London Recreations伦敦的消遣

【导读】查尔斯·狄更斯（1812—1870），英国维多利亚文学的主要代表，是英国文学史乃至世界文学史上最伟大的小说家之一。狄更斯曾做过律师事务所的文书和自由新闻记者，后担任议会记者，记者经历将他引向了小说创作。早期的文学创作包括匿名和以其弟奥古斯塔斯的诨名“博兹”（Boz）为笔名于各报刊发表的随笔、特写，1836年这些已发表之作连同未刊文章结集出版，《博兹札记》（Sketches by Boz）因此问世。一个世纪后，作家J. B. 普里斯特利受麦克米伦出版社之托，从《博兹札记》中甄选最能聚焦19世纪30年代伦敦的12篇文章，并为之作序，于是《伦敦生活景象》（Scenes of London Life）于1947年出版了。

本篇节选自上述文集。在作为记者的年轻狄更斯的笔下，伦敦是纪实的城，作者对这座城市的地图近乎了若指掌，既洞悉其区隔，又了解市民阶层各不相同的真实生活，包括其消遣。有的消遣是为了打发空虚，有的用以满足虚荣心，有的可以排遣不幸与孤独，有的则纯为娱乐。随着地理空间由伦敦的闹市中心向边缘延伸，上层小众所谓的文雅消遣变为下层的市井狂欢，也体现出由静到动、从了无生趣到生机盎然的规律。作者或是多愁善感地强调家庭和爱的美德，或是以喜剧欢闹的方式再现芸芸众生的生活。由于爱的贫乏，自视甚高的小姐和家境殷实的先生的空虚并不能得到实在的填补;因为爱，小中产阶级的老夫妻的苦楚与不幸得以排遣;而大多数底层中产阶级市民也自有其热爱，自有其取乐之道。

The wish of persons in the humbler classes of life， to ape the manners and customs of those whom fortune has placed above them， is often the subject of remark， and not unfrequently of complaint. The inclination may， and no doubt does， exist to a great extent， among the small gentility—the would-be aristocrats—of the middle classes. Tradesmen and clerks， with fashionable novel-reading families， and circulating-library-subscribing daughters， get up small assemblies in humble imitation of Almack’s1， and promenade the dingy “large room” of some second-rate hotel with as much complacency as the enviable few who are privileged to exhibit their magnificence in that exclusive haunt of fashion and—foolery. Aspiring young ladies， who read flaming accounts of some “fancy fair2 in high life，” suddenly grow desperately charitable; visions of admir-ation and matrimony float before their eyes; some wonderfully meritorious institution， which， by the strangest accident in the world， has never been heard of before， is discovered to be in a languishing condition： Thomson’s great room， or Johnson’s nursery-ground， is forthwith engaged， and the aforesaid young ladies， from mere charity， exhibit themselves for three days， from twelve to four， for the small charge of one shilling per head！ With the exception of these classes of society， however， and a few weak and insignificant persons， we do not think the attempt at imitation to which we have alluded， prevails in any great degree. …

If the regular City man， who leaves Lloyd’s3 at five o’clock， and drives home to Hackney， Clapton， Stamford Hill，4 or elsewhere， can be said to have any daily recreation beyond his dinner， it is his garden. He never does anything to it with his own hands; but he takes great pride in it notwithstanding; and if you are desirous of paying your addresses5 to the youngest daughter， be sure to be in raptures with every flower and shrub it contains. … If you call on him on Sunday in summer-time， about an hour before dinner， you will find him sitting in an arm-chair， on the lawn behind the house， with a straw hat on， reading a Sunday paper. A short distance from him you will most likely observe a handsome paroquet in a large brass-wire cage; ten to one but the two eldest girls are loitering in one of the side-walks accompanied by a couple of young gentlemen， who are holding parasols over them—of course only to keep the sun off—while the younger children， with the under nursery-maid， are strolling listlessly about， in the shade. Beyond these occasions， his delight in his garden appears to arise more from the consciousness of possession than actual enjoyment of it. When he drives you down to dinner on a week-day， he is rather fatigued with the occupations of the morning， and tolerably cross6 into the bargain7; but when the cloth is removed， and he has drank three or four glasses of his favourite port， he orders the French windows of his dining-room （which of course look into the garden） to be opened， and throwing a silk handkerchief over his head， and leaning back in his armchair， descants at considerable length upon its beauty， and the cost of maintaining it. …

There is another and a very different class of men， whose recreation is their garden. An individual of this class resides some short distance from town—say in the Hampstead Road8， or the Kilburn Road9， or any other road where the houses are small and neat， and have little slips of back-garden. He and his wife—who is as clean and compact a little body as himself—have occupied the same house ever since he retired from business twenty years ago. They have no family. They once had a son， who died at about five years old. The child’s portrait hangs over the mantelpiece in the best sitting-room， and a little cart he used to draw about is carefully preserved as a relic. The only other recreation he has is the newspaper， which he peruses every day， from beginning to end， generally reading the most interesting pieces of intelligence to his wife， during breakfast.

In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly in the garden; and when it is too wet to go into it， he will look out of the window at it， by the hour together. He has always something to do there， and you will see him digging， and sweeping， and cutting， and planting， with manifest delight. In spring time， there is no end to the sowing of seeds， and sticking little bits of wood over them， with labels， which look like epitaphs to their memory; and in the evening， when the sun has gone down， the perseverance with which he lugs a great watering-pot about is perfectly astonishing. … On a summer’s evening， when the large watering-pot has been filled and emptied some fourteen times， and the old couple have quite exhausted themselves by trotting about， you will see them sitting happily together in the little summerhouse， enjoying the calm and peace of the twilight， and watching the shadows as they fall upon the garden， and gradually growing thicker and more sombre， obscure the tints of their gayest flowers….  These are their only recreations， and they require no more. They have within themselves the materials of comfort and content; and the only anxiety of each is to die before the other.

Let us turn now to another portion of the London population， whose recreations present about as strong a contrast as can well be conceived—we mean the Sunday pleasurers; and let us beg our readers to imagine themselves stationed by our side in some well-known rural “Tea-gardens.”

The heat is intense this afternoon， and the people， of whom there are additional parties arriving every moment， look as warm as the tables which have been recently painted， and have the appearance of being red-hot. What a dust and noise！ Men and women—boys and girls—sweethearts and married people—babies in arms， and children in chaises10—pipes and shrimps—cigars and periwinkles—tea and tobacco. Gentlemen， in alarming waistcoats， and steel watch-guards， promenading about， three abreast， with surprising dignity—ladies， with great， long， white pocket-handkerchiefs like small table-cloths in their hands， chasing one another on the grass in the most playful and interesting manner， with the view of attracting the attention of the aforesaid gentlemen—husbands in perspective ordering bottles of ginger-beer for the objects of their affections， with a lavish disregard of expense; and the said objects washing down11 huge quantities of “shrimps” and “winkles，” with an equal disregard of their own bodily health and subsequent comfort—boys， with great silk hats just balanced on the top of their heads， smoking cigars， and trying to look as if they liked them—gentlemen in pink shirts and blue waistcoats， occasionally upsetting either themselves， or somebody else， with their own canes.