Chapter 20 william.Wilson (1839)
how to say?How can I say that the ghost of a cold conscience haunts us like a ghost?
——Chamberlain "Pharonides" (Chamberlain (1619-1689), a British doctor, completed the long narrative poem "Pharonides" in 1658, describing the love between the ranger Agalia and the princess Falonia.—— Translator's Note) I tentatively call myself William.Wilson.Use my real name and real name to spoil the blank paper in front of me, so why bother?This name has brought contempt, loathing, and hatred to my people.Could it be that the indignant rumors have not spread the incomparably infamous reputation of the tribe to the ends of the sky and the corners of the sea?O most self-willed prodigal son!Don't you have a dead heart for everything in the world?For earthly honors, flowers, and good wishes will never be favored again?Between your hopes and heaven, isn't there always a cloud?
Unspeakable misfortunes and unforgivable crimes have befallen me in recent years which, if I may, I shall not describe in detail here today.In the past few years, I have suddenly fallen into the abyss, and now I just plan to explain the reason.People tend to degenerate step by step, but in my case, all the virtues are like a cloak, falling off in an instant.It was as if I had taken a colossal step, over the realm of insignificant evil, and suddenly plunged into the abyss of crimes worse than the heinous crimes of Ila Gabal. (Irajabal, born about 205 AD, was a priest of the Sun Temple of Imesha in Syria. He was elected Roman emperor in 218. He was shameless and notorious. He was killed by his guards in 222. ——Translator Note) By what accident—what event did I commit this evil crime?Please allow me to speak out.Death is approaching little by little; the shadow of death brings peace to my soul.I walked through the shadowy valley, longing for the pity of the world—I almost said it for the pity of the world.I just want them to believe that I am more or less manipulated by the environment, which cannot be controlled by humans.But I hope they can find such a small oasis of destiny for me in the vast desert of sin after reading the plot I am about to tell.I want them to admit--they can't help admitting--that while there have been temptations in the past, at least people haven't been through it, and certainly haven't been so depraved.Have people really never experienced such pain?Am I not living in a dream?All the grotesque visions in the world are so terrible and mysterious, won't they scare me to death?
Our people have always been famous for their rich imagination and violent temper. In my childhood, I showed the disposition of fully inheriting the characteristics of the family.This disposition became more pronounced as I grew up each year.For many reasons, it made my friend anxious and I was hurt.I became obsessed with my own way, indulged in wild thoughts, and often lost control of my emotions.My parents are indecisive by nature and suffer from congenital frailty like mine, so they can't do anything about my distinctive bad temper.They also worked hard, but because of weakness and improper methods, they finally failed completely, and of course I was the one who won a big victory.Since then, my words have become the law of the family.At the age when most children still have to be led to walk, I began to do things rashly. Apart from having parents in name, I was actually in charge of everything.
My earliest memories of school life are always inseparable from a large irregular Elizabethan house, (referring to the architectural style popular in Queen Elizabeth's era, characterized by huge windows, long corridors, high chimneys, and many ribbons. Decoration——Translator’s Note) The house was built in a foggy village in London, where there are many giant trees covered with lumps, and all the houses are very old.Indeed, that old town is indeed a dreamlike and soothing place.At this moment, in my imagination, savoring the refreshing coolness of the shady streets, smelling the fragrance from the bushes, and listening to the low and hollow church bells, I renew my desire to say no. Qing's joy trembled, and the bell would strike coldly every hour, eerie, echoing in the silent dim light, and the Gothic spiers eroded by time were hidden in the twilight, sleeping deeply .
Perhaps, reminiscing about the school and related things in detail will bring me greater joy than anything I feel at the moment.I am so miserable now--miserable, oh!It is true—forgive me for my weakness to write some rambling trivia for some temporary solace.Although these things are very trivial and even ridiculous, in my opinion, once they are connected with a specific time and place, they will appear unexpectedly important.I understand that it was then and there that fate first gave me the vague advice that has followed me through the years and months.So let me recall.
As I said, the house was old and irregular.The yard there was large, surrounded by a solid brick wall, high, plastered and topped with broken glass.This prison-like fortress is the limited territory of our activities; we can only see the outside world three times a week: once on Saturday afternoon, under the leadership of two teachers, we can go for a walk in the nearby fields collectively; On Sundays, I queued up twice in the morning and evening to worship at the only church in the village.
The principal of our school is the pastor of the church.I often sat on a bench with a backrest and watched him slowly walk up to the pulpit with solemn steps, and the surprise and confusion in my heart were beyond words.The clergyman had a sanctimonious face; his cassock was shining and fluttering--only a priest's cassock flutters like that; the wig was powdered and stiff and bulky.Is this the man from not long ago?He was a sour-looking man in those days, wearing a nasty uniform, holding a pointer, and strictly enforcing the rules of the academy.
Oh, it is so paradoxical that it cannot be added, and it is so ridiculous that it cannot be explained!
In the corner of the dreary wall, a heavy door was reluctantly opened.Thumbscrews are nailed to the door, with pointed iron nails protruding from the top.Looking at it at a glance, I was so scared that I couldn't help taking a few steps back.Except for the three regular visits just mentioned, the gates are never opened.Thus, every time the great hinges creaked, a myriad of wonders flashed before the eyes—a vast world, worthy of careful contemplation and contemplation.
The shape of the wide courtyard is irregular, and the walls are recessed in many places and a large piece.The largest three or four alcoves became the playground.The ground is flat and covered with good hard gravel.I remember very well that there were no trees, no benches, nothing to sit on.Of course everything is behind the house.There was a small flower bed in front of the house, with boxwood and other small shrubs, but to be honest, you can only pass through this holy place if you catch a rare opportunity-such as entering the school for the first time, leaving the school for the last time, and, in the Parents or friends come looking for it, and we're excitedly heading home for Christmas or the summer solstice.
But how quaint and old-fashioned that house was!To me, it's really a maze.The corridors twisted and turned without end; the number of rooms was unreasonable.At any time, it is hard to tell whether it is upstairs or downstairs.From one room to another, it is inevitable to encounter or go up or down three or four steps.There are also an unimaginable number of suites, one within one, and our exact idea of the house is not so different from the idea of infinity.I lived there for five years, sharing a small dormitory with 10 or 20 other students.In the past five years, I have not once figured out which remote corner this dormitory is hiding in.
The room that serves as the classroom is the largest, and I can't help but feel that it is the largest room in the world.The room was narrow and long, with a low ceiling, and it was really dull.The windows are Gothic and the ceiling is oak.In the far distance, in a horrible corner, is a small room eight or nine feet square, which is a secret room-the "school time" secret room of our headmaster, the Reverend Dr. Bransby.
The hut is of solid construction with heavy doors.Even if the master is not there, we would rather punish him alive than open the door.In the other two corners, there are two similar small rooms. Although they are far less awe-inspiring than the one of the principal, they are still awe-inspiring.One belongs to the "Classics" teacher and one belongs to the "English and Mathematics" teacher.There are desks and stools scattered in the classroom, and the number is innumerable.The tables and stools are all dark, old and tattered.On the table are stacked messily turned black books, engraved with initials, some with a long string of names and surnames engraved, as well as weird patterns and marks left by carving many times with a knife.Therefore, as early as a long time ago, it has been completely changed beyond recognition.At one end of the room stood a bucket filled with water; at the other end was a clock of astonishing size.
From the age of ten to fifteen, I have been spent in this ancient academy, but I don't feel much dislike.Childhood was full of fantasies, and there was no need to think about the outside world, nor to entertain myself with it.It is obvious that school life is boring and monotonous, but it is also extremely lively. The luxurious life of the more mature youth and the sinful life of full adulthood are not as lively as that time.But I have to think that there must have been a lot out of the ordinary—even out of the norm—in my rudimentary mental development.Generally speaking, as adults, people rarely remember their childhood clearly.Everything is a gray shadow - the memory is confusing and vaguely visible - the memory is a faint joy and phantom pain.But I am not like that.Everything about childhood is still clear and picturesque, as clear, deep and lasting as the inscription on the Carthage medal.I must have felt all that in my childhood as powerfully as an adult. (Gartage, an ancient country in Africa——Translator's Note) But the fact—the fact in the eyes of the world—what is there to remember!Waking up in the morning, turning off the lights and going to bed at night; silent reading, reciting; regular half-day vacation, walking; playground, playing, playing, making trouble——Because I have long forgotten it, under the magic of time, I ticked off many particularly touching and touching stories. Interesting events sparked indescribable feelings and emotions, and waves of passion and thrilling excitement flooded away again.Oh, what a golden age childhood was!
In truth, I was earnest, passionate, and bossy by nature, and soon I became famous among my schoolmates, and gradually—but naturally—everybody not much older than I was at my command, with one exception.Although this classmate has no relationship with me and no reason, he has the same name and surname as me.In fact, this is not surprising.Although I came from a noble family, my name is the same as many common names. According to the statute of limitations, it seems that with the passage of time, this name has long been owned by common people.Here, I call myself William.Wilson, in fact, is a fake name that is not much different from his real name. Among the "Jianghu"—according to my classmates' expression—only the person with the same name and surname as mine dared to compete with me in learning in the classroom, fighting and sports on the playground, and dared to compete with me. To refuse to follow my orders blindly is to bend to my will—indeed, he dares to interfere in whatever way I dictate them arbitrarily.If there is any supreme and absolute dictatorship in the world, it should be the dictatorship of the child king in his youth over his submissive partners.
I was embarrassed by Wilson's disapproval.Although in public, I will definitely bluff and refuse to follow his tactics, but the more I do this, the more afraid I am of him in private. I have to admit that he can draw with me so easily, which proves that He is indeed better than me.If you don't want to be defeated by him, you must fight for a long time.In fact, whether he is better than me or equal to me, I am the only one who admits it. For some reason, my classmates can't see this at all, and I don't even have the slightest suspicion.To tell the truth, his rivalry with me, especially his unbridled and obstinate rivalry, was sharper but more personal.He seemed to have neither the ambition nor the passion to fight me.I had the upper hand.He competed with me, perhaps out of sheer whim, to thwart my tyranny, to surprise me, or to restrain me.Sometimes I noticed that when he hurt me, insulted me, and contradicted me, there was an inappropriate kind of tenderness mixed in, which was really annoying to the extreme, and I couldn't help feeling stunned, inferior, and angry in my heart.I can only think that the reason for his peculiar behavior is simply because he is extremely conceited, and wants to appear to be protective and vulgar.
Perhaps it was because of this intimacy in Wilson's demeanor, and the fact that we had the same name and surname, and we happened to enter the school on the same day, that word spread in the senior years that we were brothers.Senior students seldom investigate seriously the affairs of junior students.In fact, Wilson has nothing to do with my family at all. I said this before, and I should have said it.
If we are brothers, then we must be twins, for after I left that school in Bransby I came to know that the man with the same name was born on the 19th of January, 1813--what a wonderful coincidence , because that day happened to be my birthday too.
In spite of Wilson's constant rivalry with me, it seemed strange that his intolerable spirit of refutation, though it made me anxious at times, did not arouse my hatred for him.Naturally, we quarrel almost every day, but in front of people, he always lets me win, but at the same time, he can find a way to make me feel that the winner should be him.However, because of my pride and his real dignity, we have always remained "casual acquaintance", and at the same time, we have many similarities.
It made me realize that it might be where we are that prevents us from being friends.It is so difficult to define my feelings for him, or even to describe them.This feeling is so intricate that it's hard to describe it in words - there is a bit of willful hatred, but it is not hatred; there is respect, but more respect; there is a lot of fear, but curiosity is restless.
For moralists it is unnecessary to add that Wilson and I were inseparable companions.
Undoubtedly, my relationship with him was an anomaly.Therefore, I spared no effort to attack him--a lot of attacks, both open and dark, always manifested as half-truths and half-truths, laughing and scolding, rather than clear and categorical hostility.But my jokes always hurt his heart.
However, even if I have worked hard and tried my best in this regard, there will inevitably be mistakes, because the person with the same name and surname is humble, quiet, and serious by nature, and his seriousness and sincerity are shown in appreciating his own set of pungent jokes. Called impeccable, no matter what, he would never be ridiculed.To be honest, I only found one weakness in him. There is a characteristic in him, maybe it is a congenital disease-my opponent has a problem with the throat organ, or the vocal organ, and he can't raise his voice at any time. , always like a faint whisper.None of his friends, who were not so driven out by him as I was, never did him any harm;
Wilson's vengeance against me was varied.The most effective trick is to give me a big headache.He is so wise, how did he find out in the first place that he could annoy me with this little trick?I can never figure this out.But once he discovered this trick, he used it frequently, which made me angry.I've always hated my mediocre surname, and this downright common name—if it's not used by the common people, that's all.As soon as the name got into my ears, it was like poisonous poison.The other William when I got to school on my first day.Wilson came too.I'm so angry with him, why is he also called this name?So, I added another layer of disgust to this name, because a stranger also went by William.Wilson named.And he is the one who makes the name double shouted.He would often flash before my eyes; there would always be an inevitable confusion of the two of us in the ordinary affairs of school life.
Therefore, when this enemy opponent has similarities with me in spirit or body, I will smolder and burn more and more.
At the beginning, I didn't realize the amazing fact that we were the same Geng, but I could see that we were the same height, and our body shape and facial contours were surprisingly similar.As soon as I heard rumors in the senior year that we were relatives, I became angry from embarrassment.In short, as long as someone mentions that we have similar temperaments and looks, it will disturb me greatly. Although I have carefully concealed it again and again, I know that nothing disturbs my mind more than this.But honestly, I have no reason to believe that my seniors talked about how we were alike—they didn't even see it with their own eyes.They just said we were related, and Wilson himself said that.
Obviously, he saw the similarities between the two of us in every way, and he knew it exactly as I did.That he should have found such a troubling resemblance in this case can only be attributed to his usual sagacity.
His words and deeds imitated me like a god, and he played it so perfectly.Clothes and manners are easy to imitate, gait and manner are easy to imitate; in spite of his natural defect, he imitates my voice.He didn't try to imitate my loud voice, of course, but the intonation was exactly the same, and his unnatural whispers echoed my words.
I dare not describe how troubled I am to see such a perfect imitation.Because, it's not just a caricature.
The only consolation was that I was apparently the only one who noticed his imitation.I can only endure the knowing and ironic smile of the person with the same name.Seeing his plot fermented in my heart, he was satisfied, and seemed to chuckle secretly at my tingling.His witty imitation will definitely win the applause of everyone, but he doesn't care about it.None of the students in the school noticed his tricks, and no one realized that he was done, so no one followed suit and laughed.It was a real mystery, and I have spent months with anxiety, and still have not solved it.Perhaps because he imitated bit by bit and step by step, it is not easy for everyone to see.In other words, I am not a laughing stock, probably because my imitators are arrogant and disdain to make superficial things (such as painting formal things, which can be seen by dull people), but only show a play to my whole spirit. Imitation, let me meditate secretly, alone annoyed.
I have said more than once that he always puts on a hideous protective face towards me, and is often meddling, which is always at odds with mine.They often advise me against my expectations, not overtly suggesting, but giving hints and outflanking.
I accepted his "kindness", but I felt disgusted in my heart, and as I grew up year by year, the disgust became stronger and stronger.
But I'll do him justice after all these years, and I admit that my nemesis was young and seemingly inexperienced, but I don't recall a single instance of his advice being wrong or stupid; Admittedly, if he is not more intelligent and worldly than I am, at least his moral sense is far superior to mine; If I ignore it, then today, I may be a kinder and happier person, but at that time, I hated and despised his advice to the bone.
Eventually, his obnoxious supervision made me lose my patience.His self-righteousness was unbearable, and my resentment toward him became more blatant every day.As I have said, my feelings for him had no difficulty maturing into a friendship during the first few years of our schooling; but the last few months of my school life undoubtedly softened his usual meddling temper. Even so, the hatred in my heart has increased a bit.Once, I think he saw it, and since then he avoided me, or pretended to avoid me.
If I remember correctly, it was at that time that I quarreled with him once.That time he was uncharacteristically, he abandoned his vigilance, challenged me openly, and dared to act.I discovered, or thought I discovered, that there was something in his accent, in his expression, in his appearance, which at first astonished me, and then intrigued me.In front of my eyes, the events of my infancy appeared vaguely—the chaotic past flooded in wildly, and I had no memory at that time.I cannot better describe the feelings that oppressed me.Let’s put it this way, one of the thoughts I managed to get rid of is that I have known this person standing in front of me a long time ago, and that was in the long past, so long that there is no end.But this illusion came and went quickly.I mention this only to show that it was on that day that I had my last conversation with the man of the same name.
In that old house and its innumerable rooms, there were several large interconnected rooms, which were the dormitories for most of the students.Of course, there are also many small corners, small alcoves, and other fragmentary structures in the house.Such a place is inevitable in a building so clumsily designed.It's just a small space like a storage room, which can only accommodate one person, but Dr. Bransby has carefully planned and arranged such a place as a dormitory.In one of them lived Wilson.
About the end of my fifth year at school, one night, shortly after the quarrel mentioned above, when everyone was fast asleep, I got out of bed, lamp in hand, and put on my Through a narrow corridor, he quietly slipped into the bedroom of his enemy.I have long wanted to use a vicious trick to make fun of him, so that he can taste my strength, but it has never succeeded.Now, the plan is about to be put into practice, and I must let him feel that my hatred for him is already as high as the mountains and as deep as the seas.At the door of his cabin.I left the lamp outside, closed the cover, and tiptoed through the door.I took a step forward and listened to his quiet breathing.Convinced that he was really asleep, I turned out, got the lamp, and went over to his bed again.
The bed is surrounded by densely hung curtains.It's time to implement the plan.I slowly opened the curtain.As the bright light shone on the sleeping man, my eyes fell on his face.When I looked at it, my whole body became numb, as if a basin of cold water had been poured on my head.My heart was beating wildly, my knees were shaking, for no apparent reason, in unbearable horror.I gasped for breath, and silently lowered the light even further, so low that it was touching his face.This is—this is William.Wilson's face?I really saw that he was like that, but I couldn't help shaking like malaria when I thought he didn't look like that.How could this appearance scare me out of my wits?I stared at him—my mind was a tangle of tangled tangles of thoughts.When he was awake, he was not like this, definitely not like this.The same name and surname!Same face!Go to school on the same day!Then, inexplicably and with uncommon obstinacy, he imitated my gait, my voice, my habits, my manners!
He has always imitated me. Could this ironic imitation really make him what I see now?I was overwhelmed with a sense of awe, trembling all over, turned off the light, and quietly walked out of the room, leaving the old school at once, never stepping in again.
I idled away at home for a few months.Before I knew it, I had become a student of Eton College.A short period of time passed, and the memory of Bransby's school faded. At least, when he remembered it again, his mood changed significantly.The truth -- the tragedy -- evaporated.Now, I have an opportunity to question my own sanity.However, if I were not wondering why people are so gullible, and secretly laughing at why I have such a vivid imagination, I would hardly think of questioning myself.Life at Eton did not lessen this doubt.As soon as I got there, I immediately threw myself into the whirlpool of absurdity. Except for the frothy trivial things of the past, everything was swept away, and the important impressions etched in my heart were swept away. The utter frivolity of the past.
However, I am not going to describe here my pathetic licentiousness--to the point where I evaded the notice of the school and flouted the law.Three years wasted in vain, without gaining any benefit, except that I was infected with deep-rooted vices.In addition, the figure has grown taller, which is a bit ridiculously tall.After a week of debauchery, I invited a small group of utterly dissolute students to my room and threw a secret feast.We met in the middle of the night, planning to have fun and hang out all night.We drink too much, and not without other, perhaps more dangerous, temptations.Our extravagance reached its climax, when the east was white.Its daybreak.I was flushed and drunkenly playing cards, yelling for another drink with the most shamelessness.
Suddenly, the door was pushed half open, and a servant's anxious voice sounded outside the door.Someone wanted me to talk in the hall, he said, and it seemed urgent.
I was full of alcohol, and Hida was not surprised when he heard that someone was looking for him, but rather happy.I staggered off immediately.Just a few steps to the foyer of the dormitory building.There were no lights in the squat, small hall.It was so late, the lights were not allowed to be turned on at all, only a few faint rays of dawn came in from the semicircular windows.As soon as I stepped on the threshold, I saw a young man.He was about my height, and wore a snow-white cashmere dressing gown, cut in the latest fashion, just like the one I was wearing at the time.I saw this through the dim light, but I couldn't see his face clearly.As soon as I entered the door, he hurriedly strode up to me, grabbed my arm, and could tell he was very anxious.He whispered a few words in my ear: "William Wilson!"
The drunkenness subsides.I am wide awake.
Looking at the stranger's appearance, and seeing him trembling with his finger raised up in front of my eyes in the bright light, I couldn't help being extremely surprised, but not greatly moved.There was always a serious warning in that weird low hissing sound, especially when he whispered those few simple and familiar words, the sound quality, intonation, and features were as shocking as a strong current heart and soul.Memories of the past come unexpectedly.Before I could recover from the shock, he was gone.
Although the incident made a vivid impression on my confused mind, it also gradually dissipated.To tell the truth, for the first few weeks I was in earnest inquiry, or rather in morbid speculation.I couldn't pretend I didn't know the eccentric, the very man who meddled relentlessly in my private affairs, and never tire of hinting at me.But who is this Wilson?What does he do?where is he from?What is he thinking?I can't answer all these.All I know of this man is that something happened to his house, so that, on the afternoon I fled from Ransby, he had to leave there too.
But it wasn't long before I stopped thinking about it and thought only of the day when I was off to Oxford.It wasn't long before I was there.My parents are very vain, and the utensils they prepared for me are very ostentatious, and the expenses for a year are also very sufficient.I can live in luxury to my heart's content -- such a lovely life.In this way, I will also be able to match the profligate skills of the arrogant rich children of Great Britain.
I am very interested, because I have the capital of corruption.My nature spouts and intensifies.I was desperate for pleasure, without restraint, without regard for face.It would be absurd to describe my Meng Lang in detail here.A single mention is enough for me.In extravagance I am even worse than King Herod.If so many novel activities are listed together, then in the long list of crimes recorded by the most dissolute university in Europe, there is a long list of bad things I have done.
It is unbelievable that it was in this university that I completely degenerated from a gentleman to a dirty gambler. I tried my best to familiarize myself with the despicable tricks of a professional gambler. Very rich money to add bricks and tiles.That's the hard truth.Undoubtedly, violation of conscience and loss of virtue were the main, if not the only, reason for my time and time again committing such blunders.Who among my self-defeating associates would not defend me?None of them would say that I was wrong in my mind; in their eyes, happy, frank, generous William.Wilson, the noblest and most free-spirited student at Oxford, whose absurdities are but the absurdities of youth, the absurdities of whims—his mistakes are only whims, and the viciousness of his ignorance is but unintentional The flashy Meng Lang.
So far, I have been playing tricks successfully in the casino for two years, and I know that there is an upstart in the university, a nobleman named Grandining.It is said that he and Herods.As rich as Attic, (Herods. Attic, (101-177), Greek rhetorician, sophist. He donated property to decorate Athens and other Greek cities.--Translator's Note) so is wealth Come easy.I soon discovered that he was not very intelligent.I naturally regard him as a good target to show off my skills.I often encouraged him to play cards, and deliberately won him a considerable amount of money by the usual gambler's tricks, in order to more effectively lure him into my trap.My plan finally came to fruition.I met him in the dormitory of Preston, who is also a self-funded student.
One thought filled my mind, that this meeting was the last and the decisive one.Mr. Preston was on good terms with both of us, though, to be fair, he never suspected that I was a man of great intrigue.In order to make this match more sensual, I deliberately called a group of people, probably eight or nine, and carefully pretended to mention the card game in passing. As I expected, the fool immediately took the bait.In order to say briefly about that immorality, the base means must not be omitted.In gambling, people often play tricks, and it's strange how people still get caught without knowing it.
It's late at night, and we haven't finished yet.In the end, my plot finally succeeded, and Grandinen became my only opponent.
We were playing my favorite Eckart! (Eckart, a way of playing cards. It can be played by two people. Each person is dealt five cards, the eleventh card is an ace, and the full five is divided into a game. - Translator's Note) The momentum of other people throwing a lot of money at us Very interested, they all threw away the cards in their hands and stood beside us as spectators.This nouveau riche drank a lot of wine under my tricks in the first half of the night.
Right now, he was shuffling, dealing, and playing cards so nervously that he was drinking too much, I think, but not absolutely.In a short while, he lost a lot of money to me.I was so calm that I waited, and sure enough, after he took a gulp of wine, he proposed to double the bet. In fact, the original bet was already a very large number!I pretended to be reluctant and pretended to shirk.
I refused again and again, which annoyed him, who began to yell at me.In this way, I pretended to agree to him out of anger.Of course, the result only proved that this prey fell completely into my trap.In less than an hour, his debt quadrupled.For a while, all the rosiness on his face, which was flushed from drinking, disappeared.To my surprise, his face turned ashen, which was terrifying.Like I said, I'm amazed.I have investigated carefully, and it is said that Grandin Ning is very rich. Although the amount of money he lost is not small in the eyes of others, I don't think he should be so distressed, let alone react so violently.A thought flashed: he was drunk as soon as the drink was down.I was about to resolutely not to gamble—this was not out of selfless motives, but to maintain my personality in front of my accomplices—when I suddenly noticed the expressions of the people around me, and heard Grandinning's desperate sigh.I see, I've bankrupted him.Under such circumstances, everyone sympathized with him, even the devil would not have the heart to attack him.
What did I look like then?It's really hard to say.The wretched condition of my fools made all faces sad and embarrassed.For a while, the surroundings were silent.这伙人里面，那些不那么浪荡的，向我投来轻蔑、责备的目光，烧得我的脸火辣辣的。我甚至愿意承认，有一瞬间，我焦虑得快撑不住了。
不过，随之而起的意外事件，倒使我心里暂时松了口气。又宽又重的折门咣地一声大开了，冲力又猛又急，房间里的烛火犹如受到巫术操纵，全都熄灭了。将熄未熄时的一线亮光，刚好让我们看到进来了一个陌生人。那人身高与我不相上下，身上紧紧裹着件披风。房间里一片漆黑。我们感觉得到，他就站在我们中间。他这么粗蛮地闯进来，我们不由大惊失色，还没恢复镇静，就听得这入侵者说话了。
“各位，”他说，嘶嘶的声音低沉、清晰，那让人毕生难忘，吓得我连骨头缝里都渗入了凉意，“各位，我不想为自己的行为道歉，我这么做，是为了尽我的责任。今晚这个人玩纸牌赢了葛兰丁宁爵爷一大笔钱，不用说，对他的本性，你们并不了解。所以，我给大家提一个迅捷有效的办法，以便认清真相。你们要是有空，请检查一下他左袖口的衬里，那件绣花晨衣的大口袋里，或许就藏着几小包东西。”
他说话的时候，四下里静得出奇，连一根针掉到地上都能听到。说完，他马上离开了。
来无影去无踪。我的心情，可以描述么？要描述么？难道得说我被这该死的家伙吓坏了？确信无疑的是，我已经没时间思量了。大伙七手八脚把我当场揪住。烛火霎时间又亮了。搜身开始了。玩埃卡特时必不可少的花牌从我袖口的衬里中翻出来了。在晨衣的口袋里，也翻出了几副纸牌，跟我们在牌局上用的一模一样，只是，这几副都是术语叫做“鼓肚子”的那种，大牌的上下两边微微凸起，小牌的左右两边微微凸起。如此部署，当受骗者按照惯例竖里砌牌，必然发现，自己发给对手一张大牌；赌棍则是横里砌牌，当然不会发给对手一张计分的大牌。
发现真相后，不管大伙多么义愤填膺，对我都一点影响也没有；沉默不语或者冷冷的讥讽，反而会刺伤我。
“威尔逊先生，”房主普雷斯顿开口了，同时弯下腰，从脚下取出一件毛皮稀有的豪华披风，“威尔逊先生，这是你的东西。”（天冷，离开自己的房间时，我在晨衣外披了件披风，到了牌场才脱下）“我看，还得搜一搜这件披风，（他脸上挂着抹冷笑看着披风的褶皱）再给你那套把戏找出些证据。说真的，证据已经够了。希望你明白，你必须离开牛津大学——无论如何，必须马上离开我的宿舍。”
当时，我虽然很卑微、很卑微，都低到尘埃中了，可要不是思绪被一件不可思议的事攫住了，听到这番难堪的话，我肯定马上大动肝火。我穿的披风是用稀有的皮子缝的，稀有到无从描述，具体值多少钱，我也不敢说。它的式样也是我本人别出心裁的发明。我酷爱打扮，虚浮轻狂，在衣饰上挑剔到可笑的田地。所以，当普雷斯顿先生从折门附近的地板上拾起一件披风，交到我手上时，我吃惊到近乎恐惧了，我发现自己的披风已经搭在了手臂上。我自然是无意间搭上的。递给我的那件，与我手臂上的这件完全相仿，连最细微的地方，都如出一辙。我记得，那无情地揭露我的怪人身上，是裹了件披风的。而我们这伙人中，除了我谁都没穿披风。我没露声色，取了普雷斯顿给我的那件披风，悄悄放在自己的那一件上面，怒容满面，头也不回地离开了那里。次日，天还没亮，我就离开了牛津，匆匆踏上奔赴欧洲大陆的旅途。心里又是恐惧，又是羞耻，苦恼得难以言喻。
逃也是瞎逃。厄命仿佛一直得意洋洋得追随着我，真的，这证明了，厄运如此神秘得摆弄我，只不过是个开头。我还没在巴黎站住脚，就看出了新的迹象，这个威尔逊又管起我的闲事了。真是可恶。年复一年，我心里的弦一直绷着。Badass! ——在罗马，他对我的雄心横加干涉，闲事管得多么不合时宜、鬼鬼祟祟！在维也纳也是，在柏林，在莫斯科，都是如此！
说实话，我在哪里不对他怨声载道，不在心里咒他不休？他匪夷所思的苛刻管束，总是让我最后仓皇出逃，像是逃避瘟疫。可纵然是逃到天涯海角，终归也是瞎逃一场。
我一次又一次地暗自寻思，冲着自己这么发问：“他是谁？——他来自何方？——他到底想干什么？”可就是想不出答案。接着，我万分仔细地观察起无故监督我的形式、方法、主要特征来，但从这里也看不出个究竟来。确实，他最近常常跟我作对，每一次，都想着要阻碍我的计划、扰乱我的行动。如果我的计划得以实施，结果难免造成的痛苦的灾祸——对于神气活现的大亨来说，这个理由真的很苍白；对于独断专行的天性来说，就算碰到无礼而执拗的横加干涉，这理由也保障不了什么。
我不由看到，那长久折磨我的人，一直有个怪念头，就是小心谨慎、灵敏机巧地穿着和我一样的衣服，每当想干涉我的意愿，总是竭力不让我看到他的脸。不管他是不是威尔逊，这样做都氏族做作，十足愚蠢。在伊顿公学忠告我的，在牛津大学毁我名誉的，在罗马不让我如愿，在巴黎妨碍我复仇，在那不乐斯阻挠我热恋，在埃及不让我满足欲望——他诬称之为贪婪，难道一时之间，他以为我认不出这个心腹大患、邪恶的天才就是我小学时代的同学威廉。威尔逊？难道我认不出他就是那个与我同名同姓的人，我的伙伴、冤家多头——那个勃兰斯比博士的学校里可恨又可怕的冤家对头？impossible!让我赶紧把这出戏最后也是最重要的一场唱完吧。
至今我还被威尔逊控制在掌心中。我一贯认为他人格高贵，智慧不凡，这让我深深敬畏，他无处不在、无所不能是本事，让我深深敬畏；他的某些天生和假装的特性，又让我害怕。
由此可知，我是多么软弱，多么无助；我也由此明白了，尽管不想痛苦地勉强屈服于他的专断意志，但还是盲从为好。可最近，我彻底彻底沉湎于酒乡，酒精使人发疯，它刺激了我祖传的脾性，害得我越来越焦躁，难以控制。我开始低声抱怨——踌躇——反抗。促使我相信自己一天比一天坚定，折磨我的人一天比一天疏离的，难道只是纯粹的想象？即便如此，我也渐渐开始感觉到炽热的希望汩汩喷涌，最后，那不顾一切的决定终于孕育而成。我不愿再受别人的奴役。
罗马。18X X 年。狂欢节。我去参加那不勒斯公爵德。布罗利奥府的化装舞会。我比平日里还要纵饮无度。房间里人潮滚滚，空气窒息，这让我恼火得不行。我我穿过闹哄哄的人群，费劲极了，我的火气一点都没退，因为我在寻找年老昏聩的德。布罗利奥那青春、放荡、美丽的妻子。别让我说出自己那卑鄙的动机吧。她先前就恬不知耻地私下里跟我说过，她会化装什么样子。现在，我看到她了。我马上急匆匆地朝她走去。这当口，我感到一只手轻轻搭上肩头，那难忘的、该死的低语在耳边响起。
我怒不可遏。一个急转身，狠狠揪住与我作梗的人的领子。果然不出所料，他打扮得跟我一模一样：西班牙式蓝天鹅绒披风，猩红的腰带，腰带上挂一把长剑，脸上蒙着黑色的丝绸面具。
“恶棍！”我叫道，愤怒得声音都哑了。每吐出一个字，怒火都要旺盛几分，“恶棍！
fraud!可恶的大坏蛋！你不该——你不该这样把我缠个死！跟我来，不然我一剑刺穿你！ "
我拽着他就走，我们穿过人群，离开舞场，来到隔壁的小会客厅。
一进屋，我就猛地把他搡了出去。他跌跌撞撞退到墙边。我骂了一句，关上了门。我让他拔出剑来。他犹豫了一会儿，然后，幽幽地叹息一声，默默拔出剑，拉开了防御的架势。
决斗的时间实际上很短。我受了各种刺激，狂怒不已，只觉自己的一条胳膊力大无穷。
几秒钟之内，我使出全部力气，把他逼到墙壁跟前。他陷入了可怜的境地。我残忍地一剑刺中他的胸口，一剑，又一剑，捅了很多下。
那会子，有人想把插销弄开。我慌忙堵在门上，不让任何人闯进来。然后马上回身走向对手。他快死了。可看到呈现在眼前的景象，心中的惊讶，恐惧，人类的哪种语言能够贴切地描绘出来？我的视线不过转移了短短的一瞬，就在那一瞬，房间上首或者说远处的布景就起了明显的变化：房间里居然立了面大镜子，原先可没有。开始我还以为是看花眼了。我恐惧极了，一步一步朝镜子走去，自己的影像迎面走来，面色苍白，血迹斑斑，步态凌乱，虚弱地摇晃着。
那是我的影像，我刚才说，其实不是。那是我的对手——是威尔逊！他奄奄一息，痛苦地站在我面前。面具和披风扔在地上，如今还在地上摊着。他衣服上的每一个针脚都像我的——他脸部触目而奇特的面部特征，哪一点都像我的，甚至与我绝对相同！
那是威尔逊，但他不再用耳语般的声音说话，他开口了，我还真以为是自己在说：“你赢了，我败了。不过，从今以后，你也死了——对人间、对天堂、对希望来说，都死掉了。
我活着，你才存在；我死了，看看这影像，这正是你自己，看你把自己谋杀得多彻底。 "