It is easy to say, "I will forget," but perhaps the hardest task given us is to lock up a natural yearning1 of the heart, and turn a deaf ear to its plaint, for captive and jailer must inhabit the same small cell. Sylvia was proud, with that pride which is both sensitive and courageous2, which can not only suffer but wring3 strength from suffering. While she struggled with a grief and shame that aged4 her with their pain, she asked no help, made no complaint; but when the forbidden passion stretched its arms to her, she thrust it back and turned to pleasure for oblivion.
Those who knew her best were troubled and surprised by the craving5 for excitement which now took possession of her, the avidity with which she gratified it, regardless of time, health, and money. All day she hurried here and there, driving, shopping, sight-seeing, or entertaining guests at home. Night brought no cessation of her dissipation, for when balls, masquerades, and concerts failed, there still remained the theatre. This soon became both a refuge and a solace6, for believing it to be less harmful than other excitements, her father indulged her new whim7. But, had she known it, this was the most dangerous pastime she could have chosen. Calling for no exertion8 of her own, it left her free to passively receive a stimulant9 to her unhappy love in watching its mimic10 semblance11 through all phases of tragic12 suffering and sorrow, for she would see no comedies, and Shakespeare's tragedies became her study.
This lasted for a time, then the reaction came. A black melancholy13 fell upon her, and energy deserted14 soul and body. She found it a weariness to get up in the morning and weariness to lie down at night. She no longer cared even to seem cheerful, owned that she was spiritless, hoped she should be ill, and did not care if she died to-morrow. When this dark mood seemed about to become chronic15 she began to mend, for youth is wonderfully recuperative, and the deepest wounds soon heal even against the sufferer's will. A quiet apathy16 replaced the gloom, and she let the tide drift her where it would, hoping nothing, expecting nothing, asking nothing but that she need not suffer any more.
She lived fast; all processes with her were rapid; and the secret experience of that winter taught her many things. She believed it had only taught her to forget, for now the outcast love lay very still, and no longer beat despairingly against the door of her heart, demanding to be taken in from the cold. She fancied that neglect had killed it, and that its grave was green with many tears. Alas17 for Sylvia! how could she know that it had only sobbed18 itself to sleep, and would wake beautiful and strong at the first sound of its master's voice.
Mark became eventful. In his fitful fashion he had painted a picture of the Golden Wedding, from sketches19 taken at the time. Moor20 had suggested and bespoken21 it, that the young artist might have a motive23 for finishing it, because, though he excelled in scenes of that description, he thought them beneath him, and tempted24 by more ambitious designs, neglected his true branch of the art. In April it was finished, and at his father's request Mark reluctantly sent it with his Clytemnestra to the annual exhibition. One morning at breakfast Mr. Yule suddenly laughed out behind his paper, and with a face of unmixed satisfaction passed it to his son, pointing to a long critique upon the Exhibition. Mark prepared himself to receive with becoming modesty25 the praises lavished26 upon his great work, but was stricken with amazement27 to find Clytemnestra disposed of in a single sentence, and the Golden Wedding lauded28 in a long enthusiastic paragraph.
"What the deuce does the man mean!" he ejaculated, staring at his father.
"He means that the work which warms the heart is greater than that which freezes the blood, I suspect. Moor knew what you could do and has made you do it, sure that if you worked for fame unconsciously you should achieve it. This is a success that I can appreciate, and I congratulate you heartily29, my son."
"Thank you, sir. But upon my word I don't understand it, and if this wasn't written by the best Art critic in the country I should feel inclined to say the writer was a fool. Why that little thing was a daub compared to the other."
He got no farther in his protest against this unexpected freak of fortune, for Sylvia seized the paper and read the paragraph aloud with such happy emphasis amid Prue's outcries and his father's applause, that Mark began to feel that he really had done something praiseworthy, and that the "daub" was not so despicable after all.
"I'm going to look at it from this new point of sight," was his sole comment as he went away.
Three hours afterward31 he appeared to Sylvia as she sat sewing alone, and startled her with the mysterious announcement.
"I've done it!"
"Done what? Have you burnt poor Clytemnestra?"
"Hang Clytemnestra! I'll begin at the beginning and prepare you for the grand finale. I went to the Exhibition, and stared at Father Blake and his family for an hour. Decided32 that wasn't bad, though I still admire the other more. Then people began to come and crowd up, so that I slipped away for I couldn't stand the compliments. Dahlmann, Scott, and all the rest of my tribe were there, and, as true as my name is Mark Yule, every man of them ignored the Greek party and congratulated me upon the success of that confounded Golden Wedding."
"My dearest boy, I am so proud! so glad! What is the matter? Have you been bitten by a tarantula?"
She might well ask, for Mark was dancing all over the carpet in a most extraordinary style, and only stopped long enough to throw a little case into Sylvia's lap, asking as a whole faceful of smiles broke loose--
"What does that mean?"
She opened it, and a suspicious circlet of diamonds appeared, at sight of which she clapped her hands, and cried out--
"You're going to ask Jessie to wear it!"
"I have! I have!" sung Mark, dancing more wildly than ever. Sylvia chased him into a corner and held him there, almost as much excited as he, while she demanded a full explanation, which he gave her, laughing like a boy, and blushing like a girl.
"You have no business to ask, but of course I'm dying to tell you. I went from that Painter's Purgatory33 as we call it, to Mr. Hope's, and asked for Miss Jessie. My angel came down; I told her of my success, and she smiled as never a woman did before; I added that I'd only waited to make myself more worthy30 of her, by showing that I had talent, as well as love and money to offer her, and she began to cry, whereat I took her in my arms and ascended34 straight into heaven."
"Please be sober, Mark, and tell me all about it. Was she glad? Did she say she would? And is everything as we would have it?"
"It is all perfect, divine, and rapturous, to the last degree. Jessie has liked me ever since she was born, she thinks; adores you and Prue for sisters; yearns35 to call my parent father; allowed me to say and do whatever I liked; and gave me a ravishing kiss just there. Sacred spot; I shall get a mate to it when I put this on her blessed little finger. Try it for me, I want it to be right, and your hands are of a size. That fits grandly. When shall I see a joyful36 sweetheart doing this on his own behalf, Sylvia?"
"Never!"
She shook off the ring as if it burned her, watching it roll glittering away, with a somewhat tragical37 expression. Then she calmed herself, and sitting down to her work, enjoyed Mark's raptures38 for an hour.
The distant city bells were ringing nine that night as a man paused before Mr. Yule's house, and attentively39 scrutinized40 each window. Many were alight, but on the drawn41 curtain of one a woman's shadow came and went. He watched it a moment, passed up the steps, and noiselessly went in. The hall was bright and solitary42; from above came the sound of voices, from a room to the right, the stir of papers and the scratch of a pen, from one on the left, a steady rustle43 as of silk, swept slowly to and fro. To the threshold of this door the man stepped and looked in.
Sylvia was just turning in her walk, and as she came musing44 down the room, Moor saw her well. With some women dress has no relation to states of mind; with Sylvia it was often an indication of the mental garb45 she wore. Moor remembered this trait, and saw in both countenance46 and costume the change that had befallen her in his long absence. Her face was neither gay nor melancholy, but serious and coldly quiet, as if some inward twilight47 reigned48. Her dress, a soft, sad grey, with no decoration but a knot of snowdrops in her bosom49. On these pale flowers her eyes were fixed50, and as she walked with folded arms and drooping51 head, she sang low to herself--
'Upon the convent roof, the snows
Lie sparkling to the moon;
May my soul follow soon.
Lord, make my spirit pure and clear,
As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year,
That in my bosom lies.'
"Sylvia!"
Very gentle was the call, but she started as if it had been a shout, looked an instant while light and color flashed into her face, then ran to him exclaiming joyfully--
"Oh, Geoffrey! I am glad! I am glad!"
There could be but one answer to such a welcome, and Sylvia received it as she stood there, not weeping now, but smiling with the sincerest satisfaction, the happiest surprise. Moor shared both emotions, feeling as a man might feel when, parched53 with thirst, he stretches out his hand for a drop of rain, and receives a brimming cup of water. He drank a deep draught54 gratefully, then, fearing that it might be as suddenly withdrawn55, asked anxiously--
"Sylvia, are we friends or lovers?"
"Anything, if you will only stay."
She looked up as she spoke22, and her face betrayed that a conflict between desire and doubt was going on within her. Impulse had sent her there, and now it was so sweet to know herself beloved, she found it hard to go away. Her brother's happiness had touched her heart, roused the old craving for affection, and brought a strong desire to fill the aching void her lost love had left with this recovered one. Sylvia had not learned to reason yet, she could only feel, because, owing to the unequal development of her divided nature, the heart grew faster than the intellect. Instinct was her surest guide, and when she followed it unblinded by a passion, unthwarted by a mood, she prospered57. But now she was so blinded and so thwarted56, and now her great temptation came. Ambition, man's idol58, had tempted the father; love, woman's god, tempted the daughter; and, as if the father's atonement was to be wrought59 out through his dearest child the daughter also made the fatal false step of her life.
"Then you _have_ learned to love me, Sylvia?"
"No, the old feeling has not changed except to grow more remorseful60, more eager to prove its truth. Once you asked me if I did not wish to love you; then I did not, now I sincerely do. If you still want me with my many faults, and will teach me in your gentle way to be all I should to you, I will gladly learn, because I never needed love as I do now. Geoffrey, shall I stay or go?"
"Stay, Sylvia. Ah, thank God for this!"
If she had ever hoped that Moor would forget her for his own sake, she now saw how vain such hope would have been, and was both touched and troubled by the knowledge of her supremacy61 which that hour gave her. She was as much the calmer as friendship is than love, and was the first to speak again, still standing62 there content although her words expressed a doubt.
"Are you very sure you want me? Are you not tired of the thorn that has fretted63 you so long? Remember, I am so young, so ignorant, and unfitted for a wife. Can I give you real happiness? make home what you would have it? and never see in your face regret that some wiser, better woman was not in my place?"
"I am sure of myself, and satisfied with you, as you are no wiser, no better, nothing but my Sylvia."
"It is very sweet to hear you say that with such a look. I do not deserve it but I will. Is the pain I once gave you gone now, Geoffrey?"
"Gone forever."
"Then I am satisfied, and will begin my life anew by trying to learn well the lesson my kind master is to teach me."
When Moor went that night Sylvia followed him, and as they stood together this happy moment seemed to recall that other sad one, for taking her hands again he asked, smiling now--
"Dear, is it good night or good by?"
"It is good by and come to-morrow."
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收听单词发音
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1
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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14
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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16
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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17
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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18
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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19
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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21
bespoken
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| v.预定( bespeak的过去分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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22
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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23
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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25
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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26
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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28
lauded
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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30
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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31
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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32
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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33
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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34
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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37
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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38
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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40
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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42
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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44
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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45
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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46
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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47
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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48
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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49
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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50
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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51
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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52
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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53
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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54
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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55
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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56
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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57
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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59
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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60
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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61
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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62
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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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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