George observed the name of 'Renoir' on the gorgeous frame of a gorgeous portrait in oils of the hostess.
"Is that a Renoir?" he asked the taciturn Miss Wheeler, who seemed to jump at the opening with relief.
"Yes," she said, with her slight lisp. "I'm glad you noticed it. Come and look at it. Do you think it's a good one? Do you like Renoir?"
By good fortune George had seen a Renoir or two in Paris under the guidance of Mr. Enwright. They stared at the portrait together.
"It's awfully20 distinguished," he decided21, employing a useful adjective which he had borrowed from Mr. Enwright.
"Isn't it!" she said, turning her wondrous22 complexion23 towards him, and admiring his adjective. "I have a Boldini too."
He followed her across the room to the Boldini portrait of herself, which was dazzling in its malicious24 flattery.
"And here's a Nicholson," she said.
Those three portraits were the most striking pictures in the salon25 , but there were others of at least equal value.
"Are you interested in fans?" she demanded, and pulled down a switch which illuminated26 the interior of a large cabinet full of fans. She pointed27 out fans painted by Lami, Glaize, Jacquemart. "That one is supposed to be a Lancret," she said. "But I'm not sure about it, and I don't know anybody that is. Here's the latest book on the subject." She indicated Lady Charlotte Schreiber's work in two volumes which, bound in vellum and gold, lay on a table. "But of course it only deals with English fans. However, Conder is going to do me a couple. He was here yesterday to see me about them. Of course you know him. What a wonderful man! The only really cosmopolitan28 artist in England, I say, now Beardsley's dead. I've got a Siegfried drawing by Beardsley. He was a great friend of mine. I adored him."
" This is a fine thing," said George, touching29 a bronze of a young girl on the same table as the books.
"You think so?" Miss Wheeler responded uncertainly. "I suppose it is . It's a Gilbert. He gave it me. But do you really think it compares with this Barye? It doesn't, does it?" She directed him to another bronze of a crouching30 cheetah31.
So she moved him about. He was dazed. His modest supply of adjectives proved inadequate32. When she paused, he murmured:
"It's a great room you've managed to get here."
"Ah!" she cried thinly. "But you've no idea of the trouble I've had over this room. Do you know it's really two rooms. I had to take two flats in order to fix this room."
She was launched on a supreme33 topic, and George heard a full history. She would not have a house. She would have a flat. She instructed house-agents to find for her the best flat in London. There was no best flat in London. London landlords did not understand flats, which were comprehended only in Paris. The least imperfect flats in London were two on a floor, and as their drawing-rooms happened to be contiguous on their longer sides, she had the idea of leasing two intolerable flats so as to obtain one flat that was tolerable. She had had terrible difficulties about the central heating. No flats in London were centrally heated except in the corridors and on the staircases. However, she had imposed her will on the landlord, and radiators34 had appeared in every room. George had a vision of excessive wealth subjugating35 the greatest artists and riding with implacable egotism over the customs and institutions of a city obstinately36 conservative. The cost and the complexity37 of Irene Wheeler's existence amazed and intimidated38 George—for this double flat was only one of her residences. He wondered what his parents would say if they could see him casually39 treading the oak parquetry and the heavy rugs of the resplendent abode40. And then he thought, the humble41 and suspicious upstart: "There must be something funny about her, or she wouldn't be asking me here!"
They went in to dinner, without ceremony. George was last, the hostess close to his side.
"Who's the Frenchman?" he inquired casually, with the sudden boldness that often breaks out of timidity. "I didn't catch."
"It's Monsieur Defourcambault," said Miss Wheeler in a low voice of sincere admiration42. "He's from the Embassy. A most interesting man. Been everywhere. Seen everything. Read everything. Done everything."
George could not but be struck by the ingenuous43 earnestness of her tone, so different from the perfunctory accents in which she had catalogued her objects of art.
The dining-room, the dinner, and the service of the dinner were equally superb. The broad table seemed small in the midst of the great mysterious chamber45, of which the illumination was confined by shades to the centre. The glance wandering round the obscurity of the walls could rest on nothing that was not obviously in good taste and very costly46. The three men-servants, moving soundless as phantoms47, brought burdens from a hidden country behind a gigantic screen, and at intervals48 in the twilight49 near the screen could be detected the transient gleam of the white apron of the mulatto, whose sex clashed delicately and piquantly50 with the grave, priest-like performances of the male menials. The table was of mahogany covered with a sheet of plate-glass. A large gold épergne glittered in the middle. Suitably dispersed51 about the rim52 of the board were six rectangular islands of pale lace, and on each island lay a complete set of the innumerable instruments and condiments53 necessary to the proper consumption of the meal. Thus, every diner dined independently, cut off from his fellows, but able to communicate with them across expanses of plate-glass over mahogany. George was confused by the multiplicity of metal tools and crystal receptacles—he alone had four wine-glasses—but in the handling of the tools he was saved from shame by remembering the maxim—a masterpiece of terse54 clarity worthy55 of a class which has given its best brains to the perfecting of the formalities preliminary to deglutition: "Take always from the outside."
The man from the French Embassy sat on the right of the hostess, and George on her left. George had Lois Ingram on his left. Laurencine was opposite her sister. Everard Lucas, by command of the hostess, had taken the foot of the table and was a sort of 'Mr. Vice44.' The six people were soon divided into two equal groups, one silent and the other talkative, the talkative three being M. Defourcambault, Laurencine and Lucas. The diplomatist, though he could speak diplomatic English, persisted in speaking French. Laurencine spoke56 French quite perfectly57, with exactly the same idiomatic58 ease as the Frenchman. Lucas neither spoke nor understood French—he had been to a great public school. Nevertheless these three attained59 positive loquacity60. Lucas guessed at words, or the Frenchman obliged with bits of English, or Laurencine interpreted. Laurencine was far less prim61 and far more girlish than at the Café Royal. She kept all the freshness of her intensely virginal quality, but she was at ease. Her rather large body was at ease, continually restless in awkward and exquisite62 gestures; she laughed at ease, and made fun at ease. She appeared to have no sex-consciousness, nor even to suspect that she was a most delightful63 creature. The conversation was disjointed in its gaiety, and had no claim to the attention of the serious. Laurencine said that Lucas ought really to know French. Lucas said he would learn if she would teach him. Laurencine said that she would teach him if he would have his first lesson instantly, during dinner. Lucas said that wasn't fair. Laurencine said that it was. Both of them appealed to M. Defourcambault. M. Defourcambault said that it was fair. Lucas said that there was a plot between them, but that he would consent to learn at once if Laurencine would play the piano for him after dinner. Laurencine said she didn't play. Lucas said she did. M. Defourcambault, invoked64 once again, said that she played magnificently. Laurencine blushed, and asked M. Defourcambault how he could!... And so on, indefinitely. It was all naught65; yet the taciturn three, smiling indulgently and glancing from one to another of the talkers, as taciturn and constrained66 persons must, envied that peculiar67 ability to maintain a rush and gush68 of chatter69.
George was greatly disappointed in Lois. In the period before dinner his eyes had avoided her, and now, since they sat side by side, he could not properly see her without deliberately70 looking at her: which he would not do. She gave no manifestation71. She was almost glum72. Her French, though free, was markedly inferior to Laurencine's. She denied any interest in music. George decided, with self-condemnation, that he had been deliberately creating in his own mind an illusion about her; on no other hypothesis could either his impatience73 to meet her to-night, or his disappointment at not meeting her on the night of the Café Royal dinner, be explained. She was nothing, after all. And he did not deeply care for Miss Irene Wheeler, whom he could watch at will. She might be concealing74 something very marvellous, but she was dull, and she ignored the finer responsibilities of a hostess. She collected many beautiful things; she had some [pg 154] knowledge of what they were; she must be interested in them—or why should she trouble to possess them? She must have taste. And yet had she taste? Was she interested in her environment? A tone, a word, will create suspicion that the exhibition of expertise75 for hours cannot allay76. George did not like the Frenchman. The Frenchman was about thirty—small, thin, fair, with the worn face of the man who lives several lives at once. He did not look kind; he did not look reliable; and he offered little evidence in support of Miss Wheeler's ardent77 assertion that he had been everywhere, seen everything, read everything, done everything. He assuredly had not, for example, read Verlaine, who was mentioned by Miss Wheeler. Now George had read one or two poems of Verlaine, and thought them unique; hence he despised M. Defourcambault. He could read French, in a way, but he was incapable78 of speaking a single word of it in the presence of compatriots; the least mono-syllable would have died on his lips. He was absurdly envious79 of those who could speak two languages; he thought sometimes that he would prefer to be able to speak two languages than to do anything else in the world; not to be able to speak two languages humiliated80 him intensely; he decided to 'take up French seriously' on the morrow; but he had several times arrived at a similar decision.
If Lois was glum, George too was glum. He wished he had not come to the dinner; he wished he could be magically transported to the solitude81 of his room at the club. He slipped into a reverie about the Marguerite affair. Nobody could have divined that scarcely twenty-four hours earlier he had played a principal part in a tragedy affecting his whole life. He had borne the stroke better than he otherwise would have done for the simple reason that nobody knew of his trouble. He had not to arrange his countenance for the benefit of people who were aware what was behind the countenance. But also he was philosophical82. He recognized that the Marguerite affair was over. She would never give way, and he would never give way. She was wrong. He had been victimized. He had behaved with wisdom and with correctness (save for the detail of throwing the ring into the Thames). Agg's warnings and injunctions were ridiculous. What could he have done that he had not done? Run away with Marguerite, carry her off? Silly! No, he was well out of the affair. He perceived the limitations of the world in which Marguerite lived. It was a world too small and too austere83 for him. He required the spaciousness84 and the splendour of the new world in which Irene Wheeler and the Ingrams lived. Yea, though it was a world that excited the sardonic85 in him, he liked it. It flattered authentic86, if unsuspected, appetites in him. Still, the image of Marguerite inhabited his memory. He saw her as she stood between himself and old Haim in the basement of No. 8. He heard her.... She was absolutely unlike any other girl; she was so gentle, so acquiescent87. Only she put her lover second to her father.... What would Miss Wheeler think of the basement of No. 8?
The chatterers, apropos88 of songs in musical comedies, were talking about a French popular song concerning Boulanger.
"You knew Boulanger, didn't you, Jules?" Miss Wheeler suggested.
M. Defourcambault looked round, content. He related in English how his father had been in the very centre of the Boulangist movement, and had predicted disaster to the General's cause from the instant that Madame de Bonnemain came on the scene. (Out of consideration for the girls, M. Defourcambault phrased his narrative89 with neat discretion90.) His grandfather also had been of his father's opinion, and his grandfather was in the Senate, and had been Minister at Brussels.... He affirmed that Madame de Bonnemain had telegraphed to Boulanger to leave Paris at the very moment when his presence in Paris was essential, and Boulanger had obediently gone. He said that he always remembered what his mother had said to him: a clever woman irregularly in love with a man may make his fortune, but a stupid woman is certain to ruin it. Finally he related how he, Jules Defourcambault, had driven the General's carriage on a famous occasion through Paris, and how the populace in its frenzy91 of idolatry had even climbed on to the roof of the carriage.
"And what did you do, then?" George demanded in the hard tone of a cross-examiner.
"I drove straight on," said M. Defourcambault, returning George's cold stare.
This close glimpse into history—into politics and passion—excited George considerably92. He was furiously envious of M. Defourcambault, who had been in the middle of things all his life, whose father, mother, and grandfather were all in the middle of things. M. Defourcambault had an immense and unfair advantage over him. To whatever heights he [pg 156] might rise, George would never be in a position to talk as M. Defourcambault talked of his forbears. He would always have to stand alone, and to fight for all he wanted. He could not even refer to his father. He scorned M. Defourcambault because M. Defourcambault was not worthy of his heritage. M. Defourcambault was a little rotter, yet he had driven the carriage of Boulanger in a crisis of the history of France! Miss Wheeler, however, did not scorn M. Defourcambault. On the contrary, she looked at him with admiration, as though he had now proved that he had been everywhere, seen everything, and done everything. George's mood was black. He was a nobody; he would always be a nobody; why should he be wasting his time and looking a fool in this new world?
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1
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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obviate
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| v.除去，排除，避免，预防 | |
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3
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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4
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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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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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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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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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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cheetah
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| n.(动物)猎豹 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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radiators
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| n.（暖气设备的）散热器( radiator的名词复数 )；汽车引擎的冷却器，散热器 | |
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35
subjugating
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的现在分词 ) | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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42
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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43
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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48
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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49
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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50
piquantly
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51
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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52
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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condiments
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| n.调味品 | |
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54
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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idiomatic
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| adj.成语的，符合语言习惯的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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60
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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61
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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62
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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64
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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69
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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70
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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71
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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72
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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73
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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expertise
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| n.专门知识(或技能等)，专长 | |
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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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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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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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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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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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