“Well, shrimp3, you seem to have had a lucky tumble. Can’t say there seems to be much the matter.”
A large bite of hot buttered toast threatened to impede4 conversation. “It’s the brown stuff,” Teddy mumbled5; “she wanted to see if it ’ud make me wet.”
“Kind of vivisection, eh? And did it?”
“All over—like in a bath playing ship-wrecked sailors.” The excavation6 of an egg absorbed the little boy’s attention. His father seated himself on the edge of the bed. He was a large childish man, unconsciously unconventional His brown velvet7 jacket smelt8 strongly of tobacco and varnish9. It was spotted10 with bright colors, especially on the left sleeve between the wrist and elbow, where he had tested his paints instead of on his palette. His trousers bagged at the knees from neglect rather than from wear; their shabbiness was made up for by an extravagant11 waistcoat, sprigged with lilac. Double-breasted and cut low in a V shape, it exposed a soft silk shirt and a large red tie with loosely flowing ends. His head was magnificent—the head of a rebel enthusiast12, too impatient to become a leader of men. It was broad in the forehead and heavy with a mane of coal-black ringlets. His mouth was handsome—a rare thing in a man. His nose was roughly molded, Cromwellian, giving to his face a look of rude strength and purpose. A tuft of hair immediately beneath his lower lip bore the same relation to his mustache that a tail bears to a kite—it lent to his expression balance. It was his eyes that astonished—they ought to have been fiercely brown to be in keeping with the rest of his gypsy appearance; instead they were a clear gray, as though with gazing into cloudy distances, as are the eyes of men who live by seafaring.
He had made repeated efforts to curb13 his picturesqueness14; he knew that it didn’t pay in an age when the ideal for males is to be undecorative. He knew that his appearance appealed as affectation and bred distrust in the minds of the escutcheoned tradesmen who are England’s art patrons. When they came to confer a favor, they liked to find a gentlemanly shopkeeper—not a Phoenician pirate, with a voice like a gale15. His untamedness impressed them as immorality16. He always felt that they left him thoroughly17 convinced that he and Dearie were not married.
Whatever editors, art patrons and publishers might think about James Gurney, Teddy followed in his mother’s footsteps: to him James Gurney was Jimmie Boy, the biggest-hearted companion that a son ever had—a father of whom to be inordinately18 proud. There was no one as great as his father, no one as clever, no one as splendid to look at in the whole wide world. When he walked down the street, holding his father’s hand, he liked to fancy that people stared after him for his daring, just as they would have stared had he walked with his hand in the mane of a shaggy lion. It was wonderful to be friends with a father so fierce looking. And then his father treated him as a brother artist and borrowed notions from him—really did, without pretense19; he’d seen the notions carried out in illustrations. His father had come to borrow from him now.
“Any ideas this morning, partner—any ideas that you don’t want yourself?”
Teddy hitched20 himself upon the pillow, trying to look as grave and important as if he wore spectacles. “Yes. A room like this, only lonely with a fire burning and an old, old woman sitting over there.” He pointed21 to the window and the gilded22 harp23. “I’d let her be playing, Daddy; and a big white bird, that you can see through, must be beating its wings against the panes24, trying and always trying to get out.”
“A ghost bird?” his father suggested.
“Don’t know—just a big white bird and a woman so old that she might be dead.”
“What’s the meaning of the bird, old chap? Dreams, or hopes, or memories—something like that?”
Teddy could find nothing more in the egg. “Don’t know; that’s the way I saw it” He ceased to be elderly, took off his imaginary spectacles and looked up like a dog who stands wagging his tail, waiting to be patted. “Was that an idea, Daddy?”
His father nodded.
“A good idea?”
“Quite a good idea. But, oh, while I remember it, Mr. Sheerug wanted to see you. You and he must have struck up a great friendship. The faery-godmother won’t let him—says you’re not well. He seems quite upset.”
Teddy was puzzled. “Mr. Sheerug!”
“Yes, a big fat man with whom you have a secret. He followed me up the stairs and asked me to thank you for not telling.”
“Was that Mr. Sheerug?” Teddy’s eyes became large and round. “Why, he’s the mur——I mean, the man who was in the garden.”
“That’s right He carried you in when you fainted. What made you faint, Teddy?”
The little boy looked blank. If he were to tell, he would get the fat man into trouble; an aggravated25 murderer, living only six doors removed, would make an awkward neighbor. There was another reason why he looked blank: were he to tell his father of Mr. Sheerug’s special hobby, he would certainly be forbidden to enter Orchid26 Lodge27, and then—why, then he might never meet Vashti. He weighed his fear against his adoration28, and decided29 to keep silent.
His father had fallen into a brown study. He had forgotten his inquiry30 as to the cause of Teddy’s fainting. “Theo.”
Something important was coming. To be called Theo was a warning.
“Theo, it hasn’t happened. When it’s so difficult to earn a living, I don’t know whether we ought to be sorry or glad.”
“What hasn’t happened?”
“There’s still only you and me and, thank God, Dearie.”
“But—” the small brain was struggling to discover a meaning—“but could there have been any one else?”
The large man took the little boy’s hand. “You don’t understand. Yes, there could have been several other people; but not now.” Rising, he walked over to the window and stood there, looking out. “Perhaps it’s just as well, with a fellow like me for your father, who spends all his time in chasing clouds and won’t—can’t get on in the world.”
Teddy couldn’t see his father’s face, but he thought he knew what was the matter. If Dearie had been there, she would have slipped her arms round the big man’s neck, calling him “Her Boy,” and would have made everything happy in a second. In her absence Teddy borrowed her comforting words—he had heard them so often. “Your work’s too good,” he said emphatically. “Every great man has been neglected.”
The phrase, uttered parrot-wise by the lips of a child, stirred the man to a grim humor. He saw himself as that white bird, battering31 itself into exhaustion32 against invisible panes that shut it out from the heavens. Every time it ceased to struggle the dream music recommenced, maddening it into aspiration33; the old woman, so old that she might be dead, who fingered the strings34 of the harp was Fate.
He stared across the wintry gardens, blackened and impoverished35 by frost; each one like a man’s life—curtailed, wall-surrounded, monotonously36 similar, yet grandly roofed with eternity37. Along the walls cats crept like lean fears; trees, stripped of leaves, wove spiders’ webs with their branches. So his work was too good and every great man had been neglected! His boy said it confidently now; as he grew older he might say it with less and less sincerity38.
He laughed quietly. “So you’ve picked up my polite excuse, Ted1! Yes, that’s what we all say of ourselves—we failures: ’My work’s too good.’”
“But it needn’t be an excuse, Mr. Gurney. It may be the truth. I often use the same consolation40.”
Mrs. Sheerug stood, a burlesque41 figure of untidy optimism, smiling severely42 in the doorway43. She was clad in her muddled44 plum-colored dressing-gown; her gray hair was disordered and sprayed about her neck; her tired blue eyes, peering above the silver-rimmed spectacles, took in the room with twinkling merriment. She came to the foot of the bed with the ponderous45 dignity of a Cochin-China hen, important with feathers.
“Yes, my dear sir,” she said, “you may not know it, but I, too, consider myself a genius. I believe all my family to be geniuses—that’s why I never interfere46 with the liberty of my children. Even my husband, he’s a genius in his fashion—a stifled47 fashion, I tell him; I let him go his own way in case it may develop. Genius must not be thwarted—so we all live our lives separately in this house and—and, as I dare say you know, run into debt. There’s a kind of righteousness about that—running into debt; the present won’t acknowledge our greatness, so we make it pay for our future. But, my dear sir, I caught you indulging in self-pity. It’s the worst of all crimes. You men are always getting sorry for yourselves. Look at me—I’ve not succeeded. I ask you, do I show it?”
“If to be always smiling—-” Mr. Gurney broke off.
“This is really a remarkable48 meeting, Mrs. Sheerug—three geniuses in one room! Oh, yes, if Teddy’s not told you yet, he will soon: he’s quite certain that he’s going to be a very big man. Aren’t you, Teddy?”
The little boy wriggled49 his toes beneath the counterpane and watched them working. “I have ideas,” he said seriously.
“What did I tell you?”
Mrs. Sheerug signified by the closing of her eyes that she considered it injudicious to discuss little boys in their presence. When she opened them again it was to discuss herself.
“As between artists, Mr. Gurney, I want your frank opinion. If you don’t like my work, say so.”
“Your work!” He looked about. “Oh, this!” His eyes fell on the unfinished woolwork picture on the easel. “It has—it has a kind of power,” he said—“the power of amateurishness50 and oddity. You’re familiar with the impelling51 crudity52 of Blake’s sketches53? Well, it’s something like that What I mean is this: your colors are all impossible, your drawing’s all wrong and there’s no attempt at accuracy. And yet—— The result is something so different from ordinary conceptions that it’s almost impressive.”
Mrs. Sheerug, not sure whether she was being praised or blamed, shook her head with dignity. “You’re trying to let me down lightly, Mr. Gurney.”
“No, I’m not and I’ll prove it Joseph is supposed to be in the process of being tempted54. Well, he isn’t tempted in your picture; he’s simply scared. I don’t know whether you intended it or whether it’s the unconscious way in which your mind works, but your prize-fighting negress, in the r么le of Mrs. Potiphar threatening a Cockney consumptive in an abbreviated55 nightgown, is a distinctly original interpretation56 of the Bible story; it achieves the success that Hogarth aimed at—the effect of the grotesque57. It’s the same with your Absalom. You were so prejudiced against him that you even extended your prejudice to his horse. Every time you stuck your needle in the canvas you must have murmured, ’Serve him jolly well right. So perish all sons who fight against their fathers.’ So, instead of remembering that he was a prince of Israel, you’ve made him an old-clothes blood from Whitechapel who’s got into difficulties on a hired nag58 at Hampstead. I think I catch your idea: you’re a Dickens writing novels in woolwork. You’re Pickwickizing the Old Testament59. In its way the idea’s immense.”
Mrs. Sheerug jerked her spectacles up the incline of her nose till they covered her eyes. “If I have to leave you now, don’t think that I’m offended.”
Mrs. Sheerug went out of the room like a cottage-loaf on legs. The door closed behind her trotting60, kindly61 figure.
Mr. Gurney turned helplessly to Teddy. “And I meant to flatter her. In a worthless way they’re good. I was trying not to tell her the worthless part of it. Believe I’ve hurt her feelings, and after all her kindness—— I’m horribly sorry.”
“Father, when people marry, must they live together always?”
The irrelevancy62 of the question rather startled Mr. Gurney; Teddy’s questions had a knack63 of being startling. “Eh! What’s that? Live together always! Why, yes, it’s better. It’s usual.”
“But must they begin from the moment they marry?”
Mr. Gurney laughed. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t marry. It’s because they think that they’ll go on wanting to be every minute of their lives together that they do it.”
“Ah, yes.” Teddy sighed sentimentally64. His sigh said plainly, “Whatever else I don’t know, I know that.” He cushioned his face against the pillow. “But what I meant,” he explained, “is supposing one hasn’t any money, and one’s father can’t give one any, and one wants to be with some one every minute, and—and very badly. Would they live together then from the beginning?”
Mr. Gurney gave up thinking about Mrs. Sheerug; Teddy’s questions grew interesting. “If any one hadn’t any money and the lady hadn’t any money, I don’t believe they’d marry. But the lady might have money.”
Teddy gave himself away completely. “But to live on her money! Oh, I don’t think I’d like that.”
His father seated himself on the bed, with one leg curled under him. “Hulloa, what’s this? Been losing your heart to Mrs. Sheerug? She’s got a husband. It won’t do, old man.”
“It isn’t Mrs. Sheerug. It’s just—just curiosity, I expect.”
No encouragement could lure39 him into a more explicit65 confession66. All that day, after his father had left, he lay there with his face against the pillow, endeavoring to dis-cover a plan whereby a little boy might procure67 the money to marry a beautiful lady, of whom he knew comparatively nothing.
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1
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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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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shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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picturesqueness
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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17
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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32
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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44
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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47
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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48
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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49
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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50
amateurishness
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| n.amateurish（业余的）的变形 | |
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51
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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52
crudity
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| n.粗糙，生硬；adj.粗略的 | |
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53
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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54
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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abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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56
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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61
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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irrelevancy
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| n.不恰当，离题，不相干的事物 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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65
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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