There is something mournful in the breaking up of an agreeable party, and few are the roofs in which one has sojourned, which are quitted without some feeling of depression. The sudden cessation of all those sources of excitement which pervade1 a gay and well arranged mansion2 in the country, unstrings the nervous system. For a week or so, we have done nothing which was not agreeable, and heard nothing which was not pleasant. Our self-love has been respected; there has been a total cessation of petty cares; all the enjoyment3 of an establisnment without any of its solicitude4. We have beheld5 civilization only in its favoured aspect, and tasted only the sunny side of the fruit. Sometimes there are associations with our visit of a still sweeter and softer character, but on these we need not dwell: glances that cannot be forgotten, and tones that linger in the ear; sentiment that subdues6 the soul, and flirtation7 that agitates8 the fancy. No matter, whatever may be the cause, one too often drives away from a country-house, rather hipped9. The specific would be immediately to drive to another, and it is a favourite remedy. But sometimes it is not in our power; sometimes for instance we must return to our household gods in the shape of a nursery; and though this was not the form assumed by the penates of Lord Marney, his presence, the presence of an individual so important and so indefatigable10, was still required. His Lordship had passed his time at Mowbray to his satisfaction. He had had his own way in everything. His selfishness had not received a single shock. He had lain down the law and it had not been questioned. He had dogmatised and impugned11, and his assertions had passed current, and his doctrines12 been accepted as orthodox. Lord Mowbray suited him; he liked the consideration of so great a personage. Lord Marney also really liked pomp; a curious table and a luxurious13 life; but he liked them under any roof rather than his own. Not that he was what is commonly called a Screw; that is to say he was not a mere14 screw; but he was acute and malicious15; saw everybody’s worth and position at a glance; could not bear to expend16 his choice wines and costly17 viands18 on hangers-on and toad-eaters, though at the same time no man encouraged and required hangers-on and toad-eaters more. Lord Marney had all the petty social vices19, and none of those petty social weaknesses which soften20 their harshness or their hideousness21. To receive a prince of the blood or a great peer he would spare nothing. Had he to fulfil any of the public duties of his station, his performance would baffle criticism. But he enjoyed making the Vicar of Marney or Captain Grouse22 drink some claret that was on the wane23, or praise a bottle of Burgundy that he knew was pricked24.
Little things affect little minds. Lord Marney rose in no very good humour; he was kept at the station, which aggravated25 his spleen. During his journey on the railroad he spoke26 little, and though he more than once laboured to get up a controversy27 he was unable, for Lady Marney, who rather dreaded28 her dull home, and was not yet in a tone of mind that could hail the presence of the little Poinsett as full compensation for the brilliant circle of Mowbray, replied in amiable29 monosyllables, and Egremont himself in austere30 ones, for he was musing31 over Sybil Gerard and a thousand things as wild and sweet.
Everything went wrong this day. Even Captain Grouse was not at the Abbey to welcome them back. He was playing in a cricket match, Marney against Marham. Nothing else would have induced him to be absent. So it happened that the three fellow-travellers had to dine together, utterly32 weary of themselves and of each other. Captain Grouse was never more wanted; he would have amused Lord Marney, relieved his wife and brother, reported all that had been said and done in their neighbourhood during their absence, introduced a new tone, and effected a happy diversion. Leaving Mowbray, detained at the station, Grouse away, some disagreeable letters, or letters which an ill-humoured man chooses to esteem33 disagreeable, seemed to announce a climax34. Lord Marney ordered the dinner to be served in the small dining-room, which was contiguous to a saloon in which Lady Marney, when they were alone, generally passed the evening.
The dinner was silent and sombre; happily it was also short. Lord Marney tasted several dishes, ate of none; found fault with his own claret, though the butler had given him a choice bottle; praised Lord Mowbray’s, wondered where he got it, “all the wines at Mowbray were good;” then for the twentieth time wondered what could have induced Grouse to fix the cricket match the day he returned home, though he chose to forget that he had never communicated to Grouse even the probable day on which he might be expected.
As for Egremont it must be admitted that he was scarcely in a more contented35 mood than his brother, though he had not such insufficient36 cause for his dark humours. In quitting Mowbray, he had quitted something else than merely an agreeable circle: enough had happened in that visit to stir up the deep recesses37 of his heart, and to prompt him to investigate in an unusual spirit the cause and attributes of his position. He had found a letter on his return to the Abbey, not calculated to dispel38 these somewhat morbid39 feelings; a letter from his agent, urging the settlement of his election accounts, the primary cause of his visit to his brother.
Lady Marney left the dining-room; the brothers were alone. Lord Marney filled a bumper40, which he drank off rapidly, pushed the bottle to his brother, and then said again, “What a cursed bore it is that Grouse is not here.”
“Well, I cannot say, George, that I particularly miss the presence of Captain Grouse,” said his brother.
Lord Marney looked at Egremont pugnaciously41, and then observed, “Grouse is a capital fellow; one is never dull when Grouse is here.”
“Well, for my part,” said Egremont, “I do not much admire that amusement which is dependent on the efforts of hangers-on.”
“Grouse is no more a hanger-on than any one else,” said Lord Marney, rather fiercely.
“Perhaps not,” said Egremont quietly; “I am no judge of such sort of people.”
“I should like to know what you are a judge of; certainly not of making yourself agreeable to young ladies. Arabella cannot he particularly charmed with the result of your visit to Mowbray, as far as Lady Joan is concerned, Arabella’s most intimate friend by the bye. If for no other reason, you ought to have paid her more attention.”
“I cannot pay attention unless I am attracted,” said Egremont; “I have not the ever-ready talent of your friend, Captain Grouse.”
“I do not know what you mean by my friend Captain Grouse. Captain Grouse is no more my friend than your friend. One must have people about the house to do a thousand things which one cannot do oneself, and which one cannot trust to servants, and Grouse does all this capitally.”
“Exactly; he is just what I said, a capital hanger-on if you like, but still a hanger-on.”
“Well, and what then! Suppose he is a hanger-on; may I not have hangers-on as well as any other man?”
“Of course you may; but I am not bound to regret their absence.”
“Who said you were? But I will regret their absence, if I choose. And I regret the absence of Grouse, regret it very much; and if he did happen to be inextricably engaged in this unfortunate match, I say, and you may contradict me if you please, that he ought to have taken care that Slimsey dined here, to tell me all that had happened.”
“I am very glad he omitted to do so,” said Egremont; “I prefer Grouse to Slimsey.”
“I dare say you do,” said Lord Marney, filling his glass and looking very black; “you would like, I have no doubt, to see a fine gentleman-saint, like your friend Mr St Lys, at Marney, preaching in cottages, filling the people with discontent, lecturing me about low wages, soliciting42 plots of grounds for new churches, and inveigling43 Arabella into subscriptions44 to painted windows.”
“I certainly should like to see a man like Aubrey St Lys at Marney,” said Egremont quietly, but rather doggedly45.
“And if he were here, I would soon see who should be master,” said Lord Marney; “I would not succumb46 like Mowbray. One might as well have a jesuit in the house at once.”
“I dare say St Lys would care very little about entering your house,” said Egremont. “I know it was with great reluctance47 that he ever came to Mowbray Castle.”
“I dare say; very great reluctance indeed. And very reluctant he was, I make no doubt, to sit next to Lady Maud. I wonder he does not fly higher, and preach to Lady Joan; but she is too sensible a woman for such fanatical tricks.”
“St Lys thinks it his duty to enter all societies. That is the reason why he goes to Mowbray Castle, as well as to the squalid courts and cellars of the town. He takes care that those who are clad in purple and fine linen48 shall know the state of their neighbours. They cannot at least plead ignorance for the nonfulfilment of their duty. Before St Lys’s time, the family at Mowbray Castle might as well have not existed, as far as benefiting their miserable49 vicinage. It would be well perhaps for other districts not less wretched, and for other families as high and favoured as the Mowbrays, if there were a Mr St Lys on the spot instead of a Mr Slimsey.”
“I suppose that is meant for a cut,” said Lord Marney; “but I wish the people were as well off in every part of the country as they are on my estate. They get here their eight shillings a week, always at least seven, and every hand is at this moment in employ, except a parcel of scoundrels who prefer woodstealing and poaching, and who would prefer wood-stealing and poaching if you gave them double the wages. The rate of wages is nothing: certainty is the thing; and every man at Marney may be sure of his seven shillings a-week for at least nine months in the year; and for the other three, they can go to the House, and a very proper place for them; it is heated with hot air, and has every comfort. Even Marney Abbey is not heated with hot air. I have often thought of it; it makes me mad sometimes to think of those lazy, pampered50 menials passing their lives with their backs to a great roaring fire; but I am afraid of the flues.”
“I wonder, talking of fires, that you are not more afraid of burning ricks,” said Egremont.
“It’s an infernal lie,” said Lord Marney, very violently.
“What is?” said Egremont.
“That there is any incendiarism in this neighbourhood.”
“Why, there was a fire the day after I came.”
“That had nothing to do with wages; it was an accident. I examined into it myself; so did Grouse, so did Slimsey; I sent them about everywhere. I told them I was sure the fire was purely51 accidental, and to go and see about it; and they came back and agreed that it was purely accidental.”
“I dare say they did,” said Egremont; “but no one has discovered the accident.”
“For my part, I believe it was spontaneous combustion,” said Lord Marney.
“That is a satisfactory solution.” said Egremont, “but for my part, the fire being a fact, and it being painfully notorious that the people of Marney—”
“Well, sir, the people of Marney”—said his lordship fiercely.
“Are without question the most miserable population in the county.”
“Did Mr St Lys tell you that?” interrupted Lord Marney, white with rage.
“No, not Mr Lys, but one better acquainted with the neighbourhood.”
“I’ll know your informant’s name,” said Lord Marney with energy.
“My informant was a woman,” said Egremont.
“Lady Maud, I suppose; second-hand52 from Mr St Lys.”
“Mv informant was a woman, and one of the people,” said Egremont.
“Some poacher’s drab! I don’t care what women say, high or low, they always exaggerate.”
“The misery53 of a family who live upon seven or even eight shillings a-week can scarcely be exaggerated.”
“What should you know about it? Did you ever live on seven or eight shillings a-week? What can you know about the people who pass your time at London clubs or in fine country houses? I suppose you want the people to live as they do at a house dinner at Boodle’s. I say that a family can live very well on seven shillings a-week, and on eight shillings very well indeed. The poor are very well off, at least the agricultural poor, very well off indeed. Their incomes are certain, that is a great point, and they have no cares, no anxieties; they always have a resource, they always have the House. People without cares do not require as much food as those whose life entails54 anxieties. See how long they live! Compare the rate of mortality among them with that of the manufacturing districts. Incendiarism indeed! If there had been a proper rural police, such a thing as incendiarism would never have been heard of!”
There was a pause. Lord Marney dashed off another bumper; Egremont sipped55 his wine. At length he said, “This argument made me forget the principal reason, George, why I am glad that we are alone together to-day. I am sorry to bore you, but I am bored myself deucedly. I find a letter from my agent. These election accounts must be settled.”
“Why, I thought they were settled.”
“How do you mean?”
“I thought my mother had given you a thousand pounds.”
“No doubt of that, but that was long ago disposed of.”
“In my opinion quite enough for a seat in these times. Instead of paying to get into Parliament, a man ought to be paid for entering it.”
“There may be a good deal in what you say,” said Egremont; “but it is too late to take that view of the business. The expense has been incurred56 and must be met.”
“I don’t see that,” said Lord Marney, “we have paid one thousand pounds and there is a balance unsettled. When was there ever a contest without a balance being unsettled? I remember hearing my father often say that when he stood for this county, our grandfather paid more than a hundred thousand pounds, and yet I know to this day there are accounts unsettled. Regularly every year I receive anonymous57 letters threatening me with fearful punishment if I don’t pay one hundred and fifty pounds for a breakfast at the Jolly Tinkers.”
“You jest: the matter indeed requires a serious vein58. I wish these accounts to be settled at once.”
“And I should like to know where the funds are to come from! I have none. The quantity of barns I am building now is something tremendous! Then this rage for draining; it would dry up any purse. What think you of two million tiles this year? And rents,—to keep up which we are making these awful sacrifices—they are merely nominal59, or soon will be. They never will be satisfied till they have touched the land. That is clear to me. I am prepared for a reduction of five-and-twenty per cent; if the corn laws are touched, it can’t be less than that. My mother ought to take it into consideration and reduce her jointure accordingly. But I dare say she will not; people are so selfish; particularly as she has given you this thousand pounds, which in fact after all comes out of my pocket.”
“All this you have said to me before. What does it mean? I fought this battle at the instigation of the family, from no feeling of my own. You are the head of the family and you were consulted on the step. Unless I had concluded that it was with your sanction, I certainly should not have made my appearance on the hustings60.”
“I am very glad you did though,” said Lord Marney; “Parliament is a great point for our class: in these days especially, more even than in the old time. I was truly rejoiced at your success, and it mortified61 the whigs about us most confoundedly. Some people thought there was only one family in the world to have their Richmond or their Malton. Getting you in for the old borough62 was really a coup63.”
“Well now, to retain our interest,” said Egremont, “quick payment of our expenses is the most efficient way, believe me.”
“You have got six years, perhaps seven,” said Lord Marney, “and long before that I hope to find you the husband of Lady Joan Fitz-Warene.”
“I do not wish to connect the two contingencies,” said Egremont firmly.
“They are inseparable,” said Lord Marney.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I think this pedantic64 acquittance of an electioneering account is in the highest degree ridiculous, and that I cannot interfere65 in it. The legal expenses are you say paid; and if they were not, I should feel myself bound, as the head of the family, to defray them, but I can go no further. I cannot bring myself to sanction an expenditure66 for certainly very unnecessary, perhaps, and I much fear it, for illegal and very immoral67 purposes.”
“That really is your determination?”
“After the most mature reflection, prompted by a sincere solicitude for your benefit.”
“Well, George, I have often suspected it, but now I feel quite persuaded, that you are really the greatest humbug68 that ever existed.”
“Abuse is not argument, Mr Egremont.”
“You are beneath abuse, as you are beneath every sentiment but one, which I most entirely69 feel,” and Egremont rose from the table.
“You may thank your own obstinacy70 and conceit,” said Lord Marney. “I took you to Mowbray Castle, and the cards were in your own hands if you chose to play them.”
“You have interfered71 with me once before on such a subject. Lord Marney,” said Egremont, with a kindling72 eye and a cheek pallid73 with rage.
“You had better not say that again,” said Lord Marney in a tone of menace.
“Why not?” asked Egremont fiercely. “Who and what are you to dare to address me thus?”
“I am your elder brother, sir, whose relationship to you is your only claim to the consideration of society.”
“A curse on the society that has fashioned such claims.” said Egremont in an heightened tone—“claims founded in selfishness, cruelty, and fraud, and leading to demoralization, misery, and crime.”
“Claims which I will make you respect, at least in this house, sir,” said Lord Marney, springing from his chair.
“Touch me at your peril74!” exclaimed Egremont, “or I will forget you are my mother’s son, and cleave75 you to the ground. You have been the blight76 of my life; you stole from me my bride, and now you would rob me of my honour.”
“Liar and villain77!” exclaimed Lord Marney, darting78 forward: but at this moment his wife rushed into the apartment and clung to him. “For heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, “What is all this? George, Charles, dearest George!”
“Let me go, Arabella.”
“Let him come on.”
But Lady Marney gave a piercing shriek79, and held out her arms to keep the brothers apart. A sound was heard at the other door; there was nothing in the world that Lord Marney dreaded so much as that his servants should witness a domestic scene. He sprang forward to the door to prevent any one entering; partially80 opening it, he said Lady Marney was unwell and desired her maid; returning, he found Arabella insensible on the ground, and Egremont vanished!
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收听单词发音
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1
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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subdues
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| 征服( subdue的第三人称单数 )； 克制； 制服 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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agitates
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| 搅动( agitate的第三人称单数 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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hipped
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| adj.着迷的，忧郁的 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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impugned
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| v.非难，指谪( impugn的过去式和过去分词 )；对…有怀疑 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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hideousness
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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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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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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pugnaciously
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soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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inveigling
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| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的现在分词 ) | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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45
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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48
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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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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50
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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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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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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58
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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60
hustings
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| n.竞选活动 | |
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61
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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63
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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68
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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69
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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70
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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71
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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72
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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75
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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76
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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79
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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