And then the wind,--a gusty16, chilly17 wind,--that came along unexpectedly, and drove the unwilling18 rain against the umbrellas of struggling pedestrians19, or else took a mean advantage of its power, and turned their umbrellas inside out, with a shrill20 whistle of triumph. The steady light streamed out from the painted church windows, and the dull, blurred21 glare of the street lamps was reflected in the wet pavements. Ugh! a night not fit for a dog to be out in, and yet there were a good many people hurrying along to the church, in answer to the clamorous22 voices of the bells.
Some folk, however--wise in their generation--preferred staying at home to sitting in church, with damp boots and a general sense of stickiness about their clothes, and though possibly their souls suffered from such an omission24, their bodies were certainly more comfortable. Among these godless people, who thus preferred comfort to religion, were two young men occupying a room on a first floor, the windows of which looked across to the church, now full of damp and steaming worshippers.
A room in a boarding-house--especially one where boarders only pay twenty-five shillings a week--is not generally a very luxurious25 apartment, and this special room was certainly no exception to the rule. It was square, with a fairly lofty ceiling, and the walls were covered with a dull red paper, which, being mellowed26 by time, had assumed a somewhat rusty27 hue28.
It was rapidly growing dark outside, and there was no light in the room, save that which came from a roaring coal fire blazing brightly up the chimney, and illuminating29 the apartment in a curiously30 fantastic manner. It sent out red shafts31 of light into dark corners, as if to find out what was hidden there, and then being disappointed, would sink back into a dull, sulky glow, only to fall into a chaotic32 mass, and blaze merrily up once more.
The apartment wherein the fire played these elfish tricks was furnished comfortably, but the furniture had a somewhat dingy33 look. The carpet was threadbare, except under the table, where there could be traced some vestiges34 of its original pattern. A cottage piano was pushed into a corner slanting35 ways, and beside it was a great untidy pile of music. At one end of the room, a desk covered with papers, and immediately above it a shelf containing a small array of well-worn books. Near the desk stood an aggravatingly36 bright sideboard, whereon were some glasses, a jug37 of water, and a half-empty bottle of whisky. Four or five lounging chairs of wicker-work were scattered38 about, covered with rugs of wallaby fur, whilst the walls and mantelpiece were almost covered with photographs, mostly of women, but here and there a male face, showing the well-known features of Beethoven, Chopin, and other famous musicians.
This somewhat incongruous apartment was a private sitting-room39 in an East Melbourne boarding-house, and was at present in the occupation of Ezra Lazarus, journalist. Ezra Lazarus himself was seated at the piano playing snatches of music, while on the hearth-rug, smoking a pipe, lay a man propped40 up on his elbow, with his head resting on his hand, staring into the burning coals, and listening to his friend playing.
Ezra Lazarus was a young man of medium height, with a slender figure, a pale face, rather dreamy, dark eyes, and black hair and beard carefully trimmed. He dressed neatly41, and, in contrast to most of his race, wore no jewellery. Why he had become a journalist no one knew,--himself least of all,--as his tastes did not lie in the direction of newspaper work, for having all the Hebraic love of music, he was an accomplished42 pianist. As for the rest--staid in his demeanour, soft-spoken in his language, and much given to solitary43 wanderings. Yet he was no misanthrope44, and those who knew him intimately found him a most charming companion, full of quaint45 ideas and bookish lore46, but he was essentially47 a man of ideality, and shrank from contact with the work-a-day world. For such a nature as this a journalistic sphere was most unsuitable, and he felt it to be so, but having drifted into such a position, he lacked the energy to extricate48 himself from his uncongenial employment, and accepted his fate with oriental apathy49, recompensing himself in some measure by giving every spare moment to the study of music.
The man lying before the fire was the direct opposite of Ezra, both in appearance and temperament50. A tall, sinewy-figured young fellow of six-and-twenty, with restless keen grey eyes under strongly-marked eyebrows51, and a sensitive mouth, almost hidden by a small fair moustache. His nose was thin and straight, with delicately-cut nostrils52, and his head was well set on his broad shoulders, albeit53 he had a trick of throwing it back which gave him a somewhat haughty54 carriage. He had a fair complexion55, with that reddish-brown hue which comes from constantly living in the open air, and altogether looked like a man addicted56 to sport rather than to study.
This was Keith Stewart, who, having passed most of his life in Gippsland, and in wandering about Australia generally, had a year previously57 come down to Melbourne with the laudable intention of devoting himself to literature. That he was poor might be surmised58 from his shabby, well-brushed clothes, and his face constantly wore that expression of watchfulness59 habitual60 to those who have to fight the world in their youth and be on their guard against everyone.
That two such dissimilar natures as these could find any reciprocity appears strange, but curiously enough some undercurrent of sympathy had drawn61 them together from the first time they met. Jew and Gentile, musician and student, different nationalities, different trains of thought, yet the mere62 fact that they could both live in an ideal world of their own creation, heedless of the restless life which seethed63 around, seemed to form a bond of concord64 between them, and their mutual65 isolation66 drew them almost imperceptibly together.
Keith had only been boarding in the house a week, consequently Ezra knew nothing about his friend's life, beyond the fact that he was poor and ambitious. As Stewart never volunteered any information about himself, Ezra, with the delicacy67 of a sensitive nature, shrank from forcing himself on his confidence. The inexhaustible subjects of books and music, a walk by the banks of the Yarra, or an occasional visit to the theatre, had been, so far, the limit of their social companionship. Their inner selves were still unknown to each other. To all, however, there comes a moment when the desire to unburden the mind to a sympathetic nature is strong, and it was in such a moment that Ezra Lazarus first learned the past life of Stewart.
On this dreary Sunday night Ezra let his fingers wander over the piano, vaguely68 following his thoughts, and the result was a queer mingling69 of melodies--now a bizarre polonaise of Chopin, with its fantastic blending of patriotic70 joy and despairing pain, then a rush of stormy chords, preluding a Spanish dance, instinct with the amorous23 languor71 and fierce passion of the south. Outside, the shrill wind could be heard sweeping72 past, a sheet of rain would lash12 wildly against the windows, and at intervals73 the musical thunder of the organ sounded from the adjacent church.
Keith smoked away steadily74 and listened drowsily75 to the pleasant mingling of sounds, until Ezra began to play the Traviata music, with its feverish76 brilliancy and undercurrent of sadness. Then he suddenly started, clenched77 his hand, and taking his pipe from his mouth, heaved an impatient sigh, upon hearing which, Lazarus stopped playing, and turned slowly round.
"A link of memory?" he said, in his soft voice, referring to the music.
Stewart replaced his pipe, blew a thick wreath of smoke, and sighed again.
"Yes," he replied, after a pause; "it recalls to me--a woman."
Ezra laughed half sadly, half mockingly.
"Always the Eternal feminine of George Sand."
Keith sat up cross-legged in front of the fire and shrugged78 his shoulders.
"Don't be cynical79 old chap," he said, glancing round; "I'm sick of hearing the incessant80 railing against women--good heavens! are we men so pure ourselves, that we can afford to cast stones against the sex to which our mothers and sisters belong."
"I did not mean to be cynical," replied Ezra, clasping his hands round one of his knees, "I only quoted Sand, because when a man is thinking, it is generally--a woman.
"Or a debt--or a crime--or a sorrow," interposed the other quickly; "we can ring the changes on all of them."
"Who is cynical now?" asked the Jew, with a smile.
"Not I," denied Keith, emphatically, drawing hard at his pipe; "or if I am, it is only that thin veneer81 of cynicism, under which we hide our natural feelings now-a-days; but the music took me back to the time when 'Plancus was consul82'--exactly twelve months ago."
"Bah! Plancus is consul still; don't be downhearted, my friend; you are still in the pleasant city of Prague."
"Pleasant? that is as it may be. I think it a very disagreeable city without money. Bohemianism is charming in novels, but in real life it is generally a hunt after what Murger calls that voracious83 animal, the half-crown."
"And after women!"
"Ah, bah! Lais and Phryne; both charming, but slightly improper84, not to say expensive."
"Take the other side of the shield," said the Jew gently.
"Lucretia, and--and--by Jove, I can't recollect85 the name of any other virtuous86 woman."
"Who is the lady of the music?"
"My affianced wife," retorted Stewart curtly87.
"Ah!" said Ezra thoughtfully, "then we have a feeling in common, I am also engaged."
Stewart laughed gaily88.
"And we both think our lady-loves perfect," he said lightly. "'Dulcinea is the fairest woman in the world,'--poor Don Quixote."
"Mine is to me," said Ezra emphatically.
"Of course," answered Stewart, with a smile. "I can picture her, tall, dark, and stately, an imperial daughter of Judah, with the beauty of Bathsheba and the majesty89 of Esther."
"Entirely90 wrong," replied Lazarus dryly, "she is neither tall, dark, nor stately, but--"
"The exact opposite--I take your meaning," said Keith composedly; "well, my Dulcinea is like the sketch91 I have given--beautiful, clever, poor, and--a governess."
"And you haven't seen her for a year?"
"No--a whole twelvemonth--she is up Sandhurst way trying to hammer dates and the rule of three into the thick heads of five small brats92, and I--well I'm an unsuccessful literary man, doing what is vulgarly known as 'a perish.'"
"What made you take up writing?" asked Lazarus.
"What made me take up writing?" repeated Stewart, staring vaguely into the fire. "Lord knows--destiny, I suppose--I've had a queer sort of life altogether. I was born of poor but honest parents, quite the orthodox style of thing, isn't it?"
"Are your parents alive?"
"Dead!" laconically93.
There was a pause of a few moments, during which time Keith was evidently deep in thought.
"According to Sir Walter Scott," he observed at length, "every Scotchman has a pedigree. I've got one as long as the tail of a kite, only not so useful. I'd sell all my ancestors, as readily as Charles Surface did his, for a few pounds. My people claim to be connected with the royal Stewarts."
"Your name is spelt differently."
"It's spelt correctly," retorted Keith coolly, "in the good old Scottish fashion; as for the other, it's the French method acclimatised by Mary Stuart when she married the Dauphin of France."
"Well, now I know your pedigree, what is the story of your life?"
"My life?--oh! I'm like Canning's knife-grinder. 'Story, I've got none to tell.' My father and mother found royal descent was not bread and butter, so they sold the paternal94 acres and came out to Australia, where I was born. The gold fever was raging then, but I suppose they inherited the bad luck of the Stewarts, for they did not make a penny; then they started a farm in Gippsland and ruined themselves. My father died of a broken heart, and my mother soon followed, so I was left an orphan95 with next to nothing. I wandered all over Australia, and did anything that turned up. Suppressing the family pride, I took a situation in a Sandhurst store, kept by a man called Proggins, and there I met Eugénie Rainsford, who, as I told you, taught the juvenile96 Progginses. I had a desultory97 sort of education from my father, and having read a good deal, I determined98 to take to literature, inspired, I suppose, by the poetic99 melancholy100 of the Australian bush. I wrote poetry with the usual success; I then went on the stage, and found I wasn't a heaven-born genius by any means, so I became a member of the staff of a small country paper, wrote brilliant articles about the weather and crops, varied101 by paste-and-scissors' work. Burned the midnight oil, and wrote some articles, which were accepted in Melbourne, so, with the usual prudence102 of genius, I threw up my billet and came down here to set the Thames, or rather the Yarra, on fire. Needless to remark, I didn't succeed or I shouldn't be here, so there is my history in a nutshell."
"And Miss Rainsford?"
"Oh, I engaged myself to her before I left Sandhurst," said Keith, his face growing tender, "bless her--the letters she has written me have been my bulwark103 against despair--ah! what a poor devil a man is in this world without a good woman's love to comfort him."
"Are you doing anything now?" said Ezra thoughtfully.
"Nothing. I'm leading a hand-to-mouth, here-to-day-gone-to-morrow existence. I'm a vagabond on the face of the earth, a modern Cain, Bonnie Prince Charlie in exile--the infernal luck of my royal ancestors still sticks to me, but, ah, bah!" shrugging his shoulders, "don't let's talk any more, old chap, we can resume the subject to-morrow, meanwhile play me something. I'm in a poetic mood, and would like to build castles in the air."
Ezra laughed, and, turning to the piano, began to play one of Henselt's morceaux, a pathetic, dreamy melody, which came stealing softly through the room, and filled the soul of the young man with vague yearnings.
Staring idly into the heart of the burning coals, he saw amid the bluish flames and red glimmer104 of the fire a vision of the dear dead days of long ago--shadows appeared, the shadows of last year.
A glowing sunset, bathing a wide plain in delicate crimson105 hues106; a white gate leading to a garden bright with flowers, and over the gate the shadow of a beautiful woman stood talking to the shadow of a man--himself. Mnenosyne--saddest of deities--waved her wand, and the shadows talked.
"And when will you come back, Keith?" asked the girl shadow.
"When I am a great man," replied the other shadow proudly. "I am riding forth107 like Poe's knight108 in search of El Dorado."
"El Dorado is far away," returned the sweet voice of the girl; "it is the Holy Grail of wealth, and can never be discovered."
"I will find it," replied the man shadow hopefully. "Meanwhile, you will wait and hope."
"I will wait and hope," replied the girl, smiling sadly; and the shadows parted.
The rain beat steadily against the panes109, the soft music stole through the room, and Stewart, with idle gaze, stared into the burning heart of the fire, as if he expected to find there the El Dorado of his dreams.
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1
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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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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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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8
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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12
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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13
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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14
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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15
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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16
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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18
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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19
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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21
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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22
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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25
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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26
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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aggravatingly
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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40
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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46
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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47
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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48
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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49
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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50
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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51
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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52
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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53
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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54
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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55
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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56
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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57
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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58
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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59
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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60
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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61
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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62
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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63
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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64
concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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65
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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66
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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67
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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68
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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69
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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70
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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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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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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