VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
“YOU HAVE no objection to dining at the table note today, have you, Marion asked Cissy when Dr. Bailey had taken his departure.
So when the dinner hour drew near, the two sallied forth3 to the “Lion d’Or.” They were ushered4 into a good-sized room, where a long table stood prepared for a considerable number of guests, of whom, however, only a few had as yet made their appearance. As strangers, Mrs. Archer5 and Marion found themselves placed at the lower end; the younger lady’s seat being at the corner, at the right of what in a private house would have been the host’s chair, commanded an excellent view of the whole table. The persons already assembled did not strike Marion as in any way interesting. There were several English, mostly elderly and common-place in the extreme. A rather stout6 German lady with a very stupid, though not unamiable-looking daughter, and a couple of awkward half-grown sons. Just as Cissy had, in a low voice, confided8 to her cousin, that in future she thought it would be nicer to dine at home, the door opened to admit several other guests. A little group of three persons, seating themselves on the vacant chairs beside Mrs. Archer, immediately attracted that observant lady’s attention. They were evidently father, mother, and child, the last a nice little girl of fourteen or thereabouts. The mother, still young and bright-looking, was decidedly prepossessing in appearance, and her devoted11 attention to her husband, evidently the invalid12 of the party, touched a wifely chord in Cissy’s affectionate little heart. Mrs. Fraser, for so her neighbours soon discovered that she was named, happened to sit next to Mrs. Archer, and but a few minutes elapsed before the two somewhat congenial spirits were in friendly conversation.
Marion, by her position at the table slightly separated from them, felt herself at liberty to sit silent and amuse herself by observing her companions. Of these the liveliest and most conspicuous13 were some six or seven gentlemen, who had entered the room immediately after the Fraser family. They came in together, talking and laughing, though not noisily, and evidently belonging to one party. Marion soon gathered from their conversation that some excursion was in question, preliminary to which, they had all met to dine at the “Lion d’Or.” She found them an amusing study, as from time to time she glanced at them demurely14. In the little group of six or seven young men, several nations were represented.
First came John Bull, in the shape of a good natured, substantial, rather handsome man, apparently15 about thirty years of age. Then a lively, energetic little Frenchman, brisk and amusing, but with something unquestionably refined about him too. Next to him sat an exceedingly conceited16 young man, fair, and with good features, of which the most striking was exaggeratedly Roman nose. The nationality of this individual somewhat puzzled Miss Vere, as did also that of his immediate9 neighbour on the left, a very young man, a boy almost, whose handsome face and thoroughbred air rendered him the most attractive of the party. He and his Roman-nosed friend, soon proved themselves to be famous linguists17, for in the course of less than half an hour, Marion heard them speak English, French, German, and a word or two incidentally, of Italian, each, so far as her ear could discover, with perfect ease and fluency18. The rest of the party consisted of a frank-mannered young man, an English officer home from India; and a half clerical-looking individual, middle-aged19 and stiff, whom Marion decided10 and rightly, to be the tutor of the handsome cosmopolitan20. Snatches only of their conversation reached her, but enough to amuse and interest her. The whole party was full of the anticipated enjoyment21 of the mountain expedition. As far as she could gather they intended starting that evening, driving a considerable distance and ascending23 to a certain point in time to see the sun rise.
“Not that I care much about seeing the sun rise,” said the heavy Englishman, shivering at the thought; “but I daresay it will give us good appetite for breakfast.”
“After which think you, my friend, to mount still higher?” asked the Frenchman, “or will you that while you repose24 we then ascend22? In this case can we again find you as we recome.”
“You don’t mean to say, De L’Orme,” interrupted the young officer, “that you ever dreamt of Chepstow’s getting to the top! By all means, leave him half way. We should certainly have to carry him the best part of the way up, and he’s no light weight, remember.”
“Nonsense,” said the substantial Chepstow, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t get to the top.”
“Not the slightest, my dear sir, why you should not both get to the top and stay there if you find it agreeable,” observed the Roman-nosed gentleman, with what seemed to Marion a rather impertinent sneer25 in his tone.
Mr. Chepstow, however, being one of those happily self-satisfied, matter-of-fact people to whom the possibility that they are being made fun of, never occurs, commenced a ponderous26 speech to the effect that his friend had misunderstood him in supposing that he had any wish to settle for life on the summit of the “pic noir;” which speech unfortunately was destined27 never to be concluded, for the person to whom it was addressed, taking not the slightest notice of it, turned to his neighbour on the other side, “the handsome boy,” as Marion had mentally dubbed28 him, saying:
“How is it, my dear —” (she could not catch the name) “your hero has then disappointed you? We are not to be honoured with his company after all? Ah, what a loss! Think only how we might all have profited by twenty-four hours in the company of so learned an individual. You, especially, Chepstow,” he added, turning sharply to that gentleman, hardly yet recovered from the surprise of finding himself not listened to.
“Not so fast, Erbenfeld,” replied the younger man, “I still hope for my friend’s company. Mr. Price met him this afternoon, and at that time he spoke29 of joining us. Did he not, Mr. Price?” he enquired30 of the semi-clerical gentleman.
“Certainly, he did,” answered the person addressed. But just then the little Frenchman broke in with a vivacious31 description of something or other, and Marion lost the thread of the conversation.
All this time Cissy had been chattering32 busily to her new acquaintances; but though from the position or her seat, she had not so good a view as her cousin of the party of young men, it must not be thought that they had escaped her observation. Far from it. She had been making good use of her time, by extracting from her lively and communicative companion quite a fund of information respecting the little world of Altes society. Before the end of dinner she was perfectly informed respecting the names, rank, antecedents, and expectations, of the several gentlemen composing the group at the other end of the table; and now with a smile of satisfaction she whispered to Marion that she had lots to tell her when they got home.
Poor Cissy! I am afraid it must be admitted that she was something of a gossip; but after all, if no one ever said worse of their neighbours than she did, the world at large would be in a considerably33 more amicable34 state of mind than it is at present.
Half way through the meal there was a new arrival. A gentleman, who came in quietly and made his way to the head or the room where the party of young men was seated, and before taking his place said a few words in a low voice to Mr. Chepstow; of apology for his tardiness35, Marion fancied, thereby36 confirming her guess that the substantial Englishman was in the present instance the entertainer of the others.
The appearance of the new-corner seemed to affect the members of the group variously. Mr. Chepstow shook hands with him in a hearty37, hospitable38 way, that would have seemed more in place in an English dining-room than at a French table d’h?te. Erbenfeld greeted him with the slightest possible approach to a bow, which, however, he could not succeed in rendering39 haughty40 or dignified41 as he evidently intended; the Frenchman was airily cordial; and the young officer looked sulky and rather disgusted, as if he thought the jollity of the party had received its death-blow. But over the thin, careworn42 face of Mr. Price, there crept an expression of pleasure touching43 to see, and the handsome boy, his pupil, started up with a bright smile of welcome which made Marion think of her own Harry44 at home.
The stranger’s face had not yet been fully1 turned in her direction, but the sound of his voice was slightly familiar. That voice, had he known it, was his strong point. Not too deep, though round and mellow45; in no wise weak, though it could be gentle as a woman’s; firm and penetrating46, without a shade of hardness. And above all it was a voice that rang true. When at last he sat down and Marion saw him distinctly, the familiarity of the voice was explained. It was the hero of the umbrella! As he glanced round the table she half fancied that his eye for a second rested upon her, with the slightest possible expression of recognition. But very probably this was only a trick of her imagination. She was glad when he entered into an evidently interesting conversation with Mr. Price and his pupil; as he then turned slightly aside and she ventured now and again to glance at him. No, Cissy was right; he was most certainly not handsome. And yet not exactly plain-looking either. A certain quiet, self-contained gravity of expression attracted her. She knew him to be an unusually clever man, but had she not known this from hearsay47, she fancied she would have discovered it for herself. The brow was good, the eyes too deeply set for beauty, the nose passable, the mouth well-shaped, but with lines about it that would have made it hard, had it not been for a gentler expression, half of humour, half of melancholy48, which went and came, now brightening, now saddening, but always softening49 all the features of the dark, quiet face. Knowing, as she aid, nothing of his history and character, it seemed to Marion that it would not be difficult to understand this man; if not to like him, at least to respect and be interested by him. I think it was what she had heard of his somewhat isolated50 and solitary51 life, that inclined her to feel already a sort of regard, pity almost, for him. Her life had not been so bright and full, but that she had some knowledge of lonely hours and lonelier feelings. How easily she could picture him to herself as a boy, shy and backward beside his more brilliant brother. How well she could enter into the little understood suffering carelessly alluded52 to in those few words of his mother’s when expressing her wish that Sir John had left an heir, “and so does Ralph himself wish, for that matter.”
Marion sat dreaming thus to herself, and half started when a question from Cissy as to what in the world she was thinking of, drew her into conversation with her cousin and Mrs. Fraser. Dinner was about over and in a few minutes the whole party dispersed53. Mrs. Archer greatly delighted by Mrs. Fraser’s request that she might call to see her the next day.
“She is really a very nice little woman, isn’t she, May?” said Mrs. Archer, as they were walking home. “Mrs. Fraser, I mean.”
“In the first place, my dear Cissy, she is at least half a head taller than you. As for her niceness I hadn’t much opportunity of judging; she was so busy talking to you. She is certainly very nice-looking, and I like her husband’s face too.”
“Yes, poor man, but how dreadfully ill he looks! There isn’t a chance of his living long,” said Cissy, briskly.
“Indeed! Was that part of his wife’s very entertaining communications?” enquired Marion, drily.
“May, for shame! Of course not. I could see it for myself in half a minute. You do take one up so for whatever one says,” exclaimed Mrs. Archer, indignantly. “But I was going to tell you all I heard about the people here. Mrs. Fraser knows the Berwicks, slightly that is to say. At least she knows the ladies of the family and the old major. By-the-by that sunburnt young man among those gentlemen at the head of the table was the son, young Berwick. Captain, I think he is now. He is home on leave for two years. I never saw him before, but George knows him a little I think. Mrs. Fraser says he’s rather nice by all accounts. Mrs. Berwick and the eldest54 daughter, Blanche, are rather stupid. Blanche always ill and the mother fussing about her. The younger daughter, Sophy, is good-natured and lively, but is allowed to run rather wild, I fancy. She had a great flirtation55 with that fair young man with the queer nose. Erbenfeld is his name; a Swede. But he found out in time that she had no money; all this happened last year and so it came to nothing.”
“Really, Cissy, your new friend must be a regular gossip.”
“Not at all, Marion, you don’t understand,” said Mrs. Archer, with a slight shade of annoyance56 in her tone. I am very glad to have got to know something of all these people in this sort of way. There was no harm whatever in Mrs. Fraser giving me a little information about them. She saw I was a perfect stranger in the place, and I told her I should like to know something about the society here. Perhaps it was a little rash of us both, but I know that she is a nice person. I felt it instinctively57, and perhaps she felt the same towards me. Her husband was laughing at her a little for gossiping, but he said she made a point of collecting all the stories she could to amuse him with, for often he can’t leave his room for days together. But if you would rather not listen to my ‘gossip,’ Marion, I’m sure you needn’t hesitate to say so.”
“Nonsense, Cissy, I was only teasing you. Well, what more about Mr. Erbenfeld?”
“About Mr. Erbenfeld? Oh, there’s not much to tell about him. He’s a sort of adventurer, I should say. He has spent the two last winters here on pretence58 of his health, but really, they say, because he hopes to pick up a rich English wife. He is rather clever—accomplished, at least—and visits all the best people here, being fairly good-looking and gentlemanlike. But Mrs. Fraser says he is a good deal laughed at on account of the airs he gives himself about his old family and grand relations in Sweden.”
“I though he was very rude indeed to Mr. Chepstow,” remarked Marion.
“Oh, yes, that’s the stout, big man. How did you hear his name?”
“I heard that Mr. Erbenfeld mention it. ‘Shepstow’ he pronounced it. But what can a man like Mr. Chepstow be doing here? I am sure he does not look as though he were an invalid.”
“But, my dear child, do get it out of your head that everyone at Altes is an invalid. It is quite a mistake. At least half the people here simply come for amusement. Mr. Chepstow, as it happens, is here to recruit his spirits, for his wife died a few months ago, and he found his home so miserable59 without her that he couldn’t bear to spend the winter there. He’s an enormously rich man, Mrs. Fraser said.”
“Did you notice the gentleman who came in when dinner was half over?” asked Marion.
“Not particularly. I don’t think Mrs. Fraser knew him—at least she made no observations about him.”
“You should have him, though,” said Marion.
“I; why?” exclaimed Cissy. “But now I think of it, by-the-by, his face did strike me as familiar in a sort of misty60 way. I know,” she went on, eagerly; “Yes, I know now. It was Sir Ralph Severn.”
“So I supposed,” said Marion; “for it was certainly the gentleman who lent me the umbrella this morning.”
“How stupid of me not to recognize him,” said Cissy; “but I might just as well say how stupid of him not to recognize me! He is a good deal changed, naturally, for it is seven years since I saw him at Cairo, and then only for a few hours. He is more manly-looking, but even graver than he was then. But what a handsome young man that Russian was! Didn’t you think so, Marion?”
“Yes, I liked his face exceedingly,” she replied. “Ah! that explains his speaking so many languages—his being a Russian, I mean. What is his name?”
“Count Vladimir Nodouroff, or some name like that,” answered Mrs. Archer; “his family comes here every winter. He has a beautiful sister. That stupid-looking man was his tutor. The little Friendship’s name is Monsieur de l’Orme. Mrs. Fraser knows him a little, and says he is charming. They are all setting off on a mountain excursion tonight.”
“Yes, I heard them alluding61 to it,” said Marion; “so after all, Cissy, your Sir Ralph can’t be such a very unsociable person.”
“I never said he was,” answered Cissy; “I only said he was much less popular than his brother. Indeed, I know very little about him; but those learned people are always stuck-up and disagreeable. But oh, May, how I hate this governessing scheme of yours! Mrs. Fraser asked me if you were my sister, and when I said ‘no,’ I, as nearly as possible, added that you were my cousin.”
“Poor Cissy! What did you say? I saw you looking at me rather uncomfortably.”
“I said you were a great friend of mine, and that not being particularly wanted at home, I had persuaded your friends to let you come abroad with me. Thinking it was as well to get accustomed to my r?le in this farce62, I went on to say that, rather against my wishes, you had determined63 on accepting a situation as daily governess while at Altes, rather than be idle. Mrs. Fraser said, ‘Poor girl; well, if she has to do it, the sooner she begins the better?’ I felt such a hypocrite, Marion. I managed to avoid naming you, though. I really couldn’t have called you Miss Freer.”
“But you will have to do so, sooner or later, Cissy; though, I confess, it’s the part I least like of the affair myself. Did you bear anything of the Bailey family from Mrs. Fraser?”
“Yes; she says they are plain, good sort of people. The mother is gentle and amiable7, and the daughter takes after her. Mrs. Fraser was here all last winter too. She says there are excellent subscription64 balls. They are kept very select indeed. You can only get tickets by giving your name to one of the committee. Major Berwick is on it so there will be no difficulty for us if we feel inclined to go. Somehow I don’t think I shall like the Berwicks much. Mrs. Fraser was cautious in her way of speaking about them, but I gathered that old Mrs. Berwick is rather a mischief-maker, though she professes65 to live quite out or the world, on Blanche’s account. Poor Blanche! At school, I remember, she promised to be a very pretty girl. But she was always delicate.”
An hour or so later, as Marion and Cissy sat quietly reading and working, they heard the sound of several carriage wheels passing quickly. Strolling on to the terrace they caught sight of the party of gentlemen setting off on their expedition. It was a lovely evening after the rain, the moon just appearing as the daylight began to fade. The young men’s voices sounded cheerfully as they drove past, just below the terrace.
“How I envy them!” said Cissy “don’t you, Marion? Think how delightful66 it would be to drive ever so far in the moonlight!”
“Yes,” replied Marion, with a sigh, “yes, it would be very delightful.”
And as she spoke a sort of childish discontent with her quiet humdrum67 life came over her. She wished that she was very rich and very beautiful, and free to enjoy some of the many pleasant things that there are in the world. And then her mood gradually altered. A feeling stole over her that a change was impending68, what or how she could not have put in words. A vague presentiment69 that she had reached the boundary of her simple, unruffled girl-life, and that womanhood, with its deeper, fuller joys—but also, alas70! its profounder sorrows and gnawing71 anxieties—was before her. A voice seemed to warn her, to ask her not to be in haste to leave the careless, peaceful present for the unknown, untried future. But he answered in her heart defiantly72, “I am not afraid to meet my fate, to take my place in the battle; the sooner the better. I am strong and ready to do my part, and bear my mead73 of suffering. Only give me my woman’s share of life. Let me feel what it is to live.”
Poor child! Poor little bird, eager to try its newly-fledged wings, little knowing how tossed and torn, how very weary, they would be before they were again folded in rest!
But, thank heaven, there are many bright days in young lives, and of some of these we must tell.
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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forth
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ushered
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archer
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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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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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immediate
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decided
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devoted
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invalid
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conspicuous
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demurely
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apparently
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conceited
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linguists
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fluency
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middle-aged
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cosmopolitan
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enjoyment
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ascend
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ascending
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repose
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sneer
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ponderous
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destined
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dubbed
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spoke
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enquired
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vivacious
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chattering
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considerably
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amicable
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tardiness
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thereby
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hearty
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hospitable
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rendering
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haughty
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dignified
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careworn
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touching
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harry
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mellow
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penetrating
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hearsay
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melancholy
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softening
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isolated
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solitary
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alluded
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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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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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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67
humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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72
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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