There are heroines who live through it all, and are true to the end. There are many pseudo-heroines who intend to do so, but break down. The pseudo-heroine generally breaks down when young Smith,—not so very young,—has been taken in as a partner by Messrs. Smith and Walker, and comes in her way, in want of a wife. The persecution4 is, at any rate, so often efficacious as to make fathers and mothers feel it to be their duty to use it. It need not be said here how high above the ways of the Browns soared the ideas of the Marchioness of Kingsbury. But she felt that it would be her duty to resort to the measures which they would have adopted, and she was determined5 that the Marquis should do the same. A terrible evil, an incurable6 evil, had already been inflicted7. Many people, alas8, would know that Lady Frances had disgraced herself. She, the Marchioness, had been unable to keep the secret from her own sister, Lady Persiflage9, and Lady Persiflage would undoubtedly10 tell it to others. Her own lady's maid knew it. The Marquis himself was the most indiscreet of men. Hampstead would see no cause for secrecy11. Roden would, of course, boast of it all through the Post Office. The letter-carriers who attended upon Park Lane would have talked the matter over with the footmen at the area gate. There could be no hope of secrecy. All the young marquises and unmarried earls would know that Lady Frances Trafford was in love with the "postman." But time, and care, and strict precaution might prevent the final misery12 of a marriage. Then, if the Marquis would be generous, some young Earl, or at least a Baron13, might be induced to forget the "postman," and to take the noble lily, soiled, indeed, but made gracious by gilding14. Her darlings must suffer. Any excess of money given would be at their cost. But anything would be better than a Post Office clerk for a brother-in-law.
Such were the views as to their future life with which the Marchioness intended to accompany her stepdaughter to their Saxon residence. The Marquis, with less of a fixed15 purpose, was inclined in the same way. "I quite agree that they should be separated;—quite," he said. "It mustn't be heard of;—certainly not; certainly not. Not a shilling,—unless she behaves herself properly. Of course she will have her fortune, but not to bestow16 it in such a manner as that."
His own idea was to see them all settled in the chateau17, and then, if possible, to hurry back to London before the season was quite at an end. His wife laid strong injunctions on him as to absolute secrecy, having forgotten, probably, that she herself had told the whole story to Lady Persiflage. The Marquis quite agreed. Secrecy was indispensable. As for him, was it likely that he should speak of a matter so painful and so near to his heart! Nevertheless he told it all to Mr. Greenwood, the gentleman who acted as tutor, private secretary, and chaplain in the house.
Lady Frances had her own ideas, as to this going away and living abroad, very strongly developed in her mind. They intended to persecute18 her till she should change her purpose. She intended to persecute them till they should change theirs. She knew herself too well, she thought, to have any fear as to her own persistency19. That the Marchioness should persuade, or even persecute, her out of an engagement to which she had assented20, she felt to be quite out of the question. In her heart she despised the Marchioness,—bearing with her till the time should come in which she would be delivered from the nuisance of surveillance under such a woman. In her father she trusted much, knowing him to be affectionate, believing him to be still opposed to those aristocratic dogmas which were a religion to the Marchioness,—feeling probably that in his very weakness she would find her best strength. If her stepmother should in truth become cruel, then her father would take her part against his wife. There must be a period of discomfort,—say, six months; and then would come the time in which she would be able to say, "I have tried myself, and know my own mind, and I intend to go home and get myself married." She would take care that her declaration to this effect should not come as a sudden blow. The six months should be employed in preparing for it. The Marchioness might be persistent21 in preaching her views during the six months, but so would Lady Frances be persistent in preaching hers.
She had not accepted the man's love when he had offered it, without thinking much about it. The lesson which she had heard in her earlier years from her mother had sunk deep into her very soul,—much more deeply than the teacher of those lessons had supposed. That teacher had never intended to inculcate as a doctrine22 that rank is a mistake. No one had thought more than she of the incentives23 provided by rank to high duty. "Noblesse oblige." The lesson had been engraved24 on her heart, and might have been read in all the doings of her life. But she had endeavoured to make it understood by her children that they should not be over-quick to claim the privileges of rank. Too many such would be showered on them,—too many for their own welfare. Let them never be greedy to take with outstretched hands those good things of which Chance had provided for them so much more than their fair share. Let them remember that after all there was no virtue25 in having been born a child to a Marquis. Let them remember how much more it was to be a useful man, or a kind woman. So the lessons had been given,—and had gone for more than had been intended. Then all the renown26 of their father's old politics assisted,—the re-election of the drunken tailor,—the jeerings of friends who were high enough and near enough to dare to jeer,—the convictions of childhood that it was a fine thing, because peculiar27 for a Marquis and his belongings28, to be Radical;—and, added to this, there was contempt for the specially29 noble graces of their stepmother. Thus it was that Lord Hampstead was brought to his present condition of thinking,—and Lady Frances.
Her convictions were quite as strong as his, though they did not assume the same form. With a girl, at an early age, all her outlookings into the world have something to do with love and its consequences. When a young man takes his leaning either towards Liberalism or Conservatism he is not at all actuated by any feeling as to how some possible future young woman may think on the subject. But the girl, if she entertains such ideas at all, dreams of them as befitting the man whom she may some day hope to love. Should she, a Protestant, become a Roman Catholic and then a nun30, she feels that in giving up her hope for a man's love she is making the greatest sacrifice in her power for the Saviour31 she is taking to her heart. If she devotes herself to music, or the pencil, or to languages, the effect which her accomplishments32 may have on some beau ideal of manhood is present to her mind. From the very first she is dressing33 herself unconsciously in the mirror of a man's eyes. Quite unconsciously, all this had been present to Lady Frances as month after month and year after year she had formed her strong opinions. She had thought of no man's love,—had thought but little of loving any man,—but in her meditations34 as to the weaknesses and vanity of rank there had always been present that idea,—how would it be with her if such a one should ask for her hand, such a one as she might find among those of whom she dreamed as being more noble than Dukes, even though they were numbered among the world's proletaries? Then she had told herself that if any such a one should come,—if at any time any should be allowed by herself to come,—he should be estimated by his merits, whether Duke or proletary. With her mind in such a state she had of course been prone35 to receive kindly36 the overtures37 of her brother's friend.
What was there missing in him that a girl should require? It was so that she had asked herself the question. As far as manners were concerned, this man was a gentleman. She was quite sure of that. Whether proletary or not, there was nothing about him to offend the taste of the best-born of ladies. That he was better educated than any of the highly-bred young men she saw around her, she was quite sure. He had more to talk about than others. Of his birth and family she knew nothing, but rather prided herself in knowing nothing, because of that doctrine of hers that a man is to be estimated only by what he is himself, and not at all by what he may derive38 from others. Of his personal appearance, which went far with her, she was very proud. He was certainly a handsome young man, and endowed with all outward gifts of manliness39: easy in his gait, but not mindful of it, with motions of his body naturally graceful40 but never studied, with his head erect41, with a laugh in his eye, well-made as to his hands and feet. Neither his intellect nor his political convictions would have recommended a man to her heart, unless there had been something in the outside to please her eye, and from the first moment in which she had met him he had never been afraid of her,—had ventured when he disagreed from her to laugh at her, and even to scold her. There is no barrier in a girl's heart so strong against love as the feeling that the man in question stands in awe42 of her.
She had taken some time before she had given him her answer, and had thought much of the perils43 before her. She had known that she could not divest44 herself of her rank. She had acknowledged to herself that, whether it was for good or bad, a Marquis's daughter could not be like another girl. She owed much to her father, much to her brothers, something even to her stepmother. But was the thing she proposed to do of such a nature as to be regarded as an evil to her family? She could see that there had been changes in the ways of the world during the last century,—changes continued from year to year. Rank was not so high as it used to be,—and in consequence those without rank not so low. The Queen's daughter had married a subject. Lords John and Lords Thomas were every day going into this and the other business. There were instances enough of ladies of title doing the very thing which she proposed to herself. Why should a Post Office clerk be lower than another?
Then came the great question, whether it behoved her to ask her father. Girls in general ask their mother, and send the lover to the father. She had no mother. She was quite sure that she would not leave her happiness in the hands of the present Marchioness. Were she to ask her father she knew that the matter would be at once settled against her. Her father was too much under the dominion45 of his wife to be allowed to have an opinion of his own on such a matter. So she declared to herself, and then determined that she would act on her own responsibility. She would accept the man, and then take the first opportunity of telling her stepmother what she had done. And so it was. It was only early on that morning that she had given her answer to George Roden,—and early on that morning she had summoned up her courage, and told her whole story.
The station to which she was taken was a large German schloss, very comfortably arranged, with the mountain as a background and the River Elbe running close beneath its terraces, on which the Marquis had spent some money, and made it a residence to be envied by the eyes of all passers-by. It had been bought for its beauty in a freak, but had never been occupied for more than a week at a time till this occasion. Under other circumstances Lady Frances would have been as happy here as the day was long, and had often expressed a desire to be allowed to stay for a while at K?nigsgraaf. But now, though she made an attempt to regard their sojourn46 in the place as one of the natural events of their life, she could not shake off the idea of a prison. The Marchioness was determined that the idea of a prison should not be shaken off. In the first few days she said not a word about the objectionable lover, nor did the Marquis. That had been settled between them. But neither was anything said on any other subject. There was a sternness in every motion, and a grim silence seemed to preside in the chateau, except when the boys were present,—and an attempt was made to separate her from her brothers as much as possible, which she was more inclined to resent than any other ill usage which was adopted towards her. After about a fortnight it was announced that the Marquis was to return to London. He had received letters from "the party" which made it quite necessary that he should be there. When this was told to Lady Frances not a word was said as to the probable duration of their own stay at the chateau.
"Papa," she said, "you are going back to London?"
"Yes, my dear. My presence in town is imperatively47 necessary."
"How long are we to stay here?"
"How long?"
"Yes, papa. I like K?nigsgraaf very much. I always thought it the prettiest place I know. But I do not like looking forward to staying here without knowing when I am to go away."
"You had better ask your mamma, my dear."
"Mamma never says anything to me. It would be no good my asking her. Papa, you ought to tell me something before you go away."
"Tell you what?"
"Or let me tell you something."
"What do you want to tell me, Frances?" In saying this he assumed his most angry tone and sternest countenance,—which, however, were not very angry or very stern, and had no effect in frightening his daughter. He did not, in truth, wish to say a word about the Post Office clerk before he made his escape, and would have been very glad to frighten her enough to make her silent had that been possible.
"Papa, I want you to know that it will do no good shutting me up there."
"Nobody shuts you up."
"I mean here in Saxony. Of course I shall stay for some time, but you cannot expect that I shall remain here always."
"Who has talked about always?"
"I understand that I am brought here to be—out of Mr. Roden's way."
"I would rather not speak of that young man."
"But, papa,—if he is to be my husband—"
"He is not to be your husband."
"It will be so, papa, though I should be kept here ever so long. That is what I want you to understand. Having given my word,—and so much more than my word,—I certainly shall not go back from it. I can understand that you should carry me off here so as to try and wean me from it—"
"It is quite out of the question; impossible!"
"No, papa. If he choose,—and I choose,—no one can prevent us." As she said this she looked him full in the face.
"Do you mean to say that you owe no obedience48 to your parents?"
"To you, papa, of course I owe obedience,—to a certain extent. There does come a time, I suppose, in which a daughter may use her own judgment49 as to her own happiness."
"And disgrace all her family?"
"I do not think that I shall disgrace mine. What I want you to understand, papa, is this,—that you will not ensure my obedience by keeping me here. I think I should be more likely to be submissive at home. There is an idea in enforced control which is hardly compatible with obedience. I don't suppose you will lock me up."
"You have no right to talk to me in that way."
"I want to explain that our being here can do no good. When you are gone mamma and I will only be very unhappy together. She won't talk to me, and will look at me as though I were a poor lost creature. I don't think that I am a lost creature at all, but I shall be just as much lost here as though I were at home in England."
"When you come to talking you are as bad as your brother," said the Marquis as he left her. Only that the expression was considered to be unfit for female ears, he would have accused her of "talking the hind50 legs off a dog."
When he was gone the life at K?nigsgraaf became very sombre indeed. Mr. George Roden's name was never mentioned by either of the ladies. There was the Post Office, no doubt, and the Post Office was at first left open to her; but there soon came a time in which she was deprived of this consolation51. With such a guardian52 as the Marchioness, it was not likely that free correspondence should be left open to her.
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1
frets
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| 基质间片； 品丝（吉他等指板上定音的）( fret的名词复数 ) | |
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fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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7
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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12
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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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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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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20
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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23
incentives
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| 激励某人做某事的事物( incentive的名词复数 )； 刺激； 诱因； 动机 | |
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24
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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32
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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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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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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38
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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39
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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41
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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42
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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44
divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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46
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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47
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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48
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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49
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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50
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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51
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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52
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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