Dr. Archie had gone at once to his friend Hartley Evans, the throat specialist, and had asked him to tell him of a good piano teacher and direct him to a good boarding-house. Dr. Evans said he could easily tell him who was the best piano teacher in Chicago, but that most students’ boarding-houses were “abominable places, where girls got poor food for body and mind.” He gave Dr. Archie several addresses, however, and the doctor went to look the places over. He left Thea in her room, for she seemed tired and was not at all like herself. His inspection5 of boardinghouses was not encouraging. The only place that seemed to him at all desirable was full, and the mistress of the house could not give Thea a room in which she could have a piano. She said Thea might use the piano in her parlor6; but when Dr. Archie went to look at the parlor he found a girl talking to a young man on one of the corner sofas. Learning that the boarders received all their callers there, he gave up that house, too, as hopeless.
So when they set out to make the acquaintance of Mr. Larsen on the afternoon he had appointed, the question of a lodging8 was still undecided. The Swedish Reform Church was in a sloughy9, weedy district, near a group of factories. The church itself was a very neat little building. The parsonage, next door, looked clean and comfortable, and there was a well-kept yard about it, with a picket10 fence. Thea saw several little children playing under a swing, and wondered why ministers always had so many. When they rang at the parsonage door, a capable-looking Swedish servant girl answered the bell and told them that Mr. Larsen’s study was in the church, and that he was waiting for them there.
Mr. Larsen received them very cordially. The furniture in his study was so new and the pictures were so heavily framed, that Thea thought it looked more like the waiting-room of the fashionable Denver dentist to whom Dr. Archie had taken her that summer, than like a preacher’s study. There were even flowers in a glass vase on the desk. Mr. Larsen was a small, plump man, with a short, yellow beard, very white teeth, and a little turned-up nose on which he wore gold-rimmed eye-glasses. He looked about thirty-five, but he was growing bald, and his thin, hair was parted above his left ear and brought up over the bare spot on the top of his head. He looked cheerful and agreeable. He wore a blue coat and no cuffs11.
After Dr. Archie and Thea sat down on a slippery leather couch, the minister asked for an outline of Thea’s plans. Dr. Archie explained that she meant to study piano with Andor Harsanyi; that they had already seen him, that Thea had played for him and he said he would be glad to teach her.
Mr. Larsen lifted his pale eyebrows12 and rubbed his plump white hands together. “But he is a concert pianist already. He will be very expensive.”
“That’s why Miss Kronborg wants to get a church position if possible. She has not money enough to see her through the winter. There’s no use her coming all the way from Colorado and studying with a second-rate teacher. My friends here tell me Harsanyi is the best.”
“Oh, very likely! I have heard him play with Thomas. You Western people do things on a big scale. There are half a dozen teachers that I should think—However, you know what you want.” Mr. Larsen showed his contempt for such extravagant13 standards by a shrug14. He felt that Dr. Archie was trying to impress him. He had succeeded, indeed, in bringing out the doctor’s stiffest manner. Mr. Larsen went on to explain that he managed the music in his church himself, and drilled his choir15, though the tenor16 was the official choirmaster. Unfortunately there were no vacancies17 in his choir just now. He had his four voices, very good ones. He looked away from Dr. Archie and glanced at Thea. She looked troubled, even a little frightened when he said this, and drew in her lower lip. She, certainly, was not pretentious18, if her protector was. He continued to study her. She was sitting on the lounge, her knees far apart, her gloved hands lying stiffly in her lap, like a country girl. Her turban, which seemed a little too big for her, had got tilted19 in the wind,—it was always windy in that part of Chicago,—and she looked tired. She wore no veil, and her hair, too, was the worse for the wind and dust. When he said he had all the voices he required, he noticed that her gloved hands shut tightly. Mr. Larsen reflected that she was not, after all, responsible for the lofty manner of her father’s physician; that she was not even responsible for her father, whom he remembered as a tiresome20 fellow. As he watched her tired, worried face, he felt sorry for her.
“All the same, I would like to try your voice,” he said, turning pointedly21 away from her companion. “I am interested in voices. Can you sing to the violin?”
“I guess so,” Thea replied dully. “I don’t know. I never tried.”
Mr. Larsen took his violin out of the case and began to tighten22 the keys. “We might go into the lecture-room and see how it goes. I can’t tell much about a voice by the organ. The violin is really the proper instrument to try a voice.” He opened a door at the back of his study, pushed Thea gently through it, and looking over his shoulder to Dr. Archie said, “Excuse us, sir. We will be back soon.”
Dr. Archie chuckled23. All preachers were alike, officious and on their dignity; liked to deal with women and girls, but not with men. He took up a thin volume from the minister’s desk. To his amusement it proved to be a book of “Devotional and Kindred Poems; by Mrs. Aurelia S. Larsen.” He looked them over, thinking that the world changed very little. He could remember when the wife of his father’s minister had published a volume of verses, which all the church members had to buy and all the children were encouraged to read. His grandfather had made a face at the book and said, “Puir body!” Both ladies seemed to have chosen the same subjects, too: Jephthah’s Daughter, Rizpah, David’s Lament24 for Absalom, etc. The doctor found the book very amusing.
The Reverend Lars Larsen was a reactionary25 Swede. His father came to Iowa in the sixties, married a Swedish girl who was ambitious, like himself, and they moved to Kansas and took up land under the Homestead Act. After that, they bought land and leased it from the Government, acquired land in every possible way. They worked like horses, both of them; indeed, they would never have used any horse-flesh they owned as they used themselves. They reared a large family and worked their sons and daughters as mercilessly as they worked themselves; all of them but Lars. Lars was the fourth son, and he was born lazy. He seemed to bear the mark of overstrain on the part of his parents. Even in his cradle he was an example of physical inertia26; anything to lie still. When he was a growing boy his mother had to drag him out of bed every morning, and he had to be driven to his chores. At school he had a model “attendance record,” because he found getting his lessons easier than farm work. He was the only one of the family who went through the high school, and by the time he graduated he had already made up his mind to study for the ministry27, because it seemed to him the least laborious28 of all callings. In so far as he could see, it was the only business in which there was practically no competition, in which a man was not all the time pitted against other men who were willing to work themselves to death. His father stubbornly opposed Lars’s plan, but after keeping the boy at home for a year and finding how useless he was on the farm, he sent him to a theological seminary—as much to conceal29 his laziness from the neighbors as because he did not know what else to do with him.
Larsen, like Peter Kronborg, got on well in the ministry, because he got on well with the women. His English was no worse than that of most young preachers of American parentage, and he made the most of his skill with the violin. He was supposed to exert a very desirable influence over young people and to stimulate30 their interest in church work. He married an American girl, and when his father died he got his share of the property—which was very considerable. He invested his money carefully and was that rare thing, a preacher of independent means. His white, well-kept hands were his result,—the evidence that he had worked out his life successfully in the way that pleased him. His Kansas brothers hated the sight of his hands.
Larsen liked all the softer things of life,—in so far as he knew about them. He slept late in the morning, was fussy31 about his food, and read a great many novels, preferring sentimental32 ones. He did not smoke, but he ate a great deal of candy “for his throat,” and always kept a box of chocolate drops in the upper right-hand drawer of his desk. He always bought season tickets for the symphony concerts, and he played his violin for women’s culture clubs. He did not wear cuffs, except on Sunday, because he believed that a free wrist facilitated his violin practice. When he drilled his choir he always held his hand with the little and index fingers curved higher than the other two, like a noted33 German conductor he had seen. On the whole, the Reverend Larsen was not an insincere man; he merely spent his life resting and playing, to make up for the time his forebears had wasted grubbing in the earth. He was simple-hearted and kind; he enjoyed his candy and his children and his sacred cantatas34. He could work energetically at almost any form of play.
Dr. Archie was deep in “The Lament of Mary Magdalen,” when Mr. Larsen and Thea came back to the study. From the minister’s expression he judged that Thea had succeeded in interesting him.
Mr. Larsen seemed to have forgotten his hostility35 toward him, and addressed him frankly36 as soon as he entered. He stood holding his violin, and as Thea sat down he pointed7 to her with his bow:—
“I have just been telling Miss Kronborg that though I cannot promise her anything permanent, I might give her something for the next few months. My soprano is a young married woman and is temporarily indisposed. She would be glad to be excused from her duties for a while. I like Miss Kronborg’s singing very much, and I think she would benefit by the instruction in my choir. Singing here might very well lead to something else. We pay our soprano only eight dollars a Sunday, but she always gets ten dollars for singing at funerals. Miss Kronborg has a sympathetic voice, and I think there would be a good deal of demand for her at funerals. Several American churches apply to me for a soloist37 on such occasions, and I could help her to pick up quite a little money that way.”
This sounded lugubrious38 to Dr. Archie, who had a physician’s dislike of funerals, but he tried to accept the suggestion cordially.
“Miss Kronborg tells me she is having some trouble getting located,” Mr. Larsen went on with animation39, still holding his violin. “I would advise her to keep away from boarding-houses altogether. Among my parishioners there are two German women, a mother and daughter. The daughter is a Swede by marriage, and clings to the Swedish Church. They live near here, and they rent some of their rooms. They have now a large room vacant, and have asked me to recommend some one. They have never taken boarders, but Mrs. Lorch, the mother, is a good cook,—at least, I am always glad to take supper with her,—and I think I could persuade her to let this young woman partake of the family table. The daughter, Mrs. Andersen, is musical, too, and sings in the Mozart Society. I think they might like to have a music student in the house. You speak German, I suppose?” he turned to Thea.
“Oh, no; a few words. I don’t know the grammar,” she murmured.
Dr. Archie noticed that her eyes looked alive again, not frozen as they had looked all morning. “If this fellow can help her, it’s not for me to be stand-offish,” he said to himself.
“Do you think you would like to stay in such a quiet place, with old-fashioned people?” Mr. Larsen asked. “I shouldn’t think you could find a better place to work, if that’s what you want.”
“I think mother would like to have me with people like that,” Thea replied. “And I’d be glad to settle down most anywhere. I’m losing time.”
“Very well, there’s no time like the present. Let us go to see Mrs. Lorch and Mrs. Andersen.”
The minister put his violin in its case and caught up a black-and-white checked traveling-cap that he wore when he rode his high Columbia wheel. The three left the church together.
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1
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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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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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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disillusioning
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| 使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭( disillusion的现在分词 ) | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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7
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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8
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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sloughy
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| adj.泥沼的；泥泞的；脱落的；蜕皮的 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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11
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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13
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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14
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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15
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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16
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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17
vacancies
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| n.空房间( vacancy的名词复数 )；空虚；空白；空缺 | |
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18
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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19
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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21
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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22
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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23
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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25
reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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26
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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28
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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29
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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30
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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31
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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32
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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33
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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34
cantatas
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| n.大合唱( cantata的名词复数 )；清唱剧 | |
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35
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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36
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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37
soloist
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| n.独奏者，独唱者 | |
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38
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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39
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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