Without speaking, without even looking up, he took out his pocketbook, and began to write in it. Constantly interrupted either by a trembling in the hand that held the pencil, or by a difficulty (as I imagined) in expressing thoughts imperfectly realized—his patience gave way; he dashed the book on the floor.
“My mind is gone!” he burst out. “Oh, Father in Heaven, let death deliver me from a body without a mind!”
Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching self-control? I picked up the pocketbook, and offered to help him.
“Do you think you can?” he asked.
“I can at least try.”
“Good fellow! What should I do without you? See now; here is my difficulty. I have got so many things to say, I want to separate them—or else they will all run into each other. Look at the book,” my poor friend said mournfully; “they have run into each other in spite of me.”
The entries proved to be nearly incomprehensible. Here and there I discovered some scattered1 words, which showed themselves more or less distinctly in the midst of the surrounding confusion. The first word that I could make out was “Education.” Helped by that hint, I trusted to guess-work to guide me in speaking to him. It was necessary to be positive, or he would have lost all faith in me.
“Well?” he said impatiently.
“Well,” I answered, “you have something to say to me about the education which you have given to your daughters.”
“Don’t put them together!” he cried. “Dear, patient, sweet Eunice must not be confounded with that she-devil—”
“Hush2, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved, she is your own child.”
“I repudiate3 her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has done—and then think of the religious education that I have given her. Heartless! Deceitful! The most ignorant creature in the lowest dens4 of this town could have done nothing more basely cruel. And this, after years on years of patient Christian5 instruction on my part! What is religion? What is education? I read a horrible book once (I forget who was the author); it called religion superstition6, and education empty form. I don’t know; upon my word I don’t know that the book may not—Oh, my tongue! Why don’t I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you a father, too? Don’t interrupt me. Put yourself in my place, and think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and my daughter. Give me the pocketbook; I want to see which memorandum7 comes first.”
He had now wrought8 himself into a state of excitement, which relieved his spirits of the depression that had weighed on them up to this time. His harmless vanity, always, as I suspect, a latent quality in his kindly9 nature, had already restored his confidence. With a self-sufficient smile he consulted his own unintelligible10 entries, and made his own wild discoveries.
“Ah, yes; ‘M’ stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame? Am I—God forgive me my many sins—am I heartless? Am I deceitful?”
“My good friend, not even your enemies could say that!”
“Thank you. Who comes next?” He consulted the book again. “Her mother, her sainted mother, comes next. People say she is like her mother. Was my wife heartless? Was the angel of my life deceitful?”
(“That,” I thought to myself, “is exactly what your wife was—and exactly what reappears in your wife’s child.”)
“Where does her wickedness come from?” he went on. “Not from her mother; not from me; not from a neglected education.” He suddenly stepped up to me and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice dropped to hoarse11, moaning, awestruck tones. “Shall I tell you what it is? A possession of the devil.”
It was so evidently desirable to prevent any continuation of such a train of thought as this, that I could feel no hesitation12 in interrupting him.
“Will you hear what I have to say?” I asked bluntly.
His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to his chair. “I will hear you with pleasure,” he answered politely. “You are the most eloquent13 man I know, with one exception—myself. Of course—myself.”
“It is mere14 waste of time,” I continued, “to regret the excellent education which your daughter has misused15.” Making that reply, I was tempted16 to add another word of truth. All education is at the mercy of two powerful counter-influences: the influence of temperament17, and the influence of circumstances. But this was philosophy. How could I expect him to submit to philosophy? “What we know of Miss Helena,” I went on, “must be enough for us. She has plotted, and she means to succeed. Stop her.”
“Just my idea!” he declared firmly. “I refuse my consent to that abominable18 marriage.”
In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. “You must do more than that, sir,” I told him.
His vanity suddenly took the alarm—I was leading him rather too undisguisedly. He handed his book back to me. “You will find,” he said loftily, “that I have put it all down there.”
I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this effect: “After what she has already done, Helena is capable of marrying in defiance19 of my wishes and commands. This must be considered and provided against.” So far, I had succeeded in flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal20 authority) I alluded21 next to his daughter’s age, his eyes rested on me with a look of downright terror.
“No more of that!” he said. “I won’t talk of the girls’ ages even with you.”
What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the matter in hand—still deliberately22 speaking to him, as I might have spoken to a man with an intellect as clear as my own. In my experience, this practice generally stimulates23 a weak intelligence to do its best. We all know how children receive talk that is lowered, or books that are lowered, to their presumed level. “I shall take it for granted,” I continued, “that Miss Helena is still under your lawful24 authority. She can only arrive at her ends by means of a runaway25 marriage. In that case, much depends on the man. You told me you couldn’t help liking26 him. This was, of course, before you knew of the infamous27 manner in which he has behaved. You must have changed your opinion now.”
He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. “I am afraid,” he said, “the young man was drawn28 into it by Helena.”
Here was Miss Jillgall’s apology for Philip Dunboyne repeated in other words. Despising and detesting29 the fellow as I did, I was forced to admit to myself that he must be recommended by personal attractions which it would be necessary to reckon with. I tried to get some more information from Mr. Gracedieu.
“The excuse you have just made for him,” I resumed, “implies that he is a weak man; easily persuaded, easily led.”
The Minister answered by nodding his head.
“Such weakness as that,” I persisted, “is a vice30 in itself. It has led already, sir, to the saddest results.”
He admitted this by another nod.
“I don’t wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend employing the means that present themselves. You must practice on this man’s weakness, for the sake of the good that may come of it. I hear he is in London with his father. Try the strong influence, and write to his father. There is another reason besides for doing this. It is quite possible that the truth has been concealed31 from Mr. Dunboyne the elder. Take care that he is informed of what has really happened. Are you looking for pen, ink, and paper? Let me offer you the writing materials which I use in traveling.”
I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged the paper; he was eager to begin.
After writing a few words, he stopped—reflected—tried again—stopped again—tore up the little that he had done—and began a new letter, ending in the same miserable32 result. It was impossible to witness his helplessness, to see how pitiably patient he was over his own incapacity, and to let the melancholy33 spectacle go on. I proposed to write the letter; authenticating34 it, of course, by his signature. When he allowed me to take the pen, he turned away his face, ashamed to let me see what he suffered. Was this the same man, whose great nature had so nobly asserted itself in the condemned35 cell? Poor mortality!
The letter was easily written.
I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son’s conduct; repeating, in the plainest language that I could use, what Miss Jillgall had related to me. Arrived at the conclusion, I contrived36 to make Mr. Gracedieu express himself in these strong terms: “I protest against the marriage in justice to you, sir, as well as to myself. We can neither of us content to be accomplices37 in an act of domestic treason of the basest kind.”
In silence, the Minister read the letter, and attached his signature to it. In silence, he rose and took my arm. I asked if he wished to go to his room. He only replied by a sign. I offered to sit with him, and try to cheer him. Gratefully, he pressed my hand: gently, he put me back from the door. Crushed by the miserable discovery of the decay of his own faculties38! What could I do? what could I say? Nothing!
Miss Jillgall was in the drawing-room. With the necessary explanations, I showed her the letter. She read it with breathless interest. “It terrifies one to think how much depends on old Mr. Dunboyne,” she said. “You know him. What sort of man is he?”
I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter to me) that he was a man whom we could depend upon.
Miss Jillgall possessed39 treasures of information to which I could lay no claim. Mr. Dunboyne, she told me, was a scholar, and a writer, and a rich man. His views on marriage were liberal in the extreme. Let his son find good principles, good temper, and good looks, in a wife, and he would promise to find the money.
“I get these particulars,” said Miss Jillgall, “from dear Euneece. They are surely encouraging? That Helena may carry out Mr. Dunboyne’s views in her personal appearance is, I regret to say, what I can’t deny. But as to the other qualifications, how hopeful is the prospect40! Good principles, and good temper? Ha! ha! Helena has the principles of Jezebel, and the temper of Lady Macbeth.”
After dashing off this striking sketch41 of character, the fair artist asked to look at my letter again, and observed that the address was wanting. “I can set this right for you,” she resumed, “thanks, as before, to my sweet Euneece. And (don’t be in a hurry) I can make myself useful in another way. Oh, how I do enjoy making myself useful! If you trust your letter to the basket in the hall, Helena’s lovely eyes—capable of the meanest conceivable actions—are sure to take a peep at the address. In that case, do you think your letter would get to London? I am afraid you detect a faint infusion42 of spitefulness in that question. Oh, for shame! I’ll post the letter myself.”
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1
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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2
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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3
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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4
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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5
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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6
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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7
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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8
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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9
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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10
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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11
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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12
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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13
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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14
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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15
misused
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| v.使用…不当( misuse的过去式和过去分词 )；把…派作不正当的用途；虐待；滥用 | |
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16
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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17
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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18
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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19
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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20
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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21
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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23
stimulates
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| v.刺激( stimulate的第三人称单数 )；激励；使兴奋；起兴奋作用，起刺激作用，起促进作用 | |
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24
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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25
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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26
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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27
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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28
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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29
detesting
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的现在分词 ) | |
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30
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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31
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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32
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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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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34
authenticating
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| v.证明是真实的、可靠的或有效的( authenticate的现在分词 )；鉴定，使生效 | |
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35
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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37
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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38
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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39
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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40
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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41
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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42
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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