I too have felt the load I bore
In a too strong emotion’s sway;
I too have wished, no woman more,
This starting, feverish1 heart, away.
I too have longed for trenchant2 force
And will like a dividing spear;
Have praised the keen, unscrupulous course,
Which knows no doubt, which feels no fear.
But in the world I learnt, what there
Thou too will surely one day prove,
That will, that energy, though rare,
And yet far, far less rare than love.
—Matthew Arnold, “A Farewell” (1853)
Charles’s thoughts on his own eventual3 way back to Lyme were all variations on that agelessly popular male theme: “You’ve been playing with fire, my boy.” But it was precisely4 that theme, by which I mean that the tenor5 of his thoughts matched the verbal tenor of the statement. He had been very foolish, but his folly6 had not been visited on him. He had run an absurd risk; and escaped unscathed. And so now, as the great stone claw of the Cobb came into sight far below, he felt exhilarated.
And how should he have blamed himself very deeply? From the outset his motives7 had been the purest; he had cured her of her madness; and if something impure8 had for a moment threatened to infiltrate9 his defenses, it had been but mint sauce to the wholesome10 lamb. He would be to blame, of course, if he did not now remove himself, and for good, from the fire. That, he would take very good care to do. After all, he was not a moth11 infatuated by a candle; he was a highly intelligent being, one of the fittest, and endowed with total free will. If he had not been sure of that latter safeguard, would he ever have risked himself in such dangerous waters? I am mixing metaphors—but that was how Charles’s mind worked.
And so, leaning on free will quite as much as on his ashplant, he descended12 the hill to the town. All sympathetic physical feelings towards the girl he would henceforth rigorously suppress, by free will. Any further solicitation13 of a private meeting he would adamantly14 discountenance, by free will. All administration of his interest should be passed to Aunt Tranter, by free will. And he was therefore permitted, obliged rather, to continue to keep Ernestina in the dark, by the same free will. By the time he came in sight of the White Lion, he had free-willed himself most convincingly into a state of self-congratulation ... and one in which he could look at Sarah as an object of his past.
A remarkable15 young woman, a remarkable young woman. And baffling. He decided16 that that was—had been, rather— her attraction: her unpredictability. He did not realize that she had two qualities as typical of the English as his own admix-ture of irony17 and convention. I speak of passion and imagina-tion. The first quality Charles perhaps began dimly to per-ceive; the second he did not. He could not, for those two qualities of Sarah’s were banned by the epoch18, equated19 in the first case with sensuality and in the second with the merely fanciful. This dismissive double equation was Charles’s greatest defect—and here he stands truly for his age.
There was still deception20 in the flesh, or Ernestina, to be faced. But Charles, when he arrived at his hotel, found that family had come to his aid.
A telegram awaited him. It was from his uncle at Win-syatt. His presence was urgently requested “for most important reasons.” I am afraid Charles smiled as soon as he read it; he very nearly kissed the orange envelope. It removed him from any immediate21 further embarrassment22; from the need for further lies of omission23. It was most marvelously convenient. He made inquiries24 ... there was a train early the next morning from Exeter, then the nearest station to Lyme, which meant that he had a good pretext25 for leaving at once and staying there overnight. He gave orders for the fastest trap in Lyme to be procured26. He would drive himself. He felt inclined to make such an urgent rush of it as to let a note to Aunt Tranter’s suffice. But that would have been too coward-ly. So telegram in hand, he walked up the street.
The good lady herself was full of concern, since telegrams for her meant bad news. Ernestina, less superstitious27, was plainly vexed28. She thought it “too bad” of Uncle Robert to act the grand vizir in this way. She was sure it was nothing; a whim29, an old man’s caprice, worse—an envy of young love.
She had, of course, earlier visited Winsyatt, accompanied by her parents; and she had not fallen for Sir Robert. Perhaps it was because she felt herself under inspection30; or because the uncle had sufficient generations of squirearchy behind him to possess, by middle-class London standards, really rather bad manners—though a kinder critic might have said agreeably eccentric ones; perhaps because she considered the house such an old barn, so dreadfully old-fashioned in its furnishings and hangings and pictures; because the said uncle so doted on Charles and Charles was so provokingly nephew-ish in return that Ernestina began to feel positively31 jealous; but above all, because she was frightened.
Neighboring ladies had been summoned to meet her. It was all very well knowing her father could buy up all their respective fathers and husbands lock, stock and barrel; she felt herself looked down on (though she was simply envied) and snubbed in various subtle ways. Nor did she much relish32 the prospect33 of eventually living at Winsyatt, though it al-lowed her to dream of one way at least in which part of her vast marriage portion should be spent exactly as she insisted— in a comprehensive replacement34 of all those absurd scrolly wooden chairs (Carolean and almost priceless), gloomy cup-boards (Tudor), moth-eaten tapestries35 (Gobelins), and dull paintings (including two Claudes and a Tintoretto) that did not meet her approval.
Her distaste for the uncle she had not dared to communi-cate to Charles; and her other objections she hinted at with more humor than sarcasm36. I do not think she is to be blamed. Like so many daughters of rich parents, before and since, she had been given no talent except that of convention-al good taste ... that is, she knew how to spend a great deal of money in dressmakers’, milliners’ and furniture shops. That was her province; and since it was her only real one, she did not like it encroached upon.
The urgent Charles put up with her muted disapproval37 and pretty poutings, and assured her that he would fly back with as much speed as he went. He had in fact a fairly good idea what his uncle wanted him so abruptly38 for; the matter had been tentatively broached39 when he was there with Tina and her parents ... most tentatively since his uncle was a shy man. It was the possibility that Charles and his bride might share Winsyatt with him—they could “fit up” the east whig. Charles knew his uncle did not mean merely that they should come and stay there on occasion, but that Charles should settle down and start learning the business of running the estate. Now this appealed to him no more than it would have, had he realized, to Ernestina. He knew it would be a poor arrangement, that his uncle would alternate between doting40 and disapproving41 ... and that Ernestina needed edu-cating into Winsyatt by a less trammeled early marriage. But his uncle had hinted privately42 to him at something beyond this: that Winsyatt was too large for a lonely old man, that he didn’t know if he wouldn’t be happier in a smaller place. There was no shortage of suitable smaller places in the environs ... indeed, some figured on the Winsyatt rent roll. There was one such, an Elizabethan manor43 house in the village of Winsyatt, almost in view of the great house.
Charles guessed now that the old man was feeling selfish; and that he was called to Winsyatt to be offered either the manor house or the great house. Either would be agreeable. It did not much matter to him which it should be, provided his uncle was out of the way. He felt certain that the old bachelor could now be maneuvered44 into either house, that he was like a nervous rider who had come to a jump and wanted to be led over it.
Accordingly, at the end of the brief trio in Broad Street, Charles asked for a few words alone with Ernestina; and as soon as Aunt Tranter had retired45, he told her what he suspected.
“But why should he have not discussed it sooner?”
“Dearest, I’m afraid that is Uncle Bob to the life. But tell me what I am to say.”
“Which should you prefer?”
“Whichever you choose. Neither, if needs be. Though he would be hurt...”
Ernestina uttered a discreet46 curse against rich uncles. But a vision of herself, Lady Smithson in a Winsyatt appointed to her taste, did cross her mind, perhaps because she was in Aunt Tranter’s not very spacious47 back parlor48. After all, a title needs a setting. And if the horrid49 old man were safely from under the same roof . . . and he was old. And dear Charles. And her parents, to whom she owed ...
“This house in the village—is it not the one we passed in the carriage?”
“Yes, you remember, it had all those picturesque50 old gables—“
“Picturesque to look at from the outside.”
“Of course it would have to be done up.”
“What did you call it?”
“The villagers call it the Little House. But only by compar-ison. It’s many years since I was in it, but I fancy it is a good deal larger than it looks.”
“I know those old houses. Dozens of wretched little rooms. I think the Elizabethans were all dwarfs51.”
He smiled (though he might have done better to correct her curious notion of Tudor architecture), and put his arm round her shoulders. “Then Winsyatt itself?”
She gave him a straight little look under her arched eye-brows.
“Do you wish it?”
“You know what it is to me.”
“I may have my way with new decorations?”
“You may raze52 it to the ground and erect53 a second Crystal Palace, for all I care.”
“Charles! Be serious!”
She pulled away. But he soon received a kiss of forgive-ness, and went on his way with a light heart. For her part, Ernestina went upstairs and drew out her copious54 armory55 of catalogues.
1 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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2 trenchant | |
adj.尖刻的,清晰的 | |
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3 eventual | |
adj.最后的,结局的,最终的 | |
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4 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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5 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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6 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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7 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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8 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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9 infiltrate | |
vt./vi.渗入,透过;浸润 | |
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10 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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11 moth | |
n.蛾,蛀虫 | |
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12 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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13 solicitation | |
n.诱惑;揽货;恳切地要求;游说 | |
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14 adamantly | |
adv.坚决地,坚定不移地,坚强不屈地 | |
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15 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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16 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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17 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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18 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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19 equated | |
adj.换算的v.认为某事物(与另一事物)相等或相仿( equate的过去式和过去分词 );相当于;等于;把(一事物) 和(另一事物)等同看待 | |
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20 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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21 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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22 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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23 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
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24 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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25 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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26 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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27 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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28 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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29 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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30 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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31 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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32 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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33 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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34 replacement | |
n.取代,替换,交换;替代品,代用品 | |
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35 tapestries | |
n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 );绣帷,织锦v.用挂毯(或绣帷)装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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37 disapproval | |
n.反对,不赞成 | |
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38 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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39 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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40 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
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41 disapproving | |
adj.不满的,反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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42 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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43 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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44 maneuvered | |
v.移动,用策略( maneuver的过去式和过去分词 );操纵 | |
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45 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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46 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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47 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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48 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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49 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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50 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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51 dwarfs | |
n.侏儒,矮子(dwarf的复数形式)vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的第三人称单数形式) | |
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52 raze | |
vt.铲平,把(城市、房屋等)夷为平地,拆毁 | |
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53 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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54 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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55 armory | |
n.纹章,兵工厂,军械库 | |
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