Respectability has spread its leaden mantle1 over the whole country . . . and the man wins the race who can worship that great goddess with the most un-divided devotion.
—Leslie Stephen, Sketches2 from Cambridge (1865)
The bourgeoisie . . . compels all nations, on pain of extinction4, to adopt the bourgeois3 mode of produc-tion; it compels them to introduce what it calls civil-ization into their midst, that is, to become bourgeois themselves. In one word, it creates a world after its own image.
—Marx, Communist Manifesto5 (1848)
Charles’s second formal interview with Ernestina’s father was a good deal less pleasant than the first, though that was in no way the fault of Mr. Freeman. In spite of his secret feeling about the aristocracy—that they were so many drones—he was, in the more outward aspects of his life, a snob6. He made it his business—and one he looked after as well as his flourishing other business—to seem in all ways a gentleman. Consciously he believed he was a perfect gentleman; and perhaps it was only in his obsessive7 determination to appear one that we can detect a certain inner doubt.
These new recruits to the upper middle class were in a tiresome8 position. If they sensed themselves recruits socially, they knew very well that they were powerful captains in their own world of commerce. Some chose another version of cryptic9 coloration and went in very comprehensively (like Mr. Jorrocks) for the pursuits, property and manners of the true country gentleman. Others—like Mr. Freeman—tried to re-define the term. Mr. Freeman had a newly built mansion10 in the Surrey pinewoods, but his wife and daughter lived there a good deal more frequently than he did. He was in his way a forerunner11 of the modern rich commuter12, except that he spent only his weekends there—and then rarely but in sum-mer. And where his modern homologue goes in for golf, or roses, or gin and adultery, Mr. Freeman went in for earnest-ness.
Indeed, Profit and Earnestness (in that order) might have been his motto. He had thrived on the great social-economic change that took place between 1850 and 1870—the shift of accent from manufactory to shop, from producer to custom-er. That first great wave of conspicuous13 consumption had suited his accounting14 books very nicely; and by way of compensation—and in imitation of an earlier generation of Puritan profiteers, who had also preferred hunting sin to hunting the fox—he had become excessively earnest and Christian15 in his private life. Just as some tycoons16 of our own time go in for collecting art, covering excellent investment with a nice patina17 of philanthropy, Mr. Freeman contributed handsomely to the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge and similar militant18 charities. His apprentices19, improvers and the rest were atrociously lodged20 and exploited by our standards; but by those of 1867, Freeman’s was an exceptionally advanced establishment, a model of its kind. When he went to heaven, he would have a happy labor21 force behind him; and his heirs would have the profit therefrom.
He was a grave headmasterly man, with intense gray eyes, whose shrewdness rather tended to make all who came under their survey feel like an inferior piece of Manchester goods. He listened to Charles’s news, however, without any sign of emotion, though he nodded gravely when Charles came to the end of his explanation. A silence followed. The interview took place in Mr. Freeman’s study in the Hyde Park house. It gave no hint of his profession. The walls were lined by suitably solemn-looking books; a bust22 of Marcus Aurelius (or was it Lord Palmerston in his bath?); one or two large but indeterminate engravings, whether of carnivals23 or battles it was hard to establish, though they managed to give the impression of an inchoate24 humanity a very great distance from present surroundings.
Mr. Freeman cleared his throat and stared at the red and gilt25 morocco of his desk; he seemed about to pronounce, but changed his mind.
“This is most surprising. Most surprising.”
More silence followed, in which Charles felt half irritated and half amused. He saw he was in for a dose of the solemn papa. But since he had invited it, he could only suffer in the silence that followed, and swallowed, that unsatisfactory re-sponse. Mr. Freeman’s private reaction had in fact been more that of a businessman than of a gentleman, for the thought which had flashed immediately through his mind was that Charles had come to ask for an increase in the marriage portion. That he could easily afford; but a terrible possibility had simultaneously27 occurred to him—that Charles had known all along of his uncle’s probable marriage. The one thing he loathed28 was to be worsted in an important business deal—and this, after all, was one that concerned the object he most cherished.
Charles at last broke the silence. “I need hardly add that this decision of my uncle’s comes as a very great surprise to myself as well.”
“Of course, of course.”
“But I felt it my duty to apprise29 you of it at once—and in person.”
“Most correct of you. And Ernestina ... she knows?”
“She was the first I told. She is naturally influenced by the affections she has done me the honor of bestowing30 on me.” Charles hesitated, then felt in his pocket. “I bear a letter to you from her.” He stood and placed it on the desk, where Mr. Freeman stared at it with those shrewd gray eyes, evidently preoccupied31 with other thoughts.
“You have still a very fair private income, have you not?”
“I cannot pretend to have been left a pauper32.”
“To which we must add the possibility that your uncle may not be so fortunate as eventually to have an heir?”
“That is so.”
“And the certainty that Ernestina does not come to you without due provision?”
“You have been most generous.”
“And one day I shall be called to eternal rest.”
“My dear sir, I—“
The gentleman had won. Mr. Freeman stood. “Between ourselves we may say these things. I shall be very frank with you, my dear Charles. My principal consideration is my daughter’s happiness. But I do not need to tell you of the prize she represents in financial terms. When you asked my permission to solicit33 her hand, not the least of your recom-mendations in my eyes was my assurance that the alliance would be mutual34 respect and mutual worth. I have your assurance that your changed circumstances have come on you like a bolt from the blue. No stranger to your moral rectitude could possibly impute35 to you an ignoble36 motive37. That is my only concern.”
“As it is most emphatically mine, sir.”
More silence followed. Both knew what was really being said: that malicious38 gossip must now surround the marriage. Charles would be declared to have had wind of his loss of prospects39 before his proposal; Ernestina would be sneered40 at for having lost the title she could so easily have bought elsewhere.
“I had better read the letter. Pray excuse me.” He raised his solid gold letter-knife and slit41 the envelope open. Charles went to a window and stared out at the trees of Hyde Park. There beyond the chain of carriages in the Bayswater Road, he saw a girl—a shopgirl or maid by the look of her—waiting on a bench before the railings; and even as he watched a red-jacketed soldier came up. He saluted— and she turned. It was too far to see her face, but the eagerness of her turn made it clear that the two were lovers. The soldier took her hand and pressed it momentarily to his heart. Something was said. Then she slipped her hand under his arm and they began to walk slowly towards Oxford42 Street. Charles became lost in this little scene; and started when Mr. Freeman came beside him, the letter in hand. He was smiling.
“Perhaps I should read what she says in a postscript43.” He adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles. “ ‘If you listen to Charles’s nonsense for one moment, I shall make him elope with me to Paris.’” He looked drily up at Charles. “It seems we are given no alternative.”
Charles smiled faintly. “But if you should wish for further time to reflect ...”
Mr. Freeman placed his hand on the scrupulous44 one’s shoulder. “I shall tell her that I find her intended even more admirable in adversity than in good fortune. And I think the sooner you return to Lyme the better it will be.” “You do me great kindness.”
“In making my daughter so happy, you do me an even greater one. Her letter is not all in such frivolous45 terms.” He took Charles by the arm and led him back into the room. “And my dear Charles ...” this phrase gave Mr. Freeman a certain pleasure, “... I do not think the necessity to regulate one’s expenditure46 a little when first married is altogether a bad thing. But should circumstances ... you know what I mean.”
“Most kind ...” “Let us say no more.”
Mr. Freeman took out his keychain and opened a drawer of his desk and placed his daughter’s letter inside, as if it were some precious state document; or perhaps he knew rather more about servants than most Victorian employers. As he relocked the desk he looked up at Charles, who now had the disagreeable impression that he had himself become an employee—a favored one, to be sure, but somehow now in this commercial giant’s disposal. Worse was to follow; perhaps, after all, the gentleman had not alone determined47 Mr. Freeman’s kindness.
“May I now, since the moment is convenient, open my heart to you on another matter that concerns Ernestina and yourself?”
Charles bowed in polite assent48, but Mr. Freeman seemed for a moment at a loss for words. He rather fussily49 replaced his letter-knife in its appointed place, then went to the window they had so recently left. Then he turned.
“My dear Charles, I count myself a fortunate man in every respect. Except one.” He addressed the carpet. “I have no son.” He stopped again, then gave his son-in-law a probing look. “I understand that commerce must seem abhorrent50 to you. It is not a gentleman’s occupation.”
“That is mere51 cant52, sir. You are yourself a living proof that it is so.”
“Do you mean that? Or are you perhaps but giving me another form of cant?”
The iron-gray eyes were suddenly very direct. Charles was at a loss for a moment. He opened his hands. “I see what any intelligent man must—the great utility of commerce, its es-sential place in our nation’s—“
“Ah yes. That is just what every politician says. They have to, because the prosperity of our country depends on it. But would you like it to be said of you that you were ... in trade?”
“The possibility has never arisen.”
“But say it should arise?”
“You mean ... I...”
At last he realized what his father-in-law was driving at; and seeing his shock, the father-in-law hastily made way for the gentleman.
“Of course I don’t mean that you should bother yourself with the day-to-day affairs of my enterprise. That is the duty of my superintendents53, my clerks, and the rest. But my business is prospering54, Charles. Next year we shall open emporia in Bristol and Birmingham. They are but the begin-ning. I cannot offer you a geographical55 or political empire. But I am convinced that one day an empire of sorts will come to Ernestina and yourself.” Mr. Freeman began to walk up and down. “When it seemed clear that your future duties lay in the administration of your uncle’s estate I said nothing. But you have energy, education, great ability ...”
“But my ignorance of what you so kindly56 suggest is ... well, very nearly total.”
Mr. Freeman waved the objection aside. “Matters like probity57, the capacity to command respect, to judge men shrewdly—all those are of far greater import. And I do not believe you poor in such qualities.”
“I’m not sure I know fully58 what you are suggesting.”
“I suggest nothing immediate26. In any case for the next year or two you have your marriage to think of. You will not want outside cares and interests at such a time. But should a day come when it would ... amuse you to know more of the great commerce you will one day inherit through Ernestina, nothing would bring me ... or my wife, may I add ... greater pleasure than to further that interest.”
“The last thing I wish is to appear ungrateful, but ... that is, it seems so disconsonant with my natural proclivities59, what small talents I have ...”
“I am suggesting no more than a partnership60. In practical terms, nothing more onerous61 to begin with than an occasion-al visit to the office of management, a most general supervi-sion of what is going on. I think you would be surprised at the type of man I now employ in the more responsible positions. One need be by no means ashamed to know them.”
“I assure you my hesitation62 is in no way due to social considerations.”
“Then it can only be caused by your modesty63. And there, my dear young man, you misjudge yourself. That day I mentioned must come—I shall be no longer there. To be sure, you may dispose of what I have spent my life building up. You may find good managers to look after it for you. But I know what I am talking about. A successful enterprise needs an active owner just as much as a good army needs a general. Not all the good soldiers in the world will help unless he is there to command the battle.”
Charles felt himself, under the first impact of this attrac-tive comparison, like Jesus of Nazareth tempted64 by Satan. He too had had his days in the wilderness65 to make the proposi-tion more tempting66. But he was a gentleman; and gentlemen cannot go into trade. He sought for a way of saying so; and failed. In a business discussion indecision is a sign of weak-ness. Mr. Freeman seized his chance.
“You will never get me to agree that we are all descended67 from monkeys. I find that notion blasphemous68. But I thought much on some of the things you said during our little dis-agreement. I would have you repeat what you said, what was it, about the purpose of this theory of evolution. A species must change ... ?”
“In order to survive. It must adapt itself to changes in the environment.”
“Just so. Now that I can believe. I am twenty years older than you. Moreover, I have spent my life in a situation where if one does not—and very smartly—change oneself to meet the taste of the day, then one does not survive. One goes bankrupt. Times are changing, you know. This is a great age of progress. And progress is like a lively horse. Either one rides it, or it rides one. Heaven forbid I should suggest that being a gentleman is an insufficient69 pursuit in life. That it can never be. But this is an age of doing, great doing, Charles. You may say these things do not concern you—are beneath you. But ask yourself whether they ought to concern you. That is all I propose. You must reflect on this. There is no need for a decision yet. No need at all.” He paused. “But you will not reject the idea out of hand?”
Charles did indeed by this time feel like a badly stitched sample napkin, in all ways a victim of evolution. Those old doubts about the futility70 of his existence were only too easily reawakened. He guessed now what Mr. Freeman really thought of him: he was an idler. And what he proposed for him: that he should earn his wife’s dowry. He would have liked to be discreetly71 cold, but there was a warmth in Mr. Freeman’s voice behind the vehemence72, an assumption of relationship. It was to Charles as if he had traveled all his life among pleasant hills; and now came to a vast plain of tedium—and unlike the more famous pilgrim, he saw only Duty and Humiliation73 down there below—most certainly not Happiness or Progress.
He managed a look into those waiting, and penetrating74, commercial eyes.
“I confess myself somewhat overwhelmed.”
“I ask no more than that you should give the matter thought.”
“Most certainly. Of course. Most serious thought.”
Mr. Freeman went and opened the door. He smiled. “I fear you have one more ordeal75. Mrs. Freeman awaits us, agog76 for all the latest tittle-tattle of Lyme.”
A few moments later the two men were moving down a wide corridor to the spacious77 landing that overlooked the grand hall of the house. Little in it was not in the best of contemporary taste. Yet as they descended the sweep of stairs towards the attendant footman, Charles felt obscurely debased; a lion caged. He had, with an acute unexpectedness, a poignant78 flash of love for Winsyatt, for its “wretched” old paintings and furniture; its age, its security, its savoir-vivre. The abstract idea of evolution was entrancing; but its practice seemed as fraught79 with ostentatious vulgarity as the freshly gilded80 Corinthian columns that framed the door on whose threshold he and his tormentor81 now paused a second— “Mr. Charles Smithson, madam”—before entering.
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mantle
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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manifesto
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| n.宣言，声明 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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obsessive
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| adj. 着迷的, 强迫性的, 分神的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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commuter
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| n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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tycoons
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| 大君( tycoon的名词复数 )； 将军； 企业巨头； 大亨 | |
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patina
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| n.铜器上的绿锈，年久而产生的光泽 | |
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militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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carnivals
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| 狂欢节( carnival的名词复数 )； 嘉年华会； 激动人心的事物的组合； 五彩缤纷的颜色组合 | |
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inchoate
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| adj.才开始的，初期的 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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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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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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apprise
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| vt.通知，告知 | |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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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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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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impute
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| v.归咎于 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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fussily
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| adv.无事空扰地，大惊小怪地，小题大做地 | |
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abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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superintendents
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| 警长( superintendent的名词复数 )； （大楼的）管理人； 监管人； （美国）警察局长 | |
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prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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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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probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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onerous
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| adj.繁重的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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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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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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66
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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67
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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68
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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69
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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70
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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71
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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72
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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73
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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74
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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75
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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77
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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79
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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80
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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81
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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