From the time of his mother's speech with him after her return from Gloucestershire, thoughts such as these passed often through Roxholm's mind. "It might have been; it might have been," she had said, and the curious leap of blood and pulse he had felt had vaguely shocked him. It scarcely seemed becoming that so young a creature as this lovely hoyden8 should so move a man. 'Twas the fashion that girl beauties should be women early, and at Court he had seen young things, wives and mothers when they were scarce older; but this one seemed more than half a boy and—and—! Yet he knew that he had been in earnest when he had said, "I would keep away."
"I know," he had said to himself when he had been alone later; "I know that if the creature were a woman, 'twould be best that I should keep away—'twould be best for any man to keep away from her, who was not free to bear any suffering his passion for her might bring him. The man who will be chief of a great house—whose actions affect the lives of hundreds—is not free, even to let himself be put to the torture"—and he smiled unconsciously the smile which was a little grim.
He had seen and studied many women, and in studying them had learned to know much of himself. He had not been so unconscious of them as he had seemed. Such a man must meet with adventures at any time, and at a period still tainted9 by the freedom of a dissolute reign10, even though 'tis near twenty years past, his life, in his own despite, must contain incidents which would reveal much to the world, if related to it. Roxholm had met with such adventures, little as they were to his taste, and had found at both foreign and English Courts that all women were not non-attacking creatures, and in discovering this had learned that a man must be a stone to resist the luring11 of some lovely eyes.
"I need not think myself invulnerable," he had thought often. "I can resist because I have loved none of them. Had it chanced otherwise—God have mercy on my soul!"
And now the current of his life for weeks seemed strangely set towards one being. When he returned to London after seeing his parents depart for Italy, he met in his first walk in the city streets his erst fellow-collegian and officer, Lieutenant12 Thomas Tantillion, in England on leave, who almost hallooed with joy at sight of him, shaking him by the hand as if his arm had been a pump-handle, and then thrusting his own arm through it, and insisting affectionately on dragging him along the street that he might pour forth13 his renewed protestations of affection and the story of his adventures.
"Never was I more glad to see a man," he said. "I'm damned if we scapegraces have not missed thy good-looking face. Thou art a fine fellow, Roxholm—and good-natured—ay, and modest, too—for all thy beauty and learning. Many a man, with half thou hast, would wear grand Court airs to a rattle-pated rascal14 like Tom Tantillion. Wilford does it—and he is but a Viscount, and for all his straight nose and fine eyes but five feet ten. Good Lord! he looks down on us who did not pass well at the University, like a cock on a dunghill."
The Marquess laughed out heartily15, having in his mind a lively picture of my Lord Wilford, whose magnificence of bearing he knew well.
"Art coming back, Roxholm?" asked Tom next. "When does thy leave expire?"
"I am coming back," Roxholm answered, "but I shall not long live a soldier's life. 'Tis but part of what I wish to do."
"His Grace of Marlborough misses thee, I warrant," said Tom. "'Tis often said he never loved a human thing on earth but John Churchill and his Duchess, but I swear he warmed to thee."
"He did me honour, if 'tis true," Roxholm said, "but I am not vain enough to believe it—gracious as he has been."
At that moment his volatile16 companion gave his arm a clutch and stopped their walk as if a sudden thought had seized him.
"Where wert thou going, Roxholm?" he asked. "Lord, Lord, I was so glad to see thee, that I forgot."
"What didst forget, Tom?"
Tom slapt his thigh17 hilariously18. "That I had an errand on hand. A good joke, split me, Roxholm! Come with me; I go to see the picture of a beauty, stole by the painter, who is always drunk, and with his clothes in pawn19, and lives in a garret in Rag Lane."
He was in the highest spirits over the adventure, and would drag Roxholm with him, telling him the story as they went. The painter, who was plainly enough a drunken rapscallion fellow, in strolling about the country, getting his lodging20 and skin full of ale, now here, now there, by daubing Turks' Heads, Foxes and Hounds, and Pigs and Whistles, as signs for rustic21 ale-houses, had seen ride by one day a young lady of such beauty that he had made a sketch22 of her from memory, and finding where she lived, had hung about in the park to get a glimpse of her again, and having succeeded, had made her portrait and brought it back to town, in the hope that some gentleman might be taken by its charms and buy it.
"He hath drunk himself down to his last groat, and will let it go for a song now," said Tom. "I would get there before any other fellow does. Jack23 Wyse and Hal Langton both want it, but they have gamed their pockets empty, and wait till necessity forces him to lower his price to their means. But an hour since I heard that he had pawned24 his breeches and lay in bed writing begging letters. So now is the time to visit him. It was in Gloucestershire he found her—"
He stopped and turned round.
"Hang me! 'Tis the very one Bet wrote of, and I read you the letter. Dost remember it? The vixen who clouted25 the Chaplain for kissing her."
"Yes," said Roxholm; "I remember."
Tom rattled26 on in monstrous27 spirits. "I have had further letters from Bet," he said, "and each is a sermon with the beauty's sins for a text. The women are so jealous of her that the men could not forget her if they would, they scold so everlastingly28. Lord, what a stir the hoyden is making!"
They turned into Rag Lane presently, and 'twas dingy29 enough, being a dirty, narrow place, with high black houses on either side, their windows broken and stuffed with bits of rag and paper, their doorways30 ornamented31 with slatternly women or sodden-faced men, while up and down ran squalid, noisy children under the flapping pieces of poor wearing apparel hung on lines to dry.
After some questioning they found the house the man they were in search of lived in, and 'twas a shade dingier32 than the rest. They mounted a black broken-down stairway till they reached the garret, and there knocked at the door.
For a few moments there was no answer, but that they could hear loud and steady snores within.
"He is sleeping it off!" said Tom, grinning, and whacked33 loudly on the door's cracked panels, by which, after two or three attacks, he evidently disturbed the sleeper34, who was heard first to snort and then to begin to grumble35 forth drowsy36 profanities.
"Let us in," cried Tom. "I bring you a patron, sleepy fool."
Then 'twas plain some one tumbled from his bed and shuffled37 forward to the door, whose handle he had some difficulty in turning. But when he got the door open, and caught sight of lace and velvet38, plumed39 hats and shining swords, he was not so drunk but that which the sight suggested enlivened and awaked him. He uttered an exclamation40, threw the door wide, and stood making unsteady but humbly41 propitiatory43 bows.
"Your lordships' pardon," he said. "I was asleep and knew not that such honour awaited me. Enter, your lordships; I pray you enter."
'Twas a little mean place with no furnishings but a broken bedstead, a rickety chair, and an uncleanly old table on which were huddled44 together a dry loaf, an empty bottle, and some poor daubs of pictures. The painter himself was an elderly man with a blotched face, a bibulous45 eye, and half unclothed, he having wrapped a dirty blanket about his body to conceal46 decently his lack of nether47 garments.
"We come to look at your portrait of the Gloucestershire beauty," said Tom.
"All want to look at it, my Lord," said the man, with a leer, half servile, half cunning. "There came two young gentlemen of fashion yesterday morning, and almost lost their wits at sight of it. Either would have bought it, but both had had ill luck at basset for a week and so could do no more than look, and go forth with their mouths watering."
Tom grinned.
"We are poor fellows who find it hard to sell our wares," the artist answered. "'Tis only such as the great Mr. Kneller who do not starve, and lie abed because their shirts and breeches are in pawn. When a man has a picture like to take the fancy of every young nobleman in town, he may well ask its value."
"Let us see it," cried Tom. "To a gentleman it may seem a daub."
The man looked at him slyly.
"'Twould pay me to keep it hid here and exhibit it for a fee," he said. "The gentlemen who were here yesterday will tell others, and they will come and ask to look at it, and then—"
"Show it to us, sir," said Roxholm, breaking in suddenly in his deeper voice and taking a step forward.
He had stood somewhat behind, not being at first in the mood to take part in the conversation, having no liking49 for the situation. That a young lady's portrait should be stolen from her, so to speak, and put on sale by a drunken painter without her knowledge, annoyed him—and the man's leering hint of its future exhibition roused his blood.
"Show it to us, sir," he said, and in his voice there was that suggestion of command which is often in the voice of a man who has had soldiers under him.
The but half-sober limner being addressed by him for the first time, and for the first time looking at him directly, gave way to a slight hiccoughing start and strove to stand more steady. 'Twas no gay youthful rake who stood before him, but plainly a great gentleman, and most amazing tall and stately. 'Twas not a boy come to look at a peep-show, but might be a possible patron.
"Yes, your lordship," he stammered50, bowing shakily, "I—I will bring it forth. Your lordship will find the young lady a wonder." He went swaying across the room, and opened a cupboard in the wall. The canvas stood propped51 up within, and he took it out and brought it back to them—keeping its face turned away.
"Let me set it in as good a light as the poor place can give," he said, and dragged forth the rickety-legged chair that he might prop42 it against its back, for the moment looking less drunk and less a vagabond in his eagerness to do his work justice; there lurking52 somewhere, perhaps, in his besotted being, that love which the artist soul feels for the labour of its dreams.
"In sooth, my lord, 'tis a thing which should have been better done," he said. "I could have done the young lady's loveliness more justice, had I but had the time. First I saw her for scarce more than a moment, and her face so haunted me that I sketched53 it for my own pleasure—and then I hung about her father's park for days, until by great fortune I came upon her one morning standing54 under a tree, her dogs at her feet, and she lost in thought—and with such eyes gazing before her—! I stood behind a tree and did my best, trembling lest she should turn. But no man could paint her eyes, my lord," rubbing his head ruefully; "no man could paint them. Mr. Kneller will not—when she weds55 a Duke and comes to queen it at the Court."
He had managed to keep before the picture as he spoke56, and now he stepped aside and let them behold57 it, glancing from one to the other.
"Damn!" cried Tom Tantillion, and sprang forward from his chair at sight of it.
My lord Marquess made no exclamation nor spoke one word. The painter marked how tall he stood as he remained stationary58, gazing. He had folded his arms across his big chest and seemed to have unconsciously drawn59 himself to his full height. Presently he spoke to the artist, though without withdrawing his eyes from the picture.
"'Tis no daub," he said. "For a thing done hastily 'tis done well. You have given it spirit."
'Twas fairly said. Indeed, the poor fellow knew something of his trade, 'twas evident, and perhaps for once he had been sober, and inspired by the fire of what he saw before him.
She stood straight with her back against a tree's trunk, her hands behind her, her eyes gazing before. She was tall and strong as young Diana; under the shadow of her Cavalier hat, her rich-tinted face was in splendid gloom, it seeming gloom, not only because her hair was like night, and her long and wide eyes black, but because in her far-off look there was gloom's self and somewhat like a hopeless rebellious60 yearning61. She seemed a storm embodied62 in the form of woman, and yet in her black eyes' depths—as if hid behind their darkest shadows and unknown of by her very self—there lay the possibility of a great and strange melting—a melting which was all woman—and woman who was queen.
"By the Lord!" cried Tom Tantillion again, and then flushed up boyishly and broke forth into an awkward laugh. "She is too magnificent a beauty for an empty-pocketed rascal like me to offer to buy her. I have not what would pay for her—and she knows it. She sets her own price upon herself, as she stands there curling her vermilion lip and daring a man to presume to buy her cheap. 'Tis only a great Duke's son who may make bold to bid." And he turned and bowed, half laughing, half malicious63, to Roxholm. "You, my lord Marquess; a purse as full as yours need not bargain for the thing it would have, but clap down guineas for it."
"A great Duke's son!" "My lord Marquess!" The owner of the picture began to prick64 up his ears. Yes, the truth was what he had thought it.
"The gentleman who owns this picture when the young lady comes up to town that the world may behold her," he said, "will be a proud man."
"No gentleman would have the right to keep it if he had not her permission," said Roxholm—and he said it without lightness.
"Most gentlemen would keep it whether she would or no," answered the painter.
"Catch Langdon or Wyse giving it up," says Tom. "And Wyse said, that blackguard Oxon was coming to see it because he hath made a bet on her in open club, and hearing of the picture, said he would come to see if she were worth his trouble—and buy her to hang in his chambers65, if she were—that he might tell her of it when he went to Gloucestershire to lay siege to her. He brags66 he will persuade her he has prayed to her image for a year."
"What is your price?" said my Lord Roxholm to the painter.
The man set one and 'twas high though 'twould not have seemed so in an age when art was patronised and well paid for in a country where 'twas more generously encouraged than in England in the days of good Queen Anne. In truth, the poor fellow did not expect to get half he asked, but hoped by beginning well to obtain from a Duke's son twice what another gentleman would give him—and he was prepared to haggle67, if need be, for two hours.
But my lord Marquess did not haggle. There had come into his countenance68 the look of a man who has made up his mind to take the thing he wants. He drew forth his purse and paid down the sum in golden guineas and bank-notes, the painter's eyes gloating as they were counted on the table and his head growing giddy with his joy. He would have enough to live drunk for a year, after his own economical methods. A garret—and drink enough—were all he required for bliss69. The picture was to be sent forthwith to Osmonde House, and these directions given, the two gentlemen turned to go. But at the door the Marquess paused and spoke again.
"If any should come here before it is sent to me," he said, "remember that 'tis already purchased and not on exhibition."
The artist bowed low a dozen times.
"On my sacred honour, your lordship," he replied, "none shall see it."
Roxholm regarded him for a moment as if a new thought had presented itself to his mind.
"And remember also," he added, "if any should ask you to try to paint a copy from memory—or to lie in wait for the young lady again and make another—'tis better"—and his voice had in it both meaning and command—"'tis far better to please a patron, than a purchaser who has a momentary70 caprice. Live soberly and do honest work—and bring to me what is worthy71 of inspection72. You need not starve unless 'tis your wish."
"My lord Marquess," cried the man; "your noble lordship," and he made as if he would fall upon his knees.
Roxholm made a gesture towards the picture, still in its place upon the crazy chair.
"I told you that was no daub," he said. "A man who can do that much can do more if he has the spirit."
And his visitors went out and left the artist in his garret, the stormy handsome creature gazing into space on one side, the guineas and bank-notes on the dusty table; and after having reflected upon both for a little space, he thrust his head out of the door and called for his landlady73, who having beheld74 two richly clad gentlemen come from the attic75, was inclined to feel it safe to be civil, and answering his summons went up to him, and being called in, was paid her long unpaid76 dues from the little heap on the table, the seeing of which riches almost blinded her and sent her off willingly to the pawnbroker's to bring back the pledged breeches and coat and linen77.
"The tall gentleman with so superb an air," the poor man said, proudly, trembling with triumphant78 joy, "is my lord Marquess of Roxholm, and he is the heir of the ducal house of Osmonde, and promises me patronage79."
When they passed out into the street and were on their way to St. James's Park, Tom Tantillion was in a state of much interested excitement.
"What shall you do with it, Roxholm?" he asked. "Have it set in a rich gold frame and hung up on the gallery at Osmonde House—or in the country? Good Lord! I dare not have carried her to my lodgings80 if I could have bought her. She would be too high company for me and keep me on my best manners too steady. A man dare not play the fool with such a creature staring at him from the wall. 'Tis only a man who is a hero, and a stately mannered one, who could stay in the same room with her without being put out of countenance. Will she rule in the gallery in town or in the country?"
"She will not be framed or hung, but laid away," answered Roxholm. "I bought her that no ill-mannered rake or braggart81 should get her and be insolent82 to her in her own despite when she could not strike him to his knees and box his ears, as she did the Chaplain's—being only a woman painted on canvas." And he showed his white, strong teeth a little in a strange smile.
"What!" cried Tom. "You did not buy her for your own pleasure——?"
The Marquess stopped with a sudden movement.
"On my faith!" he exclaimed, "there is the Earl of Dunstanwolde. He sees us and comes towards us."
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收听单词发音
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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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2
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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5
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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7
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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8
hoyden
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| n.野丫头，淘气姑娘 | |
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9
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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11
luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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16
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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hilariously
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pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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clouted
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| adj.缀补的，凝固的v.（尤指用手）猛击，重打( clout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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31
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
dingier
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| adj.暗淡的，乏味的( dingy的比较级 )；肮脏的 | |
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whacked
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| a.精疲力尽的 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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35
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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37
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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39
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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40
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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41
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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42
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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43
propitiatory
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| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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44
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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45
bibulous
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| adj.高度吸收的，酗酒的 | |
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46
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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47
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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48
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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49
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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50
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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53
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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54
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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weds
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| v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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brags
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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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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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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