lizzie leigh-第1章

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Lizzie　Leigh



by　Elizabeth　Gaskell










CHAPTER　I。









When　Death　is　present　in　a　household　on　a　Christmas　Day；　the　very

contrast　between　the　time　as　it　now　is；　and　the　day　as　it　has　often

been；　gives　a　poignancy　to　sorrowa　more　utter　blankness　to　the

desolation。　　James　Leigh　died　just　as　the　far…away　bells　of　Rochdale

Church　were　ringing　for　morning　service　on　Christmas　Day；　1836。　　A

few　minutes　before　his　death；　he　opened　his　already　glazing　eyes；　and

made　a　sign　to　his　wife；　by　the　faint　motion　of　his　lips；　that　he　had

yet　something　to　say。　　She　stooped　close　down；　and　caught　the　broken

whisper；　〃I　forgive　her；　Annie！　　May　God　forgive　me！〃



〃Oh；　my　love；　my　dear！　only　get　well；　and　I　will　never　cease　showing

my　thanks　for　those　words。　　May　God　in　heaven　bless　thee　for　saying

them。　　Thou'rt　not　so　restless；　my　lad！　may　beOh；　God！〃



For　even　while　she　spoke　he　died。



They　had　been　two…and…twenty　years　man　and　wife；　for　nineteen　of

those　years　their　life　had　been　as　calm　and　happy　as　the　most　perfect

uprightness　on　the　one　side；　and　the　most　complete　confidence　and

loving　submission　on　the　other；　could　make　it。　　Milton's　famous　line

might　have　been　framed　and　hung　up　as　the　rule　of　their　married　life；

for　he　was　truly　the　interpreter；　who　stood　between　God　and　her；　she

would　have　considered　herself　wicked　if　she　had　ever　dared　even　to

think　him　austere；　though　as　certainly　as　he　was　an　upright　man；　so

surely　was　he　hard；　stern；　and　inflexible。　　But　for　three　years　the

moan　and　the　murmur　had　never　been　out　of　her　heart；　she　had　rebelled

against　her　husband　as　against　a　tyrant；　with　a　hidden；　sullen

rebellion；　which　tore　up　the　old　landmarks　of　wifely　duty　and

affection；　and　poisoned　the　fountains　whence　gentlest　love　and

reverence　had　once　been　for　ever　springing。



But　those　last　blessed　words　replaced　him　on　his　throne　in　her　heart；

and　called　out　penitent　anguish　for　all　the　bitter　estrangement　of

later　years。　　It　was　this　which　made　her　refuse　all　the　entreaties　of

her　sons；　that　she　would　see　the　kind…hearted　neighbours；　who　called

on　their　way　from　church；　to　sympathize　and　condole。　　No！　she　would

stay　with　the　dead　husband　that　had　spoken　tenderly　at　last；　if　for

three　years　he　had　kept　silence；　who　knew　but　what；　if　she　had　only

been　more　gentle　and　less　angrily　reserved　he　might　have　relented

earlierand　in　time？



She　sat　rocking　herself　to　and　fro　by　the　side　of　the　bed；　while　the

footsteps　below　went　in　and　out；　she　had　been　in　sorrow　too　long　to

have　any　violent　burst　of　deep　grief　now；　the　furrows　were　well　worn

in　her　cheeks；　and　the　tears　flowed　quietly；　if　incessantly；　all　the

day　long。　　But　when　the　winter's　night　drew　on；　and　the　neighbours

had　gone　away　to　their　homes；　she　stole　to　the　window；　and　gazed　out；

long　and　wistfully；　over　the　dark　grey　moors。　　She　did　not　hear　her

son's　voice；　as　he　spoke　to　her　from　the　door；　nor　his　footstep　as　he

drew　nearer。　　She　started　when　he　touched　her。



〃Mother！　come　down　to　us。　　There's　no　one　but　Will　and　me。　　Dearest

mother；　we　do　so　want　you。〃　　The　poor　lad's　voice　trembled；　and　he

began　to　cry。　　It　appeared　to　require　an　effort　on　Mrs。　Leigh's　part

to　tear　herself　away　from　the　window；　but　with　a　sigh　she　complied

with　his　request。



The　two　boys　（for　though　Will　was　nearly　twenty…one；　she　still

thought　of　him　as　a　lad）　had　done　everything　in　their　power　to　make

the　house…place　comfortable　for　her。　　She　herself；　in　the　old　days

before　her　sorrow；　had　never　made　a　brighter　fire　or　a　cleaner

hearth；　ready　for　her　husband's　return　home；　than　now　awaited　her。

The　tea…things　were　all　put　out；　and　the　kettle　was　boiling；　and　the

boys　had　calmed　their　grief　down　into　a　kind　of　sober　cheerfulness。

They　paid　her　every　attention　they　could　think　of；　but　received

little　notice　on　her　part；　she　did　not　resist；　she　rather　submitted

to　all　their　arrangements；　but　they　did　not　seem　to　touch　her　heart。



When　tea　was　endedit　was　merely　the　form　of　tea　that　had　been　gone

throughWill　moved　the　things　away　to　the　dresser。　　His　mother　leant

back　languidly　in　her　chair。



〃Mother；　shall　Tom　read　you　a　chapter？　　He's　a　better　scholar　than

I。〃



〃Ay；　lad！〃　said　she；　almost　eagerly。　　〃That's　it。　　Read　me　the

Prodigal　Son。　　Ay；　ay；　lad。　　Thank　thee。〃



Tom　found　the　chapter；　and　read　it　in　the　high…pitched　voice　which　is

customary　in　village　schools。　　His　mother　bent　forward；　her　lips

parted；　her　eyes　dilated；　her　whole　body　instinct　with　eager

attention。　　Will　sat　with　his　head　depressed　and　hung　down。　　He　knew

why　that　chapter　had　been　chosen；　and　to　him　it　recalled　the　family's

disgrace。　　When　the　reading　was　ended；　he　still　hung　down　his　head　in

gloomy　silence。　　But　her　face　was　brighter　than　it　had　been　before

for　the　day。　　Her　eyes　looked　dreamy；　as　if　she　saw　a　vision；　and　by…

and…by　she　pulled　the　Bible　towards　her；　and；　putting　her　finger

underneath　each　word；　began　to　read　them　aloud　in　a　low　voice　to

herself；　she　read　again　the　words　of　bitter　sorrow　and　deep

humiliation；　but　most　of　all；　she　paused　and　brightened　over　the

father's　tender　reception　of　the　repentant　prodigal。



So　passed　the　Christmas　evening　in　the　Upclose　Farm。



The　snow　had　fallen　heavily　over　the　dark　waving　moorland　before　the

day　of　the　funeral。　　The　black　storm…laden　dome　of　heaven　lay　very

still　and　close　upon　the　white　earth；　as　they　carried　the　body　forth

out　of　the　house　which　had　known　his　presence　so　long　as　its　ruling

power。　　Two　and　two　the　mourners　followed；　making　a　black　procession；

in　their　winding　march　over　the　unbeaten　snow；　to　Milne　Row　Church；

now　lost　in　some　hollow　of　the　bleak　moors；　now　slowly　climbing　the

heaving　ascents。　　There　was　no　long　tarrying　after　the　funeral；　for

many　of　the　neighbours　who　accompanied　the　body　to　the　grave　had　far

to　go；　and　the　great　white　flakes　which　came　slowly　down　were　the

boding　forerunners　of　a　heavy　storm。　　One　old　friend　alone

accompanied　the　widow　and　her　sons　to　their　home。



The　Upclose　Farm　had　belonged　for　generations　to　the　Leighs；　and　yet

its　possession　hardly　raised　them　above　the　rank　of　labourers。　　There

was　the　house　and　out…buildings；　all　of　an　old…fashioned　kind；　and

about　seven　acres　of　barren　unproductive　land；　which　they　had　never

possessed　capital　enough　to　improve；　indeed；　they　could　hardly　rely

upon　it　for　subsistence；　and　it　had　been　customary　to　bring　up　the

sons　to　some　trade；　such　as　a　wheelwright's　or　blacksmith's。



James　Leigh　had　left　a　will　in　the　possession　of　the　old　man　who

accompanied　them　home。　　He　read　it　aloud。　　James　had　bequeathed　the

farm　to　his　faithful　wife；　Anne　Leigh；　for　her　lifetime；　and

afterwards　to　his　son　William。　　The　hundred　and　odd　pounds　in　the

savings　bank　was　to　accumulate　for　Thomas。



After　the　reading　was　ended；　Anne　Leigh　sat　silent　for　a　time　and

then　she　asked　to　speak　to　Samuel　Orme　alone。　　The　sons　went　into　the

back　kitchen；　and　thence　strolled　out　into　the　fields　regardless　of

the　driving　snow。　　The　brothers　were　dearly　fond　of　each　other；

although　they　were　very　different　in　character。　　Will；　the　elder；　was

like　his　father；　stern；　reserved；　and　scrupulously　upright。　　Tom　（who

was　ten　years　younger）　was　gentle　and　delicate　as　a　girl；　both　in

appearance　and　character。　　He　had　always　clung　to　his　mother　arid

dreaded　his　father。　　They　did　not　speak　as　they　walked；　for　they　were

only　in　the　habit　of　talking　about　facts；　and　hardly　knew　the　more

sophisticated　language　applied　to　the　description　of　feelings。



Meanwhile　their　mother　had　taken　hold　of　Samuel　Orme's　arm　with　her

trembling　hand。



〃Samuel；　I　must　let　the　farmI　must。〃



〃Let　the　farm！　　What's　come　o'er　the　woman？〃



〃Oh；　Samuel！〃　said　she；　her　eyes　swimming　in　tears；　〃I'm　just　fain　to

go　and　live　in　Manchester。　　I　mun　let　the　farm。〃



Samuel　looked；　and　pondered；　but　did　not　speak　for　some