There was now, and ever had been, great freedom of discussion between Ralph Newton of the Priory and his cousin Gregory,—if under the circumstances the two young men may be called cousins,—respecting the affairs of the property. There was naturally much to check or to prevent such freedom. Their own interests in regard to the property were, as far as they went, adverse18. The young parson might possibly inherit the whole of the estate, whereas he was aware that the present Squire would move heaven and earth to leave it, or a portion of it, to his own son. Gregory had always taken his brother's part before the Squire; and the Squire, much as he liked the parson, was never slow in abusing the parson's brother. It would have been no more than natural had the question of the property been, by tacit agreement, always kept out of sight between the two young men. But they had grown up from boyhood together as firm friends, and there was no reticence19 between them on this all-important subject. The Squire's son had never known his mother; and could therefore speak of his own position as would hardly have been possible to him had any memory of her form or person remained with him. And then, though their interests were opposite, nothing that either could say would much affect those interests.
The two men were sitting on the lawn at the Priory after dinner, smoking cigars, and Ralph,—this other Ralph,—had just told the parson of his intention of joining his father in London. "I don't see that I can do any good," said Ralph, "but he wishes it, and of course I shall go."
"You won't see my brother, I suppose?"
"I should think not. You know what my father's feelings are, and I certainly shall not go out of my way to offend them. I have no animosity against Ralph; but I could do no good by opposing my father."
"No," said the parson, "not but what I wish it were otherwise. It is a trouble to me that I cannot have Ralph here;—though perhaps he would not care to come."
"I feel it hard too, that he should not be allowed to see a place which, in a measure, belongs to him. I wish with all my heart that my father did not think so much about the estate. Much as I love the old place, I can hardly think about it without bitterness. Had my father and your brother been on good terms together, there would have been none of that. Nothing that he could do,—no success in his efforts,—can make me be as I should have been had I been born his heir. It is a misfortune, and of course one feels it; but I think I should feel it less were he not so fixed20 in his purpose to undo21 what can never be undone22."
"He will never succeed," said Gregory.
"Probably not;—though, for that matter, I suppose Ralph will be driven to raise money on his inheritance."
"He will never sell the property."
"It seems that he does spend money faster than he can get it."
"He may have done so."
"Is he not always in debt to you yourself? Is he not now thinking of marrying some tradesman's daughter to relieve him of his embarrassments23? We have to own, I suppose, that Master Ralph has made a mess of his money matters?" The parson, who couldn't deny the fact, hardly knew what to say on his brother's behalf. "I protest to you, Greg, that if my father were to tell me that he had changed his mind, and paid your brother's debts out of sheer kindness and uncleship, and the rest of it, I should be well pleased. But he won't do that, and it does seem to me probable that the estate will get into the hands of Jews, financiers, and professional money-dealers, unless my father can save it. You wouldn't be glad to see some shopkeeper's daughter calling herself Mrs. Newton of Newton."
"A shopkeeper's daughter need not necessarily be a—a—a bad sort of woman," said Gregory.
"The chances are that a shopkeeper's daughter will not be an educated lady. Come, Greg;—you cannot say that it is the kind of way out of the mess you would approve."
"I am so sorry that there should be any mess at all!"
"Just so. It is a pity that there should be any mess;—is not it? Come, old fellow, drink your coffee, and let us take a turn across the park. I want to see what Larkin is doing about those sheep. I often feel that my coming into the world was a mess altogether; though, now that I am here, I must make the best of it. If I hadn't come, my father would have married, and had a score of children, and Master Ralph would have been none the better for it."
"You'll go and see the Underwoods," said the parson, as they were walking across the park.
'You'll go and see the Underwoods,' said the parson, as they were walking across the park.
"You'll go and see the Underwoods," said the
parson, as they were walking across the park.
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"If you wish it, I will."
"I do wish it. They know all the history as a matter of course. It cannot be otherwise. And they have so often heard me talk of you. The girls are simply perfect. I shall write to Miss Underwood, and tell her that you will call. I hope, too, that you will see Sir Thomas. It would be so much better that he should know you."
That same night Gregory Newton wrote the two following letters before he went to bed;—the first written was to Miss Underwood, and the second to his brother; but we will place the latter first;—
Newton, 4th August, 186—.
My dear Ralph,—
No doubt you know by this time that my uncle, Gregory, is in London, though you will probably not have seen him. I understand that he has come up with the express purpose of making some settlement in regard to the property, on account of your embarrassments. I need not tell you how sorry I am that the state of your affairs should make this necessary. Ralph goes up also to-morrow;—and though he does not purpose to hunt you up, I hope that you may meet. You know what I think of him, and how much I wish that you two could be friends. He is as generous as the sun, and as just as he is generous. Every Newton ought to make him welcome as one of the family.
As to money, I do not know what may be the state of your affairs. I only hear from him what he hears from his father. Sooner than that you should endanger your inheritance here I will make any sacrifice,—if there be anything that I can do. You are welcome to sell my share of the Holborn property, and you can pay me after my uncle's death. I can get on very well with my living, as it is not probable that I shall marry. At any rate, understand that I should infinitely24 prefer to lose every shilling of the London property to hearing that you had imperilled your position here at Newton. I do not suppose that what I have can go far;—but as far as it will go it is at your service. You can show this letter to Sir Thomas if you think fit.
I could say ever so much more, only that you will know it all without my saying it. And I cannot bear that you should think that I would preach sermons to you. Never mind what I said before about the money that I wanted then. I can do without it now. My uncle will pay for the entire repair of the chancel out of his own pocket. Ever so much must be left undone till more money comes in. Money does come in from this quarter or from that, by God's help. As for the church rates, of course I regret them. But we have to take things in a lump, and it is certainly the fact that we spend ten times as much on the churches as was spent fifty years ago.
Your most affectionate brother,
Gregory Newton.
The other letter was much shorter, and was addressed to Patience Underwood;—
Newton Peele Parsonage, 4th August, 186—.
My dear Miss Underwood,—
My cousin, Mr. Ralph Newton, of whom you have heard me speak so often, is going up to London, and I have asked him to call at Popham Villa25, because I am desirous that so very dear a friend of mine should know other friends whom I love so dearly. I am sure you will receive him kindly for my sake, and that you will like him for his own. There are reasons why I wish that your father should know him.
Give my most affectionate love to your sister. I can send her no other message, and I do not think she will be angry with me for sending that. It cannot hurt her; and she and you at least know how honest and how true it is. Distance and time make no difference. It is as though I were on the lawn with her now.
Most sincerely yours,
Gregory Newton.
When he had written this in the little book-room of his parsonage he opened the window, and, crossing the garden, seated himself on a low brick wall, which divided his small domain26 from the churchyard. The night was bright with stars, but there was no moon in the heavens, and the gloom of the old ivy-coloured church tower was complete. But all the outlines of the place were so well known to him that he could trace them all in the dim light. After a while he got down among the graves, and with slow steps walked round and round the precincts of his church. Here, at least, in this spot, close to the house of God which was his own church, within this hallowed enclosure, which was his own freehold in a peculiar27 manner, he could, after a fashion, be happy, in spite of the misfortunes of himself and his family. His lines had been laid for him in very pleasant places. According to his ideas there was no position among the children of men more blessed, more diversified28, more useful, more noble, than that which had been awarded to him,—if only, by God's help, he could perform with adequate zeal29 and ability the high duties which had been entrusted30 to him. Things outside were dark,—at least, so said the squires31 and parsons around him, with whom he was wont to associate. His uncle, Gregory, was sure that all things were going to the dogs, since a so-called Tory leader had become an advocate for household suffrage32, and real Tory gentlemen had condescended33 to follow him. But to our parson it had always seemed that there was still a fresh running stream of water for him who would care to drink from a fresh stream. He heard much of unbelief, and of the professors of unbelief, both within and without the great Church;—but in that little church with which he was personally concerned there were more worshippers now than there had ever been before. And he heard, too, how certain well-esteemed preachers and prophets of the day talked loudly of the sins of the people, and foretold35 destruction such as was the destruction of Gomorrah;—but to him it seemed that the people of his village were more honest, less given to drink, and certainly better educated than their fathers. In all which thoughts he found matter for hope and encouragement in his daily life. And he set himself to work diligently36, placing all this as a balance against his private sorrows, so that he might teach himself to take that world, of which he himself was the centre, as one whole,—and so to walk on rejoicing.
The one great sorrow of his life, the thorn in the flesh which was always festering, the wound which would not be cured, the grief for which there was no remedy, was his love for Clarissa Underwood. He had asked her thrice to be his wife,—with very little interval37, indeed, between the separate prayers,—and had been so answered that he entertained no hope. Had there been any faintest expectation in his mind that Clarissa would at last become his wife he would have been deterred38 by a sense of duty from making to his brother that generous offer of all the property he owned. But he had no such hope. Clarissa had given thrice that answer, which of all answers is the most grievous to the true-hearted lover. "She felt for him unbounded esteem34, and would always regard him as a friend." A short decided39 negative, or a doubtful no, or even an indignant repulse40, may be changed,—may give way to second convictions, or to better acquaintance, or to altered circumstances, or even simply to perseverance41. But an assurance of esteem and friendship means, and only can mean, that the lady regards her lover as she might do some old uncle or patriarchal family connection, whom, after a fashion, she loves, but who can never be to her the one creature to be worshipped above all others.
Such were Gregory Newton's ideas as to his own chance of success, and, so believing, he had resolved that he would never press his suit again. He endeavoured to conquer his love;—but that he found to be impossible. He thought that it was so impossible that he had determined42 to give up the endeavour. Though he would have advised others that by God's mercy all sorrows in this world could be cured, he told himself,—without arraigning43 God's mercy,—that for him this sorrow could not be cured. He did not scruple44, therefore, to assure his brother that he would not marry,—nor did he hesitate, in writing to Patience Underwood, to assure her that his love for her sister was unchangeable. In saying so he urged no suit;—but it was impossible that he should write to the house without some message, and none other from him to her could be a true message. It could not hurt her. It would not even give her the trouble to think whether she had decided well. He quite understood the nature of the love he wanted,—a love that would have felt it to be all happiness to lean upon his bosom45. Without this love he would not have wished to take her;—and with such love as that he knew he could not fill her heart. Therefore it was that he would satisfy himself with walking round the churchyard of Newton Peele, and telling himself that the pleasure of this world was best to be found in the pursuit of the joys of the next.
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1
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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6
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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7
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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8
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...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
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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dissenters
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| n.持异议者，持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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12
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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14
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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15
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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16
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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17
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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18
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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19
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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20
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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21
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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24
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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25
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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26
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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27
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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28
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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29
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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30
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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32
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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33
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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34
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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35
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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40
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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41
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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42
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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43
arraigning
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| v.告发( arraign的现在分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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44
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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45
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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