adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第14章
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interpreting the Scriptures； which is not at all sanctioned by
approved commentators； and it is impossible for me to represent
their diction as correct； or their instruction as liberal。 Still—if I
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have read religious history aright—faith； hope； and charity have
not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the
three concords； and it is possible—thank Heaven！—to have very
erroneous theories and very sublime feelings。 The raw bacon
which clumsy Molly spares from her own scanty store that she
may carry it to her neighbour’s child to “stop the fits；” may be a
piteously inefficacious remedy； but the generous stirring of
neighbourly kindness that prompted the deed has a beneficent
radiation that is not lost。
Considering these things； we can hardly think Dinah and Seth
beneath our sympathy； accustomed as we may be to weep over the
loftier sorrows of heroines in satin boots and crinoline； and of
heroes riding fiery horses； themselves ridden by still more fiery
passions。
Poor Seth！ He was never on horseback in his life except once；
when he was a little lad； and Mr。 Jonathan Burge took him up
behind； telling him to “hold on tight”； and instead of bursting out
into wild accusing apostrophes to God and destiny； he is resolving；
as he now walks homewards under the solemn starlight； to repress
his sadness； to be less bent on having his own will； and to live
more for others； as Dinah does。
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Chapter IV
Home and Its Sorrows
green valley with a brook running through it； full almost
Ato overflowing with the late rains； overhung by low
stooping willows。 Across this brook a plank is thrown； and
over this plank Adam Bede is passing with his undoubting step；
followed close by Gyp with the basket； evidently making his way to
the thatched house； with a stack of timber by the side of it； about
twenty yards up the opposite slope。
The door of the house is open； and an elderly woman is looking
out； but she is not placidly contemplating the evening sunshine；
she has been watching with dim eyes the gradually enlarging
speck which for the last few minutes she has been quite sure is her
darling son Adam。 Lisbeth Bede loves her son with the love of a
woman to whom her first…born has come late in life。 She is an
anxious； spare； yet vigorous old woman； clean as a snowdrop。 Her
grey hair is turned neatly back under a pure linen cap with a black
band round it； her broad chest is covered with a buff neckerchief；
and below this you see a sort of short bed…gown made of blue…
checkered linen； tied round the waist and descending to the hips；
from whence there is a considerable length of linsey…woolsey
petticoat。 For Lisbeth is tall； and in other points too there is a
strong likeness between her and her son Adam。 Her dark eyes are
somewhat dim now—perhaps from too much crying—but her
broadly marked eyebrows are still black； her teeth are sound； and
as she stands knitting rapidly and unconsciously with her work…
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hardened hands； she has as firmly upright an attitude as when she
is carrying a pail of water on her head from the spring。 There is
the same type of frame and the same keen activity of temperament
in mother and son； but it was not from her that Adam got his well…
filled brow and his expression of large…hearted intelligence。
Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it。 Nature； that
great tragic dramatist； knits us together by bone and muscle； and
divides us by the subtler web of our brains； blends yearning and
repulsion； and ties us by our heart…strings to the beings that jar us
at every movement。 We hear a voice with the very cadence of our
own uttering the thoughts we despise； we see eyes—ah； so like our
mother’s！—averted from us in cold alienation； and our last darling
child startles us with the air and gestures of the sister we parted
from in bitterness long years ago。 The father to whom we owe our
best heritage—the mechanical instinct； the keen sensibility to
harmony； the unconscious skill of the modelling hand—galls us
and puts us to shame by his daily errors； the long…lost mother；
whose face we begin to see in the glass as our own wrinkles come；
once fretted our young souls with her anxious humours and
irrational persistence。
It is such a fond anxious mother’s voice that you hear； as
Lisbeth says； “Well； my lad； it’s gone seven by th’ clock。 Thee ’t
allays stay till the last child’s born。 Thee wants thy supper； I’ll
warrand。 Where’s Seth？ Gone arter some o’s chapellin’； I reckon？”
“Aye； aye； Seth’s at no harm； mother； thee mayst be sure。
But where’s father？” said Adam quickly； as he entered the
house and glanced into the room on the left hand； which was used
as a workshop。 “Hasn’t he done the coffin for Tholer？ There’s the
stuff standing just as I left it this morning。”
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“Done the coffin？” said Lisbeth； following him； and knitting
uninterruptedly； though she looked at her son very anxiously。 “Eh；
my lad； he went aff to Treddles’on this forenoon； an’s niver come
back。 I doubt he’s got to th’ ‘Waggin Overthrow’ again。”
A deep flush of anger passed rapidly over Adam’s face。 He said
nothing； but threw off his jacket and began to roll up his shirt…
sleeves again。
“What art goin’ to do； Adam？” said the mother； with a tone and
look of alarm。 “Thee wouldstna go to work again； wi’out ha’in thy
bit o’ supper？”
Adam； too angry to speak； walked into the workshop。 But his
mother threw down her knitting； and； hurrying after him； took
hold of his arm； and said； in a tone of plaintive remonstrance；
“Nay； my lad； my lad； thee munna go wi’out thy supper； there’s the
taters wi’ the gravy in ’em； just as thee lik’st ’em。 I saved ’em o’
purpose for thee。 Come an’ ha’ thy supper； come。”
“Let be！” said Adam impetuously； shaking her off and seizing
one of the planks that stood against the wall。 “It’s fine talking
about having supper when here’s a coffin promised to be ready at
Brox’on by seven o’clock to…morrow morning； and ought to ha’
been there n
