I was wrong. The sight of Noaks in his room was as dismal4 a thing as could be. With his chin sunk on his breast, he sat there, on a rickety chair, staring up at the mantel-piece. This he had decked out as a sort of shrine5. In the centre, aloft on an inverted6 tin that had contained Abernethy biscuits, stood a blue plush frame, with an inner rim7 of brass8, several sizes too big for the picture-postcard installed in it. Zuleika’s image gazed forth9 with a smile that was obviously not intended for the humble10 worshipper at this execrable shrine. On either side of her stood a small vase, one holding some geraniums, the other some mignonette. And just beneath her was placed that iron ring which, rightly or wrongly, Noaks supposed to alleviate11 rheumatism—that same iron ring which, by her touch to-night, had been charged for him with a yet deeper magic, insomuch that he dared no longer wear it, and had set it before her as an oblation12.
Yet, for all his humility13, he was possessed14 by a spirit of egoism that repelled15 me. While he sat peering over his spectacles at the beauteous image, he said again and again to himself, in a hollow voice, “I am so young to die.” Every time he said this, two large, pear-shaped tears emerged from behind his spectacles, and found their way to his waistcoat. It did not seem to strike him that quite half of the undergraduates who contemplated16 death—and contemplated it in a fearless, wholesome17, manly18 fashion—were his juniors. It seemed to seem to him that his own death, even though all those other far brighter and more promising19 lives than his were to be sacrificed, was a thing to bother about. Well, if he did not want to die, why could he not have, at least, the courage of his cowardice20? The world would not cease to revolve21 because Noaks still clung to its surface. For me the whole tragedy was cheapened by his participation22 in it. I was fain to leave him. His squint23, his short legs dangling24 towards the floor, his tear-sodden waistcoat, and his refrain “I am so young to die,” were beyond measure exasperating25. Yet I hesitated to pass into the room beneath, for fear of what I might see there.
How long I might have paltered, had no sound come from that room, I know not. But a sound came, sharp and sudden in the night, instantly reassuring26. I swept down into the presence of the Duke.
He stood with his head flung back and his arms folded, gorgeous in a dressing-gown of crimson27 brocade. In animation28 of pride and pomp, he looked less like a mortal man than like a figure from some great biblical group by Paul Veronese.
And this was he whom I had presumed to pity! And this was he whom I had half expected to find dead.
His face, usually pale, was now red; and his hair, which no eye had ever yet seen disordered, stood up in a glistening29 shock. These two changes in him intensified30 the effect of vitality31. One of them, however, vanished as I watched it. The Duke’s face resumed its pallor. I realised then that he had but blushed; and I realised, simultaneously32, that what had called that blush to his cheek was what had also been the signal to me that he was alive. His blush had been a pendant to his sneeze. And his sneeze had been a pendant to that outrage33 which he had been striving to forget. He had caught cold.
He had caught cold. In the hour of his soul’s bitter need, his body had been suborned against him. Base! Had he not stripped his body of its wet vesture? Had he not vigorously dried his hair, and robed himself in crimson, and struck in solitude34 such attitudes as were most congruous with his high spirit and high rank? He had set himself to crush remembrance of that by which through his body his soul had been assailed35. And well had he known that in this conflict a giant demon36 was his antagonist37. But that his own body would play traitor—no, this he had not foreseen. This was too base a thing to be foreseen.
He stood quite still, a figure orgulous and splendent. And it seemed as though the hot night, too, stood still, to watch him, in awe38, through the open lattices of his window, breathlessly. But to me, equipped to see beneath the surface, he was piteous, piteous in ratio to the pretension39 of his aspect. Had he crouched40 down and sobbed41, I should have been as much relieved as he. But he stood seignorial and aquiline42.
Painless, by comparison with this conflict in him, seemed the conflict that had raged in him yesternight. Then, it had been his dandihood against his passion for Zuleika. What mattered the issue? Whichever won, the victory were sweet. And of this he had all the while been subconscious43, gallantly44 though he fought for his pride of dandihood. To-night in the battle between pride and memory, he knew from the outset that pride’s was but a forlorn hope, and that memory would be barbarous in her triumph. Not winning to oblivion, he must hate with a fathomless45 hatred46. Of all the emotions, hatred is the most excruciating. Of all the objects of hatred, a woman once loved is the most hateful. Of all deaths, the bitterest that can befall a man is that he lay down his life to flatter the woman he deems vilest47 of her sex.
Such was the death that the Duke of Dorset saw confronting him. Most men, when they are at war with the past, have the future as ally. Looking steadfastly48 forward, they can forget. The Duke’s future was openly in league with his past. For him, prospect49 was memory. All that there was for him of future was the death to which his honour was pledged. To envisage50 that was to... no, he would NOT envisage it! With a passionate51 effort he hypnotised himself to think of nothing at all. His brain, into which, by the power Zeus gave me, I was gazing, became a perfect vacuum, insulated by the will. It was the kind of experiment which scientists call “beautiful.” And yes, beautiful it was.
But not in the eyes of Nature. She abhors52 a vacuum. Seeing the enormous odds53 against which the Duke was fighting, she might well have stood aside. But she has no sense of sport whatsoever54. She stepped in.
At first I did not realise what was happening. I saw the Duke’s eyes contract, and the muscles of his mouth drawn55 down, and, at the same time, a tense upward movement of his whole body. Then, suddenly, the strain undone56: a downward dart57 of the head, a loud percussion58. Thrice the Duke sneezed, with a sound that was as the bursting of the dams of body and soul together; then sneezed again.
Now was his will broken. He capitulated. In rushed shame and horror and hatred, pell-mell, to ravage59 him.
What care now, what use, for deportment? He walked coweringly round and round his room, with frantic60 gestures, with head bowed. He shuffled61 and slunk. His dressing-gown had the look of a gabardine.
Shame and horror and hatred went slashing62 and hewing63 throughout the fallen citadel64. At length, exhausted65, he flung himself down on the window-seat and leaned out into the night, panting. The air was full of thunder. He clutched at his throat. From the depths of the black caverns66 beneath their brows the eyes of the unsleeping Emperors watched him.
He had gone through much in the day that was past. He had loved and lost. He had striven to recapture, and had failed. In a strange resolve he had found serenity67 and joy. He had been at the point of death, and had been saved. He had seen that his beloved was worthless, and he had not cared. He had fought for her, and conquered; and had pled with her, and—all these memories were loathsome68 by reason of that final thing which had all the while lain in wait for him.
He looked back and saw himself as he had been at a score of crucial moments in the day—always in the shadow of that final thing. He saw himself as he had been on the playing-fields of Eton; aye! and in the arms of his nurse, to and fro on the terrace of Tankerton—always in the shadow of that final thing, always piteous and ludicrous, doomed69. Thank heaven the future was unknowable? It wasn’t, now. To-morrow—to-day—he must die for that accursed fiend of a woman—the woman with the hyena71 laugh.
What to do meanwhile? Impossible to sleep. He felt in his body the strain of his quick sequence of spiritual adventures. He was dog-tired. But his brain was furiously out of hand: no stopping it. And the night was stifling73. And all the while, in the dead silence, as though his soul had ears, there was a sound. It was a very faint, unearthly sound, and seemed to come from nowhere, yet to have a meaning. He feared he was rather over-wrought74.
He must express himself. That would soothe75 him. Ever since childhood he had had, from time to time, the impulse to set down in writing his thoughts or his moods. In such exercises he had found for his self-consciousness the vent72 which natures less reserved than his find in casual talk with Tom, Dick and Harry76, with Jane, Susan, and Liz. Aloof77 from either of these triads, he had in his first term at Eton taken to himself as confidant, and retained ever since, a great quarto volume, bound in red morocco and stamped with his coronet and cypher. It was herein, year by year, that his soul spread itself.
He wrote mostly in English prose; but other modes were not infrequent. Whenever he was abroad, it was his courteous78 habit to write in the language of the country where he was residing—French, when he was in his house on the Champs Elysees; Italian, when he was in his villa79 at Baiae; and so on. When he was in his own country he felt himself free to deviate80 sometimes from the vernacular81 into whatever language were aptest to his frame of mind. In his sterner moods he gravitated to Latin, and wrought the noble iron of that language to effects that were, if anything, a trifle over-impressive. He found for his highest flights of contemplation a handy vehicle in Sanscrit. In hours of mere82 joy it was Greek poetry that flowed likeliest from his pen; and he had a special fondness for the metre of Alcaeus.
And now, too, in his darkest hour, it was Greek that surged in him—iambics of thunderous wrath83 such as those which are volleyed by Prometheus. But as he sat down to his writing-table, and unlocked the dear old album, and dipped his pen in the ink, a great calm fell on him. The iambics in him began to breathe such sweetness as is on the lips of Alcestis going to her doom70. But, just as he set pen to paper, his hand faltered84, and he sprang up, victim of another and yet more violent fit of sneezing.
Disbuskined, dangerous. The spirit of Juvenal woke in him. He would flay85. He would make Woman (as he called Zuleika) writhe86. Latin hexameters, of course. An epistle to his heir presumptive... “Vae tibi,” he began,
“Vae tibi, vae misero, nisi circumspexeris artes
Femineas, nam nulla salus quin femina possit
Tradere, nulla fides quin”—
“Quin,” he repeated. In writing soliloquies, his trouble was to curb87 inspiration. The thought that he was addressing his heir-presumptive—now heir-only-too-apparent—gave him pause. Nor, he reflected, was he addressing this brute88 only, but a huge posthumous89 audience. These hexameters would be sure to appear in the “authorised” biography. “A melancholy90 interest attaches to the following lines, written, it would seem, on the very eve of”... He winced91. Was it really possible, and no dream, that he was to die to-morrow—to-day?
Even you, unassuming reader, go about with a vague notion that in your case, somehow, the ultimate demand of nature will be waived92. The Duke, until he conceived his sudden desire to die, had deemed himself certainly exempt93. And now, as he sat staring at his window, he saw in the paling of the night the presage94 of the dawn of his own last day. Sometimes (orphaned though he was in early childhood) he had even found it hard to believe there was no exemption95 for those to whom he stood in any personal relation. He remembered how, soon after he went to Eton, he had received almost with incredulity the news of the death of his god-father, Lord Stackley, an octogenarian.... He took from the table his album, knowing that on one of the earliest pages was inscribed96 his boyish sense of that bereavement97. Yes, here the passage was, written in a large round hand:
“Death knocks, as we know, at the door of the cottage and of the castle. He stalks up the front-garden and the steep steps of the semi-detached villa, and plies98 the ornamental99 knocker so imperiously that the panels of imitation stained glass quiver in the thin front-door. Even the family that occupies the topmost story of a building without a lift is on his ghastly visiting-list. He rattles100 his fleshless knuckles101 against the door of the gypsy’s caravan102. Into the savage’s tent, wigwam, or wattled hut, he darts103 unbidden. Even on the hermit104 in the cave he forces his obnoxious105 presence. His is an universal beat, and he walks it with a grin. But be sure it is at the sombre portal of the nobleman that he knocks with the greatest gusto. It is there, where haply his visit will be commemorated106 with a hatchment; it is then, when the muffled107 thunder of the Dead March in ‘Saul’ will soon be rolling in cathedrals; it is then, it is there, that the pride of his unquestioned power comes grimliest home to him. Is there no withstanding him? Why should he be admitted always with awe, a cravenly-honoured guest? When next he calls, let the butler send him about his business, or tell him to step round to the servants’ entrance. If it be made plain to him that his visits are an impertinence, he will soon be disemboldened. Once the aristocracy make a stand against him, there need be no more trouble about the exorbitant108 Duties named after him. And for the hereditary109 system—that system which both offends the common sense of the Radical110, and wounds the Tory by its implied admission that noblemen are mortal—a seemly substitute will have been found.”
Artless and crude in expression, very boyish, it seemed now to its author. Yet, in its simple wistfulness, it had quality: it rang true. The Duke wondered whether, with all that he had since mastered in the great art of English prose, he had not lost something, too.
“Is there no withstanding him?” To think that the boy who uttered that cry, and gave back so brave an answer, was within nine years to go seek death of his own accord! How the gods must be laughing! Yes, the exquisite111 point of the joke, for them, was that he CHOSE to die. But—and, as the thought flashed through him, he started like a man shot—what if he chose not to? Stay, surely there was some reason why he MUST die. Else, why throughout the night had he taken his doom for granted?... Honour: yes, he had pledged himself. Better death than dishonour112. Was it, though? was it? Ah, he, who had come so near to death, saw dishonour as a tiny trifle. Where was the sting of it? Not he would be ridiculous to-morrow—to-day. Every one would acclaim113 his splendid act of moral courage. She, she, the hyena woman, would be the fool. No one would have thought of dying for her, had he not set the example. Every one would follow his new example. Yes, he would save Oxford114 yet. That was his duty. Duty and darling vengeance115! And life—life!
It was full dawn now. Gone was that faint, monotonous116 sound which had punctuated117 in his soul the horrors of his vigil. But, in reminder118 of those hours, his lamp was still burning. He extinguished it; and the going-out of that tarnished119 light made perfect his sense of release.
He threw wide his arms in welcome of the great adorable day, and of all the great adorable days that were to be his.
He leaned out from his window, drinking the dawn in. The gods had made merry over him, had they? And the cry of the hyena had made night hideous120. Well, it was his turn now. He would laugh last and loudest.
And already, for what was to be, he laughed outright121 into the morning; insomuch that the birds in the trees of Trinity, and still more the Emperors over the way, marvelled122 greatly.
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1
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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3
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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4
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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5
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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6
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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8
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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9
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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oblation
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| n.圣餐式；祭品 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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16
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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24
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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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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30
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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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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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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42
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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45
fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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47
vilest
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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48
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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50
envisage
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| v.想象，设想，展望，正视 | |
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51
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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52
abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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53
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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54
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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55
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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56
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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57
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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58
percussion
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| n.打击乐器；冲突，撞击；震动，音响 | |
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59
ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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60
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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61
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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62
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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63
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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64
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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65
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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66
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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67
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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68
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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69
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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71
hyena
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| n.土狼，鬣狗 | |
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72
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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73
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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74
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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76
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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77
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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78
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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79
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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80
deviate
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| v.(from)背离，偏离 | |
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81
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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82
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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83
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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84
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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85
flay
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| vt.剥皮；痛骂 | |
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86
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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87
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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88
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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89
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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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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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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waived
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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93
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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presage
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| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
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95
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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plies
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的第三人称单数 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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99
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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100
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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101
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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102
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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103
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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104
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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105
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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106
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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108
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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109
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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111
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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112
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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113
acclaim
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| v.向…欢呼，公认；n.欢呼，喝彩，称赞 | |
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114
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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115
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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116
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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117
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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118
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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119
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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120
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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121
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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122
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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