THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS(深渊居民)

VIP免费

2024-12-25 0 0 622.43KB 174 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

THE PEOPLE OF THE

ABYSS

by Jack London

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

The chief priests and rulers cry:-

"O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt, We build but as our fathers

built; Behold thine images how they stand Sovereign and sole through all

our land.

"Our task is hard--with sword and flame, To hold thine earth forever

the same, And with sharp crooks of steel to keep, Still as thou leftest them,

thy sheep."

Then Christ sought out an artisan, A low-browed, stunted, haggard

man, And a motherless girl whose fingers thin Crushed from her faintly

want and sin.

These set he in the midst of them, And as they drew back their garment

hem For fear of defilement, "Lo, here," said he, "The images ye have

made of me."

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

PREFACE

The experiences related in this volume fell to me in the summer of

1902. I went down into the under-world of London with an attitude of

mind which I may best liken to that of the explorer. I was open to be

convinced by the evidence of my eyes, rather than by the teachings of

those who had not seen, or by the words of those who had seen and gone

before. Further, I took with me certain simple criteria with which to

measure the life of the under-world. That which made for more life, for

physical and spiritual health, was good; that which made for less life,

which hurt, and dwarfed, and distorted life, was bad.

It will be readily apparent to the reader that I saw much that was bad.

Yet it must not be forgotten that the time of which I write was considered

"good times" in England. The starvation and lack of shelter I

encountered constituted a chronic condition of misery which is never

wiped out, even in the periods of greatest prosperity.

Following the summer in question came a hard winter. Great

numbers of the unemployed formed into processions, as many as a dozen

at a time, and daily marched through the streets of London crying for

bread. Mr. Justin McCarthy, writing in the month of January 1903, to the

New York Independent, briefly epitomises the situation as follows:-

"The workhouses have no space left in which to pack the starving

crowds who are craving every day and night at their doors for food and

shelter. All the charitable institutions have exhausted their means in

trying to raise supplies of food for the famishing residents of the garrets

and cellars of London lanes and alleys. The quarters of the Salvation Army

in various parts of London are nightly besieged by hosts of the

unemployed and the hungry for whom neither shelter nor the means of

sustenance can be provided."

It has been urged that the criticism I have passed on things as they are

in England is too pessimistic. I must say, in extenuation, that of optimists

I am the most optimistic. But I measure manhood less by political

aggregations than by individuals. Society grows, while political

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

machines rack to pieces and become "scrap." For the English, so far as

manhood and womanhood and health and happiness go, I see a broad and

smiling future. But for a great deal of the political machinery, which at

present mismanages for them, I see nothing else than the scrap heap.

JACK LONDON. PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA.

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

CHAPTER I--THE DESCENT

"But you can't do it, you know," friends said, to whom I applied for

assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of

London. "You had better see the police for a guide," they added, on

second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust themselves to the

psychological processes of a madman who had come to them with better

credentials than brains.

"But I don't want to see the police," I protested. "What I wish to do is

to go down into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to know

how those people are living there, and why they are living there, and what

they are living for. In short, I am going to live there myself."

"You don't want to LIVE down there!" everybody said, with

disapprobation writ large upon their faces. "Why, it is said there are

places where a man's life isn't worth tu'pence."

"The very places I wish to see," I broke in.

"But you can't, you know," was the unfailing rejoinder.

"Which is not what I came to see you about," I answered brusquely,

somewhat nettled by their incomprehension. "I am a stranger here, and I

want you to tell me what you know of the East End, in order that I may

have something to start on."

"But we know nothing of the East End. It is over there, somewhere."

And they waved their hands vaguely in the direction where the sun on rare

occasions may be seen to rise.

"Then I shall go to Cook's," I announced.

"Oh yes," they said, with relief. "Cook's will be sure to know."

But O Cook, O Thomas Cook & Son, path-finders and trail-clearers,

living sign-posts to all the world, and bestowers of first aid to bewildered

travellers--unhesitatingly and instantly, with ease and celerity, could you

send me to Darkest Africa or Innermost Thibet, but to the East End of

London, barely a stone's throw distant from Ludgate Circus, you know not

the way!

"You can't do it, you know," said the human emporium of routes and

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

fares at Cook's Cheapside branch. "It is so--hem--so unusual."

"Consult the police," he concluded authoritatively, when I had

persisted. "We are not accustomed to taking travellers to the East End;

we receive no call to take them there, and we know nothing whatsoever

about the place at all."

"Never mind that," I interposed, to save myself from being swept out

of the office by his flood of negations. "Here's something you can do for

me. I wish you to understand in advance what I intend doing, so that in

case of trouble you may be able to identify me."

"Ah, I see! should you be murdered, we would be in position to

identify the corpse."

He said it so cheerfully and cold-bloodedly that on the instant I saw

my stark and mutilated cadaver stretched upon a slab where cool waters

trickle ceaselessly, and him I saw bending over and sadly and patiently

identifying it as the body of the insane American who WOULD see the

East End.

"No, no," I answered; "merely to identify me in case I get into a scrape

with the 'bobbies.'" This last I said with a thrill; truly, I was gripping

hold of the vernacular.

"That," he said, "is a matter for the consideration of the Chief Office."

"It is so unprecedented, you know," he added apologetically.

The man at the Chief Office hemmed and hawed. "We make it a

rule," he explained, "to give no information concerning our clients."

"But in this case," I urged, "it is the client who requests you to give the

information concerning himself."

Again he hemmed and hawed.

"Of course," I hastily anticipated, "I know it is unprecedented, but--"

"As I was about to remark," he went on steadily, "it is unprecedented,

and I don't think we can do anything for you."

However, I departed with the address of a detective who lived in the

East End, and took my way to the American consul-general. And here, at

last, I found a man with whom I could "do business." There was no

hemming and hawing, no lifted brows, open incredulity, or blank

amazement. In one minute I explained myself and my project, which he

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

accepted as a matter of course. In the second minute he asked my age,

height, and weight, and looked me over. And in the third minute, as we

shook hands at parting, he said: "All right, Jack. I'll remember you and

keep track."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Having burnt my ships behind me, I was

now free to plunge into that human wilderness of which nobody seemed to

know anything. But at once I encountered a new difficulty in the shape

of my cabby, a grey-whiskered and eminently decorous personage who

had imperturbably driven me for several hours about the "City."

"Drive me down to the East End," I ordered, taking my seat.

"Where, sir?" he demanded with frank surprise.

"To the East End, anywhere. Go on."

The hansom pursued an aimless way for several minutes, then came to

a puzzled stop. The aperture above my head was uncovered, and the

cabman peered down perplexedly at me.

"I say," he said, "wot plyce yer wanter go?"

"East End," I repeated. "Nowhere in particular. Just drive me

around anywhere."

"But wot's the haddress, sir?"

"See here!" I thundered. "Drive me down to the East End, and at

once!"

It was evident that he did not understand, but he withdrew his head,

and grumblingly started his horse.

Nowhere in the streets of London may one escape the sight of abject

poverty, while five minutes' walk from almost any point will bring one to

a slum; but the region my hansom was now penetrating was one unending

slum. The streets were filled with a new and different race of people,

short of stature, and of wretched or beer-sodden appearance. We rolled

along through miles of bricks and squalor, and from each cross street and

alley flashed long vistas of bricks and misery. Here and there lurched a

drunken man or woman, and the air was obscene with sounds of jangling

and squabbling. At a market, tottery old men and women were searching

in the garbage thrown in the mud for rotten potatoes, beans, and

vegetables, while little children clustered like flies around a festering mass

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

of fruit, thrusting their arms to the shoulders into the liquid corruption, and

drawing forth morsels but partially decayed, which they devoured on the

spot.

Not a hansom did I meet with in all my drive, while mine was like an

apparition from another and better world, the way the children ran after it

and alongside. And as far as I could see were the solid walls of brick, the

slimy pavements, and the screaming streets; and for the first time in my

life the fear of the crowd smote me. It was like the fear of the sea; and

the miserable multitudes, street upon street, seemed so many waves of a

vast and malodorous sea, lapping about me and threatening to well up and

over me.

"Stepney, sir; Stepney Station," the cabby called down.

I looked about. It was really a railroad station, and he had driven

desperately to it as the one familiar spot he had ever heard of in all that

wilderness.

"Well," I said.

He spluttered unintelligibly, shook his head, and looked very miserable.

"I'm a strynger 'ere," he managed to articulate. "An' if yer don't want

Stepney Station, I'm blessed if I know wotcher do want."

"I'll tell you what I want," I said. "You drive along and keep your eye

out for a shop where old clothes are sold. Now, when you see such a

shop, drive right on till you turn the corner, then stop and let me out."

I could see that he was growing dubious of his fare, but not long

afterwards he pulled up to the curb and informed me that an old- clothes

shop was to be found a bit of the way back.

"Won'tcher py me?" he pleaded. "There's seven an' six owin' me."

"Yes," I laughed, "and it would be the last I'd see of you."

"Lord lumme, but it'll be the last I see of you if yer don't py me," he

retorted.

But a crowd of ragged onlookers had already gathered around the cab,

and I laughed again and walked back to the old-clothes shop.

Here the chief difficulty was in making the shopman understand that I

really and truly wanted old clothes. But after fruitless attempts to press

upon me new and impossible coats and trousers, he began to bring to light

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

heaps of old ones, looking mysterious the while and hinting darkly. This

he did with the palpable intention of letting me know that he had "piped

my lay," in order to bulldose me, through fear of exposure, into paying

heavily for my purchases. A man in trouble, or a high-class criminal

from across the water, was what he took my measure for--in either case, a

person anxious to avoid the police.

But I disputed with him over the outrageous difference between prices

and values, till I quite disabused him of the notion, and he settled down to

drive a hard bargain with a hard customer. In the end I selected a pair of

stout though well-worn trousers, a frayed jacket with one remaining button,

a pair of brogans which had plainly seen service where coal was shovelled,

a thin leather belt, and a very dirty cloth cap. My underclothing and

socks, however, were new and warm, but of the sort that any American

waif, down in his luck, could acquire in the ordinary course of events.

"I must sy yer a sharp 'un," he said, with counterfeit admiration, as I

handed over the ten shillings finally agreed upon for the outfit. "Blimey,

if you ain't ben up an' down Petticut Lane afore now. Yer trouseys is

wuth five bob to hany man, an' a docker 'ud give two an' six for the shoes,

to sy nothin' of the coat an' cap an' new stoker's singlet an' hother things."

"How much will you give me for them?" I demanded suddenly. "I

paid you ten bob for the lot, and I'll sell them back to you, right now, for

eight! Come, it's a go!"

But he grinned and shook his head, and though I had made a good

bargain, I was unpleasantly aware that he had made a better one.

I found the cabby and a policeman with their heads together, but the

latter, after looking me over sharply, and particularly scrutinizing the

bundle under my arm, turned away and left the cabby to wax mutinous by

himself. And not a step would he budge till I paid him the seven shillings

and sixpence owing him. Whereupon he was willing to drive me to the

ends of the earth, apologising profusely for his insistence, and explaining

that one ran across queer customers in London Town.

But he drove me only to Highbury Vale, in North London, where my

luggage was waiting for me. Here, next day, I took off my shoes (not

without regret for their lightness and comfort), and my soft, grey travelling

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

suit, and, in fact, all my clothing; and proceeded to array myself in the

clothes of the other and unimaginable men, who must have been indeed

unfortunate to have had to part with such rags for the pitiable sums

obtainable from a dealer.

Inside my stoker's singlet, in the armpit, I sewed a gold sovereign (an

emergency sum certainly of modest proportions); and inside my stoker's

singlet I put myself. And then I sat down and moralised upon the fair

years and fat, which had made my skin soft and brought the nerves close

to the surface; for the singlet was rough and raspy as a hair shirt, and I am

confident that the most rigorous of ascetics suffer no more than I did in the

ensuing twenty-four hours.

The remainder of my costume was fairly easy to put on, though the

brogans, or brogues, were quite a problem. As stiff and hard as if made

of wood, it was only after a prolonged pounding of the uppers with my

fists that I was able to get my feet into them at all. Then, with a few

shillings, a knife, a handkerchief, and some brown papers and flake

tobacco stowed away in my pockets, I thumped down the stairs and said

good-bye to my foreboding friends. As I paused out of the door, the

"help," a comely middle-aged woman, could not conquer a grin that

twisted her lips and separated them till the throat, out of involuntary

sympathy, made the uncouth animal noises we are wont to designate as

"laughter."

No sooner was I out on the streets than I was impressed by the

difference in status effected by my clothes. All servility vanished from

the demeanour of the common people with whom I came in contact.

Presto! in the twinkling of an eye, so to say, I had become one of them.

My frayed and out-at-elbows jacket was the badge and advertisement of

my class, which was their class. It made me of like kind, and in place of

the fawning and too respectful attention I had hitherto received, I now

shared with them a comradeship. The man in corduroy and dirty

neckerchief no longer addressed me as "sir" or "governor." It was "mate"

now--and a fine and hearty word, with a tingle to it, and a warmth and

gladness, which the other term does not possess. Governor! It smacks

of mastery, and power, and high authority--the tribute of the man who is

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

THEPEOPLEOFTHEABYSS1THEPEOPLEOFTHEABYSSbyJackLondonTHEPEOPLEOFTHEABYSS2Thechiefpriestsandrulerscry:-"OLordandMaster,notourstheguilt,Webuildbutasourfathersbuilt;BeholdthineimageshowtheystandSovereignandsolethroughallourland."Ourtaskishard--withswordandflame,Toholdthineearthforeverthesame,Andwithsharp...

展开>> 收起<<

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS(深渊居民).pdf

共174页,预览35页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS(深渊居民)

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: