James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson that afternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton was exclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day after day, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachable1 antecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which in that fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated that it flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found in every corner, thriving hardily2 under the most unfavourable conditions; and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does it hold its head. But on this particular day the gathering3 was confined to the immediate4 neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found, beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable5 curate. There was a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries6 concerning the health of all present, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat down in a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day.
"Oh, Mr. Dryland," cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I am enjoying it!"
"I thought you'd like it," replied the curate, smiling blandly7. "I know you share my admiration8 for Miss Corelli."
"Mr. Dryland has just lent me 'The Master Christian9,'" Mary explained, turning to Mrs. Jackson.
"Oh, I was thinking of putting it on the list for my next book."
They had formed a club in Little Primpton of twelve persons, each buying a six-shilling book at the beginning of the year, and passing it on in return for another after a certain interval10, so that at the end of twelve months all had read a dozen masterpieces of contemporary fiction.
"I thought I'd like to buy it at once," said Mr. Dryland. "I always think one ought to possess Marie Corelli's books. She's the only really great novelist we have in England now."
Mr. Dryland was a man of taste and authority, so that his literary judgments11 could always be relied on.
"Of course, I don't pretend to know much about the matter," said Mary, modestly. "There are more important things in life than books; but I do think she's splendid. I can't help feeling I'm wasting my time when I read most novels, but I never feel that with Marie Corelli."
"No one would think she was a woman," said the Vicar.
To which the curate answered: "_Le genie12 n'a pas de sexe._"
The others, being no scholars, did not quite understand the remark, but they looked intelligent.
"I always think it's so disgraceful the way the newspapers sneer13 at her," said Mrs. Jackson. "And, I'm sure, merely because she's a woman."
"And because she has genius, my dear," put in the Vicar. "Some minds are so contemptibly14 small that they are simply crushed by greatness. It requires an eagle to look at the sun."
And the excellent people looked at one another with a certain self-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birds in face of that brilliant orb15.
"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has said herself that there is a vile16 conspiracy17 to blacken her, and for my part I am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because she dares to show them up."
"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists," added Mr. Dryland, "and they are as envious18 as they can be."
"It makes one boil with indignation," cried Mary, "to think that people can be so utterly19 base. Those who revile20 her are not worthy21 to unloose the latchet of her shoes."
"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration," replied the curate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always been persecuted22. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just as they abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered23. But time has vindicated25 our immortal26 William; time will vindicate24 as brightly our gentle Marie."
"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!" meditatively27 said the Vicar.
"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we could all read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it three times, and each perusal28 leaves me more astounded29. Miss Corelli has her revenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling30 of critics when the wreath of immortality31 is on her brow. I don't hesitate to say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli every bit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the matter carefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know something about. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language, she's every bit his equal."
"Her language is beautiful," said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feel just as if I were listening to hymns32."
"And where, I should like to know," continued the curate, raising his voice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery of portraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"
"And there is one thing you must never forget," said the Vicar, gravely, "she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none of Shakespeare's plays. Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose. That is the justification33 of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation34, if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission35 to authority, hope, charity, obedience--in fact, all the higher virtues36; he can become a handmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality37, and scepticism are rampant38, we must not despise the humblest instruments."
"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson.
"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold them out my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas.' It gives an entirely39 new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in a way that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life."
"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They all make me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian."
"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous," murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly, as though she were making the simplest observation.
"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was a little movement of indignation and disgust.
Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying40 her daughter by this kind of illiterate41 gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the good lady always remained perfectly42 unconscious of having said anything incredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:
"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one about electricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. I forget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses, and I thought it very improper43. I don't think it was a nice book for Mary to read, but girls seem to read everything now."
There was a pained hush44, such as naturally occurs when someone has made a very horrible _faux pas_. They all looked at one another awkwardly; while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes glued to the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly45 was so notorious that presently anger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came to the rescue with a loud guffaw46.
"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"
"I'm afraid I've never read one of them."
"Not?" they all cried in surprise.
"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House," said Mr. Dryland. "I have them all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read Marie Corelli."
This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibborn, and the dear people smiled at one another significantly. Even Mary could scarcely keep a straight face.
The tea then appeared, and was taken more or less silently. With the exception of the fashionable Mrs. Clibborn, they were all more used to making a sit-down meal of it, and the care of holding a cup, with a piece of cake unsteadily balanced in the saucer, prevented them from indulging in very brilliant conversational47 feats48; they found one gymnastic exercise quite sufficient at a time. But when the tea-cups were safely restored to the table, Mrs. Jackson suggested a little music.
"Will you open the proceedings49, Mary?"
The curate went up to Miss Clibborn with a bow, gallantly50 offering his arm to escort her to the piano. Mary had thoughtfully brought her music, and began to play a 'Song Without Words,' by Mendelssohn. She was considered a fine pianist in Little Primpton. She attacked the notes with marked resolution, keeping the loud pedal down throughout; her eyes were fixed51 on the music with an intense, determined52 air, in which you saw an eagerness to perform a social duty, and her lips moved as conscientiously53 she counted time. Mary played the whole piece without making a single mistake, and at the end was much applauded.
"There's nothing like classical music, is there?" cried the curate enthusiastically, as Mary stopped, rather out of breath, for she played, as she did everything else, with energy and thoroughness.
"It's the only music I really love."
"And those 'Songs Without Words' are beautiful," said Colonel Parsons, who was standing54 on Mary's other side.
"Mendelssohn is my favourite composer," she replied. "He's so full of soul."
"Ah, yes," murmured Mr. Dryland. "His heart seems to throb55 through all his music. It's strange that he should have been a Jew."
"But then Our Lord was a Jew, wasn't He?" said Mary.
"Yes, one is so apt to forget that."
Mary turned the leaves, and finding another piece which was familiar to her, set about it. It was a satisfactory thing to listen to her performance. In Mary's decided56 touch one felt all the strength of her character, with its simple, unaffected candour and its eminent57 sense of propriety58. In her execution one perceived the high purpose which animated59 her whole conduct; it was pure and wholesome60, and thoroughly61 English. And her piano-playing served also as a moral lesson, for none could listen without remembering that life was not an affair to be taken lightly, but a strenuous62 endeavour: the world was a battlefield (this one realised more particularly when Mary forgot for a page or so to take her foot off the pedal); each one of us had a mission to perform, a duty to do, a function to fulfil.
Meanwhile, James was trying to make conversation with Mrs. Clibborn.
"How well Mary plays!"
"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play."
James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she, the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensible things he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done her best to prevent his engagement.
"I think you're a very wonderful woman," he said.
"Oh, Jamie!"
Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him to take; but James was too preoccupied63 to notice the movement.
"I'm beginning to think you really like me," murmured Mrs. Clibborn, cooing like an amorous64 dove.
Then James was invited to sing, and refused.
"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to sing so nicely!"
He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent65, went at last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, but knew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool of himself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself, needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of old English songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner a jovial66 ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men."
The afternoon was concluded by an adjournment67 to the dining-room to play bagatelle68, the most inane69 of games, to which the billiard-player goes with contempt, changed quickly to wrath70 when he cannot put the balls into absurd little holes. Mary was an adept71, and took pleasure in showing James how the thing should be done. He noticed that she and the curate managed the whole affair between them, arranging partners and advising freely. Mrs. Clibborn alone refused to play, saying frankly72 it was too idiotic73 a pastime.
At last the party broke up, and in a group bade their farewells.
"I'll walk home with you, Mary, if you don't mind," said James, "and smoke a pipe."
Mary suddenly became radiant, and Colonel Parsons gave her a happy little smile and a friendly nod.... At last James had his opportunity. He lingered while Mary gathered together her music, and waited again to light his pipe, so that when they came out of the Vicarage gates the rest of the company were no longer in sight. The day had become overcast74 and sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged75 black clouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, ample garment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air, shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped76 and circumscribed77; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over tree and hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence, while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find some manner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed78 and weary, refused to help him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than five minutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant to say anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he felt almost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare the way, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented79 by the absolute necessity of breaking the silence.
But it was Mary who spoke80 first.
"D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie."
"Why?"
"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when we were visiting my patients--I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't mean to. I'm very sorry."
"I had forgotten all about it," he said, looking at her. "I have no notion what you said to offend me."
"I'm glad of that," she answered, smiling, "but it does me good to apologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don't approve of, I wish you would tell me."
After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her, and wished to be released from his engagement?
"I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person," answered James.
Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone, and weakly he had let it pass.
"What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"
They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to say good-bye. She bent81 forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissed her.
* * *
In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room, thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and prayers. The rattle82 of dice83 came to James indistinctly, as in a dream, and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress84 of her limpid85 eyes. He turned away with a gesture of impatience86. The game was just finished, and Mrs. Parsons, catching87 the expression on his face, asked:
"What are you thinking of, Jamie?"
"I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret had been divined. "Nothing!"
Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak, for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had nearest at heart precisely88 those that she could least bear to talk about.
"When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"
James started.
"Why, you asked me that yesterday," He tried to make a joke of it. "Upon my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me."
"I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little unhappy?"
James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his hand.
"I should be sorry to do that, mother."
"You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love her."
"I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative."
"That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly89.
"Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie? She _is_ so fond of you," continued his mother. "I don't want to interfere90 with your private concerns, but I think it's only thoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Mary miserable91. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns92 for a little affection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"
"Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James.
"No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She would hate to think that I had said anything."
James paused a moment.
"I will speak to her to-morrow, mother."
"That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to be in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge Wells."
"It will be a good opportunity."
收听单词发音 |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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hardily
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| 耐劳地，大胆地，蛮勇地 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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genie
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| n.妖怪，神怪 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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contemptibly
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| adv.卑鄙地，下贱地 | |
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orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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conspiracy
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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utterly
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revile
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worthy
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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slandered
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| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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meditatively
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perusal
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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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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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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illiterate
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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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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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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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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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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bagatelle
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| n.琐事；小曲儿 | |
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inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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90
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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