章节正文
itinerary of my journeys and in this case I anticipated opposition
to my wishes, I gave out that I was going for a ramble in the Tyrol--
an old haunt of mine--and propitiated Rose's wrath by declaring
that I intended to study the political and social problems of the
interesting community which dwells in that neighbourhood.
"Perhaps," I hinted darkly, "there may be an outcome of the expedition."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well,"said I carelessly, "there seems a gap that might be filled
by an exhaustive work on--"
"Oh! will you write a book?" she cried, clapping her hands.
"That would be splendid, wouldn't it, Robert?"
"It's the best of introductions to political life nowadays,"
observed my brother, who has, by the way, introduced himself
in this manner several times over. Burlesdon on Ancient Theories
and Modern Facts and The Ultimate Outcome, by a Political Student,
are both works of recognized eminence.
"I believe you are right, Bob, my boy," said I.
"Now promise you'll do it," said Rose earnestly.
"No, I won't promise; but if I find enough material, I will."
"That's fair enough," said Robert.
"Oh, material doesn't matter!" she said, pouting.
But this time she could get no more than a qualified promise
out of me. To tell the truth, I would have wagered a handsome
sum that the story of my expedition that summer would stain
no paper and spoil not a single pen. And that shows how little
we know what the future holds; for here I am, fulfilling my
qualified promise, and writing, as I never thought to write,
a book--though it will hardly serve as an introduction to political life,
and has not a jot to do with the Tyrol.
Neither would it, I fear, please Lady Burlesdon, if I were to submit it
to her critical" target="_blank" title="a.批评的；关键性的">critical eye--a step which I have no intention of taking.
CHAPTER 2
Concerning the Colour of Men's Hair
It was a maxim of my Uncle William's that no man should pass
through Paris without spending four-and-twenty hours there.
My uncle spoke out of a ripe experience of the world, and I
honoured his advice by putting up for a day and a night
at "The Continental" on my way to--the Tyrol. I called on
George Featherly at the Embassy, and we had a bit of dinner together
at Durand's, and afterwards dropped in to the Opera; and after
that we had a little supper, and after that we called on
Bertram Bertrand, a versifier of some repute and Paris correspondent
to The Critic. He had a very comfortable suite of rooms, and we
found some pleasant fellows smoking and talking. It struck me,
however, that Bertram himself was absent and in low spirits,
and when everybody except ourselves had gone, I rallied him
on his moping preoccupation. He fenced with me for a while,
but at last, flinging himself on a sofa, he exclaimed:
"Very well; have it your own way. I am in love--infernally in love!"
"Oh, you'll write the better poetry," said I, by way of consolation.
He ruffled his hair with his hand and smoked furiously.
George Featherly, standing with his back to the mantelpiece,
smiled unkindly.
"If it's the old affair," said he, "you may as well throw it up, Bert.
She's leaving Paris tomorrow."
"I know that," snapped Bertram.
"Not that it would make any difference if she stayed," pursued the
relentless George. "She flies higher than the paper trade, my boy!"
"Hang her!" said Bertram.
"It would make it more interesting for me," I ventured to observe,
"if I knew who you were talking about."
"Antoinette Mauban," said George.
"De Mauban," growled Bertram.
"Oho!" said I, passing by the question of the `de'. "You don't
mean to say, Bert--?"
"Can't you let me alone?"
"Where's she going to?" I asked, for the lady was something
of a celebrity.
George jingled his money, smiled cruelly at poor Bertram,
and answered pleasantly:
"Nobody knows. By the way, Bert, I met a great man at her
house the other night--at least, about a month ago.
Did you ever meet him--the Duke of Strelsau?"
"Yes, I did," growled Bertram.
"An extremelyaccomplished man, I thought him."
It was not hard to see that George's references to the duke
were intended to aggravate poor Bertram's sufferings, so that
I drew the inference that the duke had distinguished Madame
de Mauban by his attentions. She was a widow, rich, handsome, and,
according to repute, ambitious. It was quite possible that she,
as George put it, was flying as high as a personage who was
everything he could be, short of enjoying strictly royal rank:
for the duke was the son of the late King of Ruritania
by a second and morganatic marriage, and half-brother
to the new King. He had been his father's favourite,
and it had occasioned some unfavourable comment when
he had been created a duke, with a title derived from
no less a city than the capital itself. His mother
had been of good, but not exalted, birth.
"He's not in Paris now, is he?" I asked.
"Oh no! He's gone back to be present at the King's coronation;
a ceremony which, I should say, he'll not enjoy much. But,
Bert, old man, don't despair! He won't marry the fair Antoinette--
at least, not unless another plan comes to nothing.
Still perhaps she--" He paused and added, with a laugh:
"Royal attentions are hard to resist--you know that,
don't you, Rudolf?"
"Confound you!" said I; and rising, I left the hapless Bertram
in George's hands and went home to bed.
The next day George Featherly went with me to the station,
where I took a ticket for Dresden.
"Going to see the pictures?" asked George, with a grin.
George is an inveterate gossip, and had I told him that I was
off to Ruritania, the news would have been in London in three
days and in Park Lane in a week. I was, therefore, about to
return an evasive answer, when he saved my conscience by
leaving me suddenly and darting across the platform. Following
him with my eyes, I saw him lift his hat and accost a
graceful, fashionably dressed woman who had just appeared
from the booking-office. She was, perhaps, a year or two over
thirty, tall, dark, and of rather full figure. As George talked,
I
saw her glance at me, and my vanity was hurt by the thought
that, muffled in a fur coat and a neck-wrapper (for it was a chilly
April day) and wearing a soft travelling hat pulled down to my
ears, I must be looking very far from my best. A moment later,
George rejoined me.
"You've got a charming travelling companion," he said.
"That's poor Bert Bertrand's goddess, Antoinette de Mauban,
and, like you, she's going to Dresden--also, no doubt, to see
the pictures. It's very queer, though, that she doesn't
at present desire the honour of your acquaintance."
"I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she said, "Another time."
Never mind, old fellow, perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll
have a chance of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of Strelsau!"
No smash, however, happened, either to me or to Madame de Mauban.
I can speak for her as confidently as for myself; for when,
after a night's rest in Dresden, I continued my journey,
she got into the same train. Understanding that she wished
to be let alone, I avoided her carefully, but I saw that
she went the same way as I did to the very end of my journey,
and I took opportunities of having a good look at her,
when I could do so unobserved.
As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier (where the old
officer who presided over the Custom House favoured me with
such a stare that I felt surer than before of my Elphberg
physiognomy), I bought the papers, and found in them news
which affected my movements. For some reason, which was
not clearly explained, and seemed to be something of a mystery,
the date of the coronation had been suddenly advanced,
and the ceremony was to take place on the next day but one.
The whole country seemed in a stir about it, and it was evident
that Strelsau was thronged. Rooms were all let and hotels overflowing;
there would be very little chance of my obtaining a lodging,
and I should certainly have to pay an exorbitant charge for it.
I made up my mind to stop at Zenda, a small town fifty miles short
of the capital, and about ten from the frontier. My train reached
there in the evening; I would spend the next day, Tuesday,
in a wander over the hills, which were said to be very fine,
and in taking a glance at the famous Castle, and go over by train
to Strelsau on the Wednesday morning, returning at night to sleep at Zenda.
Accordingly at Zenda I got out, and as the train passed where
I stood on the platform, I saw my friend Madame de Mauban in
her place; clearly she was going through to Strelsau, having,
with more providence than I could boast, secured apartments there.
I smiled to think how surprised George Featherly would have been
to know that she and I had been fellow travellers for so long.
I was very kindly received at the hotel--it was really no more
than an inn--kept by a fat old lady and her two daughters.
They were good, quiet people, and seemed very little interested
in the great doings at Strelsau. The old lady's hero was the duke,
for he was now, under the late King's will, master of the Zenda
estates and of the Castle, which rose grandly on its steep hill
at the end of the valley a mile or so from the inn. The old lady,
indeed, did not hesitate to express regret that the duke was not
on the throne, instead of his brother.
"We know Duke Michael," said she. "He has always lived among us;
every Ruritanian knows Duke Michael. But the King is almost
a stranger; he has been so much abroad, not one in ten knows
him even by sight."
"And now," chimed in one of the young women, "they say he
has shaved off his beard, so that no one at all knows him."
"Shaved his beard!" exclaimed her mother. "Who says so?"
"Johann, the duke's keeper. He has seen the King."
"Ah, yes. The King, sir, is now at the duke's hunting-lodge
in the forest here; from here he goes to Strelsau to be crowned
on Wednesday morning."
I was interested to hear this, and made up my mind to walk next day
in the direction of the lodge, on the chance of coming across the King.
The old lady ran on garrulously:
"Ah, and I wish he would stay at his hunting--that and wine
(and one thing more) are all he loves, they say--and suffer our
duke to be crowned on Wednesday. That I wish, and I don't
care who knows it."
"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.
"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old woman stubbornly.
I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and laughed at her zeal.
"For my part," said the younger and prettier of the two daughters,
a fair, buxom, smiling wench, "I hate Black Michael! A red Elphberg
for me, mother! The King, they say, is as red as a fox or as--"
And she laughed mischievously as she cast a glance at me,
and tossed her head at her sister's reproving face.
"Many a man has cursed their red hair before now," muttered
the old lady--and I remembered James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon.
"But never a woman!" cried the girl.
"Ay, and women, when it was too late," was the stern answer,
reducing the girl to silence and blushes.
"How comes the King here?" I asked, to break an embarrassed silence.
"It is the duke's land here, you say."
"The duke invited him, sir, to rest here till Wednesday.
to my wishes, I gave out that I was going for a ramble in the Tyrol--
an old haunt of mine--and propitiated Rose's wrath by declaring
that I intended to study the political and social problems of the
interesting community which dwells in that neighbourhood.
"Perhaps," I hinted darkly, "there may be an outcome of the expedition."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well,"said I carelessly, "there seems a gap that might be filled
by an exhaustive work on--"
"Oh! will you write a book?" she cried, clapping her hands.
"That would be splendid, wouldn't it, Robert?"
"It's the best of introductions to political life nowadays,"
observed my brother, who has, by the way, introduced himself
in this manner several times over. Burlesdon on Ancient Theories
and Modern Facts and The Ultimate Outcome, by a Political Student,
are both works of recognized eminence.
"I believe you are right, Bob, my boy," said I.
"Now promise you'll do it," said Rose earnestly.
"No, I won't promise; but if I find enough material, I will."
"That's fair enough," said Robert.
"Oh, material doesn't matter!" she said, pouting.
But this time she could get no more than a qualified promise
out of me. To tell the truth, I would have wagered a handsome
sum that the story of my expedition that summer would stain
no paper and spoil not a single pen. And that shows how little
we know what the future holds; for here I am, fulfilling my
qualified promise, and writing, as I never thought to write,
a book--though it will hardly serve as an introduction to political life,
and has not a jot to do with the Tyrol.
Neither would it, I fear, please Lady Burlesdon, if I were to submit it
to her critical" target="_blank" title="a.批评的；关键性的">critical eye--a step which I have no intention of taking.
CHAPTER 2
Concerning the Colour of Men's Hair
It was a maxim of my Uncle William's that no man should pass
through Paris without spending four-and-twenty hours there.
My uncle spoke out of a ripe experience of the world, and I
honoured his advice by putting up for a day and a night
at "The Continental" on my way to--the Tyrol. I called on
George Featherly at the Embassy, and we had a bit of dinner together
at Durand's, and afterwards dropped in to the Opera; and after
that we had a little supper, and after that we called on
Bertram Bertrand, a versifier of some repute and Paris correspondent
to The Critic. He had a very comfortable suite of rooms, and we
found some pleasant fellows smoking and talking. It struck me,
however, that Bertram himself was absent and in low spirits,
and when everybody except ourselves had gone, I rallied him
on his moping preoccupation. He fenced with me for a while,
but at last, flinging himself on a sofa, he exclaimed:
"Very well; have it your own way. I am in love--infernally in love!"
"Oh, you'll write the better poetry," said I, by way of consolation.
He ruffled his hair with his hand and smoked furiously.
George Featherly, standing with his back to the mantelpiece,
smiled unkindly.
"If it's the old affair," said he, "you may as well throw it up, Bert.
She's leaving Paris tomorrow."
"I know that," snapped Bertram.
"Not that it would make any difference if she stayed," pursued the
relentless George. "She flies higher than the paper trade, my boy!"
"Hang her!" said Bertram.
"It would make it more interesting for me," I ventured to observe,
"if I knew who you were talking about."
"Antoinette Mauban," said George.
"De Mauban," growled Bertram.
"Oho!" said I, passing by the question of the `de'. "You don't
mean to say, Bert--?"
"Can't you let me alone?"
"Where's she going to?" I asked, for the lady was something
of a celebrity.
George jingled his money, smiled cruelly at poor Bertram,
and answered pleasantly:
"Nobody knows. By the way, Bert, I met a great man at her
house the other night--at least, about a month ago.
Did you ever meet him--the Duke of Strelsau?"
"Yes, I did," growled Bertram.
"An extremelyaccomplished man, I thought him."
It was not hard to see that George's references to the duke
were intended to aggravate poor Bertram's sufferings, so that
I drew the inference that the duke had distinguished Madame
de Mauban by his attentions. She was a widow, rich, handsome, and,
according to repute, ambitious. It was quite possible that she,
as George put it, was flying as high as a personage who was
everything he could be, short of enjoying strictly royal rank:
for the duke was the son of the late King of Ruritania
by a second and morganatic marriage, and half-brother
to the new King. He had been his father's favourite,
and it had occasioned some unfavourable comment when
he had been created a duke, with a title derived from
no less a city than the capital itself. His mother
had been of good, but not exalted, birth.
"He's not in Paris now, is he?" I asked.
"Oh no! He's gone back to be present at the King's coronation;
a ceremony which, I should say, he'll not enjoy much. But,
Bert, old man, don't despair! He won't marry the fair Antoinette--
at least, not unless another plan comes to nothing.
Still perhaps she--" He paused and added, with a laugh:
"Royal attentions are hard to resist--you know that,
don't you, Rudolf?"
"Confound you!" said I; and rising, I left the hapless Bertram
in George's hands and went home to bed.
The next day George Featherly went with me to the station,
where I took a ticket for Dresden.
"Going to see the pictures?" asked George, with a grin.
George is an inveterate gossip, and had I told him that I was
off to Ruritania, the news would have been in London in three
days and in Park Lane in a week. I was, therefore, about to
return an evasive answer, when he saved my conscience by
leaving me suddenly and darting across the platform. Following
him with my eyes, I saw him lift his hat and accost a
graceful, fashionably dressed woman who had just appeared
from the booking-office. She was, perhaps, a year or two over
thirty, tall, dark, and of rather full figure. As George talked,
I
saw her glance at me, and my vanity was hurt by the thought
that, muffled in a fur coat and a neck-wrapper (for it was a chilly
April day) and wearing a soft travelling hat pulled down to my
ears, I must be looking very far from my best. A moment later,
George rejoined me.
"You've got a charming travelling companion," he said.
"That's poor Bert Bertrand's goddess, Antoinette de Mauban,
and, like you, she's going to Dresden--also, no doubt, to see
the pictures. It's very queer, though, that she doesn't
at present desire the honour of your acquaintance."
"I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she said, "Another time."
Never mind, old fellow, perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll
have a chance of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of Strelsau!"
No smash, however, happened, either to me or to Madame de Mauban.
I can speak for her as confidently as for myself; for when,
after a night's rest in Dresden, I continued my journey,
she got into the same train. Understanding that she wished
to be let alone, I avoided her carefully, but I saw that
she went the same way as I did to the very end of my journey,
and I took opportunities of having a good look at her,
when I could do so unobserved.
As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier (where the old
officer who presided over the Custom House favoured me with
such a stare that I felt surer than before of my Elphberg
physiognomy), I bought the papers, and found in them news
which affected my movements. For some reason, which was
not clearly explained, and seemed to be something of a mystery,
the date of the coronation had been suddenly advanced,
and the ceremony was to take place on the next day but one.
The whole country seemed in a stir about it, and it was evident
that Strelsau was thronged. Rooms were all let and hotels overflowing;
there would be very little chance of my obtaining a lodging,
and I should certainly have to pay an exorbitant charge for it.
I made up my mind to stop at Zenda, a small town fifty miles short
of the capital, and about ten from the frontier. My train reached
there in the evening; I would spend the next day, Tuesday,
in a wander over the hills, which were said to be very fine,
and in taking a glance at the famous Castle, and go over by train
to Strelsau on the Wednesday morning, returning at night to sleep at Zenda.
Accordingly at Zenda I got out, and as the train passed where
I stood on the platform, I saw my friend Madame de Mauban in
her place; clearly she was going through to Strelsau, having,
with more providence than I could boast, secured apartments there.
I smiled to think how surprised George Featherly would have been
to know that she and I had been fellow travellers for so long.
I was very kindly received at the hotel--it was really no more
than an inn--kept by a fat old lady and her two daughters.
They were good, quiet people, and seemed very little interested
in the great doings at Strelsau. The old lady's hero was the duke,
for he was now, under the late King's will, master of the Zenda
estates and of the Castle, which rose grandly on its steep hill
at the end of the valley a mile or so from the inn. The old lady,
indeed, did not hesitate to express regret that the duke was not
on the throne, instead of his brother.
"We know Duke Michael," said she. "He has always lived among us;
every Ruritanian knows Duke Michael. But the King is almost
a stranger; he has been so much abroad, not one in ten knows
him even by sight."
"And now," chimed in one of the young women, "they say he
has shaved off his beard, so that no one at all knows him."
"Shaved his beard!" exclaimed her mother. "Who says so?"
"Johann, the duke's keeper. He has seen the King."
"Ah, yes. The King, sir, is now at the duke's hunting-lodge
in the forest here; from here he goes to Strelsau to be crowned
on Wednesday morning."
I was interested to hear this, and made up my mind to walk next day
in the direction of the lodge, on the chance of coming across the King.
The old lady ran on garrulously:
"Ah, and I wish he would stay at his hunting--that and wine
(and one thing more) are all he loves, they say--and suffer our
duke to be crowned on Wednesday. That I wish, and I don't
care who knows it."
"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.
"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old woman stubbornly.
I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and laughed at her zeal.
"For my part," said the younger and prettier of the two daughters,
a fair, buxom, smiling wench, "I hate Black Michael! A red Elphberg
for me, mother! The King, they say, is as red as a fox or as--"
And she laughed mischievously as she cast a glance at me,
and tossed her head at her sister's reproving face.
"Many a man has cursed their red hair before now," muttered
the old lady--and I remembered James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon.
"But never a woman!" cried the girl.
"Ay, and women, when it was too late," was the stern answer,
reducing the girl to silence and blushes.
"How comes the King here?" I asked, to break an embarrassed silence.
"It is the duke's land here, you say."
"The duke invited him, sir, to rest here till Wednesday.
- expedition [,ekspi´diʃən]
n.远征；探险；迅速 (初中英语单词) - writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- introduction [,intrə´dʌkʃən] n.介绍；引言；引导 (初中英语单词)
- submit [səb´mit] vt.使服从；使忍受 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- critic [´kritik] n.批评家；吹毛求疵者 (初中英语单词)
- absent [´æbsənt, əb´sent] a.不在的 vt.使缺席 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- extremely [ik´stri:mli] ad.极端地；非常地 (初中英语单词)
- ambitious [æm´biʃəs] a.有雄心的；热望的 (初中英语单词)
- comment [´kɔment] n.&v.评论；评注；注意 (初中英语单词)
- ceremony [´seriməni] n.典礼；礼仪；客气 (初中英语单词)
- therefore [´ðeəfɔ:] ad.&conj.因此；所以 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- platform [´plætfɔ:m] n.(平)台；讲台；站台 (初中英语单词)
- vanity [´væniti] n.虚荣；自负；空虚 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- goddess [´gɔdis] n.女神 (初中英语单词)
- frontier [´frʌntiə] n.国境；边疆；边界 (初中英语单词)
- charge [tʃɑ:dʒ] v.收费；冲锋 n.费用 (初中英语单词)
- wander [´wɔndə, ´wɑ:n:dər] v.徘徊；流浪 (初中英语单词)
- wednesday [´wenzdi] n.星期三 (初中英语单词)
- doings [´du:iŋz] n.行动；所作的事 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- hesitate [´heziteit] vi.犹豫，踌躇 (初中英语单词)
- abroad [ə´brɔ:d] ad.海外；到处；广泛 (初中英语单词)
- keeper [´ki:pə] n.管理人；看守；保管人 (初中英语单词)
- community [kə´mju:niti] n.团体；社区；公众 (高中英语单词)
- carelessly [´kɛəlisli] ad.粗心地；疏忽地 (高中英语单词)
- ultimate [´ʌltimit] a.最终的 n.终极；顶点 (高中英语单词)
- critical [´kritikəl] a.批评的；关键性的 (高中英语单词)
- embassy [´embəsi] n.大使馆；大使职务 (高中英语单词)
- distinguished [di´stiŋgwiʃt] a.卓越的，著名的 (高中英语单词)
- strictly [´striktli] ad.严格地 (高中英语单词)
- gossip [´gɔsip] n.&vi.说闲话；聊天 (高中英语单词)
- throne [θrəun] n.宝座；王位 (高中英语单词)
- ramble [´ræmbl] v.&n.闲逛；漫步 (英语四级单词)
- outcome [´autkʌm] n.结果；后果；成果 (英语四级单词)
- cruelly [´kruəli] ad.残酷地；极，非常 (英语四级单词)
- accomplished [ə´kʌmpliʃt] a.完成了的；熟练的 (英语四级单词)
- aggravate [´ægrəveit] vt.使加剧；激怒 (英语四级单词)
- inference [´infərəns] n.推论，推断(的结果) (英语四级单词)
- personage [´pə:sənidʒ] n.名流；人物，角色 (英语四级单词)
- favoured [´feivəd] a.有利的，喜爱的 (英语四级单词)
- coronation [,kɔrə´neiʃən] n.加冕典礼 (英语四级单词)
- providence [´prɔvidəns] n.天意，天命，上帝 (英语四级单词)
- armchair [´ɑ:mtʃeə] n.扶手椅 (英语四级单词)
- darkly [´dɑ:kli] adv.暗，黑；暗中 (英语六级单词)
- repute [ri´pju:t] n.名誉(声) vt.称为 (英语六级单词)
- hapless [´hæpləs] a.不幸的；倒楣的 (英语六级单词)
- confidently [´kɔnfidəntli] ad.有信心地；自信地 (英语六级单词)
- affected [ə´fektid] a.做作的；假装的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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