On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. He wrote from Montreal; describing the presentation of that letter of introduction which he had once been tempted1 to destroy. In the consequences that followed the presentation — apparently2 harmless consequences at the time — the destinies of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be seriously involved.
Ovid’s letter was thus expressed:
“I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in the world who is as fond of his darling as I am of you? If such a person exists, and if adverse3 circumstances compel him to travel, I should like to ask a question. Is he perpetually calling to mind forgotten things, which he ought to have said to his sweetheart before he left her?
“This is my case. Let me give you an instance.
“I have made a new friend here — one Mr. Morphew. Last night, he was so kind as to invite me to a musical entertainment at his house. He is a medical man; and he amuses himself in his leisure hours by playing on that big and dreary4 member of the family of fiddles5, whose name is Violoncello. Assisted by friends, he hospitably6 cools his guests, in the hot season, by the amateur performance of quartets. My dear, I passed a delightful7 evening. Listening to the music? Not listening to a single note of it. Thinking of You.
“Have I roused your curiosity? I fancy I can see your eyes brighten; I fancy I can hear you telling me to go on!
“My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoyments8 of your life. Before I went away, I ought to have remembered this, and to have told you that the manager of the autumn concerts at the opera-house is an old friend of mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your disposal, on any night when his programme attracts your notice; I have already made amends9 for my forgetfulness, by writing to him by this mail. Miss Minerva will be your companion at the theatre. If Mr. Le Frank (who is sure to be on the free list) pays you a visit in your box, tell him from me to put a wig10 on his bald head, and to try if that will make him look like an honest man!
“Did I forget anything else before my departure? Did I tell you how precious you are to me? how beautiful you are to me? how entirely11 worthless my life is without you? I dare say I did; but I tell it all over again — and, when you are tired of the repetition, you have only to let me know.
“In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say? have I no travelling adventures to relate? You insist on hearing of everything that happens to me; and you are to have your own way before we are married, as well as after. My sweet Carmina, your willing slave has something more serious than common travelling adventures to relate — he has a confession12 to make. In plain words, I have been practising my profession again, in the city of Montreal!
“I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are informed of the circumstances? It is a sad little story; but I am vain enough to think that my part in it will interest you. I have been a vain man, since that brightest and best of all possible days when you first made your confession — when you said that you loved me.
“Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew mentioned as a new friend of mine, in Canada. I became acquainted with him through a letter of introduction, given to me by Benjulia.
“Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell you — and be especially careful, if you happen to see him, to keep Benjulia in the dark. I sincerely hope you will not see him. He is a hard-hearted man — and he might say something which would distress14 you, if he knew of the result which has followed his opening to me the door of his friend’s house.
“Mr. Morphew is a worthy15 busy old gentleman, who follows his professional routine, and whose medical practice consists principally in bringing infant Canadians into the world. His services happened to be specially13 in request, at the time when I made his acquaintance. He was called away from his table, on the day after the musical party, when I dined with him. I was the only guest — and his wife was left to entertain me.
“The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She roundly declared him to be a brute16 — and she produced my letter of introduction (closed by the doctor’s own hand, before he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like to read the letter, too? Here is a copy:—‘The man who brings this is an overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest and good air. Don’t encourage him to use his brains; and give him information enough to take him, by the shortest way, to the biggest desert in Canada.’ You will now understand that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable17 reception which has detained me at Montreal.
“To return to my story. Mr. Morphew’s services were again in request, ten minutes after he had left the house. This time the patient was a man — and the messenger declared that he was at the point of death.
“Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. ‘In this dreadful case,’ she said, ‘death is a mercy. What I cannot bear to think of is the poor man’s lonely position. In his last moments, there will not be a living creature at his bedside.’
“Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries18. The answers painted such a melancholy19 picture of poverty and suffering, and so vividly20 reminded me of a similar case in my own experience, that I forgot I was an invalid21 myself, and volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr. Morphew’s place.
“The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city and to a garret in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. There he lay, without anyone to nurse him, on a mattress22 on the floor. What his malady23 was, you will not ask to know. I will only say that any man but a doctor would have run out of the room, the moment he entered it. To save the poor creature was impossible. For a few days longer, I could keep pain in subjection, and could make death easy when it came.
“At my next visit he was able to speak.
“I discovered that he was a member of my own profession — a mulatto from the Southern States of America, by birth. The one fatal event of his life had been his marriage. Every worst offence of which a bad woman can be guilty, his vile24 wife had committed — and his infatuated love clung to her through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not once, but again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances which degraded him in his own estimation, and in the estimation of his best friends. On the last occasion when she left him, he had followed her to Montreal. In a fit of drunken frenzy25, she had freed him from her at last by self-destruction. Her death affected26 his reason. When he was discharged from the asylum27, he spent his last miserable28 savings29 in placing a monument over her grave. As long as his strength held out, he made daily pilgrimages to the cemetery30. And now, when the shadow of death was darkening over him, his one motive31 for clinging to life, his one reason for vainly entreating32 me to cure him, still centred in devotion to the memory of his wife. ‘Nobody will take care of her grave,’ he said, ‘when I am gone.’
“My love, I have always thought fondly of you. After hearing this miserable story, my heart overflowed33 with gratitude34 to God for giving me Carmina.
“He died yesterday. His last words implored35 me to have him buried in the same grave with the woman who had dishonoured36 him. Who am I that I should judge him? Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a thank-offering for You.
“There is still something more to tell.
“On the day before his death he asked me to open an old portmanteau — literally37, the one thing that he possessed38. He had no money left, and no clothes. In a corner of the portmanteau there was a roll of papers, tied with a piece of string — and that was all.
“I can make you but one return,’ he said; ‘I give you my book.’
“He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or to express any wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed to say I set no sort of value on the manuscript presented to me — except as a memorial of a sad incident in my life. Waking earlier than usual this morning, I opened and examined my gift for the first time.
“To my amazement39, I found myself rewarded a hundredfold for the little that I had been able to do. This unhappy man must have been possessed of abilities which (under favouring circumstances) would, I don’t hesitate to say, have ranked him among the greatest physicians of our time. The language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes grammatically incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved a problem in the treatment of disease, which has thus far been the despair of medical men throughout the whole civilised world.
“If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would be inclined to say, This curious lover writes to his young lady as if she was a medical colleague! We understand each other, Carmina, don’t we? My future career is an object of interest to my future wife. This poor fellow’s gratitude has opened new prospects40 to me; and who will be so glad to hear of it as you?
“Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a word more about my health. Sometimes I feel well enough to take my cabin in the next vessel41 that sails for Liverpool. But there are other occasions, particularly when I happen to over-exert myself in walking or riding, which warn me to be careful and patient. My next journey will take me inland, to the mighty42 plains and forest of this grand country. When I have breathed the health-giving air of those regions, I shall be able to write definitely of the blessed future day which is to unite us once more.
“My mother has, I suppose, given her usual conversazione at the end of the season. Let me hear how you like the scientific people at close quarters, and let me give you a useful hint. When you meet in society with a particularly positive man, who looks as if he was sitting for his photograph, you may safely set that man down as a Professor.
“Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well together. You say too little of each other in your letters to me, and I am sometimes troubled by misgivings43. There is another odd circumstance, connected with our correspondence, which sets me wondering. I always send messages to Miss Minerva; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages back to me. Do you forget? or am I an object of perfect indifference44 to your friend?
“My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a letter, in one of the envelopes that I directed for her when I went away. Miss Minerva’s hair would stand on end if she could see the blots45 and the spelling. Zo’s account of the family circle (turned into intelligible46 English), will I think personally interest you. Here it is, in its own Roman brevity — with your pretty name shortened to two syllables47: ‘Except Pa and Car, we are a bad lot at home.’ After that, I can add nothing that is worth reading.
“Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the blank morsel48 of paper below, and love me as I love you. There is a world of meaning, Carmina, even in those commonplace words. Oh, if I could only go to you by the mail steamer, in the place of my letter!”
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1
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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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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32
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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33
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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35
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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38
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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41
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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43
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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44
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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45
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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46
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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47
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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48
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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