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lavengro-第76部分

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individual; seemingly a shopkeeper; who stood beside me on the 

pavement; looking at the procession。



'The mortal relics of Lord Byron;' said the dapper…looking 

individual; mouthing his words and smirking … 'the illustrious 

poet; which have been just brought from Greece; and are being 

conveyed to the family vault in …shire。'



'An illustrious poet; was he?' said I。



'Beyond all criticism;' said the dapper man; 'all we of the rising 

generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron; I myself; in 

particular; have reason to say so; in all my correspondence my 

style is formed on the Byronic model。'



I looked at the individual for a moment; who smiled and smirked to 

himself applause; and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse 

proceeding slowly up the almost endless street。  This man; this 

Byron; had for many years past been the demigod of England; and his 

verses the daily food of those who read; from the peer to the 

draper's assistant; all were admirers; or rather worshippers; of 

Byron; and all doated on his verses; and then I thought of those 

who; with genius as high as his; or higher; had lived and died 

neglected。  I thought of Milton abandoned to poverty and blindness; 

of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender mercies of 

bailiffs; and starving Otway:  they had lived neglected and 

despised; and; when they died; a few poor mourners only had 

followed them to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half god 

of when living; and now that he was dead he was followed by 

worshipping crowds; and the very sun seemed to come out on purpose 

to grace his funeral。  And; indeed; the sun; which for many days 

past had hidden its face in clouds; shone out that morn with 

wonderful brilliancy; flaming upon the black hearse and its tall 

ostrich plumes; the mourning coaches; and the long train of 

aristocratic carriages which followed behind。



'Great poet; sir;' said the dapper…looking man; 'great poet; but 

unhappy。'



Unhappy? yes; I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he had 

roamed about a fevered; distempered man; taking pleasure in nothing 

… that I had heard; but was it true? was he really unhappy? was not 

this unhappiness assumed; with the view of increasing the interest 

which the world took in him? and yet who could say?  He might be 

unhappy; and with reason。  Was he a real poet after all? might he 

not doubt himself? might he not have a lurking consciousness that 

he was undeserving of the homage which he was receiving? that it 

could not last? that he was rather at the top of fashion than of 

fame?  He was a lordling; a glittering; gorgeous lordling:  and he 

might have had a consciousness that he owed much of his celebrity 

to being so; he might have felt that he was rather at the top of 

fashion than of fame。  Fashion soon changes; thought I; eagerly to 

myself … a time will come; and that speedily; when he will be no 

longer in the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his; who is 

still grinning at my side; shall have ceased to mould his style on 

Byron's; and this aristocracy; squirearchy; and what not; who now 

send their empty carriages to pay respect to the fashionable 

corpse; shall have transferred their empty worship to some other 

animate or inanimate thing。  Well; perhaps after all it was better 

to have been mighty Milton in his poverty and blindness … witty and 

ingenious Butler consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs; and 

starving Otway; they might enjoy more real pleasure than this 

lordling; they must have been aware that the world would one day do 

them justice … fame after death is better than the top of fashion 

in life。  They have left a fame behind them which shall never die; 

whilst this lordling … a time will come when he will be out of 

fashion and forgotten。  And yet I don't know; didn't he write 

Childe Harold and that ode?  Yes; he wrote Childe Harold and that 

ode。  Then a time will scarcely come when he will be forgotten。  

Lords; squires; and cockneys may pass away; but a time will 

scarcely come when Childe Harold and that ode will be forgotten。  

He was a poet; after all; and he must have known it; a real poet; 

equal to … to … what a destiny!  Rank; beauty; fashion; 

immortality; … he could not be unhappy; what a difference in the 

fate of men … I wish I could think he was unhappy 。 。 。 。



I turned away。



'Great poet; sir;' said the dapper man; turning away too; 'but 

unhappy … fate of genius; sir; I; too; am frequently unhappy。'



Hurrying down a street to the right; I encountered Francis Ardry。



'What means the multitude yonder?' he demanded。



'They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the remains of 

Byron up Tottenham Road。'



'I have seen the man;' said my friend; as he turned back the way he 

had come; 'so I can dispense with seeing the hearse … I saw the 

living man at Venice … ah; a great poet。'



'Yes;' said I; 'a great poet; it must be so; everybody says so … 

what a destiny!  What a difference in the fate of men; but 'tis 

said he was unhappy; you have seen him; how did he look?'



'Oh; beautiful!'



'But did he look happy?'



'Why; I can't say he looked very unhappy; I saw him with two 。 。 。 

very fair ladies; but what is it to you whether the man was unhappy 

or not?  Come; where shall we go … to Joey's?  His hugest bear … '



'Oh; I have had enough of bears; I have just been worried by one。'



'The publisher?'



'Yes。'



'Then come to Joey's; three dogs are to be launched at his bear:  

as they pin him; imagine him to be the publisher。'



'No;' said I; 'I am good for nothing; I think I shall stroll to 

London Bridge。'



'That's too far for me … farewell。'







CHAPTER XL







London Bridge … Why not? … Every heart has its bitters … Wicked 

boys … Give me my book … Such a fright … Honour bright。



SO I went to London Bridge; and again took my station on the spot 

by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion。  The booth; 

however; was empty; neither the apple…woman nor her stall was to be 

seen。  I looked over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was 

now; as before; rolling beneath the arch with frightful 

impetuosity。  As I gazed upon the eddies of the whirlpool; I 

thought within myself how soon human life would become extinct 

there; a plunge; a convulsive flounder; and all would be over。  

When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse … a 

fascination; I had resisted it … I did not plunge into it。  At 

present I felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of 

a different kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life; I looked 

wistfully at the eddies … what had I to live for? … what; indeed!  

I thought of Brandt and Struensee; and Yeoman Patch … should I 

yield to the impulse … why not?  My eyes were fixed on the eddies。  

All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I saw heads in the pool; 

hum
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