In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the other side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and the worthy1 witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second time.
‘It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery—hours!’ he said with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very deeply. ‘But thanks to a good intellect I’ve done it. Now, ma’am, I’m not a man to tell tales, even when a tale would be so good as this. But I’m going back to the mainland again, and a little assistance would be as rain on thirsty ground.’
‘I helped you two days ago,’ began Baptista.
‘Yes—but what was that, my good lady? Not enough to pay my passage to Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, for I thought there was a mystery somewhere. Now I must go back on my own. Mind this—’twould be very awkward for you if your old man were to know. He’s a queer temper, though he may be fond.’
She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the hush-money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the satisfaction of watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him diminish out of sight. But Baptista perceived that the system into which she had been led of purchasing silence thus was one fatal to her peace of mind, particularly if it had to be continued.
Hearing no more from the glazier she hoped the difficulty was past. But another week only had gone by, when, as she was pacing the Giant’s Walk (the name given to the promenade), she met the same personage in the company of a fat woman carrying a bundle.
‘This is the lady, my dear,’ he said to his companion. ‘This, ma’am, is my wife. We’ve come to settle in the town for a time, if so be we can find room.’
‘That you won’t do,’ said she. ‘Nobody can live here who is not privileged.’
‘I am privileged,’ said the glazier, ‘by my trade.’
Baptista went on, but in the afternoon she received a visit from the man’s wife. This honest woman began to depict2, in forcible colours, the necessity for keeping up the concealment3.
‘I will intercede4 with my husband, ma’am,’ she said. ‘He’s a true man if rightly managed; and I’ll beg him to consider your position. ’Tis a very nice house you’ve got here,’ she added, glancing round, ‘and well worth a little sacrifice to keep it.’
The unlucky Baptista staved off the danger on this third occasion as she had done on the previous two. But she formed a resolve that, if the attack were once more to be repeated she would face a revelation—worse though that must now be than before she had attempted to purchase silence by bribes5. Her tormentors, never believing her capable of acting7 upon such an intention, came again; but she shut the door in their faces. They retreated, muttering something; but she went to the back of the house, where David Heddegan was.
She looked at him, unconscious of all. The case was serious; she knew that well; and all the more serious in that she liked him better now than she had done at first. Yet, as she herself began to see, the secret was one that was sure to disclose itself. Her name and Charles’s stood indelibly written in the registers; and though a month only had passed as yet it was a wonder that his clandestine8 union with her had not already been discovered by his friends. Thus spurring herself to the inevitable9, she spoke10 to Heddegan.
‘David, come indoors. I have something to tell you.’
He hardly regarded her at first. She had discerned that during the last week or two he had seemed preoccupied11, as if some private business harassed12 him. She repeated her request. He replied with a sigh, ‘Yes, certainly, mee deer.’
When they had reached the sitting-room13 and shut the door she repeated, faintly, ‘David, I have something to tell you—a sort of tragedy I have concealed14. You will hate me for having so far deceived you; but perhaps my telling you voluntarily will make you think a little better of me than you would do otherwise.’
‘Tragedy?’ he said, awakening15 to interest. ‘Much you can know about tragedies, mee deer, that have been in the world so short a time!’
She saw that he suspected nothing, and it made her task the harder. But on she went steadily16. ‘It is about something that happened before we were married,’ she said.
‘Indeed!’
‘I don’t much mind that,’ he said mildly. ‘In truth, I was in hopes ’twas more.’
‘In hopes!’
‘Well, yes.’
This screwed her up to the necessary effort. ‘I met my old sweetheart. He scorned me, chid18 me, dared me, and I went and married him. We were coming straight here to tell you all what we had done; but he was drowned; and I thought I would say nothing about him: and I married you, David, for the sake of peace and quietness. I’ve tried to keep it from you, but have found I cannot. There—that’s the substance of it, and you can never, never forgive me, I am sure!’
She spoke desperately19. But the old man, instead of turning black or blue, or slaying20 her in his indignation, jumped up from his chair, and began to caper21 around the room in quite an ecstatic emotion.
‘O, happy thing! How well it falls out!’ he exclaimed, snapping his, fingers over his head. ‘Ha-ha—the knot is cut—I see a way out of my trouble—ha-ha!’ She looked at him without uttering a sound, till, as he still continued smiling joyfully22, she said, ‘O—what do you mean! Is it done to torment6 me?’
‘No—no! O, mee deer, your story helps me out of the most heart-aching quandary23 a poor man ever found himself in! You see, it is this—I’ve got a tragedy, too; and unless you had had one to tell, I could never have seen my way to tell mine!’
‘What is yours—what is it?’ she asked, with altogether a new view of things.
‘Well—it is a bouncer; mine is a bouncer!’ said he, looking on the ground and wiping his eyes.
‘Not worse than mine?’
‘Well—that depends upon how you look at it. Yours had to do with the past alone; and I don’t mind it. You see, we’ve been married a month, and it don’t jar upon me as it would if we’d only been married a day or two. Now mine refers to past, present, and future; so that—’
‘Past, present, and future!’ she murmured. ‘It never occurred to me that you had a tragedy, too.’
‘But I have!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘In fact, four.’
‘Then tell ’em!’ cried the young woman.
‘I will—I will. But be considerate, I beg ’ee, mee deer. Well—I wasn’t a bachelor when I married ’ee, any more than you were a spinster. Just as you was a widow-woman, I was a widow-man.
‘Ah!’ said she, with some surprise. ‘But is that all?—then we are nicely balanced,’ she added, relieved.
‘O, David!’
‘I am a widower with four tragedies—that is to say, four strapping25 girls—the eldest26 taller than you. Don’t ’ee look so struck—dumb-like! It fell out in this way. I knew the poor woman, their mother, in Pen-zephyr for some years; and—to cut a long story short—I privately27 married her at last, just before she died. I kept the matter secret, but it is getting known among the people here by degrees. I’ve long felt for the children—that it is my duty to have them here, and do something for them. I have not had courage to break it to ’ee, but I’ve seen lately that it would soon come to your ears, and that hev worried me.’
‘Are they educated?’ said the ex-schoolmistress.
‘No. I am sorry to say they have been much neglected; in truth, they can hardly read. And so I thought that by marrying a young schoolmistress I should get some one in the house who could teach ’em, and bring ’em into genteel condition, all for nothing. You see, they are growed up too tall to be sent to school.’
‘O, mercy!’ she almost moaned. ‘Four great girls to teach the rudiments28 to, and have always in the house with me spelling over their books; and I hate teaching, it kills me. I am bitterly punished—I am, I am!’
‘You’ll get used to ’em, mee deer, and the balance of secrets—mine against yours—will comfort your heart with a sense of justice. I could send for ’em this week very well—and I will! In faith, I could send this very day. Baptista, you have relieved me of all my difficulty!’
Thus the interview ended, so far as this matter was concerned. Baptista was too stupefied to say more, and when she went away to her room she wept from very mortification29 at Mr. Heddegan’s duplicity. Education, the one thing she abhorred30; the shame of it to delude31 a young wife so!
The next meal came round. As they sat, Baptista would not suffer her eyes to turn towards him. He did not attempt to intrude32 upon her reserve, but every now and then looked under the table and chuckled33 with satisfaction at the aspect of affairs. ‘How very well matched we be!’ he said, comfortably.
Next day, when the steamer came in, Baptista saw her husband rush down to meet it; and soon after there appeared at her door four tall, hipless, shoulderless girls, dwindling34 in height and size from the eldest to the youngest, like a row of Pan pipes; at the head of them standing35 Heddegan. He smiled pleasantly through the grey fringe of his whiskers and beard, and turning to the girls said, ‘Now come forrard, and shake hands properly with your stepmother.’
Thus she made their acquaintance, and he went out, leaving them together. On examination the poor girls turned out to be not only plain-looking, which she could have forgiven, but to have such a lamentably36 meagre intellectual equipment as to be hopelessly inadequate37 as companions. Even the eldest, almost her own age, could only read with difficulty words of two syllables38; and taste in dress was beyond their comprehension. In the long vista39 of future years she saw nothing but dreary40 drudgery41 at her detested42 old trade without prospect43 of reward.
She went about quite despairing during the next few days—an unpromising, unfortunate mood for a woman who had not been married six weeks. From her parents she concealed everything. They had been amongst the few acquaintances of Heddegan who knew nothing of his secret, and were indignant enough when they saw such a ready-made household foisted44 upon their only child. But she would not support them in their remonstrances45.
‘No, you don’t yet know all,’ she said.
Thus Baptista had sense enough to see the retributive fairness of this issue. For some time, whenever conversation arose between her and Heddegan, which was not often, she always said, ‘I am miserable46, and you know it. Yet I don’t wish things to be otherwise.’
But one day when he asked, ‘How do you like ’em now?’ her answer was unexpected. ‘Much better than I did,’ she said, quietly. ‘I may like them very much some day.’
This was the beginning of a serener47 season for the chastened spirit of Baptista Heddegan. She had, in truth, discovered, underneath48 the crust of uncouthness49 and meagre articulation50 which was due to their Troglodytean existence, that her unwelcomed daughters had natures that were unselfish almost to sublimity51. The harsh discipline accorded to their young lives before their mother’s wrong had been righted, had operated less to crush them than to lift them above all personal ambition. They considered the world and its contents in a purely52 objective way, and their own lot seemed only to affect them as that of certain human beings among the rest, whose troubles they knew rather than suffered.
This was such an entirely53 new way of regarding life to a woman of Baptista’s nature, that her attention, from being first arrested by it, became deeply interested. By imperceptible pulses her heart expanded in sympathy with theirs. The sentences of her tragi-comedy, her life, confused till now, became clearer daily. That in humanity, as exemplified by these girls, there was nothing to dislike, but infinitely54 much to pity, she learnt with the lapse55 of each week in their company. She grew to like the girls of unpromising exterior56, and from liking57 she got to love them; till they formed an unexpected point of junction58 between her own and her husband’s interests, generating a sterling59 friendship at least, between a pair in whose existence there had threatened to be neither friendship nor love.
October, 1885.
该作者的其它作品
《Tess of the D‘Urbervilles德伯家的苔丝》
《韦塞克斯的故事 Wessex Tales》
《远离尘嚣 Far from the madding crowd》
《绿茵树下 Under the Greenwood Tree》
该作者的其它作品
《Tess of the D‘Urbervilles德伯家的苔丝》
《韦塞克斯的故事 Wessex Tales》
《远离尘嚣 Far from the madding crowd》
《绿茵树下 Under the Greenwood Tree》
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1
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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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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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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12
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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chid
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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44
foisted
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| 强迫接受，把…强加于( foist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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47
serener
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| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的比较级形式 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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49
uncouthness
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50
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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51
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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52
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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53
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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56
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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57
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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