旧式女孩 英文版 An Old-fashioned Girl
露意莎.梅.奥尔科特 Louisa May Alcott
CHAPTER VI GRANDMA Page 3
And here the old lady stopped, out of breath, with her cap askew,her spectacles on the end of her nose, and her knitting much theworse for being waved enthusiastically in the air, while she hungover the arm of her chair, shrilly cheering an imaginary Lafayette.The girls clapped their hands, and Tom hurrahed with all hismight, saying, when he got his breath, "Lafayette was a regular oldtrump; I always liked him."
"My dear! what a disrespectful way to speak of that great man,"said grandma, shocked at Young America's irreverence.
"Well, he was a trump, anyway, so why not call him one?" askedTom, feeling that the objectionable word was all that could bedesired.
"What queer gloves you wore then," interrupted Fanny, who hadbeen trying on the much-honored glove, and finding it a tight fit.
"Much better and cheaper than we have now," returned grandma,ready to defend "the good old times" against every insinuation."You are an extravagant set now-a-days, and I really don't knowwhat you are coming to. By the way, I 've got somewhere twoletters written by two young ladies, one in 1517, and the other in1868. The contrast between the two will amuse you, I think."
After a little search, grandma produced an old portfolio, andselecting the papers, read the following letter, written by AnneBoleyn before her marriage to Henry VIII, and now in thepossession of a celebrated antiquarian:
DEAR MARY, I have been in town almost a month, yet I cannotsay I have found anything in London extremely agreeable. We riseso late in the morning, seldom before six o'clock, and sit up so lateat night, being scarcely in bed before ten, that I am quite sick of it;and was it not for the abundance of fine things I am every daygetting I should be impatient of returning into the country.
My indulgent mother bought me, yesterday, at a merchant's inCheapside, three new shifts, that cost fourteen pence an ell, and Iam to have a pair of new stuff shoes, for my Lord of Norfolk's ball,which will be three shillings.
The irregular life I have led since my coming to this place hasquite destroyed my appetite. You know I could manage a pound ofbacon and a tankard of good ale for my breakfast, in the country,but in London I find it difficult to get through half the quantity,though I must own I am generally eager enough for the dinnerhour, which is here delayed till twelve, in your polite society.
I played at hot cockles, last night, at my Lord of Leicester's. TheLord of Surrey was there, a very elegant young man, who sung asong of his own composition, on the "Lord of Kildare's Daughter."It was much approved, and my brother whispered me that the fairGeraldine, for so my Lord of Surrey calls his sweetheart, is thefinest woman of the age. I should be glad to see her, for I hear sheis good as she is beautiful.
Pray take care of the poultry during my absence. Poor things! Ialways fed them myself; and if Margery has knitted me thecrimson worsted mittens, I should be glad if they were sent up thefirst opportunity.
Adieu, dear Mary. I am just going to mass, and you shall speedilyhave the prayers, as you have now the kindest love of your ownANNE BOLEYN.
"Up before six, and think it late to go to bed at ten! What acountrified thing Anne must have been. Bacon and ale forbreakfast, and dinner at twelve; how very queer to live so!" criedFanny. "Lord Surrey and Lord Leicester sound fine, but hotcockles, and red mittens, and shoes for three shillings, are horrid."
"I like it," said Polly, thoughtfully, "and I 'm glad poor Anne had alittle fun before her troubles began. May I copy that letter sometime, grandma?"
"Yes, dear, and welcome. Now, here 's the other, by a modern girlon her first visit to London. This will suit you better, Fan," andgrandma read what a friend had sent her as a pendant to Anne'slittle picture of London life long ago:
MY DEAREST CONSTANCE, After three months of intenseexcitement I snatch a leisure moment to tell you how much I enjoymy first visit to London. Having been educated abroad, it reallyseems like coming to a strange city. At first the smoke, dirt andnoise were very disagreeable, but I soon got used to these things,and now find all I see perfectly charming.
We plunged at once into a whirl of gayety and I have had no timeto think of anything but pleasure. It is the height of the season, andevery hour is engaged either in going to balls, concerts, theatres,f^tes and church, or in preparing for them. We often go to two orthree parties in an evening, and seldom get home till morning, soof course we don't rise till noon next day. This leaves very littletime for our drives, shopping, and calls before dinner at eight, andthen the evening gayeties begin again.
fine things I am every daygetting.
At a ball at Lady Russell's last night, I saw the Prince of Wales,and danced in the set with him. He is growing stout, and looksdissipated. I was disappointed in him, for neither in appearancenor conversation was he at all princely. I was introduced to a verybrilliant and delightful young gentleman from America. I wascharmed with him, and rather surprised to learn that he wrote thepoems which were so much admired last season, also that he is theson of a rich tailor. How odd these Americans are, with theirmoney, and talent, and independence!
O my dear, I must not forget to tell you the great event of my firstseason. I am to be presented at the next Drawing Room! Thinkhow absorbed I must be in preparation for this grand affair.Mamma is resolved that I shall do her credit, and we have spentthe last two weeks driving about from milliners to mantua-makers,from merchants to jewellers. I am to wear white satin and plumes,pearls and roses. My dress will cost a hundred pounds or more, andis very elegant.
My cousins and friends lavish lovely things upon me, and you willopen your unsophisticated eyes when I display my silks and laces,trinkets and French hats, not to mention billet deux, photographs,and other relics of a young belle's first season.
You ask if I ever think of home. I really have n't time, but I dosometimes long a little for the quiet, the pure air and the girlishamusements I used to enjoy so much. One gets pale, and old, andsadly fagged out, with all this dissipation, pleasant as it is. I feelquite blas, already.
If you could send me the rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and gay spirits Ialways had at home, I 'd thank you. As you cannot do that, pleasesend me a bottle of June rain water, for my maid tells me it isbetter than any cosmetic for the complexion, and mine is gettingruined by late hours.
I fancy some fruit off our own trees would suit me, for I have noappetite, and mamma is quite desol,e about me. One cannot liveon French cookery without dyspepsia, and one can get nothingsimple here, for food, like everything else, is regulated by thefashion.
Adieu, ma chSre, I must dress for church. I only wish you couldsee my new hat and go with me, for Lord Rockingham promised tobe there.
Adieu, yours eternally, FLORENCE.
"Yes, I do like that better, and I wish I had been in this girl's place,don't you, Polly?" said Fan, as grandma took off her glasses.
"I should love to go to London, and have a good time, but I don'tthink I should care about spending ever so much money, or goingto Court. Maybe I might when I got there, for I do like fun andsplendor," added honest Polly, feeling that pleasure was a verytempting thing.
"Grandma looks tired; let 's go and play in the dwying-woom," saidMaud, who found the conversation getting beyond her depth.
"Let us all kiss and thank grandma, for amusing us so nicely,before we go," whispered Polly. Maud and Fanny agreed, andgrandma looked so gratified by their thanks, that Tom followedsuit, merely waiting till "those girls" were out of sight, to give theold lady a hearty hug, and a kiss on the very cheek Lafayette hadsaluted.
When he reached the play-room Polly was sitting in the swing,saying, very earnestly, "I always told you it was nice up ingrandma's room, and now you see it is. I wish you 'd go oftener;she admires to have you, and likes to tell stories and do pleasantthings, only she thinks you don't care for her quiet sort of fun. I do,anyway, and I think she 's the kindest, best old lady that ever lived,and I love her dearly!"
"I did n't say she was n't, only old people are sort of tedious andfussy, so I keep out of their way," said Fanny.
"Well, you ought not to, and you miss lots of pleasant times. Mymother says we ought to be kind and patient and respectful to allold folks just because they are old, and I always mean to be."
"Your mother 's everlastingly preaching," muttered Fan, nettled bythe consciousness of her own shortcomings with regard tograndma.
"She don't preach!" cried Polly, firing up like a flash; "she onlyexplains things to us, and helps us be good, and never scolds, and I'd rather have her than any other mother in the world, though shedon't wear velvet cloaks and splendid bonnets, so now!"
"Go it, Polly!" called Tom, who was gracefully hanging headdownward from the bar put up for his special benefit.
"Polly 's mad! Polly 's mad!" sung Maud, skipping rope round theroom.
"If Mr. Sydney could see you now he would n't think you such anangel any more," added Fanny, tossing a bean-bag and her head atthe same time.
Polly was mad, her face was very red, her eyes very bright and herlips twitched, but she held her tongue and began to swing as hardas she could, fearing to say something she would be sorry forafterward. For a few minutes no one spoke, Tom whistled andMaud hummed but Fan and Polly were each soberly thinking ofsomething, for they had reached an age when children, girlsespecially, begin to observe, contrast, and speculate upon thewords, acts, manners, and looks of those about them. A good dealof thinking goes on in the heads of these shrewd little folks, andthe elders should mind their ways, for they get criticised prettysharply and imitated very closely.
Two little things had happened that day, and the influence of a fewwords, a careless action, was still working in the active minds ofthe girls.
Mr. Sydney had called, and while Fanny was talking with him shesaw his eye rest on Polly, who sat apart watching the faces roundher with the modest, intelligent look which many found soattractive. At that minute Madam Shaw came in, and stopped tospeak to the little girl. Polly rose at once, and remained standingtill the old lady passed on.
"Are you laughing at Polly's prim ways?" Fanny had asked, as shesaw Mr. Sydney smile.
"No, I am admiring Miss Polly's fine manners," he answered in agrave, respectful tone, which had impressed Fanny very much, forMr. Sydney was considered by all the girls as a model of goodbreeding, and that indescribable something which they called"elegance."
Fanny wished she had done that little thing, and won thatapproving look, for she valued the young man's good opinion,because it was so hard to win, by her set at least. So, when Pollytalked about old people, it recalled this scene and made Fan cross.
Polly was remembering how, when Mrs. Shaw came home that dayin her fine visiting costume, and Maud ran to welcome her withunusual affection, she gathered up her lustrous silk and pushed thelittle girl away saying, impatiently, "Don't touch me, child, yourhands are dirty." Then the thought had come to Polly that thevelvet cloak did n't cover a right motherly heart, that the fretfulface under the nodding purple plumes was not a tender motherlyface, and that the hands in the delicate primrose gloves had putaway something very sweet and precious. She thought of anotherwoman, whose dress never was too fine for little wet cheeks to lieagainst, or loving little arms to press; whose face, in spite of manylines and the gray hairs above it, was never sour or unsympatheticwhen children's eyes turned towards it; and whose hands neverwere too busy, too full or too nice to welcome and serve the littlesons and daughters who freely brought their small hopes and fears,sins and sorrows, to her, who dealt out justice and mercy with suchwise love. "Ah, that 's a mother!" thought Polly, as the memorycame warm into her heart, making her feel very rich, and pityMaud for being so poor.
This it was that caused such sudden indignation at Fanny's dreadfulspeech, and this it was that made quick-tempered Polly try to calmher wrath before she used toward Fanny's mother the disrespectfultone she so resented toward her own. As the swing came downafter some dozen quick journeys to and fro, Polly seemed to havefound a smile somewhere up aloft, for she looked toward Fan,saying pleasantly, as she paused a little in her airy exercise, "I 'mnot mad now, shall I come and toss with you?"
"No, I 'll come and swing with you," answered Fanny, quick to feelthe generous spirit of her friend.
"You are an angel, and I 'll never be so rude again," she added, asPolly's arm came round her, and half the seat was gladly offered.
"No, I ain't; but if I ever get at all like one, it will be 'mother'spreaching' that did it," said Polly, with a happy laugh.
"Good for you, Polly Peacemaker," cried Tom, quoting his father,and giving them a grand push as the most appropriate way ofexpressing his approbation of the sentiment.
Nothing more was said; but from that day there slowly crept intothe family more respect for grandma, more forbearance with herinfirmities, more interest in her little stories, and many a pleasantgossip did the dear old lady enjoy with the children as theygathered round her fire, solitary so long.