Nevertheless Henry continued to believe in the excellence14 of his book, and he determined15 that, in duty to himself, his mother and aunt, and the cause of wholesome16 fiction, he must try to get it published. From that moment he began to be worried, for he had scarcely a notion how sagaciously to set about the business. He felt like a bachelor of pronounced views who has been given a baby to hold. He knew no one in the realms of literature, and no one who knew anyone. Sir George, warily17 sounded, appeared to be unaware18 that such a thing as fiction existed. Not a soul at the Polytechnic19 enjoyed the acquaintance of either an author or a publisher, though various souls had theories about these classes of persons. Then one day a new edition of the works of Carlyle burst on the world, and Henry bought the first volume, Sartor Resartus, a book which he much admired, and which he had learnt from his father to call simply and familiarly—Sartor. The edition, though inexpensive, had a great air of dignity. It met, in short, with Henry's approval, and he suddenly decided20 to give the publishers of it the opportunity of publishing Love in Babylon. The deed was done in a moment. He wrote a letter explaining the motives21 which had led him to write Love in Babylon, and remarked that, if the publishers cared for the story, mutually satisfactory terms might be arranged later; and Aunt Annie did Love in Babylon up in a neat parcel. Henry was in the very act of taking the parcel to the post, on his way to town, when Aunt Annie exclaimed:
'Of course you'll register it?'
He had not thought of doing so, but the advisability of such a step at once appealed to him.
'Perhaps I'd better,' he said.
Henry nodded and pondered.
'Perhaps I'd better insure it,' he suggested.
'If I were you, I should insure it for a hundred pounds,' said Aunt Annie positively23.
'But that will cost one and a penny,' said Henry, who had all such details by heart. 'I could insure it for twenty pounds for fivepence.'
'Well, say twenty pounds then,' Aunt Annie agreed, relenting.
So he insured Love in Babylon for twenty pounds and despatched it. In three weeks it returned like the dove to the ark (but soiled), with a note to say that, though the publishers' reader regarded it as promising24, the publishers could not give themselves the pleasure of making an offer for it. Thenceforward Henry and the manuscript suffered all the usual experiences, and the post-office reaped all the usual profits. One firm said the story was good, but too short. ('A pitiful excuse,' thought Henry. 'As if length could affect merit.') Another said nothing. Another offered to publish it if Henry would pay a hundred pounds down. (At this point Henry ceased to insure the parcel.) Another sent it back minus the last leaf, the matter of which Henry had to reinvent and Aunt Annie to recopy. Another returned it insufficiently25 stamped, and there was fourpence to pay. Another kept it four months, and disgorged it only under threat of a writ3; the threat was launched forth26 on Powells' formidable notepaper. At length there arrived a day when even Henry's pertinacity27 was fatigued28, and he forgot, merely forgot, to send out the parcel again. It was put in a drawer, after a year of ceaseless adventures, and Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie discreetly29 forbore to mention it. During that year Henry's opinion on his work had fluctuated. There had been moments, days perhaps, of discouragement, when he regarded it as drivel, and himself as a fool—in so far, that is, as he had trafficked with literature. On the other hand, his original view of it reasserted itself with frequency. And in the end he gloomily and proudly decided, once and for all, that the Stream of Trashy Novels Constantly Poured Forth by the Press had killed all demand for wholesome fiction; he came reluctantly to the conclusion that modern English literature was in a very poor way. He breathed a sigh, and dismissed the episode utterly30 from his mind.
And Love in Babylon languished31 in the drawer for three months.
Then, upon an April morning, the following telegram was received at Dawes Road, Fulham: 'Please bring manuscript me immediately top left take cab Henry.'
Mrs. Knight was alone in the house with Sarah when the imperious summons of the telegraph-boy and the apparition32 of the orange envelope threw the domestic atmosphere into a state of cyclonic33 confusion. Before tearing the envelope she had guessed that Aunt Annie had met with an accident, that Henry was dead, and that her own Aunt Eliza in Glossop had died without making a will; and these imaginings had done nothing to increase the efficiency of her intellectual powers. She could not read sense into the message, not even with the aid of spectacles and Sarah.
Happily Aunt Annie returned, with her masculine grasp of affairs.
'He means Love in Babylon,' said Aunt Annie. 'It's in the top left-hand drawer of his desk. That's what he means. Perhaps I'd better take it. I'm ready dressed.'
'Oh yes, sister,' Mrs. Knight replied hastily. 'You had better take it.'
Aunt Annie rang the bell with quick decision.
'Sarah,' she said, 'run out and get me a cab, a four-wheeler. You understand, a four-wheeler.'
'Yes'm. Shall I put my jacket on, mum?' Sarah asked, glancing through the window.
'No. Go instantly!'
'Yes'm.'
'I wonder what he wants it for,' Aunt Annie remarked, after she had found the manuscript and put it under her arm. 'Perhaps he has mentioned it to Sir George, and Sir George is going to do something.'
'I thought he had forgotten all about it,' said Mrs. Knight. 'But he never gives a thing up, Henry doesn't.'
Sarah drove dashingly up to the door in a hansom.
'Take that back again,' commanded Aunt Annie, cautiously putting her nose outside the front-door. It was a snowy and sleety35 April morning, and she had already had experience of its rigour. 'I said a four-wheeler.'
'Please'm, there wasn't one,' Sarah defended herself.
'None on the stand, lady,' said the cabman brightly. 'You'll never get a four-wheeler on a day like this.'
Aunt Annie raised her veil and looked at her sister. Like many strong-minded and vigorous women, she had a dislike of hansoms which amounted to dread36. She feared a hansom as though it had been a revolver—something that might go off unexpectedly at any moment and destroy her.
'I daren't go in that,' she admitted frankly37. She was torn between her allegiance to the darling Henry and her fear of the terrible machine.
'Suppose I go with you?' Mrs. Knight suggested.
Sarah flew for Mrs. Knight's bonnet39, fur mantle40, gloves, and muff; and with remarkably41 little delay the sisters and the manuscript started. First they had the window down because of the snow and the sleet34; then they had it up because of the impure42 air; and lastly Aunt Annie wedged a corner of the manuscript between the door and the window, leaving a slit43 of an inch or so for ventilation. The main body of the manuscript she supported by means of her muff.
Alas44! her morbid45 fear of hansoms was about to be justified46—at any rate, justified in her own eyes. As the machine was passing along Walham Green, it began to overtake a huge market-cart laden47, fraught48, and piled up with an immense cargo49 of spring onions from Isleworth; and just as the head of the horse of the hansom drew level with the tail of the market-cart, the off hind50 wheel of the cart succumbed51, and a ton or more of spring onions wavered and slanted52 in the snowy air. The driver of the hansom did his best, but he could not prevent his horse from premature53 burial amid spring onions. The animal nobly resisted several hundredweight of them, and then tottered54 and fell and was lost to view under spring onions. The ladies screamed in concert, and discovered themselves miraculously55 in the roadway, unhurt, but white and breathless. A constable56 and a knife-grinder picked them up.
The accident was more amusing than tragic57, though neither Mrs. Knight nor Aunt Annie was capable of perceiving this fact. The horse emerged gallantly58, unharmed, and the window of the hansom was not even cracked. The constable congratulated everyone and took down the names of the two drivers, the two ladies, and the knife-grinder. The condition of the weather fortunately, militated against the formation of a large crowd.
Quite two minutes elapsed before Aunt Annie made the horrible discovery that Love in Babylon had disappeared. Love in Babylon was smothered59 up in spring onions.
'Keep your nerve, madam,' said the constable, seeing signs of an emotional crisis, 'and go and stand in that barber's doorway—both of you.'
The ladies obeyed.
In due course Love in Babylon was excavated60, chapter by chapter, and Aunt Annie held it safely once more, rumpled61 but complete.
By the luckiest chance an empty four-wheeler approached.
The sisters got into it, and Aunt Annie gave the address.
'As quick as you can,' she said to the driver, 'but do drive slowly.'
点击收听单词发音
1 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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2 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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3 writ | |
n.命令状,书面命令 | |
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4 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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5 sapient | |
adj.有见识的,有智慧的 | |
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6 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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7 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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8 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
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9 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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10 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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11 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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12 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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13 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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14 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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15 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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16 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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17 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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18 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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19 polytechnic | |
adj.各种工艺的,综合技术的;n.工艺(专科)学校;理工(专科)学校 | |
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20 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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21 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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22 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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23 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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24 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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25 insufficiently | |
adv.不够地,不能胜任地 | |
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26 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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27 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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28 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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29 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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30 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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31 languished | |
长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 ); 受折磨; 变得(越来越)衰弱; 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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32 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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33 cyclonic | |
adj.气旋的,飓风的 | |
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34 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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35 sleety | |
雨夹雪的,下雨雪的 | |
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36 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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37 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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38 clenching | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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39 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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40 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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41 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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42 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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43 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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44 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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45 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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46 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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47 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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48 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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49 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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50 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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51 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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52 slanted | |
有偏见的; 倾斜的 | |
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53 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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54 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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55 miraculously | |
ad.奇迹般地 | |
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56 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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57 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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58 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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59 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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60 excavated | |
v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 );开凿;挖出;发掘 | |
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61 rumpled | |
v.弄皱,使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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