英语天堂-第100部分

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“I　don’t　know；”　said　St。　Clare。　“This　is　a　day　of　great　deeds。　Heroism　and　disinterestedness　are　rising　up；　here　and　there；　in　the　earth。　The　Hungarian　nobles　set　free　millions　of　serfs；　at　an　immense　pecuniary　loss；　and；　perhaps；　among　us　may　be　found　generous　spirits；　who　do　not　estimate　honor　and　justice　by　dollars　and　cents。”
“I　hardly　think　so；”　said　Miss　Ophelia。
“But；　suppose　we　should　rise　up　tomorrow　and　emancipate；　who　would　educate　these　millions；　and　teach　them　how　to　use　their　freedom？　They　never　would　rise　to　do　much　among　us。　The　fact　is；　we　are　too　lazy　and　unpractical；　ourselves；　ever　to　give　them　much　of　an　idea　of　that　industry　and　energy　which　is　necessary　to　form　them　into　men。　They　will　have　to　go　north；　where　labor　is　the　fashion；—the　universal　custom；　and　tell　me；　now；　is　there　enough　Christian　philanthropy；　among　your　northern　states；　to　bear　with　the　process　of　their　education　and　elevation？　You　send　thousands　of　dollars　to　foreign　missions；　but　could　you　endure　to　have　the　heathen　sent　into　your　towns　and　villages；　and　give　your　time；　and　thoughts；　and　money；　to　raise　them　to　the　Christian　standard？　That’s　what　I　want　to　know。　If　we　emancipate；　are　you　willing　to　educate？　How　many　families；　in　your　town；　would　take　a　negro　man　and　woman；　teach　them；　bear　with　them；　and　seek　to　make　them　Christians？　How　many　merchants　would　take　Adolph；　if　I　wanted　to　make　him　a　clerk；　or　mechanics；　if　I　wanted　him　taught　a　trade？　If　I　wanted　to　put　Jane　and　Rosa　to　a　school；　how　many　schools　are　there　in　the　northern　states　that　would　take　them　in？　how　many　families　that　would　board　them？　and　yet　they　are　as　white　as　many　a　woman；　north　or　south。　You　see；　Cousin；　I　want　justice　done　us。　We　are　in　a　bad　position。　We　are　the　more　obvious　oppressors　of　the　negro；　but　the　unchristian　prejudice　of　the　north　is　an　oppressor　almost　equally　severe。”
“Well；　Cousin；　I　know　it　is　so；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；—“I　know　it　was　so　with　me；　till　I　saw　that　it　was　my　duty　to　overcome　it；　but；　I　trust　I　have　overcome　it；　and　I　know　there　are　many　good　people　at　the　north；　who　in　this　matter　need　only　to　be　taught　what　their　duty　is；　to　do　it。　It　would　certainly　be　a　greater　self…denial　to　receive　heathen　among　us；　than　to　send　missionaries　to　them；　but　I　think　we　would　do　it。”
“You　would　I　know；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I’d　like　to　see　anything　you　wouldn’t　do；　if　you　thought　it　your　duty！”
“Well；　I’m　not　uncommonly　good；”　said　Miss　Ophelia。　“Others　would；　if　they　saw　things　as　I　do。　I　intend　to　take　Topsy　home；　when　I　go。　I　suppose　our　folks　will　wonder；　at　first；　but　I　think　they　will　be　brought　to　see　as　I　do。　Besides；　I　know　there　are　many　people　at　the　north　who　do　exactly　what　you　said。”
“Yes；　but　they　are　a　minority；　and；　if　we　should　begin　to　emancipate　to　any　extent；　we　should　soon　hear　from　you。”
Miss　Ophelia　did　not　reply。　There　was　a　pause　of　some　moments；　and　St。　Clare’s　countenance　was　overcast　by　a　sad；　dreamy　expression。
“I　don’t　know　what　makes　me　think　of　my　mother　so　much；　tonight；”　he　said。”　I　have　a　strange　kind　of　feeling；　as　if　she　were　near　me。　I　keep　thinking　of　things　she　used　to　say。　Strange；　what　brings　these　past　things　so　vividly　back　to　us；　sometimes！”
St。　Clare　walked　up　and　down　the　room　for　some　minutes　more；　and　then　said；
“I　believe　I’ll　go　down　street；　a　few　moments；　and　hear　the　news；　tonight。”
He　took　his　hat；　and　passed　out。
Tom　followed　him　to　the　passage；　out　of　the　court；　and　asked　if　he　should　attend　him。
“No；　my　boy；”　said　St。　Clare。　“I　shall　be　back　in　an　hour。”
Tom　sat　down　in　the　verandah。　It　was　a　beautiful　moonlight　evening；　and　he　sat　watching　the　rising　and　falling　spray　of　the　fountain；　and　listening　to　its　murmur。　Tom　thought　of　his　home；　and　that　he　should　soon　be　a　free　man；　and　able　to　return　to　it　at　will。　He　thought　how　he　should　work　to　buy　his　wife　and　boys。　He　felt　the　muscles　of　his　brawny　arms　with　a　sort　of　joy；　as　he　thought　they　would　soon　belong　to　himself；　and　how　much　they　could　do　to　work　out　the　freedom　of　his　family。　Then　he　thought　of　his　noble　young　master；　and；　ever　second　to　that；　came　the　habitual　prayer　that　he　had　always　offered　for　him；　and　then　his　thoughts　passed　on　to　the　beautiful　Eva；　whom　he　now　thought　of　among　the　angels；　and　he　thought　till　he　almost　fancied　that　that　bright　face　and　golden　hair　were　looking　upon　him；　out　of　the　spray　of　the　fountain。　And；　so　musing；　he　fell　asleep；　and　dreamed　he　saw　her　coming　bounding　towards　him；　just　as　she　used　to　come；　with　a　wreath　of　jessamine　in　her　hair；　her　cheeks　bright；　and　her　eyes　radiant　with　delight；　but；　as　he　looked；　she　seemed　to　rise　from　the　ground；　her　cheeks　wore　a　paler　hue；—her　eyes　had　a　deep；　divine　radiance；　a　golden　halo　seemed　around　her　head；—and　she　vanished　from　his　sight；　and　Tom　was　awakened　by　a　loud　knocking；　and　a　sound　of　many　voices　at　the　gate。
He　hastened　to　undo　it；　and；　with　smothered　voices　and　heavy　tread；　came　several　men；　bringing　a　body；　wrapped　in　a　cloak；　and　lying　on　a　shutter。　The　light　of　the　lamp　fell　full　on　the　face；　and　Tom　gave　a　wild　cry　of　amazement　and　despair；　that　rung　through　all　the　galleries；　as　the　men　advanced；　with　their　burden；　to　the　open　parlor　door；　where　Miss　Ophelia　still　sat　knitting。
St。　Clare　had　turned　into　a　cafe；　to　look　over　an　evening　paper。　As　he　was　reading；　an　affray　arose　between　two　gentlemen　in　the　room；　who　were　both　partially　intoxicated。　St。　Clare　and　one　or　two　others　made　an　effort　to　separate　them；　and　St。　Clare　received　a　fatal　stab　in　the　side　with　a　bowie…knife；　which　he　was　attempting　to　wrest　from　one　of　them。
The　house　was　full　of　cries　and　lamentations；　shrieks　and　screams；　servants　frantically　tearing　their　hair；　throwing　themselves　on　the　ground；　or　running　distractedly　about；　lamenting。　Tom　and　Miss　Ophelia　alone　seemed　to　have　any　presence　of　mind；　for　Marie　was　in　strong　hysteric　convulsions。　At　Miss　Ophelia’s　direction；　one　of　the　lounges　in　the　parlor　was　hastily　prepared；　and　the　bleeding　form　laid　upon　it。　St。　Clare　had　fainted；　through　pain　and　loss　of　blood；　but；　as　Miss　Ophelia　applied　restoratives；　he　revived；　opened　his　eyes；　looked　fixedly　on　them；　looked　earnestly　around　the　room；　his　eyes　travelling　wistfully　over　every　object；　and　finally　they　rested　on　his　mother’s　picture。
The　physician　now　arrived；　and　made　his　examination。　It　was　evident；　from　the　expression　of　his　face；　that　there　was　no　hope；　but　he　applied　himself　to　dressing　the　wound；　and　he　and　Miss　Ophelia　and　Tom　proceeded　composedly　with　this　work；　amid　the　lamentations　and　sobs　and　cries　of　the　affrighted　servants；　who　had　clustered　about　the　doors　and　windows　of　the　verandah。
“Now；”　said　the　physician；　“we　must　turn　all　these　creatures　out；　all　depends　on　his　being　kept　quiet。”
St。　Clare　opened　his　eyes；　and　looked　fixedly　on　the　distressed　beings；　whom　Miss　Ophelia　and　the　doctor　were　trying　to　urge　from　the　apartment。　“Poor　creatures！”　he　said；　and　an　expression　of　bitter　self…reproach　passed　over　his　face。　Adolph　absolutely　refused　to　go。　Terror　had　deprived　him　of　all　presence　of　mind；　he　threw　himself　along　the　floor；　and　nothing　could　persuade　him　to　rise。　The　rest　yielded　to　Miss　Ophelia’s　urgent　representations；　that　their　master’s　safety　depended　on　their　stillness　and　obedience。
St。　Clare　could　say　but　little；　he　lay　with　his　eyes　shut；　but　it　was　evident　that　he　wrestled　with　bitter　thoughts。　After　a　while；　he　laid　his　hand　on　Tom’s；　who　was　kneeling　beside　him；　and　said；　“Tom！　poor　fellow！”
“What；　Mas’r？”　said　Tom；　earnestly。
“I　am　dying！”　said　St。　Clare；　pressing　his　hand；　“pray！”
“If　you　would　like　a　clergyman—”　said　the　physician。
St。　Clare　hastily　shook　his　head；　and　said　again　to　Tom；　more　earnestly；　“Pray！”
And　Tom　did　pray；　with　all　his　mind　and　strength；　for　the　soul　that　was　passing；—the　soul　that　seemed　looking　so　steadily　and　mournfully　from　those　large；　melancholy　blue　eyes。　It　was　literally　prayer　offered　with　strong　crying　and　tears。
When　Tom　ceased　to　speak；　St。　Clare　reached　out　and　took　his　hand；　looking　earnestly　at　him；　but　saying　nothing。　He　closed　his　eyes；　but　still　retained　his　hold；　for；　in　the　gates　of　eternity；　the　black　hand　and　the　white　hold　each　other　with　an　equal　clasp。　He　murmured　softly　to　himself；　at　broken　intervals；
“Recordare　Jesu　pie—
Ne　me　perdas—illa　die
Querens　me—sedisti　lassus。”
It　was　evident　that　the　words　he　had　been　singing　that　evening　were　passing　through　his　mind；—words　of　entreaty　addressed　to　Infinite　Pity。　His　lips　moved　at　intervals；　as　parts　of　the　hymn　fell　brokenly　from　them。
“His　mind　is　wandering；”　said　the　doctor。
“No！　it　is　coming　HOME；　at　last！”　said　St。　Clare；　energetically；　“at　last！　at　last！”
The　effort　of　speaking　exhausted　him。　The　sinking　paleness　of　death　fell　on　him；　but　with　it　there　fell；　as　if　shed　from　the　wings　of　some　pitying　spirit；　a　beautiful　expression　of　peace；　like　that　of　a　wearied　child　who　sleeps。
So　he　lay　for　a　few　moments。　They　saw　that　the　mighty　hand　was　on　him。　Just　before　the　spirit　parted；　he　opened　his　eyes；　with　a　sudden　light；　as　of　joy　and　recognition；　and　said　“Mother！”　and　then　he　was　gone！
1　These　lines　have　been　thus　rather　inadequately　translated：
Think；　O　Jesus；　for　what　reason
Thou　endured’st　earth’s　spite　and　treason；
Nor　me　lose；　in　that　dread　season；
Seeking　me；　thy　wom　feet　hasted；
On　the　cross　thy　soul　death　tasted；
Let　not　all　these　toils　be　wasted。
＇Mrs。　Stowe’s　note。＇
Chapter　29
The　Unprotected
We　hear　often　of　the　distress　of　the　negro　servants；　on　the　loss　of　a　kind　master；　and　with　good　reason；　for　no　creature　on　God’s　earth　is　left　more　utterly　unprotected　and　desolate　than　the　slave　in　these　circumstances。
The　child　who　has　lost　a　father　has　still　the　protection　of　friends；　and　of　the　law；　he　is　something；　and　can　do　something；—has　acknowledged　rights　and　position；　the　slave　has　none。　The　law　regards　him；　in　every　respect；　as　devoid　of　rights　as　a　bale　of　merchandise。　The　only　possible　ackowledgment　of　any　of　the　longings　and　wants　of　a　human　and　immortal　creature；　which　are　given　to　him；　comes　to　him　through　the　sovereign　and　irresponsible　will　of　his　master；　and　when　that　master　is　stricken　do