--------
①西西弗斯（Sisyphus）：希腊神话中的科林斯王，因生时作恶多端，得罪了神，死后堕入地狱，被罚推石上山，但石到山顶的时候就要倒滚下来，永远如此，使他劳苦不已。
②见莎士比亚所著戏剧《安东尼与克利奥佩特拉》第二幕第二场：
爱诺巴勃斯：“不，他决不会丢弃她，年龄不能使她衰老，习惯也腐蚀不了她的变化无穷的伎俩。别的女人使人日久生厌，她却越是给人满足，越是使人饥渴；……”
究竟是她不重视她那只能引起对她爱慕（这种爱慕对她是毫无价值的）的魅力呢，还是她有意这样对待她的魅力，使那些爱慕者感到这种魅力更为宝贵呢，那些把这种魅力看得很宝贵的人们很少停下来想一想。
“格兰杰夫人，”董贝先生向她走近一步，说道，“我希望，我们不是使您停止弹琴的原因吧？”
“•你•们？哦，不！”
“那么你为什么不继续弹下去呢，我最亲爱的伊迪丝？”克利奥佩特拉问道。
“我弹不弹——都随我自己喜欢。”
她讲这些话时态度非常冷淡；这种冷淡与感觉迟钝或麻木不仁截然不同，因为它是由于高傲的原因而有意显露出来的；这时她用手带过琴弦，走到房间的另一端去；她那漫不经心的神态把她的冷淡衬托得更为突出。
“您知道吗，董贝先生，”衰弱无力的母亲玩弄着一块手提的遮光板，说道，“我最亲爱的伊迪丝偶尔跟我的意见实际上几乎是不一致的——”
“不是偶尔吧，我们不是时常不一致吗，妈妈？”伊迪丝说道。
“啊，不，我亲爱的宝贝！别那么说，那会使我很伤心的，”她的母亲回答道，一边想用遮光板轻轻拍打她，伊迪丝却没有挨近去让她拍打，“在一些小事情上，在待人接物的态度方面必须遵守的严格的陈规旧俗上，我的伊迪丝是经常跟我意见不一致的，是不是？为什么我们不能更自然些呢？阿，我的天！既然在我们的心灵中灌输进了这些急切的希望、洋溢的热情、激动的感情，而它们又是多么十分可爱，那么为什么我们不能更自然一些呢？”
董贝先生说，她的话说得很对，很对。
“我想，如果我们设法去做，我们就能够更自然一些。”斯丘顿夫人说道。
“绝对不行，夫人，”少校说道，“那样做我们受不了。除非这世界上满都是乔•白——坚强不屈、直肠直肚的老乔，夫人，满都是清淡的带卵的熏鲱鱼，先生——否则我们就受不了，万万不能那样！”
“你这没礼貌的异教徒！”斯丘顿夫人说道，“别吱声！”
“克利奥佩特拉命令，安东尼•白格斯托克服从。①”少校送了一个飞吻，问答道。
--------
①少校在这里把自己比作马克•安东尼。马克•安东尼（MarkAntony，公元前82A81—30年），是古代罗马卓越的军事与政治预袖，凯撒的亲密同僚。公元前43年，他主管东方各行省，召见埃及女王克利奥佩特拉，成为她的情夫，公元前40年，他回到意大利，与渥大维签订一顶协定，并与渥大维的妹妹结婚；但不出三年，他便与渥大维势不两立，一再去东方与克利奥佩特拉幽会，在与渥大维妹妹离婚后，终于与克利奥佩特拉结为夫妻，并因此成为全体罗马人诛讨的对象。
“这是个麻木不仁的人，”斯丘顿夫人说道，一边狠狠地举起遮光板，把少校挡在外面，“他没有任何同情心；如果没有同情心的话，我们还能生活吗？还有什么别的能像它这么极为可爱的呢？如果没有这道阳光照耀到我们这冰冷冰冷的土地上的话，那么我们怎么可能忍受得了这种寒冷呢？”斯丘顿夫人说，一边整整她的花边领布，得意扬扬地从手腕往上看，观察着她露在衣服外面的枯瘦的胳膊所发挥的作用，“一句话，冷淡无情的人！”她又从遮光板旁边向少校看了一眼，“我想使我的世界全都是心；信仰又是这么非常可爱，因此我不容许你去搅乱它，你听见了没有？”
少校回答说，克利奥佩特拉要求全世界都是心，而且还要求全世界的心都归她占有，这是个苛刻的要求；这迫使克利奥佩特拉提醒他，谄媚是她所不能忍受的，如果他胆敢再用这种腔调来对她说话，那么她一定要把他撵回家去。
这时脸无血色的威瑟斯送上茶来，董贝先生又转向伊迪丝。
“这里似乎没有什么社交活动吧？”董贝先生保持着他那特有的自命不凡的绅士派头，说道。
“我想没有。我们没有看到。”
“啊，真的，”斯丘顿夫人从她的长沙发椅中说道，“现在这里没有什么我们愿意跟他们来往的人。”
“他们没有足够的心，”伊迪丝露出一丝微笑，说道。这是若隐若现的微笑，就像薄暮或黎明，光明与黑暗是多么奇怪地混合在一起。
“你看，我最亲爱的伊迪丝在嘲笑我呢！”母亲摇摇头说道；她的头有时无意在摇着，仿佛麻痹症不时发作一下，要跟不时闪耀着的钻石比赛高低似的。“坏东西！”
“如果我没错，您以前来过这里吧？”董贝先生仍然对着伊迪丝，说道。
“啊，来过好几次了。我想我们什么地方都去过了。”
“这是个美丽的地方！”
“我想是的，人人都这么说。”
“你的表哥菲尼克斯对它喜欢得就像入了迷似的，伊迪丝，”她的母亲从长沙发椅中插嘴道。
女儿轻微地转过她那美丽的头，稍稍扬起眉毛，仿佛她的表哥菲尼克斯是尘世间最不值得注意的人似的；她的眼睛又转向董贝先生。
“考虑到我审美能力的声誉，我希望我对附近的地方都已厌倦了，”她说道。
“您也许很有理由觉得这样吧，夫人，”他朝大量散摆在房间四处的各种风景画看了一眼，说道；他已看出其中有几幅是描写附近的景致的，“如果这些美丽的作品是出于您的手笔的话。”
她没有回答他，而是以目空一切的美人的姿态，十分惊异地坐在那里。
“是不是这样？”董贝先生问道，“它们是不是您画的？”
“是的。”
“您还会弹琴，我早知道了。”
“是的。”
“还会唱歌吧？”
“是的。”
她用奇怪的、勉强的口吻回答这些问题，并露出跟自己对抗的神情；前面已经指出，这是她的美貌的一个特点。可是她并不局促不安，而完全是泰然自若。她似乎也并不希望避开谈话，因为她的脸朝着他，她的态度也尽可能地注意着他；当他沉默的时候，她也依然如此。
“您至少有许多方法来排遣烦闷，”董贝先生说道。
“不管它们的效果怎么样，”她回答道，“这些方法现在您全都知道了。我没有什么别的方法。”
“我可以希望把它们的效果全部证明一下吗？”董贝先生放下手中的一幅图画，指着竖琴，庄严而又殷勤地问道。
“啊，当然可以，如果您愿意的话。”
她一边说，一边站起来；当她走过母亲的长沙发椅时，她向那里投去了庄严的眼光，时间是短促的一瞬，但它却包含了许多表情，其中那若隐若现的微笑把其余的表情都遮蔽了；——她就这样走出了房间。
少校这时得到了完全的宽恕；他把一个有轮子的小桌子推到克利奥佩特拉身旁，坐下来跟她玩皮基特牌①。董贝先生不懂得玩这种纸牌；当伊迪丝没有回来的时候，他就坐下来看他们玩，从中学习。
--------
①皮基特牌：一种二人玩的纸牌游戏。
“我希望，我们将听到音乐吧，董贝先生？”克利奥佩特拉说道。
“承蒙格兰杰夫人的厚意，她已经答应了，”董贝先生说道。
“啊，好极了。是你建议的吗，少校？”
“不是，夫人，”少校说，“我提不出这样的建议。”
“你是个野蛮人，”那位夫人回答道，“我的手气都给你败坏，打不出好牌来了。您喜欢音乐吧，董贝先生？”
“非常喜欢。”这是董贝先生的回答。
“是的。好极了。”克利奥佩特拉看着纸牌，说道，“音乐包含着许多心，它使人模糊地回想起人类往昔的生存状态——还有很多别的东西，那确实是多么可爱。您可知道，”克利奥佩特拉窃笑着，一边把抓进来的那张脚朝天的梅花杰克掉过头去，“如果有什么东西诱使我结束我的生命的话，那就是想要了解我们周围的一切究竟是什么、它的意义究竟是什么的好奇心；确实，有那么耐人寻味的秘密隐藏着，我们还不知道。少校，你出牌！”
少校出了牌；董贝先生继续看着，从中学习，他本来很早就已完全看不明白了，可是他根本没有注意玩牌，而是坐在那里纳闷：伊迪丝什么时候才会回来呢。
她终于回来了，并且在竖琴前面坐下来；董贝先生站起身来，站在她旁边，听着。他对音乐没有什么欣赏力，对她弹奏的曲调一无所知，但是他看见她向竖琴弯下身子，也许他还在琴弦的声音中听到在什么遥远的地方响起了他自己的音乐；它驯服了铁路这个怪物，使它不像过去那么难以抗拒了。
克利奥佩特拉玩皮基特牌的时候，眼睛确实敏锐。它们像鸟儿的眼睛一样闪着光，而且没有死死盯在纸牌上，而是注视着整个房间，从这一端到那一端，毫无疏漏。它们的光闪射到竖琴上，闪射到弹琴人的身上，闪射到听琴人的身上，闪射到每一样东西上。
傲慢的美人弹完之后，站起来，用跟先前一样的态度接受了董贝先生的感谢与恭维；然后几乎没有停歇地走向钢琴，开始弹奏起来。
伊迪丝•格兰杰，您不论弹唱哪首歌曲都可以，但请别弹唱这首歌曲吧！伊迪丝•格兰杰，您是很标致的，您的指法是出色的，您的声音是深沉和嘹亮的，但是请您别弹唱他的受冷落的女儿曾经唱给他的死去的儿子听的这首歌曲吧！
啊，他没有听出来；如果他听出来的话，还有什么歌曲能像这首歌曲那样，会把他这冷酷的人搅得心神不宁呢！安睡吧。孤独的弗洛伦斯，安睡吧！虽然夜已经黑了，乌云正在密布，好像就要下冰雹了，但祝愿您的梦是安宁的！
Chapter 22
A Trifle of Management by Mr Carker the Manager
Mr Carker the Manager sat at his desk, smooth and soft as usual, reading those letters which were reserved for him to open, backing them occasionally with such memoranda and references as their business purport required, and parcelling them out into little heaps for distribution through the several departments of the House. The post had come in heavy that morning, and Mr Carker the Manager had a good deal to do.
The general action of a man so engaged - pausing to look over a bundle of papers in his hand, dealing them round in various portions, taking up another bundle and examining its contents with knitted brows and pursed-out lips - dealing, and sorting, and pondering by turns - would easily suggest some whimsical resemblance to a player at cards. The face of Mr Carker the Manager was in good keeping with such a fancy. It was the face of a man who studied his play, warily: who made himself master of all the strong and weak points of the game: who registered the cards in his mind as they fell about him, knew exactly what was on them, what they missed, and what they made: who was crafty to find out what the other players held, and who never betrayed his own hand.
The letters were in various languages, but Mr Carker the Manager read them all. If there had been anything in the offices of Dombey and Son that he could read, there would have been a card wanting in the pack. He read almost at a glance, and made combinations of one letter with another and one business with another as he went on, adding new matter to the heaps - much as a man would know the cards at sight, and work out their combinations in his mind after they were turned. Something too deep for a partner, and much too deep for an adversary, Mr Carker the Manager sat in the rays of the sun that came down slanting on him through the skylight, playing his game alone.
And although it is not among the instincts wild or domestic of the cat tribe to play at cards, feline from sole to crown was Mr Carker the Manager, as he basked in the strip of summer-light and warmth that shone upon his table and the ground as if they were a crooked dial-plate, and himself the only figure on it. With hair and whiskers deficient in colour at all times, but feebler than common in the rich sunshine, and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell cat; with long nails, nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural antipathy to any speck of dirt, which made him pause sometimes and watch the falling motes of dust, and rub them off his smooth white hand or glossy linen: Mr Carker the Manager, sly of manner, sharp of tooth, soft of foot, watchful of eye, oily of tongue, cruel of heart, nice of habit, sat with a dainty steadfastness and patience at his work, as if he were waiting at a mouse's hole.
At length the letters were disposed of, excepting one which he reserved for a particular audience. Having locked the more confidential correspondence in a drawer, Mr Carker the Manager rang his bell.
'Why do you answer it?' was his reception of his brother.
'The messenger is out, and I am the next,' was the submissive reply.
'You are the next?' muttered the Manager. 'Yes! Creditable to me! There!'
Pointing to the heaps of opened letters, he turned disdainfully away, in his elbow-chair, and broke the seal of that one which he held in his hand.
'I am sorry to trouble you, James,' said the brother, gathering them up, 'but - '
'Oh! you have something to say. I knew that. Well?'
Mr Carker the Manager did not raise his eyes or turn them on his brother, but kept them on his letter, though without opening it.
'Well?' he repeated sharply.
'I am uneasy about Harriet.'
'Harriet who? what Harriet? I know nobody of that name.'
'She is not well, and has changed very much of late.'
'She changed very much, a great many years ago,' replied the Manager; 'and that is all I have to say.
'I think if you would hear me -
'Why should I hear you, Brother John?' returned the Manager, laying a sarcastic emphasis on those two words, and throwing up his head, but not lifting his eyes. 'I tell you, Harriet Carker made her choice many years ago between her two brothers. She may repent it, but she must abide by it.'
'Don't mistake me. I do not say she does repent it. It would be black ingratitude in me to hint at such a thing,' returned the other. 'Though believe me, James, I am as sorry for her sacrifice as you.'
'As I?' exclaimed the Manager. 'As I?'
'As sorry for her choice - for what you call her choice - as you are angry at it,' said the Junior.
'Angry?' repeated the other, with a wide show of his teeth.
'Displeased. Whatever word you like best. You know my meaning. There is no offence in my intention.'
'There is offence in everything you do,' replied his brother, glancing at him with a sudden scowl, which in a moment gave place to a wider smile than the last. 'Carry those papers away, if you please. I am busy.
His politeness was so much more cutting than his wrath, that the Junior went to the door. But stopping at it, and looking round, he said:
'When Harriet tried in vain to plead for me with you, on your first just indignation, and my first disgrace; and when she left you, James, to follow my broken fortunes, and devote herself, in her mistaken affection, to a ruined brother, because without her he had no one, and was lost; she was young and pretty. I think if you could see her now - if you would go and see her - she would move your admiration and compassion.'
The Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, as who should say, in answer to some careless small-talk, 'Dear me! Is that the case?' but said never a word.
'We thought in those days: you and I both: that she would marry young, and lead a happy and light-hearted life,' pursued the other. 'Oh if you knew how cheerfully she cast those hopes away; how cheerfully she has gone forward on the path she took, and never once looked back; you never could say again that her name was strange in your ears. Never!'
Again the Manager inclined his head and showed his teeth, and seemed to say, 'Remarkable indeed! You quite surprise me!' And again he uttered never a word.
'May I go on?' said John Carker, mildly.
'On your way?' replied his smiling brother. 'If you will have the goodness.
John Carker, with a sigh, was passing slowly out at the door, when his brother's voice detained him for a moment on the threshold.
'If she has gone, and goes, her own way cheerfully,' he said, throwing the still unfolded letter on his desk, and putting his hands firmly in his pockets, 'you may tell her that I go as cheerfully on mine. If she has never once looked back, you may tell her that I have, sometimes, to recall her taking part with you, and that my resolution is no easier to wear away;' he smiled very sweetly here; 'than marble.'
'I tell her nothing of you. We never speak about you. Once a year, on your birthday, Harriet says always, "Let us remember James by name, and wish him happy," but we say no more'
'Tell it then, if you please,' returned the other, 'to yourself. You can't repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the subject in speaking to me. I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such person. You may have a sister; make much of her. I have none.'
Mr Carker the Manager took up the letter again, and waved it with a smile of mock courtesy towards the door. Unfolding it as his brother withdrew, and looking darkly aiter him as he left the room, he once more turned round in his elbow-chair, and applied himself to a diligent perusal of its contents.
It was in the writing of his great chief, Mr Dombey, and dated from Leamington. Though he was a quick reader of all other letters, Mr Carker read this slowly; weighing the words as he went, and bringing every tooth in his head to bear upon them. When he had read it through once, he turned it over again, and picked out these passages. 'I find myself benefited by the change, and am not yet inclined to name any time for my return.' 'I wish, Carker, you would arrange to come down once and see me here, and let me know how things are going on, in person.' 'I omitted to speak to you about young Gay. If not gone per Son and Heir, or if Son and Heir still lying in the Docks, appoint some other young man and keep him in the City for the present. I am not decided.' 'Now that's unfortunate!' said Mr Carker the Manager, expanding his mouth, as if it were made of India-rubber: 'for he's far away.'
Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted his attention and his teeth, once more.
'I think,' he said, 'my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned something about being towed along in the wake of that day. What a pity he's so far away!'
He refolded the letter, and was sitting trifling with it, standing it long-wise and broad-wise on his table, and turning it over and over on all sides - doing pretty much the same thing, perhaps, by its contents - when Mr Perch the messenger knocked softly at the door, and coming in on tiptoe, bending his body at every step as if it were the delight of his life to bow, laid some papers on the table.
'Would you please to be engaged, Sir?' asked Mr Perch, rubbing his hands, and deferentially putting his head on one side, like a man who felt he had no business to hold it up in such a presence, and would keep it as much out of the way as possible.
'Who wants me?'
'Why, Sir,' said Mr Perch, in a soft voice, 'really nobody, Sir, to speak of at present. Mr Gills the Ship's Instrument-maker, Sir, has looked in, about a little matter of payment, he says: but I mentioned to him, Sir, that you was engaged several deep; several deep.'
Mr Perch coughed once behind his hand, and waited for further orders.
'Anybody else?'
'Well, Sir,' said Mr Perch, 'I wouldn't of my own self take the liberty of mentioning, Sir, that there was anybody else; but that same young lad that was here yesterday, Sir, and last week, has been hanging about the place; and it looks, Sir,' added Mr Perch, stopping to shut the door, 'dreadful unbusiness-like to see him whistling to the sparrows down the court, and making of 'em answer him.'
'You said he wanted something to do, didn't you, Perch?' asked Mr Carker, leaning back in his chair and looking at that officer.
'Why, Sir,' said Mr Perch, coughing behind his hand again, 'his expression certainly were that he was in wants of a sitiwation, and that he considered something might be done for him about the Docks, being used to fishing with a rod and line: but - ' Mr Perch shook his head very dubiously indeed.
