THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS(七个可怜的旅行者)

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THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

THE SEVEN POOR

TRAVELLERS

by Charles Dickens

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

CHAPTER I--IN THE OLD CITY

OF ROCHESTER

Strictly speaking, there were only six Poor Travellers; but, being a

Traveller myself, though an idle one, and being withal as poor as I hope to

be, I brought the number up to seven. This word of explanation is due at

once, for what says the inscription over the quaint old door?

RICHARD WATTS, Esq. by his Will, dated 22 Aug. 1579, founded

this Charity for Six poor Travellers, who not being ROGUES, or

PROCTORS, May receive gratis for one Night, Lodging, Entertainment,

and Fourpence each.

It was in the ancient little city of Rochester in Kent, of all the good

days in the year upon a Christmas-eve, that I stood reading this inscription

over the quaint old door in question. I had been wandering about the

neighbouring Cathedral, and had seen the tomb of Richard Watts, with the

effigy of worthy Master Richard starting out of it like a ship's figure-head;

and I had felt that I could do no less, as I gave the Verger his fee, than

inquire the way to Watts's Charity. The way being very short and very

plain, I had come prosperously to the inscription and the quaint old door.

"Now," said I to myself, as I looked at the knocker, "I know I am not a

Proctor; I wonder whether I am a Rogue!"

Upon the whole, though Conscience reproduced two or three pretty

faces which might have had smaller attraction for a moral Goliath than

they had had for me, who am but a Tom Thumb in that way, I came to the

conclusion that I was not a Rogue. So, beginning to regard the

establishment as in some sort my property, bequeathed to me and divers

co-legatees, share and share alike, by the Worshipful Master Richard Watts,

I stepped backward into the road to survey my inheritance.

I found it to be a clean white house, of a staid and venerable air, with

the quaint old door already three times mentioned (an arched door), choice

little long low lattice-windows, and a roof of three gables. The silent

High Street of Rochester is full of gables, with old beams and timbers

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

carved into strange faces. It is oddly garnished with a queer old clock

that projects over the pavement out of a grave red-brick building, as if

Time carried on business there, and hung out his sign. Sooth to say, he

did an active stroke of work in Rochester, in the old days of the Romans,

and the Saxons, and the Normans; and down to the times of King John,

when the rugged castle--I will not undertake to say how many hundreds of

years old then--was abandoned to the centuries of weather which have so

defaced the dark apertures in its walls, that the ruin looks as if the rooks

and daws had pecked its eyes out.

I was very well pleased, both with my property and its situation. While

I was yet surveying it with growing content, I espied, at one of the upper

lattices which stood open, a decent body, of a wholesome matronly

appearance, whose eyes I caught inquiringly addressed to mine. They

said so plainly, "Do you wish to see the house?" that I answered aloud,

"Yes, if you please." And within a minute the old door opened, and I

bent my head, and went down two steps into the entry.

"This," said the matronly presence, ushering me into a low room on

the right, "is where the Travellers sit by the fire, and cook what bits of

suppers they buy with their fourpences."

"O! Then they have no Entertainment?" said I. For the inscription

over the outer door was still running in my head, and I was mentally

repeating, in a kind of tune, "Lodging, entertainment, and fourpence each."

"They have a fire provided for 'em," returned the matron--a mighty

civil person, not, as I could make out, overpaid; "and these cooking

utensils. And this what's painted on a board is the rules for their

behaviour. They have their fourpences when they get their tickets from

the steward over the way,--for I don't admit 'em myself, they must get their

tickets first,--and sometimes one buys a rasher of bacon, and another a

herring, and another a pound of potatoes, or what not. Sometimes two or

three of 'em will club their fourpences together, and make a supper that

way. But not much of anything is to be got for fourpence, at present,

when provisions is so dear."

"True indeed," I remarked. I had been looking about the room,

admiring its snug fireside at the upper end, its glimpse of the street

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

through the low mullioned window, and its beams overhead. "It is very

comfortable," said I.

"Ill-conwenient," observed the matronly presence.

I liked to hear her say so; for it showed a commendable anxiety to

execute in no niggardly spirit the intentions of Master Richard Watts.

But the room was really so well adapted to its purpose that I protested,

quite enthusiastically, against her disparagement.

"Nay, ma'am," said I, "I am sure it is warm in winter and cool in

summer. It has a look of homely welcome and soothing rest. It has a

remarkably cosey fireside, the very blink of which, gleaming out into the

street upon a winter night, is enough to warm all Rochester's heart. And

as to the convenience of the six Poor Travellers--"

"I don't mean them," returned the presence. "I speak of its being an

ill-conwenience to myself and my daughter, having no other room to sit in

of a night."

This was true enough, but there was another quaint room of

corresponding dimensions on the opposite side of the entry: so I stepped

across to it, through the open doors of both rooms, and asked what this

chamber was for.

"This," returned the presence, "is the Board Room. Where the

gentlemen meet when they come here."

Let me see. I had counted from the street six upper windows besides

these on the ground-story. Making a perplexed calculation in my mind, I

rejoined, "Then the six Poor Travellers sleep upstairs?"

My new friend shook her head. "They sleep," she answered, "in two

little outer galleries at the back, where their beds has always been, ever

since the Charity was founded. It being so very ill- conwenient to me as

things is at present, the gentlemen are going to take off a bit of the back-

yard, and make a slip of a room for 'em there, to sit in before they go to

bed."

"And then the six Poor Travellers," said I, "will be entirely out of the

house?"

"Entirely out of the house," assented the presence, comfortably

smoothing her hands. "Which is considered much better for all parties,

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

and much more conwenient."

I had been a little startled, in the Cathedral, by the emphasis with

which the effigy of Master Richard Watts was bursting out of his tomb;

but I began to think, now, that it might be expected to come across the

High Street some stormy night, and make a disturbance here.

Howbeit, I kept my thoughts to myself, and accompanied the presence

to the little galleries at the back. I found them on a tiny scale, like the

galleries in old inn-yards; and they were very clean.

While I was looking at them, the matron gave me to understand that

the prescribed number of Poor Travellers were forthcoming every night

from year's end to year's end; and that the beds were always occupied.

My questions upon this, and her replies, brought us back to the Board

Room so essential to the dignity of "the gentlemen," where she showed me

the printed accounts of the Charity hanging up by the window. From

them I gathered that the greater part of the property bequeathed by the

Worshipful Master Richard Watts for the maintenance of this foundation

was, at the period of his death, mere marsh-land; but that, in course of

time, it had been reclaimed and built upon, and was very considerably

increased in value. I found, too, that about a thirtieth part of the annual

revenue was now expended on the purposes commemorated in the

inscription over the door; the rest being handsomely laid out in Chancery,

law expenses, collectorship, receivership, poundage, and other appendages

of management, highly complimentary to the importance of the six Poor

Travellers. In short, I made the not entirely new discovery that it may be

said of an establishment like this, in dear old England, as of the fat oyster

in the American story, that it takes a good many men to swallow it whole.

"And pray, ma'am," said I, sensible that the blankness of my face

began to brighten as the thought occurred to me, "could one see these

Travellers?"

"Well!" she returned dubiously, "no!"

"Not to-night, for instance!" said I.

"Well!" she returned more positively, "no. Nobody ever asked to see

them, and nobody ever did see them."

As I am not easily balked in a design when I am set upon it, I urged to

THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS

the good lady that this was Christmas-eve; that Christmas comes but once

a year,--which is unhappily too true, for when it begins to stay with us the

whole year round we shall make this earth a very different place; that I

was possessed by the desire to treat the Travellers to a supper and a

temperate glass of hot Wassail; that the voice of Fame had been heard in

that land, declaring my ability to make hot Wassail; that if I were

permitted to hold the feast, I should be found conformable to reason,

sobriety, and good hours; in a word, that I could be merry and wise myself,

and had been even known at a pinch to keep others so, although I was

decorated with no badge or medal, and was not a Brother, Orator, Apostle,

Saint, or Prophet of any denomination whatever. In the end I prevailed,

to my great joy. It was settled that at nine o'clock that night a Turkey and

a piece of Roast Beef should smoke upon the board; and that I, faint and

unworthy minister for once of Master Richard Watts, should preside as the

Christmas-supper host of the six Poor Travellers.

I went back to my inn to give the necessary directions for the Turkey

and Roast Beef, and, during the remainder of the day, could settle to

nothing for thinking of the Poor Travellers. When the wind blew hard

against the windows,--it was a cold day, with dark gusts of sleet

alternating with periods of wild brightness, as if the year were dying

fitfully,--I pictured them advancing towards their resting-place along

various cold roads, and felt delighted to think how little they foresaw the

supper that awaited them. I painted their portraits in my mind, and

indulged in little heightening touches. I made them footsore; I made

them weary; I made them carry packs and bundles; I made them stop by

finger-posts and milestones, leaning on their bent sticks, and looking

wistfully at what was written there; I made them lose their way; and filled

their five wits with apprehensions of lying out all night, and being frozen

to death. I took up my hat, and went out, climbed to the top of the Old

Castle, and looked over the windy hills that slope down to the Medway,

almost believing that I could descry some of my Travellers in the distance.

After it fell dark, and the Cathedral bell was heard in the invisible steeple--

quite a bower of frosty rime when I had last seen it--striking five, six,

seven, I became so full of my Travellers that I could eat no dinner, and felt

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摘要：

THESEVENPOORTRAVELLERS1THESEVENPOORTRAVELLERSbyCharlesDickensTHESEVENPOORTRAVELLERS2CHAPTERI--INTHEOLDCITYOFROCHESTERStrictlyspeaking,therewereonlysixPoorTravellers;but,beingaTravellermyself,thoughanidleone,andbeingwithalaspoorasIhopetobe,Ibroughtthenumberuptoseven.Thiswordofexplanationisdueatonce,f...

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THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS(七个可怜的旅行者)

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