"That was news for you, that about young Creswell's accident, Mr. Joyce?"
"It was indeed," replied Walter; "and--to a certain extent--sad news."
"You knew the boy who was killed, and his father?"
"Both. I knew the boy well; he was a pupil in the school where I was an usher1, and I knew the father--by sight--as a man in my position would know a man in his."
"Ah--of course!" and Mr. Gould glanced more keenly than ever at his interlocutor, to see whether he was speaking earnestly or contemptuously. Earnestly, he thought, after a glance, and Joyce fell a little in the worldly man's opinion. He sucked an olive slowly, made a little pattern on his plate with the stones, and then said, "Do you think this affair will make any difference in Mr. Creswell's future?"
"In his future? Will the loss of his son make any difference in his future? Are you serious in asking such a question, Mr. Gould? Will it not leave his life a blank, a vague misery2 without----"
"Yes, yes, of course; I know all about that. You'll pardon me, Mr. Joyce, I'm a much older man than you, and therefore you won't mind my experiencing a certain amount of delight in your perfect freshness and simplicity3. As to leaving the man's life blank, and all that--nonsense, my dear sir, sheer nonsense. He'll find plenty of distraction4, even at his age, to fill up the blank. Now, I was not considering the question from a domestic point of view in the least; what I meant was, do you think that it will alter any of his intentions as regards public life?"
"Public life?--Mr. Creswell?"
"Yes, indeed, public life, Mr. Creswell! I suppose now there's no harm in telling you that the Conservative authorities in London, the wire-pullers in Westminster, have long had it in their minds to wrest5 the seat for Brocksopp from the Liberals, that at the next general election they have determined6 to make the fight, and they have selected Mr. Creswell as their champion."
"Mr. Creswell of Woolgreaves--going into Parliament?"
"Well, that's rather a summary way of putting it, Mr. Joyce," said the lawyer, with a chuckle7. "Say rather, going to try to get into Parliament! Bidwell, of Brocksopp, the Liberal agent, is a deuced long-headed fellow, and will make a tremendous struggle to keep Mr. Creswell out in the cold. Do you know Bidwell, of Brocksopp?"
"I have a slight acquaintance with him."
"Then you've a slight acquaintance with a remarkably8 sharp character, and one who never misses a chance for his party. It will be a tremendous fight, sir, this next election," said Mr. Gould, warming up, placing all his olive-stones in a row, and charging at them with his dessert-knife; "they'll do all they can to beat us, and we shall have to do all we know to hold our own. When I say 'we,' of course I reckon you as a Conservative."
"I--I have no political opinions. I take no interest in politics," said Joyce absently.
Mr. Creswell, from any but a domestic point of view, could not rouse an emotion in him.
"Don't you indeed? No political opinions? Ah, I remember when I hadn't any myself. That was--dear me!" and the astute9 parliamentary agent made a new pattern with the olive-stones, while his thoughts went back for a quarter of a century, to a time when he was under articles in Gray's Inn, used to frequent the Cider Cellars, and was desperately10 in love with the columbine of the Adelphi.
They went to the drawing-room soon afterwards. There was some instrumental music of the most approved firework style, and then Captain Frampton growled11 away at "Il Balen" with great success, and Joyce was just making up his mind to slip away, when Lady Caroline Mansergh sat down to the piano, and began to sing one of Moore's melodies to her own accompaniment. Ah, surely it is not laying one's self open to the charge of fogeyism to grieve over the relegation13 to the "Canterbury" of those charming ballads14, wherein the brightest fancies were wedded15 to the sweetest sounds? If the "makers16 of the people's ballads" possess the power ascribed to them, there is, indeed, but little cause to wonder at the want of tone prevalent in a society, which for its drawing-room music alternates between mawkish17 sentimentality and pot-house slang. When the first note of Lady Caroline's rich contralto voice rippled18 round the room, the guests standing19 about in small knots, coffee-cup in hand, gradually sidled towards the piano, and ere she had sung the first stanza20 even Colonel Tapp's ventriloquial grumbling--he was discussing army estimates, and the infernal attempts at cheeseparing of the Manchester School--was hushed. No one in the room was uninfluenced by the singer's spell, on no one had it so much effect as on Walter Joyce, who sat far away in the shadow of a curtain, an open photograph-book unheeded on his knee, drinking in the melody and surrendering himself entirely21 to its potent22 charms. His eyes were fixed23 on the singer, now on her expressive24 face, now on her delicate little hands as they went softly wandering over the keys, but his thoughts were very, very far away. Far away in the old school garden, with its broad grass-plots, its ruddy wall, its high elm trees, frame-like bordering the sweet domestic picture. Far away with Marian, the one love which his soul had ever known. Ah, how visibly he saw her then, the trim figure noiselessly moving about on its domestic errands, the bright beryl eyes upturned in eager questioning towards his own, the delicate hand with its long thin fingers laid in such trusting confidence on his arm! What ages it seemed since he had seen her! what a tremendous gulf25 seemed ever to separate them! And what prospect26 was there of that union for which they had so fervently27 prayed? The position he was to gain--where was that? What progress had he made in--"friends once linked together I've seen around me fall, like leaves in wintry weather!" Ay, ay, the poor old dominie, at rest--better there than anywhere else, better to be out of the strife28 and the worry, and--good heavens was this what he had promised her? was this the courage on which he had prided himself, and which was to carry him through the world? "Brava! brava! Oh, thank you so very much, Lady Caroline. Mayn't we hope for another? Thanks, so much!" The song was over; the singer had left the piano. He caught one glance as he bowed and murmured his thanks. He could not stand it any longer, his thoughts had completely unmanned him, and he longed for solitude29. If it were rude to leave the party he must brave even Lady Hetherington's wrath30, but he would try and get away unobserved. Now, while the hum of admiration31 was still going on, and while people were gathering32 round Lady Caroline, was the opportunity. He availed himself of it, slipped away unperceived, and hurried to his own room.
He closed the door behind him, turned the key, and flung himself on to the bed, in the dark. He felt that he could contain himself no longer, and now that he was alone and unseen, there was no further reason to restrain the tears which had been welling into his eyes, and now flowed unchecked down his cheeks. He was a man of nervous temperament33, highly wrought34 susceptibilities, and acute sympathies, which had been over-excited during the evening by the story of Tom Creswell's death, his own recollections of his past life, and the weird35 thought-compelling power of Lady Caroline's music. There was no special occasion for these tears; he knew nothing had happened to Marian, nothing--no, nothing had happened calculated in any way to interpose any--any barrier between them; his position was pleasant, his prospects36 brighter than he could have hoped--and yet, and yet! How very strange that she had not written lately!--unless, indeed, she had been completely absorbed by ministering to the trouble round her. Walter could easily picture to himself the comfort she must have been to all in the midst of the desolation which had fallen upon that hitherto prosperous house; he recollected37 how even in the midst of her own deep sorrow she had been able, at the time of her father's death, to rouse her mother from the lethargic38 state of grief into which she had fallen; and if Marian could do that then, while her own heart was bleeding, how much more would she be able to bestir herself now, when neither for the dead, nor for those left behind, had she anything but a kindly39 interest? And might not this sad event prove a useful lesson to her; might it not prove the one thing needful to render her a perfect character, showing her, as it would, that there are worse misfortunes than poverty, and that grief can slip in behind the shields of wealth and position, and abase40 the heads of their possessors to the dust? That longing41 for money and worship of position was the only blot42 in Marian's character, as seen by Walter Joyce's eyes, and if this accident led to its eradication43, it would not have been without its beneficent purpose.
He rose from the bed, and felt his way towards his dressing-table. As he was groping for the matches, his hand fell upon an unopened letter. From Marian, without a doubt; he felt his heart throbbing44; at once he struck a light and looked hurriedly for the familiar writing. No, not from Marian! Totally unlike her square neatly45 written notes; a large blue letter, directed in a straggling hand, and awkwardly folded. Though Joyce was disappointed and, vexed46 for an instant, he quickly recovered himself, and he took the letter up and smiled at it pleasantly, for he had recognised the style and the writing, and he knew that it had come from old Jack47 Byrne.
Thus it ran:
"London, Thursday.
"MY DEAR BOY,
"You'll wonder I haven't answered that capital letter you sent me, giving a description of Westhope and its people, and your life there. You'll wonder, because you are young; when you're as old as I am you won't wonder at anything, except when you sometimes find a man tell the truth; but you shouldn't wonder then, because it would only be an accident. I am very glad that you seem to be so comfortable among the swells48, but I never had much fear about it. I know them root and branch, the whole lot, though I'm only an old bird-stuffer; but I'm like Ulysses, I've seen men and cities, and used my eyes--used 'em so much that, by Jove! I don't think they'll last me much longer--at least, for the fine work in my business. What was I saying? Oh, I see; I know the swells, and I know that if they see a man respect himself they always respect him. All of 'em, sir; don't make any mistake about it. All of 'em, the most ineffable49 transparencies, who think you're sewn up and stuffed in quite a different way from themselves, the kindly noodles, and the clever people--for there are clever people, a few, even among swells--all like to see a man respect himself. You'll have found out by this time, if you did not know it before, that Lord Hetherington is one of the kindly noodles, and one of the best of 'em. He can't help believing in his blood, and his lineage, and his descent from those bloodthirsty, ignorant old ruffians of the Middle Ages, whose only good was that they killed other bloodthirsty, ignorant old ruffians, and he can't help being a fool, that being the penalty which a man generally has to pay for being able to boast of his descent; but he is harmless and kind-hearted. How goes on the book? Take my advice, and make it light and anecdotical. Boil down those old chronicles and parchments of the great West family, and serve them up in a soufflet. And don't let your heavy pedagogical style be seen in the dish! If you do, everybody will know at once that my lord has had nothing to do with the book on the title-page of which his name figures. I suppose it wouldn't do to put in any bad spelling, would it? That would be immensely reassuring50 to all who know Lord Hetherington as to the real authorship.
"And my lady, how is that grande dame51? I've grinned a hundred times, thinking over your face of indignation and disgust at the manner in which she received you that day we went to call on their magnificences at the Clarendon, with a view to your engagement! How does she treat you now? Has she ordered you to black her boots yet, or to wash her lap-dog, or to take your meals with her lady's-maid? Or, more likely still, has she never taken any notice at all of you, having no idea of your existence, beyond the fact that there is a writing-machine--you--in the library, as there is a churn in the dairy, and a mangle52 in the laundry! And does this behaviour gird you, and do you growl12 inwardly about it, or are you a philosopher, and able to despise anything that a woman can do to hurt you? If the latter, come up to town at once, and I will exhibit you in a show as a lusus naturae,and we will divide the profits and make our fortunes.
"And while on that subject, Walter, let me drop my old cynical53 fun, and talk to you for a minute honestly and with all the affection of which my hard, warped54, crabbed55 nature is capable. I can write to you what I couldn't say to you, my boy, and you won't think me gushing56 when I tell you that my heart had been tight locked and barred for years before I saw you, and that I don't think I've been any the worse since you found a key somehow--God knows how--to unlock it. Now, then, after that little bit of maudlin57 nonsense, to what I was going to say. The first time we were ever in my old room together talking over your future, I proposed to start you for Australia. You declined, saying that you couldn't possibly leave England; and when I pressed you about the ties that bound you here, and learned that you had no father or mother, you boggled, and hesitated, and broke down, and I was obliged to help you out of your sentence by changing the subject. Do you remember all that? And do you think I didn't know what it all meant? That marvellous stupidity of young men, which prevents them from thinking that any one has ever been young but themselves! I knew that it meant that you were in love, Walter, and that's what I want to ask you about. From that hour until the day we pressed hands in farewell at Euston Square, you never alluded58 to her again! In the long letter which you sent me, and which now lies before me, a letter treating fully59 of your present and your future life, there is no word of her Don't think I am surprised at a fine, generous, hearty60, hopeful young fellow not giving his love-confidence to a withered61, dried-up old skittle like myself; I never expected it; I should not mention it now, save that I fear that the state of affairs can be scarcely satisfactory between you, or you, who have placed your whole story unreservedly before me, would not have hidden this most important part of it. Nor do I want to ask you for a confidence which you have not volunteered. I only wish you to examine the matter calmly, quietly, and under the exercise of your common sense, of which you have plenty. And if it is unsatisfactory in any way---give it up! Yes, Walter, give it up! It sounds harshly, ridiculously, I know, but it is honest advice, and if I had had any one to say it to me years and years ago, and to enforce my adoption62 of it, I should have been a very different man. Believe in no woman's love, Walter; trust no woman's looks, or words, or vows63. 'First of all would I fly from the cruel madness of love,' says Mr. Tennyson, and he is right. Cruel madness, indeed we laugh at the wretched lunatic who dons a paper crown, and holds a straw for a sceptre, while all the time we are hugging our own tinsel vanities, and exulting64 in our own sham65 state! That's where the swells have the pull, my boy! They have no nonsense about mutual66 love, and fitness, and congeniality, and all that stuff, which is fitted for nothing but valentine-mongers and penny-romancists; they are not very wise, but they know that the dominant67 passion in a man's heart is admiration of beauty, the dominant passion in a woman's is ambition, and they go quietly into the mart and arrange the affair, on the excellent principle of barter68. When I was your age I could not believe in this, had high hopes and aspirations69, and scouted70 the idea of woman's inconstancy--went on loving and hoping and trusting, from month to month, and from year to year, wore out my youth and my freshness and my hope, and was then flung aside and discarded, the victim of 'better opportunities' and 'improved position.' Oh, Lord! I never intended to open my mouth about this, but if you ever want to hear the whole story, I'll tell you some day. Meanwhile, think over these hints, my boy Life's too short and too hard as it is, and--verbum sap.
"Most probably you'll never take any further notice of me, after that. If you have corns, I must have been hard and heavy upon them, and you'll curse my impertinence; if you haven't, you'll think me the prosiest of old bores. Just like me. I see plainly that I must have made a mess of it, whichever way it turns up.
"You tell me to send you news. Not much about; but what there is, encouraging and good for the cause. There is very little doubt that at the general election, which will come off in a few months, we shall be stronger by far than we ever expected, and shall cut the combs of some of those aristocrats71 and plutocrats very close indeed. There is a general feeling that blood and moneybags have divided the spoil too long, and and that worth and intellect may be allowed a chance of being brought into play. There are three or four men at the club, whom you know, and who are tolerably certain of seats, and who, if once they get the opportunity of making their voices heard in Parliament, will show the world of what stuff real Englishmen consist. Who do you think is helping72 us immensely? Shimmer73, he of Bliffkins's! He has got an engagement on the Comet--a new journal which has just started in our interest, and he is writing admirably. A good deal of Lemprière's dictionary, and Bohn's quotations74, and Solomon's proverbs, mixed up with a dashing incisive75 style and sound Saxon English, has proved immensely telling. People are buying the Comet everywhere, and Shimmer's salary has been twice raised, and he has been applied76 to for his photograph. He does not come much to Bliffkins's now, greatly to old Wickwar's relief. The old gentleman has expressed his opinion that since Robsperry (he is supposed to have meant Robespierre) there has been no such sanguinary democrat77 as Shimmer. When will you come back to us, Walter? I look at the place where I used to see you sitting, before I ever spoke78 to you; I sit and stare at it now until I feel my eyes---- D--d old fool!
"Good-bye, boy. Let me hear from you again soon. You know what you promised if ever you wanted money or anything. J.B.
"Opened again to say Shimmer has been here inquiring after you. Comet people want a correspondent at Berlin--special and important. S. thinks you'll do. Will you go? J.B."
The company had long since departed from Westhope; the family had long since retired79 to rest; dim lights glimmered80 here and there in the windows; but Walter Joyce remained sitting on the side of his bed, with Jack Byrne's open letter in his hand. When he wrote it the old man little thought what a field of painful speculation81 he had laid open for its recipient82.
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1
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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2
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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3
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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7
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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8
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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9
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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11
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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12
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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13
relegation
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| n.驱逐，贬黜；降级 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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15
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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mawkish
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| adj.多愁善感的的；无味的 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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21
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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22
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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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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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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29
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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30
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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31
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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32
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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37
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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39
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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40
abase
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| v.降低，贬抑 | |
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41
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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42
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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43
eradication
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| n.根除 | |
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44
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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45
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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46
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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47
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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48
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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49
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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50
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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51
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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52
mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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53
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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54
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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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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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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