Mr. Povey was playing a hymn1 tune2 on the harmonium, it having been decided3 that no one should go to chapel4. Constance, in mourning, with a white apron5 over her dress, sat on a hassock in front of the fire; and near her, in a rocking-chair, Mrs. Baines swayed very gently to and fro. The weather was extremely cold. Mr. Povey's mittened6 hands were blue and red; but, like many shopkeepers, he had apparently7 grown almost insensible to vagaries8 of temperature. Although the fire was immense and furious, its influence, owing to the fact that the mediaeval grate was designed to heat the flue rather than the room, seemed to die away at the borders of the fender. Constance could not have been much closer to it without being a salamander. The era of good old-fashioned Christmases, so agreeably picturesque9 for the poor, was not yet at an end.
Yes, Samuel Povey had won the battle concerning the locus10 of the family Christmas. But he had received the help of a formidable ally, death. Mrs. Harriet Maddack had passed away, after an operation, leaving her house and her money to her sister. The solemn rite11 of her interment had deeply affected12 all the respectability of the town of Axe13, where the late Mr. Maddack had been a figure of consequence; it had even shut up the shop in St. Luke's Square for a whole day. It was such a funeral as Aunt Harriet herself would have approved, a tremendous ceremonial which left on the crushed mind an ineffaceable, intricate impression of shiny cloth, crape, horses with arching necks and long manes, the drawl of parsons, cake, port, sighs, and Christian14 submission15 to the inscrutable decrees of Providence16. Mrs. Baines had borne herself with unnatural17 calmness until the funeral was over: and then Constance perceived that the remembered mother of her girlhood existed no longer. For the majority of human souls it would have been easier to love a virtuous18 principle, or a mountain, than to love Aunt Harriet, who was assuredly less a woman than an institution. But Mrs. Baines had loved her, and she had been the one person to whom Mrs. Baines looked for support and guidance. When she died, Mrs. Baines paid the tribute of respect with the last hoarded19 remains20 of her proud fortitude21, and weepingly confessed that the unconquerable had been conquered, the inexhaustible exhausted22; and became old with whitening hair.
She had persisted in her refusal to spend Christmas in Bursley, but both Constance and Samuel knew that the resistance was only formal. She soon yielded. When Constance's second new servant took it into her head to leave a week before Christmas, Mrs. Baines might have pointed23 out the finger of Providence at work again, and this time in her favour. But no! With amazing pliancy24 she suggested that she should bring one of her own servants to 'tide Constance over' Christmas. She was met with all the forms of loving solicitude25, and she found that her daughter and son-in-law had 'turned out of' the state bedroom in her favour. Intensely nattered by this attention (which was Mr. Povey's magnanimous idea), she nevertheless protested strongly. Indeed she 'would not hear of it.'
"Now, mother, don't be silly," Constance had said firmly. "You don't expect us to be at all the trouble of moving back again, do you?" And Mrs. Baines had surrendered in tears.
Thus had come Christmas. Perhaps it was fortunate that, the Axe servant being not quite the ordinary servant, but a benefactor26 where a benefactor was needed, both Constance and her mother thought it well to occupy themselves in household work, 'sparing' the benefactor as much as possible. Hence's Constance's white apron.
"There he is!" said Mr. Povey, still playing, but with his eye on the street.
Constance sprang up eagerly. Then there was a knock on the door. Constance opened, and an icy blast swept into the room. The postman stood on the steps, his instrument for knocking (like a drumstick) in one hand, a large bundle of letters in the other, and a yawning bag across the pit of his stomach.
"Merry Christmas, ma'am!" cried the postman, trying to keep warm by cheerfulness.
Constance, taking the letters, responded, while Mr. Povey, playing the harmonium with his right hand, drew half a crown from his pocket with the left.
"Here you are!" he said, giving it to Constance, who gave it to the postman.
Fan, who had been keeping her muzzle27 warm with the extremity28 of her tail on the sofa, jumped down to superintend the transaction.
"Brrr!" vibrated Mr. Povey as Constance shut the door.
"What lots!" Constance exclaimed, rushing to the fire. "Here, mother! Here, Sam!"
The girl had resumed possession of the woman's body.
Though the Baines family had few friends (sustained hospitality being little practised in those days) they had, of course, many acquaintances, and, like other families, they counted their Christmas cards as an Indian counts scalps. The tale was satisfactory. There were between thirty and forty envelopes. Constance extracted Christmas cards rapidly, reading their contents aloud, and then propping29 them up on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Baines assisted. Fan dealt with the envelopes on the floor. Mr. Povey, to prove that his soul was above toys and gewgaws, continued to play the harmonium.
"Oh, mother!" Constance murmured in a startled, hesitant voice, holding an envelope.
"What is it, my chuck?"
"It's----"
The envelope was addressed to "Mrs. and Miss Baines" in large, perpendicular30, dashing characters which Constance instantly recognised as Sophia's. The stamps were strange, the postmark 'Paris.' Mrs. Baines leaned forward and looked.
"Open it, child," she said.
The envelope contained an English Christmas card of a common type, a spray of holly31 with greetings, and on it was written, "I do hope this will reach you on Christmas morning. Fondest love." No signature, nor address.
Mrs. Baines took it with a trembling hand, and adjusted her spectacles. She gazed at it a long time.
"And it has done!" she said, and wept.
She tried to speak again, but not being able to command herself, held forth32 the card to Constance and jerked her head in the direction of Mr. Povey. Constance rose and put the card on the keyboard of the harmonium.
"Sophia!" she whispered.
Mr. Povey stopped playing. "Dear, dear!" he muttered.
Fan, perceiving that nobody was interested in her feats33, suddenly stood still.
Mrs. Baines tried once more to speak, but could not. Then, her ringlets shaking beneath the band of her weeds, she found her feet, stepped to the harmonium, and, with a movement almost convulsive, snatched the card from Mr. Povey, and returned to her chair.
Mr. Povey abruptly34 left the room, followed by Fan. Both the women were in tears, and he was tremendously surprised to discover a dangerous lump in his own throat. The beautiful and imperious vision of Sophia, Sophia as she had left them, innocent, wayward, had swiftly risen up before him and made even him a woman too! Yet he had never liked Sophia. The awful secret wound in the family pride revealed itself to him as never before, and he felt intensely the mother's tragedy, which she carried in her breast as Aunt Harriet had carried a cancer.
At dinner he said suddenly to Mrs. Baines, who still wept: "Now, mother, you must cheer up, you know."
"Yes, I must," she said quickly. And she did do.
Neither Samuel nor Constance saw the card again. Little was said. There was nothing to say. As Sophia had given no address she must be still ashamed of her situation. But she had thought of her mother and sister. She ... she did not even know that Constance was married ... What sort of a place was Paris? To Bursley, Paris was nothing but the site of a great exhibition which had recently closed.
Through the influence of Mrs. Baines a new servant was found for Constance in a village near Axe, a raw, comely35 girl who had never been in a 'place.' And through the post it was arranged that this innocent should come to the cave on the thirty-first of December. In obedience36 to the safe rule that servants should never be allowed to meet for the interchange of opinions, Mrs. Baines decided to leave with her own servant on the thirtieth. She would not be persuaded to spend the New Year in the Square. On the twenty-ninth poor Aunt Maria died all of a sudden in her cottage in Brougham Street. Everybody was duly distressed37, and in particular Mrs. Baines's demeanour under this affliction showed the perfection of correctness. But she caused it to be understood that she should not remain for the funeral. Her nerves would be unequal to the ordeal38; and, moreover, her servant must not stay to corrupt39 the new girl, nor could Mrs. Baines think of sending her servant to Axe in advance, to spend several days in idle gossip with her colleague.
This decision took the backbone40 out of Aunt Maria's funeral, which touched the extreme of modesty41: a hearse and a one-horse coach. Mr. Povey was glad, because he happened to be very busy. An hour before his mother-in-law's departure he came into the parlour with the proof of a poster.
"What is that, Samuel?" asked Mrs. Baines, not dreaming of the blow that awaited her.
"It's for my first Annual Sale," replied Mr. Povey with false tranquillity42.
Mrs. Baines merely tossed her head. Constance, happily for Constance, was not present at this final defeat of the old order. Had she been there, she would certainly not have known where to look.
1 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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2 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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3 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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4 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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5 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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6 mittened | |
v.(使)变得潮湿,变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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8 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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9 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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10 locus | |
n.中心 | |
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11 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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12 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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13 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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14 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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15 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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16 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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17 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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18 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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19 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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21 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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22 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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23 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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24 pliancy | |
n.柔软,柔顺 | |
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25 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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26 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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27 muzzle | |
n.鼻口部;口套;枪(炮)口;vt.使缄默 | |
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28 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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29 propping | |
支撑 | |
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30 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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31 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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32 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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33 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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34 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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35 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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36 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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37 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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38 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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39 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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40 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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41 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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42 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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