, and began to think this was a dream.
`Dear me!' said Mr Pocket, Junior. `This door sticks so!'
As he was fast making jam of his fruit by wrestling with the door while the paper-bags were under his arms, I begged him to allow me to hold them. He relinquished them with an agreeable smile, and combated with the door as if it were a wild beast. It yielded so suddenly at last, that he staggered back upon me, and I staggered back upon the opposite door, and we both laughed. But still I felt as if my eyes must start out of my head, and as if this must be a dream.
`Pray come in,' said Mr Pocket, Junior. `Allow me to lead the way. I am rather bare here, but I hope you'll be able to make out tolerably well till Monday. My father thought you would get on more agreeably through to-morrow with me than with him, and might like to take a walk about London. I am sure I shall be very happy to show London to you. As to our table, you won't find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied from our coffee-house here, and (it is only right I should add) at your expense, such being Mr Jaggers's directions. AS to our lodging, it's not by any means splendid, because I have my own bread to earn, and my father hasn't anything to give me, and I shouldn't be willing to take it, if he had. This is our sitting-room - just such chairs and tables and carpet and so forth, you see, as they could spare from home. You mustn't give me credit for the tablecloth and spoons and castors, because they come for you from the coffee-house. This is my little bedroom; rather musty, but Barnard's is musty. This is your bed-room; the furniture's hired for the occasion, but I trust it will answer the purpose; if you should want anything, I'll go and fetch it. The chambers are retired, and we shall be alone together, but we shan't fight, I dare say. But, dear me, I beg your pardon, you're holding the fruit all this time. Pray let me take these bags from you. I am quite ashamed.'
As I stood opposite to Mr Pocket, Junior, delivering him the bags, One, Two, I saw the starting appearance come into his own eyes that I knew to be in mine, and he said, falling back:
`Lord bless me, you're the prowling boy!'
`And you,' said I, `are the pale young gentleman!'
我们一边走着，我一边打量着温米克先生，看看在阳光下他究竟是什么样子。我发现他是一个冷淡无情的人，身材矮小，面孔像一块方正正的木头，面部的表情好像是用一把刀口很钝的凿子刻出来的。他脸上有两块地方，如果用的材料柔软一些，用的工具精良一些，就可以刻成两个酒窝，而现在留下的只是两个凹痕。这把凿子又在他的鼻梁上刻了三四刀，本来是为了美化鼻子，结果还没有等磨平弄滑就罢手了。再从他所穿衣服的破烂情况来判断，他是一个单身汉，看上去忍受着不少亲人丧亡的痛苦，手上戴的纪念亡人戒指就有四只。此外，他还有一枚胸针，上面画着一位女士，一枝垂柳插在坟上，旁边还有一只骨灰瓶。我还注意到在他的表链上吊着几只印章戒指。他负载着对那么多已故亲友的纪念是多么沉重啊！他有一对明亮闪光的眼睛，小眼珠，黑黑的，十分锐利。他的上下嘴唇又薄又宽，还有些杂斑。我根据各种情况猜测，他的年龄在四十至五十岁之间。
“那么你以前没有来过伦敦？”温米克先生对我说道。
“没有。”我说道。
“我第一次来伦敦时感到一切都新奇，”温米克先生说道，“现在想起来可真有意思！”
“你现在对伦敦已很熟悉了？”
“那当然，还用说吗，”温米克先生说道，“什么动静也瞒不了我。”
“这是个邪恶的地方吗？”我只是和他随便聊聊，并不是想打听情况。
“在伦敦的人都可能受骗、被抢、被凶杀。不过，在这个世界上，哪里不都是有许多人在干着这类事情啊。”
“这其间一定有仇恨了。”为了缓和一些气氛，我便这样说道。
“噢，我倒不知道其间有什么仇恨，”温米克先生答道，“我看不会有那么多的仇恨。他们骗人杀人不过是为了想得到些油水罢了。”
“这就更糟糕了。”
“你以为很糟吗？”温米克先生说道，“我不这样看，天下老鸦一般黑，到处如此。”
他的帽子爱戴在脑后，两眼笔直地向前看，走起路来神态矜持，好像街上没有任何东西值得他一看。他的嘴巴就像邮电局里的信箱口，总带着一丝无意的微笑。我们登上了霍本山顶之后，我才注意到他这副笑脸全然是无意识的，其实根本没有在笑。
“我晓得，”他对着西边点点头说道，“他住在伦敦西边的汉莫史密斯。”
“那里远吗？”
“有点远，大约五英里。”
“你认识他吗？”
“啊呀，你倒是一个挺爱问的审问官呢！”温米克先生用一种赞许的神态望着我说，“是的，我认识他，我认识他。”
我听他说话的语气中包含了一些容忍，甚至有些儿满不在乎的轻视调儿，这便使我闷闷不乐起来。我斜着眼细细打量他那张像一段木头一样的面孔，想在上面搜索一下是否有进一步谈这件事的可能，可还没有看出什么他就说巴纳德旅馆到了。他的话并没有使我从闷闷不乐中转变过来。因为我本以为巴纳德这家旅馆是由巴纳德先生开的，我们乡下的那间蓝野猪饭店在它面前不过是爿小酒店，可是现在我才知道根本就没有巴纳德这个人，这只不过是个假造的名字。这家旅馆只有几间又破又烂又黑又脏的房子，一起挤在一个发出恶臭的角落上，真像为雄猫一样的男单身汉设置的俱乐部。
我们经过一个边门进入了这个避难所，再走过一条通道便进了一处既悲凉又很狭小的四方院子，十分像一个萧条凄凉的坟场。这里面的树是最阴郁沉闷的树，这里面的麻雀是最阴郁沉闷的麻雀，这里面的猫是最阴郁沉闷的猫；这里面的六七幢房子也是最阴郁沉闷的房屋，都是我过去见所未见的。那些房屋的窗户上，百叶窗烂得快要倒坍，窗帘破得一拉就碎，花盆都变成了瘸腿在那儿东倒西歪，窗玻璃又都碎裂不堪，到处是尘上封盖，给人的印象是破落得不忍目睹。这里贴着招租，那里贴着招租，到处都贴满了招租，一张张招租的招贴在空空的房间门口直瞪着我，好像从来就没有可怜的房客到这里来住过。巴纳德的幽灵也稍稍收敛了它的复仇火焰，因为它看到现有的房客正在慢性自杀，死者的不虔诚也遭到了埋进沙土之下的厄运。肮脏的黑沙般的烟灰装饰着巴纳德这份被遗忘和被舍弃的产业。这房子也在自己的顶上撒满了灰尘，愿意悔过，忍受屈辱，生活于这垃圾筒中。这便是我的亲眼所见。四处都是霉味，有干霉味、湿霉味，有在屋顶上、地窖中悄悄腐烂的霉味——那些大老鼠、小耗子。臭虫，还有附近马房所散发出来的臭味，都徐徐地进入我的味觉器官，同时还仿佛有个声音在悲鸣着：“请尝一下巴纳德的混合美味。”
这是我远大前程的第一步，这最初的印象就如此地不理想，我不禁心情沮丧地望着温米克先生。“唔！”他错解了我的意思说道，“这一僻静之地使你触景生情了吧，又想起了你的故乡。我也和你一样。”
他把我领向一个角落，又领我上了一段楼梯。在我看来，这段楼梯正慢慢地变成木屑，到那时，楼上的房客只要在房门口向外面看一眼，也就再没有下楼的愿望了。我们来到顶层的一套房间门口，门上用印刷体写着“小鄱凯特先生”几个字，信箱上面还贴了一张纸条子，写着“外出即归”。
“他没有想到你来得如此快，”温米克先生解释道，“你大概不再需要我了吧？”
“谢谢，不用了。”我说道。
“由于我管着现金，”温米克说道，“我们会时常见面的。再见。”
“再见。”
我伸出手，温米克先生看着我的手，以为我想索取什么东西，然后又看看我，才纠正了自己的误解，说道：
“当然！是的。你有和人握手的习惯，是吗？”
我被他弄得有点狼狈，心想这一定和伦敦的时尚不符，不过我还是说他猜对了。
“我对这一套不习惯！”温米克先生说道，“除非是最后一别才握手。当然，我是非常高兴和你相识的，再见！’，
我们握手过后，他便走了。我打开楼梯间的窗户，这可险些把我的头给铡了，因为窗绳业已腐烂，窗子就像断头台上的铡刀一样飞快地落了下来。幸亏它落得很快，我的头还没有来得及伸出去。这一大难不死，我也就只有通过灰尘满布的窗户糊里糊涂地看一看旅馆的全貌了。我苦恼兮兮地站在那里向外看着，心想伦敦被夸得太过分了。
小鄱凯特先生所说的外出即归和我所想的可不一样。我发了疯似的从窗口向外观望，望了足有半个小时，然后又用手指在每一块窗玻璃的尘灰上划了几遍自己的名字，这才听到楼梯上有脚步声。然后，我便看到了帽子、头、领巾、背心，然后是裤腿、靴子，从打扮看其身份，怕也和我差不多。他每个胳肢窝下面各夹了一个纸包，有一只手上还拎了一篮草莓，气喘喘地走了上来。
“皮普先生吗？”他说道。
“鄱凯特先生吗？”我说道。
“真对不起啊！”他大声嚷道，“的的确确对不起；我只知道中午有一班马车从你们乡下开来，我想你会搭那趟马车来。事情是这样的，我出去也是为了你，当然这不是什么借口，我想，你刚从乡下来，饭后也许喜欢吃点水果，所以我才到伦敦大菜市场去买了些新鲜水果。”
出于某种原因，我感到我的眼睛快要从眼窝里跳出来了。我在答谢他的美意时竟然说得结结巴巴毫无条理，心想，这该不是一场梦吧。
“天啦！”小鄱凯特先生说道，“这扇门怎么如此难开！”
他使足全身力气去开门，两个纸包还夹在胳肢窝下面，水果都快给压成果酱了。于是我便请他让我来拿，他会意地一笑，便把手中的包儿交给我，然后便全力投入了和门的战斗，仿佛门是一头野兽。终于，门突然地开了，他被门的反冲力撞得踉踉跄跄后退了几步，一直撞到我身上，我也被他撞得向后靠在对过的门上，两人都大笑起来。不过，我还是感到我的眼睛快要从眼窝里蹦出来了，觉得这一定是场梦吧！
“请进来，”小鄱凯特先生说道，“让我来给你带路。我这里一切都很简单，希望你包涵些，在这里住到星期一。我父亲认为你明天和我在一起比和他在一起更为合适，说不定你明天还想在伦敦四周观光一番。自然，我是非常高兴做你的向导，带你在伦敦转转的。至于我们吃的伙食嘛，我想你不至于嫌差，因为这全是由附近的咖啡馆供应的。不过话还得说在前面，根据贾格斯先生的指示，这还得由你自己来付款。至于我们的住房嘛，自然谈不到富丽堂皇了，因为我必须自己赚钱吃饭，我父亲是不管我的账的。即使他要管我的账，我也不会愿意要他付钱。这一间房是我们的起居室，你看这儿的几张椅子、桌子、地毯，还有几件别的东西都是从我家里搬来的。至于这桌布、汤匙、调味瓶什么的，你也不必归功于我了，因为这些都是从咖啡馆里特地为你送来的。这间是我的小卧室，有点儿霉味，不过这并不出奇，巴纳德的整座房子都有霉味。这间是你的卧室，卧室里的家具都是为你租来的，我想你是够用了。如果你还想要什么，我会去为你取来。这些房间都很幽静的，就我们两个人住，总不至于打架吧，这我是敢打赌的。啊呀，对不起得很，让你一直拎着水果。请让我来拿，这真不好意思呢。”
我和小鄱凯特先生面对面站着，我把手中拿的纸包交给他，一只，两只，我看到他的眼中露出惊诧的神情，和我刚才的情况一样。他向后退了一步说道：
“老天啊，你不是那个蹑手蹑脚荡来荡去的小家伙吗？”
“原来是你，”我说道，“你不是那个苍白面孔的的少年绅士吗？”
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