It goes to my heart to tell of the end of that day, how the fugitives1 vanished into Immensity; how there were no more trains how Botley stared unsympathetically with a palpable disposition2 to derision, denying conveyances3 how the landlord of the Heron was suspicious, how the next day was Sunday, and the hot summer's day had crumpled4 the collar of Phipps and stained the skirts of Mrs. Milton, and dimmed the radiant emotions of the whole party. Dangle5, with sticking-plaster and a black eye, felt the absurdity6 of the pose of the Wounded Knight7, and abandoned it after the faintest efforts. Recriminations never, perhaps, held the foreground of the talk, but they played like summer lightning on the edge of the conversation. And deep in the hearts of all was a galling8 sense of the ridiculous. Jessie, they thought, was most to blame. Apparently9, too, the worst, which would have made the whole business tragic10, was not happening. Here was a young woman --young woman do I say? a mere11 girl!--had chosen to leave a comfortable home in Surbiton, and all the delights of a refined and intellectual circle, and had rushed off, trailing us after her, posing hard, mutually jealous, and now tired and weather-worn, to flick12 us off at last, mere mud from her wheel, into this detestable village beer-house on a Saturday night! And she had done it, not for Love and Passion, which are serious excuses one may recognise even if one must reprobate13, but just for a Freak, just for a fantastic Idea ; for nothing, in fact, but the outraging14 of Common Sense. Yet withal, such was our restraint, that we talked of her still as one much misguided, as one who burthened us with anxiety, as a lamb astray, and Mrs. Milton having eaten, continued to show the finest feelings on the matter.
She sat, I may mention, in the cushioned basket-chair, the only comfortable chair in the room, and we sat on incredibly hard, horsehair things having antimacassars tied to their backs by means of lemon-coloured bows. It was different from those dear old talks at Surbiton, somehow. She sat facing the window, which was open (the night was so tranquil15 and warm), and the dim light- -for we did not use the lamp--suited her admirably. She talked in a voice that told you she was tired, and she seemed inclined to state a case against herself in the matter of "A Soul Untrammelled." It was such an evening as might live in a sympathetic memoir16, but it was a little dull while it lasted.
"I feel," she said, "that I am to blame. I have Developed. That first book of mine--I do not go back upon a word of it, mind, but it has been misunderstood, misapplied."
"It has," said Widgery, trying to look so deeply sympathetic as to be visible in the dark. "Deliberately17 misunderstood."
"Don't say that," said the lady. "Not deliberately. I try and think that critics are honest. After their lights. I was not thinking of critics. But she--I mean--" She paused, an interrogation.
"It is possible," said Dangle, scrutinising his sticking-plaster.
"I write a book and state a case. I want people to THINK as I recommend, not to DO as I recommend. It is just Teaching. Only I make it into a story. I want to Teach new Ideas, new Lessons, to promulgate18 Ideas. Then when the Ideas have been spread abroad--Things will come about. Only now it is madness to fly in the face of the established order. Bernard Shaw, you know, has explained that with regard to Socialism. We all know that to earn all you consume is right, and that living on invested capital is wrong. Only we cannot begin while we are so few. It is Those Others."
"Precisely," said Widgery. "It is Those Others. They must begin first."
"And meanwhile you go on banking--"
"If I didn't, some one else would."
"And I live on Mr. Milton's Lotion19 while I try to gain a footing in Literature."
"TRY!" said Phipps. "You HAVE done so." And, "That's different," said Dangle, at the same time.
"You are so kind to me. But in this matter. Of course Georgina Griffiths in my book lived alone in a flat in Paris and went to life classes and had men visitors, but then she was over twenty-one."
"Jessica is only seventeen, and girlish for that," said Dangle.
"It alters everything. That child! It is different with a woman. And Georgina Griffiths never flaunted20 her freedom-- on a bicycle, in country places. In this country. Where every one is so particular. Fancy, SLEEPING away from home. It's dreadful-- If it gets about it spells ruin for her."
"Ruin," said Widgery.
"No man would marry a girl like that," said Phipps.
"It must be hushed up," said Dangle.
"It always seems to me that life is made up of individuals, of individual cases. We must weigh each person against his or her circumstances. General rules don't apply--"
"I often feel the force of that," said Widgery. "Those are my rules. Of course my books--"
"It's different, altogether different," said Dangle. "A novel deals with typical cases."
"And life is not typical," said Widgery, with immense profundity21.
Then suddenly, unintentionally, being himself most surprised and shocked of any in the room, Phipps yawned. The failing was infectious, and the gathering22 having, as you can easily understand, talked itself weary, dispersed23 on trivial pretences24. But not to sleep immediately. Directly Dangle was alone he began, with infinite disgust, to scrutinise his darkling eye, for he was a neat-minded little man in spite of his energy. The whole business--so near a capture--was horribly vexatious. Phipps sat on his bed for some time examining, with equal disgust, a collar he would have thought incredible for Sunday twenty-four hours before. Mrs. Milton fell a-musing on the mortality of even big, fat men with dog-like eyes, and Widgery was unhappy because he had been so cross to her at the station, and because so far he did not feel that he had scored over Dangle. Also he was angry with Dangle. And all four of them, being souls living very much upon the appearances of things, had a painful, mental middle distance of Botley derisive25 and suspicious, and a remoter background of London humorous, and Surbiton speculative26. Were they really, after all, behaving absurdly?
收听单词发音 |
1
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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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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conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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outraging
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的现在分词 ) | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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promulgate
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| v.宣布；传播；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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lotion
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| n.洗剂 | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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