“We ought to have some one to meet her,” Mrs. Tarrant said; “I presume she wouldn’t care to come out just to see us.” “She,” between the mother and the daughter, at this period, could refer only to Olive Chancellor1, who was discussed in the little house at Cambridge at all hours and from every possible point of view. It was never Verena now who began, for she had grown rather weary of the topic; she had her own ways of thinking of it, which were not her mother’s, and if she lent herself to this lady’s extensive considerations it was because that was the best way of keeping her thoughts to herself.
Mrs. Tarrant had an idea that she (Mrs. Tarrant) liked to study people, and that she was now engaged in an analysis of Miss Chancellor. It carried her far, and she came out at unexpected times with her results. It was still her purpose to interpret the world to the ingenious mind of her daughter, and she translated Miss Chancellor with a confidence which made little account of the fact that she had seen her but once, while Verena had this advantage nearly every day. Verena felt that by this time she knew Olive very well, and her mother’s most complicated versions of motive2 and temperament3 (Mrs. Tarrant, with the most imperfect idea of the meaning of the term, was always talking about people’s temperament) rendered small justice to the phenomena4 it was now her privilege to observe in Charles Street. Olive was much more remarkable5 than Mrs. Tarrant suspected, remarkable as Mrs. Tarrant believed her to be. She had opened Verena’s eyes to extraordinary pictures, made the girl believe that she had a heavenly mission, given her, as we have seen, quite a new measure of the interest of life. These were larger consequences than the possibility of meeting the leaders of society at Olive’s house. She had met no one, as yet, but Mrs. Luna; her new friend seemed to wish to keep her quite for herself. This was the only reproach that Mrs. Tarrant directed to the new friend as yet; she was disappointed that Verena had not obtained more insight into the world of fashion. It was one of the prime articles of her faith that the world of fashion was wicked and hollow, and, moreover, Verena told her that Miss Chancellor loathed6 and despised it. She could not have informed you wherein it would profit her daughter (for the way those ladies shrank from any new gospel was notorious); nevertheless she was vexed7 that Verena shouldn’t come back to her with a little more of the fragrance8 of Beacon9 Street. The girl herself would have been the most interested person in the world if she had not been the most resigned; she took all that was given her and was grateful, and missed nothing that was withheld10; she was the most extraordinary mixture of eagerness and docility11. Mrs. Tarrant theorised about temperaments12 and she loved her daughter; but she was only vaguely13 aware of the fact that she had at her side the sweetest flower of character (as one might say) that had ever bloomed on earth. She was proud of Verena’s brightness, and of her special talent; but the commonness of her own surface was a non-conductor of the girl’s quality. Therefore she thought that it would add to her success in life to know a few high-flyers, if only to put them to shame; as if anything could add to Verena’s success, as if it were not supreme14 success simply to have been made as she was made.
Mrs. Tarrant had gone into town to call upon Miss Chancellor; she carried out this resolve, on which she had bestowed15 infinite consideration, independently of Verena. She had decided16 that she had a pretext17; her dignity required one, for she felt that at present the antique pride of the Greenstreets was terribly at the mercy of her curiosity. She wished to see Miss Chancellor again, and to see her among her charming appurtenances, which Verena had described to her with great minuteness. The pretext that she would have valued most was wanting — that of Olive’s having come out to Cambridge to pay the visit that had been solicited18 from the first; so she had to take the next best — she had to say to herself that it was her duty to see what she should think of a place where her daughter spent so much time. To Miss Chancellor she would appear to have come to thank her for her hospitality; she knew, in advance, just the air she should take (or she fancied she knew it — Mrs. Tarrant’s were not always what she supposed), just the nuance19 (she had also an impression she knew a little French) of her tone. Olive, after the lapse20 of weeks, still showed no symptoms of presenting herself, and Mrs. Tarrant rebuked21 Verena with some sternness for not having made her feel that this attention was due to the mother of her friend. Verena could scarcely say to her she guessed Miss Chancellor didn’t think much of that personage, true as it was that the girl had discerned this angular fact, which she attributed to Olive’s extraordinary comprehensiveness of view. Verena herself did not suppose that her mother occupied a very important place in the universe; and Miss Chancellor never looked at anything smaller than that. Nor was she free to report (she was certainly now less frank at home, and, moreover, the suspicion was only just becoming distinct to her) that Olive would like to detach her from her parents altogether, and was therefore not interested in appearing to cultivate relations with them. Mrs. Tarrant, I may mention, had a further motive: she was consumed with the desire to behold22 Mrs. Luna. This circumstance may operate as a proof that the aridity23 of her life was great, and if it should have that effect I shall not be able to gainsay24 it. She had seen all the people who went to lectures, but there were hours when she desired, for a change, to see some who didn’t go; and Mrs. Luna, from Verena’s description of her, summed up the characteristics of this eccentric class.
Verena had given great attention to Olive’s brilliant sister; she had told her friend everything now — everything but one little secret, namely, that if she could have chosen at the beginning she would have liked to resemble Mrs. Luna. This lady fascinated her, carried off her imagination to strange lands; she should enjoy so much a long evening with her alone, when she might ask her ten thousand questions. But she never saw her alone, never saw her at all but in glimpses. Adeline flitted in and out, dressed for dinners and concerts, always saying something worldly to the young woman from Cambridge, and something to Olive that had a freedom which she herself would probably never arrive at (a failure of foresight25 on Verena’s part). But Miss Chancellor never detained her, never gave Verena a chance to see her, never appeared to imagine that she could have the least interest in such a person; only took up the subject again after Adeline had left them — the subject, of course, which was always the same, the subject of what they should do together for their suffering sex. It was not that Verena was not interested in that — gracious, no; it opened up before her, in those wonderful colloquies26 with Olive, in the most inspiring way; but her fancy would make a dart27 to right or left when other game crossed their path, and her companion led her, intellectually, a dance in which her feet — that is, her head — failed her at times for weariness. Mrs. Tarrant found Miss Chancellor at home, but she was not gratified by even the most transient glimpse of Mrs. Luna; a fact which, in her heart, Verena regarded as fortunate, inasmuch as (she said to herself) if her mother, returning from Charles Street, began to explain Miss Chancellor to her with fresh energy, and as if she (Verena) had never seen her, and up to this time they had had nothing to say about her, to what developments (of the same sort) would not an encounter with Adeline have given rise?
When Verena at last said to her friend that she thought she ought to come out to Cambridge — she didn’t understand why she didn’t — Olive expressed her reasons very frankly28, admitted that she was jealous, that she didn’t wish to think of the girl’s belonging to any one but herself. Mr. and Mrs. Tarrant would have authority, opposed claims, and she didn’t wish to see them, to remember that they existed. This was true, so far as it went; but Olive could not tell Verena everything — could not tell her that she hated that dreadful pair at Cambridge. As we know, she had forbidden herself this emotion as regards individuals; and she flattered herself that she considered the Tarrants as a type, a deplorable one, a class that, with the public at large, discredited29 the cause of the new truths. She had talked them over with Miss Birdseye (Olive was always looking after her now and giving her things — the good lady appeared at this period in wonderful caps and shawls — for she felt she couldn’t thank her enough), and even Doctor Prance’s fellow-lodger, whose animosity to flourishing evils lived in the happiest (though the most illicit) union with the mania30 for finding excuses, even Miss Birdseye was obliged to confess that if you came to examine his record, poor Selah didn’t amount to so very much. How little he amounted to Olive perceived after she had made Verena talk, as the girl did immensely, about her father and mother — quite unconscious, meanwhile, of the conclusions she suggested to Miss Chancellor. Tarrant was a moralist without moral sense — that was very clear to Olive as she listened to the history of his daughter’s childhood and youth, which Verena related with an extraordinary artless vividness. This narrative31, tremendously fascinating to Miss Chancellor, made her feel in all sorts of ways — prompted her to ask herself whether the girl was also destitute32 of the perception of right and wrong. No, she was only supremely33 innocent; she didn’t understand, she didn’t interpret nor see the portée of what she described; she had no idea whatever of judging her parents. Olive had wished to “realise” the conditions in which her wonderful young friend (she thought her more wonderful every day) had developed, and to this end, as I have related, she prompted her to infinite discourse34. But now she was satisfied, the realisation was complete, and what she would have liked to impose on the girl was an effectual rupture35 with her past. That past she by no means absolutely deplored36, for it had the merit of having initiated37 Verena (and her patroness, through her agency) into the miseries38 and mysteries of the People. It was her theory that Verena (in spite of the blood of the Greenstreets, and, after all, who were they?) was a flower of the great Democracy, and that it was impossible to have had an origin less distinguished39 than Tarrant himself. His birth, in some unheard-of place in Pennsylvania, was quite inexpressibly low, and Olive would have been much disappointed if it had been wanting in this defect. She liked to think that Verena, in her childhood, had known almost the extremity40 of poverty, and there was a kind of ferocity in the joy with which she reflected that there had been moments when this delicate creature came near (if the pinch had only lasted a little longer) to literally41 going without food. These things added to her value for Olive; they made that young lady feel that their common undertaking42 would, in consequence, be so much more serious. It is always supposed that revolutionists have been goaded43, and the goading44 would have been rather deficient45 here were it not for such happy accidents in Verena’s past. When she conveyed from her mother a summons to Cambridge for a particular occasion, Olive perceived that the great effort must now be made. Great efforts were nothing new to her — it was a great effort to live at all — but this one appeared to her exceptionally cruel. She determined46, however, to make it, promising47 herself that her first visit to Mrs. Tarrant should also be her last. Her only consolation48 was that she expected to suffer intensely; for the prospect49 of suffering was always, spiritually speaking, so much cash in her pocket. It was arranged that Olive should come to tea (the repast that Selah designated as his supper), when Mrs. Tarrant, as we have seen, desired to do her honour by inviting50 another guest. This guest, after much deliberation between that lady and Verena, was selected, and the first person Olive saw on entering the little parlour in Cambridge was a young man with hair prematurely51, or, as one felt that one should say, precociously52 white, whom she had a vague impression she had encountered before, and who was introduced to her as Mr. Matthias Pardon.
She suffered less than she had hoped — she was so taken up with the consideration of Verena’s interior. It was as bad as she could have desired; desired in order to feel that (to take her out of such a milieu53 as that) she should have a right to draw her altogether to herself. Olive wished more and more to extract some definite pledge from her; she could hardly say what it had best be as yet; she only felt that it must be something that would have an absolute sanctity for Verena and would bind54 them together for life. On this occasion it seemed to shape itself in her mind; she began to see what it ought to be, though she also saw that she would perhaps have to wait awhile. Mrs. Tarrant, too, in her own house, became now a complete figure; there was no manner of doubt left as to her being vulgar. Olive Chancellor despised vulgarity, had a scent55 for it which she followed up in her own family, so that often, with a rising flush, she detected the taint56 even in Adeline. There were times, indeed, when every one seemed to have it, every one but Miss Birdseye (who had nothing to do with it — she was an antique) and the poorest, humblest people. The toilers and spinners, the very obscure, these were the only persons who were safe from it. Miss Chancellor would have been much happier if the movements she was interested in could have been carried on only by the people she liked, and if revolutions, somehow, didn’t always have to begin with one’s self — with internal convulsions, sacrifices, executions. A common end, unfortunately, however fine as regards a special result, does not make community impersonal57.
Mrs. Tarrant, with her soft corpulence, looked to her guest very bleached58 and tumid; her complexion59 had a kind of withered60 glaze61; her hair, very scanty62, was drawn63 off her forehead à la Chinoise; she had no eyebrows64, and her eyes seemed to stare, like those of a figure of wax. When she talked and wished to insist, and she was always insisting, she puckered65 and distorted her face, with an effort to express the inexpressible, which turned out, after all, to be nothing. She had a kind of doleful elegance66, tried to be confidential67, lowered her voice and looked as if she wished to establish a secret understanding, in order to ask her visitor if she would venture on an apple-fritter. She wore a flowing mantle68, which resembled her husband’s waterproof69 — a garment which, when she turned to her daughter or talked about her, might have passed for the robe of a sort of priestess of maternity70. She endeavoured to keep the conversation in a channel which would enable her to ask sudden incoherent questions of Olive, mainly as to whether she knew the principal ladies (the expression was Mrs. Tarrant’s), not only in Boston, but in the other cities which, in her nomadic71 course, she herself had visited. Olive knew some of them, and of some of them had never heard; but she was irritated, and pretended a universal ignorance (she was conscious that she had never told so many fibs), by which her hostess was much disconcerted, although her questions had apparently72 been questions pure and simple, leading nowhither and without bearings on any new truth.
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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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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nuance
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| n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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aridity
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| n.干旱，乏味；干燥性；荒芜 | |
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gainsay
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| v.否认，反驳 | |
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foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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colloquies
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| n.谈话，对话( colloquy的名词复数 ) | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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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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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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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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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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precociously
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| Precociously | |
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milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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54
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
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