When Bertha vowed10 that life had lost all savour, that her ennui11 was unending, she exaggerated as usual, and almost grew angry on discovering that existence could be more supportable than she supposed.
One gets used to all things. It is only very misanthropic12 persons who pretend that they cannot accustom13 themselves to the stupidity of their fellows; for, after a while, one gets hardened to the most desperate bores, and monotony even ceases to be quite monotonous14. Accommodating herself to circumstances, Bertha found life less tedious; it was a calm river, and presently she came to the conclusion that it ran more easily without the cascades15 and waterfalls, the eddies16, whirlpools and rocks, which had disturbed its course. The man who can still dupe himself with illusions has a future not lacking in brightness.
The summer brought a certain variety, and Bertha found amusement in things which before had never interested her. She went to sheltered parts to see if favourite wild flowers had begun to blow: her love of liberty made her prefer the hedge-roses to the pompous17 blooms of the garden, the buttercups and daisies of the field to the prim18 geranium, and the calcellaria. Time fled and she was surprised to find the year pass imperceptibly. She began to read with greater zest19, and in her favourite seat, on the sofa by the window, spent long hours of pleasure. She read as fancy prompted her, without a plan, because she wished and not because she ought (how can they say that England is decadent20 when its young ladies are so strenuous21!). She obtained pleasure by contrasting different writers, gaining emotions from the gravity of one and the frivolity22 of the next. She went from the latest novel to the Orlando Furioso, from the Euphues of John Lyly (most entertaining and whimsical of books!) to the passionate23 corruption24 of Verlaine. With a lifetime before her, the length of books was no hindrance25, and she started boldly upon the eight volumes of the Decline and Fall, upon the many tomes of St. Simon: and she never hesitated to put them aside after a hundred pages.
Bertha found reality tolerable when it was merely a background, a foil to the fantastic happenings of old books. She looked at the green trees, and the song of birds mingled26 agreeably with her thoughts still occupied, perhaps, with the Dolorous27 Knight28 of La Mancha, with Manon Lescaut, or with the joyous29 band that wanders through the Decameron. With greater knowledge came greater curiosity, and she forsook30 the broad highroads of literature for the mountain pathways of some obscure poet, for the bridle-tracks of the Spanish picaroon. She found unexpected satisfaction in the half-forgotten masterpieces of the past, in poets not quite divine whom fashion had left on one side, in the playwrights31, and novelists, and essayists, whose remembrance lives only with the bookworm. It is a relief sometimes to look away from the bright sun of perfect achievement; and the writers who appealed to their age and not to posterity33, have by contrast a subtle charm. Undazzled by their splendour, one may discern more easily their individualities and the spirit of their time; they have pleasant qualities not always found among their betters, and there is even a certain pathos34 in their incomplete success.
In music also Bertha developed a taste for the half known, the half archaic35. It suited the Georgian drawing-room with its old pictures, with its Chippendale and chintz, to play the simple melodies of Couperin and Rameau; the rondos, the gavottes, the sonatinas in powder and patch, which delighted the rococo36 lords and ladies of a past century.
Living away from the present, in an artificial paradise, Bertha was almost completely happy. She found indifference37 to the whole world a trusty armour38: life was easy without love or hate, hope or despair, without ambition, desire of change, or tumultuous passion. So bloom the flowers; unconscious, uncaring, the bud bursts from the enclosing leaf, and opens to the sunshine, squanders39 its perfume to the breeze and there is none to see its beauty—and then it dies.
Bertha found it possible to look back upon the past years with something like amusement. It seemed now melodramatic to have loved the simple Edward with such violence, and she was able even to smile at the contrast between her vivid expectations and the flat reality. Gerald was a pleasantly sentimental40 memory; she did not wish to see him again, but thought of him often, idealising him till he became unsubstantial as a character in a favourite book. Her winter in Italy also formed the motive41 of some of her most delightful42 thoughts, and she determined43 never to spoil the impression by another visit. She had advanced a good deal in the art of life when she realised that pleasure came by surprise, that happiness was a spirit which descended44 unawares, and seldom when it was sought.
Edward had fallen into a life of such activity that his time was entirely45 taken up. He had added largely to the Ley estate, and, with the second-rate man’s belief that you must do a thing yourself to have it well done, kept the farms under his immediate46 supervision47. He was an important member of all the rural bodies: he was on the School Board, on the Board of Guardians48, on the County Council; he was chairman of the Urban District Council, president of the Leanham cricket club, president of the Faversley football club; patron of the Blackstable regatta; he was on the committee of the Tercanbury dog-show, and an enthusiastic supporter of the Mid-Kent Agricultural Exhibition. He was a pillar of the Blackstable Conservative Association, a magistrate49, and a churchwarden. Finally he was an ardent50 Freemason, and flew over Kent to attend the meetings of the half-dozen lodges51 of which he was a member. But the amount of work did not disturb him.
“Lord bless you,” he said, “I love work. You can’t give me too much. If there’s anything to be done, come to me and I’ll do it, and say thank you for giving me the chance.”
Edward had always been even-tempered, but now his good-nature was quite angelic. It became a byword. His success was according to his deserts, and to have him concerned in a matter was an excellent insurance. He was always jovial52 and gay, contented53 with himself and with the world at large; he was a model squire54, landlord, farmer, conservative, man, Englishman. He did everything thoroughly55, and his energy was such that he made a point of putting into every concern twice as much work as it really needed. He was busy from morning till night (as a rule quite unnecessarily), and he gloried in it.
“It shows I’m an excellent woman,” said Bertha to Miss Glover, “to support his virtues56 with equanimity57.”
“My dear, I think you ought to be very proud and happy. He’s an example to the whole county. If he were my husband, I should be grateful to God.”
“I have much to be thankful for,” murmured Bertha.
Since he let her go her own way and she was only too pleased that he should go his, there was really no possibility of difference, and Edward, wise man, came to the conclusion that he had effectually tamed his wife. He thought, with good-humoured scorn, that he had been quite right when he likened women to chickens, animals which, to be happy, required no more than a good run, well fenced in, where they could scratch about to their heart’s content.
“Feed ’em regularly, and let ’em cackle; and there you are!”
It is always satisfactory when experience verifies the hypothesis of your youth.
One year, remembering by accident their wedding-day, Edward gave his wife a bracelet58; and feeling benevolent59 in consequence, and having dined well, he patted her hand and remarked:—
“Time does fly, doesn’t it?”
“I have heard people say so,” she replied, smiling.
“Well, who’d have thought we’d been married eight years! it doesn’t seem above eighteen months to me. And we’ve got on very well, haven’t we?”
“My dear Edward, you are such a model husband. It quite embarrasses me sometimes.”
“Ha, ha! that’s a good one. But I can say this for myself, I do try to do my duty. Of course at first we had our little tiffs—people have to get used to one another, and one can’t expect to have all plain sailing just at once. But for years now—well, ever since you went to Italy, I think, we’ve been as happy as the day is long, haven’t we?”
“Yes, dear.”
“When I look back at the little rumpuses we used to have, upon my word, I wonder what they were all about.”
“So do I.” And this Bertha said quite truthfully.
“I suppose it was just the weather.”
“I dare say.”
“Ah, well—all’s well that ends well.”
“My dear Edward, you’re a philosopher.”
“I don’t know about that—but I think I’m a politician; which reminds me that I’ve not read about the new men-of-war in to-day’s paper. What I’ve been agitating60 about for years is more ships and more guns—I’m glad to see the Government have taken my advice at last.”
“It’s very satisfactory, isn’t it? It will encourage you to persevere61. And, of course, it’s nice to know that the Cabinet read your speeches in the Blackstable Times.”
“I think it would be a good sight better for the country if those in power paid more attention to provincial62 opinion. It’s men like me who really know the feeling of the nation. You might get me the paper, will you—it’s in the dining-room.”
It seemed quite natural to Edward that Bertha should wait upon him: it was the duty of a wife. She handed him the Standard, and he began to read; he yawned once or twice.
“Lord, I am sleepy.”
Presently he could not keep his eyes open, the paper dropped from his hand, and he sank back in his chair with legs outstretched, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach. His head lolled to one side and his jaw63 dropped, and he began to snore. Bertha read. After a while he woke with a start.
“Bless me, I do believe I’ve been asleep,” he cried. “Well, I’m dead tired, I think I shall go to bed. I suppose you won’t come up yet?”
“Not just yet.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late, there’s a good girl, it’s not good for you; and put the lights out properly when you come.”
Mariage à la mode.
Bertha’s solitary66 walk was to the sea. The shore between Blackstable and the Medway was extraordinarily67 wild. At distant intervals68 were the long, low buildings of the coastguard stations; and the clean, pink walls, the neat railings, the well-kept gravel69, contrasted rather surprisingly with the surrounding desolation. One could walk for miles without meeting a soul, and the country spread out from the sea, low and flat and marshy70. The beach was of countless shells of every possible variety, which crumbled71 under foot; while here and there were great banks of seaweed and bits of wood or rope, the jetsam of a thousand tides. In one spot, a few yards out but high and dry at low water, were the remains72 of an old hulk, whose wooden ribs73 stood out weirdly74 like the skeleton of some huge sea-beast. And then all round was the lonely sea, with never a ship nor a fishing-smack in sight. In winter it was as if a spirit of solitude75, like a mystic shroud76, had descended upon the shore and upon the desert waters.
Then, in the melancholy77, in the dreariness78, Bertha found a subtle fascination79. The sky was a threatening heavy cloud, low down; and the wind tore along shouting, screaming, and whistling: there was panic in the turbulent sea, murky80 and yellow, and the waves leaped up, one at the other’s heels, and beat down on the beach with an angry roar. It was desolate81, desolate; the sea was so merciless that the very sight appalled82 one: it was a wrathful power, beating forwards, ever wrathfully beating forwards, roaring with pain when the chains that bound it wrenched83 it back; and after each desperate effort it shrank with a yell of anguish84. And the seagulls swayed above the waves in their melancholy flight, rising and falling with the wind.
Bertha loved also the calm of winter, when the sea-mist and the mist of heaven were one; when the sea was silent and heavy, and the solitary gull85 flew screeching86 over the gray waters, screeching mournfully. She loved the calm of summer when the sky was cloudless and infinite. Then she spent long hours, lying at the water’s edge, delighted with the solitude and with her absolute peace. The sea, placid87 as a lake, unmoved by the lightest ripple88, was a looking-glass reflecting the glory of heaven; and it turned to fire when the sun sank in the west; it was a sea of molten copper89, red, brilliant, so that the eyes were dazzled. A troop of seagulls slept on the water; and there were hundreds of them, motionless and silent; one arose now and then, and flew for a moment with heavy wing, and sank down, and all was still.
Once the coolness was so tempting90 that Bertha could not resist it. Timidly, rapidly, she slipped off her clothes and looking round to see that there was really no one in sight, stepped in. The wavelets about her feet made her shiver a little, and then with a splash, stretching out her arms, she ran forward, and half fell, half dived into the water. Now it was delightful; she rejoiced in the freedom of her limbs, for it was an unknown pleasure to swim unhampered by costume. It gave a fine sense of power, and the salt water, lapping round her, was wonderfully exhilarating. She wanted to sing aloud in the joy of her heart. Diving below the surface, she came up with a shake of the head and a little cry of delight; then her hair was loosened and with a motion it all came tumbling about her shoulders and trailed out in its ringlets over the water.
She swam out, a fearless swimmer; and it gave her a feeling of strength and independence to have the deep waters all about her, the deep calm sea of summer; she turned on her back and floated, trying to look the sun in the face. The sea glimmered91 with the sunbeams and the sky was dazzling. Then, returning, Bertha floated again, quite near the shore; it amused her to lie on her back, rocked by the tiny waves, and to sink her ears so that she could hear the shingle92 rub together curiously93 with the ebb94 and flow of the tide. She shook out her long hair and it stretched about her like an aureole.
She exulted95 in her youth—in her youth? Bertha felt no older than when she was eighteen, and yet—she was thirty. The thought made her wince96; for she had never realised the passage of the years, she had never imagined that her youth was waning97. Did people think her already old? The sickening fear came to her that she resembled Miss Hancock, attempting by archness and by an assumption of frivolity, to persuade her neighbours that she was juvenile98. Bertha asked herself whether she was ridiculous when she rolled in the water like a young girl: you cannot act the mermaid99 with crow’s feet about your eyes, with wrinkles round your mouth. In a panic she dressed herself, and going home, flew to a looking-glass. She scrutinised her features as she had never done before, searching anxiously for the signs she feared to see; she looked at her neck and at her eyes: her skin was as smooth as ever, her teeth as perfect. She gave a sigh of relief.
“I see no difference.”
Then, doubly to reassure100 herself, a fantastic idea seized Bertha to dress as though she were going to a great ball; she wished to see herself to all advantage. She chose the most splendid gown she had, and took out her jewels. The Leys had sold every vestige101 of their old magnificence, but their diamonds, with characteristic obstinacy102, they had invariably declined to part with; and they lay aside, year after year unused, the stones in their old settings, dulled with dust and neglect. The moisture still in Bertha’s hair was an excuse to do it capriciously, and she placed in it the beautiful tiara which her grandmother had worn in the Regency. On her shoulders she wore two ornaments103 exquisitely104 set in gold-work, purloined105 by a great-uncle in the Peninsular War from the saint of a Spanish church. She slipped a string of pearls round her neck, bracelets106 on her arms, and fastened a glistening107 row of stars to her bosom108. Knowing she had beautiful hands, Bertha disdained109 to wear rings, but now she covered her fingers with diamonds and emeralds and sapphires110.
Finally she stood before the looking-glass, and gave a laugh of pleasure. She was not old yet.
But when she sailed into the drawing-room, Edward jumped up in surprise.
“Good Lord!” he cried. “What on earth’s up! Have we got people coming to dinner?”
“My dear, if we had, I should not have dressed like this.”
“You’re got up as if the Prince of Wales were coming. And I’m only in knickerbockers. It’s not our wedding-day?”
“No.”
“Then I should like to know why you’ve dressed yourself up like that.”
“I thought it would please you,” she said, smiling.
“I wish you’d told me—I’d have dressed too. Are you sure no one’s coming?”
“Quite sure.”
“Well, I think I ought to dress. It would look so queer if some one turned up.”
“If any one does, I promise you I’ll fly.”
They went in to dinner, Edward feeling very uncomfortable, and keeping his ear alert for the front-door bell. They ate their soup, and then were set on the table—the remains of a cold leg of mutton and mashed111 potatoes. Bertha looked for a moment blankly, and then, leaning back, burst into peal32 upon peal of laughter.
“Good Lord, what is the matter now?” asked Edward.
Nothing is more annoying than to have people violently hilarious112 over a joke that you cannot see.
Bertha held her sides and tried to speak.
“I’ve just remembered that I told the servants they might go out to-night, there’s a circus at Blackstable; and I said we’d just eat up the odds113 and ends.”
“I don’t see any joke in that.”
And really there was none, but Bertha laughed again immoderately.
“I suppose there are some pickles,” said Edward.
Bertha repressed her gaiety and began to eat.
“That is my whole life,” she murmured under her breath, “to eat cold mutton and mashed potatoes in a ball-dress and all my diamonds.”
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1
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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softens
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| （使）变软( soften的第三人称单数 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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tribulations
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| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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misanthropic
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| adj.厌恶人类的，憎恶（或蔑视）世人的；愤世嫉俗 | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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strenuous
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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squanders
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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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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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...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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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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51
lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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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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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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60
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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64
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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uxorious
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| adj.宠爱妻子的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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69
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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81
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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82
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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85
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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99
mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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100
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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101
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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102
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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103
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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105
purloined
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| v.偷窃( purloin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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107
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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108
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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109
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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110
sapphires
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| n.蓝宝石，钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 )；蔚蓝色 | |
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111
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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112
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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113
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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