Chapter 7 Chapter 06

An old fashioned game of cards.The priest's verse.homecoming story The few guests assembled in the ancient drawing-room rose to greet Mr. Pickwick and his friends as they entered; The appearance of men, and inferring their characters and occupations; it was a penchant he shared with many other great men. A very old lady in a tall hat.In a faded silk gown--none but Mr. Wardle's mother, she sat in the upper seat at the right corner of the fire, with all the ways of life that she passed when she was young, and that she had not left behind when she was old. The walls were adorned with proofs: that is, old-fashioned designs, equally old velvet brocade landscapes, and newer, scarlet, silk teapot covers.The aunt, the two ladies, and Mr. Wardle, competing with each other in fervent and uninterrupted courtship, crowded round her easy chair, one holding her receiver, the other an orange, the third an orange. Only sniffing the bottle, while the fourth was busy patting the pillow for her.Opposite was the vicar of the Dingley Valley, a bald, kind-faced vicar, and beside him sat his wife, a very fat old lady who seemed to be proficient in making people pleasing The techniques and secrets of home-brewing herbal wines, and being good at tasting them to my greater satisfaction from time to time.In one corner a stout gentleman was talking to a shrewd little man; and two or three old ladies and gentlemen sat quietly in their chairs, surrounded by Mr. Pick and his Friends watch.

"It's Mr. Pickwick, mother," said Mr. Wardle, at the top of his voice. "Oh, dear!" said the old lady, shaking her head. "I can not hear." A Mr. Pickwick, grandmother! "The two ladies hissed at the same time. "Ah!" shouted the old lady. "That's all; it doesn't matter much. An old woman like me won't mind it, I daresay." "Don't worry, old lady," said Mr. Pickwick, seizing the old lady's hand, and speaking so loudly that his kind face was flushed with effort, "I tell you, old lady, that seeing I couldn't be happier for an old lady of her age leading such a fine family and looking so young and healthy."

"Ah!" the old lady said after a short pause. "Very well, I believe; but I can't hear it." "Grandmother is a little unhappy now," said Miss Isabella Wardle in a low voice, "but she will talk to you in a moment." Mr. Pickwick expressed his willingness to understand the feelings of old age, and began to chat with everyone. "It's a great environment here," Mr Pickwick said. "Very well!" Messrs. Snagglass, Tupman, and Winkel responded. "Well, I think so," said Mr. Wardle. "There's no better place in the whole state of Kent, sir," said the apple-faced shrewd man. He looked around, as if someone who had tried his best to disagree with his words had finally been refuted by him.

"There's no better place in all of Kent," added the shrewd man after a short pause. "Except for the Grove Meadows," observed the stout man solemnly. "Maolin Ranch!" The opponent blurted out, with extreme contempt. "Warm, Woodland Ranch," repeated the fat man. "That's a nice place," put in another fat man. "Indeed," said the third fat man. "Everyone knows that," said the fat master. The shrewd person looks around suspiciously, but finding himself in the minority, puts on a look of pity for others and says no more.

"What are they talking about?" asked the old lady loudly to one of her granddaughters; like many deaf people, she never seemed to consider the possibility of anyone hearing what she had to say. "Nothing, just about the fields, grandmother." "What about the field?—no business?" "No, no. Mr. Miller says we're in a better spot than the Grove Ranch." "How did he know?" the old lady asked angrily. "Miller is a bragging playboy, just tell him I said it." After finishing speaking, the old lady who didn't know what she had said loudly straightened her back and looked fiercely at the shrewd criminal. .

"Come, come," said the bustling host, with natural eagerness for a change of subject—"how do you say cards, Mr. Pickwick?" "That's all very well," replied the gentleman, "but please don't play the game because of me." "Well, I tell you, mother is very fond of playing cards," said Mr. Wardle, "isn't it, mother?" The old lady, who was far more deaf to this question than anything else, answered in the affirmative. "Joe, Joe," said the old gentleman—"Damn Joe, where's hiding—oh, here he is! Set the table, you slob."

The sleeping-sick young man managed, without further prompting, to set up two card-tables; one for Pope Joan and one for Whist.The two couples who played whist were Mr. Pickwick and the old lady; Mr. Miller and the stout gentleman.That circle game includes everyone else in the room. The way they played was very dignified and quiet, perfect for this kind of whist. —It was a solemn ceremony.Calling it "playing cards" is, in our opinion, disrespectful and slanderous.On the other hand, the round table was so noisy and cheerful that it greatly hindered Mr. Miller's thinking, prevented him from being able to concentrate as he should, and made many heinous mistakes. Makes the fat gentleman very angry and the old lady very happy.

"Look!" Miller said triumphantly after finally drawing the thirteenth card that decides the outcome: "There is nothing better, I dare say, there is no better card than this!" "Miller should have played the red diamond with the ace, shouldn't he, sir?" said the old lady. Mr. Pickwick nodded his assent. "Is it?" said the unfortunate man.Skeptical complaints about his teaming up. "Yes, sir," said the stout gentleman in a stern voice. "It sucks my god," said a dejected Miller. "What's the use of saying that," growled the stout gentleman.

"Two highs are eights, and we've won," said Mr. Pickwick. Another inning. "Can you order a pair?" asked the old lady. "Yes," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Single, double, all in one color." "Haven't seen this kind of luck," Mr. Miller said. "It's a damned card," said the stout gentleman. Solemn silence: Mr. Pickwick is humorous, the old lady is serious, the stout gentleman is critical, and Mr. Miller shy. "Another pair," said the old lady, proudly taking a sixpence and a bumpy halfpence under the candlestick as tokens.

"'Two, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick. "Yes, yes, sir," said the stout gentleman grimly. In the middle of another hand with the same result, the unlucky Miller had a card but did not follow, and made a foul; the fat gentleman lost his temper because of this, and kept dealing it until the end of the game, when he was already huddled in a corner. The regiment remained silent for an hour and a half, when at last he emerged from his concealment, and handed Mr. Pickwick a pinch of snuff, with an air of determination to forgive, in the Christian spirit, the wounded.The old lady's hearing has obviously improved, but looking at the unfortunate Miller again, she is as uncomfortable as a dolphin in a sentry box.

At the same time, the game in a circle went on really happily.Isabella Wardle and Mr. Trendell "paired," as did Emily Wardle and Mr. Snagglass; joint stock company.Old Mr. Wardle was beaming with joy; he was so funny as a banker, and the old ladies were so shrewd about their winnings, that the whole table was always buzzing.There was an old lady who always had about half the cards she didn't quite like to redeem, which made everyone laugh, every time; and they laughed harder when the old lady seemed unhappy because she wanted to redeem; At this time, the old lady's face gradually became brighter, and finally she laughed louder than anyone else.Also, when the spinster aunt touched "marry", the young ladies laughed again, and the spinster aunt seemed to lose her temper, but Mr. Tupman's hand was pinching her under the table, so her His countenance also gradually brightened, and he seemed to think that marriage was not so remote as some people imagined; therefore, everyone laughed again, especially old Mr. Wardle, who was very funny when he joked. Like a pottery child with relish.As for Mr. Snagglass, he just kept whispering poetic sentiments into his partner's ear, which aroused an old gentleman's humor, and mischievously asked the question of life's partner and card-playing partner, thus leading to A good remark by old Wardle, with all kinds of winks and giggles, made everyone very happy, especially the old gentleman's wife.Mr. Winkle told jokes that were unknown in the country but known in the city; they all laughed heartily and said they were very good, so Mr. Winkle was flattered.The good priest looked on with pleasure; for the happy faces round the table made the old man happy too; and though the joy was a little tumultuous, it was from the heart and not from the mouth. : It's a legitimate joy anyway. The evening slid by amidst these lively amusements; and when, after this most very cheap supper, a little society was formed round the fire, Mr. Pickwick felt that he had never in his life This kind of happiness has never been such a desire to cherish and fully enjoy this fleeting time. "Ah," said the hospitable host—sit down solemnly beside the old lady's easy chair, and took her hand firmly in his own—"this is what I like—the happiest time of my life. Some moments of bliss are spent by this old fire: I am so attached to it that I keep a good fire here every evening, except when the heat is too much to bear. My poor The old mother, when she was a girl, used to pull a little bench and sit before this fire—didn’t she, mother?—” The tears that automatically poured into the old lady's eyes because of the sudden thought of the happiness of many years ago and the past times, secretly rolled down from her face when she nodded with a melancholy smile. "Please forgive me for speaking of this ancient place, Mr. Pickwick," resumed the host, after a short pause—"for I love it more than any other—ancient My house and fields are like living friends to me: so is our little church surrounded by ivy,--of which, by the way, our illustrious friend over there once did A poem when he first came to us. Is there any more in your glass, Mr. Snaggrass?" "Plenty, thank you," replied the gentleman, whose poetic curiosity had been deeply shaken by his master's words. "Excuse me, but you just mentioned the poem about the ivy." "You have to ask our friend on the other side," the master said clearly in his heart, nodding his head and pointing at the pastor. "I'd like you to read it a little bit, don't you think?" said Mr. Snaggrass. "Ah, indeed," answered the parson, "that was a very trifling matter, indeed; and the only excuse I have for bumming out the poem is that I was a young man then. If you want to hear, Then I'll read it over." The answer, of course, was a murmur to be heard; and so the old gentleman began, reciting the verses, with many prompts from his wife. "I call them," he said Evergreen Changchun O beautiful plant, evergreen periwinkle, He spread over the ancient ruins! His three meals were fine delicacies, Though his grave is lonely and desolate. The wall must fall, the stone will crumble, To his beautiful fancy: And the mildew and dust tempered by time, It is his delicious food. No soul breathes in this place, Crawling the evergreen periwinkle with the rare old plant. Quickly he stole, though no wings soared, He has a strong and tenacious heart. How tightly he entangled, how deeply attached, Huge old oak entangled his friend! And he creeps secretly on the ground, He shakes his leaves slightly, Embrace and tenderly embrace, Fertile soil for the graves of the dead. Hide in the hideous death of this place, Crawling the evergreen periwinkle with the rare old plant. Centuries have passed, Their performance has declined, The nation has gone through vicissitudes; But the strong old ivy never fades, His green youth is as usual. In the dreary and lonely days, Brave old plants will grow fat with the past; For any most magnificent project, Finally it is the nutrition of the ivy. Climb, time has left traces in this place, Climb, Changchun will be washed away from the vicissitudes of life. As the old gentleman repeated the lines a second time for Mr. Snagglass to record, Mr. Pickwick leered at the outline of his face with interest.When the old gentleman had finished, Mr. Snagglass put the notebook back in his pocket, and Mr. Pickwick said: "I beg your pardon, sir, for speaking like this at first meeting; but I imagine that a gentleman like you could not fail to observe many memorable sights and events in your life experience as a preacher." "I do appreciate them," replied the old gentleman subtly, "but the characters and things are very ordinary, because my vision is so limited." "You made some notes, I suppose, about John Edelmund, didn't you?" asked Mr. Wardle, as if to elicit some words from his friend to enlighten the new guests. The old gentleman nodded slightly in agreement, and was about to change the subject, when Mr. Pickwick said: "I beg your pardon, sir; but I shall take the liberty of asking, but who is John Edmund?" "That's what I was going to ask, too," said Mr. Snagglass eagerly. "Your body is chained," said the jubilant master. "Sooner or later you will have to satisfy the curiosity of these gentlemen; so you might as well take advantage of the present opportunity, and speak at once." The old gentleman moved his chair forward and smiled kindly; the others drew their chairs closer together, especially Mr. Tupman and the spinster aunt, who were perhaps hard of hearing; the old lady's The receivers were properly arranged, and Mr. Miller (who had fallen asleep during the poetry reading) was admonishingly woken up by the stately fat man of his former partner from under the table. ,—thereupon the old gentleman, without any preamble, proceeded straight to the following story, which we gave it a title of our own accord, called return to prison "When I first came to live in this village," said the old gentleman, "twenty-five years ago, there was a most notorious man among my parishioners, named Edmund, who Leased a little field near here. He was a bad-tempered, savage-hearted fellow; idle and licentious, cruel and ferocious disposition. Except for a few who wandered with him in the fields or in taverns He had no friends or acquaintances, save the drunken, lazy, rascal; no one wanted to speak to this frightening and annoying man, and everyone shunned Edmund. "This man had a wife and a son who was about twelve years old when I first came here. About the intensity of this woman's grief, about the gentle, patient manner in which she endured it, about her raising the No one can properly conceive the anguish of care and anxiety in childhood. Heaven pardon me for the conjecture—if it is an unkind one—but I firmly believe, and I believe with my heart, that there are many For years she had purposefully and systematically tried to break her heart; but she was enduring it not only for the child, but for the father as well—strange though it may seem to many; for, though he was A beast, cruel though he was to her, yet she had once loved him: the remembrance of what he had been to her aroused in her breast feelings of tolerance and meekness in suffering; It is the unique emotion of women in the world and in the universe. "They were poor--since the man lives like this, they must be poor; but the women worked tirelessly and tirelessly, day and night, to keep them from starvation and cold. Such manipulations are only won by malicious People who passed by at night—sometimes late at night—reported hearing the moans and whimpers of a grieving woman and the sound of beatings; to escape the drunken brutality of his freak father. "The poor woman is a constant attendee at our little church these days, and often comes to church with the undisguised scars of her abuse. Every Sunday morning and afternoon, She must come and sit in her old place, and take the child with her, and though they were both in rags—much more so than many of their lesser neighbors—they were always neat and clean. Every one gave a friendly nod and genial greeting to "poor Mrs. Edelmund"; When she was speaking, or watching her healthy child playing games with some children with the pride and joy of a mother, the expression of gratitude from the bottom of her heart replaced her original haggard face. Although her appearance is not happy and happy, at least she is calm and fulfilled. "After five or six years; the boy had grown into a strong, well-developed lad. The time spent in developing the boy's frail figure and limbs into a strong man had bent his mother's body and made her Her feet were weak; but the arms that should have supported her were no longer in her arms, the face that should have been cheerful and happy was long gone, and she sat in her old place, but There is an empty place beside her. The "Bible" is still carefully preserved as usual, and the place to be read is checked and folded as usual; but there is no one to read with her; tears are falling densely and quickly In books the handwriting was illegible. Neighbors were as kind to her as ever, but she turned her head away from their greetings. No longer lingered under the old elm--no comforting anticipation of future happiness. The lonely woman pulled the bonnet lower over her face and hurried away. "If the young man still has memory and conscience, he has only to think about it. From the beginning of his childhood until that time, there is nothing in him that is not connected in one way or another with his mother's long-term voluntary sacrifice; She silently endured abuse, insult, and brutality for his sake. But he, blatantly disregarding her shattered heart, maliciously and willfully Mixing together, frantically doing things that shame her and endanger her life at any time. Do I want to tell you this? Sad human nature! You have already expected it. "The wretchedness and unhappiness of this unfortunate woman are almost full. Many crimes have been committed in the neighborhood; the perpetrators have never been discovered, so they have become more daring. Once, a daring robbery caused them to do something they did not expect. After a vigilant pursuit and a rigorous search, Edmund Jr. and his three companions were suspected. He was arrested—imprisoned—tried—convicted—death penalty. "The solemn verdict had just been read when a woman's frantic and piercing shriek rang out in the courtroom, which still rings in my ears. The cry terrified the prisoner. It was trial, conviction—close to Death—not aroused. His closed mouth opened involuntarily, and the anger contained in his heart was about to rush out; his face turned gray, and cold sweat broke out from every pore; His strong limbs trembled, and he staggered and couldn't stand on the dock. "The afflicted mother, at the first assault of her spiritual anguish, knelt before me and prayed fervently to Almighty God, who had sustained her through all her difficulties until now, to rescue her from this sorrow and misery. Forgiveness for what her son has done. Then came a fit of grief and a violent struggle that I wish I would never see a second time. I know her heart has broken since then but not a single complaint or complaint was heard from her. "It was a sad sight to see this woman go daily into the prison yard, eagerly and fervently trying to soften the heart of her hard-hearted son by means of emotion and entreaty. In vain. Deadly. Even the unexpected commutation of his sentence to fourteen years of exile did not soften for a single moment the somber stubbornness of his manner." "However, the resignation and patience that had sustained her for so long were no match for her physical weakness. She fell ill. She got out of bed and dragged her wobbly legs again and again, exhaustingly. Going to see her son, she finally fainted on the ground powerlessly." "Now the young man's vaunted ruthlessness and indifference were really put to the test; retribution fell upon him so heavily that it nearly drove him mad. A day passed without his mother coming; another day she did not come to him; on the third night he had not seen her; in twenty-four hours he would be forced to part from her--perhaps forever. Ah! he seemed mad, and in Walking up and down the small yard—as if the news would come faster because he was anxious—then those long-forgotten memories came to his mind! And when he heard the news, his heart A sudden abhorrent pain and an implacable loneliness! His mother, the only elder he knew, lay sick on the ground a mile from where he stood-perhaps dying; Had he been free and unshackled, she would have been at her side in a few minutes. He rushed to the door, grabbed the iron bars with all his strength, shook them until they rattled, and slammed his body against the thick wall, As if trying to force a way out of the stone; but no matter how hard he tried, it was of no avail to the damned building, and he wrung his hands and sobbed like a child. "I bring a mother's forgiveness and blessing to her son in prison, and his solemn oath of repentance and fervent plea for forgiveness to her bedside. With pity and sympathy I hear the repentant I have countless plans for how to comfort and support her when he returns; but I know that his mother will not be alive for months before he can fulfill his wish. "He was released in the night. After a period or two, the poor woman's soul ascended, and I secretly hoped and solemnly believed it was to eternal bliss and rest. I gave her the remains After the funeral, she rested in our little churchyard. There is no stone on her grave. Her sorrows are known, and her virtues are known to God." "Appointment was made with the prisoner before he was released, and as soon as he was allowed to write to his mother, the letter could be mailed to me. The father has steadfastly refused to see his son since his arrest; he has no regard for his life or death. Years passed without news of his departure; and by the time his sentence was half over, and I had not received a letter, I decided he was dead, and indeed I almost expected him to be. "However, Edmund, after arriving at the reservation, was sent to a remote and remote place. Perhaps it is because he has lived in a remote and remote place for fourteen years. I have not received a letter. His letter. At the end of his sentence, steadfast in his former decision and vow to his mother, he returned to England through countless difficulties and walked home on foot." "On a fine Sunday evening in August, John Edmund stepped into the village where he had been bred, and which had brought disgrace to his life. His nearest shortcut was by way of the churchyard. He wore As he went through the trap door in the fence, his heart agitated. Those tall old elm trees—the setting sun dappled through the gaps in the branches and leaves—awakened his childhood associations. He imagined himself at that time, hanging on his mother's hand, into the church quietly. He remembered how he was wont to look up at her pale face; As she kissed him, it fell so hotly on his forehead that he wept too, though he didn't understand at the time what bitter tears her tears were. He remembered how he had often met some childish children on the road. Playmate ran happily, looking back now and then, to catch a glimpse of his mother's smile, or hear her soft voice; a curtain seemed to be lifted over his memory, and he could no longer bear the feeling of being despised. The feeling of persuasion, of broken letters about to explode in his memory. "He entered the church. The service of vespers was over, the congregation was gone, but the doors were not closed. His steps echoed hollowly in the low room; so still and silent that he was almost alone Afraid. He looked around. Still the same. The place seemed smaller than before, but the old steles, and the familiar pulpit and altar were still there. In front of the altar , he used to recite from time to time the sacred commandments he had revered as a child and forgotten as a man. He approached the old seat, which looked deserted and forlorn. The cushions had been removed, and the Bible Not there anymore. Perhaps his mother was in a worse seat now, perhaps she was too old to move to come to church alone. He dared not think of what he dreaded. When he went away She was trembling badly, and her whole body was completely cold, as if she had been soaked in a plate of cold water. "He was walking up to the gate when an old man came in. Edmund stepped back in surprise, knowing him well; he had seen him dig graves in the cemetery many times. What would the prisoner say? The old man looked up and down the stranger, said "good night" to him, and walked away slowly. He had forgotten him." "He walked down Tugangzi and walked through the village. The weather was very hot, and people were sitting at the door, or taking a walk, or enjoying the tranquility at dusk and resting after work. Many people glanced at him, and he also looked to the sides suspiciously. He glanced carefully to see if anyone recognized him and avoided him. Almost every house was full of strangers; among the tall figures he recognized an old schoolmate of his--he was last seen and others, among them a sickly old man sitting in an easy-chair at the door of a hut, whom he distinctly remembered as a brawny laborer. ; but they had all forgotten him, and no one knew him as he passed. "The last rays of the setting sun fell upon the earth, casting a radiance on the yellow sheaves of corn, and lengthening the shadows of the fruit trees, when he stood at the door of his old home--the home of his childhood. — is the home to which his heart yearned with indescribably strong love during the long years of the kingdom and misery. The walls are low, though he clearly remembers that once upon a time it seemed to him to be a high wall. He looked into the garden from the wall. The flowers and fruits were more abundant and lush than before, but the old trees were still there--under which he had been lying in the sun countless times when he was tired of playing in the sun; The soft sleep of happy childhood came softly. He heard voices in the house, but they sounded strange and unfamiliar to him. The voices were pleasant, too, and he knew well that his poor old mother was not It would be pleasant, so he went in. The door opened, and a group of little children jumped out, screaming and jumping. The father appeared at the door with a very small child in his arms, and they surrounded him, clapping Little hands, dragging him out to their amusing games. The prisoner thought of how many times he had eluded his father in this very spot. He remembered how often he had buried his trembling head under the covers, listening to the rough The words, the fierce whippings, and the wailing of his mother; though he left the place sobbing aloud with an anguish of soul, yet he clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth in violent and mournful emotion. This is the home he has dreamed of for so many years, the home he has gone through all kinds of hardships!There is no warm welcoming face, no forgiving eyes, no house to shelter him, and no warm hands to help him—all of these are absent, and it is still in the village of his hometown.But he thought about it again, his loneliness in the deserted and wild jungle was nothing compared to this! "He felt that the home he had conceived of in that faraway place where he had been humiliated and enslaved was the home he had left, not the home he had returned to. This tragic reality struck hard at his heart, his spirit. Depressed. He had not the courage to inquire, nor to meet the only one who could receive him with kindness and sympathy. He walked slowly forward; dodged along the side of the road like a criminal; turned After reaching a piece of grass that he still remembered very well, he covered his face with his hands and flung himself on the grass. "He did not notice a man lying on the bank next to him, whose clothes rustled as he turned to take a peek at the newcomer; Edmund looked up." The man changed into a sitting posture, and only then did you realize that his body was already bent, and his face was wrinkled and yellow like a dead branch of a pine tree.His attire belied the pauper of the pauper's asylum: he looked old, but more from debauchery or disease than from age.He was staring intently at the newcomer; though his eyes were dull and dull at first, after they had stared at him for a moment, they flashed an expression of unnatural panic. So much so that it almost burst out of the eye socket.Edmund gradually raised himself to his knees, looking more and more eagerly at the old man's face.They stared at each other in silence. The old man's face was horribly pale.He swayed a bit, then staggered to his feet.Edmund jumped up like an electric shock.He took a few steps back, and Edmund finally walked past. "'Let me hear you,' said the prisoner in a heavy, crooked voice." "'Stand away!' cried the old man, with a terrible curse, and the prisoner came nearer to him." "'Stand away!' screamed the old man. Furious with terror, he raised his cane and struck Edmund hard in the face." "'Father—the devil!' murmured the prisoner, through gritted teeth. He rushed frantically and strangled the old man by the throat—but he was his father; and his arms hung limply." The old man let out a cry, like the roar of a monster, and floated across the silent fields.His face turned blue: blood gushed from his face and nose, staining the grass a thick dark red, and he staggered down.He had ruptured a vein; he was dead before his son could raise him from that foul, sluggish mud. " "In that corner of the churchyard," said the old gentleman, after a few minutes' silence, "in that corner of the churchyard I have mentioned, there is buried a man whom I had employed before this他帮我做事，做了三年，他是真正悔过了的和自卑的，做到了最好的人所能做到的地步。在他去世之前，除了我没有谁知道他是什么人、或是他是哪里来的：——他就是约翰·爱德门德，这重归的囚犯。”