On the following day the somewhat curious religious conversation between Arthur and Angela — a conversation which, begun on Arthur’s part out of curiosity, had ended on both sides very much in earnest — the weather broke up and the grand old English climate reasserted its treacherous1 supremacy2. From summer weather the inhabitants of the county of Marlshire suddenly found themselves plunged3 into a spell of cold that was by contrast almost Arctic. Storms of sleet4 drove against the window-panes, and there was even a very damaging night-frost, while that dreadful scourge6, which nobody in his senses except Kingsley can ever have liked, the east wind, literally7 pervaded8 the whole place, and went whistling through the surrounding trees and ruins in a way calculated to make even a Laplander shiver.
Under these cheerless circumstances our pair of companions — for as yet they were, ostensibly at any rate, nothing more — gave up their outdoor excursions and took to rambling10 over the disused rooms in the old house, and hunting up many a record, some of them valuable and curious enough, of long-forgotten Caresfoots, and even of the old priors before them; a splendidly illuminated11 missal being amongst the latter prizes. When this amusement was exhausted12, they sat together over the fire in the nursery, and Angela translated to him from her favourite classical authors, especially Homer, with an ease and fluency13 of expression that, to Arthur, was little short of miraculous14. Or, when they got tired of that, he read to her from standard writers, which, elaborate as her education had been, in certain respects, she had scarcely yet even opened, notably15 Shakespeare and Milton. Needless to say, herself imbued16 with a strong poetic17 feeling, these immortal18 writers were a source of intense delight to her.
“How is it that Mr. Fraser never gave you Shakespeare to read?” asked Arthur one day, as he shut up the volume, having come to the end of “Hamlet.”
“He said that I should be better able to appreciate it when my mind had been prepared to do so by the help of a classical and mathematical education, and that it would be ‘a mistake to cloy19 my mental palate with sweets before I had learnt to appreciate their flavours.’”
“There is some sense in that,” remarked Arthur. “By the way, how are the verses you promised to write me getting on? Have you done them yet?”
“I have done something,” she answered, modestly, “but I really do not think that they are worth producing. It is very tiresome20 of you to have remembered about them.”
Arthur, however, by this time knew enough of Angela’s abilities to be sure that her “something” would be something more or less worth hearing, and mildly insisted on their production, and then, to her confusion, on her reading them aloud. They ran as follows, and whatever Angela’s opinion of them may have been, the reader shall judge of them for himself:
“The minstrel sat in his lonely room,
Its walls were bare, and the twilight22 grey
Fell and crept and gathered to gloom;
It came like the ghost of the dying day,
And the chords fell hushed and low.
Pianissimo!
“His arm was raised, and the violin
Quivered and shook with the strain it bore,
While the swelling23 forth24 of the sounds within
Rose with a sweetness unknown before,
And the chords fell soft and low.
Piano!
“The first cold flap of the tempest’s wings
Clashed with the silence before the storm,
The raindrops pattered across the strings
As the gathering26 thunder-clouds took form —
Drip, drop, high and low.
Staccato!
“Heavily rolling the thunder roared,
Sudden and jagged the lightning played,
Faster and faster the raindrops poured,
Sobbing27 and surging the tree-crests swayed,
Cracking and crashing above, below.
Crescendo28!
“The wind tore howling across the wold,
And tangled29 his train in the groaning30 trees,
Wrapped the dense31 clouds in his mantle32 cold,
Then shivered and died in a wailing33 breeze,
Whistling and weeping high and low,
Sostenuto!
“A pale sun broke from the driving cloud,
And flashed in the raindrops serenely34 cool:
At the touch of his finger the forest bowed,
As it shimmered35 and glanced in the ruffled36 pool,
While the rustling37 leaves soughed soft and low.
Gracioso!
“It was only a dream on the throbbing38 strings,
An echo of Nature in phantasy wrought39,
A breath of her breath and a touch of her wings
From a kingdom outspread in the regions of thought.
Below rolled the sound of the city’s din9,
And the fading day, as the night drew in,
Showed the quaint40 old face and the pointed41 chin,
And the arm that was raised o’er the violin,
As the old man whispered his hope’s dead tale,
To the friend who could comfort, though others might fail,
And the chords stole hushed and low.
Pianissimo!”
He stopped, and the sheet of paper fell from his hands.
“Well,” she said, with all the eagerness of a new-born writer, “tell me, do you think them very bad?”
“Well, Angela, you know ——”
“Ah! go on now; I am ready to be crushed. Pray don’t spare my feelings.”
“I was about to say that, thanks be to Providence42, I am not a critic; but I think ——”
“Oh! yes, let me hear what you think. You are speaking so slowly, in order to get time to invent something extra cutting. Well, I deserve it.”
“Don’t interrupt; I was going to say that I think the piece above the average of second-class poetry, and that a few of the lines touch the first-class standard. You have caught something of the ‘divine afflatus’ that the drunken old fellow said he could not cage. But I do not think that you will ever be popular as a writer of verses if you keep to that style; I doubt if there is a magazine in the kingdom that would take those lines unless they were by a known writer. They would return them marked, ‘Good, but too vague for the general public.’ Magazine editors don’t like lines from ‘a kingdom outspread in the regions of thought,’ for, as they say, such poems are apt to excite vagueness in the brains of that dim entity43, the ‘general public.’ What they do like are commonplace ideas, put in pretty language, and sweetened with sentimentality or emotional religious feelings, such as the thinking powers of their subscribers are competent to absorb without mental strain, and without leaving their accustomed channels. To be popular it is necessary to be commonplace, or at the least to describe the commonplace, to work in a well-worn groove44, and not to startle — requirements which, unfortunately, simple as they seem, very few persons possess the art of acting45 up to. See what happens to the unfortunate novelist, for instance, who dares to break the unwritten law, and defraud46 his readers of the orthodox transformation47 scene of the reward of virtue48 and the discomfiture49 of vice50; or to make his creation finish up in a way that, however well it may be suited to its tenor51, or illustrate52 its more subtle meaning, is contrary to the ‘general reader’s’ idea as to how it should end — badly, as it is called. He simply collapses53, to rise no more, if he is new at the trade, and, if he is a known man, that book won’t sell.”
“You talk quite feelingly,” said Angela, who was getting rather bored, and wanted, not unnaturally54, to hear more about her own lines.
“Yes,” replied Arthur, grimly; “I do. Once I was fool enough to write a book, but I must tell you that it is a painful subject with me. It never came out. Nobody would have it.”
“Oh! Arthur, I am so sorry; I should like to read your book. But, as regards the verses, I am glad that you like them, and I really don’t care what a hypothetical general public would say; I wrote them to please you, not the general public.”
“Well, my dear, I am sure I am much obliged to you; I shall value them doubly, once for the giver’s sake, and once for their own.”
Angela blushed, but did not reprove the term of endearment55 which had slipped unawares from his lips. Poetry is a dangerous subject between two young people who at heart adore one another; it is apt to excite the brain, and bring about startling revelations.
The day following the reading of Angela’s piece of poetry was rendered remarkable56 by two events, of which the first was that the weather suddenly turned a somersault, and became beautifully warm; and the second that news reached the Abbey House that, thanks chiefly to Lady Bellamy’s devoted58 nursing — who, fearless of infection, had, to the great admiration59 of all her neighbours, volunteered her services when no nurse could be found to undertake the case — George was pronounced out of danger. This piece of news was peculiarly grateful to Philip, for, had his cousin died, the estates must have passed away for ever under the terms of his uncle’s will, for he knew that George had made none. Angela, too, tried, like a good girl as she was, to lash25 herself into enthusiasm about it, though in her heart she went as near hating her cousin, since his attempted indignity60 towards herself, as her gentle nature would allow. Arthur alone was cynically61 indifferent; he hated George without any reservation whatsoever62.
And after this their came for our pair of embryo63 lovers some ten or twelve such happy days (for there was no talk of Arthur’s departure, Philip having on several occasions pointedly64 told him that the house was at his disposal for as long as he chose to remain in it). The sky was blue in those days, or only flecked with summer clouds, just as Arthur and Angela’s perfect companionship was flecked and shaded with the deeper hues65 of dawning passion. Alas66, the sky in this terrestrial clime is never quite blue!
But as yet nothing of love had passed between them, no kiss or word of endearment; only when hand touched hand a strange thrill had moved them both, and sent the warm blood to stain Angela’s clear brow, like a wavering tint67 of sunlight thrown upon the marble features of some white Venus; only in each other’s eyes they found a holy mystery. The spell was not yet fully57 at work, but the wand of earth’s great enchanter had touched them, and they were changed. Angela is hardly the same girl she was when we met her a little more than a fortnight back. A nameless change has come over her face and manner; the merry smile, once so bright, has grown softer and more sweet, and the laughing light of her grey eyes has given place to a look of some such gratitude68 and wonder, as that with which the traveller in lonely deserts gazes on the oasis69 of his perfect rest.
Many times Arthur had almost blurted70 out the truth to the woman he passionately71 adored, and every day so added to the suppressed fire of his love that at length he felt that he could not keep his secret to himself much longer. And yet he feared to tell it; better, he thought, to live happy, if in doubt, than to risk all his fortune on a single throw, for before his eyes there lay the black dread5 of failure; and then, what would life be worth? Here with Angela he lived in a Garden of Eden that no forebodings, no anxieties, no fear of that partially72 scotched73 serpent George, could render wretched, so long as it was gladdened by the presence of her whom he hoped to make his Eve. But without, and around where she could not be, there was nothing but clods and thistles and a black desolation that, even in imagination, he dared not face.
And Angela, gazing on veiled mysteries with wondering eyes, was she happy during those spring-tide days? Almost; but still there was in her heart a consciousness of effort, a sense of transformation and knowledge of the growth of hidden things. The bud bursting into the glory of the rose, must, if there be feeling in a rose, undergo some such effort before it can make its beauty known; the butterfly but newly freed from the dull husk that hid its splendours, at first must feel the imperfect wings it stretches in the sun to be irksome to its unaccustomed sense. And so it was with Angela; she spread her half-grown wings in the sun of her new existence, and found them strange, not knowing as yet that they were shaped to bear her to the flower-crowned heights of love.
Hers was one of those rare natures in which the passion that we know by the generic74 term of love, approached as near perfection as is possible in our human hearts. For there are many sorts and divisions of love, ranging from the affection, pure, steady, and divine, that is showered upon us from above, to the degrading madness of such a one as George Caresfoot. It is surely one of the saddest evidences of our poor humanity that, even among the purest of us, there are none who can altogether rid the whiteness of the love they have to offer of its earthly stain. Indeed, if we could so far conquer the promptings of our nature as to love with perfect purity, we should become like angels. But, just as white flowers are sometimes to be found on the blackest peak, so there do bloom in the world spirits as pure as they are rare — so free from evil, so closely shadowed by the Almighty75 wing, that they can almost reach to this perfection. Then the love they have to give is too refined, too holy and strong, to be understood of the mass of men: often it is squandered76 on some unequal and unanswering nature; sometimes it is wisely offered up to Him from whom it came.
We gaze upon an ice-bound river, and there is nothing to tell us that beneath that white cloak its current rushes to the ocean. But presently the spring comes, the prisoned waters burst their fetters77, and we see a glad torrent78 sparkling in the sunlight. And so it was with our heroine’s heart; the breath of Arthur’s passion and the light of Arthur’s eyes had beat upon it, and almost freed the river of its love. Already the listener might hear the ice-sheets crack and start; soon they will be gone, and her deep devotion will set as strong towards him as the tide of the torrent towards its receiving sea.
“Fine writing!” perhaps the reader will say; but surely none too fine to describe the most beautiful thing in this strange world, the irrevocable gift of a good woman’s love!
However that may be, it will have served its purpose if it makes it clear that a crisis is at hand in the affairs of the heart of two of the central actors on this mimic79 stage.
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1
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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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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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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cloy
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| v.（吃甜食）生腻，吃腻 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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29
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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30
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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31
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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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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33
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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34
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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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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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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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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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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defraud
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| vt.欺骗，欺诈 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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scotched
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| v.阻止( scotch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止（车轮）转动；弄伤；镇压 | |
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generic
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| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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76
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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79
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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