bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第108章
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best of it。
But what Mr Weevle prizes most； of all his few possessions
（next after his light whiskers； for which he has an attachment that
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only whiskers can awaken in the breast of man）； is a choice
collection of copper…plate impressions from that truly national
work； the Divinities of Albion； or Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty；
representing ladies of title and fashion in every variety of smirk
that art； combined with capital； is capable of producing。 With
these magnificent portraits； unworthily confined in a band…box
during his seclusion among the market…gardens； he decorates his
apartment； and as the Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty wears
every variety of fancy dress； plays every variety of musical
instrument； fondles every variety of dog； ogles every variety of
prospect； and is backed up by every variety of flowerpot and
balustrade； the result is very imposing。
But fashion is Mr Weevle’s； as it was Tony Jobling’s weakness。
To borrow yesterday’s paper from the Sol’s Arms of an evening；
and read about the brilliant and distinguished meteors that are
shooting across the fashionable sky in every direction； is
unspeakable consolation to him。 To know what member of what
brilliant and distinguished circle accomplished the brilliant and
distinguished feat of joining it yesterday； or contemplates the no
less brilliant and distinguished feat of leaving it tomorrow； gives
him a thrill of joy。 To be informed what the Galaxy Gallery of
British Beauty is about； and means to be about； and what Galaxy
marriages are on the tapis； and what Galaxy rumours are in
circulation； is to become acquainted with the most glorious
destinies of mankind。 Mr Weevle reverts from this intelligence； to
the Galaxy portraits implicated； and seems to know the originals；
and to be known of them。
For the rest he is a quiet lodger； full of handy shifts and devices
as before mentioned； able to cook and clean for himself； as well as
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to carpenter； and developing social inclinations after the shades of
evening have fallen on the court。 At those times； when he is not
visited by Mr Guppy； or by a small light in his likeness quenched
in a dark hat； he comes out of his dull room—where he has
inherited the deal wilderness of desk bespattered with a rain of
ink—and talks to Krook； or is “very free；” as they call it in the
court； commendingly； with any one disposed for conversation。
Wherefore； Mrs Piper； who leads the court； is impelled to offer two
remarks to Mrs Perkins： Firstly； that if her Johnny was to have
whiskers； she could wish ’em to be identically like that young
man’s； and secondly； Mark my words； Mrs Perkins； ma’am； don’t
you be surprised Lord bless you； if that young man comes in at last
for old Krook’s money！
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Chapter 21
The Smallweed Family
n a rather ill…favoured and ill…savoured neighbourhood；
though one of its rising grounds bears the name of Mount
I
Pleasant； the Elfin Smallweed； christened Bartholomew； and
known on the domestic hearth as Bart； passes that limited portion
of his time on which the office and its contingencies have no claim。
He dwells in a little narrow street； always solitary； shady； and sad；
closely bricked in on all sides like a tomb； but where there yet
lingers the stump of an old forest tree； whose flavour is about as
fresh and natural as the Smallweed smack of youth。
There has been only one child in the Smallweed family for
several generations。 Little old men and women there have been；
but no child； until Mrs Smallweed’s grandmother； now living；
became weak in her intellect； and fell （for the first time） into a
childish state。 With such infantine graces as a total want of
observation； memory； understanding and interest； and an eternal
disposition to fall asleep over the fire and into it； Mr Smallweed’s
grandmother has undoubtedly brightened the family。
Mr Smallweed’s grandfather is likewise of the party。 He is in a
helpless condition as to his lower； and nearly so as to his upper
limbs； but his mind is unimpaired。 It holds； as well as it ever held；
the first four rules of arithmetic； and a certain small collection of
the hardest facts。 In respect of ideality； reverence； wonder； and
other such phrenological attributes； it is no worse off than it used
to be。 Everything that Mr Smallweed’s grandfather ever put away
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in his mind was a grub at first； and is a grub at last。 In all his life
he has never bred a single butterfly。
The father of this pleasant grandfather； of the neighbourhood of
Mount Pleasant； was a horny…skinned； two…legged； money…getting
species of spider； who spun webs to catch unwary flies； and retired
into holes until they were entrapped。 The name of this old pagan’s
God was Compound Interest。 He lived for it； married it； died of it。
Meeting with a heavy loss in an honest little enterprise in which all
the loss was intended to have been on the other side； he broke
something—something necessary to his existence； therefore it
couldn’t have been his heart—and made an end of his career。 As
his character was not good； and he had been bred at a Charity
School； in a complete course； according to question and answer； of
those ancient people the Amorites and Hittites； he was frequently
quoted as an example of the failure of education。
His spirit shone through his son； to whom he had always
preached of “going out” early in life； and whom he made a clerk in
a sharp scrivener’s office at twelve years old。 There； the young
gentleman improved his mind； which was of a lean and anxious
character； and； developing the family gifts； gradually elevated
himself into the discounting profession。 Going out early in life and
marrying late； as his father had done before him； he too begat a
lean and anxious…minded son； who； in his turn； going out early in
life and marrying late； became the father of Bartholomew and
Judith Smallweed； twins。 During the whole time consumed in the
slow growth of this family tre
