English Original
The cabby has his point of view. It is more single-minded, perhaps, than that of a follower of any other calling. From the high, swaying seat of his hansom he looks upon his fellowmen as nomadic particles, of no account except when possessed of migratory desires. He is Jehu, and you are goods in transit. Be you President or vagabond, to cabby you are only a fare. He takes you up, cracks his whip, joggles your vertebræ and sets you down.
When time for payment arrives, if you exhibit a familiarity with legal rates, you come to know what contempt is; if you find that you have left your pocket-book behind you, you are made to realize the mildness of Dante’s imagination.
It is not an extravagant theory that the cabby’s singleness of purpose and concentrated view of life are the results of the hansom’s peculiar construction. The cock-of-the-roost sits aloft like Jupiter on an unsharable seat, holding your fate between two thongs of inconstant leather. Helpless, ridiculous, confined, bobbing like a toy mandarin, you sit like a rat in a trap—you, before whom butlers cringe on solid land—and must squeak upward through a slit in your peripatetic sarcophagus to make your feeble wishes known. Then, in a cab, you are not even an occupant; you are contents. You are a cargo at sea, and the “cherub that sits up aloft” has Davy Jones’s street and number by heart.
One night there were sounds of revelry in the big brick tenement-house next door but one to McGary’s Family Café. The sounds seemed to emanate from the apartments of the Walsh family. The sidewalk was obstructed by an assortment of interested neighbours, who opened a lane from time to time for a hurrying messenger bearing from McGary’s goods pertinent to festivity and diversion. The sidewalk contingent was engaged in comment and discussion from which it made no effort to eliminate the news that Norah Walsh was being married.
In the fullness of time there was an eruption of the merry-makers to the sidewalk. The uninvited guests enveloped and permeated them, and upon the night air rose joyous cries, congratulations, laughter and unclassified noises born of McGary’s oblations to the hymeneal scene.
Close to the kerb stood Jerry O’Donovan’s cab. Night-hawk was Jerry called; but no more lustrous or cleaner hansom than his ever closed its doors upon point lace and November violets. And Jerry’s horse! I am within bounds when I tell you that he was stuffed with oats until one of those old ladies who leave their dishes unwashed at home and go about having expressmen arrested, would have smiled—yes, smiled—to have seen him.
Among the shifting, sonorous, pulsing crowd glimpses could be had of Jerry’s high hat, battered by the winds and rains of many years; of his nose like a carrot, battered by the frolicsome, athletic progeny of millionaires and by contumacious fares; of his brass-buttoned green coat, admired in the vicinity of McGary’s. It was plain that Jerry had usurped the functions of his cab, and was carrying a “load.” Indeed, the figure may be extended and he be likened to a bread-wagon if we admit the testimony of a youthful spectator, who was heard to remark “Jerry has got a bun.”
From somewhere among the throng in the street or else out of the thin stream of pedestrians a young woman tripped and stood by the cab. The professional hawk’s eye of Jerry caught the movement. He made a lurch for the cab, overturning three or four onlookers and himself—no! he caught the cap of a water-plug and kept his feet. Like a sailor shinning up the ratlins during a squall, Jerry mounted to his professional seat. Once he was there McGary’s liquids were baffled. He see-sawed on the mizzen-mast of his craft as safe as a steeplejack rigged to the flagpole of a sky-scraper.
“Step in, lady,” said Jerry, gathering his lines.
The young woman stepped into the cab; the doors shut with a bang; Jerry’s whip cracked in the air; the crowd in the gutter scattered, and the fine hansom dashed away.
中文翻译
车夫有他的视角。或许，这比从事其他任何行当的人都更为专一。从他汉森马车那高高摇晃的座位上望去，他的同胞们不过是游牧的微粒，除非怀有迁徙的欲望，否则便无足轻重。他是耶户，而你只是运输途中的货物。无论你是总统还是流浪汉，对车夫而言，你只是一个乘客。他载上你，甩响鞭子，颠簸你的脊椎，然后把你放下。
当付款时刻来临，如果你表现出对法定车费的熟悉，你便会明白何为轻蔑；如果你发现自己把钱包落在了家里，你便能体会到但丁想象力的温和。
车夫目标专一、生活视角集中，这并非一种夸张的理论，而是汉森马车独特构造的结果。这位高高在上的“鸡舍之王”像朱庇特一样坐在不可共享的座位上，用两根反复无常的皮条掌控着你的命运。你无助、可笑、受困，像个玩具官人一样上下颠簸——你，这个在坚实土地上能让管家都卑躬屈膝的人——此刻却像困在陷阱里的老鼠，必须透过你那移动的石棺上的一道缝隙向上吱吱叫唤，才能让人知道你微弱的愿望。那么，在马车里，你甚至不是一个占有者；你只是内容物。你是海上的货物，而那位“高坐云端的小天使”早已将戴维·琼斯的街道和门牌号牢记于心。
一天晚上，麦加里家庭咖啡馆隔壁第二栋的大砖砌公寓楼里传来了狂欢的声音。声音似乎是从沃尔什家的公寓传出的。人行道被一群兴致勃勃的邻居堵住了，他们不时为从麦加里家匆匆赶来、携带着与欢庆和娱乐相关物品的信使让出一条路。人行道上的人群忙于评论和讨论，毫不掩饰诺拉·沃尔什正在结婚的消息。
时机成熟时，寻欢作乐者们涌上了人行道。不请自来的客人们包围并渗透了他们，夜空中升腾起欢乐的叫喊、祝贺、笑声以及麦加里家为这场婚礼献上的祭品所催生的各种难以归类的噪音。
靠近路缘石停着杰里·奥多诺万的马车。人们称杰里为“夜鹰”；但他的汉森马车光洁干净，无出其右，曾为精美的蕾丝和十一月的紫罗兰关上车门。还有杰里的马！我可以毫不夸张地告诉你，它被燕麦喂得饱饱的，以至于那些把碗碟留在家里不洗、四处告发快递员的老太太见了它，也会微笑——是的，微笑。
在涌动、喧闹、充满活力的人群中，可以瞥见杰里的高顶礼帽，饱经多年风雨的侵蚀；他那胡萝卜般的鼻子，被百万富翁们嬉闹、好动的子孙以及顽固的乘客所磨损；他那黄铜纽扣的绿色外套，在麦加里家附近颇受赞赏。显然，杰里篡夺了他马车的功能，正载着一个“重物”。事实上，如果我们采信一位年轻旁观者的证词——有人听到他说“杰里喝高了”——这个比喻可以延伸，将他比作一辆运面包的马车。
从街上的人群中，或是从稀疏的人流里，一位年轻女子轻快地走来，站在马车旁。杰里那双职业鹰眼捕捉到了这个动静。他踉跄着冲向马车，撞倒了三四个旁观者，还有他自己——不！他抓住了消防栓的盖子，稳住了脚步。就像水手在狂风中爬上桅梯，杰里登上了他的职业座位。一旦到了那里，麦加里的酒水就奈何不了他了。他在自己“船”的后桅上摇晃，安全得如同绑在摩天大楼旗杆上的高空作业工人。
“请上车，女士。”杰里说着，收拢了缰绳。
年轻女子踏进马车；车门砰地关上；杰里的鞭子在空气中甩响；排水沟边的人群散开，那辆精致的汉森马车疾驰而去。