Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and looked at me across the altar rails with a hearty3 expression of interest on his broad, red face. At the same time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing4 by my side, tapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said,
“Valeria, you are married!”
Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too bewildered to know. I started and looked at my new husband. He seemed to be almost as much bewildered as I was. The same thought had, as I believe, occurred to us both at the same moment. Was it really possible—in spite of his mother’s opposition5 to our marriage—that we were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a second tap on my shoulder.
“Take his arm!” she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all patience with me.
I took his arm.
“Follow your uncle.”
Holding fast by my husband’s arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who had assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the dreary6 quarters of London, situated7 between the City and the West End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a melancholy8 little wedding party, worthy9 of the dreary neighborhood and the dull day. No relatives or friends of my husband’s were present; his family, as I have already hinted, disapproved10 of his marriage. Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side. I had lost both my parents, and I had but few friends. My dear father’s faithful old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to “give me away,” as the phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn position, he was as good as a father to me.
The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence of any information to guide me) I committed a mistake—ominous, in my aunt Starkweather’s opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married instead of my maiden11 name.
“What!” cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriest tones, “you have forgotten your own name already? Well, well! let us hope you will never repent12 parting with it so readily. Try again, Valeria—try again.”
With trembling fingers I struck the pen through my first effort, and wrote my maiden name, very badly indeed, as follows:
Valeria Brinton
When it came to my husband’s turn I noticed, with surprise, that his hand trembled too, and that he produced a very poor specimen13 of his customary signature:
Eustace Woodville
My aunt, on being requested to sign, complied under protest. “A bad beginning!” she said, pointing to my first unfortunate signature with the feather end of her pen. “I hope, my dear, you may not live to regret it.”
Even then, in the days of my ignorance and my innocence14, that curious outbreak of my aunt’s superstition15 produced a certain uneasy sensation in my mind. It was a consolation16 to me to feel the reassuring17 pressure of my husband’s hand. It was an indescribable relief to hear my uncle’s hearty voice wishing me a happy life at parting. The good man had left his north-country Vicarage (my home since the death of my parents) expressly to read the service at my marriage; and he and my aunt had arranged to return by the mid-day train. He folded me in his great strong arms, and he gave me a kiss which must certainly have been heard by the idlers waiting for the bride and bridegroom outside the church door.
“I wish you health and happiness, my love, with all my heart. You are old enough to choose for yourself, and—no offense18, Mr. Woodville, you and I are new friends—and I pray God, Valeria, it may turn out that you have chosen well. Our house will be dreary enough without you; but I don’t complain, my dear. On the contrary, if this change in your life makes you happier, I rejoice. Come, come! don’t cry, or you will set your aunt off—and it’s no joke at her time of life. Besides, crying will spoil your beauty. Dry your eyes and look in the glass there, and you will see that I am right. Good-by, child—and God bless you!”
He tucked my aunt under his arm, and hurried out. My heart sank a little, dearly as I loved my husband, when I had seen the last of the true friend and protector of my maiden days.
The parting with old Benjamin came next. “I wish you well, my dear; don’t forget me,” was all he said. But the old days at home came back on me at those few words. Benjamin always dined with us on Sundays in my father’s time, and always brought some little present with him for his master’s child. I was very near to “spoiling my beauty” (as my uncle had put it) when I offered the old man my cheek to kiss, and heard him sigh to himself, as if he too were not quite hopeful about my future life.
My husband’s voice roused me, and turned my mind to happier thoughts.
“Shall we go, Valeria?” he asked.
I stopped him on our way out to take advantage of my uncle’s advice; in other words, to see how I looked in the glass over the vestry fireplace.
What does the glass show me?
The glass shows a tall and slender young woman of three-and-twenty years of age. She is not at all the sort of person who attracts attention in the street, seeing that she fails to exhibit the popular yellow hair and the popular painted cheeks. Her hair is black; dressed, in these later days (as it was dressed years since to please her father), in broad ripples19 drawn20 back from the forehead, and gathered into a simple knot behind (like the hair of the Venus de Medicis), so as to show the neck beneath. Her complexion21 is pale: except in moments of violent agitation22 there is no color to be seen in her face. Her eyes are of so dark a blue that they are generally mistaken for black. Her eyebrows23 are well enough in form, but they are too dark and too strongly marked. Her nose just inclines toward the aquiline24 bend, and is considered a little too large by persons difficult to please in the matter of noses. The mouth, her best feature, is very delicately shaped, and is capable of presenting great varieties of expression. As to the face in general, it is too narrow and too long at the lower part, too broad and too low in the higher regions of the eyes and the head. The whole picture, as reflected in the glass, represents a woman of some elegance25, rather too pale, and rather too sedate26 and serious in her moments of silence and repose—in short, a person who fails to strike the ordinary observer at first sight, but who gains in general estimation on a second, and sometimes on a third view. As for her dress, it studiously conceals27, instead of proclaiming, that she has been married that morning. She wears a gray cashmere tunic28 trimmed with gray silk, and having a skirt of the same material and color beneath it. On her head is a bonnet29 to match, relieved by a quilling of white muslin with one deep red rose, as a morsel30 of positive color, to complete the effect of the whole dress.
Have I succeeded or failed in describing the picture of myself which I see in the glass? It is not for me to say. I have done my best to keep clear of the two vanities—the vanity of depreciating31 and the vanity of praising my own personal appearance. For the rest, well written or badly written, thank Heaven it is done!
And whom do I see in the glass standing by my side?
I see a man who is not quite so tall as I am, and who has the misfortune of looking older than his years. His forehead is prematurely32 bald. His big chestnut-colored beard and his long overhanging mustache are prematurely streaked33 with gray. He has the color in the face which my face wants, and the firmness in his figure which my figure wants. He looks at me with the tenderest and gentlest eyes (of a light brown) that I ever saw in the countenance34 of a man. His smile is rare and sweet; his manner, perfectly35 quiet and retiring, has yet a latent persuasiveness36 in it which is (to women) irresistibly37 winning. He just halts a little in his walk, from the effect of an injury received in past years, when he was a soldier serving in India, and he carries a thick bamboo cane38, with a curious crutch39 handle (an old favorite), to help himself along whenever he gets on his feet, in doors or out. With this one little drawback (if it is a drawback), there is nothing infirm or old or awkward about him; his slight limp when he walks has (perhaps to my partial eyes) a certain quaint40 grace of its own, which is pleasanter to see than the unrestrained activity of other men. And last and best of all, I love him! I love him! I love him! And there is an end of my portrait of my husband on our wedding-day.
The glass has told me all I want to know. We leave the vestry at last.
The sky, cloudy since the morning, has darkened while we have been in the church, and the rain is beginning to fall heavily. The idlers outside stare at us grimly under their umbrellas as we pass through their ranks and hasten into our carriage. No cheering; no sunshine; no flowers strewn in our path; no grand breakfast; no genial41 speeches; no bridesmaids; no fathers or mother’s blessing42. A dreary wedding—there is no denying it—and (if Aunt Starkweather is right) a bad beginning as well!
A coup43 has been reserved for us at the railway station. The attentive44 porter, on the look-out for his fee pulls down the blinds over the side windows of the carriage, and shuts out all prying45 eyes in that way. After what seems to be an interminable delay the train starts. My husband winds his arm round me. “At last!” he whispers, with love in his eyes that no words can utter, and presses me to him gently. My arm steals round his neck; my eyes answer his eyes. Our lips meet in the first long, lingering kiss of our married life.
Oh, what recollections of that journey rise in me as I write! Let me dry my eyes, and shut up my paper for the day.
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1
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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2
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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4
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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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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7
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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8
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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9
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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10
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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12
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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13
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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14
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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15
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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16
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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17
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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18
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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19
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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21
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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22
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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23
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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24
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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25
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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29
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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30
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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31
depreciating
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| v.贬值，跌价，减价( depreciate的现在分词 )；贬低，蔑视，轻视 | |
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32
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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33
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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34
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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35
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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36
persuasiveness
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| 说服力 | |
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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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38
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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39
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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40
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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41
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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42
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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43
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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44
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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45
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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