ALL her life Miss Elizabeth Dwarris had been a sore trial to her relations. A woman of means, she ruled tyrannously over a large number of impecunious1 cousins, using her bank-balance like the scorpions2 of Rehoboam to chastise3 them, and, like many another pious4 creature, for their soul’s good making all and sundry5 excessively miserable6. Nurtured7 in the evangelical ways current in her youth, she insisted that her connections should seek salvation8 according to her own lights; and, with harsh tongue and with bitter gibe9, made it her constant business to persuade them of their extreme unworthiness. She arranged lives as she thought fit, and ventured not only to order the costume and habits, but even the inner thought of those about her: the Last Judgment11 could have no terrors for any that had faced her searching examination. She invited to stay with her in succession various poor ladies who presumed on a distant tie to call her Aunt Eliza, and they accepted her summons, more imperious than a royal command, with gratitude12 by no means unmixed with fear, bearing the servitude meekly13 as a cross which in the future would meet due testamentary reward.
Miss Dwarris loved to feel her power. During these long visits—for, in a way, the old lady was very hospitable—she made it her especial object to break the spirit of her guests; and it entertained her hugely to see the mildness with which were borne her extravagant15 demands, the humility16 with which every inclination17 was crushed. She took a malicious18 pleasure in publicly affronting19 persons, ostensibly to bend a sinful pride, or in obliging them to do things which they particularly disliked. With a singular quickness for discovering the points on which they were most sensitive, she attacked every weakness with blind invective20 till the sufferer writhed21 before her, raw and bleeding: no defect, physical or mental, was protected from her raillery, and she could pardon as little an excess of avoirdupois as a want of memory. Yet, with all her heart, she despised her victims, she flung in their face insolently22 their mercenary spirit, vowing23 that she would never leave a penny to such a pack of weak fools; it delighted her to ask for advice in the distribution of her property among charitable societies, and she heard, with unconcealed hilarity26, their unwilling27 and confused suggestions.
With one of her relations only, Miss Dwarris found it needful to observe a certain restraint, for Miss Ley, perhaps the most distant of her cousins, was as plain-spoken as herself, and had, besides, a far keener wit whereby she could turn rash statements to the utter ridicule28 of the speaker. Nor did Miss Dwarris precisely29 dislike this independent spirit; she looked upon her in fact with a certain degree of affection and not a little fear. Miss Ley, seldom lacking a repartee30, appeared really to enjoy the verbal contests, from which, by her greater urbanity, readiness, and knowledge, she usually emerged victorious31: it confounded, but at the same time almost amused, the elder lady that a woman so much poorer than herself, with no smaller claims than others to the coveted32 inheritance, should venture not only to be facetious33 at her expense, but even to carry war into her very camp. Miss Ley, really not grieved to find some one to whom without prickings of conscience she could speak her whole mind, took a grim pleasure in pointing out to her cousin the poor logic34 of her observations or the foolish unreason of her acts. No cherished opinion of Miss Dwarris was safe from satire—even her evangelicism was laughed at, and the rich old woman, unused to argument, was easily driven into self-contradiction; and then—for the victor took no pains to conceal24 her triumph—she grew pale and speechless with rage. The quarrels were frequent, but Miss Dwarris, though it was a sharp thorn in her flesh that the first advances must be made by her, in the end always forgave; yet at last it was inevitable35 that a final breach36 should occur. The cause thereof, characteristically enough, was very trivial.
Miss Ley, accustomed, when she went abroad in the winter, to let her little flat in Chelsea, had been obliged by unforeseen circumstances to return to England while her tenants37 were still in possession; and had asked Miss Dwarris whether she might stay with her in Old Queen Street. The old tyrant38, much as she hated her relations, hated still more to live alone; she needed some one on whom to vent10 her temper, and through the illness of a niece, due to spend March and April with her, had been forced to pass a month of solitude39; she wrote back, in the peremptory40 fashion which, even with Miss Ley, she could not refrain from using, that she expected her on such and such a day by such and such a train. It is not clear whether there was in the letter anything to excite in Miss Ley a contradictory41 spirit, or whether her engagements really prevented it; but, at all events, she answered that her plans made it more convenient to arrive on the day following and by a different train. Miss Dwarris telegraphed that, unless her guest came on the day and at the hour mentioned in her letter, she could not send the carriage to meet her, to which the younger lady replied concisely42: “Don’t.”
“She’s as obstinate43 as a pig,” muttered Miss Dwarris, reading the telegram; and she saw in her mind’s eye the thin smile on her cousin’s mouth when she wrote that one indifferent word. “I suppose she thinks she’s very clever.”
Her hostess greeted Miss Ley, notwithstanding, with a certain grim affability reserved only for her; she was, at all events, the least detestable of her relations, and, though neither docile44 nor polite, at least was never tedious. Her conversation braced45 Miss Dwarris so that with her she was usually at her best, and sometimes, forgetting her overbearing habit, showed herself a sensible and entertaining woman, of not altogether unamiable disposition47.
“You’re growing old, my dear,” said Miss Dwarris, when they sat down to dinner, looking at her guest with eyes keen to detect wrinkles and crowsfeet.
“You flatter me,” Miss Ley retorted; “antiquity is the only excuse for a woman who has determined48 on a single life.”
“I suppose, like the rest of them, you would have married if any one had asked you.”
Miss Ley smiled.
“Two months ago an Italian prince offered me his hand and heart, Eliza.”
“A Papist would do anything,” replied Miss Dwarris. “I suppose you told him your income and he found he’d misjudged the strength of his affections.”
“I shouldn’t have thought at your age you could afford to pick and choose, Polly.”
“Allow me to observe that you have an amiable46 faculty50 of thinking of one subject at one time in two diametrically opposed ways.”
Miss Ley was a slender woman of middle size, her hair, very plainly arranged, beginning to turn gray, and her face, already much wrinkled, by its clear precision of feature indicating a comfortable strength of character; her lips, thin but expressive51, mobile, added to this appearance of determination. She was by no means handsome, and had certainly never been pretty; but her carriage was not without grace nor her manner without fascination52. Her eyes were very bright and so shrewd as sometimes to be almost disconcerting: without words, they could make pretentiousness54 absurd; and most affectations, under that searching glance, part contemptuous, part amused, willingly hid themselves. Yet, as Miss Dwarris took care to remind her, she was not without her own especial pose, but it was carried out so admirably, with such a restrained, comely55 decorum, that few observed it, and such as did found not the heart to condemn56: it was the perfect art that concealed25 itself. To execute this æsthetic gesture, it pleased Miss Ley to dress with the greatest possible simplicity57, usually in black, and her only ornament58 was a renaissance59 jewel of such exquisite60 beauty that no museum would have disdained61 to possess it: this she wore around her neck attached to a long gold chain, and she fingered it with pleasure to show, according to her plain-spoken relative, the undoubted beauty of her hands. Her well-fitting shoes and the elaborate open-work of her silk stockings suggested also a not unreasonable62 pride in a shapely foot, small and high of instep. Thus attired63, when she had visitors, Miss Ley sat in an oak, Italian straight-backed chair, delicately carved, which was placed between two windows against the wall; and she cultivated already a certain primness64 of manner which made very effective the audacious criticism of life wherewith she was used to entertain her friends.
Two mornings after her arrival in Old Queen Street, Miss Ley announced her intention to go out. She came downstairs with a very fashionable parasol—a purchase on her way through Paris.
“You’re not going out with that thing?” cried Miss Dwarris, scornfully.
“I am indeed.”
“Nonsense; you must take an umbrella. It’s going to rain.”
“I have a new sunshade and an old umbrella, Eliza: I feel certain it will be fine.”
“My dear, you know nothing about the English climate. I tell you it will pour cats and dogs.”
“Fiddlesticks, Eliza.”
“Polly,” answered Miss Dwarris, her temper rising. “I wish you to take an umbrella. The barometer66 is going down, and I have a tingling67 in my feet, which is a sure sign of wet. It’s very irreligious of you to presume to say what the weather is going to be.”
“I venture to think that, meteorologically, I am no less acquainted with the ways of Providence68 than you.”
“That I think is not funny, but blasphemous69, Polly. In my house, I expect people to do as I tell them, and I insist on your taking an umbrella.”
“Don’t be absurd, Eliza.”
Miss Dwarris rang the bell and, when the butler appeared, ordered him to fetch her own umbrella for Miss Ley.
“I absolutely refuse to use it,” said the younger lady, smiling.
“Pray remember that you are my guest, Polly.”
“And, therefore, entitled to do exactly as I like.”
Miss Dwarris rose to her feet, a massive old woman of commanding presence, and stretched out a threatening hand.
“If you leave this house without an umbrella, you shall not come into it again. You shall never cross this threshold so long as I am alive.”
Miss Ley cannot have been in the best of humours that morning, for she pursed her lips in the manner already characteristic of her, and looked at her elderly cousin with a cold scorn, most difficult to bear.
“My dear Eliza, you have a singularly exaggerated idea of your importance. Are there no hotels in London? You appear to think I stay with you for pleasure rather than to mortify70 my flesh. And, really, the cross is growing too heavy for me, for I think you must have quite the worst cook in the metropolis71.”
“She’s been with me for five and twenty years,” answered Miss Dwarris, two red spots appearing on her cheeks, “and no one has ventured to complain of the cooking before. If any of my guests had done so, I should have answered that what was good enough for me was a great deal too good for any one else. I know that you’re obstinate, Polly, and quick-tempered, and this impertinence I am willing to overlook. Do you still refuse to do as I wish?”
“Yes.”
Miss Dwarris rang the bell violently.
“Tell Martha to pack Miss Ley’s boxes at once, and call a four-wheeler,” she cried, in tones of thunder.
Then Miss Dwarris turned to her guest, who observed her with irritating good-humour.
“All is over between us,” answered Miss Ley, mockingly, “and shall I return your letters and your photographs?”
Miss Dwarris sat for a while, in silent anger, watching her cousin, who took up the Morning Post, and, with great calmness, read the fashionable intelligence. Presently the butler announced that the four-wheeler was at the door.
“Well, Polly, so you’re really going?”
“I can hardly stay when you’ve had my boxes packed and sent for a cab,” replied Miss Ley, mildly.
“It’s your own doing; I don’t wish you to go. If you’ll confess that you were headstrong and obstinate, and if you’ll take an umbrella, I am willing to let bygones be bygones.”
“Look at the sun,” answered Miss Ley.
And, as if actually to annoy the tyrannous old woman, the shining rays danced into the room and made importunate73 patterns on the carpet.
“I think I should tell you, Polly, that it was my intention to leave you ten thousand pounds in my will. This intention I shall, of course, not now carry out.”
“You’d far better leave your money to the Dwarris people: upon my word, considering that they’ve been related to you for over sixty years, I think they thoroughly74 deserve it.”
“I shall leave my money to whom I choose,” cried Miss Dwarris, beside herself; “and if I want to I shall leave every penny of it in charity. You’re very independent because you have a beggarly five hundred a year, but, apparently75, it isn’t enough for you to live without letting your flat when you go away. Remember, that no one has any claims upon me, and I can make you a rich woman.”
Miss Ley replied with great deliberation.
“My dear, I have a firm conviction that you will live for another thirty years to plague the human race in general and your relations in particular. It is not worth my while, on the chance of surviving you, to submit to the caprices of a very ignorant old woman, presumptuous76 and overbearing, dull and pretentious53.”
“You have plenty of poor relations—bully them. Vent your spite and ill-temper on those wretched sycophants78, but pray in future spare me the infinite tediousness of your conversation.”
Miss Ley had ever a discreet79 passion for the rhetorical, and there was a certain grandiloquence80 about the phrase which entertained her hugely. She felt that it was unanswerable, and, with great dignity, walked out. No communication passed between the two ladies, though Miss Dwarris, peremptory, stern, and evangelical to the end, lived in full possession of her faculties81 for another twenty years. She died at last in a passion occasioned by some trifling82 misdemeanour of her maid; and as though a heavy yoke83 were removed from their shoulders, her family heaved a deep and unanimous sigh of relief.
They attended her funeral with dry eyes, looking still with silent terror at the leaden coffin84 which contained the remains85 of that harsh, strong, domineering old woman. Then, nervously86 expectant, they begged the family solicitor87 to disclose her will. Written with her own hand, and witnessed by two servants, it was in these terms:
“I, Elizabeth Ann Dwarris, of 79, Old Queen Street, Westminster, Spinster, hereby revoke88 all former Wills and Testamentary Dispositions89, made by me and declare this to be my last Will and Testament14. I appoint Mary Ley, of 72, Eliot Mansions90, Chelsea, to be the executrix of this my Will, and I give all my real and personal property whatsoever91 to the said Mary Ley. To my great-nephews and great-nieces, to my cousins near and remote, I give my blessing92; and I beseech93 them to bear in mind the example and advice which for many years I have given them. I recommend them to cultivate in future strength of character and an independent spirit; I venture to remind them that the humble94 will never inherit this earth, for their reward is to be awaited in the life to come; and I desire them to continue the subscriptions95 which, at my request, they have so long and generously made to the Society for the Conversion96 of the Jews and to the Additional Curates Fund.
“In witness whereof, I have set my hand to this my Will the 4th day of April, 1883.
“Elizabeth Ann Dwarris.”
To her amazement97, Miss Ley found herself at the age of fifty-seven in possession of nearly three thousand pounds a year, the lease of a pleasant old house in Westminster, and a great quantity of early Victorian furniture. The will was written two days after her quarrel with the eccentric old woman, and the terms of it certainly achieved the three purposes for which it was designed: it occasioned the utmost surprise to all concerned; it heaped coals of fire on Miss Ley’s indifferent head; and caused the bitterest disappointment and vexation to all that bore the name of Dwarris.
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《英雄》
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《月亮和六便士 Moon and Sixpence》
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1
impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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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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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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affronting
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| v.勇敢地面对( affront的现在分词 )；相遇 | |
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invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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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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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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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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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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pretentiousness
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| n.矫饰；炫耀；自负；狂妄 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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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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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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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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primness
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| n.循规蹈矩，整洁 | |
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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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barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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70
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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71
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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72
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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74
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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75
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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76
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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78
sycophants
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| n.谄媚者，拍马屁者( sycophant的名词复数 ) | |
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79
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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80
grandiloquence
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| n.夸张之言，豪言壮语，豪语 | |
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81
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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82
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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83
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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84
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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85
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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86
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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87
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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88
revoke
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| v.废除，取消，撤回 | |
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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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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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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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95
subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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