The only other candidate for confirmation at Miss Townley’s was Mary Dunn, a draper’s daughter in Milby and a distant relation of the Miss Linnets. Her pale lanky21 hair could never be coaxed22 into permanent curl, and this morning the heat had brought it down to its natural condition of lankiness23 earlier than usual. But that was not what made her sit melancholy24 and apart at the lower end of the form. Her parents were admirers of Mr. Tryan, and had been persuaded, by the Miss Linnets’ influence, to insist that their daughter should be prepared for confirmation by him, over and above the preparation given to Miss Townley’s pupils by Mr. Crewe. Poor Mary Dunn! I am afraid she thought it too heavy a price to pay for these spiritual advantages, to be excluded from every game at ball to be obliged to walk with none but little girls—in fact, to be the object of an aversion that nothing short of an incessant25 supply of plumcakes would have neutralized26. And Mrs. Dunn was of opinion that plumcake was unwholesome. The anti-Tryanite spirit, you perceive, was very strong at Miss Townley’s, imported probably by day scholars, as well as encouraged by the fact that that clever woman was herself strongly opposed to innovation, and remarked every Sunday that Mr. Crewe had preached an ‘excellent discourse’. Poor Mary Dunn dreaded27 the moment when school-hours would be over, for then she was sure to be the butt29 of those very explicit30 remarks which, in young ladies’ as well as young gentlemen’s seminaries, constitute the most subtle and delicate form of the innuendo31. ‘I’d never be a Tryanite, would you?’ ‘O here comes the lady that knows so much more about religion than we do!’ ‘Some people think themselves so very pious32!’
It is really surprising that young ladies should not be thought competent to the same curriculum as young gentlemen. I observe that their powers of sarcasm are quite equal; and if there had been a genteel academy for young gentlemen at Milby, I am inclined to think that, notwithstanding Euclid and the classics, the party spirit there would not have exhibited itself in more pungent33 irony34, or more incisive35 satire36, than was heard in Miss Townley’s seminary. But there was no such academy, the existence of the grammar-school under Mr. Crewe’s superintendence probably discouraging speculations37 of that kind; and the genteel youths of Milby were chiefly come home for the midsummer holidays from distant schools. Several of us had just assumed coat-tails, and the assumption of new responsibilities apparently38 following as a matter of course, we were among the candidates for confirmation. I wish I could say that the solemnity of our feelings was on a level with the solemnity of the occasion; but unimaginative boys find it difficult to recognize apostolical institutions in their developed form, and I fear our chief emotion concerning the ceremony was a sense of sheepishness, and our chief opinion, the speculative39 and heretical position, that it ought to be confined to the girls. It was a pity, you will say; but it is the way with us men in other crises, that come a long while after confirmation. The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.
But, as I said, the morning was sunny, the bells were ringing, the ladies of Milby were dressed in their Sunday garments.
And who is this bright-looking woman walking with hasty step along Orchard40 Street so early, with a large nosegay in her hand? Can it be Janet Dempster, on whom we looked with such deep pity, one sad midnight, hardly a fortnight ago? Yes; no other woman in Milby has those searching black eyes, that tall graceful41 unconstrained figure, set off by her simple muslin dress and black lace shawl, that massy black hair now so neatly42 braided in glossy43 contrast with the white satin ribbons of her modest cap and bonnet. No other woman has that sweet speaking smile, with which she nods to Jonathan Lamb, the old parish clerk. And, ah!—now she comes nearer—there are those sad lines about the mouth and eyes on which that sweet smile plays like sunbeams on the storm-beaten beauty of the full and ripened44 corn.
She is turning out of Orchard Street, and making her way as fast as she can to her mother’s house, a pleasant cottage facing a roadside meadow, from which the hay is being carried. Mrs. Raynor has had her breakfast, and is seated in her arm-chair reading, when Janet opens the door, saying, in her most playful voice,—‘Please, mother, I’m come to show myself to you before I go to the Parsonage. Have I put on my pretty cap and bonnet to satisfy you?’
Mrs. Raynor looked over her spectacles, and met her daughter’s glance with eyes as dark and loving as her own. She was a much smaller woman than Janet, both in figure and feature, the chief resemblance lying in the eyes and the clear brunette complexion45. The mother’s hair had long been grey, and was gathered under the neatest of caps, made by her own clever fingers, as all Janet’s caps and bonnets46 were too. They were well-practised fingers, for Mrs. Raynor had supported herself in her widowhood by keeping a millinery establishment, and in this way had earned money enough to give her daughter what was then thought a first-rate education, as well as to save a sum which, eked47 out by her son-in-law, sufficed to support her in her solitary48 old age. Always the same clean, neat old lady, dressed in black silk, was Mrs. Raynor: a patient, brave woman, who bowed with resignation under the burden of remembered sorrow, and bore with meek49 fortitude50 the new load that the new days brought with them.
‘Your bonnet wants pulling a trifle forwarder, my child,’ she said, smiling, and taking off her spectacles, while Janet at once knelt down before her, and waited to be ‘set to rights’, as she would have done when she was a child. ‘You’re going straight to Mrs. Crewe’s, I suppose? Are those flowers to garnish51 the dishes?’
‘No, indeed, mother. This is a nosegay for the middle of the table. I’ve sent up the dinner-service and the ham we had cooked at our house yesterday, and Betty is coming directly with the garnish and the plate. We shall get our good Mrs. Crewe through her troubles famously. Dear tiny woman! You should have seen her lift up her hands yesterday, and pray heaven to take her before ever she should have another collation52 to get ready for the Bishop. She said, “It’s bad enough to have the Archdeacon, though he doesn’t want half so many jelly-glasses. I wouldn’t mind, Janet, if it was to feed all the old hungry cripples in Milby; but so much trouble and expense for people who eat too much every day of their lives!” We had such a cleaning and furbishing-up of the sitting-room53 yesterday! Nothing will ever do away with the smell of Mr. Crewe’s pipes, you know; but we have thrown it into the background, with yellow soap and dry lavender. And now I must run away. You will come to church, mother?’
‘Yes, my dear, I wouldn’t lose such a pretty sight. It does my old eyes good to see so many fresh young faces. Is your husband going?’
‘Yes, Robert will be there. I’ve made him as neat as a new pin this morning, and he says the Bishop will think him too buckish by half. I took him into Mammy Dempster’s room to show himself. We hear Tryan is making sure of the Bishop’s support; but we shall see. I would give my crooked54 guinea, and all the luck it will ever bring me, to have him beaten, for I can’t endure the sight of the man coming to harass55 dear old Mr. and Mrs. Crewe in their last days. Preaching the Gospel indeed! That is the best Gospel that makes everybody happy and comfortable, isn’t it, mother?’
‘Ah, child, I’m afraid there’s no Gospel will do that here below.’
‘Well, I can do something to comfort Mrs. Crewe, at least; so give me a kiss, and good-bye till church-time.’
The mother leaned back in her chair when Janet was gone, and sank into a painful reverie. When our life is a continuous trial, the moments of respite56 seem only to substitute the heaviness of dread28 for the heaviness of actual suffering: the curtain of cloud seems parted an instant only that we may measure all its horror as it hangs low, black, and imminent57, in contrast with the transient brightness; the water drops that visit the parched58 lips in the desert bear with them only the keen imagination of thirst. Janet looked glad and tender now—but what scene of misery59 was coming next? She was too like the cistus flowers in the little garden before the window, that, with the shades of evening, might lie with the delicate white and glossy dark of their petals60 trampled61 in the roadside dust. When the sun had sunk, and the twilight62 was deepening, Janet might be sitting there, heated, maddened, sobbing63 out her griefs with selfish passion, and wildly wishing herself dead.
Mrs. Raynor had been reading about the lost sheep, and the joy there is in heaven over the sinner that repenteth. Surely the eternal love she believed in through all the sadness of her lot, would not leave her child to wander farther and farther into the wilderness64 till there was no turning—the child so lovely, so pitiful to others, so good, till she was goaded65 into sin by woman’s bitterest sorrows! Mrs. Raynor had her faith and her spiritual comforts, though she was not in the least evangelical and knew nothing of doctrinal zeal66. I fear most of Mr. Tryan’s hearers would have considered her destitute67 of saving knowledge, and I am quite sure she had no well-defined views on justification68. Nevertheless, she read her Bible a great deal, and thought she found divine lessons there—how to bear the cross meekly69, and be merciful. Let us hope that there is a saving ignorance, and that Mrs. Raynor was justified70 without knowing exactly how.
She tried to have hope and trust, though it was hard to believe that the future would be anything else than the harvest of the seed that was being sown before her eyes. But always there is seed being sown silently and unseen, and everywhere there come sweet flowers without our foresight71 or labour. We reap what we sow, but Nature has love over and above that justice, and gives us shadow and blossom and fruit that spring from no planting of ours.
该作者的其它作品
《弗洛斯河上的磨坊 The Mill on the Floss》
《米德尔马契 Middlemarch》
该作者的其它作品
《弗洛斯河上的磨坊 The Mill on the Floss》
《米德尔马契 Middlemarch》
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1 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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2 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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3 laggard | |
n.落后者;adj.缓慢的,落后的 | |
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4 weavers | |
织工,编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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5 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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6 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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7 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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8 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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9 absolved | |
宣告…无罪,赦免…的罪行,宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 ); 不受责难,免除责任 [义务] ,开脱(罪责) | |
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10 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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11 robins | |
n.知更鸟,鸫( robin的名词复数 );(签名者不分先后,以避免受责的)圆形签名抗议书(或请愿书) | |
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12 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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13 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
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14 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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15 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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16 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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18 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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19 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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20 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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21 lanky | |
adj.瘦长的 | |
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22 coaxed | |
v.哄,用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 );巧言骗取;哄劝,劝诱 | |
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23 lankiness | |
n.又瘦又高的,过分细长的 | |
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24 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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25 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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26 neutralized | |
v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 );抵消;中和;使(一个国家)中立化 | |
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27 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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28 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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29 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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30 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
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31 innuendo | |
n.暗指,讽刺 | |
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32 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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33 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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34 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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35 incisive | |
adj.敏锐的,机敏的,锋利的,切入的 | |
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36 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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37 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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38 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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39 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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40 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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41 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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42 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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43 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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44 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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46 bonnets | |
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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47 eked | |
v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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48 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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49 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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50 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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51 garnish | |
n.装饰,添饰,配菜 | |
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52 collation | |
n.便餐;整理 | |
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53 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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54 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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55 harass | |
vt.使烦恼,折磨,骚扰 | |
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56 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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57 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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58 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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59 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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60 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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61 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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62 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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63 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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64 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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65 goaded | |
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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66 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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67 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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68 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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69 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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70 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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71 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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