One morning on his way into town Mr. Pontellier stopped at the house of his old friend and family physician, Doctor Mandelet. The Doctor was a semi-retired physician, resting, as the saying is, upon his laurels1. He bore a reputation for wisdom rather than skill-leaving the active practice of medicine to his assistants and younger contemporaries-and was much sought for in matters of consultation2. A few families, united to him by bonds of friendship, he still attended when they required the services of a physician. The Pontelliers were among these.
Mr. Pontellier found the Doctor reading at the open window of his study. His house stood rather far back from the street, in the center of a delightful3 garden, so that it was quiet and peaceful at the old gentleman’s study window. He was a great reader. He stared up disapprovingly4 over his eye-glasses as Mr. Pontellier entered, wondering who had the temerity5 to disturb him at that hour of the morning.
“Ah, Pontellier! Not sick, I hope. Come and have a seat. What news do you bring this morning?” He was quite portly, with a profusion6 of gray hair, and small blue eyes which age had robbed of much of their brightness but none of their penetration7.
“Oh! I’m never sick, Doctor. You know that I come of tough fiber-of that old Creole race of Pontelliers that dry up and finally blow away. I came to consult-no, not precisely8 to consult-to talk to you about Edna. I don’t know what ails9 her.”
“Madame Pontellier not well,” marveled the Doctor. “Why, I saw her-I think it was a week ago-walking along Canal Street, the picture of health, it seemed to me.”
“Yes, yes; she seems quite well,” said Mr. Pontellier, leaning forward and whirling his stick between his two hands; “but she doesn’t act well. She’s odd, she’s not like herself. I can’t make her out, and I thought perhaps you’d help me.”
“How does she act?” inquired the Doctor.
“Well, it isn’t easy to explain,” said Mr. Pontellier, throwing himself back in his chair. “She lets the housekeeping go to the dickens.”
“Well, well; women are not all alike, my dear Pontellier. We’ve got to consider-”
“I know that; I told you I couldn’t explain. Her whole attitude-toward me and everybody and everything-has changed. You know I have a quick temper, but I don’t want to quarrel or be rude to a woman, especially my wife; yet I’m driven to it, and feel like ten thousand devils after I’ve made a fool of myself. She’s making it devilishly uncomfortable for me,” he went on nervously10. “She’s got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women; and-you understand-we meet in the morning at the breakfast table.”
The old gentleman lifted his shaggy eyebrows11, protruded12 his thick nether13 lip, and tapped the arms of his chair with his cushioned fingertips.
“What have you been doing to her, Pontellier?”
“Doing! Parbleu!”
“Has she,” asked the Doctor, with a smile, “has she been associating of late with a circle of pseudo-intellectual women-super-spiritual superior beings? My wife has been telling me about them.”
“That’s the trouble,” broke in Mr. Pontellier, “she hasn’t been associating with any one. She has abandoned her Tuesdays at home, has thrown over all her acquaintances, and goes tramping about by herself, moping in the street-cars, getting in after dark. I tell you she’s peculiar14. I don’t like it; I feel a little worried over it.”
This was a new aspect for the Doctor. “Nothing hereditary15?” he asked, seriously. “Nothing peculiar about her family antecedents, is there?”
“Oh, no, indeed! She comes of sound old Presbyterian Kentucky stock. The old gentleman, her father, I have heard, used to atone16 for his weekday sins with his Sunday devotions. I know for a fact, that his race horses literally17 ran away with the prettiest bit of Kentucky farming land I ever laid eyes upon. Margaret-you know Margaret-she has all the Presbyterianism undiluted. And the youngest is something of a vixen. By the way, she gets married in a couple of weeks from now.”
“Send your wife up to the wedding,” exclaimed the Doctor, foreseeing a happy solution. “Let her stay among her own people for a while; it will do her good.”
“That’s what I want her to do. She won’t go to the marriage. She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable18 spectacles on earth. Nice thing for a woman to say to her husband!” exclaimed Mr. Pontellier, fuming19 anew at the recollection.
“Pontellier,” said the Doctor, after a moment’s reflection, “let your wife alone for a while. Don’t bother her, and don’t let her bother you. Woman, my dear friend, is a very peculiar and delicate organism-a sensitive and highly organized woman, such as I know Mrs. Pontellier to be, is especially peculiar. It would require an inspired psychologist to deal successfully with them. And when ordinary fellows like you and me attempt to cope with their idiosyncrasies the result is bungling20. Most women are moody21 and whimsical. This is some passing whim22 of your wife, due to some cause or causes which you and I needn’t try to fathom23. But it will pass happily over, especially if you let her alone. Send her around to see me.”
“Oh! I couldn’t do that; there’d be no reason for it,” objected Mr. Pontellier.
“Then I’ll go around and see her,” said the Doctor. “I’ll drop in to dinner some evening en bon ami.
“Do! by all means,” urged Mr. Pontellier. “What evening will you come? Say Thursday. Will you come Thursday?” he asked, rising to take his leave.
“Very well; Thursday. My wife may possibly have some engagement for me Thursday. In case she has, I shall let you know. Otherwise, you may expect me.”
Mr. Pontellier turned before leaving to say:
“I am going to New York on business very soon. I have a big scheme on hand, and want to be on the field proper to pull the ropes and handle the ribbons. We’ll let you in on the inside if you say so, Doctor,” he laughed.
“No, I thank you, my dear sir,” returned the Doctor. “I leave such ventures to you younger men with the fever of life still in your blood.”
“What I wanted to say,” continued Mr. Pontellier, with his hand on the knob; “I may have to be absent a good while. Would you advise me to take Edna along?”
“By all means, if she wishes to go. If not, leave her here. Don’t contradict her. The mood will pass, I assure you. It may take a month, two, three months-possibly longer, but it will pass; have patience.”
“Well, good-by, a jeudi,” said Mr. Pontellier, as he let himself out.
The Doctor would have liked during the course of conversation to ask, “Is there any man in the case?” but he knew his Creole too well to make such a blunder as that.
He did not resume his book immediately, but sat for a while meditatively24 looking out into the garden.
收听单词发音 |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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bungling
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| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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