Linnet had looked forward to that night; she had always expected it. During those three long years that had passed since they parted, she had never yet ceased to hope and believe that Andreas would some day take her to England. And if to England, then to London, and Will Deverill. But much had happened meanwhile. She was the self-same Linnet still, in heart and in soul, yet, oh! how greatly changed in externals of every sort. Those three years and a half had made a new woman of her in art, in knowledge, in culture, in intellect. She had left the Tyrol a mere2 ignorant peasant-girl; she came to London now an educated lady, an accomplished3 vocalist, a powerful actress, a finished woman of society.
And it was Will Deverill who had first put into her head and heart the idea and the desire of attaining4 such perfect mastery in her chosen vocation5. The capacity, the potentiality, the impulse, the instinct, were all there beforehand; no polish on earth can ever possibly turn a common stone into a gem6 of the first water: the beauty of colour, the delicacy7 of grain must be inherent from the outset, only waiting for the art of the skilful8 lapidary9 to bring them visibly out and make them publicly manifest. So Linnet had been a lady in fibre from the very first, inheriting the profound Tyrolese capacity for artistic10 receptiveness and artistic effort; everything that was beautiful in external Nature or human handicraft spoke11 straight to her heart with an immediate12 message?—?spoke so clear that Linnet could not choose but listen. Still, it was Will Deverill’s words and Will Deverill’s example that first set her soul upon the true path of development. It was he who had read her Goethe’s Faust on the Küchelberg; it was he who had explained to her the rude Romanesque designs on the portal of the Rittersaal. She had treasured up those first lessons in her inmost heart: they were the key that unlocked for her the front door of culture.
Andreas Hausberger, for his part, could never have taught her so. He had taken her straight from Meran to Verona and Milan. But his soul was bounded by the one idea of music. Even in the first poignant13 sorrow of that hateful honeymoon14, however, Linnet had found time to gaze in wonder at the great amphitheatre, still haunted by the spectral15 form of the legendary16 Dietrich; to cry like a child over the narrow tomb where Juliet never lay; to tread with silent awe17 the vast aisles18 and solemn crypt of San Zeno Maggiore. At Milan, they loitered long; Andreas set her to work at once under a famous local teacher, and took her often in the evening to hear celebrated19 singers on the stage of La Scala. Such elements in an artistic education he thoroughly20 understood, but it never would have occurred to his mind as any part of a soprano’s training to make her examine the Luinis and Borgognones of the Brera, or do homage21 before the exquisite22 Botticellis and Peruginos of the Museo Poldi-Pezzoli. To the Wirth of St Valentin such excursions into the sister arts would have seemed mere waste of valuable time, for Andreas regarded music as a branch of trade, and had not that higher wisdom which understands instinctively23 how every form of art reflects its influence indirectly24 on the musician’s mind and the musician’s inspiration. That wisdom Linnet possessed25, and Andreas, after a few ineffectual remonstrances26, let her go her own way and live her own artistic life unchecked to the top of her bent27?—?the more so as he perceived she sang best and most vigorously when least thwarted28 or worried. Moreover, many well-advised friends assured him in private it was desirable for an actress to know as much as possible of costume, of colour, of posture29, and of grouping, which could best be learned by studying the works of the great early painters.
So Linnet went her way, undeterred by her husband, and educated herself in general culture at the same time that she received her strict musical training. She knew Raphael’s Sposalizio as intimately after a while as she knew her own chalet; she gazed on the flowing lines of Luini’s frescoes30 till they grew familiar to her eyes as the Stations of the Cross in the old church at St Valentin. She drank in the cathedral with an endless joy; she loved its innumerable pinnacles31, its thousand statues in the marble niches32: she admired the gloomy antiquity33 of mouldering34 Sant’ Ambrogio, the dim religious aisles of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Amid surroundings like these, her artistic nature expanded by degrees as naturally as a bud opens out into a flower before the summer sunshine. She revelled35 in the architecture, the pictures, the statuary: Milan stood to the soul of the peasant-singer as a veritable university.
It was the first time, too, that Linnet had ever found herself in a bustling36, business-like, modern city. The hurry and scurry37 were as new as the art to her. The throng38 of men and women in the crowded streets, the Piazza39, brilliant with the flare40 of glowing lamps, the great glass-roofed gallery where the gilded41 Lombard youth promenaded42 by night in twos and threes, or sipped43 absinthe before the doors of dazzling cafés: all these were quite fresh, and all these were, in their way, too, an element of education. There are many who can see no more in Milan than this: they know it only as the most go-ahead and modernised of Italian cities. Linnet knew better. To her it was the town of Leonardo and his disciples44, of the great marble pile whose infinite detail escapes and eludes45 the most observant eye, of the vast and stately opera house where Otello and Carmen first unfolded their wonders of sight and sound to her ecstatic senses. Wiser in her generation, she accepted it aright as the vestibule and ante-chamber of artistic Italy.
From Milan they went on in due time to Florence. There they stopped less long, for opportunities of learning were not by any means so good as at Milan and Naples. But those few short weeks in the City of the Soul were to Linnet as a dream of some artistic Paradise; they made her half forget, for the moment at least, her lost English lover?—?and her husband’s presence. The Duomo, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Loggia, the Piazza, the old bridge across the Arno, the enchanted46 market-place; Michael Angelo’s tomb, Giotto’s crusted campanile! What hours she spent, entranced, in the endless halls of the Uffizi and the Pitti; what moments of hushed awe and rapt silence of soul before the pallid47 Fra Angelicos in the dim cells of San Marco. Ach, Gott, it was beautiful! Linnet gazed with the intense delight of her mountain nature at Raphael’s Madonnas and Andrea’s Holy Families; she stood spellbound before the exquisite young David of the Academia; she wandered with a strange thrill among the marvellous della Robbias and Donatellos of the Bargello. The Tyrolese temperament48 is before all things artistic. A new sense seemed quickened within Linnet’s soul as she trod those glorious palaces instinct with memories of the Medici and their compeers. A great thirst for knowledge possessed her heart. She read as she had never known how to read before. That Florentine time was as her freshman49 year in the splendid quadrangles of this Italian Oxford50.
Then Rome?—?the Vatican, the Colosseum, the monuments, St Peter’s, the loud organs, the singing boys, the incense51, the purple robes and mitres, the great guttering52 candles! All that could awake in unison53 every chord of religion and its sister art, in that simple religious artistic nature, was there to gratify her! It was glorious! it was wonderful! So her winter passed away, her first winter with Andreas; she was learning fast, both with eye and with ear, all that Italy and its masters could possibly teach her.
As spring returned, they went northward54 through Lombardy and the Brenner once more on their way to Munich. Her own Tyrol looked more beautiful than ever as they passed, with its unmelted snows lying thick on the mountains. But, save for a night at Innsbruck, they might not stop there. Yet, even after that short lapse55 of time in southern cities, oh, how different, how altered little Innsbruck seemed to her! She had thought it before such a grand big town; she thought it now so much shrunken, so old-world, so quaint56, so homely57. And then, no Will Deverill was there, as before, to brighten it. The mountains gazed down as of old from their precipitous crags upon the nestling town; they were Tyrolese and home-like; and therefore she loved them. But everything had a smaller and meaner air than six months earlier; the queer old High Street was just odd, not magnificent; the Anna S?ule was dwarfed58, the Rathhaus had grown smaller. She had only seen Milan, Florence, Rome, meanwhile; but Milan, Florence, Rome, made Innsbruck sink at once to its proper place as a mere provincial59 capital. While they waited for the Munich train next morning, she strolled into the Hofkirche, to see once more Maximilian’s tomb with its attendant figures. She started at the sight. After the Venus and the Laocoon it surprised her to think she could so lately have stood awestruck before those na?f bronze abortions60!
That summer they spent in Germany, almost wholly at Munich. There Linnet went through a course of musical training under a well-known teacher, and there, too, she had ample opportunities, at the same time, of cultivating to the full her general artistic faculties61. Next winter, back to Italy?—?this time to Venice, Rome, and Naples. Linnet learnt much once more; it was all so glorious; the Grand Canal, St Mark’s, the Academy, the Frari, Sorrento, Capri, Pozzuoli, the great operas at San Carlo. So she stored her brain all the time with fresh experiences of men, women, and things; with pictures of places, of architecture, of sculpture, of scenery. Everywhere her quick mind assimilated at once all that was best and most valuable in what she saw or listened to; by eye and by ear alike, she was half-unconsciously educating herself.
But that wasn’t all. She had ideas as well of still higher education. Will Deverill had given her the first key to books?—?and books are the gateways62 of the deepest knowledge. Partly to escape from the monotony of Andreas Hausberger’s conversation, partly also quite definitely to fit herself for the place in the world she was hereafter to fill?—?when she went to England?—?Linnet turned to books as new friends and companions. German literature first of all, and especially the dramatic. Andreas was wise enough in his generation to approve of that; he was aware that acquaintance with plays and with romantic works in general forms no small integral part of an opera-singer’s equipment. German literature, then, first?—?Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, Richter, Paul Heyse, Freiligrath?—?German literature first, but after it English. Andreas approved of that, too, for was there not much money to be made out of England and America? It was well Linnet should enlarge her English vocabulary; well, too, she should know the plays and novels on which Romeo e Giulietta, and Lucia di Lammermoor, and I Puritani were founded. But Linnet herself had other reasons of her own for wishing to study English. Though she looked upon Will Deverill as something utterly63 lost to her, a bright element in her life now faded away for ever, she yet cherished the memory of that one real love episode so deep in her heart that, for her Englishman’s sake, she loved England and English. She looked forward to the time when she should go to England; not so much because she thought she should ever meet Will Deverill there?—?Naples and Munich had taught her vaguely64 to appreciate the probable vastness of London?—?but because it was the country where Will Deverill lived, and it spoke the tongue Will had made so dear to her. So she read every English book she could easily obtain?—?Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray?—?and she took oral lessons in conversational65 English, which as Andreas justly remarked, would improve her accent, and enable her to sing better in English opera.
Thus three years passed away, and Linnet in their course saw much of the Continent. They got as far north and west at times as Leipzig, Brussels, and even Paris. But they always spent their winters in Italy; it was best for Linnet’s throat, Andreas thought; it gave her abundance of fresh air and sunshine; and besides, the Italian style of teaching was better suited, he felt sure, to her ardent66, excitable Tyrolese temperament, than the colder and more learned Bavarian method.
’Twas at Naples, accordingly, that Linnet came out first as Signora Casalmonte. But after a short season there, Andreas was quite sufficiently67 assured of ultimate success to venture upon taking his prize at once to England. He would sell his goods, like a prudent68 merchant that he was, in the dearest market. When Linnet first learned she was to go to London, a certain strange thrill of joy and hope and fear coursed through her irresistibly69. London! that was the place where Will Deverill lived! London! that was the place where she soon might meet him!
She clasped the little metal Madonna that still hung from her neck, convulsively. “Our Dear Frau, oh, protect me! Save me, oh, save me from the thoughts of my own heart! Help me to think of him less! Help me to try and forget him!”
She was Andreas Hausberger’s wife now, and she meant to be true to him. Love him she never could, but she could at least be true to him. Not in deed alone, but in thought and in word, as Our Dear Frau knew, she strove hard to be faithful.
Then came the first fluttering excitement and disappointment of London?—?that dingy70 Eldorado, so rich, so miserable71?—?the dim, dank streets, the glare, the gloom, the opulence72, the squalor of our fog-bound metropolis73! For a week or two, thank Heaven, Linnet was too busy at arrangements and rehearsals74 to think of surroundings. They were the weeks during which Will was away in the Provinces, or he must almost certainly have heard of and attended the preliminary performances of the forthcoming opera. The final day arrived, and Linnet, all tremulous at the greatness of the stake, had to make her first appearance before that stolid75 sea of unsympathetic, hide-bound English faces. She had peeped at them from the wings before the curtain rose; oh, how her heart sank within her. The respectable sobriety of stalls and boxes, the square-jawed brutality77 of pit and gallery, the cynical78 aspect of the gentlemen of the press, in their faultless evening clothes and unruffled shirt-fronts?—?all contrasted so painfully with the vivid excitement and frank expectancy79 of the Neapolitan audiences to which alone she had hitherto been accustomed. One brighter thought, and only one, sustained her?—?Dear Lady, forgive her that she should think of it now! these were all Herr Will’s people, and they spoke Herr Will’s tongue; as Herr Will was kind, would not they too be kind to her?
So, plucking up heart of grace, though trembling all over, she tripped down the stage rocks with her free gait of a sennerin. To her joy and surprise, a burst of applause rose responsive at once from those seemingly irresponsive dress-coated stalls, those stolidly80 brutal76 and square-faced pittites. Her mere beauty stirred them. Even the gentlemen of the press, smiling cynically81 still, drummed their fingers gently on the flat tops of their opera-hats. Thus encouraged, Linnet opened her mouth and sang. Her throat rose and fell in a rhythmical82 tide. She rendered the first stanza83 of her first song almost faultlessly. She knew, herself, she had never sung better. Then came a brief pause before she went on to the second. During that pause, she raised her eyes to a box of the first tier. The Blessed Madonna in Britannia metal on the oval pendant, ever faithful at a pinch, almost crumpled84 in her grasp as she looked and started. It was Will she saw there, Will, Will, her dear Englishman; and Herr Florian by his elbow, and the grand foreign Frau, the fair-haired Frau, the Frau with the diamonds, ever still beside them!
In a second, Linnet felt from head to foot a great thrill break over her. It broke like a wave of fire, in long, undulating movement, as she had felt it at Innsbruck. The wave rose from her feet, as before, and coursed hot through her limbs, and burnt bright in her body, till it came out as a crimson85 flush on neck and chin and forehead. Then it descended86 once more, thrilling through her as it went, in long, undulating movement, from her neck to her feet again. She felt it as distinctly as she could feel Our Blessed Lady clenched87 hard in her little fist. Her Englishman was there, whom she thought she had lost; as at Innsbruck, so in London, he had come to hear her sing her first song in public!
All at once, yet again, the same strange seizure88 came over her. As her eyes met Will’s, and that wave of fire ran resistlessly through her, she was conscious of a weird89 sense she had known but once in all her life before?—?a sudden failure of sound, a numb90 deadening of the orchestra. Not a note struck her ear. It was all a vast blank to her. Instinctively, as she sang, her right hand toyed with Will’s coral necklet, but her left, with all its might, still gripped and clasped Our Lady with trembling fingers. She heard not a word she herself was uttering; she knew not how she sang, or whether she sang at all; in an agony of terror, of remorse91, of shame, she kept her eyes fixed92 on the conductor’s baton93. By its aid alone she kept true to her accompaniment. But her heart went up silently in one great prayer to Our Lady. When she felt this at Innsbruck she knew it was love. If it meant love still?—?Andreas Hausberger’s wife?—?Oh! Blessed Mother, help! Oh! Dear Lady, protect her!
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收听单词发音
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1
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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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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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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lapidary
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| n.宝石匠；adj.宝石的；简洁优雅的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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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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12
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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instinctively
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indirectly
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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frescoes
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| n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 )；温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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45
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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46
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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49
freshman
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| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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51
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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52
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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54
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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55
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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56
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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abortions
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| n.小产( abortion的名词复数 )；小产胎儿；（计划）等中止或夭折；败育 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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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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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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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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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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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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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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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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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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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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baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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