“Olive will come down in about ten minutes; she told me to tell you that. About ten; that is exactly like Olive. Neither five nor fifteen, and yet not ten exactly, but either nine or eleven. She didn’t tell me to say she was glad to see you, because she doesn’t know whether she is or not, and she wouldn’t for the world expose herself to telling a fib. She is very honest, is Olive Chancellor1; she is full of rectitude. Nobody tells fibs in Boston; I don’t know what to make of them all. Well, I am very glad to see you, at any rate.”
These words were spoken with much volubility by a fair, plump, smiling woman who entered a narrow drawing-room in which a visitor, kept waiting for a few moments, was already absorbed in a book. The gentleman had not even needed to sit down to become interested: apparently3 he had taken up the volume from a table as soon as he came in, and, standing4 there, after a single glance round the apartment, had lost himself in its pages. He threw it down at the approach of Mrs. Luna, laughed, shook hands with her, and said in answer to her last remark, “You imply that you do tell fibs. Perhaps that is one.”
“Oh no; there is nothing wonderful in my being glad to see you,” Mrs. Luna rejoined, “when I tell you that I have been three long weeks in this unprevaricating city.”
“That has an unflattering sound for me,” said the young man. “I pretend not to prevaricate5.”
“Dear me, what’s the good of being a Southerner?” the lady asked. “Olive told me to tell you she hoped you will stay to dinner. And if she said it, she does really hope it. She is willing to risk that.”
“Just as I am?” the visitor inquired, presenting himself with rather a work-a-day aspect.
Mrs. Luna glanced at him from head to foot, and gave a little smiling sigh, as if he had been a long sum in addition. And, indeed, he was very long, Basil Ransom6, and he even looked a little hard and discouraging, like a column of figures, in spite of the friendly face which he bent7 upon his hostess’s deputy, and which, in its thinness, had a deep dry line, a sort of premature8 wrinkle, on either side of the mouth. He was tall and lean, and dressed throughout in black; his shirt-collar was low and wide, and the triangle of linen9, a little crumpled10, exhibited by the opening of his waistcoat, was adorned11 by a pin containing a small red stone. In spite of this decoration the young man looked poor — as poor as a young man could look who had such a fine head and such magnificent eyes. Those of Basil Ransom were dark, deep, and glowing; his head had a character of elevation12 which fairly added to his stature13; it was a head to be seen above the level of a crowd, on some judicial14 bench or political platform, or even on a bronze medal. His forehead was high and broad, and his thick black hair, perfectly15 straight and glossy16, and without any division, rolled back from it in a leonine manner. These things, the eyes especially, with their smouldering fire, might have indicated that he was to be a great American statesman; or, on the other hand, they might simply have proved that he came from Carolina or Alabama. He came, in fact, from Mississippi, and he spoke2 very perceptibly with the accent of that country. It is not in my power to reproduce by any combination of characters this charming dialect; but the initiated17 reader will have no difficulty in evoking18 the sound, which is to be associated in the present instance with nothing vulgar or vain. This lean, pale, sallow, shabby, striking young man, with his superior head, his sedentary shoulders, his expression of bright grimness and hard enthusiasm, his provincial19, distinguished20 appearance, is, as a representative of his sex, the most important personage in my narrative21; he played a very active part in the events I have undertaken in some degree to set forth22. And yet the reader who likes a complete image, who desires to read with the senses as well as with the reason, is entreated23 not to forget that he prolonged his consonants24 and swallowed his vowels25, that he was guilty of elisions and interpolations which were equally unexpected, and that his discourse27 was pervaded28 by something sultry and vast, something almost African in its rich, basking29 tone, something that suggested the teeming30 expanse of the cotton-field. Mrs. Luna looked up at all this, but saw only a part of it; otherwise she would not have replied in a bantering31 manner, in answer to his inquiry32: “Are you ever different from this?” Mrs. Luna was familiar — intolerably familiar.
Basil Ransom coloured a little. Then he said: “Oh yes; when I dine out I usually carry a six-shooter and a bowie-knife.” And he took up his hat vaguely33 — a soft black hat with a low crown and an immense straight brim. Mrs. Luna wanted to know what he was doing. She made him sit down; she assured him that her sister quite expected him, would feel as sorry as she could ever feel for anything — for she was a kind of fatalist, anyhow — if he didn’t stay to dinner. It was an immense pity — she herself was going out; in Boston you must jump at invitations. Olive, too, was going somewhere after dinner, but he mustn’t mind that; perhaps he would like to go with her. It wasn’t a party — Olive didn’t go to parties; it was one of those weird34 meetings she was so fond of.
“What kind of meetings do you refer to? You speak as if it were a rendezvous35 of witches on the Brocken.”
“Well, so it is; they are all witches and wizards, mediums, and spirit-rappers, and roaring radicals37.”
Basil Ransom stared; the yellow light in his brown eyes deepened. “Do you mean to say your sister’s a roaring radical36?”
“A radical? She’s a female Jacobin — she’s a nihilist. Whatever is, is wrong, and all that sort of thing. If you are going to dine with her, you had better know it.”
“Oh, murder!” murmured the young man vaguely, sinking back in his chair with his arms folded. He looked at Mrs. Luna with intelligent incredulity. She was sufficiently38 pretty; her hair was in clusters of curls, like bunches of grapes; her tight bodice seemed to crack with her vivacity39; and from beneath the stiff little plaits of her petticoat a small fat foot protruded40, resting upon a stilted41 heel. She was attractive and impertinent, especially the latter. He seemed to think it was a great pity, what she had told him; but he lost himself in this consideration, or, at any rate, said nothing for some time, while his eyes wandered over Mrs. Luna, and he probably wondered what body of doctrine42 she represented, little as she might partake of the nature of her sister. Many things were strange to Basil Ransom; Boston especially was strewn with surprises, and he was a man who liked to understand. Mrs. Luna was drawing on her gloves; Ransom had never seen any that were so long; they reminded him of stockings, and he wondered how she managed without garters above the elbow. “Well, I suppose I might have known that,” he continued, at last.
“You might have known what?”
“Well, that Miss Chancellor would be all that you say. She was brought up in the city of reform.”
“Oh, it isn’t the city; it’s just Olive Chancellor. She would reform the solar system if she could get hold of it. She’ll reform you, if you don’t look out. That’s the way I found her when I returned from Europe.”
“Have you been in Europe?” Ransom asked.
“Mercy, yes! Haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t been anywhere. Has your sister?”
“Yes; but she stayed only an hour or two. She hates it; she would like to abolish it. Didn’t you know I had been to Europe?” Mrs. Luna went on, in the slightly aggrieved43 tone of a woman who discovers the limits of her reputation.
Ransom reflected he might answer her that until five minutes ago he didn’t know she existed; but he remembered that this was not the way in which a Southern gentleman spoke to ladies, and he contented44 himself with saying that he must condone45 his Boeotian ignorance (he was fond of an elegant phrase); that he lived in a part of the country where they didn’t think much about Europe, and that he had always supposed she was domiciled in New York. This last remark he made at a venture, for he had, naturally, not devoted46 any supposition whatever to Mrs. Luna. His dishonesty, however, only exposed him the more.
“If you thought I lived in New York, why in the world didn’t you come and see me?” the lady inquired.
“Well, you see, I don’t go out much, except to the courts.”
“Do you mean the law-courts? Every one has got some profession over here! Are you very ambitious? You look as if you were.”
“Yes, very,” Basil Ransom replied, with a smile, and the curious feminine softness with which Southern gentlemen enunciate47 that adverb.
Mrs. Luna explained that she had been living in Europe for several years — ever since her husband died — but had come home a month before, come home with her little boy, the only thing she had in the world, and was paying a visit to her sister, who, of course, was the nearest thing after the child. “But it isn’t the same,” she said. “Olive and I disagree so much.”
“While you and your little boy don’t,” the young man remarked.
“Oh no, I never differ from Newton!” And Mrs. Luna added that now she was back she didn’t know what she should do. That was the worst of coming back; it was like being born again, at one’s age — one had to begin life afresh. One didn’t even know what one had come back for. There were people who wanted one to spend the winter in Boston; but she couldn’t stand that — she knew, at least, what she had not come back for. Perhaps she should take a house in Washington; did he ever hear of that little place? They had invented it while she was away. Besides, Olive didn’t want her in Boston, and didn’t go through the form of saying so. That was one comfort with Olive; she never went through any forms.
Basil Ransom had got up just as Mrs. Luna made this last declaration; for a young lady had glided48 into the room, who stopped short as it fell upon her ears. She stood there looking, consciously and rather seriously, at Mr. Ransom; a smile of exceeding faintness played about her lips — it was just perceptible enough to light up the native gravity of her face. It might have been likened to a thin ray of moonlight resting upon the wall of a prison.
“If that were true,” she said, “I shouldn’t tell you that I am very sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Her voice was low and agreeable — a cultivated voice — and she extended a slender white hand to her visitor, who remarked with some solemnity (he felt a certain guilt26 of participation49 in Mrs. Luna’s indiscretion) that he was intensely happy to make her acquaintance. He observed that Miss Chancellor’s hand was at once cold and limp; she merely placed it in his, without exerting the smallest pressure. Mrs. Luna explained to her sister that her freedom of speech was caused by his being a relation — though, indeed, he didn’t seem to know much about them. She didn’t believe he had ever heard of her, Mrs. Luna, though he pretended, with his Southern chivalry50, that he had. She must be off to her dinner now, she saw the carriage was there, and in her absence Olive might give any version of her she chose.
“I have told him you are a radical, and you may tell him, if you like, that I am a painted Jezebel. Try to reform him; a person from Mississippi is sure to be all wrong. I shall be back very late; we are going to a theatre-party; that’s why we dine so early. Good-bye, Mr. Ransom,” Mrs. Luna continued, gathering51 up the feathery white shawl which added to the volume of her fairness. “I hope you are going to stay a little, so that you may judge us for yourself. I should like you to see Newton, too; he is a noble little nature, and I want some advice about him. You only stay tomorrow? Why, what’s the use of that? Well, mind you come and see me in New York; I shall be sure to be part of the winter there. I shall send you a card; I won’t let you off. Don’t come out; my sister has the first claim. Olive, why don’t you take him to your female convention?” Mrs. Luna’s familiarity extended even to her sister; she remarked to Miss Chancellor that she looked as if she were got up for a sea-voyage. “I am glad I haven’t opinions that prevent my dressing52 in the evening!” she declared from the doorway53. “The amount of thought they give to their clothing, the people who are afraid of looking frivolous54!”
收听单词发音 |
1
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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prevaricate
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| v.支吾其词；说谎；n.推诿的人；撒谎的人 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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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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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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evoking
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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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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radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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38
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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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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41
stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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42
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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43
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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condone
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| v.宽恕；原谅 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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47
enunciate
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| v.发音；（清楚地）表达 | |
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48
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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49
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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50
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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51
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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52
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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53
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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54
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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