一双蓝眼睛 英文版 A Pair of Blue Eyes
托马斯.哈代 Thomas Hardy
Chapter III
'Melodious birds sing madrigals'
have your studies, your books, and .
That first repast in Endelstow Vicarage was a very agreeable oneto young Stephen Smith. The table was spread, as Elfride hadsuggested to her father, with the materials for the heterogeneousmeal called high tea--a class of refection welcome to all whenaway from men and towns, and particularly attractive to youthfulpalates. The table was prettily decked with winter flowers andleaves, amid which the eye was greeted by chops, chicken, pie,&c., and two huge pasties overhanging the sides of the dish with acheerful aspect of abundance.
At the end, towards the fireplace, appeared the tea-service, ofold-fashioned Worcester porcelain, and behind this arose theslight form of Elfride, attempting to add matronly dignity to themovement of pouring out tea, and to have a weighty and concernedlook in matters of marmalade, honey, and clotted cream. Havingmade her own meal before he arrived, she found to herembarrassment that there was nothing left for her to do but talkwhen not assisting him. She asked him if he would excuse herfinishing a letter she had been writing at a side-table, and,after sitting down to it, tingled with a sense of being grosslyrude. However, seeing that he noticed nothing personally wrong inher, and that he too was embarrassed when she attentively watchedhis cup to refill it, Elfride became better at ease; and whenfurthermore he accidentally kicked the leg of the table, and thennearly upset his tea-cup, just as schoolboys did, she felt herselfmistress of the situation, and could talk very well. In a fewminutes ingenuousness and a common term of years obliterated allrecollection that they were strangers just met. Stephen began towax eloquent on extremely slight experiences connected with hisprofessional pursuits; and she, having no experiences to fall backupon, recounted with much animation stories that had been relatedto her by her father, which would have astonished him had he heardwith what fidelity of action and tone they were rendered. Uponthe whole, a very interesting picture of Sweet-and-Twenty was onview that evening in Mr. Swancourt's house.
Ultimately Stephen had to go upstairs and talk loud to the vicar,receiving from him between his puffs a great many apologies forcalling him so unceremoniously to a stranger's bedroom. 'But,'continued Mr. Swancourt, 'I felt that I wanted to say a few wordsto you before the morning, on the business of your visit. One'spatience gets exhausted by staying a prisoner in bed all daythrough a sudden freak of one's enemy--new to me, though--for Ihave known very little of gout as yet. However, he's gone to myother toe in a very mild manner, and I expect he'll slink offaltogether by the morning. I hope you have been well attended todownstairs?'
'Perfectly. And though it is unfortunate, and I am sorry to seeyou laid up, I beg you will not take the slightest notice of mybeing in the house the while.'
'I will not. But I shall be down to-morrow. My daughter is anexcellent doctor. A dose or two of her mild mixtures will fetchme round quicker than all the drug stuff in the world. Well, nowabout the church business. Take a seat, do. We can't afford tostand upon ceremony in these parts as you see, and for thisreason, that a civilized human being seldom stays long with us;and so we cannot waste time in approaching him, or he will be gonebefore we have had the pleasure of close acquaintance. This towerof ours is, as you will notice, entirely gone beyond thepossibility of restoration; but the church itself is well enough.You should see some of the churches in this county. Floorsrotten: ivy lining the walls.'
'Dear me!'
'Oh, that's nothing. The congregation of a neighbour of mine,whenever a storm of rain comes on during service, open theirumbrellas and hold them up till the dripping ceases from the roof.Now, if you will kindly bring me those papers and letters you seelying on the table, I will show you how far we have got.'
Stephen crossed the room to fetch them, and the vicar seemed tonotice more particularly the slim figure of his visitor.
'I suppose you are quite competent?' he said.
'Quite,' said the young man, colouring slightly.
'You are very young, I fancy--I should say you are not more thannineteen?'
I am nearly twenty-one.'
'Exactly half my age; I am forty-two.'
'By the way,' said Mr. Swancourt, after some conversation, 'yousaid your whole name was Stephen Fitzmaurice, and that yourgrandfather came originally from Caxbury. Since I have beenspeaking, it has occurred to me that I know something of you. Youbelong to a well-known ancient county family--not ordinary Smithsin the least.'
'I don't think we have any of their blood in our veins.'
'Nonsense! you must. Hand me the "Landed Gentry." Now, let mesee. There, Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith--he lies in St. Mary'sChurch, doesn't he? Well, out of that family Sprang theLeaseworthy Smiths, and collaterally came General Sir StephenFitzmaurice Smith of Caxbury----'
'Yes; I have seen his monument there,' shouted Stephen. 'Butthere is no connection between his family and mine: there cannotbe.'
'There is none, possibly, to your knowledge. But look at this, mydear sir,' said the vicar, striking his fist upon the bedpost foremphasis. 'Here are you, Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith, living inLondon, but springing from Caxbury. Here in this book is agenealogical tree of the Stephen Fitzmaurice Smiths of CaxburyManor. You may be only a family of professional men now--I am notinquisitive: I don't ask questions of that kind; it is not in meto do so--but it is as plain as the nose in your face that there'syour origin! And, Mr. Smith, I congratulate you upon your blood;blue blood, sir; and, upon my life, a very desirable colour, asthe world goes.'
'I wish you could congratulate me upon some more tangiblequality,' said the younger man, sadly no less than modestly.
'Nonsense! that will come with time. You are young: all your lifeis before you. Now look--see how far back in the mists ofantiquity my own family of Swancourt have a root. Here, you see,'he continued, turning to the page, 'is Geoffrey, the one among myancestors who lost a barony because he would cut his joke. Ah,it's the sort of us! But the story is too long to tell now. Ay,I'm a poor man--a poor gentleman, in fact: those I would befriends with, won't be friends with me; those who are willing tobe friends with me, I am above being friends with. Beyond diningwith a neighbouring incumbent or two. and an occasional chat--sometimes dinner--with Lord Luxellian, a connection of mine, I amin absolute solitude--absolute.'
'You have your studies, your books, and your--daughter.'
'Oh yes, yes; and I don't complain of poverty. Canto coramlatrone. Well, Mr. Smith, don't let me detain you any longer in asick room. Ha! that reminds me of a story I once heard in myyounger days.' Here the vicar began a series of small privatelaughs, and Stephen looked inquiry. 'Oh, no, no! it is too bad--too bad to tell!' continued Mr. Swancourt in undertones of grimmirth. 'Well, go downstairs; my daughter must do the best she canwith you this evening. Ask her to sing to you--she plays andsings very nicely. Good-night; I feel as if I had known you forfive or six years. I'll ring for somebody to show you down.'
'Never mind,' said Stephen, 'I can find the way.' And he wentdownstairs, thinking of the delightful freedom of manner in theremoter counties in comparison with the reserve of London.
'I forgot to tell you that my father was rather deaf,' saidElfride anxiously, when Stephen entered the little drawing-room.
you are quite competent?' he said.should say you are.
'Never mind; I know all about it, and we are great friends,' theman of business replied enthusiastically. 'And, Miss Swancourt,will you kindly sing to me?'
To Miss Swancourt this request seemed, what in fact it was,exceptionally point-blank; though she guessed that her father hadsome hand in framing it, knowing, rather to her cost, of hisunceremonious way of utilizing her for the benefit of dullsojourners. At the same time, as Mr. Smith's manner was too frankto provoke criticism, and his age too little to inspire fear, shewas ready--not to say pleased--to accede. Selecting from thecanterbury some old family ditties, that in years gone by had beenplayed and sung by her mother, Elfride sat down to the pianoforte,and began, "Twas on the evening of a winter's day,' in a prettycontralto voice.
'Do you like that old thing, Mr. Smith?' she said at the end.
'Yes, I do much,' said Stephen--words he would have uttered, andsincerely, to anything on earth, from glee to requiem, that shemight have chosen.
'You shall have a little one by De Leyre, that was given me by ayoung French lady who was staying at Endelstow House:
'"Je l'ai plante, je l'ai vu naitre,Ce beau rosier ou les oiseaux," &c.;
and then I shall want to give you my own favourite for the verylast, Shelley's "When the lamp is shattered," as set to music bymy poor mother. I so much like singing to anybody who REALLYcares to hear me.'
Miss Elfride's image chose the form in which she was beheld duringthese minutes of singing, for her permanent attitude of visitationto Stephen's eyes during his sleeping and waking hours in afterdays. The profile is seen of a young woman in a pale gray silkdress with trimmings of swan's-down, and opening up from a pointin front, like a waistcoat without a shirt; the cool colourcontrasting admirably with the warm bloom of her neck and face.The furthermost candle on the piano comes immediately in a linewith her head, and half invisible itself, forms the accidentallyfrizzled hair into a nebulous haze of light, surrounding her crownlike an aureola. Her hands are in their place on the keys, herlips parted, and trilling forth, in a tender diminuendo, theclosing words of the sad apostrophe:
'O Love, who bewailestThe frailty of all things here,Why choose you the frailestFor your cradle, your home, and your bier!'
Her head is forward a little, and her eyes directed keenly upwardto the top of the page of music confronting her. Then comes arapid look into Stephen's face, and a still more rapid look backagain to her business, her face having dropped its sadness, andacquired a certain expression of mischievous archness the while;which lingered there for some time, but was never developed into apositive smile of flirtation.
Stephen suddenly shifted his position from her right hand to herleft, where there was just room enough for a small ottoman tostand between the piano and the corner of the room. Into thisnook he squeezed himself, and gazed wistfully up into Elfride'sface. So long and so earnestly gazed he, that her cheek deepenedto a more and more crimson tint as each line was added to hersong. Concluding, and pausing motionless after the last word fora minute or two, she ventured to look at him again. His featureswore an expression of unutterable heaviness.
'You don't hear many songs, do you, Mr. Smith, to take so muchnotice of these of mine?'
'Perhaps it was the means and vehicle of the song that I wasnoticing: I mean yourself,' he answered gently.
'Now, Mr. Smith!'
andacquired a certain expression of mischievous archness.
'It is perfectly true; I don't hear much singing. You mistakewhat I am, I fancy. Because I come as a stranger to a secludedspot, you think I must needs come from a life of bustle, and knowthe latest movements of the day. But I don't. My life is asquiet as yours, and more solitary; solitary as death.'
'The death which comes from a plethora of life? But seriously, Ican quite see that you are not the least what I thought you wouldbe before I saw you. You are not critical, or experienced, or--much to mind. That's why I don't mind singing airs to you that Ionly half know.' Finding that by this confession she had vexed himin a way she did not intend, she added naively, 'I mean, Mr.Smith, that you are better, not worse, for being only young andnot very experienced. You don't think my life here so very tameand dull, I know.'
'I do not, indeed,' he said with fervour. 'It must bedelightfully poetical, and sparkling, and fresh, and----'
'There you go, Mr. Smith! Well, men of another kind, when I getthem to be honest enough to own the truth, think just the reverse:that my life must be a dreadful bore in its normal state, thoughpleasant for the exceptional few days they pass here.'
you, Mr. Smith, to take so muchnotice of these of mine?' way,' said!
'I could live here always!' he said, and with such a tone and lookof unconscious revelation that Elfride was startled to find thather harmonies had fired a small Troy, in the shape of Stephen'sheart. She said quickly:
'But you can't live here always.'
'Oh no.' And he drew himself in with the sensitiveness of a snail.
Elfride's emotions were sudden as his in kindling, but the leastof woman's lesser infirmities--love of admiration--caused aninflammable disposition on his part, so exactly similar to herown, to appear as meritorious in him as modesty made her own seemculpable in her.