Altogether the old man was a prey15 to suppositions which led him to feel how much he himself had outlived the democratic glow of his prime. He had ended by accepting everything (though, indeed, he couldn’t swallow the idea that a trick should be played upon Hyacinth), and even by taking an interest in current politics, as to which, of old, he had held the opinion (the same that the Poupins held to-day) that they had been invented on purpose to throw dust in the eyes of disinterested16 reformers and to circumvent17 the social solution. He had given up that problem some time ago; there was no way to clear it up that didn’t seem to make a bigger mess than the actual muddle18 of human affairs, which, by the time one had reached sixty-five, had mostly ceased to exasperate19. Mr Vetch could still feel a certain sharpness on the subject of the prayer-book and the bishops20; and if at moments he was a little ashamed of having accepted this world he could reflect that at all events he continued to repudiate21 every other. The idea of great changes, however, took its place among the dreams of his youth; for what was any possible change in the relations of men and women but a new combination of the same elements? If the elements could be made different the thing would be worth thinking of; but it was not only impossible to introduce any new ones – no means had yet been discovered for getting rid of the old. The figures on the chessboard were still the passions and jealousies23 and superstitions24 and stupidities of man, and their position with regard to each other, at any given moment, could be of interest only to the grim, invisible fates who played the game – who sat, through the ages, bow-backed over the table. This laxity had come upon the old man with the increase of his measurement round the waist, of the little heap of half-crowns and half-sovereigns that had accumulated in a tin box with a very stiff padlock, which he kept under his bed, and of the interwoven threads of sentiment and custom that united him to the dressmaker and her foster-son. If he was no longer pressing about the demands he felt he should have a right to make of society, as he had been in the days when his conversation scandalised Pinnie, so he was now not pressing for Hyacinth, either; reflecting that though, indeed, the constituted powers might have to ‘count’ with him, it would be in better taste for him not to be importunate25 about a settlement. What he had come to fear for him was that he should be precipitated26 by crude agencies, with results in which the deplorable might not exclude the ridiculous. It may even be said that Mr Vetch had a secret project of settling a little on his behalf.
Lady Aurora peeped into the room, very noiselessly, nearly half an hour after Hyacinth had left it, and let the fiddler know that she was called to other duties but that the nurse had come back and the doctor had promised to look in at five o’clock. She herself would return in the evening, and meanwhile Hyacinth was with his aunt, who had recognised him, without a protest; indeed seemed intensely happy that he should be near her again, and lay there with closed eyes, very weak and speechless, with his hand in hers. Her restlessness had passed and her fever abated27, but she had no pulse to speak of and Lady Aurora did not disguise the fact that, in her opinion, she was rapidly sinking. Mr Vetch had already accepted it, and after her ladyship had quitted him he lighted another philosophic28 pipe upon it, lingering on, till the doctor came, in the dressmaker’s dismal29, forsaken30 bower31, where, in past years, he had indulged in so many sociable32 droppings-in and hot tumblers. The echo of all her little simple surprises and pointless contradictions, her gasping33 reception of contemplative paradox34, seemed still to float in the air; but the place felt as relinquished35 and bereaved36 as if she were already beneath the sod. Pinnie had always been a wonderful hand at ‘putting away’; the litter that testified to her most elaborate efforts was often immense, but the reaction in favour of an unspeckled carpet was greater still; and on the present occasion, before taking to her bed, she had found strength to sweep and set in order as daintily as if she had been sure that the room would never again know her care. Even to the old fiddler, who had not Hyacinth’s sensibility to the scenery of life, it had the cold propriety37 of a place arranged for an interment. After the doctor had seen Pinnie, that afternoon, there was no doubt left as to its soon being the stage of dismal preliminaries.
Miss Pynsent, however, resisted her malady38 for nearly a fortnight more, during which Hyacinth was constantly in her room. He never went back to Mr Crookenden’s, with whose establishment, through violent causes, his relations seemed indefinitely suspended; and in fact, for the rest of the time that Pinnie demanded his care he absented himself but twice from Lomax Place for more than a few minutes. On one of these occasions he travelled over to Audley Court and spent an hour there; on the other he met Millicent Henning, by appointment, and took a walk with her on the Embankment. He tried to find a moment to go and thank Madame Poupin for a sympathetic offering, many times repeated, of tisane, concocted39 after a receipt thought supreme40 by the couple in Lisson Grove (though little appreciated in the neighbourhood generally); but he was obliged to acknowledge her kindness only by a respectful letter, which he composed with some trouble, though much elation22, in the French tongue, peculiarly favourable41, as he believed, to little courtesies of this kind. Lady Aurora came again and again to the darkened house, where she diffused42 her beneficent influence in nightly watches; in the most modern sanative suggestions, in conversations with Hyacinth, directed with more ingenuity43 than her fluttered embarrassments44 might have led one to attribute to her, to the purpose of diverting his mind, and in tea-makings (there was a great deal of this liquid consumed on the premises45 during Pinnie’s illness), after a system more enlightened than the usual fashion of Pentonville. She was the bearer of several messages and of a good deal of medical advice from Rose Muniment, whose interest in the dressmaker’s case irritated Hyacinth by its fine courage, which even at second-hand46 was still obtrusive47; she appeared very nearly as resigned to the troubles of others as she was to her own.
Hyacinth had been seized, the day after his return from Medley48, with a sharp desire to do something enterprising and superior on Pinnie’s behalf. He felt the pressure of a sort of angry sense that she was dying of her poor career, of her uneffaced remorse49 for the trick she had played him in his boyhood (as if he hadn’t long ago, and indeed at the time, forgiven it, judging it to have been the highest wisdom!), of something basely helpless in the attitude of her little circle. He wanted to do something which should prove to himself that he had got the best opinion about the invalid50 that it was possible to have: so he insisted that Mr Buffery should consult with a West End doctor, if the West End doctor would consent to meet Mr Buffery. A physician capable of this condescension51 was discovered through Lady Aurora’s agency (she had not brought him of her own movement, because on the one hand she hesitated to impose on the little household in Lomax Place the expense of such a visit, and on the other, with all her narrow personal economies for the sake of her charities, had not the means to meet it herself); and in prevision of the great man’s fee Hyacinth applied52 to Mr Vetch, as he had applied before, for a loan. The great man came, and was wonderfully civil to Mr Buffery, whose conduct of the case he pronounced judicious54; he remained several minutes in the house, while he gazed at Hyacinth over his spectacles (he seemed rather more occupied with him than with the patient), and almost the whole of the Place turned out to stare at his chariot. After all, he consented to accept no fee. He put the question aside with a gesture full of urbanity – a course disappointing and displeasing55 to Hyacinth, who felt in a manner cheated of the full effect of the fine thing he had wished to do for Pinnie; though when he said as much (or something like it) to Mr Vetch, the caustic56 fiddler greeted the observation with a face of amusement which, considering the situation, verged57 upon the unseemly.
Hyacinth, at any rate, had done the best he could, and the fashionable doctor had left directions which foreshadowed relations with an expensive chemist in Bond Street – a prospect58 by which our young man was to some extent consoled. Poor Pinnie’s decline, however, was not arrested, and one evening, more than a week after his return from Medley, as he sat with her alone, it seemed to Hyacinth that her spirit must already have passed away. The nurse had gone down to her supper, and from the staircase a perceptible odour of fizzling bacon indicated that a more cheerful state of things prevailed in the lower regions. Hyacinth could not make out whether Miss Pynsent were asleep or awake; he believed she had not lost consciousness, yet for more than an hour she had given no sign of life. At last she put out her hand, as if she knew he was near her and wished to feel for his, and murmured, “Why did she come? I didn’t want to see her.” In a moment, as she went on, he perceived to whom she was alluding59: her mind had travelled back, through all the years, to the dreadful day (she had described every incident of it to him) when Mrs Bowerbank had invaded her quiet life and startled her sensitive conscience with a message from the prison. “She sat there so long – so long. She was very large, and I was frightened. She moaned, and moaned, and cried – too dreadful. I couldn’t help it – I couldn’t help it!” Her thought wandered from Mrs Bowerbank in the discomposed show-room, enthroned on the yellow sofa, to the tragic60 creature at Milbank, whose accents again, for the hour, lived in her ears; and mixed with this mingled61 vision was still the haunting sense that she herself might have acted differently. That had been cleared up in the past, so far as Hyacinth’s intention was concerned; but what was most alive in Pinnie at the present moment was the passion of repentance62, of still further expiation63. It sickened Hyacinth that she should believe these things were still necessary, and he leaned over her and talked tenderly, with words of comfort and reassurance64. He told her not to think of that dismal, far-off time, which had ceased long ago to have any consequences for either of them; to consider only the future, when she should be quite strong again and he would look after her and keep her all to himself and take care of her better, far better, than he had ever done before. He had thought of many things while he sat with Pinnie, watching the shadows made by the night-lamp – high, imposing65 shadows of objects low and mean – and among them he had followed, with an imagination that went further in that direction than ever before, the probable consequences of his not having been adopted in his babyhood by the dressmaker. The workhouse and the gutter66, ignorance and cold, filth67 and tatters, nights of huddling68 under bridges and in doorways69, vermin, starvation and blows, possibly even the vigorous efflorescence of an inherited disposition70 to crime – these things, which he saw with unprecedented vividness, suggested themselves as his natural portion. Intimacies71 with a princess, visits to fine old country-houses, intelligent consideration, even, of the best means of inflicting72 a scare on the classes of privilege, would in that case not have been within his compass; and that Pinnie should have rescued him from such a destiny and put these luxuries within his reach was an amelioration which really amounted to success, if he could only have the magnanimity to regard it so.
Her eyes were open and fixed73 on him, but the sharp ray the little dressmaker used to direct into Lomax Place as she plied53 her needle at the window had completely left them. “Not there – what should I do there?” she inquired, very softly. “Not with the great – the great —” and her voice failed.
“The great what? What do you mean?”
“You know – you know,” she went on, making another effort. “Haven’t you been with them? Haven’t they received you?”
“Ah, they won’t separate us, Pinnie; they won’t come between us as much as that,” said Hyacinth, kneeling by her bed.
“You must be separate – that makes me happier. I knew they would find you at last.”
“Poor Pinnie, poor Pinnie,” murmured the young man.
“It was only for that – now I’m going,” she went on.
“If you’ll stay with me you needn’t fear,” said Hyacinth, smiling at her.
“Oh, what would they think?” asked the dressmaker.
“I like you best,” said Hyacinth.
“You have had me always. Now it’s their turn; they have waited.”
“Yes, indeed, they have waited!” Hyacinth exclaimed.
“But they will make it up; they will make up everything!” the invalid panted. Then she added, “I couldn’t – couldn’t help it!” – which was the last flicker74 of her strength. She gave no further sign of consciousness, and four days later she ceased to breathe. Hyacinth was with her, and Lady Aurora, but neither of them could recognise the moment.
Hyacinth and Mr Vetch carried her bier, with the help of Eustache Poupin and Paul Muniment. Lady Aurora was at the funeral, and Madame Poupin as well, and twenty neighbours from Lomax Place; but the most distinguished75 person (in appearance at least) in the group of mourners was Millicent Henning, the grave yet brilliant beauty of whose countenance76, the high propriety of whose demeanour, and the fine taste and general style of whose black ‘costume’ excited no little attention. Mr Vetch had his idea; he had been nursing it ever since Hyacinth’s return from Medley, and three days after Pinnie had been consigned77 to the earth he broached78 it to his young friend. The funeral had been on a Friday, and Hyacinth had mentioned to him that he should return to Mr Crookenden’s on the Monday morning. This was Sunday night, and Hyacinth had been out for a walk, neither with Millicent Henning nor with Paul Muniment, but alone, after the manner of old days. When he came in he found the fiddler waiting for him, and burning a tallow candle, in the blighted79 show-room. He had three or four little papers in his hand, which exhibited some jottings of his pencil, and Hyacinth guessed, what was the truth but not all the truth, that he had come to speak to him about business. Pinnie had left a little will, of which she had appointed her old friend executor; this fact had already become known to our hero, who thought such an arrangement highly natural. Mr Vetch informed him of the purport80 of this simple and judicious document, and mentioned that he had been looking into the dressmaker’s ‘affairs’. They consisted, poor Pinnie’s affairs, of the furniture of the house in Lomax Place, of the obligation to pay the remainder of a quarter’s rent, and of a sum of money in the savings-bank. Hyacinth was surprised to learn that Pinnie’s economies had produced fruit at this late day (things had gone so ill with her in recent years, and there had been often such a want of money in the house), until Mr Vetch explained to him, with eager clearness, that he himself had watched over the little hoard81, accumulated during the period of her comparative prosperity, with the stiff determination that it should be sacrificed only in case of desperate necessity. Work had become scarce with Pinnie, but she could still do it when it came, and the money was to be kept for the very possible period when she should be helpless. Mercifully enough, she had not lived to see that day, and the sum in the bank had survived her, though diminished by more than half. She had left no debts but the matter of the house and those incurred82 during her illness. Of course the fiddler had known – he hastened to give his young friend this assurance – that Pinnie, had she become infirm, would have been able to count absolutely upon him for the equivalent, in her old age, of the protection she had given him in his youth. But what if an accident had overtaken Hyacinth? What if he had incurred some nasty penalty for his revolutionary dabblings, which, little dangerous as they might be to society, were quite capable, in a country where authority, though good-natured, liked occasionally to make an example, to put him on the wrong side of a prison-wall? At any rate, for better or worse, by pinching and scraping, she had saved a little, and of that little, after everything was paid off, a fraction would still be left. Everything was bequeathed to Hyacinth – everything but a couple of plated candlesticks and the old ‘cheffonier’, which had been so handsome in its day; these Pinnie begged Mr Vetch to accept in recognition of services beyond all price. The furniture, everything he didn’t want for his own use, Hyacinth could sell in a lump, and with the proceeds he could wipe out old scores. The sum of money would remain to him; it amounted, in its reduced condition, to about thirty-seven pounds. In mentioning this figure Mr Vetch appeared to imply that Hyacinth would be master of a very pretty little fortune. Even to the young man himself, in spite of his recent initiations, it seemed far from contemptible83; it represented sudden possibilities of still not returning to old Crookenden’s. It represented them, that is, till, presently, he remembered the various advances made him by the fiddler, and reflected that by the time these had been repaid there would hardly be twenty pounds left. That, however, was a far larger sum than he had ever had in his pocket at once. He thanked the old man for his information, and remarked – and there was no hypocrisy84 in the speech – that he was very sorry Pinnie had not given herself the benefit of the whole of the little fund in her lifetime. To this her executor replied that it had yielded her an interest far beyond any other investment; for he was persuaded she believed she should never live to enjoy it, and this faith was rich in pictures, visions of the effect such a windfall would produce in Hyacinth’s career.
“What effect did she mean – do you mean?” Hyacinth inquired. As soon as he had spoken he felt that he knew what the old man would say (it would be a reference to Pinnie’s belief in his reunion with his ‘relations’, and the facilities that thirty-seven pounds would afford him for cutting a figure among them); and for a moment Mr Vetch looked at him as if exactly that response were on his lips. At the end of the moment, however, he replied, quite differently –
“She hoped you would go abroad and see the world.” The fiddler watched his young friend; then he added, “She had a particular wish that you should go to Paris.”
Hyacinth had turned pale at this suggestion, and for a moment he said nothing. “Ah, Paris!” he murmured, at last.
“She would have liked you even to take a little run down to Italy.”
“Doubtless that would be pleasant. But there is a limit to what one can do with twenty pounds.”
“How do you mean, with twenty pounds?” the old man asked, lifting his eyebrows85, while the wrinkles in his forehead made deep shadows in the candlelight.
“That’s about what will remain, after I have settled my account with you.”
“How do you mean, your account with me? I shall not take any of your money.”
Hyacinth’s eyes wandered over his interlocutor’s suggestive rustiness86. “I don’t want to be ungracious, but suppose you should lose your powers.”
“My dear boy, I shall have one of the resources that was open to Pinnie. I shall look to you to be the support of my old age.”
“You may do so with perfect safety, except for that danger you just mentioned, of my being imprisoned87 or hanged.”
“It’s precisely88 because I think it will be less if you go abroad that I urge you to take this chance. You will see the world, and you will like it better. You will think society, even as it is, has some good points,” said Mr Vetch.
“I have never liked it better than the last few months.”
“Ah well, wait till you see Paris!”
“Oh, Paris – Paris,” Hyacinth repeated, vaguely89, staring into the turbid90 flame of the candle as if he made out the most brilliant scenes there; an attitude, accent and expression which the fiddler interpreted both as the vibration91 of a latent hereditary92 chord and a symptom of the acute sense of opportunity.
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1
aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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expiation
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| n.赎罪，补偿 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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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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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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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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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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rustiness
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| 生锈，声音沙哑； 荒疏； 锈蚀 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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