The boats, the sands, the esplanade,
The laughing crowd;
Light-hearted, loud
Greetings from some not ill-endowed:
The evening sunlit cliffs, the talk,
Railings and halts,
The keen sea-salts,
The band, the Morgenbl?tter Waltz.
Still, when at night I drew inside
Forward she came,
Sad, but the same . . .
—Hardy, “At a Seaside Town in 1869”
That evening Charles found himself seated between Mrs. Tranter and Ernestina in the Assembly Rooms. The Lyme Assembly Rooms were perhaps not much, compared to those at Bath and Cheltenham; but they were pleasing, with their spacious1 proportions and windows facing the sea. Too pleas-ing, alas2, and too excellent a common meeting place not to be sacrificed to that Great British God, Convenience; and they were accordingly long ago pulled down, by a Town Council singleminded in its concern for the communal3 blad-der, to make way for what can very fairly claim to be the worst-sited and ugliest public lavatory4 in the British Isles5.
You must not think, however, that the Poulteney con-tingent in Lyme objected merely to the frivolous7 architecture of the Assembly Rooms. It was what went on there that really outraged8 them. The place provoked whist, and gentle-men with cigars in their mouths, and balls, and concerts. In short, it encouraged pleasure; and Mrs. Poulteney and her kind knew very well that the only building a decent town could allow people to congregate9 in was a church. When the Assembly Rooms were torn down in Lyme, the heart was torn out of the town; and no one has yet succeeded in putting it back.
Charles and his ladies were in the doomed10 building for a concert. It was not, of course—it being Lent—a secular11 concert. The programme was unrelievedly religious. Even that shocked the narrower-minded in Lyme, who professed12, at least in public, a respect for Lent equal to that of the most orthodox Muslim for Ramadan. There were accordingly some empty seats before the fern-fringed dais at one end of the main room, where the concerts were held.
Our broader-minded three had come early, like most of the rest of the audience; for these concerts were really enjoyed—in true eighteenth-century style—as much for the company as for the music. It gave the ladies an excellent opportunity to assess and comment on their neighbors’ finery; and of course to show off their own. Even Ernestina, with all her contempt for the provinces, fell a victim to this vanity. At least here she knew she would have few rivals in the taste and luxury of her clothes; and the surreptitious glances at her little “plate” hat (no stuffy13 old bonnets14 for her) with its shamrock-and-white ribbons, her vert esperance dress, her mauve-and-black pelisse, her Balmoral boots, were an agree-able compensation for all the boredom15 inflicted16 at other times.
She was in a pert and mischievous17 mood that evening as people came in; Charles had to listen to Mrs. Tranter’s com-mentary—places of residence, relatives, ancestry—with one ear, and to Tina’s sotto voce wickednesses with the other. The John-Bull-like lady over there, he learned from the aunt, was “Mrs. Tomkins, the kindest old soul, somewhat hard of hearing, that house above Elm House, her son is in India”; while another voice informed him tersely18, “A perfect goose-berry.” According to Ernestina, there were far more goose-berries than humans patiently, because gossipingly, waiting for the concert to begin. Every decade invents such a useful noun-and-epithet; in the 1860s “gooseberry” meant “all that is dreary19 and old-fashioned”; today Ernestina would have called those worthy20 concert-goers square ... which was certainly Mrs. Tomkins’s shape, at least from the back.
But at last the distinguished21 soprano from Bristol ap-peared, together with her accompanist, the even more distin-guished Signer Ritornello (or some such name, for if a man was a pianist he must be Italian) and Charles was free to examine his conscience.
At least he began in the spirit of such an examination; as if it was his duty to do so, which hid the awkward fact that it was also his pleasure to do so. In simple truth he had become a little obsessed22 with Sarah ... or at any rate with the enigma23 she presented. He had—or so he believed—fully intended, when he called to escort the ladies down Broad Street to the Assembly Rooms, to tell them of his meeting— though of course on the strict understanding that they must speak to no one about Sarah’s wanderings over Ware24 Com-mons. But somehow the moment had not seemed opportune25. There was first of all a very material dispute to arbitrate upon—Ernestina’s folly26 in wearing grenadine when it was still merino weather, since “Thou shall not wear grenadine till May” was one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine com-mandments her parents had tacked27 on to the statutory ten. Charles killed concern with compliment; but if Sarah was not mentioned, it was rather more because he had begun to feel that he had allowed himself to become far too deeply engaged in conversation with her—no, he had lost all sense of propor-tion. He had been very foolish, allowing a misplaced chivalry28 to blind his common sense; and the worst of it was that it was all now deucedly difficult to explain to Ernestina.
He was well aware that that young lady nursed formidable through still latent powers of jealousy29. At worst, she would find his behavior incomprehensible and be angry with him; at best, she would only tease him—but it was a poor “at best.” He did not want to be teased on this subject. Charles could perhaps have trusted himself with fewer doubts to Mrs. Tran-ter. She, he knew, certainly shared his charitable concern; but duplicity was totally foreign to her. He could not ask her not to tell Ernestina; and if Tina should learn of the meeting through her aunt, then he would be in very hot water indeed. On his other feelings, his mood toward Ernestina that evening, he hardly dared to dwell. Her humor did not exactly irritate him, but it seemed unusually and unwelcomely artifi-cial, as if it were something she had put on with her French hat and her new pelisse; to suit them rather than the occa-sion. It also required a response from him ... a correspond-ing twinkle in his eyes, a constant smile, which he obliged her with, but also artificially, so that they seemed enveloped30 in a double pretense31. Perhaps it was the gloom of so much Handel and Bach, or the frequency of the discords32 between the prima donna and her aide, but he caught himself stealing glances at the girl beside him—looking at her as if he saw her for the first time, as if she were a total stranger to him. She was very pretty, charming ... but was not that face a little characterless, a little monotonous34 with its one set paradox35 of demureness36 and dryness? If you took away those two qualities, what remained? A vapid37 selfishness. But this cruel thought no sooner entered Charles’s head than he dismissed it. How could the only child of rich parents be anything else? Heaven knows—why else had he fallen for her?—Ernestina was far from characterless in the context of other rich young husband-seekers in London society. But was that the only context—the only market for brides? It was a fixed38 article of Charles’s creed39 that he was not like the great majority of his peers and contemporaries. That was why he had traveled so much; he found English society too hidebound, English so-lemnity too solemn, English thought too moralistic, English religion too bigoted40. So? In this vital matter of the woman with whom he had elected to share his life, had he not been only too conventional? Instead of doing the most intelligent thing had he not done the most obvious?
What then would have been the most intelligent thing? To have waited.
Under this swarm41 of waspish self-inquiries he began to feel sorry for himself—a brilliant man trapped, a Byron tamed; and his mind wandered back to Sarah, to visual images, attempts to recollect42 that face, that mouth, that generous mouth. Undoubtedly43 it awoke some memory in him, too tenuous44, perhaps too general, to trace to any source in his past; but it unsettled him and haunted him, by calling to some hidden self he hardly knew existed. He said it to himself: It is the stupidest thing, but that girl attracts me. It seemed clear to him that it was not Sarah in herself who attracted him—how could she, he was betrothed—but some emotion, some possibility she symbolized45. She made him aware of a deprivation46. His future had always seemed to him of vast potential; and now suddenly it was a fixed voyage to a known place. She had reminded him of that.
Ernestina’s elbow reminded him gently of the present. The singer required applause, and Charles languidly gave his share. Placing her own hands back in their muff, Ernestina delivered a sidelong, humorous moue, half intended for his absentmindedness, half for the awfulness of the performance. He smiled at her. She was so young, such a child. He could not be angry with her. After all, she was only a woman. There were so many things she must never understand: the richness of male life, the enormous difficulty of being one to whom the world was rather more than dress and home and children.
All would be well when she was truly his; in his bed and in his bank ... and of course in his heart, too.
Sam, at that moment, was thinking the very opposite; how many things his fraction of Eve did understand. It is difficult to imagine today the enormous differences then separating a lad born in the Seven Dials and a carter’s daughter from a remote East Devon village. Their coming together was fraught47 with almost as many obstacles as if he had been an Eskimo and she, a Zulu. They had barely a common lan-guage, so often did they not understand what the other had just said.
Yet this distance, all those abysses unbridged and then unbridgeable by radio, television, cheap travel and the rest, was not wholly bad. People knew less of each other, perhaps, but they felt more free of each other, and so were more indi-vidual. The entire world was not for them only a push or a switch away. Strangers were strange, and sometimes with an exciting, beautiful strangeness. It may be better for humanity that we should communicate more and more. But I am a heretic, I think our ancestors’ isolation48 was like the greater space they enjoyed: it can only be envied. The world is only too literally49 too much with us now.
Sam could, did give the appearance, in some back tap-room, of knowing all there was to know about city life—and then some. He was aggressively contemptuous of anything that did not emanate50 from the West End of London, that lacked its go. But deep down inside, it was another story. There he was a timid and uncertain person—not uncertain about what he wanted to be (which was far removed from what he was) but about whether he had the ability to be it.
Now Mary was quite the reverse at heart. She was certainly dazzled by Sam to begin with: he was very much a superior being, and her teasing of him had been pure self-defense before such obvious cultural superiority: that eternal city ability to leap the gap, find shortcuts51, force the pace. But she had a basic solidity of character, a kind of artless self-confidence, a knowledge that she would one day make a good wife and a good mother; and she knew, in people, what was what ... the difference in worth, say, between her mistress and her mistress’s niece. After all, she was a peasant; and peasants live much closer to real values than town helots.
Sam first fell for her because she was a summer’s day after the drab dollymops and gays* who had constituted his past sexual experience. Self-confidence in that way he did not lack—few Cockneys do. He had fine black hair over very blue eyes and a fresh complexion52. He was slim, very slightly built; and all his movements were neat and trim, though with a tendency to a certain grandiose53 exaggeration of one or two of Charles’s physical mannerisms that he thought particularly gentlemanly. Women’s eyes seldom left him at the first glance, but from closer acquaintance with London girls he had never got much beyond a reflection of his own cynicism. What had really knocked him acock was Mary’s innocence54. He found himself like some boy who flashes a mirror—and one day does it to someone far too gentle to deserve such treatment. He suddenly wished to be what he was with her; and to discover what she was.
[* A “dollymop” was a maidservant who went in for spare-time prosti-tution. A “gay,” a prostitute—it is the significance in Leech’s famous cartoon of 1857, in which two sad-faced women stand in the rain “not a hundred miles from the Haymarket.” One turns to the other: “Ah! Fanny! How long have you been gay?”]
This sudden deeper awareness55 of each other had come that morning of the visit to Mrs. Poulteney. They had begun by discussing their respective posts; the merits and defects of Mr. Charles and Mrs. Tranter. She thought he was lucky to serve such a lovely gentleman. Sam demurred56; and then, to his own amazement57, found himself telling this mere6 milkmaid something he had previously58 told only to himself.
His ambition was very simple: he wanted to be a haber-dasher. He had never been able to pass such shops without stopping and staring in the windows; criticizing or admiring them, as the case might require. He believed he had a flair59 for knowing the latest fashion. He had traveled abroad with Charles, he had picked up some foreign ideas in the haber-dashery field . . .
All this (and incidentally, his profound admiration60 for Mr. Freeman) he had got out somewhat incoherently—and the great obstacles: no money, no education. Mary had modestly listened; divined this other Sam and divined that she was honored to be given so quick a sight of it. Sam felt he was talking too much. But each time he looked nervously61 up for a sneer62, a giggle63, the least sign of mockery of his absurd pretensions64, he saw only a shy and wide-eyed sympathy, a begging him to go on. His listener felt needed, and a girl who feels needed is already a quarter way in love.
The time came when he had to go. It seemed to him that he had hardly arrived. He stood, and she smiled at him, a little mischievous again. He wanted to say that he had never talked so freely—well, so seriously—to anyone before about himself. But he couldn’t find the words.
“Well. Dessay we’ll meet tomorrow mornin’.”
“Happen so.”
“Dessay you’ve got a suitor an’ all.”
“None I really likes.”
“I bet you ‘ave. I ‘eard you ‘ave.”
“’Tis all talk in this ol’ place. Us izzen ‘lowed to look at a man an’ we’m courtin’.”
He fingered his bowler65 hat. “Like that heverywhere.” A silence. He looked her in the eyes. “I ain’t so bad?”
“I never said ‘ee wuz.”
Silence. He worked all the way round the rim33 of his bowler.
“I know lots o’ girls. AH sorts. None like you.”
“Taren’t so awful hard to find.”
“I never ‘ave. Before.” There was another silence. She would not look at him, but at the edge of her apron66. “’Ow about London then? Fancy seein’ London?”
She grinned then, and nodded—very vehemently67.
“Expec’ you will. When they’re a-married orf hupstairs. I’ll show yer round.”
“Would ‘ee?”
He winked68 then, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes brimmed at him over her pink cheeks.
“All they fashional Lunnon girls, ‘ee woulden want to go walkin’ out with me.”
“If you ‘ad the clothes, you’d do. You’d do very nice.”
“Doan believe ‘ee.”
“Cross my ‘eart.”
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. He bowed elaborately and swept his hat to cover his left breast.
“A demang, madymosseile.”
“What’s that then?”
“It’s French for Coombe Street, tomorrow mornin’— where yours truly will be waitin’.”
She turned then, unable to look at him. He stepped quickly behind her and took her hand and raised it to his lips. She snatched it away, and looked at it as if his lips might have left a sooty mark. Another look flashed between them. She bit her pretty lips. He winked again; and then he went.
Whether they met that next morning, in spite of Charles’s express prohibition69, I do not know. But later that day, when Charles came out of Mrs. Tranter’s house, he saw Sam wait-ing, by patently contrived70 chance, on the opposite side of the street. Charles made the Roman sign of mercy, and Sam uncovered, and once again placed his hat reverentially over his heart—as if to a passing bier, except that his face bore a wide grin.
Which brings me to this evening of the concert nearly a week later, and why Sam came to such differing conclusions about the female sex from his master’s; for he was in that kitchen again. Unfortunately there was now a duenna present—Mrs. Tranter’s cook. But the duenna was fast asleep in her Windsor chair in front of the opened fire of her range. Sam and Mary sat in the darkest corner of the kitchen. They did not speak. They did not need to. Since they were holding hands. On Mary’s part it was but self-protection, since she had found that it was only thus that she could stop the hand trying to feel its way round her waist. Why Sam, in spite of that, and the silence, should have found Mary so understand-ing is a mystery no lover will need explaining.
收听单词发音 |
1
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
communal
|
|
| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
lavatory
|
|
| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
isles
|
|
| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
congregate
|
|
| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
secular
|
|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
stuffy
|
|
| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
bonnets
|
|
| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
inflicted
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
mischievous
|
|
| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
tersely
|
|
| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
obsessed
|
|
| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
enigma
|
|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
ware
|
|
| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
opportune
|
|
| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
tacked
|
|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
pretense
|
|
| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
discords
|
|
| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
rim
|
|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
paradox
|
|
| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
demureness
|
|
| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
37
vapid
|
|
| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bigoted
|
|
| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
tenuous
|
|
| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
symbolized
|
|
| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
deprivation
|
|
| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
fraught
|
|
| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
isolation
|
|
| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
emanate
|
|
| v.发自，来自，出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
shortcuts
|
|
| n.捷径( shortcut的名词复数 )；近路；快捷办法；被切短的东西（尤指烟草） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
grandiose
|
|
| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
awareness
|
|
| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
demurred
|
|
| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
flair
|
|
| n.天赋，本领，才华；洞察力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
giggle
|
|
| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
pretensions
|
|
| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
bowler
|
|
| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
vehemently
|
|
| adv. 热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
winked
|
|
| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
prohibition
|
|
| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |