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Lady Baltimore-Part8_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the glaring facts of our new prosperity, so finely penetrating as to some

of the mysteries of the soul. But he was of old Huguenot blood, and of



careful and gentle upbringing; and it was delightful to find such a young

man left upon our American soil untainted by the present fashionable



idolatries.

"I bow to your creed of 'moral elegance,'" I cried. "It never dies. It



has outlasted all the mobs and all the religions."

"They seemed to think," he continued, pursuing his Newport train of



thought, "that to prove you were a dead game sport you must behave like--

behave like--"



"Like a herd of swine," I suggested.

He was merry. "Ah, if they only would--completely!"



"Completely what?"

"Behave so. Rush over a steep place into the sea."



We sat in the quiet relish of his Scriptural idea, and the western

crimson and the twilight began to come and mingle with the perfumes. John



Mayrant's face changed from its vivacity to a sort of pensive

wistfulness, which, for all the dash and spirit in his delicate features,



was somehow the final thing one got from the boy's expression. It was as

though the noble memories of his race looked out of his eyes, seeking new



chances for distinction, and found instead a soil laid waste, an empty

fatherland, a people benumbed past rousing. Had he not said, "Poor Kings



Port!" as he tapped the gravestone? Moral elegance could scarcely permit

a sigh more direct.



"I am glad that you believe it never dies," he resumed. "And I am glad to

find somebody to--talk to, you know. My friends here are everything



friends and gentlemen should be, but they don't--I suppose it's because

they have not had my special experiences."



I sat waiting for the boy to go on with it. How plainly he was telling me

of his "special experiences"! He and his creed were not merely in revolt



against the herd of swine; there would be nothing special in that; I had

met people before who were that; but he was tied by honor, and soon to be



tied by the formidablenuptial knot, to a specimen devotee of the cult.

He shouldn't marry her if he really did not want to, and I could stop it!



But how was I to begin spinning the first faint web of plan how I might

stop it, unless he came right out with the whole thing? I didn't believe



he was the man to do that ever, even under the loosening inspiration of

drink. In wine lies truth, no doubt; but within him, was not moral



elegance the bottom truth that would, even in his cups, keep him a

gentleman, and control all such revelations? He might smash the glasses,



but he would not speak of his misgivings as to Hortense Rieppe.

He began again, "Nor do I believe that a really nice girl would continue



to think as those few do, if she once got safe away from them. Why, my

dear sir," he stretched out his hand in emphasis, "you do not have to do



anything untimely and extreme if you are in good earnest a dead game

sport. The time comes, and you meet the occasion as the duck swims. There



was one of them--the right kind."

"Where?" I asked.



"Why--you're leaning against her headstone!"

The little incongruity made us both laugh, but it was only for the



instant. The tender mood of the evening, and all that we had said,

sustained the quiet and almost grave undertone of our conference. My own



quite unconscious act of rising from the grave and standing before him on

the path to listen brought back to us our harmonious pensiveness.



"She was born in Kings Port, but educated in Europe. I don't suppose

until the time came that she ever did anything harder than speak French,



or play the piano, or ride a horse. She had wealth and so had her

husband. He was killed in the war, and so were two of her sons. The third



was too young to go. Their fortune was swept away, but the plantation was

there, and the negroes were proud to remain faithful to the family. She



took hold of the plantation, she walked the rice-banks in high boots. She

had an overseer, who, it was told her, would possibly take her life by



poison or by violence. She nevertheless lived in that lonely spot with no

protector except her pistol and some directions about antidotes. She



dismissed him when she had proved he was cheating her; she made the

planting pay as well as any man did after the war; she educated her last



son, got him into the navy, and then, one evening, walking the

river-banks too late, she caught the fever and died. You will understand



she went with one step from cherished ease to single-handed battle with

life, a delicately nurtured lady, with no preparation for her trials."



"Except moral elegance," I murmured.

"Ah, that was the point, sir! To see her you would never have guessed it!



She kept her burdens from the sight of all. She wore tribulation as if it




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