It is not often that I find the time to take part in Mrs Albert Grundy’s Thursdays—the third and fifth Thursdays of each month, from 4 to 6.30 P.M.—but on a certain afternoon pleasant weather and the sense of long-accrued responsibility drew me to Fernbank.
It was really very nice, after one got there. Perhaps it would have been less satisfactory had escape from the drawing-room been a more difficult matter. Inside that formal chamber2, with its blinds down-drawn to shield the carpet from the sun, the respectable air hung somewhat heavily about the assembled matronhood of Brompton and the Kensingtons. The units in this gathering4 changed from time to time—for Mrs Albert’s circle is a large and growing one—but the effect of the sum remained much the same. The elderly ladies talked about the amiability5 and kindliness6 of the Duchess of Teck; and argued the Continental7 relationships of the Duchesses of Connaught and Albany, first into an apparently8 hopeless tangle9 of burgs and hausens and zollerns and sweigs, then triumphantly10 out again into the bright daylight of well-ordered and pellucid11 genealogy12. The younger wives spoke13 in subdued14 voices of more juvenile15 Princesses on the lower steps of the throne, with occasional short-winged flights across the North Sea in imaginative search of a suitable bride for the then unwedded Duke of York, if an importation should be found to be necessary—about which opinions might in all loyalty16 differ. The few young girls who sat dutifully here beside their mammas or married sisters talked of nothing at all, but smiled confusedly and looked away whenever another’s glance, caught theirs—and, I daresay, thought with decent humility17 upon Marchionesses.
But outside, on the garden-lawn at the rear of the house, the Almanach de Gotha threw no shadow, and the pungent18 scent19 of jasmine and lilies drove the leathery odour of Debrett from the soft summer air. The gentle London haze20 made Whistlers and Maitlands of the walls and roof-lines and chimney-pots beyond. The pretty girls of Fernbank held court here on the velvet21 grass, with groups of attendant maidens22 from sympathetic Myrtle Lodges23 and Cedarcrofts and Chestnut24 Villas—selected homesteads stretching all the way to remote West Kensington. They said there was no one left in London. Why, as I sat apart in the shade of the ivy25 overhanging the garden path, and watched this out-door panorama26 of the Grundys’ friendships, it seemed as if I had never comprehended before how many girls there really were in the world.
And how sweet it was to look upon these damsels, with their dainty sailor’s hats of straw, their cheeks of Devon cream and damask, their tall and shapely forms, their profiles of faultless classical delicacy27! What if, in time, they too must sit inside, by preference, and babble28 of royalties29 and the peerage, and politely uncover those two aggressive incisors of genteel maturity30 when they were asked to have a third cup of tea? That stage, praise heaven, should be many years removed. We will have no memento31 mori bones or tusks32 out here in the sunlit garden—but only tennis balls, and the inspiring chalk-bands on the sward, and the noble grace of English girlhood, erect33 and joyous34 in the open air. # Much as I delighted in this spectacle, it forced upon me as well a certain vague sense of depression. These lofty and lovely creatures were strangers to me. I do not mean that their names were unknown to me, or that I had not exchanged civil words with many of them, or that I might not be presented to, and affably received by, them all. The feeling was, rather, that if it were possible for me to marry them all, we still to the end of our days would remain strangers. I should never know what to say to them; still less should I ever be able to guess what they were thinking.
The tallest and most impressive of all the bevy—the handsome girl in the pale brown frock with the shirt-front and jacketed blouse, who stands leaning with folded hands upon her racket like an indolent Diana—why, I punted her about the whole reach from Sunbury to Walton during the better part of a week, only last summer, not to mention sitting beside her at dinner every evening on the houseboat. We were so much together, in truth, that my friends round about, as I came to know afterwards, canvassed35 among themselves the prospect36 of our arranging never to separate. Yet I feel that I do not know this girl. We are friends, yes; but we are not acquainted with each other.
More than once—perhaps a dozen times—in driving through the busier of London streets, my fancy has been caught by this thing: a hansom whirling smartly by, the dark hood3 of which frames a woman’s face—young, wistful, ivory-hued. It is like the flash exposure of a kodak—this bald instant of time in which I see this face, and comprehend that its gaze has met mine, and has burned into my memory a lightning picture of something I should not recognise if I saw it again, and cannot at all reproduce to myself, and probably would not like if I could, yet which leaves me with the feeling that I am richer than I was before. In that fractional throb37 of space there has been snatched an unrehearsed and unprejudiced contact of human souls—projected from one void momentarily to be swept forward into another; and though not the Judgment38 Day itself shall bring these two together again, they know each other.
Now that I look again at the goddess in the pale-brown gown, these unlabelled faces of the flitting hansoms seem by comparison those of familiar companions and intimates.
I get no sense of human communion from that serene39 and regular countenance40, with its exquisite41 nose, its short upper-lip and glint of pearls along the bowed line of the mouth, its correctly arched brows and wide-open, impassive blue eyes. I can see it with prophetic admiration42 out-queening all the others at Henley, or at Goodwood, or on the great staircase of Buckingham Palace. I can imagine it at Monte Carlo, flushed a little at the sight of retreating gold; or at the head of a great noble’s table, coldly poised43 above satin throat and shoulders, and stirring no muscle under the free whisperings of His Excellency to the right. I can conceive it in the Divorce Court, bearing with metallic44 equanimity45 the rude scrutiny46 of a thousand unlicensed eyes. But my fancy wavers and fails at the task of picturing that face at my own fireside, with the light of the home-hearth painting the fulness of her rounded chin, and reflecting back from her glance, as we talk of men and books and things, the frank gladness of real comradeship.
But—tchut!—I have no fireside, and the comrades I like best are playing halfcrown whist at the club; and these are all nice girls—hearty, healthful, handsome girls, who can walk, run, dance, swim, scull, skate, ride as no others have known or dared to do since the glacial wave of Christianity depopulated the glades47 and dells of Olympus. They will mate after their kind, and in its own good time along will come a new generation of straight, strong-limbed, thin-lipped, pink-and-white girls, and of tow-headed, deep-chested lads, their brothers—boys who will bully48 their way through Rugby and Harrow, misspell and misapprehend their way into the Army, the Navy, and the Civil Service, and spread themselves over the habitable globe, to rule, through sheer inability to understand, such Baboos and Matabele and mere49 Irishry as Imperial destiny delivers over to them.
The vision is not wholly joyous, as it with diffidence projects itself beyond, into that further space where new strange other generations walk—the girls still taller and more coldly tubbed, the boys astride a yet more temerarious saddle of dull dominion50. Reluctant prophecy discerns beneath their considerable feet the bruised51 fragments of many antique trifles—the bric-à-brac of an extinct sentimental52 fraction that had a sense of humour and could spell—and, to please mamma, the fig-leaves have quite overspread and hidden the statues in their garden. But power is there, and empire; they still more serenely53 loom54 above the little foreign folks who cook, and sing to harps55 and fiddles56, and paint for their amusement; such as it is under their shaping, they possess the earth.
So, as the sun goes down in the Hammersmith heavens, I take off my hat, and salute57 the potential mothers of the New Rome.
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1
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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4
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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7
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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8
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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9
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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10
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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12
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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15
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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16
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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18
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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19
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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20
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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21
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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22
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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23
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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24
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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25
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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26
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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27
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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28
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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29
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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30
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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31
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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32
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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33
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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34
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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35
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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37
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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38
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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39
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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40
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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41
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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42
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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43
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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44
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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45
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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46
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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47
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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48
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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49
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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50
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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51
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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52
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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53
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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54
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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55
harps
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| abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
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56
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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57
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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