So, day after day, during the next few weeks, Will went up on the hills to walk and talk with Linnet. Rue10 Palmer was delighted. She thought, poor soul, her scheme was succeeding admirably. Will was out every morning on the mountains alone, working hard at his magnum opus, which was to astonish the world, and with which she had inspired him. It was glorious, glorious! And, indeed, in spite of the time wasted in talking with Linnet, though the best spent time, as everybody knows, is the time we waste, Will did really succeed in writing and composing at odd moments and in the night watches no small part of his graceful11 and beautiful little operetta, “The Chamois Hunter’s Daughter.” But alas12 for poor Rue, it was not she who inspired it.
On these morning expeditions up the surrounding hills to some appointed trysting-place, Florian sometimes accompanied him, and sometimes not. But, in any case, he abstained13 from mentioning their object to Rue; as he put it himself, never should it be said that Florian Wood could split upon two ill-advised but confiding14 young people. It suited Florian’s book now, indeed, that Will’s attention should be distracted from Rue to Linnet. He wanted to make the running for himself with the American heiress, and he was by no means sorry that so dangerous and important a rival as the author of “Voices from the Hills” should be otherwise occupied. So he kept his own counsel about Will and Linnet; he had abdicated15 by this time his self-appointed function of moral censor16; and seeing they would go to the devil in any case, he was inclined to let them go their own headlong way, into the jaws17 of matrimony, without preliminary haggling18. He that will to Cupar, maun to Cupar. Deverill would marry his cow-girl in the end?—?of that Florian felt certain; and when a man’s quite determined19 to make a fool of himself, you know, why, you only earn his dislike, instead of his esteem20, by endeavouring to win him back again to the ways of wisdom.
And Will? Well, Will himself had as yet no very fixed21 ideas of his own as to whither he was tending. Being only a poet, he was content to drift with the wind and tide, and watch on what shoals or shores they might finally cast him. Most probably, if things had been allowed to go their own way, he would sooner or later have justified22 Florian’s pessimistic prophecies by marrying Linnet. He would have gone on and on, falling more and more deeply in love with the pretty peasant every day, and letting her fall every day more and more deeply in love with him, till at last conventional differences sank to nothing in his eyes, and he remembered only that heart answereth to heart, be it poet’s or alp-girl’s. At present, however, he troubled himself little with any of these things. He was satisfied for the moment, Florian said, to bask23 in the sunshine of that basilisk’s smile, without care for the morrow. Sooner or later, he felt sure, in so small a town, either Florian or he must run up unawares against Andreas Hausberger. Whenever that happened, no doubt, there must be some sort of change or new departure. Meanwhile, he religiously avoided the Promenade24, where he was likeliest to come suddenly on the wise impresario25. So he stuck to the hills, with or without Linnet.
The very next morning, indeed, after this their chance meeting, he went up the Küchelberg once more, impressed with an ardent26 desire to aid and abet27 Linnet’s laudable wish for self-education. He brought a book up with him to read to the two girls under the bright blue sky, as they sat on the hillside. He chose a pleasant spot, in the full eye of the autumn sun, on a rounded boss of rock, whose crumbling28 clefts29 were still starred with wild pinks and rich yellow tormentils. Florian had contributed to the feast of reason and the flow of soul a kilogram of grapes?—?they cost but threepence-halfpenny a pound in the vintage season?—?unknown luxuries till then to Philippina and Linnet. Philippina found the grapes delicious, but the book rather dry; its style was stilted30, and it appeared to narrate31 the story of a certain Doctor Faust, his transactions with a gentleman of most doubtful shape (who caused Philippina to look round in some fear), and his wicked designs against the moral happiness of a young girl called Gretchen. Philippina yawned; it was a tedious performance. Florian, having reduced his share of the grapes to their skins alone, yawned in concert with the lady, and began to play with his eyeglass. As his German didn’t suffice to understand the lines, even when aided by Will’s dramatic delivery and clear enunciation32, he found the play slow, and the reader a nuisance. So he was very well pleased when Philippina suggested, at a break in the first act, they should go off for a walk by themselves alone, and continue their course of oral instruction in the German language. Florian liked Philippina; there was no silly nonsense about her. After all, in a woman, if all you want is a walk on the Küchelberg, the total absence of silly nonsense, you must at once admit, is a great recommendation.
But Linnet sat on. She sat on, and listened. She drank it in, open-eyed, and with parted lips?—?every line and every word of it. Dear Herr Will read so well, and made her feel and understand every point so dramatically; and the book?—?the book itself was so profoundly interesting. Never in her life before had Linnet heard anything the least bit like it. It was grand, it was beautiful! She didn’t know till then the world contained such books; her reading had been confined to her alphabet and grammar at the parish folk-school, supplemented by the good little tracts33 on purgatory34 and the holy saints, distributed by the Herr Vicar and the sisters at the nunnery. Theological literature was the sole form yet known to her. This weird35 tale about Gretchen and the transformed philosopher opened out to her new vistas36 of a world of possibilities. Long after, when she sang in great opera-houses, as Marguerite in Gounod’s “Faust,” she remembered with a thrill how she had first heard that tale, in Goethe’s deathless words, from Will Deverill’s lips, on the green slopes of the Küchelberg.
She sat there for an hour or two, never heeding37 the time, but listening, all entranced, to that beautiful story. Now and again Will broke off, and held her hand for a moment, and gazed deep into her eyes, and said some sweet words of his own to her. He was a poet, Herr Will, in his own tongue and land; she knew now what that meant?—?he could make up such lovely things as he read from the book to her. “Tell me some of your own, Herr Will. Tell me some of your own verses,” she said, sighing, at last. “I should love to hear them.”
But Will shook his head. “The English is too hard. You wouldn’t understand them, Linnet,” he answered.
“Let me try,” Linnet pleaded, with such a winning look that Will couldn’t resist her. And to humour her whim38, he repeated the simplest of the laughing little love-songs from his book of “Voices.”
The ring of it was pretty?—?very sweet and musical. Linnet half understood?—?no more; for the words were too hard for her. But it spurred her on to further effort. “You must lend me some books like that in English,” she said, simply. “I want to be wise, like you and Herr Florian.”
So Will brought her next day from the book-shop in the town the dainty little “Poetry Book of Modern Poets,” in the Tauchnitz edition. He wrote her name in it too; and Linnet took it home, and hid it deep in her box in a white silk handkerchief, and read bits of it by night, very stealthily in her own room, spelling out what it meant with Andreas Hausberger’s dictionary. Long after, she had that precious volume bound in white Florentine vellum, with a crimson39 fleur-de-lys on the cover, at a house just opposite the Duomo at Florence. But at present she read it in its paper covers. She read other books, too?—?German books which Will chose for her; not instructive books which were over her head, but poetry and romance and imaginative literature, such as her ardent Tyrolese nature could easily assimilate. Day after day, Will read her aloud something fresh?—?Undine, the Maid of Orleans, Uhland’s Ballads40, Paul Heyse’s short stories?—?but of all the things he read to her, the one she liked best was a German translation of an English play?—?a beautiful play by another English poet, whose name was also Will, but who died long ago?—?a play about two luckless and devoted41 lovers, called Romeo and Juliet. Linnet cried over that sad story, and Will kissed her tears away; and a little later, when Andreas Hausberger took her to Verona on their way south to Milan, Linnet went of her own accord to see Juliet’s tomb in a courtyard in the town, and wasted much excellent sympathy and sentiment over the shameless imposture42 of that bare Roman sarcophagus. But she meant very well; and she believed in Juliet even more firmly than she believed in Siegfried and Chriemhild and all the other fine folks to whom Will introduced her.
So three weeks passed away, three glorious golden weeks, and day after day, on those lovely hillsides, Linnet saw her lover. At the end of a fortnight, Rue heard, from various friends at other hotels, of a wonderful singer in a Tyrolese troupe43, then performing nightly in the various salons44. “Why, that must surely be Linnet!” she said before Will, to the first friend who mentioned it.
“Yes; Linnet?—?that’s her name,” Rue’s friend assented45.
“I knew she was in the town,” Will admitted somewhat sheepishly; for he felt as if he were somehow deceiving Rue, though it never would have entered his good, modest head to suppose she herself could care anything about him, except as a poet in whose work she was kind enough to take a friendly interest.
“Ah, I should love to hear her again!” Rue cried, enthusiastically. “She sings like a nightingale?—?such a splendid soprano! Let’s find out where she’ll be to-night, and go round in a body to the hotel to hear her!”
But Will demurred46 strongly. He’d rather not go, he said; he’d stop at home by himself and get on with his operetta. At that, Rue was secretly pleased in her own heart; she felt it throb47 sensibly. After all, then, her poet didn’t really and truly care for the pretty alp-girl. He knew she was in the town?—?and, in spite of that knowledge, had spent every evening all the time with herself at the Erzherzog Johann! Nor would Florian go either; he invented some excuse to account for his reluctance48. So Rue went with two new girls she had picked up at the hotel, in succession to the giggling49 inarticulates at Innsbruck. Linnet recognised her in the crowd, for the room was crowded?—?’twas a nightly ovation50 now, wherever Linnet sang?—?and knew her at once as the fair-haired lady. But Florian and Will weren’t with her to-night! That made Linnet’s heart glad. She had come without him! After all, her Engl?nder didn’t always dance attendance, it seemed, on the fair-haired Frau with the many diamonds!
So easily had Will made two women’s hearts happy, by stopping at home at his hotel that evening! For women think much more of men than men imagine?—?their poor little breasts live for the most part in a perpetual flutter of love and expectancy51.
As the weeks wore away, however, it began to strike Franz Lindner as a singular fact, that Philippina and Linnet severed52 themselves so much every day from the rest of the troupe, and went up on the hills all alone for exercise. That fierce young Robbler was a true Tyrolese in his treatment of his women. Though he never abated53 one jot54 or tittle of his attentions to Linnet, it hardly occurred to him as forming any part of a lover’s duty to accompany his m?dchen in her morning rambles55. Franz was too much engaged himself, indeed, with the young men of the place in the cafés and beer-gardens, to find much time hanging idle on his hands for female society. He had made many friends in the gay little town. His hat and his feather were well known by this time to half the gilded56 youth in the Meran restaurants. Andreas Hausberger had turned out the young women on the hills; and there they might stop, so far as Franz Lindner was concerned to prevent them. Andreas Hausberger had been wondrous57 careful of Linnet’s health of late, since he saw he was likely to make pots of money from her. He had bound them all down by a three years’ engagement, and he knew now that Linnet was worth at least five times the sum he had bargained to pay her. But Franz Lindner’s health might take care of itself; and Franz didn’t think much, personally, of the air of the mountains. He’d had enough of all that in his j?ger days; now the chrysalis had burst, and let loose the butterfly; his wander-years had come, and he meant to sip58 the sweets of advanced civilisation59. And he sipped60 them in the second-rate bars and billiard-rooms of a small town in South Tyrol.
On this particular morning, however, it occurred to his Robblership to inquire in his own mind why the womenkind loved to walk so much by themselves on the mountains. Philippina hadn’t told him, to be sure; Philippina had an eye to Andreas Hausberger herself?—?was he not the wirth, and the master of the troupe??—?and she was therefore by no means averse61 to any little device which might distract poor Linnet from that most desirable admirer. Still, Franz had his suspicions. Women are so deep, a man can never fathom62 them! He mounted the Küchelberg by the zig-zag path, and turning to the left by the third Madonna, came at last to a little knoll63 of bare porphyry rock, looking down on the wide vale and the long falls of the Adige.
A very small and dainty, not to say effeminate, young man, in a knickerbocker suit of most Britannic aspect, was strolling some distance off, with his arm encircling a woman’s plump waist, which suspiciously reminded Franz of his friend Philippina’s. The Robbler could hardly believe his eyes; could that be Herr Florian? Oh no; for they had left the foreign Herrschaft at the hotel at Innsbruck. But here, close by, behind the shadow of some junipers?—?stranger sight still!?—?stretched at length on the ground, and reading aloud in German to some unseen person, lay another young man in another tourist suit, with a voice that most strikingly and exactly recalled the other Engl?nder’s at St Valentin. Franz drew a deep breath, and strode a long step forward. At sound of his foot, the unseen person sprang back where she sat with a quick, small scream. Black as night in his wrath64, Franz peered round and faced them. It was undoubtedly65 Will; quite as undoubtedly Linnet!
The Robbler spoke66 angrily. “You again!” he cried, clenching67 his fist, and knitting his brow hard, with bullet head held forward. “Are you following us in hiding? What do you mean by this trick? You daren’t show your face, coward, at our inn in the town! You steal up here and skulk68! What do you mean with the m?dchen?”
At that imputation69 of secrecy70, and still worse of cowardice71, Will sprang up and confronted him. “I dare show my face anywhere you like,” he answered in hot blood. “I have not followed this lady; I came here before her, and met her at Meran by the purest accident. But I refuse to be questioned about her by you or by anyone. What right have you to ask? She is no m?dchen of yours. Who gave you any power or authority over her?”
For a moment the Robbler instinct rose fierce and hot in Franz Lindner’s breast. He drew back half a pace, as if making ready to spring at him. In a few angry words he repeated his cutting taunts72, and spoke savagely73 to Linnet. “Go home, go home, girl; you are here for no good! What can this Engl?nder want, save one thing, with a sennerin?”
He laid his hand roughly on Linnet’s shoulder. Will couldn’t stand that sight; he clutched the man’s arm fiercely, twisted it round in the socket74, and pushed him back like a child, in the white heat of his anger. Franz saw the interloper was strong?—?far stronger than he supposed. “If you dare to lay your hand on this lady again,” Will cried, standing75 in front of her like a living buckler, “I give you due warning, you do it at your peril76. Your life is at stake. I won’t permit you to behave with brutality77 before me.”
In his native valley the Robbler would have flown at Will’s throat on those words, and fought him, strong as he was, to the death, for his m?dchen. But since he came to Meran he had learned some new ways: such were not, he now knew, the manners of civilisation. Will’s resolute78 attitude even produced a calming effect upon the young barbarian79. He felt in his heart he had a better plan than that. To beat Will in fair fight would, after all, be useless; the m?dchen wouldn’t abide80, as m?dchen ought, by the wager81 of battle. But he could wound him far worse. He could go down to the town?—?and tell Andreas Hausberger how his ward2 spent her mornings on the slopes of the Küchelberg!
Already he was learning the ways of the world. With a sarcastic82 smile, he raised his hat ceremoniously, turned feather and all, in mock politeness. “Good morning, mein Herr,” he drawled out, with a fine north German accent, picked up in the billiard-rooms. “Good morning, sennerin.” And without another word he strode away down the mountain.
But as soon as he was gone Linnet burst into tears. “Ah, I know what he’ll do!” she cried, sobbing83 and trembling. “He’ll go down to the town and tell Andreas Hausberger. He’ll go down to the town and tell how he met us here. And, of course, after this, Andreas will put the very worst face upon it.”
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1
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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9
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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abdicated
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| 放弃（职责、权力等）( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 )； 退位，逊位 | |
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censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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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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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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impresario
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| n.歌剧团的经理人；乐团指挥 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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abet
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| v.教唆，鼓励帮助 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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45
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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ovation
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| n.欢呼，热烈欢迎，热烈鼓掌 | |
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51
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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52
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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53
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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58
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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59
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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60
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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62
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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63
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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64
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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65
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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66
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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67
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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68
skulk
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| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
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69
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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71
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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72
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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73
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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74
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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75
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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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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80
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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81
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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82
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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83
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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