In years gone by it had been Mr. Van Norden's custom to pass the heated term at Rockaway. But when Rockaway became a popular resort, Mr. Van Norden, like the sensible man that he was, discovered that his own house was more comfortable than a crowded hotel. This particular summer, therefore, he passed as usual in New York, and Tristrem, who had moved to his house, kept him company. June was not altogether disagreeable, but in July the city was visited by a heat at once insistent1 and enervating2. In August it was cooler, as our Augusts are apt to be; yet the air was lifeless, and New York was not a nosegay. During these months Tristrem was as lifeless as the air. In his first need of sympathy he had gone to the irascible and kind-hearted old gentleman and told him of the breaking of the engagement, and, he might have added, of his heart, though in the telling he sought, with a lover's fealty3, to palliate the grievousness of the cruelty to which he had been subjected.
"It is this way," he said; "Viola, I think, feels that she does not know me sufficiently4 well. After all, we have seen but little of each other, and if she accepted me, it was on the spur of the moment. Since then she has thought of it more seriously. It is for me to win her, not for her to throw herself in my arms. That is what she has thought. She may seem capricious; and what if she does? Your knowledge of women has, I am sure, made you indulgent."
"Not in the least," Mr. Van Norden answered. And then, for the time being, the subject was dropped.
It was this semi-consolatory view which Tristrem took of the matter after the effect of the first shock had lost its force. But when he received the bundle of letters, together with the Panama hat, which, through some splendid irony5, had been devised to him in the only clause of the will in which his name was mentioned, it was as though a flash had rent the darkness and revealed in one quick glare an answer to the enigma6 in which he groped.
The letters were few in number—a dozen at most—and they were tied together with a bit of faded ribbon. They were all in the same hand, one and all contained protestations of passionate7 love, and each was signed in full, Roanoke Raritan. The envelope which held them was addressed to Mrs. Erastus Varick.
It was then that he saw the reason of his disinheritance, and it was then that he understood the cause of Viola's withdrawal8. It was evident to him that Mrs. Raritan possessed9 either thorough knowledge of the facts, or else that she had some inkling of them which her feminine instinct had supplemented into evidence, and which had compelled her to forbid the banns. There were, however, certain things which he could not make clear to his mind. Why had Mrs. Raritan treated him with such consideration? She had known from the first that he loved her daughter. And after the engagement, if she wished it broken, why had she allowed Viola to invite him to the Pier10?
These things were at first inexplicable11 to him. Afterward12 he fancied that it might be that Mrs. Raritan, originally uninformed, had become so only through the man whom he had believed was his father, after the announcement of the engagement had been made to him, and possibly through some communication which had only reached her after his sudden death. This explanation he was inclined to accept, and he was particularly inclined to do so on recalling the spasm13 which had agitated14 the deceased when he had come to him with the intelligence of the engagement, and the nervous excitement which Mrs. Raritan displayed on the morning when he left for town.
This explanation he accepted later—but in the horror of the situation in which he first found himself his mind declined to act. He had never known his mother, but her fame he had cherished as one cherishes that which is best and most perfect of all. And abruptly15 that fame was tarnished17, as some fair picture might be sullied by a splash and splatter of mud. And as though that were insufficient18, the letters which devastated19 his mother's honor brought him a hideous20 suspicion, and one which developed into certainty, that his father and the father of the girl whom he loved were one and the same.
It is not surprising, then, that during the summer months Tristrem was as lifeless as the air he breathed. His grandfather noticed the change—he would have been blind indeed had he not—and he urged him to leave New York. But at each remonstrance21 Tristrem shook his head with persistent22 apathy23. What did it matter to him where he was? If New York, instead of being merely hot and uncomfortable, had been cholera-smitten, and the prey24 of pest, Tristrem's demeanor25 would not have altered. There are people whom calamity26 affects like a tonic27, who rise from misfortune refreshed; there are others on whom disaster acts like a soporific, and he was one of the latter. For three months he did not open a book, the daily papers were taken from him unread, and if during that time he had lost his reason, it is probable that his insanity28 would have consisted in sitting always with eyes fixed29, without laughing, weeping, or changing place.
But after the hearing in the Surrogate's Court there was a change of scene. The will was set aside, and the estate, of which Tristrem had taken absolutely no thought whatever, reverted30 to him. It was then that he made it over in its entirety to the institution to which it had been originally devised; and it was in connection with the disposal of the property, a disposal which he effected as a matter of course, and as the only right and proper thing for him to do, that he enjoyed a memorable31 interview with his grandfather.
He had not spoken to Mr. Van Norden about the letters, and the old gentleman, through some restraining sense of delicacy32, had hesitated to question. Besides, he was confident that the estate would be Tristrem's, and thus assured, it seemed unnecessary to him to touch on a matter to which Tristrem had not alluded33, and which was presumably distasteful to him. But when he learned what Tristrem had done, he looked upon the matter in a different light, and attacked him very aggressively the next day.
"I can understand perfectly," he said, "that you should decline to hold property on what you seem to regard as a legal quibble. But I should be very much gratified to learn in what your judgment34 is superior to that of the Legislature, and why you should refuse that to which you had as clear and indefeasible a claim as I have to this fob on my waistcoat. I should be really very much gratified to learn——"
Tristrem looked at his grandfather very much as though he had been asked to open a wound. But he answered nothing. He got the letters and placed them in the old gentleman's hand.
Mr. Van Norden glanced at one, and then turned to Tristrem. It was evident that he was in the currents of conflicting and retroacting emotions. He made as though he would speak, yet for the time being the intensity35 of his feelings prevented him. He took up the letters again and eyed them, shaking his head as he did so with the anger of one enraged36 at the irreparable, and conscious of the futility37 of the wrath38.
In the lives of most men and women there are moments in which they are pregnant with words. The necessity of speech is so great that until the parturition39 is accomplished40 they experience the throes of suffocation41. If no listener be at hand, there are at least the walls. Mr. Van Norden was standing42 near to Tristrem, but that he might be the better assured of his attention, he caught him by the arm, and addressed him in abrupt16, disjointed sentences, in a torrent43 of phrases, unconnected, as though others than himself beat their vocables from his mouth. His words were so tumultuous that they assailed44 the gates of speech, as spectators at the sight of flame crowd the exits of a hall, and issue, some as were they hurled45 from catapults, others, maimed, in disarray46.
He was possessed of anger, and as sometimes happens off the stage, his anger was splendid and glorious to behold47. And Tristrem, with the thirst of one who has drunk of thirst itself, caught the cascade48 of words, and found in them the waters and fountains of life.
"These letters——But how is it possible? God in Heaven——! But can't you see?—the bare idea is an infamy49. Your mother was as interested in Raritan as—as——It's enough to make a mad dog blush. It was just a few months before you were born——Bah! the imbecility of Erastus Varick would unnerve a pirate. I know he was always running there, Raritan was, but anyone with the brain of a wooden Indian would have understood——Why, they were here—they came to me, all three of them, and because I knew her father——And precious little thanks I got for my pains. He said he would see the girl in her grave first. He would have it that Raritan was after her for her money. It's true he hadn't a penny—but—what's that got to do with it? The mischief's done. She must have sent these letters to your mother to return to Raritan just before she married that idiot Wainwaring. Your mother was her most intimate friend—they were at school together at Pelham Priory. Raritan, I suppose, was away. Before he got back, your mother—you were born, you know, and she died. She had no chance to return them. That imbecile of a father of yours must have found the letters, and thought——But how is such a thing possible? Good God! he ought to be dug up and cowhided. And it was for this he left you a Panama hat! And it was for this you have turned over millions to an institution for the shelter of vice50! It was for this——See here, since Christ was crucified, a greater stupidity, or one more iniquitous51, has never been committed."
In the magnificence of his indignation, Mr. Van Norden stormed on until he lacked the strength to continue. But he stormed to ravished and indulgent ears. And when at last he did stop, Tristrem, who meanwhile had been silent as a mouse, went over to the arm-chair into which, in his exhaustion52, he had thrown himself, and touched his shoulder.
"If he did not wish me to have the money," he said, "how could I keep it? How could I?" And before the honesty that was in his face the old man lowered his eyes to the ground. "I am gladder," Tristrem continued, "to know myself his son than to be the possessor of all New York. But when I thought that I was not his son, was that a reason why I should cease to be a gentleman. Though I lost everything else, what did it matter if I kept my self-respect?"
He waited a moment for an answer, and then a very singular thing happened. From Dirck Van Norden's lowered eyes first one tear and then a second rolled down into the furrows53 of his cheek. From his throat came a sound that did not wholly resemble a sob54 and yet was not like to laughter, his mouth twitched55, and he turned his head aside. "It's the first time since your mother died," he said at last, but what he meant by that absurd remark, who shall say?
For some time Tristrem lingered, lost in thought. It was indeed as he had said. He was gladder to feel again that he was free to love and free to be loved in return than he would have been at holding all New York in fee. As he rose from the nightmare in which he suffocated56 he did not so much as pay the lost estate the compliment of a regret. It was not that which had debarred him from her, nor was it for that that she had once placed her hand in his. He was well rid of it all, since in the riddance the doors of his prison-house were unlocked. For three months his heart had been not dead but haunted, and now it was instinct with life and fluttered by the beckonings of hope. He had fronted sorrow. Pain had claimed him for its own, and in its intensity it had absorbed his tears. He had sunk to the uttermost depths of grief, and, unbereft of reason, he had explored the horrors of the abyss. And now in the magic of the unforeseen he was transported to dazzling altitudes, to landscapes from which happiness, like the despot that it is, had routed sorrow and banished57 pain. He was like one who, overtaken by years and disease, suddenly finds his youth restored.
His plans were quickly made. He would go to Narragansett at once, and not leave until the engagement was renewed. He had even the cruelty to determine that his grandfather should come to the Pier himself, and argue with Mrs. Raritan, if argument were necessary.
"I have so much to say," he presently exclaimed, "that I don't know where to begin."
"Begin at the end," his grandfather suggested.
But Tristrem found it more convenient to begin in the middle. He led the old gentleman into the rhyme and reason of the rupture58, he carried him forward and backward from old fancies to newer hopes. He explained how imperative59 it was that with the demolition60 of the obstacle which his father had erected61 the engagement should be at once renewed; he blamed himself for having even suggested that Viola was capricious; he mourned over the position in which she had been placed; he pictured Mrs. Raritan's relief when she learned of the error into which she had wandered; and after countless62 digressions wound up by commanding his grandfather to write an explanation which would serve him as a passport to renewed and uninterruptable favor.
"Certainly—certainly," Mr. Van Norden cried, with the impatience63 of one battling against a stream. "But even granting that your father wrote to Mrs. Raritan, which I doubt—although, to be sure, he was capable of anything—don't you see that you are in a very different position to-day than you would have been had you not—had you not——"
"You mean about the money?"
"Why, most assuredly I mean about the money," the old gentleman cried, aroused to new indignation by the wantonness of the question.
At this Tristrem, with the blithe64 confidence of a lover, shook his head. "You don't know Viola," he answered. "Besides, I can work. Other men do—why shouldn't I?"
"And be able to marry when you are ready for the grave. That's nonsense. Unless the young lady is a simpleton, and her mother a fit subject for Bedlam65, don't tell them that you are going to work. And what would you work at, pray? No, no—that won't do. You are as fitted to go into business as I am to open a bake-shop."
"I might try stocks," said Tristrem, bravely.
"So you might, if you had the St. Nicholas money to start with. And even then you would have to lose two fortunes before you could learn how to make one. No, if you have not six or seven millions, you will, one of these days—and the later the day the better for me—you will have a few hundred thousand. It is paltry66 enough in comparison to the property which you threw out of the window, but, paltry or not, it's more than you deserve. Meanwhile, I will——There, don't begin your nonsense again, sir. For the last three months you have done nothing but bother the soul out of me. Meanwhile, if you don't accept what I care to give, and accept it, what's more, with a devilish good grace, I'll—I'll disinherit you myself—begad I will. I'll leave everything I have to the St. Nicholas. It's a game that two can play at. You have set the fashion, and you can abide67 by it. And now I would be very much indebted if you would let me get some rest."
Therewith the fierce old gentleman looked Tristrem in the eyes, and grasping him by the shoulder, he held him to him for a second's space.
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1
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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3
fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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8
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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11
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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14
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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15
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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16
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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17
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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18
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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19
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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20
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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24
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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25
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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28
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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29
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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30
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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31
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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33
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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35
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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36
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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38
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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39
parturition
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| n.生产，分娩 | |
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40
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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41
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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42
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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43
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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44
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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45
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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46
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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47
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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48
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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49
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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50
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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51
iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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52
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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53
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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55
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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56
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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57
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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59
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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60
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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61
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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62
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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63
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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64
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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65
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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66
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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67
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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