章节正文
behave well in the matter, as it was for Mr Harding. It is
much less difficult for the sufferer to be generous than for the
oppressor. John Bold felt that he could not go to the warden's
party: he never loved Eleanor better than he did now; he
had never so strongly felt how anxious he was to make her his
wife as now, when so many obstacles to his doing so appeared
in view. Yet here was her father himself, as it were, clearing
away those very obstacles, and still he felt that he could not go
to the house any more as an open friend.
As he sat thinking of these things with the note in his hand,
his sister was waiting for his decision.
'Well,' said she, 'I suppose we must write separate answers,
and both say we shall be very happy.'
'You'll go, of course, Mary,' said he; to which she readily
assented. 'I cannot,' he continued, looking serious and
gloomy. 'I wish I could, with all my heart.'
'And why not, John?' said she. She had as yet heard
nothing of the new-found abuse which her brother was about
to reform--at least nothing which connected it with her
brother's name.
He sat thinking for a while till he determined that it would
be best to tell her at once what it was that he was about: it
must be done sooner or later.
'I fear I cannot go to Mr Harding's house any more as a
friend, just at present.'
'Oh, John! Why not? Ah, you've quarrelled with Eleanor!'
'No, indeed,' said he; 'I've no quarrel with her as yet.'
'What is it, John?' said she, looking at him with an anxious,
loving face, for she knew well how much of his heart was there
in that house which he said he could no longer enter.
'Why,' said he at last, 'I've taken up the case of these
twelve old men of Hiram's Hospital, and of course that brings
me into contact with Mr Harding. I may have to oppose
him, interfere with him, perhaps injure him.'
Mary looked at him steadily for some time before she committed
herself to reply, and then merely asked him what he meant to do
for the old men.
'Why, it's a long story, and I don't know that I can make
you understand it. John Hiram made a will, and left his
property in charity for certain poor old men, and the proceeds,
instead of going to the benefit of these men, goes chiefly into
the pocket of the warden and the bishop's steward.'
'And you mean to take away from Mr Harding his share of it?'
'I don't know what I mean yet. I mean to inquire about it.
I mean to see who is entitled to this property. I mean to see,
if I can, that justice be done to the poor of the city of Barchester
generally, who are, in fact, the legatees under the will. I mean,
in short, to put the matter right, if I can.'
'And why are you to do this, John?'
'You might ask the same question of anybody else,' said he;
'and according to that the duty of righting these poor men
would belong to nobody. If we are to act on that principle,
the weak are never to be protected, injustice is never to be
opposed, and no one is to struggle for the poor!' And Bold
began to comfort himself in the warmth of his own virtue.
'But is there no one to do this but you, who have known
Mr Harding so long? Surely, John, as a friend, as a young
friend, so much younger than Mr Harding--'
'That's woman's logic, all over, Mary. What has age to
do with it? Another man might plead that he was too old;
and as to his friendship, if the thing itself be right, private
motives should never be allowed to interfere. Because I
esteem Mr Harding, is that a reason that I should neglect a
duty which I owe to these old men? or should I give up a
work which my conscience tells me is a good one, because I
regret the loss of his society?'
'And Eleanor, John?' said the sister, looking timidly into
her brother's face.
'Eleanor, that is, Miss Harding, if she thinks fit--that is, if
her father--or, rather, if she--or, indeed, he--if they find it
necessary--but there is no necessity now to talk about Eleanor
Harding; but this I will say, that if she has the kind of spirit
for which I give her credit, she will not condemn me for doing
what I think to be a duty.' And Bold consoled himself with
the consolation of a Roman.
Mary sat silent for a while, till at last her brother reminded
her that the notes must be answered, and she got up, and
placed her desk before her, took out her pen and paper,
wrote on it slowly:
'PAKENHAM VILLAS
'Tuesday morning
'MY DEAR ELEANOR,
'I--'
and then stopped, and looked at her brother.
'Well, Mary, why don't you write it?'
'Oh, John,' said she, 'dear John, pray think better of this.'
'Think better of what?' said he.
'Of this about the hospital--of all this about Mr Harding--
of what you say about those old men. Nothing can call upon
you--no duty can require you to set yourself against your
oldest, your best friend. Oh, John, think of Eleanor. You'll
break her heart, and your own.'
'Nonsense, Mary; Miss Harding's heart is as safe as yours.'
'Pray, pray, for my sake, John, give it up. You know how
dearly you love her.' And she came and knelt before him on
the rug. 'Pray give it up. You are going to make yourself,
and her, and her father miserable: you are going to make us
all miserable. And for what? For a dream of justice. You
will never make those twelve men happier than they now are.'
'You don't understand it, my dear girl,' said he, smoothing
her hair with his hand.
'I do understand it, John. I understand that this is a
chimera--a dream that you have got. I know well that no
duty can require you to do this mad--this suicidal thing. I
know you love Eleanor Harding with all your heart, and I tell
you now that she loves you as well. If there was a plain, a
positive duty before you, I would be the last to bid you neglect
it for any woman's love; but this--oh, think again, before
you do anything to make it necessary that you and Mr Harding
should be at variance.' He did not answer, as she knelt there,
leaning on his knees, but by his face she thought that he was
inclined to yield. 'At any rate let me say that you will go to
this party. At any rate do not break with them while your
mind is in doubt.' And she got up, hoping to conclude her
note in the way she desired.
'My mind is not in doubt,' at last he said, rising. 'I could
never respect myself again were I to give way now, because
Eleanor Harding is beautiful. I do love her: I would give a
hand to hear her tell me what you have said, speaking on her
behalf; but I cannot for her sake go back from the task which
I have commenced. I hope she may hereafter acknowledge
and respect my motives, but I cannot now go as a guest to her
father's house.' And the Barchester Brutus went out to fortify
his own resolution by meditations on his own virtue.
Poor Mary Bold sat down, and sadly finished her note,
saying that she would herself attend the party, but that her
brother was unavoidably prevented from doing so. I fear that
she did not admire as she should have done the self-devotion
of his singular virtue.
The party went off as such parties do. There were fat old
ladies, in fine silk dresses, and slim young ladies, in gauzy
muslin frocks; old gentlemen stood up with their backs to the
empty fire-place, looking by no means so comfortable as they
would have done in their own arm-chairs at home; and young
gentlemen, rather stiff about the neck, clustered near the door,
not as yet sufficiently in courage to attack the muslin frocks,
who awaited the battle, drawn up in a semicircular array.
The warden endeavoured to induce a charge, but failed signally,
not having the tact of a general; his daughter did what she
could to comfort the forces under her command, who took in
refreshing rations of cake and tea, and patiently looked for
the coming engagement: but she herself, Eleanor, had no
spirit for the work ; the only enemy whose lance she cared to
encounter was not there, and she and others were somewhat dull.
Loud above all voices was heard the clear sonorous tones of
the archdeacon as he dilated to brother parsons of the danger
of the church, of the fearful rumours of mad reforms even at
Oxford, and of the damnable heresies of Dr Whiston.
Soon, however, sweeter sounds began timidly to make themselves
audible. Little movements were made in a quarter notable for
round stools and music stands. Wax candles were arranged in
sconces, big books were brought from hidden recesses, and the
work of the evening commenced.
How often were those pegs twisted and re-twisted before
our friend found that he had twisted them enough; how many
discordant scrapes gave promise of the coming harmony.
How much the muslin fluttered and crumpled before Eleanor
and another nymph were duly seated at the piano; how
closely did that tall Apollo pack himself against the wall, with
his flute, long as himself, extending high over the heads of his
pretty neighbours; into how small a corner crept that round
and florid little minor canon, and there with skill amazing
found room to tune his accustomed fiddle!
And now the crash begins: away they go in full flow of
harmony together--up hill and down dale--now louder and
louder, then lower and lower; now loud, as though stirring
the battle; then low, as though mourning the slain. In all,
through all, and above all, is heard the violoncello. Ah, not
for nothing were those pegs so twisted and re-twisted--listen,
listen! Now alone that saddest of instruments tells its touching
tale. Silent, and in awe, stand fiddle, flute, and piano, to hear
the sorrows of their wailing brother. 'Tis but for a moment:
before the melancholy of those low notes has been fully realised,
again comes the full force of all the band--down go the
pedals, away rush twenty fingers scouring over the bass notes
with all the impetus of passion. Apollo blows till his stiff
neckcloth is no better than a rope, and the minor canon works
with both arms till he falls in a syncope of exhaustion against
the wall.
How comes it that now, when all should be silent, when
courtesy, if not taste, should make men listen--how is it at this
moment the black-coated corps leave their retreat and begin
skirmishing? One by one they creep forth, and fire off little
guns timidly, and without precision. Ah, my men, efforts such
as these will take no cities, even though the enemy should be
never so open to assault. At length a more deadlyartillery is
brought to bear; slowly, but with effect, the advance is made;
the muslin ranks are broken, and fall into confusion; the
formidable array of chairs gives way; the battle is no longer
between opposing regiments, but hand to hand, and foot to
foot with single combatants, as in the glorious days of old,
when fighting was really noble. In corners, and under the
shadow of curtains, behind sofas and half hidden by doors, in
retiring windows, and sheltered by hangingtapestry, are blows
given and returned, fatal, incurable, dealing death.
Apart from this another combat arises, more sober and more
serious. The archdeacon is engaged against two prebendaries,
a pursy full-blown rector assisting him, in all the perils and all
the enjoyments of short whist. With solemnenergy do they
watch the shuffled pack, and, all-expectant, eye the coming
trump. With what anxious nicety do they arrange their cards,
much less difficult for the sufferer to be generous than for the
oppressor. John Bold felt that he could not go to the warden's
party: he never loved Eleanor better than he did now; he
had never so strongly felt how anxious he was to make her his
wife as now, when so many obstacles to his doing so appeared
in view. Yet here was her father himself, as it were, clearing
away those very obstacles, and still he felt that he could not go
to the house any more as an open friend.
As he sat thinking of these things with the note in his hand,
his sister was waiting for his decision.
'Well,' said she, 'I suppose we must write separate answers,
and both say we shall be very happy.'
'You'll go, of course, Mary,' said he; to which she readily
assented. 'I cannot,' he continued, looking serious and
gloomy. 'I wish I could, with all my heart.'
'And why not, John?' said she. She had as yet heard
nothing of the new-found abuse which her brother was about
to reform--at least nothing which connected it with her
brother's name.
He sat thinking for a while till he determined that it would
be best to tell her at once what it was that he was about: it
must be done sooner or later.
'I fear I cannot go to Mr Harding's house any more as a
friend, just at present.'
'Oh, John! Why not? Ah, you've quarrelled with Eleanor!'
'No, indeed,' said he; 'I've no quarrel with her as yet.'
'What is it, John?' said she, looking at him with an anxious,
loving face, for she knew well how much of his heart was there
in that house which he said he could no longer enter.
'Why,' said he at last, 'I've taken up the case of these
twelve old men of Hiram's Hospital, and of course that brings
me into contact with Mr Harding. I may have to oppose
him, interfere with him, perhaps injure him.'
Mary looked at him steadily for some time before she committed
herself to reply, and then merely asked him what he meant to do
for the old men.
'Why, it's a long story, and I don't know that I can make
you understand it. John Hiram made a will, and left his
property in charity for certain poor old men, and the proceeds,
instead of going to the benefit of these men, goes chiefly into
the pocket of the warden and the bishop's steward.'
'And you mean to take away from Mr Harding his share of it?'
'I don't know what I mean yet. I mean to inquire about it.
I mean to see who is entitled to this property. I mean to see,
if I can, that justice be done to the poor of the city of Barchester
generally, who are, in fact, the legatees under the will. I mean,
in short, to put the matter right, if I can.'
'And why are you to do this, John?'
'You might ask the same question of anybody else,' said he;
'and according to that the duty of righting these poor men
would belong to nobody. If we are to act on that principle,
the weak are never to be protected, injustice is never to be
opposed, and no one is to struggle for the poor!' And Bold
began to comfort himself in the warmth of his own virtue.
'But is there no one to do this but you, who have known
Mr Harding so long? Surely, John, as a friend, as a young
friend, so much younger than Mr Harding--'
'That's woman's logic, all over, Mary. What has age to
do with it? Another man might plead that he was too old;
and as to his friendship, if the thing itself be right, private
motives should never be allowed to interfere. Because I
esteem Mr Harding, is that a reason that I should neglect a
duty which I owe to these old men? or should I give up a
work which my conscience tells me is a good one, because I
regret the loss of his society?'
'And Eleanor, John?' said the sister, looking timidly into
her brother's face.
'Eleanor, that is, Miss Harding, if she thinks fit--that is, if
her father--or, rather, if she--or, indeed, he--if they find it
necessary--but there is no necessity now to talk about Eleanor
Harding; but this I will say, that if she has the kind of spirit
for which I give her credit, she will not condemn me for doing
what I think to be a duty.' And Bold consoled himself with
the consolation of a Roman.
Mary sat silent for a while, till at last her brother reminded
her that the notes must be answered, and she got up, and
placed her desk before her, took out her pen and paper,
wrote on it slowly:
'PAKENHAM VILLAS
'Tuesday morning
'MY DEAR ELEANOR,
'I--'
and then stopped, and looked at her brother.
'Well, Mary, why don't you write it?'
'Oh, John,' said she, 'dear John, pray think better of this.'
'Think better of what?' said he.
'Of this about the hospital--of all this about Mr Harding--
of what you say about those old men. Nothing can call upon
you--no duty can require you to set yourself against your
oldest, your best friend. Oh, John, think of Eleanor. You'll
break her heart, and your own.'
'Nonsense, Mary; Miss Harding's heart is as safe as yours.'
'Pray, pray, for my sake, John, give it up. You know how
dearly you love her.' And she came and knelt before him on
the rug. 'Pray give it up. You are going to make yourself,
and her, and her father miserable: you are going to make us
all miserable. And for what? For a dream of justice. You
will never make those twelve men happier than they now are.'
'You don't understand it, my dear girl,' said he, smoothing
her hair with his hand.
'I do understand it, John. I understand that this is a
chimera--a dream that you have got. I know well that no
duty can require you to do this mad--this suicidal thing. I
know you love Eleanor Harding with all your heart, and I tell
you now that she loves you as well. If there was a plain, a
positive duty before you, I would be the last to bid you neglect
it for any woman's love; but this--oh, think again, before
you do anything to make it necessary that you and Mr Harding
should be at variance.' He did not answer, as she knelt there,
leaning on his knees, but by his face she thought that he was
inclined to yield. 'At any rate let me say that you will go to
this party. At any rate do not break with them while your
mind is in doubt.' And she got up, hoping to conclude her
note in the way she desired.
'My mind is not in doubt,' at last he said, rising. 'I could
never respect myself again were I to give way now, because
Eleanor Harding is beautiful. I do love her: I would give a
hand to hear her tell me what you have said, speaking on her
behalf; but I cannot for her sake go back from the task which
I have commenced. I hope she may hereafter acknowledge
and respect my motives, but I cannot now go as a guest to her
father's house.' And the Barchester Brutus went out to fortify
his own resolution by meditations on his own virtue.
Poor Mary Bold sat down, and sadly finished her note,
saying that she would herself attend the party, but that her
brother was unavoidably prevented from doing so. I fear that
she did not admire as she should have done the self-devotion
of his singular virtue.
The party went off as such parties do. There were fat old
ladies, in fine silk dresses, and slim young ladies, in gauzy
muslin frocks; old gentlemen stood up with their backs to the
empty fire-place, looking by no means so comfortable as they
would have done in their own arm-chairs at home; and young
gentlemen, rather stiff about the neck, clustered near the door,
not as yet sufficiently in courage to attack the muslin frocks,
who awaited the battle, drawn up in a semicircular array.
The warden endeavoured to induce a charge, but failed signally,
not having the tact of a general; his daughter did what she
could to comfort the forces under her command, who took in
refreshing rations of cake and tea, and patiently looked for
the coming engagement: but she herself, Eleanor, had no
spirit for the work ; the only enemy whose lance she cared to
encounter was not there, and she and others were somewhat dull.
Loud above all voices was heard the clear sonorous tones of
the archdeacon as he dilated to brother parsons of the danger
of the church, of the fearful rumours of mad reforms even at
Oxford, and of the damnable heresies of Dr Whiston.
Soon, however, sweeter sounds began timidly to make themselves
audible. Little movements were made in a quarter notable for
round stools and music stands. Wax candles were arranged in
sconces, big books were brought from hidden recesses, and the
work of the evening commenced.
How often were those pegs twisted and re-twisted before
our friend found that he had twisted them enough; how many
discordant scrapes gave promise of the coming harmony.
How much the muslin fluttered and crumpled before Eleanor
and another nymph were duly seated at the piano; how
closely did that tall Apollo pack himself against the wall, with
his flute, long as himself, extending high over the heads of his
pretty neighbours; into how small a corner crept that round
and florid little minor canon, and there with skill amazing
found room to tune his accustomed fiddle!
And now the crash begins: away they go in full flow of
harmony together--up hill and down dale--now louder and
louder, then lower and lower; now loud, as though stirring
the battle; then low, as though mourning the slain. In all,
through all, and above all, is heard the violoncello. Ah, not
for nothing were those pegs so twisted and re-twisted--listen,
listen! Now alone that saddest of instruments tells its touching
tale. Silent, and in awe, stand fiddle, flute, and piano, to hear
the sorrows of their wailing brother. 'Tis but for a moment:
before the melancholy of those low notes has been fully realised,
again comes the full force of all the band--down go the
pedals, away rush twenty fingers scouring over the bass notes
with all the impetus of passion. Apollo blows till his stiff
neckcloth is no better than a rope, and the minor canon works
with both arms till he falls in a syncope of exhaustion against
the wall.
How comes it that now, when all should be silent, when
courtesy, if not taste, should make men listen--how is it at this
moment the black-coated corps leave their retreat and begin
skirmishing? One by one they creep forth, and fire off little
guns timidly, and without precision. Ah, my men, efforts such
as these will take no cities, even though the enemy should be
never so open to assault. At length a more deadlyartillery is
brought to bear; slowly, but with effect, the advance is made;
the muslin ranks are broken, and fall into confusion; the
formidable array of chairs gives way; the battle is no longer
between opposing regiments, but hand to hand, and foot to
foot with single combatants, as in the glorious days of old,
when fighting was really noble. In corners, and under the
shadow of curtains, behind sofas and half hidden by doors, in
retiring windows, and sheltered by hangingtapestry, are blows
given and returned, fatal, incurable, dealing death.
Apart from this another combat arises, more sober and more
serious. The archdeacon is engaged against two prebendaries,
a pursy full-blown rector assisting him, in all the perils and all
the enjoyments of short whist. With solemnenergy do they
watch the shuffled pack, and, all-expectant, eye the coming
trump. With what anxious nicety do they arrange their cards,
- behave [bi´heiv]
v.举止；表现；举止端正 (初中英语单词) - generous [´dʒenərəs] a.慷慨的；丰盛的 (初中英语单词)
- strongly [´strɔŋli] ad.强烈地；强有力地 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- contact [´kɔntækt] n.接触；联系 v.联络 (初中英语单词)
- interfere [,intə´fiə] vi.干涉；妨碍；打扰 (初中英语单词)
- injure [´indʒə] vt.伤害，损害，毁坏 (初中英语单词)
- steadily [´stedili] ad.坚定地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- chiefly [´tʃi:fli] ad.主要地；尤其 (初中英语单词)
- warmth [wɔ:mθ] n.温暖；热情；激动 (初中英语单词)
- neglect [ni´glekt] vt.&n.疏忽；忽视；忽略 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- condemn [kən´dem] vt.谴责；定罪，判处 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- resolution [,rezə´lu:ʃən] n.决心；坚决；果断 (初中英语单词)
- sufficiently [sə´fiʃəntli] ad.充分地，足够地 (初中英语单词)
- charge [tʃɑ:dʒ] v.收费；冲锋 n.费用 (初中英语单词)
- engagement [in´geidʒmənt] n.婚约；雇用；受聘 (初中英语单词)
- fearful [´fiəfəl] a.可怕的；担心的 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- apollo [ə´pɔləu] n.阿波罗 (初中英语单词)
- mourning [´mɔ:niŋ] n.悲伤；治丧；戴孝 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- retreat [ri´tri:t] v.&n.退却；撤退；放弃 (初中英语单词)
- assault [ə´sɔ:lt] vt.袭击；殴打 n.攻击 (初中英语单词)
- deadly [´dedli] a.致命的 ad.死一般地 (初中英语单词)
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən] n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- solemn [´sɔləm] a.严肃的；隆重的 (初中英语单词)
- energy [´enədʒi] n.活力，精力；能力 (初中英语单词)
- charity [´tʃæriti] n.施舍；慈悲；博爱 (高中英语单词)
- injustice [in´dʒʌstis] n.不公正，不公平 (高中英语单词)
- hereafter [hiər´ɑ:ftə] ad.&n.将来；来世 (高中英语单词)
- singular [´siŋgjulə] a.单一的；非凡的 (高中英语单词)
- patiently [´peiʃəntli] ad.有耐心地；坚韧地 (高中英语单词)
- notable [´nəutəbəl] a.显著的 n.名人 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- artillery [ɑ:´tiləri] n.炮兵部队 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- dealing [´di:liŋ] n.交易；来往 (高中英语单词)
- combat [´kɔmbæt] v.&n.斗争；战斗；争斗 (高中英语单词)
- sufferer [´sʌfərə] n.受苦的人；患者 (英语四级单词)
- warden [´wɔ:dn] n.看守人；监护人 (英语四级单词)
- consolation [,kɔnsə´leiʃən] n.安慰，慰问 (英语四级单词)
- muslin [´mʌzlin] n.平纹细布，薄纱织物 (英语四级单词)
- violoncello [,vaiələn´tʃeləu] n.大提琴 (英语四级单词)
- fiddle [´fidl] n.小提琴 v.拉提琴 (英语四级单词)
- exhaustion [ig´zɔ:stʃən] n.用完；精疲力尽 (英语四级单词)
- precision [pri´siʒən] n.精密(度) a.精确的 (英语四级单词)
- tapestry [´tæpistri] n.挂毯 (英语四级单词)
- timidly [´timidli] ad.胆怯地 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- impetus [´impitəs] n.冲力；推进力 (英语六级单词)
- incurable [in´kjuərəbəl] a.不能治疗的 (英语六级单词)
- rector [´rektə] n.校长；主任；负责人 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
京公网安备 11011202003401号
