She had told him before they started that they should be early; she wished to see Miss Birdseye alone, before the arrival of any one else. This was just for the pleasure of seeing her — it was an opportunity; she was always so taken up with others. She received Miss Chancellor1 in the hall of the mansion2, which had a salient front, an enormous and very high number — 756 — painted in gilt3 on the glass light above the door, a tin sign bearing the name of a doctress (Mary J. Prance4) suspended from one of the windows of the basement, and a peculiar5 look of being both new and faded — a kind of modern fatigue6 — like certain articles of commerce which are sold at a reduction as shop-worn. The hall was very narrow; a considerable part of it was occupied by a large hat-tree, from which several coats and shawls already depended; the rest offered space for certain lateral7 demonstrations8 on Miss Birdseye’s part. She sidled about her visitors, and at last went round to open for them a door of further admission, which happened to be locked inside. She was a little old lady, with an enormous head; that was the first thing Ransom9 noticed — the vast, fair, protuberant10, candid11, ungarnished brow, surmounting12 a pair of weak, kind, tired-looking eyes, and ineffectually balanced in the rear by a cap which had the air of falling backward, and which Miss Birdseye suddenly felt for while she talked, with unsuccessful irrelevant13 movements. She had a sad, soft, pale face, which (and it was the effect of her whole head) looked as if it had been soaked, blurred14, and made vague by exposure to some slow dissolvent. The long practice of philanthropy had not given accent to her features; it had rubbed out their transitions, their meanings. The waves of sympathy, of enthusiasm, had wrought16 upon them in the same way in which the waves of time finally modify the surface of old marble busts17, gradually washing away their sharpness, their details. In her large countenance18 her dim little smile scarcely showed. It was a mere19 sketch20 of a smile, a kind of instalment, or payment on account; it seemed to say that she would smile more if she had time, but that you could see, without this, that she was gentle and easy to beguile21.
She always dressed in the same way: she wore a loose black jacket, with deep pockets, which were stuffed with papers, memoranda22 of a voluminous correspondence; and from beneath her jacket depended a short stuff dress. The brevity of this simple garment was the one device by which Miss Birdseye managed to suggest that she was a woman of business, that she wished to be free for action. She belonged to the Shorta€“Skirts League, as a matter of course; for she belonged to any and every league that had been founded for almost any purpose whatever. This did not prevent her being a confused, entangled23, inconsequent, discursive24 old woman, whose charity began at home and ended nowhere, whose credulity kept pace with it, and who knew less about her fellow-creatures, if possible, after fifty years of humanitary zeal25, than on the day she had gone into the field to testify against the iniquity26 of most arrangements. Basil Ransom knew very little about such a life as hers, but she seemed to him a revelation of a class, and a multitude of socialistic figures, of names and episodes that he had heard of, grouped themselves behind her. She looked as if she had spent her life on platforms, in audiences, in conventions, in phalansteries, in séances; in her faded face there was a kind of reflexion of ugly lecture-lamps; with its habit of an upward angle, it seemed turned toward a public speaker, with an effort of respiration27 in the thick air in which social reforms are usually discussed. She talked continually, in a voice of which the spring seemed broken, like that of an over-worked bell-wire; and when Miss Chancellor explained that she had brought Mr. Ransom because he was so anxious to meet Mrs. Farrinder, she gave the young man a delicate, dirty, democratic little hand, looking at him kindly28, as she could not help doing, but without the smallest discrimination as against others who might not have the good fortune (which involved, possibly, an injustice) to be present on such an interesting occasion. She struck him as very poor, but it was only afterward29 that he learned she had never had a penny in her life. No one had an idea how she lived; whenever money was given her she gave it away to a negro or a refugee. No woman could be less invidious, but on the whole she preferred these two classes of the human race. Since the Civil War much of her occupation was gone; for before that her best hours had been spent in fancying that she was helping30 some Southern slave to escape. It would have been a nice question whether, in her heart of hearts, for the sake of this excitement, she did not sometimes wish the blacks back in bondage31. She had suffered in the same way by the relaxation32 of many European despotisms, for in former years much of the romance of her life had been in smoothing the pillow of exile for banished33 conspirators34. Her refugees had been very precious to her; she was always trying to raise money for some cadaverous Pole, to obtain lessons for some shirtless Italian. There was a legend that an Hungarian had once possessed35 himself of her affections, and had disappeared after robbing her of everything she possessed. This, however, was very apocryphal36, for she had never possessed anything, and it was open to grave doubt that she could have entertained a sentiment so personal. She was in love, even in those days, only with causes, and she languished37 only for emancipations. But they had been the happiest days, for when causes were embodied38 in foreigners (what else were the Africans?), they were certainly more appealing.
She had just come down to see Doctor Prance — to see whether she wouldn’t like to come up. But she wasn’t in her room, and Miss Birdseye guessed she had gone out to her supper; she got her supper at a boarding-table about two blocks off. Miss Birdseye expressed the hope that Miss Chancellor had had hers; she would have had plenty of time to take it, for no one had come in yet; she didn’t know what made them all so late. Ransom perceived that the garments suspended to the hat-rack were not a sign that Miss Birdseye’s friends had assembled; if he had gone a little further still he would have recognised the house as one of those in which mysterious articles of clothing are always hooked to something in the hall. Miss Birdseye’s visitors, those of Doctor Prance, and of other tenants39 — for Number 756 was the common residence of several persons, among whom there prevailed much vagueness of boundary — used to leave things to be called for; many of them went about with satchels40 and reticules, for which they were always looking for places of deposit. What completed the character of this interior was Miss Birdseye’s own apartment, into which her guests presently made their way, and where they were joined by various other members of the good lady’s circle. Indeed, it completed Miss Birdseye herself, if anything could be said to render that office to this essentially41 formless old woman, who had no more outline than a bundle of hay. But the bareness of her long, loose, empty parlour (it was shaped exactly like Miss Chancellor’s) told that she had never had any needs but moral needs, and that all her history had been that of her sympathies. The place was lighted by a small hot glare of gas, which made it look white and featureless. It struck even Basil Ransom with its flatness, and he said to himself that his cousin must have a very big bee in her bonnet42 to make her like such a house. He did not know then, and he never knew, that she mortally disliked it, and that in a career in which she was constantly exposing herself to offence and laceration, her most poignant43 suffering came from the injury of her taste. She had tried to kill that nerve, to persuade herself that taste was only frivolity44 in the disguise of knowledge; but her susceptibility was constantly blooming afresh and making her wonder whether an absence of nice arrangements were a necessary part of the enthusiasm of humanity. Miss Birdseye was always trying to obtain employment, lessons in drawing, orders for portraits, for poor foreign artists, as to the greatness of whose talent she pledged herself without reserve; but in point of fact she had not the faintest sense of the scenic45 or plastic side of life.
Toward nine o’clock the light of her hissing46 burners smote47 the majestic48 person of Mrs. Farrinder, who might have contributed to answer that question of Miss Chancellor’s in the negative. She was a copious49, handsome woman, in whom angularity had been corrected by the air of success; she had a rustling50 dress (it was evident what she thought about taste), abundant hair of a glossy51 blackness, a pair of folded arms, the expression of which seemed to say that rest, in such a career as hers, was as sweet as it was brief, and a terrible regularity52 of feature. I apply that adjective to her fine placid53 mask because she seemed to face you with a question of which the answer was preordained, to ask you how a countenance could fail to be noble of which the measurements were so correct. You could contest neither the measurements nor the nobleness, and had to feel that Mrs. Farrinder imposed herself. There was a lithographic smoothness about her, and a mixture of the American matron and the public character. There was something public in her eye, which was large, cold, and quiet; it had acquired a sort of exposed reticence54 from the habit of looking down from a lecture-desk, over a sea of heads, while its distinguished55 owner was eulogised by a leading citizen. Mrs. Farrinder, at almost any time, had the air of being introduced by a few remarks. She talked with great slowness and distinctness, and evidently a high sense of responsibility; she pronounced every syllable56 of every word and insisted on being explicit57. If, in conversation with her, you attempted to take anything for granted, or to jump two or three steps at a time, she paused, looking at you with a cold patience, as if she knew that trick, and then went on at her own measured pace. She lectured on temperance and the rights of women; the ends she laboured for were to give the ballot58 to every woman in the country and to take the flowing bowl from every man. She was held to have a very fine manner, and to embody59 the domestic virtues60 and the graces of the drawing-room; to be a shining proof, in short, that the forum61, for ladies, is not necessarily hostile to the fireside. She had a husband, and his name was Amariah.
Doctor Prance had come back from supper and made her appearance in response to an invitation that Miss Birdseye’s relaxed voice had tinkled62 down to her from the hall over the banisters, with much repetition, to secure attention. She was a plain, spare young woman, with short hair and an eye-glass; she looked about her with a kind of near-sighted deprecation, and seemed to hope that she should not be expected to generalise in any way, or supposed to have come up for any purpose more social than to see what Miss Birdseye wanted this time. By nine o’clock twenty other persons had arrived, and had placed themselves in the chairs that were ranged along the sides of the long, bald room, in which they ended by producing the similitude of an enormous street-car. The apartment contained little else but these chairs, many of which had a borrowed aspect, an implication of bare bedrooms in the upper regions; a table or two with a discoloured marble top, a few books, and a collection of newspapers piled up in corners. Ransom could see for himself that the occasion was not crudely festive63; there was a want of convivial64 movement, and, among most of the visitors, even of mutual65 recognition. They sat there as if they were waiting for something; they looked obliquely66 and silently at Mrs. Farrinder, and were plainly under the impression that, fortunately, they were not there to amuse themselves. The ladies, who were much the more numerous, wore their bonnets67, like Miss Chancellor; the men were in the garb68 of toil69, many of them in weary-looking overcoats. Two or three had retained their overshoes, and as you approached them the odour of the india-rubber was perceptible. It was not, however, that Miss Birdseye ever noticed anything of that sort; she neither knew what she smelled nor tasted what she ate. Most of her friends had an anxious, haggard look, though there were sundry70 exceptions — half-a-dozen placid, florid faces. Basil Ransom wondered who they all were; he had a general idea they were mediums, communists, vegetarians71. It was not, either, that Miss Birdseye failed to wander about among them with repetitions of inquiry72 and friendly absences of attention; she sat down near most of them in turn, saying “Yes, yes,” vaguely73 and kindly, to remarks they made to her, feeling for the papers in the pockets of her loosened bodice, recovering her cap and sacrificing her spectacles, wondering most of all what had been her idea in convoking74 these people. Then she remembered that it had been connected in some way with Mrs. Farrinder; that this eloquent75 woman had promised to favour the company with a few reminiscences of her last campaign; to sketch even, perhaps, the lines on which she intended to operate during the coming winter. This was what Olive Chancellor had come to hear; this would be the attraction for the dark-eyed young man (he looked like a genius) she had brought with her. Miss Birdseye made her way back to the great lecturess, who was bending an indulgent attention on Miss Chancellor; the latter compressed into a small space, to be near her, and sitting with clasped hands and a concentration of inquiry which by contrast made Mrs. Farrinder’s manner seem large and free. In her transit15, however, the hostess was checked by the arrival of fresh pilgrims; she had no idea she had mentioned the occasion to so many people — she only remembered, as it were, those she had forgotten — and it was certainly a proof of the interest felt in Mrs. Farrinder’s work. The people who had just come in were Doctor and Mrs. Tarrant and their daughter Verena; he was a mesmeric healer and she was of old Abolitionist stock. Miss Birdseye rested her dim, dry smile upon the daughter, who was new to her, and it floated before her that she would probably be remarkable76 as a genius; her parentage was an implication of that. There was a genius for Miss Birdseye in every bush. Selah Tarrant had effected wonderful cures; she knew so many people — if they would only try him. His wife was a daughter of Abraham Greenstreet; she had kept a runaway77 slave in her house for thirty days. That was years before, when this girl must have been a child; but hadn’t it thrown a kind of rainbow over her cradle, and wouldn’t she naturally have some gift? The girl was very pretty, though she had red hair.
收听单词发音 |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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prance
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| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
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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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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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protuberant
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| adj.突出的，隆起的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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apocryphal
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| adj.假冒的，虚假的 | |
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languished
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| 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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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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satchels
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| n.书包( satchel的名词复数 ) | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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embody
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| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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vegetarians
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| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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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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convoking
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| v.召集，召开（会议）( convoke的现在分词 ) | |
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75
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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76
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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77
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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