Three days at Coton Manor2 would have been trying to anyone; to Durant they were intolerable. For limbs that had roamed the world to be tucked up under the Colonel's whist table, for a mind equally vigorous and vagrant3 to be tied to the apron-strings of the Colonel's intellect, was really a refinement4 of torture. Thrice Durant had tried to find an exit into the surrounding landscape, and thrice the Colonel had been too quick for him. He hovered5 perpetually round him; he watched his goings-out and his comings-in; there was no escaping his devilish ingenuity6. While Durant was looking for a stick or a hat, he would secure him softly by the arm and lead him out for a stroll. He would say, "My dear Durant, the women are all very well in their way, but it is a luxury to have another man to talk to." He talked to Durant, leaning toward him lover-like, with the awful passion of the bore for his victim.
These strolls extended over several miles, without taking them beyond the bounds of Coton Manor. Durant began to disbelieve in the existence of a world beyond. Coton Manor had swallowed up the county; it seemed to have opened its gates and swallowed him up, too.
He told himself that he had done nothing to deserve his doom7. He was not more selfish or more exacting8 [Pg 245] than other men; he was not sensual; he had not made mere9 physical pleasure his being's end and aim. He had been content with a somewhat negative ideal, the mere avoidance of boredom10. He never struggled or argued with it, but whenever and wherever he met it he had simply packed his portmanteau and gone away. This repugnance11 of his had entailed12 endless traveling, but Durant was a born traveler. Hitherto his life had been free from any care beyond the trouble of avoiding trouble. But he had been lax in this matter of Coton Manor; he had had reason enough to suppose that the visit would bring him face to face with the thing he feared, and he had rushed into the adventure with open arms. And now, this horror that he had eluded13 so successfully for seven years he was to know more intimately than his own soul; he was to sound all the depths beyond depths of boredom. He had stayed in dull places before, but their dulness struck him now as na?f and entertaining by comparison. Other people lapsed14 helplessly into dulness; at Coton Manor they cultivated it; they kept it up. What was worse, they took it for granted in other people. It never seemed to occur to Miss Tancred or the Colonel that Maurice Durant could be interesting, that he had done anything worth mentioning. Not that he was sensitive to their opinion, it was simply that this attitude of theirs appealed unpleasantly to his imagination, giving it a cold foretaste of extinction15. It was as if his flaming intellectual youth, with all its achievements, had been dropped into the dark, where such things are forgotten. At Coton Manor his claim to distinction rested on the fact that he was the Colonel's godson. The Colonel had appropriated, absorbed him, swallowed him up.
The fact that Durant was lapped in material comfort only intensified16 his spiritual pangs17. The Tancreds were [Pg 246] rich, and their wealth was not of to-day or yesterday; they had the dim golden tone, the deep opulence18 of centuries. And they were generous, they gave him of their best; so that, besides being bored, he had the additional discomfort19 of feeling himself a bit of a brute20. As he lay awake night after night in his luxurious21 bed he wondered how he ever got there, what on earth had induced him to accept their invitation. He cursed his infernal rashness, his ungovernable optimism; he had spent half his life in jumping at conclusions and at things, and the other half in jumping away from them, however difficult the backward leap. He had jumped at the Colonel's invitation.
To tell the truth, he would have jumped at anybody's at the time.
When he came back from his travels he had found himself a stranger in his own country. In every place he touched he had left new friends most agreeably disconsolate22 at his departure; he supposed (rashly again) that the old ones would be overjoyed at his return. As it happened, his reception in England was not cold exactly, but temperate23, like the climate, and Durant had found both a little trying after the fervors and ardors of the South. The poor fellow had spent his first week at home in hansoms, rushing passionately24 from one end of London to the other, looking up his various acquaintances. He was disappointed, not to say disgusted, with the result. (Maurice Durant was always disgusted when other people failed to come up to his expectations.) His best friends were out of town, his second best were only too much in it. Many of them had abjured26 art and taken to stiff collars and conventions. He called on these at their offices. They were all diabolically27 busy in the morning and insufferably polite in the afternoon; they had flung him a nod [Pg 247] or a smile or a "Glad to see you back again, old fellow," and turned from him with a preoccupied28 air. He remembered them as they were seven years ago, when they were all Bohemians together. They had no manners, good or bad, in those days, those young men; they called you by strange names; they posed you in peculiar29 attitudes and made abominable30 caricatures of your noble profile; but they would lend or borrow a five-pound note with equal readiness; they would give you a supper and a shake-down at any time of the night or morning. Now it seemed they thought twice about asking you to dinner, if indeed they thought about it at all. So Durant had been pleasantly surprised at his godfather's genial31 letter. Why, bless his little heart, the old boy had actually pressed him to stay for a fortnight.
Well, how was he to get through that fortnight? He decided32 that he would not get through it at all. He kept himself awake devising schemes for his liberation; he would find some business to take him up to town to-morrow; or, if he could not find it, he would invent it; he would send himself a telegram. And then, against his will, his mind began running on Miss Tancred. As he had been possessed33 by the ideal, so now he was haunted by the reality; it had a horrible fascination34 for him. He wondered if Miss Tancred had ever been young; he wondered if Miss Tancred had ever made a joke; he wondered if Miss Tancred had ever been in love. This third idea was so incongruous, so impossible, that at last he found himself dallying35 with it for the mere extravagant36 humor of the thing.
If he had only been able to make himself agreeable to Miss Tancred—for Miss Tancred, if she had the will, had certainly the power to help him. The unhappy young man had made a careful inspection37 of the stables [Pg 248] to see if there was a lingering chance for him there. The sleek38 bays that brought him from the station—impossible; the Colonel's cob, a creature too safe to be exciting; and—yes, there was Miss Tancred's mare39. The sight of the fiery40 little beast dancing in her stall had affected41 him with an uncontrollable desire to ride her. The groom42, not without sympathy, had interpreted his longing43 glances.
"There's a-many casts sheep's eyes at that there mare, sir; but it 'ud be as much as my place is worth, sir, to let you or any other gentleman get atop of her. Nobody lays a 'and on that annymal but Miss Tancred. Miss Tancred's orders, sir."
He might have known it. Miss Tancred was good for nothing, not even for the loan of a mount.
Miss Tancred seemed aware that nothing was expected from her, and kept conscientiously44 out of his way. He saw nothing of her from breakfast till dinnertime and the evening, when she appeared as his official partner in the game of whist. What became of her in the meanwhile he did not know; he could only vaguely46 conjecture47. She seemed to vanish, to lose herself in the vast workings of Coton Manor, or in that vaster entity48, the Colonel.
By the fourth day Durant's irritable49 mood had changed to resignation. If he could not altogether adopt Mrs. Fazakerly's attitude and smile pleasantly into the jaws50 of dulness, he consented to be bored to death with a certain melancholy51 grace.
He had made a dash for freedom; he had actually started first thing in the morning with his sketching53 block and easel, and was congratulating himself on his benignant chance, when, as he sneaked54 round a corner of the house, the Colonel stepped out upon him from a side window. There was one hope for him. [Pg 249] Rain had fallen over night, and the little gentleman was as yet in his slippers55; he was feeling the damp gravel56 like a fastidious cat.
"Ah-ha!" said he, in the tone of joyful57 encounter. "And what do you propose to do with yourself this morning?"
Durant looked at his host with a sad reproachful gaze from which all bitterness had departed. He had felt inclined to reply that he proposed to commit suicide; as it was, he only said he thought of trying to sketch52 something.
The Colonel seemed a little offended at the proposal; it certainly implied that Durant had more confidence in his own resources than in those of the house.
"So that's your fad58, is it? I think we can do better for you than that."
And as Durant had calculated he skipped back into the house, and before he could return with his boots on, Durant, by another miracle of chance or his own cunning, had contrived59 his escape.
He made his way up a slight slope, whence he could see far over the landscape. What he had as yet seen was not inspiring, the heavy full-blown charm of the Midlands in July, lonely, without any of the poetry of loneliness. As he looked about him he realized again that he was in the heart of the country, the great, slow, passionless heart whose pulses are interminable hours. If you love Nature as Durant loved her, for her sex with its divine caprices, its madness and its mystery, you will be disappointed with Wickshire. In Wickshire Mother Nature is no dubious60 Aphrodite; she is indissolubly married to man, and behaves like an ordinary British matron, comely61 and correct. Durant saw in the immediate62 foreground a paddock dotted with young firs, each in a ring fence, beyond the paddock a [Pg 250] field of buttercups shining with a polished gleam, beyond the buttercups a horizon of trees. Before him to the southeast, soaring above the roofs of Whithorn-in-Arden, a church spire63 pointed25 the way to heaven; beyond that, traveling low above the railway cutting, a thin line of smoke indicated the way into the world. Behind him were more trees; the green crescent of the woods with the white front of Coton Manor shining in their arms like a heavy, foolish face. He had no patience with the landscape, with this Nature trimmed and tamed, these shaven meadows and clean-cut hedges and little rectangular plantations64. It was a typical English landscape, a landscape most unnecessarily draped, where the bosom65 of the hills was always covered, and the very elms were muffled66 to their feet. A landscape destitute67 of passion and sensual charm, a landscape like Miss Tancred.
Miss Tancred. He no longer felt any wild resentment68 against that poor girl; he had learned to judge her leniently69. If you live with bores you inevitably70 become a bore; at the same time, he admitted that she was doing her best not to bore him. Meanwhile he transferred his hatred71 to her surroundings.
This young man had no philosophy beyond the general impression that the universe was under infinite obligations to be good to him, a belief that had found itself rather rudely shaken. He chose his view and pitched his easel and relieved himself by one deep, metaphysical, soul-satisfying curse at the devilry of things. Then he set to work, and with the instinct of a born painter he tried to find possibilities in the despised landscape. Before long he had discovered mystery in the woods that lifted their heavy rounded contours to the sky, gathered and massed and piled on one another like clouds; deep mystery in their green, [Pg 251] green drenched72 with liquid and aerial gray, pierced by thick black veins73 and hollowed into caverns74 of darkness and blue dusk. And, though he knew that he was tying himself to the place by taking it seriously, in an hour's time he was absorbed and happy.
He was startled by a voice behind him. "Do you think that it's so very beautiful?"
He turned round. Miss Tancred stood looking over his shoulders, not at him nor at his sketch, but at the distant prospect75.
"It's—nice and open," he answered absently.
"Open? Wait till you've lived in it. To me it's like living with all the doors shut."
"Too many woods, perhaps. And yet there's always a charm about a wooded country; it's English."
"Yes, and, like everything English, it's much too serious, too conventional, too"—she paused for her epithet—"too disgustingly rich."
He was more startled than ever; she had put his own feeling about it into words.
"And then it's so painfully proper and respectable. Look at those ridiculous trees in their petticoats. English to a degree."
"Ah!—if you've been abroad——"
"I haven't been abroad."
"Proud insular76 boast!"
"I wasn't boasting. I was stating a fact."
"Well, you've some cause to boast. Not to have been abroad is distinction nowadays."
"If it comes to that I've never been out of this county, except to London now and then. You wouldn't think it."
He smiled, for it happened to be precisely77 what he had thought. It explained her somehow; he recognized in Miss Tancred the incurable78 provincial79. To be sure, [Pg 252] her sentiments were somewhat at variance80 with her character, an inconsistency not unusual in woman. All he said was, "It is a little extraordinary." He was wondering when she was going to go. She did not go.
"I'm glad you've discovered something to do here. It must be so deadly dull."
He found relief in ambiguity81. "I am never dull"; adding irrelevantly82, "it's a glorious view."
She brightened visibly. "If you like I can show you a better one than this. It's not so very far;"—she hesitated—"we might go to-morrow, perhaps; though it wouldn't be very amusing, I'm afraid."
Again he felt a touch of compunction. She had so clearly grasped the situation; she was so evidently sorry for him, so conscientious45, even if mistaken, in her efforts to make amends83, that he found her positively84 pathetic. He answered humbly85 that he would be delighted if she would be so good.
Then, conscientiously again, she left him. He watched her tall figure departing with energetic strides, and he decided that Miss Tancred was not so bad out of doors, but that she needed a large background.
The next morning he had the grace to remind her of her promise. They started at a rapid pace. Durant left the paraphernalia86 of his art behind him by way of intimating delicately that the hour was hers. Miss Tancred was evidently prepared for vigorous walking. She was dressed suitably and inoffensively in brown holland. She took him up a long, gradually rising hill to where a group of firs stood on an isolated87 mound88.
Here Miss Tancred paused, with tilted89 profile, sniffing90 the ambient air. "This," she said, "is the highest point in the county; there is always a fresh breeze here; to-day you can smell the sea."
"Impossible; we must be right in the very center of [Pg 253] England, about a hundred miles from the nearest coast."
"You can hear it, then. Shut your eyes and listen."
He obeyed. The wind moved and the firs gave out their voice. He opened his eyes and glanced at Miss Tancred. She was leaning up against a fir; her eyes looked straight past him into the distance; the wind had loosened the hair about her forehead; her lips were parted, her eyes shone; there was an eagerness in her face he had not yet seen there. It was as if a dead woman had been suddenly made alive before him. She was gazing and listening.
"If you've never been out of Wickshire, where have you heard the sea?"
She answered curtly91, "I don't know where I've heard it"; then added, as if by way of apology for her manner, "Do you like it?"
"Immensely."
"Then you must come up whenever you want to. You can always be alone here."
She spoke92 as if she were giving him the freedom of her private sanctuary93.
"Have you any sketches94 of those places you've been to abroad?"
"Sketches? Any amount."
"Have you brought them with you?"
He blushed. He had brought many sketches in the hope of showing them to a wealthy godfather and an admiring god-sister.
"Some—a few."
"I wish you'd show them to me."
"I shall be delighted." He blushed again, this time for pleasure. With the desire to bestow95 a little of it, he asked rashly, "Do you sketch, Miss Tancred? I saw some water-colors——" [Pg 254]
"They were my mother's. I do nothing."
"Oh, I see." (They were going home now.) "I was wondering what on earth you found to do here."
"I? A great many things. Business chiefly. My father is secretary to the Primrose96 League. I write all his letters for him."
"That's one way of being secretary to the Primrose League."
"The usual way, I think. Secretaries generally have under-secretaries, haven't they? My father dictates97."
Durant smiled. He could see him doing it. "What else does Colonel Tancred do?"
"He does no end of things. All the business of the estate; and he speaks, at meetings, everywhere. He has lectured——"
It was pathetic, her eagerness to vindicate98 his intellect, to record his achievements, to convince Durant that she was proud of him, not to let him see.
For the rest of the way she was silent, the light died out of her eyes with every turning, and by the time they had reached Coton Manor Miss Tancred was herself again.
At whist that evening nobody was pleased. The Colonel looked sulky and offended, possibly at Durant's disaffection; Durant was moodier99 than ever, and even Mrs. Fazakerly seemed depressed100. Miss Tancred remained imperturbable101 and indifferent, she won every trick without turning a hair, but when it was all over she left the table abruptly102. She was visibly distressed103. Mrs. Fazakerly gazed after her with an affectionate stare. She turned to Durant.
"For goodness' sake," she whispered, "say something nice to her."
For the life of him Durant could think of nothing [Pg 255] nice to say, beyond congratulating her on her success in the accursed game.
Mrs. Fazakerly chimed in, "With or without a partner Miss Tancred wins!"
"I always win. So, I imagine, does Mr. Durant."
"And why should I always win?"
"You? You win because you care nothing about the game."
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1
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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abjured
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| v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 )；郑重放弃（意见）；宣布撤回（声明等）；避免 | |
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diabolically
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28
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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31
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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45
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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48
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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49
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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50
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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51
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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52
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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53
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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54
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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55
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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56
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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57
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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58
fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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leniently
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| 温和地，仁慈地 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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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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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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moodier
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| adj.喜怒无常的( moody的比较级 )；忧悒的；（无缘无故）不高兴的；脾气坏的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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103
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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